I'm starting to feel like time is slipping through my fingers (like sand through an hourglass...?). I have mid-terms the week after next and spring break three weeks after that, followed by two weeks of school, and one week of finals. My program ends on May 12th, but I'm staying until the 25th (and living where? I have no idea...). I've only been living here for six weeks and two days, but this whole European extravaganza is almost half over.

And now I've started repeating the obligatory "ohmygodI'mgoingtobeaseniorincollege" speech in my head. I had everything figured out before I came here and now I'm pretty sure I'm back where I started. Oh, good. I think the new plan is to stop planning because it clearly doesn't work. Some things never change.

One would naturally assume that people who study abroad would be worldly or interested in being worldly or, at the very least, semi-aware of other cultures. At IES Paris, however, that is not the case.

(a group of people is sitting in the lounge)
Person A: When I was little, I wasn't allowed to watch "The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air" because of the black people.
Person B: ...what?
Person A: Yeah, my dad hates black people. There actually aren't very many black people at my school and we don't even have any in my sorority. I don't understand why they don't just try and join. I mean, I like black people, just the good black people.

...yeah. A good majority of the people here are not only self-absorbed, but also ignorant, which makes for fun times. I guess the good thing is that I'm being exposed ideas that are different from my own, but I'm just not sure I even want to know. I am reassured, however, that my lovely IWU and Hopkins friends are good, accepting people who actually, I don't know, care about others. What a novel idea.

real e-mail from my father

"Anne -

Bird flu has come to Europe. Don't get chummy with any songbirds, chickens, ducks, geese, etc.

Love,

Dad"

Next up: real conversations from IES Paris. Prepare yourselves.

Just a short entry to say that I'm alive. Everything is going well, except I'm sick, which is unfun, but was bound to happen eventually. My host mother has me on a strict regimen of tea and homeopathic cough syrup, which really just tastes like honey. Oh, France...

More later, I promise.

Here's the thing: I'm not French. French people know I'm not French. I don't dress the right way or talk the right way or have the right mannerisms. I smile too much and look people in the eye when I pass them on the street. Foreign tourists, however, overwhelmingly believe that I AM French. I get asked for directions (generally in broken English) on a daily basis. This could be because I'm young and a girl and look relatively innocuous, but I usually don't know what I'm doing or where I'm going (I'm wandering just as much as the tourists)--I just go.

Before I left the States, almost everyone told me that French people would hate me simply because I'm an American. Quite the contrary. From grocery store cashiers to restaurant cooks, when people (okay, men) hear me speaking English with my friends, they all say "Ooh. You speak English? You are American?" It's flattering for about five seconds, until I realize that they just think I'm easy, which is, to say the least, not so flattering. These men are also ridiculously assertive. I was ordering some food with a couple of other girls last night and we were talking with the cashier/waiter. At the end of our (short) conversation, he said "so you give me your phone number or I give you mine?" to which we replied "we're not allowed" and walked away. It makes it difficult to talk to anyone without feeling like you're being taken advantage of. Love really is a way of life here, not just an added bonus, and I'm not really sure how I feel about that.

I think I'm in love. With this city, that is. I was on the train on Friday morning when I began hearing singing. At first I thought I was going crazy (why does the song start only when the doors open?), but then I realized we were all witness to a real traveling minstrel who was voyaging from car to car singing beautiful songs. He opened with "Knocking on Heaven's Door," which made me think of Kevin (for obvious reasons) and friends and home. And then (oh, and then) he sang "Let it Be." I seriously almost started crying because I freaking LOVE that song and it's just...so...beautiful. Tear. Why did a man with a guitar singing American songs make me fall in love with Paris? I have no idea. But that was the moment.

Other than that wonderful experience, I went to the Louvre on Friday and saw Louis XIV's crown jewels (holy.shit.) and then did a little window-shopping in the Louvre boutiques. Afterwards, a few of us went over to my friend Shaina's house to, um, "help her babysit" her five-year-old host sister, which turned into eating delicious food and drinking wine. Sweet. It was nearly impossible to communicate with this particular child because she 1) talks really fast and 2) talks like a kid. At one point she lost her little stuffed animal thing (oh horror of horrors) and we had no idea why she was freaking out. I mean, we finally got it figured out, but she kept saying "je veux appeler maman" ("I want to call my mom") and we were just like "wait, why are you crying?" All was well in the end and she went to bed relatively happy, thank goodness.

On Saturday I searched unsuccessfully for my textbooks and then wandered around the Latin Quarter for a while. We ended up going to an overpriced restaurant for dinner (the signage outside their store indicate a 10 euro menu, but it didn't actually exist) and then to Le Petit Tavern, which was completely Americanized and not really French in the least. Oh, well.

The scariest part of Saturday was when I was taking the metro home at midnight-ish and a drunken homeless man climbed onto the tracks. I was trying not to look for fear of being completely traumatized, but I couldn't help myself. Luckily some of the metro workers got him back up onto the platform before any trains came, so a major crisis was definitely averted. Yikes.

And now I have to do homework because I have my drawing class tonight (drawing class?! what was I thinking?). Bonne journee, friends.

Europe is eating my money. I knew this would happen, but dear GOD everything is expensive here. I went to get a hot chocolate at a local cafe yesterday and it cost 5.80 euros. Are you SERIOUS?! That's insane. All of the attractions/monuments/touristy things are generally pretty reasonable (or similar to what you would pay in the U.S.), but the cost of food is ridiculous. We've finally started catching on to the whole grocery shopping phenomenon (instead of eating out for every meal), but you can't buy very much at once because the refrigerators are small. I want to buy shoes (and many presents for my lovely friends), dammit, not just croissants and crepes.