The next step after receiving our assignments was to call the host and ask what time we should arrive at their house. This was extremely nerve-racking not only because speaking with a French person in general is difficult, but speaking to one on the phone is exponentially worse. They speak incredibly fast and there is no help from hand motions or signs. My host mom laughed at me when I called her, I wonder what I said. After calling a cab (also tricky) I arrived at my host family’s building around 6. On the sheet given to me by CIEE they provided me with the codes to get into her building. I found out the hard way that they had changed. After many confusing phone calls and quite a few stares from people on the street I was able to eventually get in her building via the help of someone else who lies there.
When she greeted me she gave me the bis (kisses on the cheek) and showed me all around her apartment. I didn’t really know what to make of the place initially. She’s what I like to call a “gyppie”, a mixture of a gypsy and hippe. I want to be clear that I’m not knocking her and I don’t dislike her place….it’s just different. It’s very colorful and is full of weird paintings, draped fabric and plants. Not to mention there is incense on every surface and a swing in the living room. I really didn’t know what to make of it until she told me how much she loved the arts, especially theater, painting, and dancing. My room is a very decent size with a beautiful balcony, a large desk, a bed, and oh yeah…an extremely large drink umbrella that stretches from the floor to the ceiling. Not sure what that’s all about.
After my tour and while I was unpacking, Mme. P (as I’ll call her from now on), made me “un petit snack”. This “little snack” she was talking about consisted of a burger with an egg over-easy on top and on a bun, a bowl of rice, and le paté. This is not the first time since being here that someone has assumed I eat a lot; Americans are generalized as heavy eaters. She explained that she had to go somewhere and that she would be back at 11 for dinner and wine. I knew that Parisians eat late, but 11? She left soon after showing me “the small snack” she made and thank god for that because I didn’t feel rude not eating it all and she wasn’t forced to see my face when I tried her concoctions. She ended up not getting home till after midnight and I had fallen asleep, so we weren’t able to do dinner.
When I woke up this morning I wanted to explore my neighborhood and figure out exactly where I was in relation to school. To my surprise, I am just a 10-15 mins. walk from school and am just south of Monmartre! I could not have asked for a better location. The neighborhood is fairly young and contains many big department stores as well as cafes, boulangeries, et restaurants. Though it is decently close to Mulan Rouge and the whole red light district, I still feel safe and have not received any warnings about the area. Now that I have settled into my new home and am about to begin the routine of classes, I hope to stop feeling like a tourist. These past few days have been a perpetual 8th grade field trip and I’m glad to finally move on my own time and to not be one in a loud group of 30 Americans. I shall update more soon!
My building from the outside, I'm on the second floor, which is really the third.
Giant drink umbrella in the middle of my bedroom.
The swing in the living room.
That's the washing machine on the left. It's tiny and sits in the bathroom next to the sink. The toilette is in a completely different room.
The floor to ceiling windows in my bedroom that open onto a balcony. I can't wait till it get's warmer!
Last but not least, le paté. This was part of my "small snack" and as she pointed to it she said "le paté, uhh......oui, le paté." She looked like she was going to explain what was in it, but either realized she didn't know or decided it was in my best interest that I didn't know. I had one bite of it and that was all I could stomach.
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