beninparis

[beninparis]

Hemingway Hunt

Stop 1:

I arrive to find Cafe des Amateurs gone in favor of Cafe Delma. There was no sadness or evilness to this place, at least none that I noticed. Although it might have been a place that charges for restroom use, and that’s pretty evil to me.

There is bustling chatter overlapped by the constant noise of the fountain. A child chases a brown pigeon only to be pulled out of the road by her mom. A man tries to ask for money and I tell him I don’t speak French. The air carries a very subtle scent of fried foods and alcohol.

Stop 2:

During their time in Paris, Ernest and his wife Hadley stayed at 74 rue du Cardinal Lemoine. It was a place Hemingway described as one of the poorest addresses in Paris. Of course Hemingway probably didn’t predict to be immortalized by a plaque at the building. I’m not sure, but the price has probably skyrocketed since his time and because of his time.

Stop 3:

Just close by, Hemingway rented an attic room at the once hotel 39 rue Descartes. 25 years earlier, poet Paul Verlaine had died in that room. Paul is immortalized here as well, not just through a plaque, but also with the restaurant La Maison de Verlaine. In fact, he’s immortalized a bit more than Hemingway at this particular spot

Stop 4:

I took the B route to get to the book stalls along the Quais. Due to poor timing however, I arrived when they were closed. Fortunately I managed to catch them midday the next day. I even purchased a volume of Asterix at the recommendation of a very helpful and nostalgic bookseller.

Stop 5:

After a line that feels like the Mona Lisa’s little sister, we only get a minute upstairs before we are told they are closing the floor. That was just lovely.

It was more like a village house converted into a bookstore than a traditional bookstore. Rustic boards support old stone and cradle new editions of not so new classics. They kept the more venerated works in the front, stuff like Catcher in the Rye, Moby Dick, and The Sun Also Rises. Meanwhile the modern works such as Circe or A Court of Thorns and Roses was kept more towards the back. The spiral staircase led up to a loft that overlooked the store and the street below. There was a very personal nook where one could theoretically block themselves off from everyone else and its cramped size would force them to do nothing but write. The instrument to do so being a typewriter that bears its age and takes up a good chunk of table space. Hopefully enough space is left for your whiteout. Behind the nook are 2 walls. One containing the portraits of minds who were most likely mocked then celebrated, the other holding a mirror which in turn holds millions upon millions of sticky notes. They were most likely from guests wanting to be immortalized with Shakespeare & Co. The tumbleweeds in question are simply aspiring minds, such as those in the portraits, who stay afloat through working in the bookshop. Although with the small size of the place and huge crowds filling in, I’m not sure how much time they have to sit up there.

Stop 6:

This was the longest stop and I hesitate to call it a stop. They were more like stops. There was a long walk from Musee du Luxembourg to the rest of the stops, one was actually pretty out of a way of my current route, so I had to revisit a different day. The grand jewel of this stop was the massive fountain in front of the church where the Saints stand forever.

Stop 7:

Hemingway’s order consisted of a distingue (A big glass mug of beer), pommes a l’huile (Potato salad with firm potatoes (Why? Soft potatoes are better.) that are marinated in olive oil) and cervelas (a wide, heavy sausage split in two and covered with a special mustard sauce). I went to the Brasserie Lipp myself because I wanted to try that order, but found something much different than what I imagined. Something more expensive, upper class, and not of the common folk. I feel like that order, if not attached to a famous writer, would be sacrilege in the kind of restaurant that it is today.

Stop 8:

Hemingway would often stop at Cafe de Flores and Des Magots to eat and write. He considered these places good for writing. I decided to try and follow in this tradition at Cafe de Flores and simply write about what I observed in the space. I even started drafting a second story, but I don’t know if I’m going to revisit it or not.

Stop 9:

My door-side seat is the perfect vantage point. A private dwelling to sit and spy over customers and imagine their stories. The Englishmen are to the right of me, one filling coffee with sugar. My guess is they’re on holiday, perhaps to Disneyland. Something about mice and princesses seems to unite people. A French family is to my right, 2 teenagers and parents younger than mine, or at least appear to be. They talk of Hemingway too. Maybe they are here for the same reason as me. The golden room is packed with waiters in a constant rush. If any of them get called “garcon” I expect rightful violence from them. I imagine myself as the most American in my sport shorts, yet no one cares. From my seat I exist in the world, but not entirely. A mere fly simply watching.

I feel something is missing from my story…

A dragon! Every story is better with a dragon! Let’s add one perched on the awning, watching cars go by. She is responsible for bringing “fresh beef” straight from the countryside with her massive claws and wings. There, now it feels like a short story I would write.

Stop 10:

Michaud’s presents a bit of a switch up. Instead of an average or poor place elevating after Hemingway stayed there, Michaud’s is now gone. It was already an expensive and uppity place in his time so maybe it got so uppity that it went uppity out of the atmosphere. Writer James Joyce would often visit this place with his wife and children. Whenever Hemingway got a bit of money, him and his wife would go here to live like the upper class, if for only one meal.

Stop 11:

When Ernest and Hadley Hemingway first arrived in Paris, they stayed at the Hotel d’Angleterre. While I was able to find the hotel, I did not get the chance to go inside and experience the courtyard. I can only imagine now, possibly a lavish jungle that’s a far cry from what Hemingway saw. That’s the effect he has on these kinds of places.

Stop 12:

22 Rue Jacob, where Miss Stein Lived.

In chapter 2, Hemingway expresses his prejudices against homosexuality to Miss Stein. He claims gay people are sick, cannot help themselves, and deserve no pity. He also describes a time when he lived among a milieu of criminals and states “When you were a boy and moved in the company of men, you had to be prepared to kill a man, know how to do it and really know that you would do it in order to not be interfered with.” This makes me wonder about Hemingway’s past and what led him to these prejudices. Could it have been an adverse sexual encounter when he was too young? Could it have just been that his parents were prejudiced and wanted him to protect himself from what they perceived as threats?

Conclusion:

One line that perplexes me is the one where Hemingway glorifies his hunger. “Hunger is good discipline and you will learn from it.” As a writer myself, hunger is a hindrance to writing. Once I get hungry, that’s all I can think about until it is satisfied. Is he trying to elevate himself above common needs?

An episode I found particularly funny was “Birth of a New School.” The story starts with Hemingway choosing violence. A patron comes up and simply says hi. Hemingway basically tells this guy to screw off, but with more language. The whole chapter is just this argument started by a stubborn and angry mule named Ernest Hemingway.

Hemingway describes Paris as a “moveable feast”. While he could have meant a number of things with this description, there’s one possible interpretation that I could apply to my trip. Paris is a feast you take with you, something you eat and draw from wherever you are in the world or whenever you are in your life. The experience stays with you to be feasted on forever.

[beninparis]

Additional Sites:

Site 1: The Sewers (or Musee des Egouts de Paris)

I ended up arriving later than anticipated due to some issues in figuring out the transit systems. I am probably never going to try taking a bus again, at least until I figure that beast out. Fortunately, I made it anyway and still had time to tour before class later that day. There was a tour guide giving a presentation, but he spoke French which I could not begin to understand. So with the museum guide downloaded to my phone, I strolled through at my own pace while tolerating the smell..

While there is a lot of history present in the sewers, the museum best shows the present day and how the sewers are currently being used. In fact, the toilet has a diagram showing the path that what you flushed will go down. While the museum features a lot of equipment still in use today, such as a full PPE uniform on display, it also features relics of how the sewer used to operate. This includes the 2-ball wagon which was used to remove sediment that accumulated on the bottom of the collectors before its discontinued use in 2005. Now it serves the noble purpose of sitting and collecting rust while covered nosed tourists look behind a fence.

The sewers also feature wall murals depicting the kind of sewer scenes one might find in pop culture. One mural behind a caged door shows a Dick Tracy styled man carrying another man into the darkness of the sewers. Another mural, one that caught me by surprise, is a sewer monster waiting to startle guests. At the end of one of the tunnels, guests can find a creature with the body of a rat, the arms of a mantis, and the tail of a scorpion. No explanation is given and the mystery to it makes it my personal favorite part of the sewers. Like I said in my blog, I need to know more.

Site 2: The Eiffel Tower

There was no way in hell I was going to leave Paris without a visit to the Eiffel Tower, so I booked a ticket for Monday night. Like many other French monuments, this one was packed with people trying to make money from visitors, hoping they wouldn't think to not buy alcohol from a sketchy guy in a park. The view of the tower from below was fascinating, but the real magic was going to come later on.

It took a few minutes of waiting since I got to my line early and 2 elevators to get to my destination. Yet I made sure to pause on the second floor because of how I timed my tickets. There, I got to watch the sun dip down below Paris as the sky slowly turned a darker blue. It continued like that for the second ride up as the building itself turned golden. The top was packed. More than I would like to be but what would you really expect from this tower? Up top were various exhibits showing off the story of the tower. Neither of those could distract from the view. The view that somehow makes Paris look smaller and bigger at the same time. I had my earbuds with me so I had to take advantage and listen to Rihanna’s Diamonds just once. I always pictured that as the soundtrack to me standing above the golden city dressed in dapper black. Only thing missing from the image is a champagne glass, because I am not spending 45 euro on champagne.

While the Eiffel Tower has many facilities in it, they were experiencing a bit of trouble involving card payments. I was fortunate enough to have just the right amount of cash for souvenirs, but unfortunate enough to arrive when most of the restaurants were closed. Other than that, the time I spent was magic. Some of the magic carried over when I got to the ground and saw the tower still lit up in gold. This is actually my last class with UK as I already walked and will receive my diploma in August. I can now say that I ended my UK college career in Paris with a view from the Eiffel Tower, which I never imagined when I started 4 years ago.

[beninparis]

Blog Submission 3

I remember vividly the moment I realized we had a week left. I was sitting in my bed looking at the schedule and how many days we had left, when the realization hit me. I’m not sure I could call it a full on cry, but I did shed actual tears in that moment. Even if I were able to somehow see everything, I still don’t think I would be ready to go back. There’s something different about Paris. It’s all of what I stated before, but there might be something else that I can’t identify until after the fact. A few times now, I have considered making my return be a goal, either for another few weeks or even moving in for a good chunk of my life. I can’t guarantee it would be the same or better than this, but it’s probably worth a try.

Bastille Day was a bit of rush in the last few minutes, partially because of me. Aiden said “We were going to take the metro to the Eiffel Tower.” I said “We can watch from the Seine dude.” That we did. It was crowded, we had to walk for miles, and we didn’t really get the best view. Then again though, this was probably better so we didn’t have to take the hour walk home at 1 am.

The hill to MontMartre offered the second best view of Paris, with the third being the Arc De Triomphe. The kind of view that makes Paris seem smaller while simultaneously reminding you how big it is. I would say it’s fitting that the church be put here to remind Parisians of God’s position above them, but that metaphor gets ruined whenever you remember the church isn’t the highest thing in Paris. With that being said though, it’s one of the best and most grand churches I have seen in Paris. I don’t know if it’s the best church (I wish Notre Dame were open for me to compare) but I do know it’s the one church we went to that compelled me to pray beneath one of the statues. Something about the kind of power that the building has. The rest of the street is glorious too, but in a more secular way. The readings describe the hill as devoted to art and pleasure and that can be seen in the many artists at work and the various restaurants.

I went to the sewers. They stink. They're also probably cleaner than my old highschool’s bathrooms. It was fascinating to see how the city handles its water and to see another portion of Paris’ underground “city”. Honestly though, I think I was more fascinated by the rat monster, a weird chimera involving a rat, a mantis, and a scorpion. It just appears in one of the tunnels and is even acknowledged in the gift shop, but has no context or explanation. I tried Googling the thing and I think even Google is drawing blanks. I’ve become a character in a sci-fi B movie because I need to know more about the creature and its origins.

I don’t think anything is going to match Atelier des Lumieres. Even after the readings, I still didn’t know what to expect. I was presented with one of the most immersive presentations of art, history, and life I have ever seen. It’s presented in a way that surrounds you and becomes the only world there is for a moment. Firouzen insisted we watch from the railway upstairs, which was a nice break. Yet, I feel like there was just as much, sometimes more magic in standing below and facing the walls head on. Almost like you’re part of the exhibit too. Also, someone please recreate this kind of thing but with quicker animations and house music. That would be my kind of rave.

Now who could pass up a chance to graffiti a wall and not get arrested for it? Fortunately, I got to do that and have my first try and spray painting. We went over the basics first: lines, filling in shapes, and gradients. We had to choose a word or phrase for the workshop, something that would sum up Paris and our time with it. One of the first things that came to my mind was Lee Ann Womack, who said that if we had the choice to sit it out or dance, she hoped we would dance. I think the rest of the class were on the same page, whether they knew the song or not.

Of course though, I wasn’t going to end my trip to Paris without a certain stop. I mentioned the third and second best views previously. Here’s the first.

The tower was packed and I managed to get on in time to watch the sunset as I ascended. The fire of the sun was the warmest as it left the sky, dipping down below the city in an orange ball of light. The tower soon became as golden as the streets would become while the sky darkened from blue to black. It’s probably best that I did this in the last week, so that I have a little bit more of a relation with those golden streets. Despite the place swarming with people, nothing was going to take away from the climactic view. Except maybe the champagne price. Seriously, 46 euro for a glass? Either way, this view felt somewhat sacred, the thing that my applications, planning, travel, and classwork all built up to. The moment the sky blackens and the streets become gold is the kind of fantasy that so many movies and tv shows sell Paris on. Only it wasn’t a fantasy. It was Monday night.

Versailles was a decent follow up, not as impressive but still with its own charm. As an occasional hunter, I personally think an uppity lodge surrounded by gold is an insult to the earthy nature of hunting, but the royal family was wired differently. So differently that the queen thought make-believing as peasants with life sized playhouses was a normal thing to do. Either way, it was a lovely place and row boating was one the best things to do on a day like that. I also learned something about myself. I am not very fast.

I think my biggest concern is, who will I be whenever I come back home? Will I be better than I was or as I was? I’m told by Nancy that travel changes me and I sincerely hope she’s right. The closest I can think of to a change is in writing. I still remember the comment Nancy made to me after my first blog post and what it made me feel. I also remember the comment she and Herman made about the follow up post. They seemed like they were a little surprised with me and that made me surprised in return. It also made me write a bit more than I probably would have otherwise. I wrote in Cafe de Flore for extra credit and I wrote about the church where the concert was. Nothing earth shattering, just what I saw and what I felt and I tried to dress it up as fancy as can be. I know I shouldn’t seek validation and doing that can be a danger for many artists, but damn does it feel nice. If they have a knack for it, then I might go even further.

When people say that Paris is a city of love, they usually mean a romantic love. To me, it’s a love of life.

Tips:

Get to know your breakfast options, most of the time it’s just Boulangerie goods, but you can find other options if you look enough.

Learn how to work the transit system. The metro at the very least.

If the cheese has mold in it and its blue cheese specifically, you can eat it. If there’s mold on the rinds, avoid the rinds. In fact, avoid most rinds.

Be prepared for blisters. Blisters are inevitable.

Dance.

[beninparis]

Do I know you?

Something about your face seems familiar, but it’s a blur.

Everything kind of blurs here.

Blurs into.

All the days are the same and all the people are the same.

Correct me, but aren’t you the jockey?

The one who wanted to go to flight school, but his family said no.

So he learned to ride a horse instead.

Ride it out of this green beautiful wasteland where nothing grows but things fade.

Yeah, I remember you now.

I never dreamed you would return.

Maybe you can take me now before it’s too late.

Before the heart fully fades.

I’m still waiting for someone to take me to the place that will save me.

My fake soul stays lukewarm here like all others as my real soul freezes.

But God knows I could never learn to fly or to ride a horse.

This could be my last chance before the grass envelopes me.

Please take me.

Please take me now.

[beninparis]

Blog Submission 2 because I decided to stop keeping track of the weeks

Almost 2 weeks in, and my thoughts about Paris haven’t really changed. It’s still the same beautiful place to explore and enjoy, even if by yourself. Luxembourg is still my favorite place and I still get my morning cappuccinos. Whoever put that machine there should be venerated as the 4th saint of Paris.

The week started with a tour of the Concierge, where the royal family was held up until their execution. The beauty of the entry way and its arches contradicts the unglamorous nature of the prison cells, almost mirroring the transition from palace to prison in a complete coincedence.

We visited another museum this week, the Musée d’Orsay. The hour we got in the impressionist exhibit was… alright. Don’t get me wrong, it was very enriching and enlightening, yet not as absorbing and fascinating as I had expected. Perhaps it would have been better if I were completely alone from the other students and had remembered my headphones.

The real magic kicked in whenever we dismissed and I spent another hour or 2 at the museum by myself. I found myself more enraptured by the 1st and 2nd floor works which carry on the fantasy and majesty of the Musée de Louvre’s works. The same kind of awe inspiring, beautiful, tragic, and carefully-rendered works are on display. Some particular favorites include The Battle of the Stags for its beautifully crafted forest, The Riddle for its tragic and bleak colors, and La Sphinx et la Chimère for its gothic inspired depiction of classic fantasy creatures. I’m interested in studying the style and techniques of these kinds of paintings and maybe blending in some impressionist techniques. I’m interested in making more fantasy art and the styles on display seem like the inspirations to many Magic the Gathering artists.

One of the highlights of the week was watching Manon at the Opera Garnier, a building that seems to be made of pure gold. A sheer majesty of architecture who’s majesty has yet to be matched. The story on display was told without words and showcased societal inequalities in the past of Paris. The kind that might have led to the revolution and the rise of lower and middle class over the wealthy and “noble”.

The catacombs came Thursday. Nothing matches the surreality of seeing real human bones, all rock like and almost alien to a what a human looks like. The truly surreal part is when you remember that hese were all people once. They were born, they were raised, they loved, they hated, they felt comfort, they felt pain, they passed before they could finish some of the higher goals, and now they are faceless, disembodied beings stacked on top of one another. Instead of being granted silent reverence after a life of joy or pain that possibly ended too soon, they are granted loud tourists carrying loud devices. If that isn’t surreal enough, then maybe the fact that these bones are eventually what we all be reduced too is.

[beninparis]

Day 6… I think… It’s at least the end of week 1

In the past few days, I have kind of settled into a bit of a morning routine here in Paris. Every morning I get up early to give myself at least 30 minutes before class starts. I get a 50 cent cappuccino from the coffee machine, the kind that's foamy and bitter on top and chocolatey sweet on the bottom. I then walk down the street as the awaking sun shines over the Latin Quarter and the cool breeze carries pigeon coos with it. My goal is Maison Dore. Croissant, pizza, sandwich, I figure it out when I get there. Of course I don’t want to take my breakfast back in since this is one of the few times I have this little piece of France to myself. So I park myself at the wall of Saint-Jacques du Haut-Pas for food and show. The show being children playing on the sidewalk, cars going by, any dogs that show up, just whatever is on at the moment. It’s a far cry from my normal routine at home and it’s a welcomed one. It's a moment where I am alone with peace and can make this part of the city mine. If you see me doing this, please do not join me.

We’re a week in and some of the initial thrill is starting to wear off. It could just be the hustle of each day and sticking to a certain schedule. I am beginning to grow tired of bread and tired of ham. However I still find moments of joy in the day to day, usually in the few instances where it’s just me and the city. For instance, I once sat at a cafe by myself and wrote as I was taking in the atmosphere. So maybe I just need to carve out more time alone in the city. I also appreciated the concert, even if it didn’t leave me transformed. It was just a nice moment where the rest of the world didn’t seem to exist and there was only now.

What I found very enriching however was the Louvre. While the Mona Lisa may be the star attraction, there are many other works that I found to be more emotion provoking and awe inspiring such as The Intervention of the Sabine Women, Liberty Leading the People, and The Wedding Feast at Cana. Many of the pieces held tragic or beautiful stories that got my imagination running and many had such beautiful use of light that I want to replicate in my own works. The order we viewed them in coincidentally seemed to tell a story that begins in the bloodshed of Rome and leads to the birth of Christianity and Catholicism. It was also interesting to learn of the Louvre’s original purpose as a fortress and to see the remnants of that purpose.

There was a bit of culture shock when I discovered that bills were often not separated. In fact, a waiter seemed calmly angry at us for daring to ask for our drinks to be separate tabs. Why does this happen? I don’t know. It makes about as much sense as the toilet, shower, and sink being in completely separate rooms here.

There was also a day where I went to Disneyland. As fun as it was, there’s not much I can say that connects the day to history or culture. The best I can say is that there seems to be a better effort for potable tap water over here than there is in the US. I can now say I drank water from a French DisneyLand bathroom sink, which I never thought I would say.

Also, a question. Does anyone else think the Comédie-Française has some of the most acrophobia inducing theater seating in the world? Like, so much could fall off at any given moment…

[beninparis]

Day 3 except it’s posted on Day 4 and covers Day 1 and Day 2 as well

The jet lag was like hell, I couldn’t sleep the whole night, and the breakfast was awful on arrival.

I’m glad I went through all of it.

Because all of it brought me here, a place that going to seemed like a pipe dream. It seemed much different than I expected, I honestly expected it to be a lot more modernized. It’s like a smaller, antique version of New York where things are in walking distance and history is worn on the sleeve. Also similar to New York, it bears a lot of graffiti. More than I imagined in fact.

So far, I feel something different here than I do back home. I think I feel a greater sense of calm than I normally do. Along with a bit more confidence and willingness to go places. On the third day I felt a certain sense of magic, sipping vending machine cappuccino early in the morning and walking to get breakfast. It could just be that I’m in a new place. It could also be the fact that cars aren’t really necessary, everything can be walked to or taken the metro to, and everything’s more quiet. My hometown is a place where I can’t just walk from home to a restaurant, cars are mandatory to living there. Lexington is a bit better, but even then there’s a lot that can’t really be walked to and it's loud a lot of the time. But this? This is the kind of change I’ve been looking for. And even if it can’t last forever and I may never get it back (unless I pull a Hemingway…) I can still hold onto it just for this moment. As long as it’s mine.

The first day felt like compensation. To compensate for a bland breakfast, I was provided a terrific lunch. To compensate for a sleepless plane, I was provided a boat to nap on. (Seriously, I was so freaking tired)

Second day kind of shows off something Nancy said. “A place where the past meets the present.” After taking a ride through the modern RER and Metro, we arrive at the historic Arc de Triomphe. Even before that, it can kind of be seen in the city itself with a lot of the architecture. Unlike New York, Paris never seems to bend too much to modernity and excessiveness. Instead feeling more timeless and with just what is needed.

Third day is where the history really amps up, especially with the Crypte Archaelogique where the Roman roots of Paris, Lutetia, are shown off. In fact, the second and third day show off something I wasn’t expecting from Paris: prevalent Greco-Roman imagery. From ferocious lion sculptures, to cute little putto, to Napoleon cosplaying his waifu Julius Caesar, what Paris was still shows even if it’s not the original. I feel like most of it came up during the Renaissance, yet it’s still a very close callback to Lutetia.

We even see a shift in purpose such as with the amphitheater, which was originally a place for Romans to watch in amusement as lions disemboweled and devoured Christians in a horrifically agonizing death that meant the loss of beloved family to some and malicious entertainment to the uncaring others.

It is now a place for kids to play football.

The third day is also my favorite so far because it took us to Luxembourg (AKA, my new favorite place.) There’s a point being driven home in class about how Paris doesn’t really engage in rush and hustle culture and takes time to live. That’s best on display in the expansive and lucious park.

I went back and - in an unexpected occurrence - had a conversation with a Parisian artist on exhibit. Rui Prazeres’ exhibit Paradis Artificiel des Reves Cellulaire metamorphoses draws from biology and is on display until July 10. I managed to meet him in the exhibit and have a conversation about his work and art in general. I thanked him for his patience with me since I didn’t understand French, and he thanked me for my patience since he didn’t understand some of the concepts I was trying to talk about.

Also, sorry if this doesn’t look right. Tumblr decided it hates me.

[beninparis]

Day 0:

Wow! Paris! I only ever been out of the country once before, and that was a cruise to Mexico that was very tourist centric. IE: We didn’t see a lot of the modern culture and it was more concerned with fun and sightseeing.

That kind of stuff was fun, but here I’m wanting to try and connect on a bit of a deeper level. It sounds ridiculous, but I’m kind of hoping for something invisible in Paris. Some feeling or idea that comes into me and I take back home with me to the states, however long it lasts. It could be as simple as rejuvenation from the mundanity of home or something incredibly profound.

If you want a more clear answer, I’m hoping to connect with the culture and art.

If you want a more material answer, I understand that there’s a difference between American Comics Culture and Franco-Belgian Comics Culture, so I kind of want to see that (Even though I can’t really read French).

Probably my biggest fear is embarrassment overseas or that I won’t know the right phrases. I’ve been using Duolingo some, but I haven’t gotten as far as I’d like yet. I don’t know how to order food, but I do know how to ask if someone is a horse. Hopefully I can step up my game before I go and that the French will know enough English to meet me halfway.

From what I read so far, Paris seems like a lovely country with a few cultural aspects I might be a little envious of. I hope for fun and rare experiences, and to some level I hope for a little transformation.

#paris france #travel #france #study blog #studyabroad