the substitute . . .

They say it takes years to become truly fluent in French . . . perhaps as long as 10 (although people keep telling me it only takes 8 - a somewhat arbitrary number if you ask me). Perhaps I was a bit naïve to think I might come close in three months. Needless to say I have made tremendous strides in the past month. The first two weeks of school I was in over my head. I had only been in class for two hours when a nice woman from my class pulled me aside on the break and suggested that perhaps I would be more comfortable in the beginner class instead of intermediate.

I suppose she was being kind and wanting to prevent me from further embarrassment, but her "suggestion" made me feel bad all the same. Alors (A common segue meaning "so" which I described in an earlier entry - and if you learn French like me you needed reminding. But that's it! No more reminding, all entries from here on out may contain the word, "alors" with no further definition). Let me start again - Alors, I pulled aside my teacher, Stephanie, and asked her to confirm the opinion of my classmate. She said just to stick it out (of course not in those words, but in French - but after two hours of lessons under my belt, I decided to translate it as "just stick it out".) Looking back, Stephanie may have actually said, "go directly to beginner class, do not pass go" or some alternate witty French directive as Stephanie often gives.

Regardless I stayed in Stephanie's class and decided to wait patiently for the "a-ha" that everyone else had seemed to experience. Stephanie is my favorite teacher at L'Atelier 9. But in all honesty the entire L'Atelier 9 staff is fabulous. The brains behind the operation is Ignacio. A very business savvy man that could probably wheel and deal with the best of them. He has been extremely generous - assisting me with a flat, finding a doctor, not to mention how to make a pot of coffee. Then there is Eric, the other half of the operation, but whom I think of as more of the creative side. He has a Marlon Brando feel . . . so cool, and never without a cigarette. Never not being an exaggeration in the slightest. He teaches the beginner class, a man of few words outside of the classroom, but I bet if I understood French he would be funnier than hell. Sandra teaches the Advanced class, and I am afraid that since I will probably not reach that level, I perhaps will not get to know Sandra well.

But let us return to Stephanie. In addition to being a fabulous chanteuse, she has a theatrical background. This is a great advantage to us - as when we are dumbfounded by the meaning of a word, like vache or rougir . . . she will act them out for us. (Vache is cow and rougir is to blush - so you can only imagine the entertainment of watching charades a la Stephanie.) She is patient (almost always) and speaks the perfect pace for comprehension. From her I have learned all sorts of grammar terms that I mush have slept through in high school such as - imperfect, infinitive, passive, etc. Many of the students here teach English to earn money on the side, but as I struggle to differentiate futur proche from futur simple, I will probably need to seek out other ways to secure wine money.

One day, I was sitting in class - and it happened! (Keep reading, you need a little more background before I tell you what "it" is.) Stephanie and I were in a music mood and she accommodated by turning our daily lesson into a music lesson. We listened to all sorts of French music that day. My first introduction to French tunes (other than the alarm clock set to Radio France since I cannot find my crush, Bret Saunders on KBCO) was to Claude Francois singing "Comme d'Habitude" to the tune of "My Way" by Frank Sinatra. (By the way, Claude was the original before Frank.) Then onto some more tunes by Etienne Daho - I think he is the Madonna of France. (Ok - that was probably a bad comparison - but I can't think of a popular male singer in the States that has survived over time except for Michael Jackson and there are not too many similarities there. Besides I am not sure how much longer Michael Jackson's musical legacy will survive anyway.)

We spent a full day listening to music, intensely trying to interpret the lyrics. Listening to foreign music is a multi-step process.

1. Hit play, stop and rewind. (About 27 times until you recognize most of the words.)
2. Write down the words. (As you hear them. There are too many lyrics in a song to try and hold them all in your head.)
3. Begin translation. (When you find that you have written - "Ce bleu enfin bleu que je trouver dans tes oeuf" which means, "This blue finally blue that I to find in your egg" - you realize you are off a bit.)
4. Ask Stephanie. (Since you already listened to it 27 times my sense is that one more time probably would not help. The line really was "Ce bleu infiniment bleu que je trouvais dans tes yeux." which means, "It's blue everlasting blue that I find in your eyes." So much more sense!)
5. Finally - listen to it one more time. (And sing along! Because if you don't know it by now, then perhaps, learning French is not for you.)

By the way that was a line from the song, Le Grand Sommeil by Etienne Daho. Stephanie does an excellent cover of the song on her album as well. If I figure out how to add a sound byte I will add it to the blog. Needless to say this was my favorite class and I immediately went out and bought some French CDs. (L.R. - I meant to tell you that De Palmas is a super popular singer here! Way to hear about them first!)

That's when "it" happened. It was in this class where my first "a-ha" occurred. Perhaps being immersed in tunes was helpful for me. I am now less shy and talking much more. I even had a fellow student comment on how much confidence I had gained in the last week. Progress!! But then, Stephanie announced that she was going on vacation and we would have a substitute for a week! How could she do this to me - right after my first "a-ha"? She could not leave me! But she did anyway - went off to Greece in fact.

Next Monday morning in walked "the substitute". Ooh la la. Michael! He is quite the looker (in a very European way) and the charmer too. He speaks at twice the speed of Stephanie - actually probably nearer to the speed of sound. I am pretty sure I hear a sonic boom as he finishes each sentence - but that could be my head exploding too. He must be secretly laughing because I think he received nine blank stares from the students on his first day. I do not think one of us had a clue to what he was saying, but it did not really matter, I just ogled anyway and was under the spell of his French charm. I tried speaking some English to him on pose (which is what we call our breaks) thinking I could use some of my American flirtation skills, but he just gave me a blank stare explaining his English was not too good. Hmm that did not bode well for my clever comments and charming come-ons - guess we will just have to rely on the international language of love.

The wonderful part of this story is that I did not lose the "a-ha" I had with Stephanie. In fact, Michael has challenged me in a new way. Oral comprehension. I asked him to speak more slowly once, he crinkled his face and said "Pourquoi? You must get used to the speed of the language." And he is absolutely right. After a week in class with him, I am now able to understand many more words on the rues (street), in the magasins (shops) and on the tele (television). I no longer have to stay up for the Clint Eastwood movies!

Alas the week with Michael is over and we are on Spring Break. I am so excited to welcome Stephanie back and continue down my path of learning, grammar and all. But now I know it is important to expose myself to different voices, speeds and styles. Oh - and for those of you wondering how the story ends with Michael --- well - if you look at L'Atelier 9's new website you can read his bio which explains all.

An excerpt -

Séducteur et pédagogue, son cours est suivi par une horde de jeunes
filles qui ne veulent plus le quitter !

Loosely translated -

Seducer and educator, his course is
followed by a horde of girls who never want to leave him!

So alas, I refuse to be just another broken heart under the spell of a charming French teacher, so I am now on my way out the door to meet a more eligible French man.

A semaine prochaine!

b.

[Disclaimer: I have dangerously given out this blog address to folks in France who may be a part of these stories. While these stories are truthful, I may have taken some liberties with how the story is woven. And for the teachers and students of L'Atelier 9 - these stories are dedicated to you for making these weeks some of my most memorable in a lifetime - and I truly hope you do not mind me sharing.]

P.S. L'Atelier 9 is undoubtedly the best language school in Paris!

P.P.S. (To Mom & Step-Doug - we played a round of French scrabble last week. The first team was able to make a seven-letter word on the opening hand. We drew 5 vowels and had a difficult time holding our own. But your wise instruction has served me well - we scored 30 points with 1 "s" making two words plural and our second highest score was adding the word "bruit" on a triple word tile while making two additional small words on the adjacent tiles thus maximing the score. I will expect my next match with you to be in French also!)

vin, vin, vin et plus de vin . . .

Salut,

I must immediately begin by saying I have found the perfect French junkfood! I think perhaps only my sister understands my fanatical love for Combos - as most people believe they resemble dog treats. So I am writing this first paragraph specifically to my sister. They have this snack - that looks just like a Combo - same size, concept and everything - except instead of a pretzel wrapped around processed American cheese - it is a crispy crepe shell wrapped around processed Gouda! Ah - the French do everything with such style! I promise to bring you some!!

And on to the subject of today's installment - the social life of an unemployed American in Paris. I must start by saying "Je suis beaucoup trop fatigué pour vous écrire aujourd'hui, mais je dois essayer dire ce qu'est une ville d'amusement." (Translation: "I am much too tired to write to you today, but I must try as to tell you what a fun city this is." Besides I have French Combos to refuel my energy - and my iPod set to The Killers.)

I am now in my second week and I have begun to wonder how I will last for three months. Between the endless verre de vin rouge (ou bierre) and my inability to adjust to the time change I cannot imagine how I will make it through the coming months.

First, the time change - on the nights that I am able to sleep at a reasonable hour, I always seem to wake up around 1 a.m. and am unable to fall asleep again until about 4 a.m. To my thrill, there is a little known secret about French television at 1 a.m. They play Clint Eastwood westerns in English at 1 a.m.! This makes me so happy! Clint is right here - speaking English to me. I am in heaven! He is the first person in over a week that I can understand.

The French watch a lot of American television (e.g. Law & Order, Les Experts - which is really CSI - and Days of our Lives always dubbed and never subtitled. Although I have to admit, even I can understand the French DOOL as the pace of a soap opera is much more manageable. In a soap, you have at least a month to interpret a story line before it changes). I heard there was a job opening in Italy for an Italian-dubbed Brad Pitt. I guess dubbing Brad Pitt is an extremely prestigious position in Europe. But here's the truth - no one hates westerns more than I (especially with Clint), but last night's "Hang-Em High" was the best two hours!

(A small reminder to assist me in my quest for sleep --- I never want to deter any phone calls from my favorite American friends and family, but I must remind you that 4 p.m. for you is midnight for me!) (But I still love you dad!)

Oh how I digress, my true reason for the fatigue is this - at 31 my ability to party has tremendously slowed down. Ah - but who am I kidding? Those that know me well, know that I was always the first to bed even in my college days - well heck - even in my high school days. Gosh mom - did I ever even come close to breaking curfew? Good thing it is "cool" (pronounced que-ell here) to be tardy, because I have not made it to class on time all week. So this installment of "the blakely diaries . . ." is a description of my first big party week (and the week is only half over) and what I am afraid will be similar to many weeks to come.

La première nuit -

When I last left you I was on my way to a bar to see my teacher perform in a band called "The Loved Ones" (www.thelovedones.net). I met up with Rachael, her Parisian boyfriend whose name has escaped me, plus Sam, Chris and Tina. What a great night - my first night out on the town. Of course I was decked out in my swankiest party clothes, to arrive at a bar similar to the Pearl Street Pub only 200 years older and with a smoke haze so thick my hot pink, 4-inch heeled, incredibly sexy boots could have looked like big cloldhopper hiking boots and no one would have been the wiser.

The proprietors are a husband and wife team, probably in their early seventies, dressed in après ski gear as if they were plucked directly from the Alps - and so adorable they were. Monsieur Proprietor served me my first Parisian beer - 1667 - or "Seize" for short. It is the French version of cheap Tecate (or PBR for you Miss M.A.) Let me say it could have used a lime.

My teacher, Stephanie is a fabulous chanteuse (singer). It turns out "Passionate Pop" is similar to Elvis Costello meets Bjork meets "grunge". (G.R. - Would make for an interesting collaboration.) I miss live music (!) - something I seemed to have lost with my departure from Seattle that I am happily rediscovering in Paris.

La deuxième nuit -

It was the birthday of Jesi, another gal from L'Atelier 9. She is just turning 25 and a very energetic girl. Her request was to see the Eiffel Tower on her birthday (Each year she makes a birthday stop at a different monument around the world. Not a bad tradition). Alas I made my first trip to the tower in 15 years - and I thought would be an excellent first picture to share with you like the good tourist that I am!

Alors (a frequently used word in French to segue - similar to "so"), Glenn, Jesi and I set out to see the Eiffel Tower at sunset. Sunset! Hmm - I want to know how they got the sunset on the Eiffel Tower postcards before Photoshop was invented. Ok, maybe it's only this time of year, but Paris goes from light gray to dark black - something to do with the extreme cloud cover. During the light gray hours, an overcoat, scarf and hat is needed. During the dark black hours, I would prefer to be wrapped like a burrito in a big fuzzy bear skinned rug.


(Glenn & Jesi in the Latin Quarter)

After staring upward at this magnificent steel structure for at least 10 seconds, we quickly found the metro for the Latin Quarter. (Quick digression - A story about the metro will be forthcoming I promise - as this is where the true experiences of the city life occur.) The easiest way for me to describe the Latin Quarter is to say that it is similar to La Platka in Athens. (Don't worry Aunt Jan - no search party for the American in the red dress was required this time.)

Ok one more digression - I must pause my entry for one minute as I just heard the W.C. (toilet) flush in the hallway and it startles me everytime. The hallway you ask? Yes, I was horrified when I first arrived to see this tiny (teeny) closet in the hallway with a toilet inside. But to my GREAT relief when I received the keys to my flat, I found that it has its own toilet. So why is there a toilet in the hallway? This I do not know. There are two other apartments on my floor and I guess one must not have a toilet.

But the frightening part of this digression is to tell you there is not enough room to close the door to the toilet closet while someone is actually using the toilet. Therefore every time I hear the toilet flush - I think, thank god I was not exiting my apartment as I would not want my first meeting with my neighbor (male I presume - as the seat is always left in the up position) to be like this.

Ok back in the Latin Quarter, we head next to have a dinner, prix fixe - common format in France. I started with the mussels (specialty de belge) and next had the poulet avec pomme frites. But still NO vegetables. Even me, someone who detests vegetables almost gave in at the market yesterday and bought some, but then I wizened up as the reality of me actually cooking is too funny especially since I nearly broke down making grill cheesed sandwiches in Aspen - thank you T.H. and F.S. for pulling me through. Dinner was not bad - not so chic as mes amies et moi were paying attention to our “budgets” that evening. I am still in sticker shock of Paris prices (plus the 30% difference in exchange rates - not in our favor). (E.g. Let's say you order a $10 pizza from Jalino's. In Paris, a $10 Jalino's pizza would cost about 15 Euros. Now add the exchange rate and you are actually paying $20 for the same pizza. It's insanity!)

And for the grand finish to Jesi's birthday - we went to the famous pub - The Frog and the Princess. It was student night. You probably think this means it is the night where students receive a discount - and you are right - it is that night. But there is a dual meaning to student night. (Alors!!! The toilet flushes again! Twice in one story! My neighbor must be drinking too much vin rouge tonight.) Student night is also the night the French come by to flirt with the young American girls doing a semester abroad. (American Translation: "Meat Market") See the French man in between Jesi and I? Too close for comfort - a lot of "close talkers" in France. The advantage of the F & P is that everyone speaks English as it is a British pub, but this is also a disadvantage for us diligent French students.


(Me, "Close Talker", Jesi)

The other disadvantage to a British pub is the patron’s obsession with football (soccer). I guess there was some super big game between Chelsea and Barcelona. The crowds were wild - and to the chagrin of the French men, there were few American girls due to overwhelming display of Brits, drinking ale and rooting for the famous football guy (I am embarrassed I cannot remember his name - but he's supposed to be the best player in the league. - P.C. Can you help me out?) Alas the majority of my night was spent pushing through the sweat of the Londoners, trying to reach the bar for a beer.

Forgetting for a brief moment that I was in a British pub, I order my beer en Francais instead of en Anglais. "Une grande bierre blonde, s'il vous plait." The bartender understands me perfectly and goes to the tap. He pours three beers, must be for the rowdy Brits behind me, but NO! - he brings all three beers to me. I look at him, he looks at me, we both look at the three beers and realize there has been a miscommunication. "Pas de problemme", I say. I will just drink all three - and after a wink - he only charges me for the one. I love student night - three beers for 4 Euros. Thank goodness the last metro train leaves at 12:45 which puts me to bed no later than 1 - for with three beers a serving the night could have gone south fast had I stayed out any later. (C.L. - Sorry for my multiple drunk dials - just wanted to share the fun!)

La troisième nuit -

This brings me to my third night out so far this week - my favorite night thus far - a grand dinner at La Tournelle organized by my school. My school is très hip - everyone is young, cool (teachers included) and all know how to have a good time.


(L'Atelier 9 - Intermediate Class)

[Break for school picture - cast of characters from left moving clockwise - Lill-Anne (Norwegian), Jessica (Mexican) not to be confused with Jesi (American/Thai) from the beginner class, Sam (Iowa/California), Stephanie (the instructor), Chris' empty seat (he is taking the picture - from Ohio - and whose girlfriend Tina is in the advanced class), Cheri (California), Glenn (California) et moi! This picture was taken in our classroom - in a very funky/swanky Parisian flat that houses the school. We are in the intermediate room, taking a typical lesson and taking turns making sarcastic Bush jokes. No fans of Le Chef aux Etats-Unis here.]


(Example of Pot au Feu)

Back to the event - on this particular evening we were all having, Pot au Feu. (Unfortunately, this pic from the web does not do the presentation of La Tournelle justice.) "Pot au Feu" you say? Qu'est-ce que c'est? It began as a traditional French dish that was served when money was tight. The not so "choice" cuts of the cow are cooked in a bouillon anywhere from 3 to 5 hours causing de bouef (the meat) to become very tender - falling off the bones that are found in the soup as well. Whole vegetables are added, such as leeks, carrots and potatoes - and voila! Pot au Feu. But PLEASE do not imagine this like Dinty Moore beef stew. Oh contraire. It is a beautiful dish, the bouillon is très riche and as a treat there is a large bone placed in the middle of your bowl from which you extract the marrow to spread on your bread. Bone marrow is a delicacy that I will now forever adore. As Sam explains, the French respect every part of the animal - meaning they cook and eat it all. (I have a new respect for Riley - the newest addition to the Reeves family, who can fight for hours to get to the core of a good bone.)


(Dinner at La Tournelle)

But to really understand how special the evening was is to admire the way in which we dined. We were seated close to 10 p.m. As we were seated we were provided un apertif - Murat. This is similar to a thick, sweet wine meant to open your taste buds. After the Murat, the Pot au Feu was served with fresh bread, beurre et un bon vin rouge. Water is never served unless specifically requested, thus the wine is sipped slowly but continuously throughout the meal. It is a pleasant complement and not meant as a tool for drunkenness. After the dinner the desserts are served. I have never been a fan of cakes, tarts, pies, etc. so I chose a cup of coffee instead. A petit cup is served with a shot of espresso - much denser than the espresso in the States - even Vics on Broadway. The flavor is superb, the portion is perfect and served with a madeline. After everything is cleared a digestif is served. This is the opposite of the apertif - instead of opening your taste buds, this is meant to "casse du café" which is roughly translated as to push the coffee through your system. Meaning, since coffee was the last thing you drank, it helps push the coffee plus anything consumed prior to it all the way through your digestive track. Somewhat unappetizing to imagine (and to drink) - but helpful for a good night sleep after such a rich meal.

Although quite a bit of alcohol is served, the meal lasts for several hours - so not a night of drunken debauchery. (We did not leave the table until after half past 1 a.m.) Instead, you arrive home content, full, warm and very much ready for bed. The meal, the drink - packaged with the perfect company - for me is the meaning of life here in Paris and a tradition I hope to carry forward upon my return home. I cannot say enough about the delight I had in discovering the appreciation the French have for frequent evenings such as the one at La Tournelle.

Oh but how time runs away on nights like these. I completely forgot about the last train and had to take a taxi. Like everything else in Paris a taxi ride is very expensive. Next month I have decided to move closer in so on nights such as these I can hoof it home. But to my delight I had a fabulous taxi driver that was happy to practice French with me. Although I will admit he asked me if I had initially given him directions to my flat in French - which I had. Eventually I just wrote the address down for him. You trying saying rue de Reuilly in French. Between the "R" that is said in such a fashion that one might assume you are "hacking a big loogie" and the double "l's" which is pronounced as a long "e" - c'est est très difficle. But as soon as I got into the groove he understood me perfectly and we had an amiable conversation.

Please do not be too concerned for me - these parties are just another way that I must immerse myself into the French culture. Le vin, vin, vin et plus de vin is a burden I must endure. Let me more clearly explain - even at home the French drink mostly bottled water. A typical bottle of water is about 3 Euros 50 --- yet most bottles of wine are 1 or 2 Euros!!! This is incredible. Translation - It is cheaper for the French to drink wine that water and thus you can begin to understand the importance of my alcohol induced immersion to the French nightlife.

Alors, now it is time to switch the iPod over to a little Nick Drake and commence my afternoon nap - I am exhausted.

A semaine prochaine,

b.

my story begins . . .

Dear Friends,

How to begin . . . I had envisioned my first entry on my arrival to Paris to be a poetic journey describing the romance of this city . . . but alas this would be a lie as my first few days have been everything practical and nothing the least bit romantic. So this is where my story must begin, with the practical mishaps of learning to live in a foreign country.

But first, let me back up to the drive to the airport. As my dear Dad was approaching the departure loading zone - I received one last phone call on my American cell phone. A much dreaded call from my doctor informing me that after several consultations over 8 weeks, that his diagnosis was incorrect and in fact the MRI I had insisted upon showed a complete sever to my ACL to which surgery is required for repair. As you can imagine, this news (and timing) was distressing -

1. I had just left my company and insurance (although there is hope for Cobra),
2. I was on my way to Paris to endure three months of walking on a bum knee and finally,
3. Surgery terrifies me. On the bright side, Pairs is ahead of me, my knee will just have to tough it out and surgery will have to wait.

Now fast forward . . . I arrive in Paris (the next day) and voila! It is snowing and very cold - East Coast cold not sunny Colorado cold. I arrive at my flat and find myself with two bags (one marked HEAVY from the BMI agent who lectured me on the inappropriateness of my packing) and three extremely steep spiral staircases to climb. So one bum knee, two heavy suitcases and three step staircases. I put on my iPod, turned the dial to Queens of the Stone Age (because you need rock music to climb stairs) and I managed to make it up with both suitcases in only four songs which is about 10 minutes but these were very steep stairs.

My apartment (which I have an exterior picture that I will post soon) --- take the size of an average American bathroom, double it and you can imagine the size of my studio (and not worthy of an interior photograph.) It is cozy as we say back home but it is home sweet home all the same - however, for those of you wishing to visit, I would recommend waiting until next month after I upgrade.

The next day I successfully buy a Metro pass and am on my way to school. (S.T. - Remember the Hanson concert? Well if you were wondering what happened to them, I am happy to say they are alive and well, touring in France - with posters blasted all over the metro.) I follow the "Sortie" signs up more steep stairs and find myself in the heart of an old Parisian arrondisement (neighborhood). I am in wool pants, turtleneck, hat, gloves, scarf, coat and boots, but still the snowy/wet weather penetrates through all of my clothing and freezes me to the core - but finally - finally I feel like I have arrived! The buildings are stunning, so old and majestic, the streets are quaint, narrow and lovely, full of boulangeries and brasseries. The shops are beautiful, the smell of fresh croissants is wonderful - but argh - I am so turned around! What is this? Who decided to arrange Paris in an outward spiral where no street is perpendicular to the next? It is on my list to discover the meaning behind this - to confuse dumb Americans, n'est pas? (I think I am finally understanding what you guys did at CV - to plan against spirals, yes?)

But here is the beauty of it all, after being lost for nearly an hour making my way through the tangled web of rues and boulevards - I was the first to arrive at school! How could this be? Hmm - guess the French are not caught up on punctuality. (Dad - you would go crazy!) The French are going to force me into relaxation. It is perfectly normal to show up 30 minutes late for school, fix a cup of coffee (un cafe creme pour moi), converse for another 15 minutes and then perhaps commence class (plus you get a mid-morning 30 minute break to run down and grab a quick snack from the closest boulangerie).

For those of you still reading, I will not bore you with too many more stories as you can just as easily imagine my first few days spent trying my best to communicate with only un peu de francais --- to buy a phone card (sorry we were cut off Dad), a knee brace (a story in and of itself) and food! I ordered a Tarte au Fromage and ended up with a chicken sandwich. (A Tarte au Fromage is a cheese quiche - not sure how I ended up with chicken.) The one area I have not been successful in is in the purchase of a hairdryer! Where do you buy hairdryers in France??? (M.O. - I SO miss our trips to Target!) Also, I do not recommend storing Camembert cheese in a small studio. Although this cheese is very popular here it reeks of bad broccoli which is unpleasant to come home to. (By the way T&T - I am afraid I will have to update our New Year's pact - as I cannot find any vegetables in Paris.)

Last night (my second night in France) I was unable to sleep. My heart was racing all night as the hours ticked by - 1 a.m., 2 a.m., 3 a.m. - it reminded me of my anxiety attacks of days past when overwhelmed with the perpetual Inbox. What is the cause? At first I thought perhaps I was nervous for the day and new experiences ahead but I think perhaps I am a bit homesick already. I had one of my most favorite weeks last week - how lucky was I to spend so much time with my dearest friends. I watched our videos from Aspen around 4 a.m. and found I miss you all terribly! Who could not miss friends that play dancing Karaoke Yahtzee or something like that! :) I miss you all and cannot wait to return and see you all again . . . but not yet!!!

And now as soon as my iPod finishes this Keane song, I am off to meet Rachael and Sam. We are going to see my French teacher, Stephanie perform in a band at a cafe in Montparnasse. The genre is "Passionate Pop". That is French for something in between Rock and Pop.

A bientot!

b.

p.s. (new pictures coming soon . . . )