"streets," skinny dirt paths, and charming staircases

Buda Buda Buda.  Pest Pest Pest.

 Very first thoughts: Oh my gahhh! We're in Hungary!  This is Budapest!  Ahhhhh.  How does this country work?  We are here but we have no forint.  This people look so Hungarian.  Where is an ATM?  How do we get metro tickets? Ahhhhh.

Cue us walking in circles until I finally got the guts to ask an official-looking-woman where the "bankomat" was --- scary, scary, scary.

When we got to the Goat Hostel, we were greeted in the staircase by Steve - the most extraordinary man I've ever met.  He and his broken English led us into what would be our dwelling for the remainder of the trip - the warmest homiest non-home in all of Europe - hardwood floors, couches, giganto windows, slightly off-taste curtains, a view on a happening Hungarian street, coffee machine - it was all there.

It was rather late by the time we arrived, so we had a super cool restaurant picked out from our guidebook that we planned on chowing down at.  Our hostel was on the Pest side, and the dining locale was on the Buda side, so we had to cross over the Danube, which was a.w.e.s.o.m.e.  I just love bridges, being over big quantities of water, watching the liquid crash into the strong pillars, it's just great - and even greater at night.  Budapest has a lot of famous bridges - Liberty Bridge {right right next to our hostel}, Elizabeth Bridge, and Chain bridge.  I think these bridges are why, out of all three capitals of the Hapsburg Triumvirute, Budapest reminded me most of Paris.  We crossed the sparkly Chain Bridge on our hunt for the restaurant.

{photo credit to Christopher Servidio}

At this point, through our experiences in Prague and Vienna, I had assumed the role of navigator, à la Christopher Columbus, with a map of the city always just a zipper away.  Usually I did my job like a pro, getting us from sight to sight in no time, but Budapest didn't want me to get promoted too quickly.  Under my guidance, we climbed to the top of Buda, we walked around the Castle district, made our way down "streets," skinny dirt paths, and charming staircases.  After about an hour and a half of circling and confusion, my failure was officially declared.  Surrounded by a slight gray cloud of shame, we made our way back down the hill, settling on a cute place right by our hostel, approximately 20 meters from where we had first started.  fail.  However, the food was yummy, and it was a great precursor to a wonderful night's sleep.

Every one of my days in Budapest started off with the most perfect cup of coffee - like whoa.  Our hostel offers free breakfast and whoever is on guard at the time -- we were privy to three different people during our stay (including extraordinary Steve) -- makes you the most delicious coffee ever.  I don't know if it was the even-betterlooking-than-starbucks-steamed milk that topped it off or the charming glass mugs it was served in, but wow - just wow.

Walking to the top of Buda - this time in daylight and with fewer furrowed brows, skin taking in the sunshine - was probably my favorite part of our entire Eastern European trip.  As a resident of Paris, I miss hiking and mountains and leaves and dirt :: and the walk to the Liberation Monument that sits atop Gellért Hill offered it all.  By the time we got all the way up, we were hot - a phenomenon that started atop that hill, and unfortunately, ended there as well.  After a magnificent pause of admiration and rest, our adventures continued.

We went to the National Gallery, atop Buda hill number two (via elevator shh), located in a part of Buda Castle.  The simplistic exhibits allowed us to take in lots and lots of Hungarian art - from medieval to contemporary.  I really loved the secessionist art.  Unfortunately I lost the names I had noted down of the artists that intrigued me.  But that's okay, I'll just go back.  {side note: I also must go back because this visit of Budapest didn't include a trip to the baths, I know, the concept is heretical, I don't even want to talk about it}.

We hardly ever took the metro - walking was just so pleasant, with the sun shining and all.  However, some of our walking was not so sunny -- enter the Buda Castle Labyrinth.  Advertised as a children's attraction, we couldn't help but hope it was perfect for us.  I don't really know what I was expecting from it, but when I actually entered the underground edifice of never-ending paths, dirt, and dripping water, I kind of freaked out.  Demanding that I be held by Isa on my left and Chris on my right {to keep me from the Labyrinth monsters} at all times, I'm proud, and surprised, to say I made it out alive.

Dinner took place at the Kaltenberg, or rather, the Kaltenberg Bavarian Royal Restaurant.  This former tabacco factory is now an etterem that brews its own beers, has charming vaulted medieval ceilings, offers half-off dishes on the weekend !!, and provides musical happiness with a live-band trio that simply lights up the night.  After a delicious meal we headed over to Szimpla, an alternative bar full with a painfully hip crowd and delicious pints.

Sunday was not only our last day in Budapest, it was the last day of our fabulous winter break, of our entire Eastern European fiasco.  In celebration of this very important day, we: got lost in an authentic Hungarian flea market, swirled at Liberty Square, walked around St. Stephen's Basilica, got kicked out of Parliament, got snowed on {!??!?!?}, and, most importantly, ate a dish adorned with paprika and learned how to say cheers - "egészségére" - pronounced "agiyeh shaygadrah" (or maybe we just heard our waiter wrong, I don't know, Hungarian spelling really mystified me).

We arose early Monday morning to take our final plane back to Paris.  As I lingered in the airport, I reminisced on all of the wonderful happenings of the past 10 days, of how I could add 4 more countries to my resumé of travels, of how I knew 7 more vocab words, of how I would get to sort through 200+ pictures when I got back, but most importantly, of how friggin cool it was that I drank a good 23 pints in a little over a week - ha, just kidding, or ...?  No, it really was beautiful times.

This being my last post of what was a mind-whirling vacation, I just want to send my love to all of the Londonians, Praguians, Viennese, and Budapestians.  You guys were bomb.

classy, and the ground is smooth

We got into Vienna in the early afternoon after a short planning-filled train ride.  In the metro, when we had to get from the train station to the stop near our hostel, was where I had my first troubles with language.  Surprisingly, Czech really caused no problems because English is everywhere in Prague.  In Vienna, however, its German German German.  Metro systems are generally pretty simple though, so it wasn't super difficult to navigate through the underground.

After walking for about a block through the harsh Austrian air, we arrived at the Do Step Inn.  Its name alone made me fall in love with it.  This hostel was so nice - clean, organized, roomy - it was great.  I swear their kitchen was nicer than the one back home {just kidding Mama, I love your Wolf}.  The only semi-downer was that the hostel was a good 20 minute walk to the happening spots, but everybody loves a little exercise.

After putting all of our belongings away - in lockers sans locks :/ - we headed to the historic district of the Austrian capital.  Vienna is very classy.  The buildings sport a fresh white finish and the ground is smooth.  Lots of classy shops line their classy streets.  You don't really see people begging at all, and, like in Prague, the people who are forcing flyers into your hands are dressed in velvet red capes advertising operas and orchestras.

 

{photo credit to Isabella Snyder}

After what became our tradition of stopping in a café and organizing our day, this time at the pink Aida, we headed over to the Haus der Musik.  One of the only museums I was actually willing to pay for -- I usually let myself be extravagant on the first day to a city, take that night to realize how moneyless I am, and opt for free adventures for the remainder of my visit -- I couldn't have imagined the journey it would take me on.

Walking past a pretty kosher exhibit on yikes-I-don't-remember-which-composer, we made our way to the second floor and entered the Sonosphere.  This interactive experience constantly left me questioning if this was really real life.  From rooms mimicking your first musical experiences within the womb, to computer tutorials on sounds and the ear, the sonosphere was quite an out-of-body experience.  I now understand nothing of how sounds work, but completely understand how many quirky avant-garde movements found their origins in this city.

Food is always the most important part of any travels.  Stopping and eating at the wurst street stands was fabulous.  I love sausage, bread, and mustard - and eating them all for 3 euro makes the experience that much tastier.  Our Viennese taste buds were slightly elevated later on at the Centimeter II, a relaxed welcoming restaurant located behind the bewildering MuseumsQuartier.  Along with drinking pints of Steigl {one of Chris's word obsessions that we found out was actually a legit beer brand} we devoured lots of wiener schnitzel, goulash, and potato dumplings. Prost!

Our second day in Vienna was a bit chilly, but nothing my anti-fashion rocket dog ugg-look-a-likes couldn't handle.  As these chunky, but extremely warm, boots led me through the city, I realized that palaces just flock to Vienna - they're everywhere.  The Belvedere was extraordinarily fantastic.  Its (free!) gardens just seemed to go on forever.  Looking at nature made me realize how much I was dying for some spring - I really hope to come back when the trees have leaves, the statues stand uncovered, and the fountains are showcasing their liquid splendor.

{photo credit to Isabella Snyder}

I fell under the spell of the Karlskirche, or L’Église Saint-Charles-Borromée as our French guide told us.  Its teal dome just captivated me.  The Karlsplatz, the nearby former metro station, is fabulous as well - the mix of gold leaf and shiny green is quite enchanting.  Whoever Charles was, he did good stuff.

It is in Vienna that I discovered my love for foreign grocery stores, which are fabulous.  Not only is it fun to roam around the aisles of foreign culinary delight, laughing at your lack of vocabulary, letting yourself be guided by pictures and colors, but you get to feel like a local for a half-hour.  I left this trip to Billa, {"common sense says Billa" !!} particularly ecstatic because with my 3 and a half words of German, my exchange with the cashier left no trace of English!  'Twas absolutely fabulous.

Our last morning in Vienna was spent at the Schönbrunn Palace.  But it was cold, very cold.  To be absolutely honest, I preferred looking through Austrian cookbooks in the heated souvenir shop than walking around the dead-looking-but-still-majestic gardens.

Quick internet stop back at the Doo Step, one last photo-op, and we jumped on the nicest train I think I've ever been on, taking me to Budapest.  

orchestra concerts down the golden lane

Oh Prague.

Upon arrival at the airport, we were greeted by Katie, Isa's wonderful friend from Berkeley, and three half-liter bottles of Pilsner --- the local brew of the Czech Republic.  We followed our host back to her apartment, which might as well be a hotel - beautiful large rooms accented with lovely art nouveau touches, housing 8 American girls on their studies abroad.  After a little late night cereal and fruit we each resigned to a couch to prepare for the next day of touristing. 

In the morning we woke up to the happiest of sunshines and began our visit on foot.  The Praguian sun really was wonderful, following us on all of our Czech adventures, curving the sides of our lips upwards.  After a quick and tasty stop at Bohemia Bagel we entered Prague Castle, which sits majestically high on the horizon.  The domain is huge -- my favorite pauses were the St. Vitus Cathedral and the Golden Lane.  My visit to the Cathedral forced some contemplation - Chris and Isa were being audio guided while my lack of finances left me to gaze at the architecture and create stories of my own.  At one point my legs guided me to sit down on a ledge in front of one of the chapels, which led to some interesting encounters.


A large group of touring Italians walked by me (a phenomenon that we encountered in every city of the Hapsburg Triumvirate) and two of them paused to take my picture.  I smiled shyly as the flash went off.  They passed, a good 10 seconds went by, and they hurriedly came back, this time with one of them taking the picture as the other posed with me.  Cue them leaving, another 10 seconds, and another hurried return.  This time they switched places.  Keep in mind, until this point, no words had been spoken - just confused facial expressions and a few hand movements.  I finally asked where they were from and then asked for some pictures of my own - I thought it was only fair that I get a few too.  We said our final goodbyes, which ended with Roberto's assertion with his charming Italian accent that "Today, you are the symbol of this church" - not going to lie, it kind of made my day.  

Then we went to the Golden Lane, which became the golden lane to my heart.  It is on this magnificently cute street, lined with colored historical houses, that I fell in love with Mucha.  There was a hole-in-the-wall shop that was covered with his art --- posters, necklaces, lamps, notebooks, postcards --- everything Mucha and everything beautiful.  I browsed the postcards for approximately 37 minutes before choosing six that met my fancy.  I had previously met Mucha when one of my cousins told me that I could have been a model for him, so I was predisposed to love his stuff.  The color, the shapes, the designs - super inspiring and super great.


After the Prague Castle we made our way to the Old Town Square, via the statue lined Charles Bridge, crossing the Vltava {the river that cuts through Prague}.  On the way to the square, which houses the Astronomical Clock (!!), I was a bit culture shocked.  Persons lined the streets forcing their flyers on you, just as in Paris, however, these people are advertising not clubs nor political parties, but orchestra concerts, it's quite charming.  



We paused at a restaurant for a mid afternoon brew - a place where my Czech skills progressed.  Not only did I learn my favorite word na zdraví, or cheers, but I also fell in love with our Czech waiter.  One day I'll go back for him.


It's quite interesting walking around a city that was on the other side of the Iron Curtain.  Chris and Isa made me realize that when you look into the eyes of the older Czech people, you are looking into the soul of one who lived under Soviet communism.  You could definitely tell that Prague didn't have the same upbringing as Paris.  It's a beautiful city, covered with its spectacular green roofs.  It almost felt medieval, well, I don't really know what medieval feels like, but I'm pretty sure this was close.  Smoking is permitted indoors in Prague {as it is in the other Hapsburg capitals, as I learned later}, and that seems a bit ancient, and smoky.

The spectacular moment of our second day was our lovely gaze at the John Lennon wall.  There were some recent graffiti addings that rendered it a bit altered from the famous image I had in my mind, but I loved it all the same.  I even got to do a little graffiting of my own with "positive thoughts make positive things happen - ffg" - had to.  We also passed by the Love Bridge and marveled at the many locks engraved with lovers names.

Our trip in Prague was spotted with many delicious dishes and lots of Pilsner.  We kind of found "our" bar, a smoky establishment to which we returned twice, where we enjoyed a few pints.   Beware: they charge for the pretzels that top each bar table - those irresistables were 15 koruna each.  The exchange rate is about 27 Kč to 1 € - my mental math skills were definitely worked on. 



Our last shabang was Letna Park, where we watched the Praguian sun go down and the night lights go up.  We spent a good two hours on that hill, it has made its way into my spirit for life.

{photo credit to Isabella Snyder}

And then three little parisians awoke Wednesday morning to board a train to Vienna.

Emily from Yorkshire in the north of England

And I'm back.

The past 10 days have been a whirlwind of languages, currencies, and customs.  I will recount my adventures chunk by chunk -- a city per day -- in hope of not overwhelming the senses.

So, to begin: London.

The trip to the British capital didn't go without a few flukes :: we missed our first train (but didn't have to pay for the replacement, merci to the nice eurostar agent); we had a little trouble getting our lone American past strict British passport control; and my sleepyness decided to walk through security without putting my purse on the x-ray machine, instead keeping it on my shoulder {which kind of screams "I have a big bomb in here} but thankfully the guard just giggled at my obvious mistake and gave me a smile instead of a body slam.

However, once we got to the land of the Queen, everything went swimmingly.  I fell in love with this city.  The architecture is a mismatch of several different generational trends - as was seen from my view as I stood next to the Tate Modern, a converted oil-fired power station originally built in the 50s which now stand as the (free!) Contemporary Art Museum of London.  I looked out on the Thames River, across the super sleek Millennium Footbridge, built in 2000 (duh), with St. Paul's Cathedral, dating from the 17th century, in the background.

{photo credit to Isabella Snyder}

We visited the Westminster Abbey, the Gothic Church that stands as the burial place or commemoration lieu for many British extraordinaires - Geoffrey Chaucer, Charles Dickens, Charlotte Bronte, Charles Darwin, Newton, Jane Austen, and many many monarchs - you get the idea.  It is here that I had my audio guide revelation - audio guides, or more specifically free audio guides, are wonderful - they force you to pause and appreciate what's around you and give you fun anecdotal stories that breathe life into the places you've seen.

We also walked through St. James Park, gazed at Buckingham Palace, said hey to Big Ben, and participated in an impromptu photo shoot in a wonderfully-red Londonian telephone booth.

More important than any of the sights that blessed my eyes - was the food that blessed my taste buds.  J'adore pub food.  Sausage sandwiches, fish and chips, peas, Strongbow (British cider that we all went a little mad for) - it was beyond wonderful.

 {photo credit to Katie McCabe}

The first night was spent out on the town - I developed this thing where I would put on the most extraordinary British accent and introduce myself as "Emily, from Yorkshire, in the north of England" to far too many strangers.  Most chaps flattered me by insisting that I sounded authentic, others, not so much.  It was this night that I saw someone's credit card being stolen out of an ATM - the typical trick where one guy tells you that you dropped something and as you lean down to pick it up, his partner grabs your possession.  It was crazy actually seeing it happen, and in a rush of courage and adrenaline, I ran over to the thief - a stout middle-aged man who didn't speak English - and demanded that he give the lady, a most likely tipsy girl in her mid twenties, her card back.  I kept urging that he return it immediately as he went through his wallet, pulling out random cards, trying to prove that he had committed no crime.  After another 20 seconds or so of my demands, he ran off quickly, credit card in tow.  I guess I just don't have very good luck at ATMs.

I didn't let the money mishap ruin my night, which developed quite swelly --- from a chic cocktail bar, to the Roxy [a multi-personality club playing the 50s, 60s, 70s, 80s, 90s, and hits from the 00s!!], landing 5 slightly intoxicated students on floor cushions in what has been named the "Love Den" - the 8 x 12 dorm room of our wonderful hostess Katie, a friend of Isa's from Santa Barbara.

The second night was just as exciting, in a drastically different way - a Lady Gaga way.  We got to the O2 arena, greeted by thousands of superbly dressed fans: hair in bows, beads, 6 inch heels, sequins, color - just magnificent.  Although our nose-bleed seats made Lady G look like a little ant, a beautiful little ant she was.  The show took its audience on a wonderful journey to the Monster Ball, with Gaga pausing every now and then for a costume change or a convo with her little monsters, her endearing name for all of her fans.  She really is a sweet person --- while I fell in love with her music through youtube and deezer, I fell in love with her person in a British arena with 50 000 other people.

Our last day in Londontown was spent on the posh Oxford Street - a big change from the cutesy market shopping on Portobello Road {in Notting Hill!} that we took part in the day before - with a final pub pause at the "Lamb and Flag," sausage and Strongbow included.

{photo credit to Chris Servidio}

A semi-stressed train ride to Gatwick brought us to the airport that would bring me to a country, language, and currency that I had never experienced before - Prague.

couple places to hang

Sciences Po's winter vacay starts tomorrow.  I decided to keep the week quite chill --- just going to a couple places to hang:

Friday to Sunday :: London-town

{with a touch of Gaga saturday nuit !! ! !!!!)

Monday to Wednesday :: Prague-a-licious

Thursday to Friday :: ay ay Vienna

Saturday to Monday :: Buda Buda Buda Buda Pest-in' errywhere

I plan to spend the rest of my evening rummaging through mes habilles, fashion-showing a bit, getting all the ensembles ready, and laying in bed - cause I will be too excited to snooze.

à bientôt

see you soon

brzy se uvidíme

bis bald

viszontlátásra hamarosan

 

!!

a wave of grandeur and beauty in the French ocean of literature

I feel extra French right now.  I’m drinking my 50 cent café that I bought out of one of the many coffee vending machines of Sciences Po and reading about the life and works of Victor Hugo.  Today he was the subject of my ‘Political History: ideas, cultures, and behaviors’ class.  We mainly discussed how his intellectual life leaned on his political life and vice versa.  The man was quite legit.  He published his first poem at 17.  seventeen.  At seventeen I was chasing Moxie through the back yard and spilling nail polish.  Way to outdo me Victor.

Although Hugo is seen as a heroic figure in the support of the republican ideal, his political leanings actually started off as quite conservative, placing him as more of a monarchist.  However by the time the 1848 revolution rolled around, Hugo had witnessed and experienced so much oppression, both in his artistic and political life, that he became a strong supporter of the Republic.  So much so that when Napoleon III undertook a coup d’état in 1851, restoring a second monarchy in France, Victor peaced out to Guernsey, an island in the English channel, for 19 years in protest.  While he was living the island-life, he wrote several pamphlets insulting Napoleon the third.  He only went back to the motherland when Napoleon was ousted with the birth of the Third Republic.

Author of Les Misérables, Notre Dame de Paris, and a bajillion of other works, Victor Hugo’s eloquent words were a wave of grandeur and beauty in the French ocean of literature.  A quote I love from Hernani, a drama he wrote in 1830:

Tout marche, et le hasard corrige le hasard.

De là vient l'équilibre, et toujours l'ordre éclate.

"everything goes on and chance corrects chance.

Thence - balance, and order always bursts from it."

He was also mega into not-the-death-penalty, universal suffrage, and women’s rights.   However, Mister Hugo apparently had a mistress, or lots of mistresses.  What a shame.  He died in 1885 and his body in now at the Panthéon, a former church transformed in to a burial place for the grands hommes of France.  It is about a 6 minute walk from my apartment, so I’m going to go give him a talking-to.

do cool people trip?

Tripping sucks, I often look back at the object that caused the stumble (often just my other foot shh) and give it a big 'eff yu'.  Is there such a thing as a classy trip?  Can your trip have swagger?  I took this investigation as no joke.  First I elicited the help of Yahoo! Answers and got the following responses:

"No, cool people have impeccable balance. And once they do fall down, they are deemed no longer cool."

"yup, but most of the time they are too confident to be embarrassed so less people would notice"

"Yes, but they pick themselves up quickly, hoping not to be seen, in most cases."

"Well it happened to me yesterday, so yes."

and my personal fave:

"Yea man, they show do - but
only the hot ones have sense enough to get up."

...because ugly people just chill on the ground

I also have a connection to this super rapide cool cellphone-text answering enterprise (thanks Patrikko !! ) and their exclamation was:

"homer simpson might say: No! No-no-no-no-no-no!  Well, ok, YES!"

I do not really feel like I have gotten to any conclusions.  If a revelation comes, updates will follow.

a better story

I have fallen in love.  with a hilarious blog- The Blake Wright.  It's this graphic designer guy from Dallas, TX, working for "The Brand Hatchery," an advertising company.  He makes comics.  and they're so out there that they make perfect sense.  I can't get enough of 'em.

 

Ah!  ..and the "about" of the advertising company he works for:

"We tell stories and that’s about as technical as we’re going to get with it. You want to tell the masses of the world what it is that you do. That’s a story. You tell us. We tell them. All of them. It’s that simple. We tell those stories with pictures, paragraphs, pixels and whatever else we deem necessary to make people stand up and listen or sit down and talk. At the end of the day, we simply help you tell a better story"

{fabuleux}

uprooted from the South and thrown in the middle of Paris' Latin Quarter

I went café hopping today.  Okay, well, I only went to two, but that just sounds cool.  I wish I could give you the names of these fantastics... but France doesn't name their cafés, unless I'm a tard (which is mega possible) and just haven't spotted the letters... on the 53 of them that I pass daily.  Anyways.. the first one I have been to before, really quaint.  It's a continuously crowded hole in the wall with dark wooden furniture and delicious patisseries.  You see all sorts of people there - young couples, old couples, lone old people, dads and daughters...  and the staff are appropriately Parisian-stressed workers.  After reading a first chapter in the book I have to lire for my music and politics class -  "L'âme de Hegel et les vaches du Wisconsin" by the italian writer Alessandro Baricco - which is actually proving to be rather interesting, I started feeling the pressure of other customers wanting to sit down, and so I paid for my delish café au lait and made my way out of the cozy establishment.

On the way back to my apartment I decided I hadn't satisfied my café fix and so I stopped at another.  This one I had always been intrigued by, but had never been in before.  It is much more well-lit, less crowded, and not as cutesy as the first, but I fell in love with it nonetheless.  As I savored my pain au chocolat, I realized this place had been uprooted from the South and thrown in the middle of Paris' Latin Quarter.  The staff were humbly dressed, super smiley, and there was a little band of older merry hommes chattering at the bar.  I miss the warmth of the South, it was nice to find it again, in my Parisian backyard.   

{side note: I really love cereal}

     

refreshing

I love rearranging my room, but I can't really do that here - the blog was a perfect substitute.  So super duper refreshing is the feeling I get when I look at a newly organized web page.  hallelujah

Today has been rather refreshing all together - even on the academic front.  My second prof for my "Cultural Triangulations between Africa, Eruope, and North America" course finally arrived today, Mike Ladd.  He was absent the first two weeks of class because he was on tour in New York.  That's right, my prof is famous... and not in the i-am-an-important-uppity-diplomat way that most professors are at Sciences Po, but in the cool-spoken-word-performer kind of way.

He is a lefty(! - not sure why i like this, but i do) and today he taught us about "Negrophilia," the term used to describe the interesting fascination European's had with black culture in the 1920s.  After class, I ran to a computer to listen to his stuff, I'm impressed.  He's collaborated with lots of other artists - pianist and composer Vijay Iyer, the german electronica group Terranova, english rapper Juice Aleem - and has a genre that's hard to pin down.  Apparently he was a drummer in a punk band in the 80s.

I can't believe he's my teacher.  queered (cool + weird)

full full full

Books have trapped me...and not as in the good happy books that inspire you and bring you joy, but the bad ones filled with political theories and long histories of German nationalism.  Granted, sometimes these bad books can bring you de la joie, but right now all they're bringing me is stress vestibules and lack of sleep-dee-zeep.

I am not the only known victim of these trappings.  Let me introduce you to the Collyer brothers, Homer and Langley.  They moved to Harlem in 1909 with their doctor pops and former-opera singer mama.  After their parents passed, the brothers stayed in their family home.  When their fam moved into the neighborhood, it was quite fashionable, but as time went on the fashion faded and the brothers turned into hermits. These crazies would set booby traps around their place and board up their windows, spending their time collecting a plethora of newspapers, instruments, furniture, fabrics, cats...their dwelling was full full full.


In 1947, Homer was found dead, and after a couple of weeks, including a manhunt leading the police to nine different states, and the removal of lots n lots of garbage/treasures, Langley's decomposed body was finally discovered only ten feet away from where his brother died.    


Now "Collyer mansion" is a term used by firefighters to describe an overpacked home.  I wonder what word creation I'll leave behind.
    

and love wins again

A Valentine's Day well spent:

Wake up to a knock on the door from your stylish horse-farm-owning aunt, in Paris for three hours before she boards a plane to Havana for a salsa sejours, slash, to see off one of your cousins soon to be married to a 21 year old Cuban, followed by croissants, clementines, and coffee.

Step Two: Wander through the Muséum national d'Histoire naturelle as you snap photographs of you chilling next to giraffe re-constitutions and giant crocodile skeletons, and giggle at your peeps who are faux-ice-skating on the smooth wooden floors.   

Take the Metro 5/then 2 to Montmartre, search for food, settle with a Mickey D's, and then continue to Pigalle where you mimic a paparazzi-er as your fourteen-year-old (but looks like he's eleven) cousin walks by the not-as-cute-as-the-movie Moulin Rouge and the red-neon-lit Sexodrome. 

Stop by the Tour Saint-Jacques to pick up a fellow Franco-American and search for the Carnaval/ Chinese New Year défilé, fail, and end up in a crowded café with a crème chatting about past loves.

Quick trip to Notre Dame to enjoy its majestic-ness, filled with soothing organ rhythms. 

Round off the night with a telephonic version of hot potato.  Sprinkle in a jam: Rilo Kiley's Silver Lining - to remember that you're better off.

That's what I call a winner.  and the skies were blue.

swirling particles

I woke up 31 hours ago.  Had to pull an all-night-start-and-finish-an-exposé-inlessthan10hoursbeforeit'sdue for my politics class at 8 this morn.  Afterward, in my cultural triangulations (!) class I saw itsy-bitsy swirling particles above Monsieur Pierrepont's spectacular touffe of hair.  I think it might have been his aura.

Other swirling particles of happiness to look forward to: the film Dear John.  Ever since Step Up gave me the spark I needed to pursue my life-long dream of street dancing, Channing Tatum has held a most special place in my coeur.  Dear John's "dethroning" of Avatar is quite impressive, but even more so is Chan's jawline.  Ya, I am in slight-mourning of his fading boyish looks as he continues to... age, but there's something about the mister that will forever keep me holding on.

Gahhh! Please watch this interview.  He's just precious... in that manly way that makes you want to be protected/faiped by him.

Too bad the film doesn't come out in Paris until years from now... to illegally download, or not to illegally download?

only in France...

The Parisian metros change their wall-sized ads every week-or-so. This week, they're incredible.

The mattress company Dunlopillo's ads read: "difficile de s'aimer ailleurs que sur un dunlopillo" ["difficult to make love other than on a dunlopillo"] accompanied by photos of stereotypical sexual lieus in the home - the couch, the sink, the washing machine... - topped with comfy-looking mattresses. Ha, only in France.

Here is an older ad from the same company:

Translation: "Making love on a 100% Naturalia Dunlopillo mattress significantly preserves the environment" and in smaller font "because during this time man is not using his car, he is not genetically modifying corn, he is not watering his lawn, he is not letting the water run as he brushes his teeth, he is not building a nuclear power plant, he is not heating up his mashed potatoes in the microwave, and he is not hurting the penguins."

Ah, utterly divine...Vive la France.

paris des rêves

Yesterday, after standing in an über-ridiculously long line, I walked through the most enchanted free (!!) exposition. Housed at Hôtel de Ville, or Paris' city hall, Izis: Paris des Rêves, displays the photography of the Lithuanian artist, born Israëlis Bidermanas, spanning from his beginnings with portraits, to his Paris Match days, past Chagall, and into his wondrous world of the circus.

The man was in love with this capital; and through his often b&w photos, his amour is easily seen. I soaked it up.

« Pourquoi Paris ? Parce que Paris excitait mon imagination. C’était la Ville lumière. Pour moi, tout se passait à Paris… Nous étions attirés par la France comme pays de l’Esprit. La Liberté, l’Égalité de l’homme et la Culture, c’est ça qui nous faisait rêver »

The expo runs until the end of May, so there is time, but if I were you, I'd be on my way, running, right about now.