Life's our oyster and we're gonna suck that bitch down with a champagne chaser.



  • Behavioral Therapist
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  • BS Psychobiology/ French, UCLA




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Monday, December 18, 2006  
The Parisian Chronicles: Part X - Farewell to the City of Lights
I know what you're thinking. These god forsaken chronicles have been drawn out far too long. They should've ended a month or so after I came back. It would make a lot more sense that way. Unfortunately, there are very few times in my life where I make any sense at all. I'm surprised I even remember many of the details about the trip that I'm writing about. And so the chronicles continue on, hopefully to a conclusion, four months after the actual events took place. It gave a topic for this website to be dedicated to for a few months, which is accomplishment enough. And now, without further ado... let's get this damn thing over with.

The crescendo to the final farewell to Paris began with the much-hyped soccer match between the language and global studies programs. We had been practicing sparsely throughout the trip and it all came to a head on a rainy day in some seedy neighborhood in Paris, on a concrete field. We were each assigned a French philosopher to be during the match. (No we're not dorks. Yes we are geeks.) I was assigned the role of Rousseau, drawn in glorious fashion on my plain white t-shirt. Suffice it to say, Rousseau played a pivotal role in the match...namely kicking the shins of the opposing team members. My subtle tribute to Zidane perhaps. I'm a badass, what can I say.





















We won by a score of like 13-9...oh wait, that was the score of the game where we BEAT $C! (Had to get that in there...HA!) Actually the score was something like 16-2. But they were sore losers and wanted a rematch. A rematch that barely anyone went to however one of our comrades broke his nose in that game, which was very unfortunate, given that we were 4 days away from leaving.

The following day, I would finally get to go to the restaurant I had been dying to dine in since I had arrived in Paris. (Perhaps an international flair is in need for your Zagat blog, Mr. Dehar). The Relais de Venise, or Entrecote, home to the most sublimely delicious steak and fries, as well as the most delectable desserts, on earth. "Steak and fries" sounds so generic, but it's more than steak and fries. It's a lifestyle.






















The wait in line takes about 45 minutes but it is well worth it. The waitresses, dressed in French maid outfits, scribble down on the tables how many steaks for the table and what desserts we desire.






















How they can decipher their chicken scratch (or poulet scratch, I suppose) is a mystery to me, but they're all geniuses in my opinion. I fall under the classification of "godless liberal" by Ann Coulter standards, but those slabs of meat and chocolate profiteroles made me see some sort of deity. Perhaps it was god. Perhaps it was the head chef. I just know one thing for certain. God is in the sauce...deus ex...sauce.

















I don't know what they put in that green sauce but holy Moses man of the mountain, it is forged from the sweat off of Zeus' brow. It's that good. After paying the rather steep bill, we were on our way, satisfied and delerious.

The following day, we had our final class in the Jardin de Luxembourg. It consisted of oral presentations and skits, in some cases, so we thoroughly embarassed ourselves in front of a somewhat wide audience. But the setting was picturesque so we didn't really care.

















Yes I took a picture while I was giving my own presentation. After the last class, shopping for souveniers and gifts basically took up our final days. I bought an insane amount of French comics and candy and strange special requests from my mom. Such as a kilo of a special kind of salt that came in what amounted to a ziploc bag. That was a joy to get through customs. In addition, a lot of sappy last goodbyes were made to things like the heavenly bakeries, cheese shops and street markets. Oh yeah and we had to like study for our finals or something. I guess we were being graded for the classes we were taking. Who knew?











Even sappier goodbyes were made to places that were made a part of our daily lives during our stay in Paris. Our Shitadines rooms, the laundromat, the restaurant and bar we would hang out, the metro at and, of course, the Eiffel Tower.
















Finally, we were done with our finals, as half-assed as our studying was, and was time for our final party in the hotel and on the bateau mouche along the Seine. The celebrating began soon after our finals and our final rounds of shopping. The TAs joined in on our fun as well as the majority of the people in the program. Other than knowing where we were at the time, not many of us can clearly remember what happened that night. There were some people who had never been intoxicated before and weren't used it, there were spills, there was yelling and there was laughing. And this was all before we had to go on the boat...with our professors.











I remember yelling that we were going to miss the boat and my TA, rather bozzed out himself, telling me that we had plenty of time. Why I was fretting so much about missing the boat I don't know. I also yelled at another girl for not hugging me. And then I yelled at and threw a glass of half full glass of champagne at one of my friends, who then threw a full glass of champagne at me. I swear I'm not a violent drunk. Just...passionate...and affectionate. When it was time to leave for the boat, it was kind of embarassing because very few of us could walk in a straight line. Also, I smelled extremely boozey because of the glass of champagne that was spilled all over me. I took the deoderant of our room party host and rubbed all over me. I then smelled like a boozehound who fell in a vat of Old Spice and cologne. Perfect image for our professors to remember us by.

The metro ride was all kinds of interesting mainly because one of our more lightweight companions threw up on said metro and scared away a horde of native Parisians. He then ran off the metro at the wrong stop and continued vomiting. He would eventually catch up with us, throroughly embarassed. After we made sure he was ok, we totally laughed at him. The boat ride was meant as a final farewell to Paris by night, as well as providing us numerous opportunities for some final photo ops.















As the boat ride came to an end, and we waited by the river, deciding whether to stay out all night or head back to the hotel, a sense of saddness and elation shrouded the experience. It was very difficult to part with the city and the people we had grown to love but at the same time, the entire voyage had been so rewarding and fulfilling that it was foolish to be regrettful about anything. That being said, I won't lie and say that tears weren't shed amongst some of us. We made one last promenade around the familiar streets before heading to the metro. Still slightly buzzed, I nearly picked a fight with two sets of sleazy Parisians who were saying rather obscene things to my female companions. I don't know if I gained some sort of newfound self-confidence in Paris, or whether all my inhibitions were shot as a result of the booziness. Either way, it was another unique experience that I had acquired.

We hung out in each others rooms for a while after we got back, not knowing whether we should go to sleep or not. We would eventually part ways late into the night. In our room, after turning off the lights, my roommate started laughing. Then I started laughing. And we couldn't stop. Because he was the one who threw up on the metro, on several unsuspecting Parisians. It was pretty fuckin' hilarious and we couldn't stop cracking up.

I would get half an hour of sleep before waking up to leave for the airport.

Before my trip, I was nervous as all hell. Nervous about what I do not know. I guess breaking my comfort zone is not something I do often. But this trip was one of the best decisions I had ever made and led to countless memorable experiences and valuable friendships. Paris was built up in my mind as some sort of untouchable ideal. After finally experiencing it on my own, I realized that Paris on its own is a beautiful place, but without the experiences we give to it, it is meaningless. The City of Lights and Love remains a part of me forever, as a result. And I miss the hell out of it. But I know it's still there waiting for me to tackle it again. And when I do, I know it'll give me a means to experience life in new and unique ways, once again.

Vive la France!
5:00 AM
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