Paris Perturbé

OH. MY. GOD. If anyone had ever suffered a more miserable day trip to Paris I  would be very surprised. Of course I was mildly excited, I love Paris, (who doesn't) and was looking forward to lunch someplace romantic on a pleasant spring day + getting my marriage paperwork + scenic train ride home with little to no complications.

Well. Ominously just before I arrive at the train station here in Dijon, I get a puzzling text from SNCF telling me that circulation is "fortement perturbé," and that I can exchange or cancel my ticket at the service desk. But, I've just arrived, I'm a bit late, and see on the information boards that my train is at the quai, à l'heure, and ready to leave. So I figure the SNCF people have gone insane and I jump on moments before the doors close and the train starts rolling. 

I text A to tell him how silly the SNCF people are and sit back happily.

As the train moves North, the warm sunlight of Spring turns from pleasant, to gray, to snow blizzard. Before I know it the train is stopped on the tracks in a sea of white, where we sit for the next two hours. I miss my embassy appointment and learn from the chatter around me that the Gare de Lyon is completely blocked by snow, no one is getting in or out, and I start fearing for how I'm going to get home in the evening. I havent eaten and I start thinking I might die. Also, I'm not dressed for snow. 

The train finally arrives in blizarding Paris at 2:30 in the afternoon, two and a half hours after my appointment. (I tried calling the embassy on the train but the operator kept disconnecting me or sending me to an answering machine.) I run down into the metro and catch the subway to rue Rivoli, just beside the gardens at the Louvre. I pop back up into the freezing snow blizzard and see the hazy, gray form of the Eiffel Tower peering through the white and for a moment feel a little burst of butterflies in my heart: I can never see that tower without remembering how in love I am with the city. The moment is short lived however, as I shield my eyes from the snow and skid across the slushy, busy intersections to the embassy. 

I get there and only one guichet is left open. I take a number and wait. After 20 minutes, the person abandons their post and I'm seemingly left alone in the American Embassy. A janitor eventually approaches me and asks what I'm doing. I tell him about my appointment and he tells me that everyone in notarial services is gone and that I'll have to come back another day. I muster my most miserable, helpless little girl face and tell him I don't live near Paris and can't come back. It seems to work and he takes pity on me and gets on the phone. Thank goodness, someone was still there for me and they met with me at one of the desks. Straight away they asked me if I had cash. I said no. Then they proceeded to tell me that they couldn't give me my marriage documents because the cashier had left and I couldn't pay with a credit card. I give her my miserable look I used earlier on the janitor. Again she takes pity on me and produces a map of the area. She draws a little path on it to an ATM, and tells me to hurry, because everyone was trying to leave.

Back out into the snow blizzard. I'll remind you here that I had bronchitis, was wearing spring clothes, and was running through a freezing wet blanket of white in a complete panic. Long story short, after stopping and asking several people in the streets,  I found the ATM, got back to the embassy in time, and got my paper work. By now it was time for my train home, so I turned on my heels and dashed directly back to the train station.. where all the trains were still delayed or canceled. Snow was falling in the station and I was freezing and still hadn't eaten. I took shelter in an expensive station cafe and made a hot chocolate last for the rest of the evening until finally, a train heading south appeared on the info board. I got home at 8 feeling victimized. Dieu merci, A had made me a bath and a cocktail. 

Sitting in the hot tub and sipping my drink, I thought, at least I'm marrying the right guy. 

From Paradise to Paris

I don't know how I've failed to mention this, but yesterday, September 24th 2011, my mother landed for the very first time in Europe; in the city of Paris; at the Charles de Gaulle airport. It took me six months of harassing her over Skype to convince her to do it, insisting that there would never be a better time to see France than while her daughter is living there. So, at long last, she took the plunge and traveled the 8,000 miles from paradise to Paris.

I had to hop on an early train to meet her at the gate as she came out of customs. She's a tiny little woman, basically a miniature of me, and leading her through the airport, the bustling RER, and then today, THE FLOODED streets of tourist infested Paris, has been.. stressful, mostly. I've never seen Paris so crowded as it was today. We fought our way from the pyramid at the Louvre down the Champs-Elysees to L'arc de Triomphe, and then veered off towards the Seine were we found the Eiffel Tower. It was so flooded with tourists we fled the whole scene, preferring to miss the view from the tower then face the mob. I insisted we follow the river so that she see the Notre Dame, but the unthinkable crowds were anguish unprecedented, so I pulled her off into the side streets and took respite in a cafe.

At last we're back in our tiny hotel. I'm starting to be very happy I don't live here. Dijon is so much more of an accessible size. And I'm in France predominantly for the language after all; and here in Paris, I actually have to ask people if they speak French before asking for directions or the time.

It's a shame Paris is becoming such a theme park. The place seemed utterly leeched of its romance. It was sad to see the beautiful face of Notre Dame, which I have always adored, swimming in an impenetrable sea of bodies.

Aller Dijon, Aller!

Tonight was the night to pull out the red dress and follow a pack of testosterone charged males to the local spots bar and show our support for team Dijon. I never wear red; but being told to do so I obediently dawned a saucy little number and some black heels to brave the cobblestone streets; and learned one valuable lesson. Watching sports on tv is dumb.

After having a beer spilled on my shoe and feeling that I had payed my social duty as a friend, I marched back to my beloved French pad early, enduring many rowdy shouts from sports enthusiasts on my way home.

The news this week is that I am 77% sure that I am moving to Paris for fashion school in September. Having worked as a model in my teenage years and just recently earned a degree in Art History and Digital Illustration, I think it might be the perfect fusion of my interests and the correct step forward. It might be. It might also be a colossal disaster, but I'm willing to undergo a certain degree of embarrassment for adventure. It's also expensive! So it's too soon for the last three percentiles.

And tomorrow I'm portraying the leading lady (yes, only because I'm the only available lady) in a short, independent French film. I'm both excited and devastated because I have some serious problems with getting up early. It's for an annual film festival in which small film crews assemble and draw genres form a hat and have 48 hours to shoot, edit, and present an 8 minute film to a jury. We pulled action/thriller. I was secretly wishing for Romance, but looks like tomorrow I'll probably be running and screaming. (but in French, so I'm not complaining)

So with all that under the belt I'm going to try and call it an early night; so the red dress goes back in the closet and I'm taking some sleeping pills; cuz from what I can tell the Dijonaise are planning on honking their car horns and singing our city's name all through the night.

Keeping it Light

"According to certain scientists, whenever a woman has sex, her body produces a chemical which causes her to emotionally attach. This chemical may also account for the series of terrifying questions that involuntarily pop into our minds even after just one casual tryst. Questions like: “does he like me?” “will he call again?” and the classic, “where is this all going?” When it comes to men, even when we try to keep it light, how do we wind up in the dark?"

A poignant question from my favorite fictional columnist. That said, Paris was lovely, but there's no fighting biology.

In response to my post on Sex and Sex Too Soon, another woman of words commented: "Turns out that humans don't value things that come too easily. Money, love, sex, new shoes; they all fall into the same abyss. Easy come IS easy go."

Is it too much to ask that humans could grow up a bit and get over the egos and the chemicals? Can we possibly learn to overlook the chase, or in some cases, the impulse to attach, and just start falling in love?

In other more travel related news my weekend in Paris, due to some embarrassing un-savyness when it comes to trains and train stations, ended with a day long tour of the Bourgogne region of France instead of the 1 1/2 hour it should have taken me to get back to Dijon. I even had a whole hour to myself to wander around the lesser known village of Laroche-Migennes; plenty of time to become pleasantly acquainted with all three of the town's inhabitants: a duck, and two old men fishing.

the canal in Laroche.

Small Romance

YES, I spent the afternoon with a handsome frenchie. Yes he bought me some of the famous Berthillion ice cream and yes we kissed ever so sweetly on the bridge with all the locks. (The one where couples write their initials on each one and then throw the key in to the seine. How sickly sweet.)

We met at the Pyramide at the Louvre and blushed and laughed for an hour in a street side cafe nearby, then circumvented the more romantic and interesting sights of the Paris. It was lovely and much much much needed by a romantic animal like myself, but, alas, he left me at the metro where I began my path back to Dijon. I think we're too long distance for success. But I'll happily waste calories clinging to some small shreds of hope that I'll see him again for more of the above.

How did I meet this guy again? Perhaps you are wondering. Via online dating. FOR SHAME!!!!

I know, I know. But I am a girl abroad, after all. Actually I receive an obscene amount of messages every day from less than suitable male and female celebataries, so par my mom's advice, I've decided to start a blog to post the more amusing efforts to break the cybernetic ice. Ye can find its fetal form here: Desperate Men's Messages. Sneaky!

Plants and Paris

Yes, I am in Paris, and naurally the day spent alone in the enormous "city of love" fighting my way to the embassy has yielded a lesson: Paris without a significant other = sad. Perhaps it was just the thunder rolling its way over the Eiffel Tower, or maybe it was the hungry and lonely baby bird I found abandoned in the park who desperately pecked at my hand, but most likely, most likely, it was the incessant amount of hand holding and bench side snuggling that was going down seemingly everywhere I looked. Le sigh. I'm missing K intensely. Like woah, in fact.

And of course it was all a little frightening. I'm a young small animal from an island paradise; enormous cities and their means of public transportation are creatures unknown and unkind to those who probably spent past lives burrowing and nesting near mountain streams or whatever.

I did however accomplish what I came here to do: get these silly power of attorney papers signed at the embassy. And tomorrow I may be meeting up with an adequately handsome member of the opposite sex, so things could be on the upswing before I hop back on the train tomorrow night and retreat to Dijon. I will of course keep you all in the know :)

In other not so exciting news the night before last was my first in my new apartment.. and look at the adorable plants I bought to keep me company at my breakfast table!

Pigeon Party

So I've been rather silent lately, hoping that some epic advent should befall me and I'd have the substance for a literary thrill ride. Alas. er, helas.

What I have done, however, is peacefully and pleasantly enjoy the sunshine these last few days wondering about the warming city. I'm very excited for French spring. (Yes, I'm completely sure it's different from American, Turkish, or Asiatic Spring.) Yesterday I even had the thrill of watching French Pigeons bathe in a French fountain. Aint that just a hoot n a half. See video.

Actually, I am a little overly enthralled by animals, and I happily watched these cuties for a good 20 min while I got my sun dose for the day. You gotta love how it's three cleanly young ladies bathing together and then some jerk male shows up and starts doing spins and dancing and crashes the whole girls' afternoon out. Typical.

News on the apartment: though I waited breathlessly all throughout the day to receive word from the agency that it is indeed within my grasp, no call came. UUUGGGHHUUUHH. Yes, as I have told B many times, I WILL faire le suicide if I must rest any longer in this baking cloud of stench that is B's realm.

Oh! But either way, at least I do get a vacation. I've booked my train tickets up to Paris for next week. I'm staying for three days in the city to get some silly (and relentlessly harassing, I might add) paperwork sorted out at the embassy. I'm staying with a French friend of a French friend from the islands. Hurray! Step two is to arrange some handsome young fellows to take me out and about while I'm there. To those of you who are scoffing: Yes, I think this is perfectly within my online dating power.

I also met some girlies in town yesterday, at long last; one from England and the other two from the states. Mayhaps fate has seen it fit to offer me a cafe' companion at last. One can hope!

The Last Egg

So Hawaii's not too much worse for the wear. My home town's a little flooded, a few people have their houses floating in Kealakekua bay, there were some sea creature casualties, but all are fine and aloha spirit stubbornly remains.

boat house.

Ali'i drive.

I chickened out and cancelled my train ticket to Paris because I was having trouble finding a place to stay. I'm authentically terrified of how my sensitive and irrational self will handle a birthday friendless and moneyless, so I let images of me weeping solitarily in a Parisian hotel room the night of the 16th scare me into cancelling the trip. For now.

I'm also sorely aware that staying here with that wretched stinking creature who lies on the couch ALL DAY and watches tv, (rising every 30 min to don his coat and smoke in the stairwell) is no good for me either. It's so depressing. How does a person like that live with themselves? Why does a person like that even have a name?? In my fury he shall be an "it" for this and potentially the next few posts.

In other negative news I'm turning 23. No longer with the sexy dangerous ring of 22. How I love the number 22. As I'm explaining/complaining to a Greek friend over facebook chat this very moment:

"Aging is much easier on men. You guys are fertile all your lives; aka: women find you sexy all your lives. Women loose it along with the last egg, condemned to a life of non-sexyness."

yes I waste time on worries comme ca.

And last but not least, I transferred some money to K tonight. I talked to him over the phone and he had given his "last dollar to a guy on the street." He drawled on about wanting to die and kill all who worked at insurance companies and banks.

It reminds me of Obi-Wan when he had to fight Anakin and sever his heart strings for his young apprentice because he had gone to the dark side. Obi-Wan still loved Anakin, but he had to accept the the fun loving person he cared about was gone.

I haven't seen the side of K that's the spiritual creative and cuddly man I fell in love with when I was 18 in a year.

"The boy you trained.. gone he is! Consumed by the dark side, young Skywalker has become!"