Marco and I sit around our little table in the kitchenette; he drinks espresso from Germany made with his mokka, I make coffee - here, real coffee with my Melitta, coffee that is better than what I am served in the Barisien cafés. For the first time in weeks it isn't raining; there isn't a single cloud in the sky, and although it is around 32 degrees the sun is bright and the layer of fog is gone, and in consequence I am in a fantastic mood. Adding to said fantastic mood is the fact that my two-month search for the best croissant in Bar le Duc finally culminated at 10:40 this morning, in a bright red boulangerie run by, as the sign proudly advertises, Mr et Mme Kalck. Yes, these croissants are almost as good as the ones I can have in Paris. Soft on the inside, and the exterior comes off in flakes when I pull the croissant apart, and it soaks in the coffee perfectly when I dunk it. I bought two croissants, ate one with my morning coffee today, and put the other in the fridge for tomorrow.

As is the habit, everyone forgot that yesterday was my orientation in the mess of disorganization. I'll spare the details about why and how I finally figured out that I was supposed to be in Nancy for the entirety of the day, and also how I showed up for the 10:10 train at 10:02 but the attendant wasn't there to sell me a ticket, and so I watched my train speed off into the distance. Instead I'll skip to 12:20, when I went back to the station and finally boarded the 12:32 direct train to Nancy. The ride was pleasant, as it always is, and particularly so on this early afternoon: layers of fog covering the lakes and hills of the French countryside, my fully-charged iPod drowning out the sounds of fellow passengers, a light rain. Upon my arrival in Nancy I hailed a taxi, haggled the driver until he agreed to take me to Lycée Loritz for no more than 6€.

After the orientation (to which I was three hours late & suffered through an embarrassing introduction -- walking into a room of 50 people and having the people in charge introduce me to everyone), an assistant and I wandered Nancy in the name of shopping and talking, two of my favorite activities, for several hours. A new friend, so glorious. I had spinach-ricotta ravioli for dinner and a glass of Côte du Rhône wine, proudly stamped with the AOC label of approval. On the last train to Bar le Duc, 20h32: I board five minutes before departure, nighttime everywhere, "Monkey Gone to Heaven" as loud as my earphones would allow.

Yesterday night I finally filed some complaints about: the broken hot plate, the cold showers, the broken fire alarm. We'll see what happens but I bet I can already tell you: nothing.

Today I am contemplating placing an order with amazon.fr, and perhaps pleading with my parents for them to send me some LSAT and GRE practice books. Also on the agenda: make coffee, because I just woke up and it is past one (how do I always do this on my days off!), shower, hand-wash some clothes, buy painting supplies with the assistance of one of my students.

There are days when I am so thrilled, so excited, to be in France -- days when having autumnal leaves and scraggly trees and grey skies and rain and smoke from chimneys and mulled wine and Brie de Meaux make me feel like I absolutely made the right decision in coming here. Being seated next to windows passing through the French countryside on the eve of winter, listening to Koreandogwood; having my students offer to take me to Verdun; sipping coffee made with the Melitta in the morning while it rains; having colleagues invite me to their houses for dinners, real French dinners. These things are all so wonderful. But then there are days when I feel so defeated. I'm being pulled in twenty different directions at work, and a teacher wants me to give up my lunch break one day a week to privately tutor a student for free, and when I said no she made me feel like I was selfish and unaccommodating. Today is my ten-month anniversary with Alex and I'm not there. Thanksgiving is next week and I won't be there. I miss having friends, real friends -- it's been hard to meet people here, there aren't many people my age and those that are I don't seem to have much in common with. I am lonely, pretty much all of the time. My roommate is so unhappy and miserable here that he is thinking about quitting and going back to Germany, which would leave me completely by myself in this prison of a dormitory. Days like these make France very difficult.

I went to the bibliothèque (which is a fancier way of saying library) which was in a castle, of course, and they have card catalogues:

I stole this from Kate on facebook:

Danger Mouse And Sparklehorse Team Up With David Lynch

"Just War" might be my favorite song; I also really like "Star Eyes." Oh Mark Linkous, you make everything okay. Have I ever mentioned that I love Sparklehorse? Because I really, really love Sparklehorse. 

On Tuesday morning, I discovered a Melitta filter cone tucked away in the back of the cupboard and it has forever changed my life. Being able to wake up and MAKE COFFEE? My god, I am living in the lap of luxury over here. I also discovered a drying rack in the rangement. We can ignore my bed, which I swear to god is a wooden plank, and the prison-style shower situation, and the general Soviet-Union-esqueness of this building. Drying racks and coffee? I may as well be living in a palace.

I spilled boiling water on my left hand this morning while making coffee, gaaahh. Guess I won't be hand-washing more clothes today ... to the laundromat!

More photographs from Paris:




This bottom photograph of the note lovingly placed into a plastic sleeve says, "don't start your vehicles in front of these windows anymore ... we're sleeping! thanks."

One of the most disappointing things about living in this town is the grocery situation: there is only one store here, Casino, which leaves much to be desired. Their dairy aisle is pitiful, their cheeses are overpriced, the cereal section is practically nonexistent, I can't find oatmeal anywhere, and their tea consists mostly of bagged Lipton. Quelle horreur! Eating is difficult when you aren't very excited about the things you can eat. All of this changed last night when someone offered to take me to a much larger supermarket located outside of town called E.Leclerc. My life in France will never be the same. I stocked up on some of my favorite items (Brie de Meaux (!!!!) (my god it's so delicious) (I ate half the cheese wedge last night), chocolat viennois, fruits and veggies, plain yogurt in glass containers (everything comes in glass here), and the necessary goods such as coffee and tea).




The square cards on the left of my wall were bought during my last visit to Musée d'Orsay. I visited the museum several days after the new James Ensor exhibition was installed (it was shipped over from MoMA in NYC), but I think everyone else in Paris had the same idea. I wound up having to wait in line for an hour and a half in the wind and pouring rain with about two hundred other people (no joke, and everybody's umbrellas were breaking around me) to see this exhibit. Totally worth it. I already loved Ensor (obviously, for waiting that long) so I don't know how objective I am being here, but it is one of the best exhibits I've seen in awhile. If you want to read more, the d'Orsay's website has some information (in english no less!). 

I also spent some time in the Art Nouveau Revival installation which, to tell you the truth, sounded better than it actually was. I am also a little confused as to how Allen Jones' fetish furniture made it in there (maybe it's those curvy rugs?), but hey! why not!