Time for a break

Well, I've been officially on winter break for a few days.

Quick updates:

Went to a formal dance at my school. Got dressed up with al my friends, had a great dinner, unlimited champagne, and danced until 4 in the morning

It snowed maybe 2 or 3 inches here in Reims and the whole city freaked out. Buses stopped running, yet women still wore their high heels. I really don't get it...

I slept over my wonderful friend Victoria's apartment this weekend. We were both going to be in Reims alone, so we made a sleepover party out of it. Had a great time. It's really nice to eat meals with someone.

It's 6:20 AM and I'm up and at 'em. Meeting Hannah in Paris for the start of our adventures. We'll stay in Paris for two days, and then we ship off to Prague! Between the two of us, I'm willing to bet that a few thousand pictures will be taken.

Enjoy the break. Enjoy the snow. Love the one your with

Dena

Taking the initiative

So, last night I was kind of bummed out. School has been stressing me out a great deal, along with the recent updates of getting rejected by L'Oreal (although that was no surprise) and that I may not be able to have my dream job at the sneaker magazine because they already have 2 interns starting in January. I'm still hoping for it to happen because it sounds like they really want me to work there, but they have to figure out the logistics of it all.

So, anyways, last night I was not the happiest of happy campers. I heard word that everyone was going to go to a club. The thing is though, nationalities tend to stick together. Don't get me wrong, the Americans here are great, but I wanted to branch out a bit. I ended up chatting with a French girl in my class, and sort of invited myself to hang out with the French kids before the club.

It was SO much fun. We played all sorts of games, danced to terrible ABBA songs, and made great conversation. It only took me 3 months to really take my own initiative to make non-English speaking friends. I think I'm going to try to continue taking that route.

Well, much homework to do, meaning more coffee to brew...

I'm still alive, don't worry.

Forgive me Bloggers, for I have sinned, it’s been WAY too long since my last confession.

THANKSGIVING! Well, as every good American should, I went to Scotland for Dia de los Turkeys. I have a friend from high school, Collin, who is studying in Glasgow. So, naturally, I invited myself over. Friday morning I wake up bright and early (5:30 is an unnatural time to wake up. It just ain’t right) and schlep myself to the train station here in Reims. There, I wait for a while because I just can’t handle the stress of possibly being late during traveling. I have a lovely train ride. The train whizzes through the scenic countryside of the Champagne region, passing miles upon miles upon mi- oh wait... I’m now living in France- there aren’t any miles here... The train whizzes through the scenic countryside of the Champagne region, passing kilometers upon kilometers of browning vineyards, dying from the cold air brought by winter. I nod in and out of consciousness during the 45-minute train ride to Paris.

I arrive at Gare de l’Est and start my pilgrimage to Charles de Gaulle, which is quite the process. Luckily, I now know my way around. Heh heh heh. I smugly walk exactly where I need to go, and buy exactly which train tickets I need to buy. I hop on the metro and go to Gare de Nord. From there, I easily buy my RER B tickets as if I possessed the wisdom of sages. The RER is like the commuter rail, only there are tons of lines that go to tons of Parisian suburbs and the airport. I finagle my way through the crowded metro station and eventually end up on the train headed towards the airport. After an unexciting RER ride filled with street performances (these Portuguese guys hopped on at one point, as they do most every day, and set up a little jazz concert- i’m talking full blown concert complete with an upright double bass... seems horribly inconvenient for the guy who has to lug that bad boy around trains all day...) For those of you just tuning in, the airport to Reims pilgrimage has been quite the experience for me. Being able to bang out the journey with zero problems or confusion is amazingly satisfying for me.

I arrive at Chahles duh Gawl ayahpawt. So, the funny thing about me traveling in Europe is that I still have an American mentality. I thought the whole process of getting from point A to B (my dorm to the airport) would take FOREVER! I was MISTAKEN! I ended up at the airport a mere 4 hours early. Not a problem. I lounge and people watch. I eventually board the bright orange EasyJet plane headed to Glasgow. I find a seat and make myself comfortable. I take a sip of water, which almost immediately comes up my nose as the flight attendants start speaking. Let me tell you folks, Scottish accents are quite possibly the funniest thing EVER. I know that’s a strong statement, but I’ll stick by it. It was a 2 hour plane ride (or so.. I forget. I wasn’t really keeping track) and we land in Glasgow. Collin meets me at the airport and we head towards the exit. It looked like it had just rained, which in fact was true. We walk outside and there, quite honestly, was the biggest rainbow that I’ve ever seen. I bet you there other end of it was in Ireland, and a leprechaun was actually guarding a pot of gold.

We go to Collins “flat” and settle down. At that point I’m like a starvin’ marvin’. We all (including his lovely flat-mate Laura) go grocery shopping. We’re in the grocery store, stocking up on Thanksgiving supplies and whatnots, and I find a few gems that really hit the spot. Firstly: Reeses Peanut Butter Cups. I don’t really even eat THAT much candy at home, but this was like... godsent. Second: Chili seasoning mix. I make chili all the time back home, but I haven’t been able to find any mixes, and I’m far too lazy to make my own. Third: CHEDDAR CHEESE. Hot damn that’s a mighty fine cheese. I miss it so. They don’t have cheddar here. I’ve been using Gouda, which is a fairly decent substitute, but it’s not quite right.

The next day we start cooking bright and early. Well, realistically it was probably at around 11 or so. We made so much amazing food, including a whole, stuffed chicken that was cooked to PERFECTION, tons of roasted veggies, tofurky stuff, stuffing, soup, mashed spudadoes, eggplant, kale, etc... A few of Collin’s friends came over and we had ourselves a regular ole Thanksgiving 3 PM dinner. We all STUFFED ourselves silly (HAH! Pun was intended on that one) and then submitted to the itis that plagued us all. (The itis is the condition in which one is immediately sleepy after eating). We spread blankets out on the floor and proceeded to watch Revenge of the Nerds. I now realize that I may have seen that movie too many times. Apparently I can recite it by heart. I don’t know if that makes me super awesome, or super pathetic.

Interesting thing about Scotland: They drink this drink called Iron-Bru. It’s more popular than Coke there. It’s orange and supposed to be a “citrus” flavored soda, which for the record, it totally isn’t. It also has this miracle ingredient that the entire country swears by. Why, you ask? It cures hangovers. Here’s where the ridiculousness reaches a higher level: It tastes like children’s toothpaste- either the electric blue gel kind, or Barbie Bubblegum. I promise you, it’s the weirdest thing that I have ever drunken. Scotland, home of Iron-Bru: the orange colored, bubblemint flavored, effervescent, hangover-curing beverage of choice. Weird.

The rest of the trip was really fun. Another fun fact: There's a TJ Maxx in Glasgow, but with just a subtle difference. It's called TK Maxx. Exact same store but with a different letter. I had a great time exploring the quirky and slightly absurd city of Glasgow. Thanks again Collin!

I flew back to Paris that Monday, and booked it over to an interview at a sneaker magazine. I had met the manager of Promotion and Development at the Colette x Reebok party I went to a few weeks ago in Paris, where I got his business card. I followed through, sent him my CV, and we set up a tentative interview. I managed to find my way to where I needed to go. The office was in a typical, apartment style building of Paris. I walk up a flight of stairs and ring the buzzer outside the door. A young guy who seems to know that I’m here for the interview greets me. The office is amazing! The walls are brightly colored with awesome art. The archway leading into another room looks like it’s made of giant stones, but the giant stones are sneaker boxes! I kind of want to do that to a room in my own home someday. The interview was quick and painless. He asked me to create a job proposal and send it to him. I sent it Thursday night at midnight. I hope it wasn’t too late... I’m still waiting to hear back from him. I want that job SO badly. I know I would do so well there, work so hard, and be so happy with the type of work.

That same week I had another interview at a mega-super-international-prestigious enterprise in Paris. I left the interview not feeling to confident about it. It would be great to work there too, but I have the feeling that I won’t be offered the job.

In the meanwhile, the amount of schoolwork that I have just might be enough to make me kick the bucket. 13 full classes, a few seminar classes, 6 major group projects consisting of 20 page minimum papers (keep in mind that EVERYTHING is in French), plus needing to study for exams. I’m in school for 30 hours per week. That’s crazy! On an interesting note, I found out that I graduate Northeastern a semester early. Here’s the deal... I’m almost positive I want to stay here in France for my senior year. I would graduate NU abroad, and continue to finish out the spring semester here in France in order to fulfill the required credits for this school. I wouldn’t have to pay NU tuition that second semester, and I’d end up graduating with two diplomas, and being that much closer to my lifelong dream of being bilingual. We’ll see though. I have to pass all of my classes this year in order to stay.

Well, my final cup of coffee has begun to wear off. I’ve had 3 coffees and a double shot of espresso today. I’m going to start trying this whole new approach called Get More Sleep. And on that note, g’night!

Wishing everyone a Happy Hanukkah (on Friday) and happy days.

Dena

GOBBLE GOBBLE GOBBLE

I would like to wish everyone the happiest of Thanksgivings. It's odd, not being home and celebrating with my family. The Americans here put together a wonderful meal the other day, so I've had my share of turkey, stuffing, and mashed spudados. I think it's just about time to make a list of things that I find myself being thankful for this year:
1) Having the opportunity to be abroad. It really is a miracle that I've made it here. A lot of people aren't afforded this type of opportunity, and I really shouldn't be taking anything for granted here.
2) Having great friends and family. I miss you all!
3) Being healthy
4) Getting interviews... I may or may not have an interview at a sneaker magazine on Monday! Plus- L'Oreal is up and coming..
5) Having sudden, unexpected, an great memories of my mom. The other day I was walking back to my place when I hear Bobby McFerrin's "Dont Worry Be Happy" playing from some cars stereo. I don't know how to explain the feeling that came over me, or how to explain why I correspond that song with her, but it was great.
There are so many things to be thankful for. As you sit around the table eating deliciously scrumptious food, remember how good life is.
Tomorrow I go to Scotland to visit a friend from high school. I'm looking forward to writing about all the adventures that await me.
Gobble gobble gobble, munch chomp yum.

<3 Dena

Paris, je t'adore!

I haven't written in a while because honestly, there hasn't been much to write about. The last week and a half I've been feeling pretty blue. I've been wondering, 'what am I even doing here?' I don't really like school, even though the people are great, and I'm not really a huge fan of living in Reims. So needless to say, I've had my doubts about being in France... and then I went to Paris.

I had been in contact with this guy Ma who I met while working at Reebok. He's on of the brand managers for lifestyle footwear (aka, the type of sneakers I collect). He was in charge of this huge project. This year is the 20th anniversary of the Reebok Pump, and Reebok decided to do a series of collaborations with some of the best boutiques across the globe. One of these boutiques is called Colette. It's probably the most famous of them all.. and just so happens to be in Paris. I had been communicating with Matt about potential networking opportunities, because he seems to know everyone under the sun. Jokingly I said, if you ever come to Paris, let me know! Well, low and behold, he was actually coming to Paris for the launch party for the Colette Pump, and was graciously allowing me to come with him.

First of all, it's pretty damn cool to even get to go to this party. Second of all, it would be a networking Mecca. Everyone important in the industry would be there, and I would have the chance to maybe meet a few people who could maybe help me find a great internship. And third of all, I would finally get to go to Paris. So, about two weeks ago, I booked my train tickets, and a hotel room in the same hotel as Matt. My reasoning for a hotel was that Matt told me that the party started at midnight. A lot of hostels have lock-out periods relatively late at night. Not knowing where the party would be, I decided that I felt rather uncomfortable having to either take the metro by myself late at night across an unfamiliar city, or having to pay an arm and a leg for a cab back home afterwards. This past Sunday I receive an email from the hotel saying that my reservation has been cancelled because my card isn't valid... which isn't true at all. Monday, I call up the hotel and tell them to try running the card again. The woman at reception was like, 'well ok... but there wouldn't be much of a point doing that because there aren't even any more available rooms." So, three days before my big Parisian adventure, I find myself without lodging. I immediately scour the internet in search of an affordable hotel close by to where Matt would be. I find it, book a room, and baddabing I'm back in business. Wednesday night, I pack a backpack with my basic necessities, plan a few outfits, and pick out my best Reebok's that I've been saving to where for an occasion such as this. (They just so happen to be the Freestyle, Paris edition. How appropriate.)

Thursday, I go to school. Sitting through my class was a painful torture. I just wanted to get to Paris! After the class finished, I booked it to the train station, arriving about an hour too early. Once on the train, I started thinking about how amazing this opportunity truly was. A mere forty-five minutes later, we pull into the train station in Paris, the same train station I experienced upon my initial arrival to France. Such nostalgia. I buy a metro ticket, and somehow seem to know exactly where I'm going. I had made plans with a friend from Northeastern who goes to American University in Paris to meet up and hang out for the afternoon. I got off the metro in the 1st arrondissement, and we met up within 5 minutes. We walked around, searching for my hotel. We got a bit lost. I thought it was a logical assumption that streets run parallel to each other in Paris. Not so much. They tend to run in no rhyme or reason. After an hour of walking around, we finally found my hotel. I checked in, got everything I needed, and off we went for more exploration/shopping. I needed to buy a nice black coat, as I didn't want to walk in to a fashion party wearing an ugly black fleece. The first store we went into, I found the perfect one at the perfect price. I love it! It was great to just walk around, look at people, and have a nice conversation. We parted ways at around 5 or so, and I went back to my hotel. On the way back, I passed by a bakery that smelled amazing. I ended up buying a slice of zucchini quiche and a little chocolate tarte. Sitting on my bed, I devoured them both quickly. It was sooooooo good.

At around quarter to eight, I headed over to Matt's hotel. He introduced me to his friend that more or less has the same job, but for the European region instead. We all went to a party at a bike shop. It was pretty laid back. We each got a beer, hung out, and left within 40 minutes. Then, it was time to head to the main party of the night: COLETTE! We get to the venue, which is one of the most posh gyms in all of Paris, and the sidewalks are packed with people trying to get in. We get in quickly with no problems at all. Inside was insane. To my right, there was a basketball court set up with Reebok sponsored players just shootin' some hoops. To my left was this whole spray paint graffiti area. It was difficult maneuvering through the crowd of beautiful, very well dressed people. We eventually made it to the bar area, which of course was completely free. We got our drinks and went to go meet some people. There were waist-heigh columns throughout the area that with sneakers on them enclosed in a plexiglass bubble. Each sneaker was one of the different collaborations of Pumps that were done. It was really cool to see them all. There was a dj spinning great, old-school hip hop. People were dancing, drinking, eating hors d'oeuvres, and just having a good time. It was unbelievable. I met a few potential contacts and got a few business cards. Overall, I had an amazingly fun, and productive, time.

The party ended at around 12:30, and off we went (there ended up being a group of 8 of us) to grab another drink and then a bite to eat. We didn't stay at the bar for very long- they hadn't eaten dinner yet and were quite hungry. We all sat down, and they began ordering steaks and burgers and even duck. I wasn't very hungry (having scarfed down quiche just a few hours prior) so I got some fries. They were delicious! We had a nice time at the restaurant, and left at around 2:30 or so. After that, we walked for just a few minutes to a club. I was absolutely exhausted, but still very willing to continue the night. We got to the club, and again didn't have to wait in any lines, and were inside immediately. They offered to buy me a drink, but I was so full that I physically couldn't put anything more inside my stomach! I think everyone was pretty tired, so we only stayed for a drink and left. We all walked back to where Matt's apartment was. He told me that if my plans happen to change and I end up staying in Paris again the next night to definitely let him know and we can all hang out. I wasn't sure if I could change my train tickets or not. So we goodbye, and one of his good friends who was with us the whole night walked me back to my hotel. He, too, said that if I had nothing else planned, that I should stay an extra night in Paris. I was back by 4 am, and knocked about by 4:10.

Waking up the next day was painful. I don't think I was hungover, but just completely exhausted from all the walking and lack of sleep. I woke up at 8:45, figuring I would need a bit of time to pack up my things and get my head straight. I checked out, and started heading back to the train station. As I was on the metro, I started thinking- well, why not stay one more night? I've been quite frugal with my money so I could afford another night in a hotel... I arrived at the train station, and started seriously considering extending my stay. I texted a few friends to ask their opinions. It was unanimous. I went to the ticketing window, paid a 9 euro fee, and left with a new train ticket for the next day. I went back to the metro station, paid for an all day metro pass, and headed back to the 2nd arrondissement where I had been staying. I texted Matt to let him know that I was staying. He had meetings all afternoon, leaving me to my own devices. I wandered around for about an hour looking for an internet cafe. Maybe I could find a cheap hostel to stay in. After that hour, I was just so exhausted that I didn't care anymore. I went back to the hotel I stayed at that night. The receptionist, who was extremely nice and helpful, looked a little confused to see me again. I explained to him that I decided to stay one more night. I booked the last available room in the hotel, left my backpack at the front desk (my room wouldn't be ready until 2pm) and off I went to explore Paris.

I walked around the 2nd and 1st arrondissements. I started to get quite hungry, so my next mission was to go and have a great lunch. But where? And then it hit me like a lightning bolt. The jewish quarter! I miss eating great food, and I know I would be satisfied with anything I got there. I hopped on the metro, zoomed over to the 3rd arrondissement, and entered Le Marais (the Jewish quarter). I didn't know where to go. An orthodox man walked by, black hat and full beard. I decided the best thing to do was to follow him. That plan worked out beautifully. I ended up passing a falafel shop. YES! I got a fantastic falafel pocket filled with hummus, eggplant, cabbage, beets etc.. I found a bench to sit on, and chomped away. After my wonderfully satisfying meal, I decided to have a fun adventure. I went to the first metro I saw, went onto a random metro line, and decided to get off at the stop that I thought sounded the best.

Low and behold, I happen to get on the perfect metro line. My destination: the Champs Elysees. I reach my destination, walk up the stairs and onto the busy streets. And then I walk. I quickly walk on to the Champs Elysees, cross beautiful bridges with gold painted statues, see the ferris wheel at Place de la Concorde, and to my right, I see the ultimate landmark throughout all the world: the Eiffel Tower. I've seen the Eiffel Tower before, but realized that I've never actually been to it in person. I meander through winding streets and eventually reach the tower. It was packed! There were Africans shaking huge rings of Eiffel Tower keychains. I thought to myself- who actually buys that crap? Just as I finished my thought, I spot a group of large Americans surrounding another merchant, eager to buy the cheap, pewter chachtkis. Classic. I spend about 4 minutes at the Eiffel Tower before realizing how tired I was. I walked back towards the Champs Elysees and instead end up on one of the most famous streets of all of Paris, lined with Gucci, Dior, Chanel, and Prada stores. There, anorexicly thin women wearing 5 inch stiletto heels paraded around with little toy poodles in their Gucci bags. Unreal. I found the nearest metro stop and managed to get myself back to my hotel with ease.

I plopped down on my bed and took a nap. I woke violently, realizing that I hadn't heard back from a woman at L'Oreal about an interview. We had been playing a little game of phone tag. I call her up and she happens to be there. We arrange a date, and baddabing, I now have an interview in Paris for L'Oreal. I then lay back down in bed, and smile myself back to sleep. I wake up at around 6 to the sound of a text message from Matt. We make plans for the night. I take a shower and attempt to make myself presentable. I meet him at his hotel at around 8 or so, and we end up at an absolutely delicious Kurdish restaurant. I had such good Kofte with spicey rice and a little salad. Yum yum yum! We then meet up with his friends at a bar just around the corner. They all seemed to be happy that I decided to stay for the night again. After a nice time at the bar/restaurant, we head to the Champs Elysees for another sneaker launch party! The taxi ride there was really nice- it was a clear, beautiful night in Paris. We end up at a club that was crowded with people looking to get in. Again, we skip the line completely and just get to walk in. Another open bar. Drinks in hand, we all manage to push our way through the crowd of people to the dance floor. This party was for a new sneaker by the brand Supra (which I happen to like a lot). It was a fun time. Good people, good entertainment, great city.

I got back to the hotel and crawled into my extremely comfortable bed, and drifted off to sleep. The next day I left Paris for good, even though I was yet again invited to stay. They were all going to a huge Tony Hawk skateboarding event on the Champs Elysees. Realistically, I can't afford to stay in hotels for three nights, and I had made prior plans with the other Americans to have an early Thanksgiving feast. As I sat on the train heading back to Reims, I realized that all of my doubts of being in France have been erased. Paris is where I need to be. It's one of the best cities I've ever been to. There, I'm in my element. I can't wait to leave Reims and move there.

I had one of the best weekends of my life. I now remember why I wanted to come to France in the first place. Paris, je t'adore.

Alas, an entry containing actual substance

Looking back on a few of my more recent blog posts, I realize that I mainly write about jibberish things that have occurred during the week as opposed to a truly substantial excerpt capturing my emotional, mental, and moral well-being. I guess one could say that the time has come for a little soul searching.

Today is officially Wednesday, November 11th. I have been abroad for just about two months. Two months. That's ludicrous. I don't feel as though it has been two months, and not necessarily because "time flies when you're having fun." (I do believe that to be true, and I have been having fun.. but not all the time) The question I face now is, where has time gone, and what have I honestly been doing with it?

Where has time gone? I'm not quite sure. Some days pass tortuously slow. Other days zoom by with the quickest of ease. What have I been doing with my time? School seems to preoccupy most of my time. I find it truly interesting that I don't feel as though I have learned an extraordinary amount in school, despite practically living there. It could be because I have taken most of the classes prior to coming here. It could be because the educational system here is not conducive to my learning style (which is a pity...). I haven't taken the initiative to really explore my surroundings. I've fallen in step with the same old routines. I need to explore this city. I have not yet gone to a champagne house- which I've come to realize as a waste of an opportunity. I'm in the biggest city of the Champagne region. Why haven't I been to a champagne cave yet? Why haven't I been inside the huge and gorgeous cathedral? Why haven't I done a legitimate day of photography? I haven't done any traveling yet, although that is to come quite soon. I feel like I've dug myself into a rut of patterns. It's time to break free from my patterns in order to maximize my remaining time here. I need to see more, experience more- the only thing preventing me from doing that is myself.

This weekend, I vow to take a day for exploration. I will go to a champagne house. I will go inside the cathedral. I will find a tiny little bakery where locals seem to flock and pick something out to eat that I've never had before. Weather permitting, I'll have a photography day. I vow to unrut myself.

Two months. I still cannot quite believe it. I am curious as to if I've changed significantly yet. I know I will during this year-long experience, but to what extent? I think that due to my past, needing to mature into an adult at a much earlier age than most, I've already found myself. I'm not sure that living abroad will be a groundbreaking experience on that front. Of course, self-discovery will happen. We change all the time. However, I know who I am, and have known for quite some time. I know my priorities. I know my values. I know what I consider important. I know what I like to do for myself- I'm capable of recognizing my own patterns and changing them before they become habitual. I consider myself highly self-aware and confident. So what then will I discover about myself? So far, I've discovered one thing that trumps all other discoveries, yet is in no way a novel concept to me:

I love my family more than anything, and I want to be close to them.

Reading this, I'm sure you're thinking: well, here comes the first bout of homesickness. Well.. not really. Here's why: At this point in time, I have no tangible home to go back to, as my dad has moved in with a friend. I've learned throughout life that home, as corny as it may sound, really is where the heart is. My heart, and home, is with my dad. It always has been. Wherever he goes, I call it home. I never stopped to realize that my entire family, literally, is in Rhode Island. I miss my cousins, my grandma, my sister. While I am for the most part enjoying immensely living abroad, I know, and have always known, that this could never be a long-term deal. I simply cannot be this far away from the people I love most- it feels wrong.

And so, my entry containing actual substantial material has turned quite heavy, and I'm not sure where to go from here. I think the best thing to do is for me to go lay down for a bit, and maybe continue to write tomorrow. If not, some other day when it feels right.

Much love to you. I'd love to hear from you if you have the chance.

Dena

My body don't love me no more

Well, I think my body is officially staging a mutiny against me.

Bedridden since Thursday.

Fevers. Aches. Sore throats. Migranes. A cough that would make any smoker jealous.

gaaaaaaaah.

going back to bed.

Can't Stop. Won't Stop

To say that I feel motivated would be an understatement.

There are times in my life where the word "motivation" doesn't even do justice to how I'm feeling. There are a few significant factors that have caused my self-esteem, confidence, and determination to yet again skyrocket out of orbit.

1. I've made a new french friend. This weekend, we were hanging out at a bar and talking. There were a few other people there, no big deal. During conversation, he said something to me that really struck hard. Apparently, I've been talking to him in English and not French. He said something along the lines of, "It's like you don't really want to try and speak the language, and just stay where at the level you're comfortable with."

Oh buddy, you have no idea who you're talking to. Me? Not want to speak a language? That's all I've ever wanted. That's my only true goal in life- to be bilingual. Sure, I'm not great at speaking French. Big friggin deal. I have valid justification as to why I've been speaking in English: If you speak to me in English, that's how I'll respond. It's natural. My brain isn't accustomed to speaking more than one language. And, since when the fuck have I settled to be at comfortable level? I always push myself one step further and further. I always set high goals, and I achieve them. I'm not mad at my friend at all- quite on the contrary. I'm happy he made this statement because if that is how I appear to be, I need to change my act quickly. I know that I'm better than average. I know I want more than average. I want the impossible, and I'll get it. From now on, I'm pushing myself to the boundaries. It's grind time, and I'm coming with a vengeance. Everything I set out to do will be accomplished. I'm unstoppable.

2. I've been in touch with former coworkers at Reebok. I was recently in touch with this guy who works there who pretty much has my dream job. He very graciously put me in touch with a few people for some networking opportunities. Turns out, he's coming to Paris for the launch of the 20th Anniversary, Reebok X Colette Pump. Colette is one of the most exclusive, well-respected brands/stores in lifestyle fashion. It's the creme de la creme. The Pump, for all of you that are reading this and think I'm talking about a high heel, was a sneaker from back in the late 80's (1989) that had a little round pump on the tongue. Ladies and gentlemen, I officially am going to the launch party at Colette. This is a BIG deal. First of all, I've always wanted to go to Colette, but never have. It's like... mecca. Secondly, it's amazing that I'm allowed to go to this launch considering that it's been almost a year since I stopped interning at Reebok- and I wasn't even in the guy's (the brand manager that I'm in contact with) department! Third, I'll finally be able to experience Paris. I've been here for going on 2 months and I haven't yet ventured outside of Reims. And fourthly, the networking opportunities at this party will be golden. This is my chance to meet key people in the industry and hopefully make some good connections. I'M SO EXCITED.

3. I almost fit comfortably into a pair of jeans that haven't fit in quite some time. They'll be butter by the time I go to Paris.

I hope people keep doubting me. I thrive off of proving them wrong. They said I couldn't get the job at Reebok. They said I wouldn't make it to France. They said I'm weird for loving sneakers. They said I'll never be bilingual. Haters, keep hating.

Harder. Better. Faster. Stronger.

What a weekend

If I was remotely concerned that I was becoming too anti-social and not going out enough- I completely retract any prior statements made.

Thursday night I went out for drinks with a new friend. Long story short, I drank too much, and felt very horrible the next day in school. Needless to say, I'm going to be taking it easy during the school week. Friday night, the Americans threw a party for our friend Lam Lam. She's from Honk Kong, but studied at Northeastern with all of us. The party was in true American collegiate style: a bucket of jungle juice, beer pong, games of flip cup, and of course a dance party. So many different people came! The party was a hit- everyone kept saying how much fun it was, and that Americans really know how to throw a great party. We came to the conclusion that yes, yes we do: BUT because we have to. Everyone else around the world can drink or go out to bars when they're 18, but we can't. In order to feel some sense of maturity, we bring the socializing to our own homes (well.. dorms, appts etc..). If we didn't- well, I think we'd be very bored and much better students. So, it was pretty fun explaining to people from Spain, France, Italy, Australia, you name it, the rules and general point of playing beer pong. It was a great night. I know I had a blast, and I hope everyone else did too.

The next night I had to take it easy. I cooked dinner for Lam, and just relaxed a lot. Then, Sunday morning the Americans decided to have an American Breakfast. It was so much fun. We cooked eggs, pancakes (they ended up just being really really thick crepes... Good in theory, a bit rubbery in actuality...), hash browns, bacon, mimosas, etc.. It was really nice to hang out with everyone and just enjoy good food and good company.

Aside from that, there isn't too much to update. I have a long break in between classes tomorrow... like.. for 6 hours.. so I'm going to try and go out and do some photography. I forgot how relaxing it is for me. Oh, speaking of which, I've uploaded new photos of my room and stuff onto Facebook- in the album "Hello France." Check it out if you want!

Ok. Over and out.

After a month, I'm BACK!

Well ladies and gents, today is my one month anniversary of living in France. I'm finding it absolutely ludicrous that it's already been so long. At times, I really felt it. But now.. It's amazing how time can just pass you by.

Today I was decently productive. I really REALLY needed to do my CV, and I did! YAY! In a CV you're supposed to put a picture of yourself, but it should be of good quality. Obviously, I'm waaaaay too cheap to go to a professional photographer- so I did it myself. I set up my tripod, hooked up my ah-maaay-zing camera, set up the lighting, got all pretty, and had myself a nice little photoshoot. I edited it afterwards, and baddabing! Insta-professionalquality-photo! Alright, so it's not that great... but it works!

Let's see.. What's been going on? Well, for starters, I had made tentative plans with some new friends to go to Paris to see the Michael Jackson movie. Off subject, but people must think I'm from another planet- I've caught myself being waaaay too overly obsessed with MJ. I may need to tone it down a few notches... Naaaaaaah. So, anyways, we were all going to go to Paris to see the movie, because I thought that it wasn't playing here. WRONG. It is. It actually works out well because both of the girls cancelled on me because their parents are coming to town. Totally fine with me- I'm just happy that I can see it locally!

I've come to realize that a lot of my blog is about food. Interesting.. I think it's because food is such an integral part of culture. It's strange and difficult enough being someplace else but home, but when most of the food is different- it really becomes unsettling. That is, of course, until you start to make your own habits. I think that I've been so brain-dead because of this big transition I have made, that I had lost my cooking creativity for quite some time. But alas, it has returned!

I feel that this is so monumental because my brain is finally allowing itself to be comfortable in a completely foreign environment than how it's programmed to think. I now must think outside the box. For a while, I was stuck on the fact that I didn't have an oven. "That's how I cook! with an oven! What the hell am I supposed to do without an oven??"

I don't what triggered it, but something has caused me to just.. move on. I ain't gettin' no oven, so I better start being inventive or else I just keep on eating the same old, quick and easy shit (aka pasta and soup... great in moderation, but they'll destroy your palate if you have them everyday). It could be that I'm finally starting to feel well rested. That's big too.

So, my big, creative, wonderfully satisfying dinner (that I'm eating as I write):

Appetizer: An eggplant sliced thin, sauteed in olive oil with sea salt and black pepper- what's funny is, I never eat eggplant. I went shopping the other day and they were just so pretty that I had to buy one. I ate the whole thing. Granted, it did mostly taste like olive oil. I can picture what my dad would say if he ate some of it: "Hey. Deen. How 'bout a little eggplant with that olive oil?" Eh, it was perfectly greasy, salty, and toasted perfectly brown.

Main dish: Quinoa, topped with-- sauteed haricot verts (I would say green beans, but they're thinner..), red onion, yellow bell pepper and kidney beans, seasoned with cayenne pepper, curry, basil, salt n peppa, and garlic-- with a dollop of creme fraiche (sour cream ain't got nothin' on creme fraiche).

Dessert: Maybe an apple? or perhaps a pear? Of course followed by a wonderful camomille tea and local, crystalized honey.

I'M BACK!

I can already feel my creative juices flowing! Maybe I'll finally get out and do some photography, weather depending of course.

I find it odd that I'm just so at ease right now. I've never spent this much time by myself before, but I'm so completely happy with it. I like the tranquility. Don't get me wrong, I'm making friends every day, and they're all wonderful. I think it's all due to the fact that I have my own place. I've never really had my own place before. Sure, I've moved away from my home into an apartment- but I've always had roommates that I'm good friends with. (shout-out to Nicky, Julie, TJ, and Amanda! hahah). During the transition of moving from school to home, or vice versa, I always find myself feeling so lonely. Maybe it's because I'm accustomed to constantly having friends around- that when they aren't there, I feel completely alone. Now, now it's all different. I expected it to be very difficult to live by myself.. guess I was mistaken!

I wonder how I'm going to feel in a month from now. I've already been through such a dramatic, roller coaster ride of emotions. I'm kind of liking this whole blog thing because I can track my emotions.

Well, I'm definitely in a good mood for no particular reason. I think I may jam out to a few tunes, finish formatting my CV, have me some tea, and watch a good movie.

Always remember, no matter where you're going, there you are. Thank you Buckaroo Bonzai.

Goodnight to all, and to all a goodnight.

TGIF

Thank GOD It's Friday

Man, these school weeks are SO long. I stand corrected, by the way. I actually am taking 13 classes. That's right, 13 classes in one semester. It's a crisp autumn night in Reims (who am I kidding.. it's freezing outside) and I have decided to stay home, change into my plaid flannel pajamas, and take it easy.

I'm realizing how much work I have ahead of me. This weekend is going to be productive. It HAS to be. I must complete my resume and cover letter. Typically, students send out an average of 75 resumes in order to find an internship. 75! I need to get this process going, or else I might be up le creek sans paddle.

I've discovered yet another delicious new favorite snack.

I call it: Le Breakfast Sangwich

-take one wasa cracker. place on plate or napkin (optional)

-spread one triangle of La Vache Qui Rit cheese on smooth side of cracker for even distribution

-scramble one egg with a pinch of salt

-place scrambled egg on top of wasa cracker and cheese

-devour.

I need to start being more inventive with my meals. In my kitchen, I have only a stovetop.

While this is soooo much better than not having a kitchen at all, I must admit that I am not experienced with stovetop cooking. I cook everything in an oven.

If any of you have ANY ideas that are good for stovetop cooking, I would greatly appreciate it. If I eat any more pasta, I might do something dangerously reckless. I'm sick of it.

Ok. Time to finish my tea and pass out. BIG DAY TOMORROW. PRODUCTIVITY. HOO-RAH

It's the little things in life..

Today was the first day I was able to use the laundry room (vs washing everything in my bathroom sink and air-drying across chairs and other contraptions).

2 loads in the washing machines- 7 Euro

2 loads in the dryer- 4 Euro

Climbing in to a fresh, clean, warm bed after an exhausting day and not caring that you just spent 11 Euros on 2 loads of laundry - Priceless

I have to admit it's getting better, it's getting better all the time

I didn't realize it has been a while since I last wrote a new post. I'll try to be a little better about keeping you up to speed... although I have to say, I don't really even know if anyone's reading this. Meh, I'll write anyways.

Last week, I completed my first week of classes. Wawaweewah! It's going to be the most intense academic year I will ever have. This semester, it appears as though I am taking 11 different courses. Yes, 11. I'm not exactly sure how it's going to work. This system at my school is much different than in Boston, and honestly, I don't understand it. I think I have already taken many of these classes before, which is helpful. However, it isn't smooth sailing. I'm trying to remember the material that I already learned, while trying to figure out what each professor is saying, while trying not to confuse which class I need to be at. The other interesting thing about my schedule is that it changes every week. There's no set schedule! For example, if I was back home and was taking a Marketing class, it would be every Monday, Wednesday and Thursday for a certain amount of time throughout the entire semester. Not here. Last Monday I had three hours of Economie International. This week, I don't have it at all. Go figure. This will definitely take some time to get adjusted to.

What else... Oh, here's an interesting little tidbit: Every time I go to do my laundry, the laundry room is closed. Every single time. Today I washed all my socks by hand. Do you know how hard that is to do in a bathroom sink? Each day, I wash a little bit here, a little bit there- but this whole thing isn't working for me. Main reason: It's not that I don't mind washing by hand.. I'm not that lazy! It's really that I hate the feeling of clothes that dry by air. I feel like maybe I must be doing something wrong, but my clothes dry really stiff and uncomfortable. So, hopefully I'll be able to get some washer and dryer action going on.

This past weekend looked promising. I was invited to a party hosted by a few really nice French guys that I met in school. Friday night, I pick out a nice outfit, and me and my friend Simon head over. We get to the party, and I start to feel sick as soon as I enter the room. Not THAT kind of sick! But sick as in, hold on to the handles because you're about to get smacked in the face with a brick (and by brick, I mean a cold/flu). The pressure was building in my ears. It felt like someone was pushing down on my face. My throat started tightening, I started to get the shivers, and my muscles felt weak. Fortunately, Simon left the party with me, and we walked back.

I got home, pulled off my boots, and lay in bed. For some reason or another, I remembered that I packed a little baggy of medicine before leaving for France. When I opened the bag, light beamed out and angels began to sing. I had packed Tylenol Cold/Sinus pills. HALLELUJAH! I medicated myself, crawled into bed once more, and went to sleep. I was asleep by 11:45. Ah, to be a young woman on a Friday night, abroad during the prime of her life. I'll spare you the details, but essentially, I didn't leave my bed until I had to go to class this afternoon. It's Monday- by the way. I discovered some great websites to watch tons of movies, and that's exactly what I did. I saw Beauty & The Beast, Lady & The Tramp, Burn After Reading, The Hangover, The Holiday, Sunshine Cleaning, Bedtime Stories, a few episodes of Will & Grace, the last 3 or 4 episodes of Entourage that I hadn't seen, The Holiday (again... sigh... that's depressing), Confessions of a Shopoholic, and probably a few others that I can't even remember. I drank about... well, lets just say I plowed through an entire box of tea bags. I downed a quart of OJ, a few liters of water, and 3 packs of Emergen-C. Now, I'm feeling much better. I have a bit of a cough, but I pretty much annihilated that cold. It didn't stand a chance.

Ok, now I have to do some homework.. and download some Planet Earth episodes.

Much love to ya

I Feel Independent

I've finally accomplished some major things. 

1. I sent in all the paperwork for my visa. This is landmark for me. Not only did I send in all required documents, but I did so in a timely manner. Pat on the back.

2. I ran around town the other day (in the pouring rain with no umbrella) in search of an official translator. I went to Le Marie (which is like city hall), who then sent me to the Justice Department, who then gave me a list of official translators, one of which I CALLED ON THE TELEPHONE, and got my birth certificate translated. SHAMWHAAAAT? such accomplishments. Now, (hypothetically) I have given all necessary documents in order to receive APL (Aide de Personnel Logement) which is money given to students by the government to help pay for rent. Kudos France... lets just hope that I get it!

3. I've started all of my classes. Pat on the back. I know I may sound ridiculous, but I can't believe I'm actually doing this. As I sat in my Diagnostic Financier class (I think it's the same thing as Financial Management... that's my best guess), I started to congratulate myself. TRUTH: I had no idea what the professor was talking about. TRUTH: It was 8 AM and like all my other classes, it was entirely in French. TRUTH: It's going to be the hardest year of my life. FACT: I somehow did everything correctly, arrived safely, and managed to start school in a different country?! What am I even doing here?! THIS IS CRAZY! and I can already tell that despite all the upcoming challenges and tears I know I will shed, this year might be one of the best in my life.

4. I paid my first ever electricity bill today... by myself... at a post office... in Euros. Pat on the back.

5. I concocted an interesting dinner tonight. I am trying to be as fiscally resourceful as possible by spending the least amount of money I can. Instead of going to the grocery store (which I actually need to do tomorrow desperately) I created a soup/stew/pasta/hotpot dish... I have no idea what you could call it. Essentially: a few nights ago I accidently cooked enough quinoa to serve a small country. I've been adding it to soup.. eating it plain.. throwing pesto on top... putting it in omelets. Tonight, I conjured up some sort of dish that consisted of quinoa, water, french onion soup mix, frozen roasted veggies, Harissa (it's this crazy spicy Middle Eastern hot pepper paste... closest thing I can find to crushed red pepper), tomato sauce, noodles, basil, garlic, salt, and pepper. It was very interesting... in a good way! It was both incredibly filling and sinus clearing.

6. I have a French bank/credit card. It has my name on it. Friggin cool. Again, pat on the back.

7. I've established new favorite snacks! I'm sorry, but a full tummy is a happy tummy, and a happy tummy is a happy Dena. Wasa crackers + Le Vache Qui Rit cheese (topped with an optional smoked salmon). Wasa crackers+thin spread of butter+honey. Wasa crackers with eggs over medium on top. Wasa crackers+nutella... anyone noticing a pattern here? Man, my creativity and ingenuity astounds me sometimes.

I can't tell if I'm so calm and collected right now because I actually am, or because I'm so stressed and in-over-my head that I have this invincibility complex going on. Either way, I'm going to bed tonight with a smile on my face.

I've already started to plan a trip to Paris for the last weekend in October. Here's the general game plan: Find a super cheap way to get there, find a couch to sleep on, and get tickets to see This Is It, the Michael Jackson movie that's coming out... and maybe see the Eiffel Tower (only if time permits it..) Ha, I kill myself. I really do. Although, I am starting to wonder if I can find someone as equally as ridiculous as myself to go to Paris with me to see the MJ movie. Is it sad that it has become my main motivation to go there? Pshaaa.... nah.

Anyways, goodnight to all you mesdames et messieurs.

You stay classy San Diego.

I'm such a slacker

It's almost amazing how good I can be at doing absolutely nothing...

Yesterday, my friend and I watched so many movies in a row. It started off with Gran Torino, followed by Adventureland, and then Twilight, finished off with Away We Go. It was so nice to just veg out and literally do nothing. Plus- all of the movies were great.

Today I watched about a season and a half of Fresh Prince of Bel Air. I attempted to do my laundry, but the laundry room was locked. I washed my sheets and towels by hand in my bathroom, but that was way to much effort. So, I decided to just wait until tomorrow.

I had a great evening though. I met an American at synagogue during Yom Kippur, and she and I made plans to have a night of matzo ball soup. She did all the cooking, and I happily ate.

Tomorrow I have a big day ahead of me- it's the first official day of classes. Yippee! I'm excited, yet nervous, happy, yet wanting to just stay in bed for weeks at a time. I'll be sure to keep you all updated.

New favorite snack: Wasa crackers with a honey/butter spread.

Time for another episode of Fresh Prince, followed by a nice little coma.

Much love to ya,

Dena

Shazaam!

Just for kicks, I've decided to make some little lists- things I like about France (Reims/the country itself/just being abroad), and things that are going to take me a lot more time to appreciate.

Things I like:

1. Everything is constantly an adventure: I'm always discovering new places or quirky little things. I think because it takes so much extra effort just to be here, I pay more attention to the small details that I would otherwise overlook. 

2. I've never seen such beautiful grapes. Yea, yea, stop laughing.. Seriously- going down the produce aisle in a supermarket, there are these grapes on display that are picture perfect. They're all perfectly shaped, rich in color, and maybe it's just the florescent lights but they always seem to glisten. Plus- they taste delicious too.

3. Hazelnut is a common flavor. There are so many options of candy bars etc.. with chocolate hazelnut! Kinder Buenos might be the most delicious thing ever... next to Nutella (which is SUPER cheap)

4. I can go to the supermarket and practically buy a different flavor of yogurt every day. I love me some Activia, and so far I've had the following fantastic flavors: mango, peach, coconut, and fig. Fig is un-real.

5. If I wanted to, I could easily go to another country. Friggin awesome.

6. You can buy a good wine for the amount it costs to buy a 2 liter bottle of diet coke.

7.  I haven't seen a single person wearing Uggs. 

8. Every single child I've seen is BEAUTIFUL. I don't know if it's because they're impeccably groomed and stylishly dressed, but these French kids are gorgeous- not "little kid cute" but catalog gorgeous.

9. Man purses- absolutely hilarious. I don't think I'll ever get used to 'em.

Things that will require just a bit more time for me to appreciate:

1. These mosquito-like bugs that look like they are straight from Jurassic Park. Good God. I massacred one the other day and it was a volatile experience. I kid you not, they are literally 4 times the size of an average mosquito.

2. Stuff is expensive! A towel cost a minimum of 8 euros. A Venus razor: 13 euros. A normal sized bottle of lotion (not even with a pump) costs like.. 7 euros. Where are all the generics?!

3. People party HARD here. I don't know if I'll ever adjust to this whole go to the club at around 1 AM and party till 5, and then go to class thing... I just don't think I can keep up!

4. Nice shoes. Don't get me wrong- I love me a pair of nice shoes. I love great style. BUT apparently here women don't wear sneakers? I wore a pair of flats on Yom Kippur. Maybe it's because I was hauling ass all over a city thats undergoing some serious construction, but I actually injured myself! The top of my right foot is swollen and throbbing, and I'm having a lot of difficulties walking. Sorry France, I just gotta wear my kicks.

5. Smoking. I know, I know, how can I not understand that France is notorious for smoking? I obviously get it- but the other day I saw a young girl who looked like she was maybe 14 years old walking down the street, smoking a cigg. That will definitely take some time to adjust to..

6. The metric system/military time/celcius- I have no qualms with them at all (in fact, they're much better systems), it just sucks to not know them.

That's all I can think of for the moment.

I made chicken and vegetables with quinoa for dinner tonight.. except that I made about 14 servings of quinoa... woops.  Other than that, I'm just taking it easy tonight. I'm very unenthusiastic about doing anything. Maybe I'll watch a movie, or maybe start to do some research, who knows?

Anyone want to write me an email telling me about what they're up to? Would love to hear from you all.

Bisous

Dena

Just Another Manic Monday

"Woke up, got out of bed, dragged a comb across my head..."

Knowing that this morning would be sans-breakfast, I slept in for a bit. In a mere 15 minutes for proper dressing and procedures of good hygiene, I was ready to go and out the door.

Simply walking into the main building of school was a task onto itself. Deep in my heart, I knew I should not be there but instead at the synagogue. 

Here's the thing about France that has come as a complete shock to me: the sense of nationalism. When I think of nationalism, I think of having pride in one's country, and uniting as a "one nation" yadda yadda yadda. My loose interpretation of nationalism doesn't quite fit the mould here. In a class, we discussed this notion. I strongly believe that what one learns in a classroom is completely different than what one experiences in real life. Well, over the past few days, I learned about this sense of nationalism in class, and (un)fortunately experienced it today.

The schedule for today consisted of information sessions, and filling out paper work. I'm all for being informed, I truly am. However, I'm also true to my roots, my heart, and my conscious. So, I painstakingly entered school today knowing that it was, for a lack of a better word, wrong for me to be there. I entered the office of a dean-like figure at the school. I started explaining to him that today is a very significant holiday for Jewish people, and that I absolutely must go to synagogue. I then asked if there was any possible way to get the paper work done earlier so that I could leave. Basically, he said: Nope, absolutely not. It's vital that you be here today. If you aren't here, you will miss crucial information that applies to your entire year.... Great.

So, after that great start to the morning, I begin to talk to another woman who is about to lead this orientation that contained, from what I understood, life or death information. Again, I explained my situation, and she replied with a response that was almost verbatim to what I had heard just 5 minutes prior. 

And so I sat near some of my friends in the amphitheater of doom and waited for the presentation to begin. The tears in my throat moved upwards, and I felt an all too familiar burning in my eyes. Shit.

The presentation consisted of a few PowerPoints with some schedules, quasi-important deadlines, the definition and tolerance of plagiarism, the resources provided by the library, and then finally, how to get involved on campus (a presentation that we had seen the week prior). So, here I am, sitting with around 150 students from literally around the world, and I'm the only sucker who's silently crying. Why?

I have a few possible explanations...

1) I'm homesick: Well... perhaps, but in a much different way than you might expect. Do I miss my family? Absofrigginlutely. I'm talking about a different type of homesick though- This was the first time I have ever encountered a problem with being able to practice my religion. Sure, during elementary school I might have to miss a few days because of High Holidays. However, I was never reprimanded for missing school. There was never an issue with it- I'd maybe have to work a little bit harder to catch up on the material that I had missed that day. It didn't bother me that I had to explain to nearly everyone the meaning of Yom Kippur. While it's nice to be understood and relatable, I love to satiate inquisitive minds-- but these minds weren't inquisitive. Not even that, they honestly didn't give a shit. Honestly. So, here I am now, wondering: could I ever truly live in a place where there is no sympathy or apathy to religion? It's ironic to me that all of the national holidays in France have religious origins. I understand that these holidays are now strictly cultural as opposed to religious- but: If France is a country that believes SO strongly in separation of church and state, why hasn't it renamed all of the national holidays after the country vs. after religion. Why not rename "Christmas vacation" to "Winter vacation" or maybe "Vacances de Napoleon" or something like that. Why not introduce national holidays like Presidents Day, Labor Day, Memorial Day, or  Cheese Day..? It's hypocritical to have a holiday that is "cultural" and derives from any religion if the country is so intense on "the state" having ZERO affiliation with "the church." Yea, betcha didn't think about that too much, did you de Gaulle?

2) I willingly made a decision that I knew was wrong: I didn't stand up for my religion. I didn't stand up for my heritage. I didn't stand up for literally the millions that have lived and died to stay true to their Jewish beliefs, faiths, and morals. I went to Israel a month ago. I went to a country that was founded by Jews that had survived oppression and escaped death. I went to a country that allows Jews to practice religion publicly. Could I ever call it my true home? Probably not, but I know that if needed, I'm always welcome there. So, here I am. Dena White, the American Jew in France, on a sunny and lovely day, huffing and puffing that the school won't let me miss class. So, as I sit in this amphitheater, barely listening to the presentations, I know that I should be elsewhere. I know in my heart that what I am doing is wrong. As much as my brain tries to convince it otherwise, my heart stays true to itself. During Yom Kippur, there is a prayer that is said multiple times. It's a confession. At one point, you clench your fist and place it by your heart. With each word, and line that is said, you (gently) beat your fist against your chest. "We have sinned against you willingly and unwillingly." For me personally, willingly sinning is much worse than unwillingly sinning. And here I am, sitting in this room, willingly not going to services on a High Holy day, the Day of Atonement, because of course registration... I'm not physically chained and locked to my seat. I'm not within the confines of a barbed wire fence. So what is actually preventing me from doing what I feel is right? Words. Threats of consequence. Jews before me have faced verbal threats and mortal peril. 6 million Jews died during the Holocaust because they identified themselves as being Jewish. They died for practicing what I practice. They took that risk to stand for what they believed in. No one is going to kill me or do any physical harm, so why didn't I stand up? Why was I too scared to do what I knew was right? What was the worst that could have possibly happened had I missed classes today? Not a whole lot, I think...

So, after a ridiculous few hours of presentations, we were given a 2 and a half hour break. Parfait! I hustled back to my dorm to pick up some of the papers I would need for later that afternoon, and then ran to the bus stop. I squeezed on the bus, much like herded sheep, and headed downtown. Knowing that I had to get lots of money out to pay for European health insurance, I decided to maximize my time by going to the bank first. I ran on the slippery cobblestones, passing an ominous cathedral, deeper into the city to my bank. My plan didn't work out. The bank was closed for lunch, naturally. Slipping over cobblestones, I skidded away from the city towards the synagogue. I arrived, sweaty and panting. I marched up the creaky wooden stairs to the women's section, plopped down at a bench, and had about 45 minutes to decompress, calm down, and focus on what Yom Kippur is supposed to be about. Aaaand time's up. I ran back downstairs, back into the city, passing the cathedral again to arrive at the bank. 

I had about $150 US dollars that I needed to change into Euros to pay part of the insurance expense. I wait in line, and it's finally my turn. The bank teller asks for my account information. She's going to deposit the money into my account. Awesome! Now I can just write a check! Riiiiight. The money won't be available for me to withdraw until Thursday. So, having just deposited all of my money, I now must take out a few hundred using my American card. shweeet. There's not much I can do about the situation, so I take my money and start running. I end up by the buses. Deciding that I now am pretty comfortable with the different bus routes, I pick the N bus. I hop on, and realize that contradictory to what I thought, I haven't the slightest clue as to where I'm going. Aaaand I'm going to be late for the next session, meaning I will be publicly embarrassed by whoever is leading the presentation. I get off the bus at whatever stop it was, and recognize where I am. I have 15 minutes to get there, so I start to book it. In Reims, practically the entire city is under construction. As I walk unpaved sidewalks, through all sorts of terrain, I start to feel tired from head to toe. I'm hungry, I'm thirsty, and I am beginning to get blisters. I continue to fight the good fight and run to school with 3 minutes to go, sparing myself of potential public humiliation.

Yizkor (the big Memorial service) services begin at 4. So does the process to get my student card. I proceed to go on a crazy rampage, a scavenger hunt of sorts, finding every room I need to go to for a specific portion of the process. By 3:50 I'm done, which is before most of my friends even got started. I run out of the building and to the bus stop. And I wait. And wait. I'm on the bus at 4:10, and arrive at the synagogue at 4:29 (kudos construction, kudos). 'Well,' I think to myself, 'At least you'll still make the other half of the Yizkor service.' It turns out that, in true French fashion, the schedule was a little behind. Yizkor hadn't yet begun.

I saw the family that had invited me over for lunch the week before. Generously, they invited me for break the fast. The rest of the night tirelessly went on. At around quarter to 9, services were done, and we made our way to the cute house in the suburbs that I had been to before.

Some things are universal. For break fast, there was a lovely spread of smoked salmon, cheeses, breads, deviled eggs (not how Americans make them... they were deliciously prepared with basil and garlic), butter, jams, tea, cookies and cake. I ate slowly and cautiously, to prevent any sudden sickness. We sat around the table, discussing the day as any family would. Within an hour, my stomach (and heart) was happy and full.

All in all, today was difficult. It was thought-provoking, exhausting, bittersweet, and frustrating. Am I stronger, a better person, or somehow cleansed? No. I don't really think so. I do have a lot to reflect upon, and perhaps I shall do that within the next few days, weeks, and months. But for now, I think I'll go to bed.

Much love,

Dena

The Night of Yom Kippur

My black bamboo place mats contrast strikingly against the white, plastic coated kitchen table where I currently sit. One of my blue and purple patterned bowls contains an autumnal orange squash soup that I've sweetened with honey and spiced with cayenne pepper. Next to it, the matching plate has heaps of penne with pesto sauce, and hunks of fresh baguette with camembert. My glass is half full of deep purple Bordeaux. A clear salad bowl in front of me has beautiful bright oranges, and a single, mid-ripened pomegranate that leans on a diagonal tilt. I have prepared a beautiful spread. I take a bite of baguette, and the gooey cheese gets stuck in the spaces between my teeth. Using my fork, I jab at a piece of penne, and move it around my plate to create an oily green trail of basil. My meal is delicious. And yet, each bite of pasta, each slurp of soup, and each sip of wine I take become more and more bland. I know I must eat, for I am faced with many long hours of having an empty stomach. 

I now realize what the meal in front of me has lost all flavor. Perhaps a meal isn't necessarily good based on what spices and ingredients are used. I have never eaten this particular meal, this meal before heading off to Yom Kippur services, by myself. Right now I seem to be going through the motions as opposed to feeling. I take a bite. I swallow. In a minute, I'll get up, clear my plate, throw away some trash, and make my way to temple. I'm not sitting with the people I love, eating a meal that might now even taste that good, and head off to pray with my community. I am on my own. My meal has lost flavor because I'm not with the people I love- the same people who I may fight with and shout at during the year- the people who I make little effort to stay in touch with- the people who love me unconditionally, no matter how much I fuck up. My only company is myself, and I've never felt so unsatisfied. Perhaps this is what it means to live abroad, away from friends and family. Perhaps this is why all of my classmates are going home during Christmas vacation.

To my friends, family, and mere acquaintances: I love you. I miss you. I'm sorry I have taken for granted the times we share or could have shared. This Yom Kippur, I will not be reflecting on how I've misbehaved, or purposely chose to do the wrong thing. I will reflect on the significance of being close to loved ones, and appreciating just being physically near them

It's time for me to catch my bus to go to services. I still have half a piece of baguette, most of my pasta, and nearly all of my soup left.

Perhaps I don't even need to fast this Yom Kippur- for I feel that even by eating I will still have an aching stomach, head, and heart.

I love you all. I'm sorry for all the times I have consciously and subconsciously wronged you. May you all have an safe and easy fast. May you all have a year of love, health, and happiness. If you're near someone you love, give them a hug, because not all of us are that fortunate at the moment. Gmar chatima tova.

Love,

Dena

La synagogue de Saint Josef? Mmm not quite.

Rosh Hashana, the Jewish New Year, should be a time of celebration with friends, family, and loved ones, right?

This was the first year in my life that I've been away from home during the High Holidays. This time of year is nostalgic for me, and always has been. I landed in France on Wednesday not having any clue as to where I could possibly go for Rosh Hashana on Saturday. Luckily, my sister has a friend who is a Jew from Paris. She was able to forward me a link to a temple in Reims. 

Thursday morning, the maintenance man (aka my new best friend) came to bring me some chairs, cutlery, and a new table. After a lovely interaction with my russet headed new best friend, I set out for a walk into Reims city. I had a vague clue of the general direction of downtown, and so I set out on a little walk. I walked for about an hour and eventually the streets became busier and busier. I eventually reached city center and was determined to purchase a cell phone. Why so urgent? Well, 13 of my classmates had already moved to Reims and know the city quite well. Actually, to be honest... in order to get WiFi in my building, you have to have a "mobile" to receive a text message with your WiFi password. So, I clearly had my priorities. 

I entered Orange (my phone service provider) and asked for the simplest, cheapest phone. 20 minutes, and 50 Euro later, I left with the same little black phone that the lovely elderly woman at the next counter was buying, a few hours worth of minutes, and a phone number which I still honestly don't remember. Mission: Accomplished. Overwhelmed, I decided that it was time to leave. My stomach was rumbling, and I was now able to actually check the time on my brand new piece of stunning technology as opposed to the educated guesses of my past few days. I found a tiny boulangerie, and then continued the trek back to my room. As I walked, I alternated scarfing down a roasted chicken, lettuce, tomato, and hard-boiled-egg sandwich on fresh baguette with sipping a chilled Orangina. 

I returned to my favorite grocery store that I had frequented the night prior to do some actual food shopping. I stocked up on the necessities: baguette, nutella, lettuce, gnocchi, yogurt (they have an entire aisle of yogurt. it's frickin crazy! so many flavors!), la vache qui rit cheese (aka laughing cow cheese) and some other stuff that has little significance to the story (... I can't remember)

That night, as I was lounging in my room, and taking advantage of my newly acquired silverware, there was a knock on my door. I hadn't the slightest clue as to who it could be... I hesitantly unlock the door, and to my surprise was greeted by my friend from Northeastern who also decided to live in the dorms. We talked for a while, and she told me that my other friend Pia had also moved into our building that day. Naturally, I then visited Pia, and the three of us decided to go into the city the next day to open bank accounts.

Friday: The three of us hop on a bus and head downtown. We open up our accounts Pia leaves to meet up with her mother. (Pia's German, so her mom was finally able to move her daughter into school for the first time.) Lam and I ventured off in search of the other Bostonians. We find them in front of a the fountain, as planned, and head to Carrefour.

Let me say something about Carrefour... It's the most ridiculous thing I've ever encountered in my life. It's a "hypermarche" which is like a mega mega MEGA superstore. It puts all of Wal-Mart to shame. It's the largest store I've ever seen/been into. 

After a mentally exhausting trip to Carrefour, I come back to my apartment with new linens, towels and a hair dryer. I set up my bed all nice and nice, and check my email.

And then I remember. It's Friday. Not Thursday night... but Friday night... and Rosh Hashanah starts Saturday morning. Because the sabbath starts Friday night, I now had no way of contacting the local Rabbi. I think at that moment, I realized that I really had moved away from home, and had no one and nowhere to go for Rosh Hashanah. I skyped with my dad and best friend, and they both motivated me to just wing it and at least try to go to temple. That night, I find the synagogue's address, Googlemap a walking route, and pick out an outfit that would be appropriate for even an Orthodox service.

Saturday morning I rise bright and early and set out on my predetermined route. As I'm walking, I realize that a lot of the streets don't have any visible signs for me to read. I walk and walk and walk, and eventually encounter a woman who is walking towards me. I ask her if she knows what street we were on. She answers me, and asks if I'm lost. I tell her that I have a map of where to go, but I didn't know where I was at the moment. She asks where I'm headed. I say the street name of the synagogue. She looks at me in surprise and lets me know that I have a long walk ahead of me. I tell her thats fine. She asks what number I need to go to. I let her know, and that I'm looking for the synagogue. She asks: "La synagogue du Saint-Joseph?" I reply, "Non, ce n'est pas cette synagogue." She wishes me luck, and I continue walking, laughing for at least another five minutes. I get to the bridge and cross it, cars zooming below me on the highway. I run across an exit ramp and eventually hit my destination street.

I change out of my sneakers and into some nicer shoes as I see a sign that reads "synagogue." I head nearer and nearer, and soon enough I am standing outside of a very large temple. Something wasn't quite right. Where was everybody? The huge gates that protected the front of the temple were shut. No one was outside. I looked at it in despair. It seemed as though I had just walked 4 miles for nothing. I ask a woman who is walking towards me if the synagogue was still active. Just as she was saying "oui," a man came out wearing a Tallit. yesssss.

He looks at me, almost as if he is surprise. I say, hello, and ask if it is possible to come and to celebrate Rosh Hashanah. He asks if I'm a student, where I'm from, and how long I've been here. We talk for a brief while, and we enter the synagogue. He leads me to a staircase and tells me I can go up there and pray. Great. I personally hate being separated by gender. I feel that its demeaning and submissive to the opposite sex. But- seeing as I'm in the ONLY temple in Reims, beggars can't be choosers. 

Once upstairs and looking down at the congregation below me, I realize- woah... there are only 4 women here, one of which is reading a newspaper. OY. Throughout the service, women come and go up and down the loudly creaking wooden stairs. I had no idea where we were at any given point in the service. At around 1 or 2, the service was done, and all the women filed downstairs. I found the bathroom, and once done, went into a small common room where there were many other people. An older man approached me and said, Shana Tovah and Shabbat Shalom. I replied the same back. He then asked if I was new here. I told him my little spiel. He asked where was I eating lunch at. I shrugged and said nowhere. Immediately he said, well, you must eat lunch! You're coming to my family's house. YES!

Turns out this older man is the father of the man (Alan) who let me in the temple earlier that morning. I meet Alans wife and three kids, and we pile into a volvo and start driving. At this point, I haven't the slightest clue as to where I'm going, but I frankly don't even care. We arrive at a very cute house just outside of Reims. I'm ushered in and immediately meet Patricia, Alain's mother, who greets me with a kiss on each cheek. We have a lovely Rosh Hashanah lunch. I tried chicken liver for the first time. Not too bad, I have to say. We ate to our hearts content, and then hung out. The men discussed things, and the women and kids (including myself) talked about music, movies, and hobbies. At around 4, lunch was over and we piled back into the volvo. Fortunately, Alan and Fabienne (his wife) dropped me off at my apartment, and we arranged to rendez-vouz back at the temple for the 6:30 service.

I sit down on my bed for about a half an hour, and then get ready to head to services. I reach the temple at exactly 6:29. Looking just as empty as that morning, I head toward the gate. As soon as my finger touches the handle, a man appears out of nowhere. He's security. He begins to (kindly) interrogate me. Finally, he realizes I'm legit and personally lets me in to the temple. We talk for a while. Curious, I ask him about the safety of the synagogue and if there have been any anti-semetic events in the past. He replies that it's generally pretty calm, but in France- you never know. He introduces me to a few more people, including Steve, a guy that had helped lead services that morning. Turns out that Steve went to the same school that I'm currently attending, and also is studying marketing. He's also Tunisian. I can't say I've ever met a Tunisian Jew. I couldn't tell if it was that I was so tired, but he seemed to talk a million miles per hour. Kindly, he invites me for dinner at his and his new (as of one month) wife's house. Sounds good to me! Then, his wife appears. I had recognized her from services that morning. Joanna is not much older than I, and Moroccan. We hang out for a while, and then services start.

During services, I hear this all too familiar noise.. It sounded like.. like.. like someone was playing ping pong. And indeed, someone was. In the common room was a ping pong table, and the kids and adults could go in and play.

After services, I met up with Fabienne, who I had eaten lunch with earlier that day. She too invited me over for dinner, but I told her about Steve and Joanna. Speaking of Joanna, I couldn't find her. Steve was busy talking with the Rabbi. Fabienne told me Joanna had gone to get dinner ready, but she would walk me to their house. Apparently, "they live right next to the temple." So, Fabienne walks me through the main corridor passing the main sanctuary, and to a door. She opens it, and then we walk through a narrow hallway and get to another door. And voila, I'm there. My new found friends LITERALLY live next to the temple. I didn't even have to walk outside to get there. I was still within the temple gates. It was so bizarre, but amazing.

We eat a delicious sephardic dinner. It was so colorful and delicious, with all different types of contrasting textures and flavors. There was pomegranate seeds with orange flower oil, figs, dates, hummus, vegetables, squash, melon, fried spinach leaves with honey drizzled on top, spicy chicken, and roasted potatoes. The conversation was a bit hard to follow. I thought as some points that I might pass out at the table from sheer exhaustion- but it was great nonetheless. After dinner, we prayed for a bit and I went home.

The next morning, it was almost impossible for me to wake up. I contemplated not going back to temple, but I didn't want to seem like "that American." So, with all of my strength, I literally rolled out of bed, got dressed, and attempted to go back to the synagogue. Here's the thing.. My dorm is completely surrounded by gates that, in order to open, require a magnetic card... which I didn't have. The gates had been open all week, so I didn't think there would be much of a problem. Aaaaaand I was wrong. I walked the entire perimeter of the fence but could find no way to get out. I was in the back parking lot, aimlessly walking around when a security guard who was just about to leave yelled to me, "are you lost?" I walked towards him, explaining that I never received one of those cards, and I was stuck. We talked for a while, and he eventually asked where I was going. I told him about how I needed to go to synagogue. He offered to give me a ride there. Yay! So, I hop in the car with him and we start to drive. I then realize that I have no idea how to actually get there. So we drive for a little bit, and a police car was just about to pass us. The security guard waves the cops over, and asks how to get to the synagogue. The police offer to lead us there. So here I was: An American Jew in Reims getting a ride to temple in a security guards car with a police escort. Fantastic.

I barely can stay awake during services. I'm just about to fall asleep in my seat when all of a sudden, I hear the shofar. The Rabbi played it unbelievably. I never in my life have heard such a passionate shofar service. He seemed to play melodies. It gave me goosebumps, and I felt like I was transported back in time. It was exactly what I imagined the shofar service would sound like thousands of years ago at the original great temples.

Services ended a while later, and everyone seemed to want to talk to me. I was invited to lunch at 4 or 5 different homes. I politely decline all of the generous meal offers because I needed to go to sleep. Fabienne offered to drive me back to my apartment. YES! I got back quickly, plopped on my bed, and fell into a nice little afternoon coma. 

And that, my dear friends, was my Rosh Hashanah experience. I unfortunately never got to see la synagogue de Saint Josef (hahaha) but perhaps one day I will.

The First Few Days

Donc, j'arrive a Reims.

Basically, after taking a ridiculous red-eye (yet sleepless) flight to Iceland, I land in Paris. For those of you who are unaware, I'm not living in Paris- I live in Reims (pronounced Rrrraaanh-sssss) which is a decent sized city about an hour from la ville de l'amour. Since I'm here for the entire year, I brought two extremely large suitcases which both exceeded the maximum limit of 25 kilos each.

Once I landed in Charles de Gaulle, I had to get to Reims.. but how? 

I ended up taking a airport tram to a metro, then to another metro, which lead me right into Paris where I had to go to a main train station and get on a commuter rail. Turns out none of the metro stations have escalators or elevators. Fun stuff. It seemed as though desperation and exhaustion oozed from my pores, and a few people aided me in moving my gargantuan pieces of luggage up and down stairs, trains, hallways, and elevators. After a few tiring hours, I end up at the train station in Reims.

I take a taxi to the dorms at my new university. The driver helps me get my luggage out of the car, and then asks (in french, but uv courze) if I know where I'm going. I reply, "non, j'ai aucun idee" (nope, i have no idea). Now, my mission is to find the housing office and retrieve the keys for my studio. A chinese boy was passing by, and the cab driver immediately called him over to us. It turned out he knew where the housing office is. Perfect, right? Well, not really. The chinese boy, who introduced himself as "Jerome" (his chinese name is too hard to pronounce, so apparently the French just call him Jerome- which I find hilarious), proceeds to tell me that the housing office is normally closed right now. Fantastique! Yet, he offers to lend a hand, help wheel one of my suitcases to the main office, and check to see if the woman I need to speak with is still there. He runs up the stairs, and I wait. After a few minutes, he comes running back down saying "She's still here! She's been waiting for you!"

I go upstairs to the housing office. Pardon my French, but she's pissed. I apologize profusely (even though I shouldn't be) and she demands to know why I was so late. I explain that I literally just arrived, and that I had emailed her at least 3 times to confirm that someone would be there at the time I specified. I think she began to pity me once she saw that the bags under my eyes were as big as the luggage I brought with me. She grabbed my keys, and brought me to my new home.

She quickly ran through the entire studio, explaining while she inspected each and every thing. My bed had sheets on it, with two very itchy-looking blankets folded atop. Later on, I found that looks, in this case, are not deceiving. It turns out that my apartment was missing chairs, cutlery, and pots and pans. After finishing her inspection, she asked what I was going to eat for dinner. I shrugged my shoulders and responded "j'ai aucun idee." She gave me a sympathetic look and told me that there's a market about 5 minutes walk from the apartment.

After walking for what seemed to be years upon end (but is in fact really only a five minute walk when you aren't completely sleep deprived) I entered the market. Immediately, I was faced with an entire row of baguettes, croissants, crepes, pain au chocolate etc.. I picked up a 50 cent baguette, found a wheel of camembert, selected a nice Cabernet Sauvignon, some pre-seasoned couscous, olives with feta, and a bottle opener, and trekked back home. With no chairs, questionably clean plates, and no utensils, I sat on my floor. I finger-spread delicious mounds of camembert onto the ripped chunks of baguette, drank my wine right from the bottle, and ate my couscous with a giant wooden spatula that I found in the cupboard.

With a full stomach, I changed into some pajamas. Because the blankets were actually that itchy, I ended up wearing long socks, exercise pants, and a sweatshirt. I stuffed the one square-shaped pillow I was provided into my fleece jacket, and drifted off into a pleasant coma.

...and that, ladies and gents, was my first night in France.