La Vie à Paris!!

Les mots ne peuvent pas decrire combien j'aime cette ville!

YES, words cannot describe how much I love this city. Ah! You hear, "Paris is so great blah blah blah paris paris paris" But REALLY....PARIS.

I'm gaga, nuts, drooling like a helpless unfashionable dog (unheard of in paris) as I walk down each Rue; a (beautiful) baguette crunched under one arm, a crepe in the other, trying to figure out why the HELL Parisian rooftops make all buildings I've ever seen in America look like hairy butts. And then the TREES. dear god, praise the strange despotic urges that overcame Napoleon III when he decided, "Um yes, I think I will plant about uh 600,000 EFFIN TREES" he was a genius. Well, except that whole invading Russia thing, smooth move hexlax. But yes, Paris is green, shady (good shady, not shady shady or slim shady), romantic, and just a dream.



Also, a key to my unquenchable excitement / thirst / love of this place = FREE entrance to ANY museum I want. Louvre. Musee D'Orsay. Saint Chapelle. Orangerie. Rodin Gardens. , je paie zero euro, Nothing, Nada Nichts Nien. tous sont gratuit! Free! ah it even rhymes. thank god. This means I just grab sketchbook and pick up and go to.... (fill in the blank). N'IMPORTE OU! (anywhere) For instance Mardi (tuesday)? = Rodin gardens to sketch, wander, and remember that it's not ok to sit on French lawns. OR perhaps I'll go into the Orangerie (jeudi) to look at monet's water lillies and yeah, that's chill you guys are closing in twenty minutes, jokes on you cuz I'll just KEEP COMING BACK. Like my two day in a row visit to the Louvre? I didnt get past the first two rooms of Greek sculptures, one time spending the entire hour with Le Victoire (the winged Nike), WISHING I had a huge sign that would just say, "Vous êtes jaloux?" that all the crazy-rushing-pas-a-la-mode-picture-taking-tourists could read....and then not understand because they dont speak French.

And OH to speak French. Another reason......why this is possibly the best city in the world. I am happiest when I am speaking French. I love the sound of my voice, the shape of my mouth the use of my throat that happens with each "euh, oi, ou, ere, ion..." I utter. I sneakily eavesdrop on people's conversations on metros and in cafes excited to know the general idea of what they're saying. I try to perfect the throat sounds necesary to utter the perfect "un café s'il vous plaît, pas emprunter, ouais, merci" to not sound like a stupide americaine right off the bat, and then, continue chatting with the barista, en francais bien sur, while sipping on my straight up espresso. mmmmm.

I want to say everything that I've done, everything I've seen, and its just so much--each is a fragment that pops into my head, EVERYTHING is an experience, Playing peekaboo with an insanely well dressed four year old at a cafe, watching the glowing light change in Saint Chappelle as the buzzing tourists leave, sitting in Tuileries Gardens under a giant tree sun on my back, french conversations with an old lady at the market, about where i'm from and why my hair is so blonde, the shine on my spoon as it cuts the crouton cheese cover of real french onion soup, the smell of a boulangerie en route to class, the colorfully filled window of a patisserie.

D'etre à Paris.