Wet Wednesday

Salut from rainy Paris! Another day down, and I am one hot mess of frizz. I've decided that if anyone on my program doesn't know my name yet, I can imagine them asking another student "Oh, that girl with the bad hair?" and get an affirmative. I'll own up to it. It's not good.

Well, today was an eventful day. After getting caught in yet another rainstorm last night, we (a few girls in the program and I) made our way home, went to sleep, but were awoken at 7am by the fire alarm. The most hostile alarm sound you could ever imagine. Turns out it was nothing, perhaps a silly fellow tourist made it go off by mistake, but what a way to start the day: a bajillion people from different countries around the world rushing out of their hostel rooms in varying states of undress, worrying we'd all be burned to death. This was then followed by a return back to our rooms, where I subsequently fell back asleep, woke up again, and took a shower. But this was not just any shower. This was the shower in which I decided that I couldn't take it anymore and I needed to shave my legs. For a visual, our shower is like a human-sized plastic tube with a cylindrical shower-head that grazes the top of my hair when I stand under it. I knew this would be no easy feat; needless to say, I emerged after a few minutes, the color red dripping all down my legs in (I counted) 11 different spots. I suppose now I can imagine the aforementioned conversation going: "Hmm... Victoria... I don't know her. Oh, that girl with the bad hair and scabies?"

But believe it or not, friends, Paris is not all about humorously awful hostel bathrooms and inclimate weather. Oh no. The actual important part of this day was our trip to the Senat (the Senate, if that didn't register with you). We took the RER to the Luxembourg Palace, a beautiful building that requires you to walk around an entire garden just to get past it, to then be met at the Senat by Maria and a tour guide, (Pierre, of course). Cold, wet, and cut-up, I followed Pierre with the rest of my class into a small room where "un petit film" commenced, introducing the basics of their Senate building to us. The petit film, for anyone who is wondering, is actually a filmed tour of the Senat, led by two computer-generated children characters who can fly (activating a sparkly sound effect), as well as a smaller video box in the corner of the screen featuring a woman acting out the movie in sign language. Let me just say, she was really into it. When our virtual tour guides had to creep into a quiet room to overhear the senators in conversation, this woman crept as well. We all laughed... I don't think we were supposed to laugh, frankly.

Regardless, the Senat was beautiful. Everything is a lavish as you can imagine - gilded walls, velvet chairs, and lots of older Frenchmen in suits with manilla envelopes discussing things in very hushed voices. The history of the building is actually quite interesting: When Maria de' Medici came to France to marry Henry IV, she hated Paris. She hated the Louvre, she hated the smell of the Seine, she hated the dreary, cold weather, it all disgusted her. In order to make herself happy, Maria requested that she be built a home that was inspired by Florentine architecture and interior design in hopes that it would remind her of her dear, sweet, native Italy. However, one of the cooler French aspects of the building that was added after Maria de' Medici's death is the painted dome on the ceiling of the library, done by Eugene Delacroix. I certainly wouldn't complain if I had to look at that every day.

As for tonight, I have something very exciting to do.... drum roll please.... homework. For some reason, my idea of studying abroad never included homework because it always seemed like acclimating to a foreign country and living with a host family was work enough. Alas, I have grammar exercises in a bizarre book from Gibert Joseph due tomorrow, and I'm frankly happy to have a night in. I can take a moment to send my sister Caitlin good moving-to-New-York vibes, but try not to be too sad that I'm not there to help her. Maybe if I get cranky enough, I can get someone to build ME a beautiful mansion inspired by Westport, Connecticut that will later be turned into government facility. That sounds like a possibility, doesn't it?