L'Opera Bastille

Tonight, finally, the ballet. We saw John Neumeier's choreography of Mahler's Third Symphony. It was very focused on the lines made by the dancers: they would generally move, then hold the pose while others changed around them, giving the stage a kind of kaleidescope effect. The first two movements used all male dancers, and the athleticism was spectacular. It's also the first time I've been to the Opera Bastille, and while it may lack the charm and the grandeur of the Palais Garnier, it's a well-functioning opera house. The stages revolve in all four theaters, so that while one stage is set up for a certain ballet, the other side of that stage can be dressed or used for rehearsal. The aucoustics are fantastic, and so are all of the sight lines.
Our sight line included two men sitting right in front of us, separated by a woman who accompanied one of them. The guy on our left turned on his cell phone so that he could use the light to see his program, and the guy on our right reached over and slapped his hand. So the cell-phone-guy put said cell phone up to the other guy's face TWICE and got it slapped away. First of all, let me assure you that these were men in at least their sixties, and not 10-year-old boys (as one might assume). Also, note that cell-phone-guy made his move not just once, which was ballsy enough, but twice. I would have started laughing out loud if I wasn't absolutely sure that I, too, would get slapped.

Notably Gruesome

Today, Katie and I went to the Musée Histoire de la Medecine. It's small, only one long room, but there are any number of grimly fascinating things. They have the surgical kit from Napoleon's autopsy, old medical devices that look like they might kill you, and this lovely specimen:
Sorry, not a very good picture. Lots of glare. But you can obviously see the mummified foot bound in silver in the middle. Now, prepare yourself: that mosaic IS NOT tile: it is made of vertabrae, four ears, and other assorted bones all grouted with dried blood, bile, and pus. I'll just leave you to ponder that.

The Acclaimed Paris Flea Markets

You know how everyone who has lived in/been to/heard of Paris sings the mighty praises of its flea markets? While that's mostly a load of crap, because Parisian dealers are not stupid and will not give you valuable antiques for, say, 2 euros, there are exceptions. Today Katie and I went to the Marché aux Puces de Clingancourt. First finds: a beautiful 1930's Bakelite necklace and a 1860's shellac hair pin. The store I bought them in just opened today, lucky enough, and the two men who own the shop were so pleased to see us that they spent quite a while talking to us about the various types of plastics used in antique jewelry, using books to fill in where my broken French failed us. Lots of fun. Their website is www.les2collectionneurs.com, if you would like to see their beautiful things. But soft, what is this in Stall 34? It's a mid-19th century lacquered sewing box in beautiful condition. I loved it even before I saw this:Yes, indeed, those are my initials engraved on the lid. How JEALOUS are you right now?
So now I, too, get to sing the (somewhat more reasoned) song of the flea-market-lovers, because I have my very own treasure to bring back. Or rather, to bring to my new home in Chicago. I don't know where I'll be living, but I assure you that the sewing box will look perfect there.

In the Hall of Mirrors, One Sees Only One's Self

On Thursday, I played hooky (again) so that Katie and I could go to Versailles. It's impressive, as it's meant to be. They did a humongous restoration of the Hall of Mirrors, but it did not do much to improve the quality of the glass. But blurry or not, that's us, with our cameras and audioguides in full tourist mode.
After finishing up at the Château, Katie wanted to go out to the Grand and Petit Trianons. Since it was ass-cold outside, I suggested we take the little train and save ourselves the half-hour walk. But no, Katie says, you're lazy, let's walk. So we walk, but by the time we get there, noses numb, they've just closed, giving us the treat of a half-hour walk back. On that walk, I hurt my foot and it starts to rain heavily. Katie, being a smart girl, stayed about ten paces in front of me the entire time in order to stay out of bludgeoning range.

Sainte Chapelle

So Katie Carter got here on Sunday. She's been a trooper of a tourist. Yesterday, she climbed Notre Dame in the morning, and after I was out of school, we went to Sainte Chapelle. Katie was appropriately impressed, and I was as fascinated as ever. It's so PRETTY and SHINY. It wasn't that sunny of a day, but that was kind of for the best, because you can really see the images in the stained glass without blinding yourself.
My favorite place is the canopy of honor for the Crown of Thorns (no longer extant. Well, not that they had the real one in the first place, but you know what I mean). I find it fitting that a man (St. Louis, or Louis IX of France) who spent his life having people murdered in the Crusades would take a trophy that also would have blood on it. I hadn't noticed before how many of the scenes in the windows are of Saracens being beaten or beheaded. But for such a bloody man, he made a pretty place.

The Daily Grind

I know I've been AWOL. Really, I suspect that it doesn't matter much because my parents are the only ones who read this, and I talk to them all the time anyway. But there hasn't been a whole lot to report. The romance of Paris has subsided into a daily routine of French grammar and unpronouncable vowel sounds. This classroom is where I spend my days. Let me break it down for you.

7AM--Get up. It's really freakin' early.
8--Take the metro to school.
8:15--Climb up four floors to my classroom.
8:30-10:30--Grammar with these lovely people and my lovely teacher, Mdme Paquellin.
10:30-11:30--Mass migration of the entire class to a café for an hour break.
11:30-12:30--Phonetics class (with a separate teacher), where we repeat things until they approximate the correct sounds.
12:30-2:30--Back up the stairs, two more hours of grammar.

After class, I run errands, go to the grocery store, occasionally make my way somewhere interesting, or go back home to read my book. Then I have dinner, watch TV episodes downloaded from iTunes, do my homework, go to bed.

I should note that while this all might sound crushingly boring, it's actually not (well, except from 1:30 to 2:30. By that time, I really want out of that place.). The people who make up my class are from all over the world, and I find each one fascinating. We have a really good time; we speak English when we're not in class, because while only a few of us are native English speakers, everyone is pretty fluent. Everyone is fun and welcoming. We laugh a lot, we go for coffee or drinks, and we go out on the weekends together. It's quite a little expat community. I'll tell you all about them.