Je Suis Dans Paris

Nobody here will speak French to me. I got off the plane prepared, even if misconjugated, to buy my train ticket to our room at the University of Chicago Paris Center, which is only a few blocks from the new Bibliotheque Nationale de Paris. "Je voudrais acheter un billet à Chatelet," I said to the woman at the ticket counter, "et prochaine à la quatorze à la Bibliothèque Francois Mitterand." Yeah, it's probably not perfect, but it's pretty darned good, considering the fact that I haven't spoken French since my four years in high school, which was a really long time ago. (Fourteen years!) But she said "That will be eight forty," and after I had my ticket and said "merci," she said an exaggerated "bye!" As soon as people see that I'm an American, they switch to English. Which is nice, but I'd really like to practice my French.

I found our apartment, which overlooks the Seine, relatively easily, although when I asked a couple of people for directions coming out of the train station, they pointed me in the wrong direction. But because water tends to flow downhill, I decided that rivers should also be downhill, and I was able to locate the Paris Center. Did I mention that it overlooks the Seine? I'm looking at it right now! I was wide awake and full of energy when I arrived, so we planned an afternoon of cultural events: to the Bibliothèque so MFAH could get a €35 library card et prochaine to the Cinemathèque du Quartier Latin so we could take part in that French national pastime of watching old American movies on the big screen. We were going to see Richard Brooks's antiwestern The Last Hunt, mais il y a des chaises très confortable dans the lobby of the Bibliothèque, where we had to wait for a half hour while the IT department repaired the cash registers, and I was pretty much out. We stumbled—well, I stumbled, she supported—back to the room for a two-hour nap.

But after that I was wide awake and full of energy. I still am, and it's 4:42 in the morning here. I really should be asleep. Maybe the problem is that I've had a gallon of caffeine since I got here, from the Coke Zéro MFAH surprised me with in the apartment to the Coke Zéro they sold at the sandwich shop to the café we had after dinner with Chad the American Studies Guy and his mother. But those who know me personally know that I always drink a gallon of caffeine, and it doesn't usually trouble my sleep, so maybe it's just jet lag. Tomorrow it's tourist time: we're going to the Louvre and Notre Dame, so perhaps I should try this sleeping thing again.