May, My Moment of Madness (The End)

I feel it is my duty to wrap things up here. As bad a travel blogger as I’ve been, I feel I at least owe my nonexistent audience that. SO, here it is:

It’s the beginning of June. I’ve been home for two weeks. And I’m bored out of my mind.

Okay, that’s not ENTIRELY true. I guess what is more accurate is that I am incredibly loath to get up do things for myself, now that I am back in my truly beautiful nook in my parents’ gloriously velour couch, ensconced in the glory of on-demand television and a full fridge of SAFE food (something I truly, deeply missed while abroad: unlimited FREE fruit. something i truly deeply miss now: the kinds of cheese that make you the fattest). It’s not that I’m not looking for a job. I am. I have submitted my resumé high and low, back to front, up and down. It’s just that, apart from that, I’m really into the whole leave-me-alone-with-my-HBO thing right now. Is that too much to ask? Apparently, says the world. What should I be doing instead, you ask? The answer, my sweet friend, is probably something gym-related.

So. I returned to the states (after an unabashedly hellish three days of travel–don’t ask) and, lo and behold—

Me: “I’m fat.”

Mom: “No you’re not.”

Me: “Yes, I am; I can’t fit into my clothes.”

Mom: “So you gained a few pounds. You can work them off.”

Me: “I should go to the gym every day.”

Mom: “Sounds like a good plan to me.”

Me: “Good.”

And if only it could be so simple. For more of my middle-class-suburban-middle-aged-WASPy whinings, you can tune back into Devonmaloney.com, where I have returned for good. As for Paris, well, let’s just sum it up, shall we?

DEAR PARIS,

YOU’RE REALLY PRETTY. I LIKED YOU, EXCEPT WHEN YOU WERE A HUGE JERK. SO DON’T BE A JERK TO YOUR FUTURE LOVERS. THANKS FOR THE MEMORIES. THANKS FOR THE PHOTOS. THANKS FOR THE FOOD. BUT NO THANKS FOR THE EXTRA TEN POUNDS.

SINCERELY,

DEVON

P.S. I’LL BE BACK SOME DAY. NOT AS YOUR LOVER BUT AS YOUR ONE-NIGHT-STAND, MAYBE.

Addendum to March: In Which We Shed

My blogging schedule is really unreliable, isn’t it? Oh, well, the great thing about Being an Independent Blogger, dear friends, is that you don’t have to answer to anyone. So….take that! Authority! Yah!

I totally forgot to mention one thing that happened that first week in March that was impulsive, questionably sane, and overall great. check me out now!

Yes, dear friends. The hair is gone. Do I miss it? Oh, good LORD, yes. I am so cold now. The winter played a trick on us and just when we thought it was safe to chop it all off, it got freezing again. That being said, I don’t know, I think my roommate Lauren did a pretty good job at making me not look as crazy as short-haired-high-school Devon did. Ah, well, this is mainly for the record. Most of you people have long known of my drastic decision.

Just a Reminder

The other, jilted member of this blog (Andrew McFarland) has been documenting his trip photographically (considering that’s his trade). You can see some of the stuff we’ve been doing (and some of the stuff he’s being doing without me, like the photo above, taken in Amsterdam) at his Flickr account.

March, Marginalized by Madness

If February almost ate my soul, then March definitely ate my life. This is why I haven’t blogged recently. What with finals (which went well, save, of course, the wonderfully lucky bout of food poisoning that pushed my testing period back a few hours), spring break (a weekend in Paris with visiting friends, and then London to visit friends, despite major horrific travel setbacks and yet another bout of food poisoning), and the start of my internship at l’Association de la Presse Etrangère, I spent the rest of my time trying to make sense of the free time that was offered to me, with café and bar rendezvous with friends, movie nights (thank god for Netflix), and overall relaxation. Not that blogging is a huge task. Anyway, you understand.

London: GREAT. I can safely say I would have no qualms about living in a city full of British accents and fantastic public transportation. I’m not making any plans, but it was certainly a “real” London experience. I didn’t even SEE Big Ben or Buckingham (sort of regret that, but I’d like to convince myself that it adds to the authenticity of my trip), but I managed to check out the British Museum, the Tate Modern, Abbey Road, Brick Lane, Camden Market, the Notting Hill Arts Club, and Portobello Road, as well as attending either a concert or a dance party every night (Frightened Rabbit, Passion Pit, house/dub-step show with lovely friend Nooka Jones, BEACH HOUSE/GRIZZLY BEAR). The beer and English food wasn’t bad, either, though I understand why one would hate eating it all the time: I could almost feel the blockage of my arteries taking place as I took my first bite of authentic fish-and-chips. All-in-all, a beautiful experience.

Internship: confusing as hell, but not bad. It’s really unsettling to adjust at first to the French way of doing business, especially after having American internships, where you’re constantly monitored and always have someone there to tell you what to do. Here, COMPLETELY OPPOSITE. I even have to take my own lunch break: WHENEVER. I like the way the French do things (read: late start, long lunches, marginal workload, finding any excuse to celebrate), but I guess I would appreciate a bit more structure. I have no idea how things go on around here! Okay, now I don’t want to say too much more about it, but I will say this, as a positive closer: it’s pretty exciting meeting journalists from so many different places around the globe. I have a feeling this upcoming month will herald more excitement to talk about.

This weekend was Easter, or Pâques, as les français call it, so we had a three-day break, over which everyone (and I mean nearly everyone) leaves the city for vacation or holiday with their friends/families. I was supposed to go to Amsterdam, but due to the longest string of bad luck in the history of travel woes (or at least long enough to make Chevy Chase gasp), I’m stuck alone in Paris instead. Not awful, but not ideal. Here’s how it went down. Brace yourselves, my loves, because it hurts:

On the way back from the laundromat, 2 hours before I was supposed to leave for the airport, my wallet assumedly fell out of my pocket. I realized 15 minutes before I was to head out the door. Needless to say…a tiny problem. So, amidst a breakdown for the ages, I was forced to borrow money from a friend, leave (late) to catch my plane, travel for an hour to get there, arrive walletless, credit-cardless, ID-less (save my passport, thankfully) just as my plane is supposed to be boarding. The desk woman at “special assistance” takes one look at my ticket and says, “This was for 7:20 this morning, not this evening.” The round-trip ticket is non-refundable.

I hate Europe. I hate military time.

Anyway, after calling to cancel with a friend whom I was supposed to meet there, I go home, thinking I can buy a train ticket at the station in cash the next day (thanks to some quick parental maneuvering), only to find the next morning at the station (another 45-minute travel) that all the trains are booked until 8pm, that train being a transfer in Brussels that would cost 200 euro. One way. The only option for getting back on Monday would be a 5-train, 8-hour transfer schedule.

In sum, Paris does not want me to leave it. Did I mention this was all alone?

So I’ve been here all weekend, picking up the pieces of my lost identity (read: everything was in my wallet. EVERYTHING.) while, at the same time, attempting to write a horrifically sudden 7-page paper on privacy and the freedom of the French press (of course, in French, too) with no reliable sources and no idea what I’m doing. Fun, right? Well, at least Garrett and Christina, the friends with whom I stayed in London, were in town for the weekend and I was able to crêpe and wine it up with them a couple times.

Wow, I guess that was the month, in a nutshell. Striking, how easily it fit into a blog post like that. There were, of course many other happenings in that period, but I suppose those are the things that are worth reading, anyway. Until next time, I bid thee adieu and GOOD LUCK. (also, please, SAVE ME FROM THIS PAPER.)

P.S. Check out my review of the WHY? show in Paris on March 25, for Bandsintown, as well as my Flickr feed (in the right-hand margin) to see the places I’ve been going!

February: Or, The Month That Almost Ate My Soul

from Sacré Coeur, at sunset. ©2010 Devon Maloney

Whew. I finally have some time to sit down and hammer out an update for you fine folk. The primary reason for my delay is this: I am totally astonished by the obscene workload that has been dumped upon us here in Paris. Don’t get me wrong; I understand that this is not Eurotrip 2010. I understand that my life cannot (as sad as this fact is) consist only of museum loitering and baguette-buying. But listening to students in London (I mean, I get it; they’re speaking ENGLISH) and Madrid (Why? I am baffled) verbally shrug their shoulders at the homework they have for their classes is maddening. We, on the other hand, will have completed the following: 5 papers, 2 oral presentations (or “exposés”), a debate, a mock interview, 3 midterms, and 3 final exams–all by the end of the courses period of this semester (which, thank the gods, is next week). Did I mention that these things are ALL IN FRENCH? You remember that scene in the first Lord of the Rings movie, when Boromir is brutally shot with three arrows and it takes him FOREVER to die? Yeah. It’s like that. Three arrows: the first is the number of assignments; the second, the murderous power of the French language; and the third is all the cool crap we COULD be doing if we weren’t locked in our (adorable but miserable) little garret bedrooms doing homework. Oh Boromir, I never took you seriously until I, too, was stabbed  numerous times and still managed to speak pretty articulately for more than 2 minutes.

Anyway, I don’t mean to complain–I just want everyone to understand why this is definitely a legitimate reason for NOT blogging. The foreign policies of Nicolas Sarkozy, the decentralization of French politics, and the practical explication of an excerpt from Albert Robida’s “Prière Devant La Cathédrale,” among others, have taken the front seat for the past few weeks. Forgiveness?

Fortunately, I’ve managed to fit in some fantastic experiences in between day-long imprisonments at the library at the Pompidou Center (which is totally awesome; don’t get me wrong). Haunting the areas around Bastille and St. Germain des Prés, as well as the Latin Quarter and Montmartre have been my favorite adventures in the city. I’ve figured out how to enjoy nightlife on the cheap (3-euro wine from Nicolas, the wine store chain), cook/shop for myself (mainly bread, oatmeal, salads and pasta, but with fun things like chèvre — goat cheese — and smoked salmon to go with them–but not with the oatmeal…), and have an extended political debate with a French person (my doctor at the immigration office…weird? not when you consider this is France, and more specifically, Paris). I’ve gotten my kicks in Montmartre (Sacré Coeur is probably my favorite place in the city), the flea markets (les marchés aux puces), and my favorite bar/dance club thus far (Le Pop-in…they love those English names). I’ve been to Père-Lachaise, too–but for some reason we were completely incapable of finding any of our favorite dead people before we were kicked out at dusk. But this is why we live here–to be able to keep coming back. This is also why I love my life in Paris.

Best of all, however, I’ve been collecting observations about the Parisian lifestyle that I will remember forever. Here are some of them:

1. It’s got to be scientific: public making-out here is definitely directly proportional to the number of attractive young couples (and often just single men!) with babies in strollers. The correlation is stunning.

2. Whoever romanticized about Paris (read: everyone ever) forgot to mention the fact that public transportation (more often than not) smells awful. I might just have a sensitive nose, but good lord, people must be peeing in every corner of most Metro stations, in fifteen minute intervals on the reg’. Also, little/no ventilation in the train itself is dangerous when someone has drunk too much coffee (read: everyone) (also read: farts everywhere).

Furthermore, Stephen Clarke (A Year in the Merde) was totally right–who told the French that it was fine to let their dogs poop freely and wherever? I don’t care how tiny your Yorkie is, or what you feed it to make its poop orange (true story–actually, I am kind of interested by that) — the middle of the sidewalk is not an avant-garde gallery for displaying Queenie’s “best work of art.”

3. Fun household things that are decidedly part of French/Parisian culture include: washing towels with no fabric softener (ouch), apartment keys probably originally designed by a couple of sci-fi nerds (seriously, bravo, Trekkies!), instant coffee (yeah, welcome to my life now), closing every door in the house–including the kitchen–whether or not one is using that room.

4. Energy conservation! French people love saving energy! That means my entire house is dark right now, save for the room in which I am writing! Isn’t that cool? No seriously, it is. I wish Americans did this. The one drawback is that this also means that the heat is off in literally every room in the house, so I may or may not be acquiring some frostbite on my nose right now. Too soon to tell.

5. Nutrition information is totally mystifying here. I have peacefully accepted that I will never understand it–Damn you, America, for refusing the metric system. DAMN you. I may be fat when I get back stateside. Ironic? Yes. Possible? Very. Long live bread, wine and cheese (and occasionally dark chocolate).

I can’t wait to continue this list. Living in another country is terrifying, depressing, exhilarating, fascinating, embarrassing, confusing, strengthening, and totally hilarious. I start my internship with l’Association de la Presse Etrangère (France’s foreign press organization) on March 15, after spending 3 days of spring break  here (with some of the Chords girls and my future roommate/love, Sam!) and the rest of it in LONDON! WHERE THEY SPEAK ENGLISH!! There, I’ll be meeting up with essentially half of all the college friends I have, so I think it’s safe to say that I am beyond excited for the rest of my life.

Anyway, I’ve just uploaded some photos to my Flickr account that I’ve taken since I last blogged. And not to brag, but I also have some pretty GREAT videos, which I will post in the next week or so.

Fret not, mes amis! I will have more for you soon!

until then, VIVE LA FRANCE.

-d

Aime/N’Aime Pas: An Interim Post

I PROMISE ( I know, my promises mean nothing to you now, right? ) to update properly this weekend. For now, I leave you with my own list, Amélie Poulain-style, of things I have seen frequently here in Paris, things that make me happy and things that make me sad. This theme will be updated throughout the semester, so stay tuned.

DEVON AIME…

-fathers (especially young model-y ones) who push their children in strollers

-when someone laughs a little too loudly

-toddlers with really thick glasses

-inventing absurd hypothetical stories about strangers

DEVON N’AIME PAS…

-defeated punks who wear suits and have combed their mohawks down

-people who speak at just-too-high a decibel (French & English alike)

-defeated-looking young parents

-when someone informs you of something on which you are an expert

_d

i promise

this post will become something interesting this weekend.

that’s an internet promise, people. i’m sure i’ll be saying this to my kids in a few years: “AN INTERNET PROMISE, PAL. In my day, that used to MEAN something!”

-d