Morning Walk

Some time during my first week in Paris I woke up unnecessarily early. After laying in my bed for several hours, I gave up and followed my restless feet outside. This is what happened.

The sun was glaringly bright for the morning. In my half sleep-walking state the amount of people, cars, and bikes around was astonishing. I stood in the street for a moment before taking off down the cracked sidewalk. As I took a deep breath of fresh air, I noticed something different. Maybe Paris was so far away from my own small town home that even the air was differ. Perhaps there was a certain je ne sais quoi about the city of lights. Suddenly, it hit me. The mystery, the magic, the bread! The entire French passage that I was strolling through smelled like fresh-baked bread. I could taste the golden butter, hear the crunch of delicately designed pastry layers. My mouth watered as I peeked at the baguettes every body carried like a fashion accessory. Rummaging in my pockets for some change, I rushed into the nearest bakery and struck up a friendly conversation with an employee while I surveyed rows of glistening chocolate ganache, buttery rolls and perfectly baked bread.

That event was my introduction to a very important French food group: bread. It sits near the top of the pyramid along with wine, cheese, and chocolate.

Starting to Feel like Home

Third comes navigation. The ability to turn into a human map. Only learned by doing, failing, and repeating until the correct street is discovered.
Second comes language. A deep appreciation of every sleek and slender sound which is spoken. Immerse yourself in it; become a sponge.
Third comes lifestyle. To learn how to speed up and slow down on command. Observe carefully and take detailed notes.

My schedule allows for long, stretched-out breaks. No more than two classes per day, and only one on Wednesday. This is both a blessing and a curse, since I live too far away for it to be worth it to return home. With our urban split campus, it is impossible to ignore the bold cityscape which stares us all in the face. Over time, the buzzing and colorful streets transitioned from novel to familiar. My eyes clung to fountains, carved arches, flower baskets on balconies, and petit cups of espresso. I learned how to walk with purpose, how to savor my food, and how to manage time.
Small things, like studying with friends, conversing on the street before class, and going out for coffee or a bit to eat gave me somewhere to belong and something to do. I joined clubs, volunteered, and threw myself into the eager mass of students at the American University of Paris.

Orientation

My footsteps matched the rhythmic humming sounds of traffic as I soaked up rays of early morning sun. It was a short walk; I didn't want to wander too far and get lost before anything important happened. My roommates and I walked to the metro together, curious about our week of busy plans. Once we arrived at AUP I quickly realized how things would work. This was not waiting for instructions at a small high school in Korea, and all the choices we made here were on us. People were friendly, but busy. I already saw small social groups emerge in the crowded open halls of our building. I held conversations with anybody in my vicinity, and moved in the crowd seamlessly. I kept track of my books and tried to stay organized. Don't fall asleep during lectures and go out for hot coffee with new friends during the breaks. Most importantly, make sure to sit outside and enjoy the view.

I learned about clubs, cultural programs, insurance, accounting, immigration, transportation, and anything else they could think of. In the evenings social events were held. Before the week was done, I had made friends with all sorts of students and had gathered my bearings (and sense of direction) in Paris. At night I was tired but satisfied, like how one feels after a good and long-deserved meal.

First Meeting

After my friends left the apartment, it was quiet. I spoke quietly with my roommate who had also just settled in. I left to get lunch, and she was asleep when I came back. At the end of the hallway I found my suitcases where they had been left. My room was small, but nice. There were pictures of cherry blossoms on the wall; I thought it would suit me just fine. I knelt down on the hard wood floor and dumped out all of carefully packed and precisely folded clothes and belongings. I unpacked in silence until my other roommate arrived.

She sat on the unused bed while I walked across my room, adjusting this picture and that lamp just so. We laughed about the old days of high school, and I tried to remember my small town before Korea(1) or France. I could tell that she was tired, and eventually we broke away. I took a hot shower and she went to sleep. Once again, I had the house to myself. We had a nice kitchen with a washing machine, a small balcony with some chairs and dry plants, and a large sunny living room. My room was next to the walk-in closet. I closed the door and looked out the windows; golden light filled the room and the streets seemed as busy as ever. I snuggled up in the fluffy blankets. The pillow did not smell familiar, but it soon would. I did not think about the upcoming week.

1- you can find my blog about Korea with this link: http://emilyadventuresinkorea.blogspot.com

Welcome to Paris

I woke up happy. I rolled over my friend's fluffy blankets and looked up to the small window that was letting in pale gold sunlight. We went downstairs to have breakfast and I felt comically out of place. Staying at Lollye's house as well was a Taiwanese girl she met in Korea. The three of us made pleasant small talk while we ate toast and had coffee and tea. I looked out the window to the small garden. Even from inside, I could hear the rustling leaves and smell the sweet green grass. France seemed very peaceful.

While I dragged myself out of a tired haze to get ready upstairs, a sort of party had congregated in the living room. Several of Lollye's friends and her brother were talking and laughing, and were introduced to me in quick succession. I said hello in broken French and then joined our Taiwanese guest in the kitchen. On the short walk to the train station I got to know the group of French girls a little better. They all took my suitcases and laughed and talked like nothing was difficult in the world. I felt very taken care of. We played games on the train and I looked out the window with glossy eyes. The countryside that was dark the previous night was now full of lush trees and flowers, quaint buildings, cobblestone streets, and delicate street lamps.

My first impression of Paris was of the subway. It was crowded and cave-like. People ran in all different directions, and if you stepped out of line it was like being swept away by a strong current. My friends had taken my suitcases and promised to meet me at my apartment while I checked in at the school. Once I had ascended to the street level, it was a whole different world. On both sides of me were grand buildings, surrounded by velvet lawns and spread apart by a highway studded with lights. A golden dome stabbed at the blue sky to my left, and my friend pointed at it and advised that I go there some time. I turned around, once, and saw the Eiffel Tower rising from a concrete haze. She told me I would see it every day (later I would prove that she is not wrong) and took me down another road to find my school building.

Inside I spoke to people with ease. In the arched-ceiling hallways and rooms with French doors I stood and waited, and talked to strangers like they were old friends. After a certain point of traveling, every face seems familiar and warm. After a little hold-up at registration, I was off to my apartment! We took a shuttle across the city, and I had a little tour of all the best restaurants and famous shops while I looked out my little window. I saw the famous Arc de Triomphe and had the distinct impression that I was surrounded by a vast sea of important things.

Arrival

I stared out the small window and tried to see past the clouds that drifted much like my mind. Twelve hours before I got on this Boeing 747 I was frantically packing, and only six hours before that I was having a festive going-away party. The reality of my decisions had not quite sunken in by the time I landed. I had successfully graduated early after Korea, was about to attend a university I had never seen in a country I had never been to, and was about to begin yet another one year journey.

At the airport, I was greeted by my good friend Lollye (and Louna, her friend who accompanied her), we had been together in Korea, and now were united after several months. Since I had not eaten any real food for a substantial amount of time, we went to a restaurant before taking the train to her house about an hour outside of Paris. The food was warm and filling, and Lollye and Louna told me more about life in France and survival in Paris. With my mind numb from travel, I followed them from the delightfully friendly restaurant to the closest train station.

It was dark, but I looked out of the windows on the train. My forehead was pressed up against the cool glass and I watched streetlamps zing by. I wondered if it would be alright to fall asleep listening to the rhythmic flow of French banter.