Don’t get me wrong. I REALLY don’t want to leave Paris. (I’ve already had between nine and thirteen heart attacks today worrying that I’m not using my time left here to the fullest.) I’ve started to feel like this is my city (“excuse me stranger on the street, what do you think you’re doing leaving a cigarette butt on MY Rue de Rivoli??”) but it doesn’t mean that I’ve forgotten where I came from. Here are just a few of the things I pine for…
I cannot emphasize this enough. Asking someone to put your clothes in a washing machine is like asking them to eat a needle in a haystack; not only do they have to FIND the needle/drying machine in a country where it is nonexistent, but it would also pain them greatly to waste money on hot air. Plus, it appears French people do not have enough bathroom decorations and must use my underwear to adorn the walls, windows, and doors. Hello exhibitionism, nice to meet you. Me, I’m all about putting my blankets in the dryer right before bed so I can snuggle up all toasty warm. Here, that’s a travesty.
Ever since I travelled forty minutes to find A COUNTERFEIT of my favorite restaurant, I’ve missed my good ol’ American fast food. I have already planned both my Last Supper (the last night in Paris) and my First Supper (my first meal upon reentering America). The typical American airport food court is perfect for this purpose. I will consume: one Panda Express Orange Chicken Meal, one Auntie Anne’s pretzel, one Reese’s Pieces, one chick-fil-a box o’ nuggets, and then – inevitably – one quadruple bypass in the nearest hospital.
Things being open 24/7.
I swear things close here around 7:00 PM (or around 11:00 for restaurants), so what’s a hungry night owl to do in Paris?? Ever since I began college I have become nearly nocturnal, I thrive in the night, but Paris is a city built for the day. (Don’t get me started on trying to find things that are open on Sundays and Mondays). I’m pretty sure if I had a heart attack on a Tuesday night around 9:00 PM the ambulance operator would tell me to come back tomorrow at 8:00 AM, that’s how seriously everything shuts down here
Having a secret language.
Here in France speaking a second language is not really a big deal. (Sometimes in my Paris 8 class the professors would assign extremely long essays to read in English without apology, I guess everyone really does speak English here!) Luckily the same is not true of America. I could speak French for days without finding another one of my kind. I am very excited to return to America with a secret language. That’s right ladies and gents, a semester of studying abroad all boils down to the ability to make fun of people without them noticing, skills in plotting pranks and hijinks in secret, and the ability to swear without offending anyone. Thanks IES!
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<p><span style="color: rgb(29, 29, 29); font-family: Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; background-color: rgb(237, 237, 237);">Clancy Tripp is a junior at Claremont McKenna double-majoring in Literature and Film Studies with a minor in Gender Studies. In the past few years she has lived in Indiana, California, Washington D.C., and Chicago studying and working in arts and literacy education. Good luck keeping her in the same place for more than a year. True to form, she will be spending the Fall semester in Paris, France where she will spend as much time as possible with local French children, explore every arrondissement, and sample every pain au chocolat available!</span></p>