Metro Mecs

I was on my way home. I was alone. And it was on the metro...

It takes two trains for me to get home from Châtelet. Je prendrais déjà la ligne 1. Maintenant, I was taking the 13 back to Malakoff, Plateau de Vanves.

I was sitting on the metro, minding my own business quand soudainement (suddenly),

Quite possibly the hottest guy I have seen in France walked on.

That's the only way I can describe him.

I mean

;kfnea;knfaslfm'lasmfdasmf's

Anyways, let me explain a bit more about the architecture of the metro before I continue.

It's not like the RTS.

By that I mean my seat was facing down the line, not to the opposite window like on the city bus.

And my seat was facing directly down this guys seat, and his mine. So naturally, that was the direction one's head would be turned in.

But his hotness was too much. I couldn't take it all in. I would literally be staring him to death.

So, I turned my head to the map and started looking at all the stops.

I concentrated so hard on that map, I paid no attention to the words I was hearing.

But wait.

Words?

People rarely engage in full-on conversations on the metro.

He was on the metro with a friend, and I realized they were talking, and pretty loud at that.

Anyways, I eventually had to look back at this beautiful mec, you guys.

But be still my heart, when I turned to looked at him, I realized he was talking to (and about) me.

ME.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHdstm;efaosjdf[aksp[fda

And good God Almighty of heaven and earth knows how I figured out what they were saying.

This was all in loud, (likely alcohol-influenced) French.

Anyways, he told me he and his friend were trying to guess the first letter of my name. They called out random letters and finally decided to go through every letter of the alphabet in order.

It was hilarious. Together, they chanted :

ah, bay, say, day, euh, ef, zhay. ahsh, ee, zhee

I stopped them there. (zhee is how you'd say the letter j in French it. It sounds like ghee).

So they got the first letter. Now they were on to the names. They were pretty determined.

"Joanna!"
"Julie!"

But they were only calling out French names. I knew they wouldn't get it, so I gave them a hint:

"Le nom n'existe pas en français," I told them.

True story, bro. Though they called out those names I mentioned above, they said it with a French pronunciation. They just so happen to be names that exist and are spelled the same in English. Jenna, it just so happens, does not have a French equivalent.

They both let out a disappointed sigh. Almost the type you make when you can't remember the name of something, so you have to Google it.

They seemed pretty stumped, so I decided to just spell it out for them:

"zhee euh en en ah," I said.

They quickly repeated me: "zhee euh en en ah!"

Then it clicked.

"Jen-nah!" "Jen-nah!"

Puzzle solved. Just asking "Tu t'appelles comment?" works, but I gotta admit this way was way more fun.

Anyways, they introduced themselves, too.

The super hot fella was Gaëtan (I think that's how it's spelled. I honestly have never heard the name until then—it sounded like "Gie tahn." His friend was Jules.

Anyways, Jules turned to me and said:

"Tu viens d'où, Jenna?" (Where are you from, Jenna?)

I replied "Les états-unis" (The United States)

Pretty sure Gaëtan interjected here:

"Mais tu parles bien!" (But, you speak well!)

Anddddd stop.

This is what made this such a big deal for me. The fact that, finally, I spoke French well enough that someone was surprised I was an American. I feel like the results of all of those weeks had finally shown. With two days left in France, I had finally spoke well enough to "pass," you know?

One of the best feelings any language learner can have, really.

Anyways, the conversation continued in French. Jules invited me to go to some bar with them—they were on their way to Montparnasse – Bienvenüe.

It's really the only place anyone would go at that point on ligne 13. My host mom's house in Malakoff is technically outside of the arrondissements of Paris. It's like the suburbs, so you wouldn't expect young people to be headed there on a Friday night.

Anyways, back to the invite.

Don't get your panties in bunch. I declined, you guys.

I'm not that stupid.

I mean Gaëtan's ridiculously hot and Jules is really nice, but I don't know these guys, I'm alone, and, probably the biggest thing, I may have fooled them, but I am not fluent in French. I'm not about to get myself date raped with two days left to go.

Anyways, Gaëtan sensed my thoughts I think. My comprehension of French can be fuzzy at times, but I'm pretty sure he smiled when I declined and said jokingly to me something I'd translate to "upon further reflection, no," as if he could tell I thought it was a bad idea.

Anyways, they were curious where I was getting off. They started guessing different stops.

Eh.

Still not stupid enough to straight up tell them.

Anyways, they never got the chance to guess Malakoff.

The metro reached Montparnasse, so it was time for them to leave. For the first time, they spoke in English.

"Bye, nice meeting you."

The door closed and I continued on my way to Malakoff. The metro was considerably quiet now that those two were gone.

Well, that's my story. The story of how a funny encounter with two strangers helped me take pride in my speaking skills.

The story of drunk metro guyz.
















P.S.

Jesus Christ, this Gaëtan guy tho. Talk about missed connections. Imma need to hit up Montparnasse and find him.

The end is near part 2

It really is near.

The end of this, I mean.
This is getting crazy. It's at the point where I'm sitting in French class, and my teachers are passing out fliers for the upcoming UF in Paris trip this summer. I'm not even done documenting this one.

We're at Thursday. I leave Sunday. We can get through this, folks.

OK. So, a few of us decided to head to the Eiffel Tower Thursday to go up the top. Our farewell dinner was Friday, and the majority of us (myself included) were leaving Saturday morning, so it was now or never.

We get there, and we waited...oh whoops.

I forgot we had the last day of class that day. I'll talk about that first. So this was the day we had our final exam in the French art class. Pierre also told us to bring food to class, so we could all have a picnic afterward.

And me, well. I purposely got to class early, so I would have time to go to that bakery in Châtelet I told you all about—the one with the heavenly bread.

Of course, it wasn't open. Vive la France.

Anyways, I was desperate at that point, so I started searching for the nearest open bakery. I kept walking. And walking. And I walked some more. I eventually found some place and randomly bought this type of bread baguette thing that had chocolate chips.

Now to head back.

Only fitting on my last day of class, much like my first, I was once again lost.

 I don't think I was in Châtelet anymore (wayyyy cooler than not being in Kansas anymore).

I wasn't too worried. Thanks to the beautiful invention known as the metro, I wouldn't be lost forever. I just didn't want to be late. I mean, I was on my way to take my final exam.

The plan: find a metro. You're never lost if you find a metro—ever.

It took me a while, but I found one. I got back to Châtelet and headed over to the API building.



I'm pretty sure they were waiting on me.


Oops.


I can't remember if anyone else was later than me (I hope so), but eventually we took the exam. It was cool—French art and stuff.

So the food afterward tho.

My bread was the freaking truth. Almost worth that ridiculous trek, but some other girls had the same kind from another bakery and it tasted even better than mine (granted it already tasted amazing).

People brought other stuff, but I'll tell you all what our teacher, Pierre, brought. He thought it would be cool if we had a picnic with French food but we ended up not having time to hop on the metro to some parc (UF class was next) so we had the picnic in class.

Anyways, I thought it was funny he suggested it would be a French picnic but then went and brought Coca Cola. His defense? It had a French name written on the bottle. You know, the same marketing thing I told you guys about when I was in Italy.

He brought some other superrr French stuff on top of that, tho. Some type of duck liver spread (was it paté?)

He also brought saucisson. One of the girls in the group made the mistake of comparing it to salami, and he looked disgusted. Haha. It's way better than salami, according to Pierre.

Agreed. That's an insult to saucisson. Anyways, we ate, enjoyed our last moments as his students and even got a class picture.

Pierre's in the middle with that green belt I told you guys about—he does tend to blend in even though he's the tallest and our instructor.

We went to a museum for the UF class—Le Musée Carnavalet if this itinerary's correct. After that, a group of us headed to la Tour Eiffel. As we waited in line, an update came in—the very top would be closed. Suddenly we had a decision to make. Is it worth it? Still go for it?

We did. And then we hoped it would reopen by the time we made it up there. We waited in line—being in Paris always makes anything more fun to do, even waiting in line. Shockingly, we spotted a little boy in FSU garb. Yuck.

After going through the line, buying our tickets and waiting some more, we proceeded to go into the largest elevator I've ever been in in my life.

We got to the sort of half way point-ish.

And it was beautiful. You could look out and see all of Paris before you. Lizette, who has a killer sense of direction even pointed out the area her host family's place is in. We stayed at the lower level for a little while, taking pictures, taking in the view.

The very top finally opened up, and me, Lizette, and Emily decided to go for it.

We knew we had to.

Who knew if we'd ever get this chance again?

I don't know if you've ever been to the top of the Eiffel Tower. The view seems a lot like the view from the middle, but there's one thing that just completely floors you.

At the very top, there's a little inside spot that tells you how far away you are from all (or at least most I guess) the different countries of the world.

It's amazing. *Kanye voice* you, know, like off 808s and Heartbreak? OK I'm done.

In other news, they also sell overly-priced Champagne at the top.

People are all over the place trying to take pictures, naturally. When you find a spot at the edge, rejoice. And take in the view. Take in the moment. Take in Paris.

OK, I'm done with the anaphora—I'll wrap this up. So we eventually had to leave. And we were in a rush.

We spent the next hour or so on a hunt to find the karaoke bar one of the guys from the group planned for everyone to go to. Cool place. It was empty. Seriously, like five or six other people were there besides us.

 And then there were the performances—My personal favorite was Lizette as Shakira and Getro as Wyclef Jean in "Hips Don't Lie."

But what still makes me laugh the most was after karaoke. I was on my way home. I was alone. And it was on the metro...
















P.S. OK, I guess I wasn't done with the anaphora.





P.S.S.
Yes, the ellipsis implies there is more to come. It's a funny story. It's a study abroad story.






P.S.S.S.

Crazy pic midway up la Tour Eiffel. If you don't think Emily (red and beige skirt) is the most awesome thing about this picture, you're wrong. 

P.S.S.S.S.

TOP OF LA TOUR EIFFEL

Started from the bottom...

Some other things

I told myself toward the beginning I'd do one of these. I realized I should oh, you know, just write about some of the little things I've glossed over. Beaucoup de choses, mecs. I didn't want to go on too long of a tangent sometimes.

Most of these posts have been long enough already, so I left things out.

Well enough with the intro, I'll get to it already.

FOOD: (Cuz it had to be first)

1)
The best thing I ate in France was a croque madame. The way I would describe it is a grilled ham and cheese sandwich with a fried egg on top. It was the day I waited in line for the Catacombes. One of my best days in France.

2)
I had the best bread in my life from some bakery in Chatelet. I have no idea what the name of it was, but I know exactly where it is and plan on going back. I really can't describe it. Just know it's what dreams are made of.  *cue Lizzie McGuire soundtrack*

3)  I had the best fruit of my life at my host mom's maison. I'm pretty sure the peach I bit into could bring world peace.

SHRANKS : (drinks)

1. VIN ROUGE (We fell in love that summer)

2. We all know about my love affair with Orangina

3. alfknasflkas Lemon freaking Fanta. Some genius decided to come up with this.

4. Schwepps soda- my host mom bought these. I really like them and they're here in the U.S. too—just different flavors en France.


Oh yeah! Did I tell you guys I finally tried a Monaco?

Sooo it's a drink my older sis told me about. I tried to look for it when I was in Italy, if you guys remember.

Anyways, I honestly cannot remember when this happened—toward the end—but me and some of the girls all went out to some place for drinks and desert. The waiter—this French guy—was being a total French guy (Dept. of Redundancies Department).

Anyways, he knew we were all American, so he did all his speaking in English (while shamelessly hitting on one of the girls in the group).

I was so happy to finally be in a café at night. I could finally look for a Monaco.

But alas, I didn't see it on the menu. I was determined, so I asked the waiter.

"Hey, do you have..."

*He cuts me off*

"Your number? No..."

New pick up line, guys. You're welcome.

Doesn't work if you're sleezy like this guy was.  I appreciated the good play on words, though (hashtag journalism). Anyways, I eventually asked him if they had a Monaco. He said "of course," and soon I was finally trying it.

First of all, I was surprised by how not strong it was (my wino sister recommended it so I thought It'd be pretty forte). It's good stuff tho. Man, I wish I had one right now, actually.

Last of all, when the check came, I was overjoyed. I can't remember what the price was, but it was by far the cheapest thing. No wonder it wasn't on the menu.

For you curious folks, it's basically a combination of beer, 7UP and grenaldine syrup.

OTHER—or culture, maybe?

1. I love the metro—love. I don't think I've been able to get that across in these past posts. It's sort of the best thing ever. Just sitting here now, the familiar echo of the automated voice announcing "Malakoff, Plateau de Vanves" rings in my ear like a comforting song. I hear France's metro is better (less confusing) than New York's. Never been up there, so I can't confirm.

2.  That being said, people don't play in the mornings at the station. You betta depêche yo'self cuz people are in a rush. Stick to the right if you're standing on an escalator. Everyone on the left walks. You find that out the hard way after about the fifth "pardon."

3. Paris is a très cosmopolitan place tho. I saw so many interracial couples there it was sorta like the norm. Totes different from the places I've lived in Florida. Supa cool.


4. THESE GUYS I SWEAR...

OK, so basically everywhere you go in Paris you'll see a bunch of African dudes trying to sell these tiny Eiffel Towers to tourists. They'll just keep on keeping on with the whole "un euro, un euro," schpeel like a robot on repeat.












P.S.

There he goes, stalking out his tourist prey.

P.S.S.

We'll get to the end of this eventually, folks. I still haven't told you guys about my trip up la Tour Eiffel.