You know what they call a Quarter Pounder with Cheese in Paris?: Modern museum. No, like, really modern.

My heart's feeling heavy as I write this. I'm not sure why; it was so long ago. But just anticipating writing about my last few days in France...

Anyways, I got some stories for you all from Wednesday. Sometime around 9:30 in the morning, the art class met at metro station Place d'Italie in the 13ème arrondissement of Paris.

I was almost lost.
Until I wasn't.

Usually we all take our respective metro lines straight to a location. This time, we actually met inside a specific metro line and then took the metro together.

We reached our destination, and it didn't seem like we were in Paris anymore. It seemed more like a neighborhood—not the hustle and bustle of Chatlet.

We must've been a sight. A long line of students walking down the sidewalk of a random residential street in France. Pierre, my art professor, leading the pack. You know what? I haven't really introduced you all to him, so let's do that now.

He has brown, curly hair and wears glasses. Despite his height, he could pretty much pass for a student. He always wore a dull green jacket with yellow stripes coming down the arms, and he always wore a bright green web belt that never seemed to fit around his waist. A little section never made it to the last loop and just hanged down right by the front belt buckle.

He hates the British. Hates. Sort of playfully, I think. Once he said they were the biggest mistake in the world or something along those lines. It's pretty hilarious to here him once you get him going.
For my Gators, think about how we feel about the Seminoles, and I think you'll get the picture.

I think I might have already mentioned to you all that his wife's from Spain, so he speaks Spanish at home, English (mostly), with us and French everywhere else. Of those, English is his weakest, of course ( though exponentially better than my French), so when he talks about art to us and stumbles on a word I'm hoping the poor man's brain doesn't explode.

That day, I figured out Pierre could singlehandedly make fast walking an Olympic sport. It must have been at least a mile from the metro station to the museum we were heading toward. He kicked it in turbo, man. The route felt endless. I wondered where this museum was, not to mention the fun walk back we had to look forward to.

We finally made it there, although we were missing two people. This museum would "literally" be the worst thing to find on your own (I've decided that when I put literally in quotation marks I mean figuratively, literally.). Luckily Getro (who was literally always late except like once. Notice the lack of quotation marks) and Molissa ended up meeting up and finding the place together.

So, we get to the museum, and this is our assignment:
Find the artwork you dislike the most, and present it to the class, explaining why (en français, bien sûr).

Andddd stop.

You know how a lot of modern European art is stereotyped as being all super interpretive and deep. Like, it's a piece of toast and people are acting like it's the Mona Lisa and you're all:

Do you love this shit?
Are you high right now?

Suddenly, you're not sure whether you're showing criticism or just singing along to a Drake song.

Well, that was this place.
It was every European art stereotype come true.

And it was beautiful.

I picked some random ugly thing (it was really pointy) and another girl picked it too. She mentioned she thought it was scary, and this may or may not have been the day when Pierre said the word "scareful," and some of the class (including myself) could not help loling.

But the visit didn't end there. Next, Pierre had us break up into groups and perform a skit based on a piece of art in the museum (en français). Guess what piece of art my group had?

Yes, folks. That is, in fact, a refrigerator on skis.

A refrigerator.
On.
Skis.

Putain, I love this country. *cues soft playing of La Marseillaise in the background*

No where else can something so ridiculous be found in a museum. It's beautiful, really.
Anyways, our skit ended up being about a robbery. Someone, stole a pair of skis, and since we're in France (where unlike Florida the ground is not flat and winter is actually a thing) somebody reported it to the police. After a little detective work, we found out the fridge stole the skis all along.
Case closed. *Law and Order sound*

Other groups had some other crazy artwork, including a series of hair extensions dangling from a wall being blown by a fan (I swear I could not make this up even if I tried).

I wish I took more pictures of the art inside this museum, but here's my only other pic— something that might have freaked you out had you seen it in person.

It was relatively life-like.

So, that was our museum visit.

I've been trying to figure out the timeline for the boat ride, and my mind's telling me it was Wednesday night, but my camera's telling me it was Tuesday night, so I guess I should have talked about it in my last post.

We got to go on a boat tour on the Seine one night. It was beautiful, but it was not the best night for me. I felt horrible (probably from Rome). But who can't appreciate the beauty of Paris at night?