Goodbye, my dear Paris.

This will be my last post in this blog, for the time has come to leave my fair city of love.

My quest to find employment was actually rather successful... My quest to renew my visa, however, was not. Due to some ridiculous changes in immigration laws, I was unable to renew my visa, and am now forced to return back to America. I am disappointed not to be staying in France, but.. a bit relieved at the same time.

I have created a new life for myself throughout the past two years living here. I've had crazy adventures, wonderful voyages, and developed quiet a few important relationships. I've had a mentality that my life is here. France is where I belong. Now that the reality of ending this chapter of my life has set in, I've begun to realize that I also belong in the States. I miss my family terribly. I've neglected more than a fair share of very important friendships. There are quite a number of things that I will be extremely happy about upon my return-- such as less administrative bullshit, not being a foreigner, no language barriers, and of course, not losing money because of a poor exchange rate. I'll be able to buy foods that I love, drive my car (once I renew my license, of course), celebrate major (and minor) holidays with my family, find a job much more easily, and get back in touch with my roots. I am sad to be leaving, though. I'll miss buying a fresh baguette, grabbing a café with my friends, roaming through narrow winding cobblestone streets, and leading a rather independent lifestyle.

I can honestly say that I have lived each day as if it were my last. I've done everything that I wanted to do, seen the sites I wanted to see, and developed relationships that I've only dreamed of having.

My heart holds a very special place for Paris, and always will. This city isn't going anywhere, and I can always come back. Perhaps in a year I will apply to do my masters here... or perhaps a company will sponsor my visa and I can make my glorious return. But, for the moment, I have to continue my great adventure known as life. I'm excited for a new chapter in my life to start. I have big dreams for myself, and expect many great things to come. Who knows, perhaps you will find me in New York City, or maybe back in Boston, or possibly on the West Coast? Nothing is certain, but I'm ready for whatever the future has in store for me.

And with that, my dear blog readers, I bid you a bittersweet goodbye. It's been the experience of a lifetime.

Je vous embrasse très fort,
Dena

The life of the unemployed ex-pat

Alas, 'tis time for some life updates, n'est-ce pas?

Real quick, as my internet connection barely exists, I'd like to fill ya'll in on what's happening in life.
Firstly, I'm still seriously unemployed. I'm talking... no babysitting jobs, not even a job scooping ice cream (which we all know is my true trade). It's been pretty rough on me, to be honest. I've sent out countless resumés, contacted tons of alumni, and just networked until I could network no more. As of today, I've had two interviews... which, is fairly depressing.

Perhaps I'm really full of myself, but I think that my profile is rather unique. Afterall, I do have a French bachelors, plus I speak English, and I have some pretty weighty internship experience... so why am I not getting hired? Oh, right, because the economy SUCKS.

As of right now, the game plan is to find a job, and stay in Paris.
I wish I had more updates to give you... but I lead a rather boring life. I sleep in late (because I can... mwahaha), eat something, putz around my studio, apply to some jobs, go outside, wander, see my friends, and most likely have a drink. Let's just say that happy hour has become my favorite kind of hour. And no, not just because of the alcohol... I really enjoy the whole atmosphere of happy hour. People are tired, getting out of work, and just want to kick back and have a nice drink. It's like a mini-thanksgiving every day! Sitting around a table with loved ones, and giving thanks to all that surrounds you. Plus, since I lead a rather solitary lifestyle, being with my friends during this time is quite a treat.

Even though I'm not doing much with my life, I still really, and I mean REALLY, love this city.
That's all for now. I suppose I'll write when I'm a little more inspired.

bisous

My Paris.

At the ripe age of 23, I find myself still experiencing firsts. Today, for the first time in my life, I went to the cinema to watch a movie by myself. It was the best decision that I've made in a long time.

I had been yearning to see Woody Allen's latest movie "Midnight in Paris" for a while now. To much disappointment, most of my friends had already seen it. Some loved it, some hated it. Their opinions didn't phase me though, for my desire to see this film has relentlessly teased me each time I pass a cinema or billboard.

I do not particularly wish to write a movie review, for I am under-qualified and frankly couldn't be bothered. Is "Midnight in Paris" Allen's finest production according to critics? Most likely, it is not. To me, however, this movie struck my core.

I've been ignoring this blog for a while now, using "being busy" as an excuse. Truth be told, I've been uninspired. I was sick of writing about my mundane daily activities, or the places that I traveled to. I felt no desire to share the course of my life events with you because quite frankly, life has become somewhat of a routine. Go to school, do some work, finish school, move to Paris, be anxious about the uncertainties of life and where I'm headed, apply for jobs, be confused about myself...

Until now.

As I write this now, my eyes well with tears. Never have I felt so at home in a place where I have nothing that binds me. I have no family here, no job, soon to have no visa. I've made some friends over the past two years, granted. However, from my experiences, friendships can be everlasting, or relative to a certain point in your life. As sad as this might seem, I know that many of the friendships I currently have will be lost two changing lifestyles and lack of communication. It is a sad reality that I am faced with, and has started to haunt me over the past few weeks as I live alone in my lovely studio next to the Luxembourg Gardens. I've been going about my daily routine, lost in a city that I knew I once loved, unsure if it still loved me and I it.

Paris will forever be my city of wonder and uncertainty, of mystery and cliché, of confidence and doubt, and above all, of love. If I recall correctly, I once blogged about the movie "Paris, je t'aime" and how in one vignette, an aging American single post-women is trapped in a life of loneliness. One day, while sitting in a park, she realizes that while she does not have a significant other to love or share experiences or feelings with, Paris, this marvelous city that moves my entire being, loves her, and she loves it.

I cannot accurately describe what this city does to me, or why she affects my soul so strongly. While I sometimes feel so lost in this condensed city of scowling, thin Parisians, Hausmann-style apartments cloistered together on nautilus-shaped, nonsensical streets, and the lingering smell of cigarette smoke and freshly baked baguettes that is magically disgusting and wonderful, I know that in the deepest part of my being, my heart truly and undoubtedly is in Paris.

As I sat in the tiny theater just around the corner from my house, watching the 2pm showing of Midnight in Paris, a rush of emotions took over me. Tears pricked my eyes as I watched scenes shot in the neighborhoods I've come to know and discover. While the storyline is whimsical and fantastical, the fantasy is somewhat my reality. In the movie, the protagonist is an author, and dreams of living in Paris in the 20's. While I am neither author nor painter, and am fully aware that I will not be able to visit a different period in time, the message in the movie is clear and true to me. You do what you want to do, and you live in the place that makes you feel like nowhere else can.

Like the protagonist in the movie, I know where I belong. That place is, and will always be, Paris.

Welcome home.

(Up)(Down)(All around)dates

Tis the season of nervous breakdowns, fa la la la la la la la la.

I've got a lot of things cookin' right now. Here's basically what my life has come to:
1)My thesis
2)Classes
3)Figuring out my future (getting a job vs getting an internship, moving to Paris/how to stay in Europe and legally find employment/going back home to work/where would I live...)

My thesis is going nowhere fast. I'm so far behind on it and starting to freak out. It's my own fault. I love the subject, have done my research, and now it's time to buckle down and write.

So, on that note... I'm still alive and this blog definitely still exists, for those of my few and concerned readers.
'K. I'm done procrastinating. Time to get my thesis groove on!

Ellen, remembered

It's easy to remember the last of your days. Days filled with sterile gauze, endless drawers of morphine and vicoden. Days filled with short cropped hair that fell freely, like a bird molting its feathers. Days filled with pail, ashen skin, yellow fingernails, and gray pyjama outfits. Days of me caring for you, as if the roles had turned and now I was your mother. Those days, the most painful, are for some reason the easiest to remember. But there were so many other days. So many better days.

Days of long, slender fingers gently sweeping over ivory keys as you played Bridge Over Troubled Water for the umpteenth time. Days of hair-dye stained Ojai peach tee-shirts and ratty jungle beach towels. There were days where you did jumping jacks up and down the black and white tiled hallway floor singing every single verse to What Do You Do With A Drunken Sailor.

There were weekends of crossword puzzles. Of whole-grain wheat bread grilled cheese sandwiches. Of coffee ring stains on the kitchen table.

There were summers of hopeful gardening, though never successful enough to look like our neighbors' gardens. There were the warm nights where we would catch you jumping on the trampoline. The hot days of tunafish sandwich car-picnics to Wrenthem for the always agonizing shopping trips.

There were years of secretly buying Auntie Ethel's Hanukkah presents for us in the hopes that the prefect gift might somehow unite us, even for just once a year. There were years worth of beige, eggplant, brown, black, and gray clothing from Chicos... because it was just oh so fashionable. There were years of Chicken Pad Thai from 4 Seasons. Of having 9834578923 billion pads of post-it notes in your desk drawer. Years of skiddamarinkydinkydinks and Grungetta imitations. Of cold winter nights warmed up by the seemingly random dinner of baked potatoes and broccoli with cheddar cheese sauce.
Years of alternating sleeping flat on your face with Cleo the cat perched just on the nape of your neck/shoulders, or falling asleep on the downstairs couch with the TV on.

There were years of Special Time. Of secrets told. Of distant memories enlightened. Of walking on the ceiling. Years of peanut M&Ms and porcelain dolls. Years of "being allergic" to nail polish even though you totally weren't. Years of snuggling, and nest making.

And holidays. Passover 10 plague reinactments, complete with ping-pong ball "hail" and beanie-baby cows. Thanksgivings when porch-frozen soda bottles exploded to the heavens, when marshmallows flowed freely across Bernice's spotless oven. Years of building the Sukkah, of creating our own Menorahs. Birthdays.. I turned 14 and you were in the hospital going through chemo. That sucked. But, there was also the birthday when you had to run to Stop and Shop and buy a new cake because the dog ate the one left out on the counter. Or the birthday that we did arts and crafts dolls. Or my rollerskating birthday when you got me an amazing Winne the Pooh cake from BJs and I thought it was THE coolest thing ever.

We had adventures. Our 1800 mile New Mexico exploration. Bicker bicker bicker. The days when you brought us into Boston with you and let us play with the cute deaf babies in the nursery. Remember how sometimes while talking to us you would also start signing too? Summers in Virginia at Colonial Williamsburg with Amanda and Ms Malone. That fateful summer when the Saab's clutch broke (again) and we ended up for the first time at Wayside with the gang.

Remember that time you reamed Diane Newman because she complained that Hannah was too tall and was blocking her from being seeing by the congregation? Remember having tea parties with our teapot/mug combos that we bought from Christmas Tree Shop?

You sometimes called Mema "Ma" and I always thought it was funny. You always stayed up with me and helped me finished my school projects even though I started them the night before they were due... every time. You would always tell me I was beautiful even though we both knew I was beyond fat. And I believed you.

You were the only person I ever met to wear hard contact lenses. Your glasses were always crooked because you fell asleep with them on. Once in a while you would show me your original Barbie from when you were little. It was such a treat for me.

When the Shores came to visit, your usual carefree persona turned nearly Nazi like, and we were all forced to partake in a multi-hour house cleaning session, which by the end of one could theoretically eat off of the floor.

 

We watched Wizard of Oz and Peter Pan starring Mary Martin. You would sing The Hills Are Alive from the Sound of Music and do this creepy little kid voice when appropriate. You and I would waltz, quite literally, up and down the hallway screaming SHALL WE DANCE BADUM BUM BUMP from the King and I.

There were 6 months of dispair, of illness, of darkness. But, there was 14 years we shared of hilarity, happiness, some fights, and always.. always.. always love.

Tis the season to be blogging

So I know that the last time I wrote an entry in this lil blog o' mine, I said I would write about the concentration camps. Truthfully, I don't know if that's going to happen. It was an extremely personal experience that I will remember for the rest of my life. I can assure you though, that it was beyond terrifying to be there, but incredibly powerful too.

Updates, shall we?
My first time in England
Last weekend I went to England to visit Becky. For those of you who may not know, Becky is my best friend of over 20 years. We met in pre-school, and from there it's history. So, Becky is living in England with her boyfriend Chris, who is awesome, as she works on independent research of prison arts programs. Interesting stuff, eh? So, I took the train from Reims to Paris, Paris to London. I have to say, the trip was surprisingly smooth, with no hiccups whatsoever. I arrive in London, and then managed to figure out the "underground/tube"/whatever they call their metro, to get to a Paddington Station (like the bear!), where I then hopped on a train to Oxford. 45 minutes later, I'm off the train and maneuvering my way through Oxford. As I walk along the sidewalk, I realize how odd it is to be someplace where English is spoken. I speak English all the time with my friends here in Reims, but when it comes to something like asking a stranger for the time, I've trained myself to think in French. So, I'm walking down the street and from a distance I see a very familiar face. Indeed, it was Becky approaching. Seeing her was just such a sigh of relief. While I have developed amazing friendships with people in my program, they are in no way comparable to seeing an old friend. Becky might as well be family to me. Without trying to sound sappy and exorbitantly cliché, my heart literally filled with warmth. We walked throughout part of downtown Oxford to find the right bus stop to go to her house. The town was alive with students. People were drinking, laughing, enjoying themselves. We passed bar after bar after bar, all of which teemed with life and energy. We eventually found our bus, and went back to her apartment. I made myself a cozy little bed of arranged couch cushions and blankets, and passed out.
I can't remember what we did on a day to day basis, but I thoroughly enjoyed myself there. Oxford is a great town. The architecture is incredible- all of the buildings looked like mini-castles and medieval manors. We went to a fabulous natural history museum, went to her friend's lecture on higher education in prison facilities, had tea, walked around, bought tons used books (in English! jackpot!), did a little thrift shopping, went to Friday night services at a synagogue, saw Harry Potter 7 (which was awesome because HP is filmed in Oxford at Christ Church), went to Christ Church, went inside ridiculous libraries (I went in one that claims to have ever book ever published, or something like that... The Oldest Round library, perhaps), walked around more, invited friends over for dinner, and went to a bar. The bar itself was quite cool. It was in the middle of nowhere, literally, right on the Thames river. We had to take random footpaths and cross very old bridges to get there. It was a restored boathouse and if someone didn't tell you about it, you would never go there. It was quite nice to sit back and enjoy a pint. Going to Shabbat services was also really great. It was so nice to be in a Jewish community that had similar traditions (from experience, the Jews in Reims are mostly Sephardic), and to be with Jewish students my own age. The weekend in Oxford was really incredible. Being with Becky is exactly what I needed. I honestly cannot wait to go back and visit.
 
Thanksgiving: Thanksgiving arrived, and it was just an absolutely, no good, very bad day. I was working on a huge group project and things just really weren't going my way at all. It's weird to be someplace for a holiday such as Thanksgiving where no one celebrates it, let alone knows what it's all about. The day itself was just awful. I ended up in tears, sobbing to my dad on the phone, homesick. Boo hoo. However, Saturday approached. I had been organizing a huge Thanksgiving dinner at my house with all of the Americans from the grade below mine, and also some of my good non-American friends. Saturday came, and I organized all of the tables and desks in the apartment to form one, giant table to fit at least 15 people. I went grocery shopping, purchased my ingredients, and began to cook. I made a baked macaroni and cheese, meatloaf, 5 liters of mulled wine, and apple crisp. Guests began arriving with a dish that they prepared, and soon enough we had a table covered with assorted dishes. In addition to my meatloaf and mac n cheese (which, sorry if I'm being biased were the STARS of the show), we had parsnip and carrot mash, Shepards pie, cauliflower/broccoli with cheese sauce, turkey (cutlets, not a whole turkey), stuffing, mashed potatoes, a rotisserie chicken (symbolic... in lieu of having a whole turkey), green beans, and corn bread. It was truly an incredible spread of food. We gathered round the table, and took turns saying what we were thankful for. We ate ourselves stupid, drank hot wine from a pot, and laughed so hard we cried. All in all, it was a really, really great day.

School:
I know this will come as a shocker, but yet again school is kicking my ass. I just finished the last of my group projects today, and now its T-7 days until exams. I have 9 exams to take in the course of only 3 days. I wonder how many I'll pass... Speaking of studying, I really need to get back to that... and by "get back to that" I actually mean "start"

On a side note... HAPPY HANUKKAH!
Funny story-- the other day I went to the grocery store to raid the "kosher" section to see if they sold any Hanukkah candles. Turns out, they actually replaced the "kosher section" with Christmas stuff... and left 7 boxes of Matzo meal. This year, I actually made my own menorah (out of clay, naturally). It may not be the best looking menorah around, but by darn it gets the job done!

Hi ho, hi ho, it's back to work I go.
Thanks for reading :)

Ein wochenende in München!

My lovely friend Carole emailed me last week asking if I was interested in a student trip to Munich... What kind of question is that?! Of course I am! The group organizing the trip is in charge of student life of one of the schools within my school. I said to myself, is there a better way to meet new people AND experience a new city AND accomplish a goal of visiting a concentration camp other than this? Nope! I signed up, paid my deposit, and eagerly awaited the date of departure.

The students planning the trip organized pre-drinks at their apartment, followed by an 11pm departure time by bus. The idea: have a few drinks, enjoy a nice long bus ride (8 hours), and arrive in Munich by morning. Wednesday evening at around 9 pm, Carole and I headed over to the apartment of one of the students in charge where we met all the other people with whom we were to be going to Munich with. It was an interesting situation, walking into an apartment with room full of people that you don't know, but would soon know quite well. We put our bags down in a bedroom, and braved into the crowd. We successfully socialized for a while, and soon it was time for us to board the bus. As soon as everyone was aboard, we were given cocktails, a theme which seemed to set the tone of the weekend. It was interesting being on a bus with kids my own age and no adult supervisor other than the driver who was there only to drive. It felt like being on a field trip without the teacher. The experience was liberating. We sipped our drinks, danced in the aisles, and got to know one another. By the wee hours of the morn, our bodies had contorted to fit the width of the bus seats as we slept in the most comfortable positions we could think of. The bus was chilled with the frozen air of dawn, and I shivered, awake in my seat, thinking about the adventures that were to be had. The sun slowly crept above the hilly landscape as we drove across the countryside just outside of Munich.

We arrived at the hostel at 9 am. Most of us climbed off the bus disoriented with fatigue, a few fumbling drunkenly down the stairs. Unfortunately the hostel was not ready for us, and we chose to wait for an hour while they cleaned. I found a spot on the floor and tried to re-energize myself for the day to come. After a while, we were finally given the keys to our rooms. Carole and I buddied up with two girls, and together we headed to our suite. The corridor of the hostel smelled like beer, with a faint twinge of vomit. The walls were decorated with graffiti and spray-paint swirls in tones of orange and blue. We found our room, 18, and entered our new lair. There was 3 sets of metal framed bunk beds, with crisp, starchy linens folded neatly upon foam mattresses. We claimed our respective territories, made our beds, and collapsed, rotating taking turns showering. Refreshed and partially rested, we met back with the rest of the group in the main lobby. Once gathered, we set by foot towards downtown Munich. Carole and I found great pleasure in attempting to read the street sides and store names, all of which obviously were in German, a language that neither of us speak. Walking along, I noticed how different the architecture was to that of France- large, boxy, and intimidating. I like it! We followed the route of the tram, eventually reaching Marienplatz, the most popular part of the city that boasts an impressive, cathedral-like city hall. It actually reminded me a bit of downtown Prague. It was there that the group split- half wanting to eat lunch at Burger King, half downright refusing the idea. There is no Burger King in France, so I can sort of understand the desire of many to eat there. That having been said... ew. Clearly I headed away from the Whopper in search of something a bit more appetizing. We ended up at a cafe directly in front of the city hall, where I ordered an amazing omelet made with morsels of fresh pumpkin and veggies, and sat warmly in a wicker chair as I covered my legs with a fleece blanket that they provided. We ate, filling our stomachs with warm happiness.

After lunch, both parties of the group, the Burger Kings and the rest of us, met and headed off to the BMW museum. We ended up in one of the buildings of the museum that is used mostly for functions and presentation, not the museum itself. We spent a decent amount of time there. I guess I could say it was cool, but I realized that cars just aren't really my thing, as shiny and expensive as they are. We didn't even go into the real museum. Instead, we exited the building and walked through a park, leading us to the Olympic Park from the 70s. I was truly impressed by the Olympic compound. We didn't stay there long, as there wasn't much we could actually besides walk around. By that point, the sun was setting and it was quite chilly. We took some pictures, peeked into a few buildings, and called it a day. Noteworthy point: I saw a bobsled! I'm not exactly sure what was going on, but all of a sudden I saw a crew of 5 people pushing a bobsled (on a dolly) across the road. Très cool. We headed back towards the metro and back into the city. We headed back to the hostel to get changed for dinner and a night out. Showered, dressed, and made-up, we headed back to Marienplatz in search of a beer-garden. Never in my life have I been in such an establishment. We walked in to a building that fits hundreds of hundreds of people. Massive painted ceilings, waitstaff in lederhosen and traditional garb carrying glass liter steins of beer, restaurant go-ers in funny hats and traditional garb, a live "oomp-pa-pa" band (as I call it... tubas, accordions, harps, yodelers), the works. The place was beyond packed as people combined up and down the aisles for a free spot at one of the hundreds of giant, wooden picnic tables. Carole and I ordered a liter of beer each, and decided to split a main-course. We had a delicious roasted half-chicken and potatoes, while others chomped on various types of sausage. I'm sorry, but I really don't get all the hype about sausages. They're really bad for you and they don't look appetizing at all. I'm just saying. We drank and ate, and then drank some more. At around 10:30 or 11 we finished dinner, and moved on to a cocktail bar that offers a liter for 6 euro. Having just drank a liter of beer, I was a bit full. I waited for a while, and then ordered a small margarita. Note to self- ritas in Germany aren't the best. We all hung out for a while, chatting and singing along to music. Slowly, the group became smaller and smaller as people began to head back to the hostel. Carole and a few guys were far from tired, and they were off in search of a nightclub. I never separate from a friend if we go out together, so along I went. We ended up at what looked like an industrial complex, but was in fact a complex called KultFabric of 6 different clubs. It was a pretty dead night, but we had a great time nonetheless.

The next morning, I woke up feeling awful. Sure, sure you think that I had had too much to drink. Alas, this was not the case. I'm not sure exactly what happened, but I think I ate something that didn't agree with me. I had such a stomach ache that day, and felt somewhat sick for the rest of the trip. Finally able to crawl out of bed at around lunch time, we headed to the Pinakoteka, a very famous art museum in Munich. The Pinakoteka is actually 3 different museums, with amazing collections of ancient, classic, and modern art. Having lived in Paris for 6 months, I've become quite spoiled in terms of art museums. I wanted to see something new and refreshing, not just portraits of dead, rich people. And so it was that Carole and I went to see some modern art. I am so glad we did! The collection of art amassed in the museum was unbelievable. There was sculpture, art deco, cubist paintings, movies, everything. I managed to make this cultural outing into an amazing photography session. We spent a solid 3 hours there. After finishing our tour with some Picasso, we were both just absolutely drained. We met up with the group of us that had gone to the museums, and went back to the hostel to rest for a little. I was still feeling quite queezy, so it was great to lie down for a bit. It was finally time to go for dinner. The options were the same beergarden, or sushi. I figured that some miso soup and plain white rice would be easier on my stomach, so sushi it was. It was an interesting experience communicating with our Vietnamese waitstaff in German and English, both of which didn't seem to work out. Somehow, everyone got what they ordered, and we had us some deeelish Japanese food. The soup was absolutely fantastic. Afterwards, we headed back to the same cocktail bar as before. I wasn't too keen on the idea, because I think that it's better to try something new. Feeling like crap and clearly not drinking, I wasn't one to oppose. The bar seemed to have transformed from the night prior. Apparently, Friday nights are THE night to go out. The bar was PACKED. Everyone ordered their cocktails, and I opted for a Coke (remembering that Coke helps with stomach aches). I think they gave me Pepsi instead, because after about 20 minutes I started to feel very, very sick. I told Carole that I was going to head back, and she volunteered to come with me. We both agreed that we would need all of our energy for tomorrow. We got back to the hostel by midnight, climbed into our foam bunkbeds, and fell into a deep sleep.

The next morning I woke up feeling loads better. I took a nice hot shower, packed up my bags, and headed down for breakfast. I feasted upon a doughy roll, the first solid food I'd had in quite some time. After, I collected my bag and put it in the undercarriage of the bus. We waited for everyone to make their way outside. From the looks of it, the majority of people seemed to have had a great rest of the night. Once together, we set out to find the train to bring us to the Dachau concentration camp. I am going to write about my experience at the camp in a different post because it does not seem fitting here.

After Dachau, we had an hour or two to explore Munich as we wanted to. We then headed back to the bus, and started the 8 hour journey back to Reims. The trip was a really strange, but great adventure. I met new people, made new friends, and experienced a different city. Overall, I really liked Munich. I'd highly recommend it, and would love to go back- but I couldn't live there. It's just not quite my style.

Tschüs!