Before I really delve into the meat of this post, I'd like to take a moment to mention the wonders of this hostel, (also known as the CISP)...
Plain and simple, the people who work here are mean. Now, I'm not complaining. "Free" room and board (courtesy of my tuition - thanks so much, guys) in Paris does not come easily, so I feel blessed to have a week here with my group from school to help us get a little bit acclimated. But to those of you who work at the front desk and in the cafeteria: I hate you. Thank you for working in an establishment that sees non-French-speaking travelers day in and day out, but refusing to help anyone. Love, Victoria.
Aside from the fact that the only thing the hostel serves for breakfast is one mini-croissant per person, (you're not allowed to have more than that; I learned the hard way) and pastries for breakfast unfortunately interrupt my entire gastrointestinal system daily, I'm enjoying myself. At this point, if the worst thing I can say is that my baby pastry for breakfast makes my stomach hurt, I think I'm doing pretty well.
Yesterday, I visited Les Printemps and Les Galeries Lafayette with Jillian, two enormous shopping centers that much like Barney's or Saks Fifth Avenue, except on French steroids. I drooled over most everything in the multi-tiered buildings, and watched as chubby Parisian viking-clones purchased expensive Prada purses for their waifish dates. Although I'm not always big on crowds, Jillian and I spent a considerable amount of time examining all that these places had to offer and dreamt of the day that the circular display table of Repettos (210 euro here) would be mine.
As for today, I finished off my mini-croissant and went off to meet the infamous Veronique Du Parc, my teacher for the rest of the semester. Important detail of this experience: Today marks another labor strike for Paris, (we all know how the French hate to work), and it took us 2 hours to get somewhere that should've taken 30 minutes because employees up and left their positions as Metro drivers. Gotta love their joie de vivre, right? Upon finally arriving at Le Forum, an old boarding school that now seems to host infrequent French classes in bizarre, beat-up, basement classrooms, there was Maria and soon there was Madame Du Parc! I'll put this easily: She is as nice as I was told she would be. She's tiny, she's blonde, and she's one of the friendliest people I've ever met. Sure, class was 4 hours long, but at least the woman can make it interesting.
In an effort to make these posts less laborsome for you few readers, I'll stop here. If there's one thing I can tell you, it's this: When you get a chance to go to a bar in Paris, order a demi-peche. It's delicious, it's cheap, and you sound cool when you order it.
Last but not least, my final word is for my friends and family who read this: I miss you all.
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