At last, I have internet access chez moi and can start my long-promised blog. Because I'm sure my adoring fans are dying of anticipation....

So I've been in Paris a week now. Strange to think about... it feels like much longer. If I had to give a one-word answer for what Paris is like I would say "astonishing." It is not perfect; far from it. But it does really astonish me at every turn.

I think my favorite thing about Paris is that it seems to be, above all else, a city of small pleasures. Despite its size, history, monuments, and everything else, my favorite parts of being here involve small acts. It is a fantastic city for reading. My first day here I was walking around and I told myself, "never again will I be without a book in Paris." I feel like there are places everywhere that just beg you to sit down and read. I have Middlesex with me and spent a lot of this weekend reading it, a hundred pages here, a hundred pages there; a café in Montparnasse, the sculptured gardens between the Palais Royal and the Louvre, and (my favorite place of all) the banks of the Seine.

Can I talk for a moment about how much I love the river? I'm a sucker for any water city. This one, however, is particularly charming. Can there be a better place to stroll than the stone quays lining the banks? Especially at sunset, they're impossibly lovely. It's not just a tourist thrill either; the Parisians clog the banks for walks. Young people bring down their wine bottles and spread out blankets; hippies play guitars. It's pleasant. I finished Middlesex there this afternoon. Anyhow. I like how the river is literally the centerpiece of the town, and how it defines the city as well. I've always heard of the Right Bank and Left Bank of Paris, but I didn't realize (though it seems obvious now) that they are oriented to the current of the Seine, and the way the city would appear if you were just floating through.

Life here is extremely pleasant. There are flowers everywhere, walkers take precedence over drivers, it's easy and manageable to get around, etc. For me it is especially pleasant because I have no class yet, more or less. I think my schedule is going to be Monday through Wednesday, and we didn't start class until Wednesday next week, and we have Monday off this week because of Easter. I can't believe that I'm lucky enough to spend time here and call it school!

Anyhow. I'm being kind of serious and guidebook-esque right now and not saying too much specific. It's been such a busy week! Let me jot down at least some details of my actual life here.

:: My language partner totally ditched me. We all got to choose from a list of activities to do with our language partners, and the people at our host school (ISEP, a really selective engineering school, pretty much the Caltech of France) chose from the same list, and Stanford matched us up that way. I chose "Gardens of Paris" for my activity. Anyhow, the people at the host school pretty much treat the language partner program as a dating service, which works well (from their perspective!) because the Stanford program is almost all girls and ISEP is almost all guys. I think mine probably chose "Gardens of Paris" thinking it was a sure bet to get some ditzy girl, and then got my name and decided it wasn't worth it. Whatever! Screw him. :) I'll visit the damn gardens by myself. And talk to myself while doing it. In broken French. Hell yeah.

:: Kinder Bueno bars are the most delicious candy bar in the history of the world, and the vending machines on the Métro platforms sell them in discounted double packs. I am in heaven. But these very same vending machines have eaten my change on two separate occasions... I fear they are very much Tragedy and Comedy in vending machine form.

:: I can't decide if my dorm room is more like a solitary confinement cell in a prison or an insane asylum. It is not pleasant. The floor, for example, is a mixture of hard square tiles and cement. Except some of the tiles are shattered into pieces and tumble around whenever I walk across the floor. The mattress is perhaps two inches thick; it makes a Stanford mattress look like a Serta. But the room is private, and I get a sink, and it's a big, bright single, so whatever. They put me here because they didn't think a host family would be able to handle my vegetarian ways, and I'm enjoying making my own food; if I can find a way to practice my French I think it'll be a good situation.

:: Tonight I went out to eat with some friends and, when I ordered in French ("la penne au pistou, s'il vous plaît," or something along those lines), she responded in English, "that's just pasta with basil, okay?" This illustrates two frustrations. One. Why did she answer in English? This happens to us all the time (even the people who speak French pretty damn well). It's like, lady. If I speak to you in French I want to hear an answer in French. Not English. Ça va? Anyhow. This is also the attitude towards vegetarianism I have encountered. Notice the undercurrent of speechless horror. "It's just noodles! And herbs! No meat!!!" Yes, je sais bien. Oh well. I suppose that's why I cook for myself in this freakin' dorm.

Hmm, disjointed, I think; this whole blog thing is new to me! I think that'll be the first entry... thanks for reading if you did.