For someone who keeps a decently regular journal, I'm really bad at blogging. Obviously. For this, I apologize.
I really have been doing blog-worthy things with my life, I swear. Those things being, mostly, on my weekends, since they are four days long.
So what have I been up to since the last time I wrote on here? Papers, homework and things. Reading books that hate on the English. Trying to translate Scots poetry into something I can almost understand. The usual. Oh, yeah. I've also had some fancy dinners, a ball, and went to Paris for the weekend and hillwalked Braemar. No biggie.
I'm trying to make up for people not getting any news from me (though I really only know of a few people who are actually reading this), so this is going to be a really long post, but it's totally worth it. Because I'm so dedicated.
In any case, at the beginning of March we had what's called "Ultimate High Table" in Sallies hall. Allow me to explain. We have long tables running width-wise across the dining hall, and one set up on a higher platform, called "High Table," where the staff sits (it's exactly like Harry Potter; in fact, rumor has it that the Sallies dining hall was modeled after the dining hall at Oxford, after which the dining hall used in the Harry Potter movies was modeled). Most halls at St Andrews have High Table about two or three times a term, at which point several students are invited to join staff and a special academic guest at the high table, and are served food, rather than having to get it themselves. Wine is also provided. Students dress up. They drink before dinner, during dinner, after dinner, and after after dinner. Everyone has a good time.
Here in Sallies, we do that every Thursday. But since only some people are invited, the hall staff wanted to make it available to whomever wanted to come. Hence, Ultimate High Table. There's an academic guest at each of the student tables, and 100 people are allowed to sign up, on a first come, first served basis. I'm slightly embarrassed to admit that I was first on the sign up sheet. What can I say? I was excited.
The night proved to be a good one. We dressed up. We ate and drank a lot. We meet cool people. It was all very posh.
Shortly after Ultimate High Table, as in, the next day, I ventured to Paris for a long weekend, to meet three of my friends from Knox, Emilie, Anna and Caroline...
Day 1: Paris by Night
I wake up to my alarm at some ungodly hour I don't care to remember. The guy who drives me to the airport is from Dundee, and amuses me with a terrible yet hilarious southern American accent ("my daaaaaaddy owns a plantaaaaation"). The trip only gets better from here. Upon my arrival in Charles DeGaulle airport, I brave the train, the metro and countless maps (I'm horrible with maps, directions and anything remotely related to finding my way around a place) until I finally reach my destination: Absolute Paris Hostel and Hotel. Nice digs, though I can't check in right away. I wait there for Anna and Caroline, who are arriving from Barcelona. During my wait, the receptionist offers me coffee and a French dessert, basically a ball of lightly fried dough with sugar on top. Coming from Scotland, where nothing is "lightly fried," this seemed like a healthy option. Plus, it was free. And who am I to pass up free coffee and dessert?
Caroline and Anna finally arrive and after a short reunion we head to the café across the street for lunch. We then try and fail to walk to the Louvre, and take the metro there instead. It's an easy trip on the subway.
Ah, the Louvre. Where to begin?
We don't really know. We check the map. We note some artwroks we want to see. The Mona Lisa and Winged Victory are among them, of course. So we wander around the French and Italian Renaissance wings. Unfortunately, I picked that day, of all days, to forget my camera, so I don't have any pictures of the inside of the Louvre or any of the paintings. All would have been Kodak-worthy, of course. It's a beautiful museum. We see the Mona Lisa, the Winged Victory, and what seems like thousands of other paintings, before I notice they have a Vermeer
on the total opposite side of the museum. Vermeer being one of my favourites, I drag Anna and Caroline around for a good amount of time to find it. We see lots of other beautiful things along the way, and finally reach the painting. It's small and Caroline and Anna probably thought it was anti-climactic after all that walking, but I thought it was worth it.
Still, all that walking got to us, no matter how "worth it" the museum was. Soon, we ditch the Louvre and headed to a place to eat. It's nearby, and therefore quite expensive, and with unfriendly, stereotypically Parisian service.
Still, the food is good (it is France, after all) and we're eating with Emilie when we meet her later, anyway, so we don't eat much.
Speaking of meeting Emilie, we're scheduled to do so, and she's instructed us (she lives in France and is taking the train to Paris for the weekend to see us) to take the metro to meet her at Notre Dame that evening. We take the metro to Notre Dame. The directions and signs getting us there are surprisingly easy, even for me. We get off at the stop that says "Notre Dame." Who'd have thought?
Notre Dame is beautiful at night, lit to be bright white. Of course, there was the lack of camera again. Don't think I'm just as disappointed as you are because of this. Imagine a picture here. Or Google it. I'm sure you can find pictures of a white Notre Dame at night on Google.
In any case, we had dinner. It was delicious. Some meat, bread and the saltiest, best butter I've ever had. Some incredibly strong cheese Emilie said was fairly mild. Some wine. After a long day of traveling, we finished our evening with an early night.
Day 2: City of Love? Lights? Cigarettes? Rudeness? Monochrome black?
Saturday begins bright and a college student's idea of early with some baguettes and a metro ride to the Arc de Triomphe:
I'ts beautiful undereath, as well:
We take all 280-something stairs to the top
from which we see Paris spread out in front of us:
Very cool. Very historical. Very war memorial. Very French.
We then meander our way along the Champs Elysees, and think it'll be fun to make our way into Louis Vuitton and guess how much things in the store cost (you may or may not be surprised). The street itself is beautiful, as are most places in Paris, I am quickly discovering.
Much of the architecture looks like this building, on the Champs Elysees:
We also make it to one of Emilie's favourite clothing, Le Petit Bateau, a 100% French place. Of course, we can't resist having lunch on the Champs Elysees. Very classy. Very French. Not horribly expensive. Not bad.
Though we don't make it inside, we do see two of Paris's public museums, across the street from each other. They're literally called "The Big Museum" and "The Little Museum," and their sizes are true to their titles.
The Big Museum:
and the Little Museum:
Size is not a guarantee of beauty, and I actually think the little one had prettier architecture.
We walk further along the Champs, and eventually make our way back to the Louvre. This time I remember my camera (that's where I got the pictures above). We hang out in the little square by the museum, checking out the beautiful building and the odd little glass triangle that sicks up in the middle of it, that doesn't quite fit, but still looks admittedly cool. Emilie then decides that we have to walk along the river, where they have stalls with vintage books, magazines, postcards, and lots of odds and ends. And, honestly, I really can't resist a book stall.
These stalls were all along the sidewalk, and Emilie told me a thousand times what they were called, but I still can't remember the word.
On the railings of one of the bridges over the river, people have left their bike locks as a way for them to always be part of Paris, I suppose. Often, they're initialed with middle school-esque things like "Billy and Jane 4ever" or "KT + SM." Though tempted, we do not leave bike locks on the railings. It does look pretty cool, though, though I don't pretend to be a photographer and my picture hardly does the scene justice.
Eventually we make our way to Notre Dame, after making a few pit stops at some of the stalls to buy some old watercolour postcards. (See, I'm starting to add "u"s in words without even realising it. I've obviously been writing too many papers with British spellings.) The one I pick up had one of those bookstalls I can't get enough of on it.
Ah, Notre Dame. It looks even better than it did in the Disney movie, if you can believe that. We head there again, during the day, so we can actually get inside this time. However, all four of us decide that the outside is much more impressive than the inside, and even that we had seen more impressive church insides in our respective areas of study abroad.
Still, it's obviously very impressive. Very beautiful. Of course, very French. The sheer size was also impressive - the large pillars and the high, arched, church-like ceilings. And it's always amazing to be somewhere famous, and the outside architecture is certainly the reason for all this fame.
Though it doesn't look very big from this point of view, the
check out the last picture in my Notre Dame series. From
the side, you can tell it's pretty huge.
We sit in the church for a while, taking a breather and giving
our legs a break, but soon we have to move on. Next up, Emilie wants us to see Sorbonne University, the most
famous in Paris. Anyone can get in. Literally, anyone. Here's
the catch: you have to be able to pay for it. Consequently, it's
probably the most selective university in Paris, because it's
the most expensive. It might be the most beautiful, too,
architecture-wise, though it's the only one we see on our
trip, and I have nothing off of which to base this claim.
Emilie guesses that, since all the students who attend school
here are extraordinarily wealthy (as is nearly everyone who
lives in Paris), it's probably the best in the arts.
In any case, we see the Sorbonne, and it really is beautiful.
Next up: a long, French dinner. First, we head into a place
very close to the Sorbonne, and order a bottle of wine while
we wait for Emilie's boyfriend and several of his friends who
are planning to join us for the night. Once they arrive at the
place we've picked out, though, they deem it too touristy,
which I totally respect - I'd much rather go to a place locals
love than an over-priced tourist attraction. We walk around
for a while and think we're lost for a while before we realise
we were on the right track all along.
The place we find is a nice French place. Some of
the locals next to us are annoyed by the arrival
of our big group, it seems to me, and do not seem
very pleasant. Emilie says they're Parisians. She
also that notes the group outside, wearing head
to toe black, are also Parisians. She can tell this
by their clothes.
We do have a lovely meal, which lasts for several
hours, as meals (especially dinners) are wont to
do in France. We have dessert. It's delicious. At
midnight we celebrate Caroline's birthday. She's
21, a big deal for those of us in the States, and as big a deal for Europeans. Still, people over here
seem to realise the gravity of 21, and understand that 21 is as big for Americans as 18 was for them. We're all excited about Caroline's birthday, and plan to do a little celebrating tomorrow. We've been eating for hours, though; it's past midnight and we're still eating. Eventually, Caroline, Anna and I head home with Emilie's boyfriend's friends, who speak a little English, probably better than I speak French, but who are still having a hard time communicating. They ride the metro home with us, since we really have no idea how we got to the restaurant and were just following them. We make it home.
We head to bed.
The Paris Sorbonne:
Some French politics in the metro station, which basically bashes Sarkozy and tells him to leave:
Day 3: We Make Our Way Out
We begin the last day of our journey with the beautiful Montmartre, another church, this one in a very touristy, but very eclectic, area of Paris. The façade of the building is almost as impressive as Notre Dame, and the inside is more beautiful, as far as I can tell. I tried, but couldn't resist taking some illegal pictures.
Because we are visiting the church on a sunday, they're having a service, of which we get to watch the last bit. Though I'm not Catholic, and know very little about Catholicism, I think it's beautiful, mostly because there is a choir of nuns, and I'm a sucker for music. The statues of saints and the paintings all over the walls and ceiling are stunning.
After Montmartre, we explored the area a bit. There are lots of artists' stands set up, where they're drawing charicatures and more realistic pictures of people, and selling works. It's a typical bustling, artsy city scene.
Emilie and I spend a lot of time finding the café Amélie Poulain works in in the French film, because its a wonderful movie. Eventually (after asking an elegant Parisian woman who was blatantly wrong), we find the café. For Caroline and Anna, who haven't seen the film, it's a little anticlimactic. Emilie and I, though, take some touristy, film nerd pictures.
Speaking of touristy, we decide to make the short trek to the Moulin Rouge, which is nearby.
Fortunately or unfortunately, we're there during the day, when there's not much action.
To close off our day, and our visit, we make the big leap: The Eiffel Tower. We eat a quick lunch on some steps with a pretty nice view:
Eventually we get a little closer
and even closer
before we head to the top, from which we can see much of the city.
Though not the most attractive architectural landmark, the Eiffel Tower is the Eiffel Tower, and definitely a highlight of the weekend. We soon get chilly, being up so high in the wind, and head down the tower for coffee a few blocks away. Our server is incredibly rude. By this time, we expect it. Still, the coffee is good, however overpriced. By this time, we also expect this. After taking the metro back to our hostel so I can grab my bag (Anna and Caroline are staying an extra night, because I have class Monday), we suddenly realise there's a party going on just under our window. No, it's not for Caroline's 21st, though she would like to think so. We've happened upon Paris's Mardi Gras parade, passing by our hostel. Perfect timing, perfect location.
A nice clincher to the trip. Eventually, I tear myself away, hop on the metro, then the train, then the plane, then the car that's taking me back to St Andrews from the Edinburgh airport. I'm looking forward to some friendly Scots, and a place where I know the language. Alas, after being told to wait by the car park to be picked up, I wait by the outdoor parking lot, which, here, is called a car park. Apparently, though, I'm supposed to be waiting by the parking garage, and my not-so-friendly driver is annoyed by my not knowing his version of English. This is worse than not knowing French - I'm supposed to be fluent here. Upon asking my British friends around campus, though, both the parking lot and the parking garage are called a car park, so the mix-up wasn't entirely my fault. Looking at it in context just didn't cut it in this case.
Exactly one week later, I did something I never thought I'd do, something anyone who has ever known me at any point in my life never thought I would do, something I never dreamed I would do in a million years. I wore a dress. Yes, that's right, I, Bess Cooley, donned a little black dress, some lacy tights, and some bright red lipstick (I just couldn't bring my 6-foot-tall self to wear heels), and went to a ball. Really, it was just like high school prom, but less awkward. I had a blast.
Two days later, I was back to my normal self in sweatpants (phew), setting off on a hillwalk, or hike, through the hills of Braemar, Scotland, which is in the highlands, more or less. It was snowy and beautiful. I joined the low-medium group, since few of my hiking things made the cut into my 50 lb suitcase coming here. We trudged up a fairly steep hill, the snow up to most people's hips (my knees) and though we didn't make it all the way up (it was too windy, too cold, and too hard to see), we had some great views.
We also got to see Braemar Castle, which, unfortunately, is not as nice as many of the other castles here. It's a fairly new one, and was never really used as a castle, when people actually used castles. We stayed in the town of Braemar for a little while, too, having some coffee and some pints, before taking the bus back to St Andrews.
Speaking of St Andrews, a little known fact about this town: it's the home of Scotland's largest poetry festival, which happened for five days last week (though April is National Poetry Month in the States). I took advantage of this, poet that I am, and saw numerous readings and some open mics. There were also poets here talking about classic poets, in a more academic setting, and lots of lunch discussions with the poets themselves. I went to as many events as I could, with time and money constraints, had a blast, learned a lot, and was suddenly very inspired to write. In all, a successful five days. Most of the poets were Scottish or British, though one American poet I love, Natasha Tretheway, came, and I got to meet her. Poetry is so beautiful in a Scottish accent (well, really, all the time, but especially in a Scottish accent), and I noticed that a lot of the Scottish poets played up the accent in their poems, using words that Scots pronnounce very differently than anyone else, and repeating those sounds.
Also, several weeks ago, the famous Scottish poet Kathleen Jamie read at the University here, and I went to that, as well. Another excellent poet, and one who, again, really plays up her accent in her work. I should write a poem repeating the word "bag," which I like to think is the only word I say with a Wisconsin accent.
Kathleen Jamie was definitely one of my favourite readings here, as was Natasha Tretheway, of course, and some newly discovered poets: A.C. Clarke and Ciaran Carson, an Irish poet. Really, last week was a writer's heaven.
Spoiler alert for next week: I'm hiking in the Isle of Skye, one of the most beautiful places in Scotland, I hear. It's one of the many islands off the west coast of Scotland. Hopefully I'll be able to write about it in a timely manner. Cheers.
