Tuesday and "Who's Zoomin' Who?"

After deciding that today was a day absolutely prime for sleeping in, I almost did a back-flip out of bed this morning when a loud siren noise exploded all around me. It took me a minute after sitting bolt upright and tossing Tramp across the room in fright that it was, in fact, the fire alarm. This was only slightly less alarming than unidentifiable, loud noise but I managed to stumble out of my room and into the common room. Lauren looked equally confused, staring at her alarm clock. "Perhaps we should go outside?" I pondered. "Yeah..." she muttered. "I thought it was just in my room..." (Lauren always speaks in ellipses.) So we went outside.

Had I been more awake, I would have realized at lot sooner than I wasn't wearing my glasses, that I was wearing my retainer and that I had forgotten to put on my sleeping bra the night before. Perhaps it was for the best that I wasn't more cognizant because, if I had been, I also would have realized this was one of those top ten embarrassing moments in life. Everyone else had not recently been jostled from sleep (it was 9:20am) which made me look additionally foolish. I rubbed my eyes and crossed my arms rather grumpily. Mike claimed to have just woken up as well but was miraculously fully clothed. I wished I had had such forethought.

After such a morning, I went back into my room and did not leave. I spent the day singing and reading about the legality of the US-led invasion of Afghanistan in 2001. I was surprised how little I knew about it to begin with. I knew the vague basics but, for living through the period, I really wasn't very well-informed. This shouldn't have surprised me since my news-gathering skills aren't very good, but I was still a little annoyed with myself. Not that this deterred my singing! Oh, no, it was a singing kind of day and sang I did.

Law class was excellent and I was the most prepared/least confused person there short of Jillaine herself. Christina's freaking out again (unnecessarily in my opinion) and everyone seemed really confused about the whole assignment. It seemed quite straight-forward to me. I'm writing about the legality/illegality of the US-led collation invasion of Afghanistan in 2001. It's weird because I really thought I knew what was going on there (hey, I lived through the period) but I'm really poorly informed. So I'm learning a lot more about the background/history of it all, which is a plus. Other people chose the NATO invasion in Kosovo because they didn't know anything about it, but Afghanistan is equally good since I've now realized how little I know. Also, it's nice in that the US gave a statement to the Security Council outlining their exact reasons for going in so there's no speculation there. (Of course, their reasons are hogwash, but that's another issue.)

This week's lecture was Samuel Beckett. I had no idea who the heck he was prior to the lecture but now I can say that I know and I do not like his "art." I dislike performance art so much! There was this one that was just a mouth talking incessantly and incomprehensibly. It gave me a headache; I almost couldn't watch. The lectures are getting worse and worse. The first one (on Thomas Hardy as a poet rather than as a novelist) was quite good, even if you didn't like Hardy or didn't know much about him. Mary Woolstonecraft was an interesting topic delivered by a rather dull lecturerer and Samuel Beckett was just completely uninteresting and delivered poorly. And it was hot. It's always hot here. I'm just perpetually dehydrated. I am so glad I disregarded Jim Leheny's clothing advice and brought my summer attire. It rained overnight, though, so now it will be presumably cooler.

One of the defining characteristics of the participants in this program is a love of gossip. Any information is happily swapped and one of the sure-fire ways to gain entrance (however brief) to another clique is by having information to share. People bargain for information saying things like, "You tell me what you've heard about me and then I'll tell you what I've heard about you." It's absurd. Like either party is going to tell the truth. Anyway, I have, for the first time in my life, people wondering about me behind my back. I guess this is a plus since people know who I am (probably also a bit of a first) but it's also a little strange. Both Lauren and Courtney have let it slip that people asked them about what's going on between me and Mike. This makes sense since the number one favorite type of gossip is regarding who is hooking up and who might hook up and what happened last night. I find the whole titillating and I'm definitely glad that gossip never goes right to the source and asks there. I would have to come up with some kind of diplomatic, didn't-really-answer-your-question answer and I don't have that kind of instant wit. Besides the fact that I myself have no idea what's going on between me and Mike so that would cut down on my ability to answer the question even if I was inclined to do so.

Last night (Tuesday night) half the program camped out in Mike's room waiting for his roommate, Sam, to come back from escorting his very young, very pretty tutor home. Basically, the guys who were waiting wanted to beat him up because, apparently, this young tutor was quite the attractive piece of woman and the girls waiting for him wanted all the juicy details. I suppose I should give them kudos for actually wanting to ask Sam about it, rather than circle the wagons in an attempt to draw out information in some sneaky, I'll-ask-your-friends way. The whole thing makes you very careful what you say and to whom. I accidentally started a rumor about Emad yesterday when I was simply griping about Bill Speck's class to Marissa/Melissa and Christina. It was repeated back to me, word for word last night. It was weird. I guess I have to be even more guarded, which doesn't leave me with much to say.

I must go now, someone might be listening! The walls have ears!

Love,

Daughter

(note catchy code-name so no one will know who said all this)

PS - Padre, sorry I missed your call! If you want to call sometime in between one and 3:30, I'll most likely be in my room. :)

Beginning a new thing

Good morning, cyberspace. Since I've been inspired both by my cousin Pedro and the fact that actual things are happening to me, I thought I'd start up this blog. The posts will be quite long since I just naturally write in long sentences/paragraphs so there's a warning for you. I'll be working on getting all my previous letters home up here. That's what this will be, these are my letters home from a summer spent abroad. I'll post pictures and video when appropriate but mainly it'll just be me.

So there's your introduction, enjoy paroozing the back-dated entries!

All the days in between (Thursday-Sunday morning)

This past weekend was a wonderful mix of sociability, lack of productivity and marathon work sessions. Thursday I don't have classes so I sat myself down and made a list of all the things I needed to do. This, while helpful, wasn't really as productive as one would think. I ended up spending the day uploading pictures, wasting time and, eventually, talking to Courtney. We had yet another one of our extended, soul-bearing conversations. We talked about all kinds of things, our own back-stories and humorous anecdotes. I know I've said it a million times, but I love learning people so purposefully this way. I know I found Courtney unbelievably annoying back at Smith but that was only because I didn't take the time to know here and "get" her. Now I get her and she's great. She's just as socially awkward as I am and funny and a great listener. She's going to be a psychologist and she'll be great at it. She's excellent at listening, processing and coming back with a story that'll make you feel better about whatever you said.

Mike went into London to visit his godparents on Thursday evening which left Courtney and I to our own devices (Yuan having mysteriously disappeared as per his usual). We did a little shopping at the official Oxford store and wandered across the Bollywood film that's being shot here. People in the program have been running into them sporadically throughout our stay but this was our first encounter with them. Of course, the leads were just stunningly beautiful people. Sadly, they didn't film a musical number while we were hanging around. I would have loved that.

So Courtney and I paled around for the rest of the evening, getting very little done. As it got later, I started to get a tad worried about Mike coming back from London but he finally showed up just as we had hunkered down to do work. (Figures.) So the three of us hung out until the wee small hours again and then Mike and I trudged back to Stairwell 12. As I had foreseen, our relationship was completely unchanged by the sleeping together thing. I didn't know if this was weird or fortuitous. At lunch, Mike had made an awkward little overture while fiddling with his sandwich saying, "So, uh, thank you for letting me sleep in your bed." This made me snigger a little to myself, just the pure awkwardness of his body language amusing me. There was one other moment while hanging out with Courtney and she suggested we have a sleep-over. Mike sort of muttered to himself, "Already did that..." then sort of realized what he said and cut off, eyes widening. Courtney was too busy being post-1am ditzy and didn't hear. So things were materially the same except for that thing we don't talk about.

Friday was field-trip day here at the UMass Summer Seminar. As usual, the field trip could only accommodate a ridiculously small number of people (in this case, 15) so, while Yuan had made the cut, Courtney, Mike and I were left at Trinity. I woke up late on Friday (you can't keep me up until three every morning and not expect me to sleep in) and sat myself down to write my paper. I wasn't feeling very productive when Mike turned up to ask me to lunch. We went, came back and then Mike said he was going to the library and asked if I wanted to come. Saying "yes" was the best decision I think I've made in weeks. I was so productive at the library! I did loads of research, wrote more than half of my paper and taught Mike the word "schvitz." (To which he replied, "Wow, you really are Jewish, aren't you?" Hey! Yiddish does not necessarily equate Jewish-ness! It's just a fantastically descriptive language!) It was sweltering and uncomfortable in the library, but really productive. It was an afternoon well-spent.

Friday night we found Yuan (he lives!) and all four of us went out to finally see Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest, which was quite a pleasant surprise. The rest of the program went to see it the weekend it came out and have since been telling us what a disappointment it was. I was not at all disappointed, I loved it and would happily go to see it again if it didn't cost me over five pounds to sit in a non-air-conditioned theatre for two and a half hours. I'll have to go again in America.

After Les Pirates, we went out for dinner at a restaurant cleverly named Old Orleans (har har) which had an alligator hanging from the ceiling and American cuisine. It amuses me that they have American cuisine here. Sainsbury's (local super market) has a sandwich series that is "internationally inspired." You would expect some Thai-flavored chicken sandwiches and perhaps something with Brie to denote France but, while I'm sure they have these things, they also have an American-inspired chicken Caesar salad wrap. I think we're well-represented even if they haven't quite mastered the chicken Caesar salad wrap. (I'm quite convinced that they just use mayonnaise for everything.) It's nice to be able to go into a restaurant sometimes and have a little taste of America.

So we all got hamburgers of some sort (Mike and Courtney bravely tried the bison burgers) and fries and had a grand old time. After dinner we turned back to Trinity to have some very appropriate rum, which Yuan had purchased on the ferry to Calais. I was hell-bent on drinking it post-Pirates and managed to convince everyone else that my idea was simply brilliant. So we set up camp on the lawn (it was still unbearably hot inside) and passed the bottle around since we all wanted to try it straight-up, Jack Sparrow-style first before mixing it was coke.

We had brought Mike's laptop out with the intention of watching a movie off of it while we were outside on the lawn, but that just never happened. We just hung out and Marissa/Melissa showed up and hung out with us...[I just took out some randomness about people not being themselves and Courtney having the unique ability to help people act naturally. - Corey of July 25, 2007]

It started to get cold as Marissa/Melissa spoke on about Blackadder, Monty Python and the children's fantasy book she's in the process of creating. I was lying on the grass, next to Mike, listening to Marissa/Melissa and watching the stars and clouds float by. I think I saw a shooting star. I know I saw a kangaroo-shaped cloud and another cloud that looked like a dragon. As it got cooler, I started shivering a little since I was ill-attired in one of my nicer sleeveless shirts that dipped low both in front and in back. "I'm cold," I muttered rather piteously. Mike grinned and jokingly asked if I wanted to be held. "Yes," I replied immediately and decisively and rolled into his arms. He seemed a little surprised that I had agreed but held me anyway.

So we spent quite some time, hours, wrapped up in each other on the lawn while Courtney and Marissa/Melissa talked. Occasionally one of us would contribute but we also talked to each other in quiet undertones. It was still cold, but at least my upper body was slightly warmer. It was a strange feeling of extreme comfort and awkwardness. The awkwardness came all from me since I'm just not normally a very touchy-feel-y person so I was at a bit of a loss as to what I was supposed to do with my hands. Short of that, it was wonderful.

As usual, time flew by and before I knew anything, it was 2:30am. I never mean to stay up so late but then I always do. It's a new running joke among us that Courtney and Mike are a bad influence on me. One of them will inevitably turn to me at any point after 1am and say, "Geez, I'm such a bad influence on you!" Which is, quite honestly, true but there really isn't anywhere else I'd rather be than hanging out with them. That's my problem really: I get completely zonked but I just love hanging out with them so much I don't want to leave or miss anything.

Marissa/Melissa was still waxing poetic about her upcoming novel which was in all honestly pretty brilliant but it was also late. So she "quickly" wrapped it up (this was after a good hour of telling us that it was almost the end) and we all headed off to our respective stairwells. Mike and I had a little moment before I returned to futzing with my keys and he, after one last look at me, fled up the stairs to his room. I honestly don't know what to think.

We all decided that Saturday was the day to go to Christ's Church. Mike had been for his architecture class and said it was well worth whatever they charged to see it. Of course, as with most of our plans (e.g. punting on Friday), this didn't happen. Rather, Courtney and I set out to shop in town, got caught in a torrential rainstorm, missed Mike and Yuan altogether and ended up dancing in the rain instead. It had been unbearably hot in Oxford for weeks and it was finally raining. The streets immediately became deserted and it was just me standing there as it rained harder and harder. It was magical, the way the streets emptied and it was raining so hard so fast. We skipped and danced and twirled and jumped in puddles and kicked up water as we walked since we were so wet it didn't matter anyway. I've never been so gloriously wet in all my life. We ran up and down the huge lawn next to the Garden Quad and twirled about in the air as we jumped up with joy and lied in the grass since it didn't matter anymore. We weren't hot anymore and we relished the cold feeling seeping under our skin.

I returned to my room as the rain let up a little, thoroughly drenched and wonderfully sated. Lauren, who had also out in the rain with us, and I ditched our wet clothing in the shower and then just hung out wearing towels for a while yet. We huddled by our open window as the rain started up again, torrentially pounding into the cobblestone outside our window. Thunder would rumble every so often but we never saw any lightening. Reports of flooded streets, fire alarms going off with no provocation and power going out in stairwell 15 circulated quickly despite the fact that no one was going outside. It was a great moment of community and wetness.

Mike turned up, thoroughly drenched, about two hours later and refused to come in because he would have inevitably dripped on everything. As it was, he only had to fling a hand in my direction to splatter me with water. So he went up to his room to dry off and shower and I tried to hunker down and do work. Unsurprisingly, I didn't get much done but I read a little bit for law and decided I would go to library that night to get more done. Courtney pulled out all the stops at dinner to try and convince me not to do work on a Saturday night (she brought in watching The American President and everything!) but I was fairly adamant. Mike eventually came up with the compromise that we would do work for two hours and then reconvene at 10:30 to watch a movie of Courtney and Yuan's choosing. (Yuan, meanwhile, had nearly died a death by Corey's death stare since he professed that he really disliked The American President and wasn't really nuts about The West Wing either. Die Yuan! Somehow he made it alive through dinner, we'll never know how.)

So we watched Batman Begins on Mike's laptop up in Mike's room. Something with Mike and me changed at some point and now we're a lot more cuddly. Previously, we would just kind of sit really close but now he's okay with putting his arm around me which is extremely comfortable from my perspective. Since I was basically falling asleep as we watched the movie, it was nice to have someone to lean on. It's much more comfortable than just letting my head fall back onto the couch's back. That strains my neck. Unfortunately, Batman Begins is quite an engrossing movie so, despite my sleepiness, I stayed awake for the whole thing. I "rested my eyes" (Grandpa style!) a few times, but I was awake throughout.

For once, I was in bed before 2am which was quite pleasant. I'm in the middle of being annoyed with Lauren and also asserting myself to her which I could probably write another page about but this is probably long enough. Sorry I haven't been keeping up with the e-mailing, I'll try to do better in this coming week so you don't get these epic e-mails. I haven't heard anything from guys, either, so I hope all is well and Mum got back to Williamsville all right. I love you both so much!

Hearts,

Corey

Paris: Part Six, the final chapter!

I love you both, my loyal readers! I'll give you the last paragraph of Part Five so you get have a "when last we left our heroes"-type experience...

Lunch [at the Louvre] was quite good. We all had chicken salad sandwiches on baguettes and I got to order for everyone. Throughout ordering and conversing with the waiter in French, Mike was looking at me a little strangely, sort of bemusedly. When the waiter finally left, he grinned and said, "It's really very cute when you do that, when you speak in French. You have a cute accent." I nearly swooned on the spot but managed to just thank him and turn a little red. I internally vowed to speak more French when at all possible.

Part Six

After lunch, we all trooped off to the "Objets d'art" section of the Louvre. Mike had said that morning after inquiring what kind of things I liked to see that he didn't "want to spend all day staring a someone's silverware." Funnily enough, we soon found ourselves in front of a large glass case containing-you guessed it-someone's collection of butter knifes. I was particularly tickled by this but we moved on anyway. We saw the sculpture gardens and wandered through Babylon to get back to the pyramid and the gift shop. We were basically all Louvre-d out at this point and we were ready to spend big bucks in the gift shop.

About half an hour later we emerged from the Louvre with very little to show from our visit short of our maps and tickets. I had purchased a few postcards, the best and cheapest souvenir, and Yuan had bought a Louvre guidebook in French (to practice, he said) but other than that, the gift shops proved a disappointment. No matter, we decided, since we were on our way through the Tuileries to yet another street carnival. This one was much larger than the one Mike and I had encountered the night before. It stretched down the entire length of the Tuileries and had all kinds of varied amusements. After spotting an impressively large Ferris wheel that morning while we waited to enter the Louvre, we had all immediately decided we had to go. So it was about ten minutes later that we found ourselves all crammed into one small, round car and heading upwards.

The view from the Ferris wheel couldn't help but be spectacular. It was located basically in the direct center of Paris and you could see everything from the top. Courtney, petrified of heights and with a severe case of motion sickness, squealed and laughed nervously as we went up and around and were swayed by the light breeze. Mike, our resident photographer, filmed the entire thing using the video feature on his camera. I just grinned and laughed and let myself go. It was beautiful up there and the wind was a pleasant respite from the heat down below. We went around a bunch of times, each time spotting some new monument or landmark below us. It was exciting and, if we hadn't had time to actually visit each landmark personally, this Ferris wheel would have been quite enough to make up for it. As it was, the ride was like a checklist of all the places we had been or wanted to go while in Paris. I am happy to report we eventually saw all of them with the small exception of the Musee d'Orsay, which we saw from the outside many times but never went inside.

After the Ferris wheel we found an incredibly cheap ice cream place at the carnival and we each got a cone. Ice cream in hand, we started back towards the Seine and Notre Dame. We crossed the Seine to the shady side of the river and continued along. Rather than walk up top where all the little booths and souvenir shops were, we took a steep stone staircase down to the water level. I'd never been down there but it was remarkably different from the upper street. It was more bohemian and felt like the real Paris, not the Paris everyone wants you to see. There was a little tent village, complete with medical tent in case anyone should fall ill. There were boats strapped up next to the docks and a couple lounging in a hammock they had tied up under a bridge. It was also cooler down by the river on the cobblestone so it was quite pleasant.

We were still hoping to take a boat-ride down the Seine that night so we kept an eye out for any company who might be available to do such a thing that night. Mike found a taxi-boat service where you paid for a day and then could use it whenever, hop on and hop off. It was after five by this point so it seemed a waste to purchase such a ticket even if it would save our feet the next ten minutes of walking to Notre Dame. So we ditched the boat idea, resurfaced and paroozed the touristy stalls along the street until the Ile de la Cite came into view. Courtney successfully purchased four bottles of water from a man with a bucket and we proceeded onto the island. We walked the length of it, Mike and Courtney for once agreeing to follow my lead rather than go off on some crazy route with Yuan. Apparently the previous night's Metro debacle had boosted my street credibility.

Following the little signs reading "Notre Dame de Paris," we turned almost at the end of the island. We were immediately on a lively street with numerous cafes, shops and tons of tourists. As we continued along, the sound of bells started to be heard coming from somewhere up ahead. It was a remarkable conflict of sounds as if someone in the bell tower had just decided to ring every bell up there all at once without rhyme or reason. Every bell pealed out its particular note, competing with the other bells to be heard and to be the loudest and most often sounded. Hearing the bells created a magical moment. Notre Dame in and of itself is magical, there are no words to describe the feeling you get when you go there, but hearing the bells and seeing the cathedral slowly rise up from behind trees and buildings is indescribable. For the first time, I could perfectly envision in my mind's eye what it was like back at the time of the cathedral's height. I could see the old, crooked roads winding in and all around with the Medieval people of Paris hurrying to get wherever they were going. It was as if everything faded away around me and I was left alone with Notre Dame, her bells and the shades of days past.

Nothing could shake me from the haze of appreciation and adoration of the building. We immediately got in line to go inside and then we were in a whole other world. Almost as soon as we stepped in, the cantor stepped forward in the pulpit and started to sing the most beautiful hymn I've ever heard. Notre Dame is amazing in the silence of tourists' feet shuffling and cameras clicking. Notre Dame comes alive and becomes inexpressibly beautiful when she is in use. The bells had been calling people to Mass. We were in time for Mass.

The next hour was one of the most moving of my life. Incense poured forth from the pulpit, thicker and more potent than any I've ever seen in my life. It encompassed everything, tossing a hazy glow over the entire interior. The cantor continued to sing, the choir joined in and the monumental organ at the back of the cathedral sang to life, resonating around the stone walls. It was completely magical and life-affirming and an experience on the verge of converting me. I sat in a corner, huddled near a statue of Joan of Arc and just looked around me in complete awe. Notre Dame is always my favorite thing about Paris and there are no words that can describe why. I don't know why myself, it just enchants me and casts a spell over me. Man created all this to honor something he truly believed in. It's a wonder.

Mike joined me after a bit next to Joan of Arc and we carried on a conversation about religion in hushed tones as the incense overtook the air around us. I'm not one to talk about my beliefs very often but Mike brought it out of me. It's interesting to be confronted with the question of what do you believe. Notre Dame stirred every religious bone in my body and inspired me to believe more heartily in the plain, simple goodness of Man. The experience of sitting on a stone ledge pressed up against a soaring column in Notre Dame de Paris with Mike and Joan of Arc next to me while the choir sang on heavenly was incredible. Magical. Inspiring.

I basically had to be dragged from the cathedral. I could quite happily sit there all day listening and watching the beauty around me but it was time for dinner and even I was getting a bit peckish. We went to the café directly next to the cathedral and had a cheese plate since we all agreed we had to have crepes for dinner at least once while in Paris. So we had the cheese and then went in search of a crepes place. Rather fortuitously, the Latin Quarter, renowned for its eclectic-ness and numerous restaurants, was merely on the other side of the Seine. So we passed Notre Dame once more and delved into the Latin Quarter. I was about to somehow transfer into the most charming version of myself I've ever been.

I don't know what it was about that night but wandering around the Latin Quarter gave me a sudden new burst of energy, enthusiasm and gaiety. I became this charming woman who was slightly mysterious and said wonderful things in English and in French and could navigate to anywhere with complete confidence. I had a strut and I felt fantastic. I have moments in my life where I become different versions of myself, better, worse, dull, charming and this was the pinnacle of these moments. I skipped about and grinned and was thoroughly charming. That's the only word I can think of to describe it: charming. I wish I could be like her all the time but I don't know what switch got turned in my body to do it again. I was the best version of myself and I loved every moment.

Mike and I split two crepes (one cheese and chicken the other simply butter and sugar, both delicious) at this great creperie we randomly found down a busy side street. The crepe-maker was quite the ham and put on a great production in making our crepes. We then went up to the upper floor that no one else seemed to know existed and were able to watch the street from above. After dinner, we all just wandered around the Latin Quarter. There were street dancers and little shops that were (shockingly) still open. It was fantastic. We caught one last glimpse of Notre Dame, all lit up and beautiful at night, before Yuan stopped some people and asked for the nearest Metro stop. The night wouldn't have been complete without Yuan asking some random people where something was.

I woke up the next morning to Mike sort of gently touching my shoulder which was a nice way to come into consciousness. It was my turn in the bathroom so I got up, took a quick shower and then started packing all my stuff up. It was already the day of our departure. It was incredible that the time had gone so fast. Our plan for the morning before getting to the bus station at noon was to take the Metro one last time out to Montmartre and seeing Sacre Coeur, the last thing in Paris that I had never been to and really wanted to see. So it was with great enthusiasm that I strapped all my bags on and headed out. We stopped to take a bunch of pictures of the Hotel Tamaris before departing which earned us some weird looks from passersby.

The Metro ride to Montmartre was pleasantly surprising since it took place primarily aboveground. We got to see the city rushing by which kept me more awake than I probably would have been otherwise. We got out of the Metro and, after one right turn, there was Sacre Coeur. It just rose up, all white and shining above all the other, comparatively dingy buildings. We went towards it, snapping pictures all the way and started to climb the stairs towards the church itself. We hadn't gone more than five stairs when four black men accosted us and asked us for our index finger. Warily we stuck out our fingers and very soon discovered the men were South African bracelet weavers! Five minutes of bizarre conversation later, the four of us parted from the four of them with lovely reminders of our trip tied around our wrists and ten euros less in our wallets.

We continued climbing unimpeded (a few more South African guys tried to stop us but we just held up our wrists and they left us alone). A man had set up shop with his harp under a little blue tent and was plunking out "My Heart Will Go On" from Titanic. For some reason, it worked. It seemed strange that a Celine Dion song would be remotely appropriate at Sacre Coeur, but the harpist made it work. He was very serene and dedicated to playing his music and it was quite calming. Eventually, after more climbing, made it to the church itself and wandered around inside for a little. Where Notre Dame was stunning and magical both within and without, Sacre Coeur's exterior was really all it had to recommend it. After finishing up our circle around the inside of the church, Mike informed us that we were going all the way to the top. Not for the faint of heart, I can now tell you.

It was a pretty cool Indiana Jones-like experience to go up the winding stone staircase through the very walls of Sacre Coeur towards the dome at top. There were cobwebs and poor lighting and the steps just went up forever. It was only the knowledge that they did eventually end at some point that kept me from complete despair. I could just imagine some little bell ringer forcing himself up these stairs day in and day out. At the halfway point the stairs open up to give a break and you shimmy along by the gutters. About there you realize that all these stairs are well worth it. I thought this halfway view was the actual end-game view and I was considerably awed. But it got better.

The view from the very top of Sacre Coeur was quite the sight. You can see all of Paris and even out into the countryside on a clear day. Courtney and I marveled that we could see farmland from right in Paris. Yuan accosted a friendly German man who happily took numerous pictures of all four of us from various angles and then proceeded to talk to us for a while after. We met a group of confused British tourists who kept exclaiming "But we were just looking for the crypt!" They seem to have gotten lost. After a while, we headed back down the winding stone staircase (this time down the other side). This side had an even more Hunchback of Notre Dame feeling about it. There was more skitting along gutters and climbing awkwardly down worn-in stairs. It was fantastic.

We stopped to buy three French hotdogs and flavored ices before hopping on the Metro once more to catch our bus back to London. We were right on time and all piled onto the bus. We didn't get the front seats this time but we got four seats in a row which was nice. As with the last time, Courtney and I chattered amiably for the first few hours of the trip while the boys dozed or listened to stand-up off of Mike's iPod. After a bit, I decided to take a nap. We were all quite looking forward to the ferry this time since we knew it was coming. It would be daylight and we could all go out on the deck and actually see the choppy Channel waters around us. We were quite excited about the prospect.

Sad to say, when the bus driver started following signs for the Eurotunnel rather than the signs for Calais. We had to stop twice for customs and the only upside was that we got our passports stamped. It didn't really make up for the lack of ferry-ride, but I'm all for getting more stamps in my passport. The tunnel wasn't like I imagined it at all. The bus drove into a train compartment, parked and then, about half an hour later, we were let out of the train compartment and we were in Dover. I didn't even notice us moving.

The ride back to London was uneventful. There was traffic in between Canterbury and London which delayed us a lot. We got to see the spires of Canterbury Cathedral, which was pretty cool. Our trip was allowing us to see other random pieces of touristy things that we might have otherwise missed had we taken a plane or train. But it was coming to an end and I resignedly attempted to get some law reading done.

We arrived back in Oxford around 11:40pm and walked back to Trinity. The whole experience was surreal. We had been in Paris only hours earlier and now we were in Oxford, UK. That in and of itself was still remarkable. We were home and our home was Trinity College. It wasn't even really a disappointment to have to leave Paris for such equally exciting places. Besides, I got to see everything I wanted to see in Paris without the slightest twinge of regret over anything. It was the absolute best weekend of my life, I decided and now I can just look down at my wrist and see my Montmartre bracelet and smile whenever I want.

Tuesday and Wednesday (July 18th & 19th)

Tuesday I spent the day in continual mope-mode since there was still no sign of Mike or Courtney. I tried to read but was too distracted so I ended up just hanging around the room. In addition to my lack of social interaction, a massive heat wave had taken over Oxford, giving us 90-degree days and equally hot nights. I felt like my brain was melting in the humidity and everyone tried not to move too much since it was so hot. Marissa/Melissa succumbed to heat stroke on Monday and I was much more careful to hydrate after her near-collapse in law class.

I trudged over to law tutorial at three, not feeling particularly prepared and still not feeling particularly happy. I was very much reminded of the Sims when their different levels get too low and they get too depressed to do much of anything. I wished whoever was playing my game would do something to cheer me up. Sadly, however, there was no overlord of my game/life so I took matters into my own hands. After leaving a muggy law tutorial, I bee-lined for my phone and called up Courtney to ask her to help me with my laundry. I was a first-timer at Oxford and, while Mike was probably more knowledgeable about the whole process, I had already tried to find him once on Monday with no luck so I went to Courtney. Everything basically got better after that phone call.

Courtney helped me with my laundry and we discussed her paper on Anne Sexton. It was pretty wonderful since I felt genuinely helpful and able to help her organize her thoughts. I was also pleased to discover that I could help with poetry to a certain extent; previously, I had thought myself basically useless when it came to poetry. It didn't inspire me to sign up for a poetry course or anything, but I liked using that commonly abandoned side of my brain.

Since the UMass Summer Seminar was dead set on not allowing me to see my friends this week, it had assigned me to both balcony dinner on Monday and high table dinner at Tuesday. This didn't sit well with me and when Mike showed up ("You're alive!" "You're alive!"), I just told him to come get me at seven, screw going to pre-lecture drinks with the high table people. So he went off to change and I went off to collect my laundry. I got it all back (why is clean laundry always heavier than dirty laundry?) and decided in a spur-of-the-moment thing to wear my special, papaya-colored Oxford dress. I was already dressed quite nicely for the day and it could have passed for the dinner, but I wanted to look extra pretty for reasons that I think should be apparent since you know who was coming to get me for the lecture.

It was sweltering at the less-than-thrilling lecture about Mary Woolstonecraft. We were seated in our "usual" seats at the back where at least we got a very slight breeze from the open door. It was completely still in the room and everyone was just quietly stewing in their own sweat. The lecturerer droned on, totally oblivious to the heat in her passion for the subject. The highlight of the lecture came when John and Abigail Adams entered the narrative since Abigail had been a big supporter of Woolstonecraft while in London (and once back in MA). The lecturerer told us the Adamses were in London and then said, "But of course you know why." There was a continued dead silence. "Don't you?" she queried. Obviously, the room was at a loss. She nodded to herself and turned into a professor. "Why was John Adams in London at this time?" If it hadn't been so hot, I'm sure crickets would have roused themselves to do some appropriate chirping. "Anyone?" I raised my hand. "Anyone at all?" She finally caught sight of me and looked quite pleased before even hearing my response. "Yes?" "He was the first ambassador," I said clearly. She looked even more pleased and nodded her agreement. A titter swept the room and Mike leaned over to me. "Hey, are you a history major, by chance?" he joked. It was a good moment. Additionally, Bill Speck was seated at the end of my row and heard the whole thing. Take that Bill Speck!

On the way over from the lecture to the main hall, Courtney informed me that high table was more a suggestion than an actual mandate. I was pretty giddy about that and decided to just sit with my friends since I was having such a wonderful night. Dinner was lovely and I found myself seated in between Mike and Yuan and across from Courtney. This was the first formal dinner I've actually enjoyed, despite the unrelenting heat. When we finally spilled out of the main hall a few hours later (formal dinner takes forever), the temperature had dropped pleasantly and it was actually nice out for the first time in days. I was pretty giddy over this and, since I was wearing The Dress, I did a little twirl of glee. I felt about twelve, but I have never shirked from an opportunity to be a little girl again.

Mike, Yuan, Courtney and myself adjourned to my room. Courtney had an 8-page paper due the next day that she had yet to start so she left fairly quickly to go get some energy drinks from Sainsbury's and start the paper. At this juncture, Yuan asked if we could watch the Reduced Shakespeare Company! Mike groaned (he'd been battling The Winter's Tale for the better part of the past two weeks) but eventually agreed once I promised him there was only a very little history in it. We watched, we laughed (how could you not?!) and had generally good times. After the showing, Yuan headed off to bed like a good little student but Mike didn't really want to move at all. By this point, bugs had basically taken over my room and were everywhere, crawling all over the ceiling and flitting about in an extremely annoying manner. So we came up with the brilliant idea of opening the window and turning off the lights so all the bugs would realize how much lighter it is outside and just go out there. It seemed more sane than trying to kill all of them. So we turned off the lights, threw open the window and plunked down on the fainting couch to wait the experiment out.

We ended up talking for about two hours while waiting for the bugs to leave. It was nice. I know I mentioned this before, but I really like this moment in friendship when there's still so much you just don't know about the other person. There are so many mysteries and, if they're as set on friendship as you are, they slowly unveil their life for you and the number of mysteries subside. Telling someone else about your life and your context also makes you examine things that are so ordinary to you that you don't often think on them. But then you have to explain it to another person and it makes you think about it. It was quite a lovely night.

At some point Lauren returned and said we should relocate since she wanted to sleep. We were both half asleep on the couch anyway, but Mike dutifully got up and headed for the door. I just wanted to sleep at that point, so I declined his offer to come hang out in his room. So he asked what I was doing tomorrow to which I replied that I had no idea and he gave basically the same answer back to me and departed. I then spent the time in between his leaving and my drifting off to sleep replaying certain portions of our conversation in my head, trying to figure out if, like in Much Ado About Nothing, there was a double meaning in anything he had said. As ever, most things were ambiguous and could be taken any which way. But I was still highly satisfied with the whole evening and went to bed content, a first for the week.

Wednesday promised more of the horrible heat of Monday and Tuesday. I set out into town early in the day to avoid the sun but it was still quite warm out. Bill Speck had told me to get this book called Britain and the American Revolution edited by H.T. Dickinson but I had been having absolutely no luck finding it. The Trinity Library didn't have it (no surprise there), Blackwell's had stopped stocking it a few months back and I didn't have a Bodleian card. So I went to the other bookstores in town, come to find none of them stocked it. I was getting fairly annoyed with this quest and was basically on the verge of just doing without and simply sticking to the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography and the Declaration of Independence to write my paper. I resolved to inquire if Bill Speck himself had a copy of the stupid book that he could perhaps lend me.

So I went off to Bill Speck's class. Surprisingly, it was a complete joy. Finally, a good time in Bill Speck's class! Wednesday classes are always hit or miss since there is no reading for Wednesdays so he can just throw anything at us and then get annoying when we aren't prepared for it. This week, however, he brought in eight separate accounts of what happened on Lexington Green in April 1775 and asked us to read them and rate them in order from most credible to least credible. We were in two groups, coincidentally boys v. girls ("Too bad for them!" Felicia commented in true Smithie fashion) so he was going to compare how we rated things. After rating each document, we then had to defend our position to the class so it was a really good hour. Needless to say, us girls wiped the floor.

After such a good class, I headed straight to Exeter College. I knew their library had a copy of Dickinson's book and, while I had e-mailed their librarian, I had gotten no reply so I decided to inquire in person. The porter waved me in without a second thought and helpfully directed me to the library. After a few bits of good fortune (a keypad being out of order and allowing me access into a building I ordinarily couldn't have gotten into), I found myself at the door to the library. Exeter College is about the same size as Trinity but rather prettier, like most other colleges at Oxford. Their library is quite happily situated in the middle of a lovely English garden with benches and amazingly green grass. Flowers and other plant-life climb up the walls of the little, Gothic-inspired building. The library looks like a miniature Gothic cathedral, which is pretty adorable.

So I got all the way to the door of the library only to fail there. I needed an identification card to allow me access and there was no one inside the library to let me in. Not really all that downcast by this turn of events, I headed back to Trinity to talk to our librarian to see if there was anything she could do. There wasn't (she seems pretty ineffectual) and, after thanking her profusely for doing everything I myself had already done, I headed back up to the main floor and the exit of Trinity Library. Some random nice boy leaped to hold the door open for me which was quite pleasant and I came out into the ground level of Trinity Library. I came out of the stacks, turned towards the door and who should I see staring a little slip of paper with great consternation but Mike himself. I, of course, stopped dead and he looked up. Asking me to wait for him, he slipped into a stack and started pouring over the shelves in search of his book. I took to looking around myself and found a pretty hilarious set of volumes that were simply a publication of all the random pamphlets found in some Lord's house after he died. It looked old as sin and there was quite funny account of some remarkably stubborn guy's interrogation before a judge. The stubborn man would not be remotely helpful to any of the questioning. You could just hear the judge being on the verge of completely exploding with annoyance at the insolence before him.

I somehow tore myself away from the collection and followed Mike outside. As it turned out, he was about to go scouting for some kind of architectural marvel to do his final presentation on and asked if I'd like to go see the Canterbury Quadrangle at St. John's College. I agreed and we set off once more. We ended up walking around Oxford for basically the rest of the afternoon. It was very leisurely and relaxing. I knew I had all kinds of reading to be doing (what else is new?) but it was nice to just walk about. We ended up back at the park at Christ's Church and bought some ice cream from a little vendor before wandering around in the park and along the Thames. I feel like I'm in a movie.

We eventually came back because it was so hot and we had run out of water and were sweating all over the place. We came back to my room and decided it was high time we all took a trip again. Ireland was the general plan but then we thought perhaps Wales or maybe Scotland. This was just the beginning of many hours to come of general indecision regarding future travel, eventually involving both Yuan and Courtney.

Dinner was all right, I mistakenly took a lamp kebab which Mike kindly took from me. This left me with some cheesy, fried vegetable patties, some carrots, a roll and lots of water. I tasted good and I was quite full by the time we left. Mike had a showing of a bizarre Clint Eastwood film called Pale Rider for his Romance Lit class at eight and I went along. It was an extraordinarily poorly written, poorly acted and poorly directed film that would have been great fun to mock if other people hadn't been around. I still muttered to myself sporadically and Amy or Mike would sometimes pick up on my mutterings.

After the movie, we came back to my room and were almost immediately shooed out by Lauren. I don't know when I became the crazy roommate who stays out until all hours of the night and morning and she became the one who goes to bed at ten, but we switched over at some point and it's quite discombobulating. Anyway, I decided it was high time I got some actual work done so I grabbed my laptop, my notebook and my handy copy of Common Sense by Thomas Paine and changed into my boxers before following Mike upstairs.

Mike quickly grew tired to reading both Great Expectations and The Idylls of the King by Tennyson. It was still unbearably hot and it was hard to focus on anything. So he set up shop at his computer arranging "Hotel California" for his a cappella group, Wicked Pitch. And cue awesomeness. I finished Paine at around 12:30 and then stole his camera to copy his Paris pictures onto my desktop. When it finished uploading at around 1:20, I had nearly 1,000 pictures from Paris. I think if I just get Yuan's camera, I'll be up there. I told you took way too many pictures.

Mike and I hung out watching Parisian videos he took and flipping through the pictures on my laptop when Nastassja showed up, drunk and broke into Mike's sleeping room-mate, Sam's, room. Maniacal laughter from Nastassja ensued and we weren't sure whether she was going to devour him and offer him up to Satan or have sex with him. I decided at about this point that I didn't really want to be there for whichever option Nastassja chose and said I was going back downstairs. Mike begged me not to leave him with Sam and drunken, evil Nastassja so I told him to feel free to come downstairs and set up camp there. He shrugged and said he's probably be down in a bit. I nodded, still feeling quite awake and left to the dulcet sounds of continuing maniacal laughter coming out of Sam's room.

As promised, Mike appeared a few minutes later. He hadn't really thought they would have sex but then, after pondering what usually happens with a girl shows up drunk in a guy's room at three in the morning, he agreed with my assessment of the situation. He had dutifully brought Idylls of the King was attempting to get through it. After a bit, he remarked how he really just wanted to go to sleep but he also really did not want to go back into his room. I offered up the couch, my floor, whatever but we were both pretty confused about what to do since neither of us had ever been sexiled. You won't believe it, but we actually ended up deciding that it would probably just be the most comfortable for all parties if Mike slept in the bed with me. I'm not even sure how this went down and I was there.

Surprisingly, it wasn't at all weird. Probably because we slept next to each other in Paris. The bed was actually bigger than I thought and we both had plenty of room. (When I say "plenty" I mean we weren't hitting each other in the face with our respective elbows, but it was still tight.) I find my life increasingly like the life of some other girl who is way cooler than me. This girl is awesome. She attends Oxford University and goes off to Paris for a weekend holiday and is totally chill about letting guys crash in her bed. She even says witty things occasionally and has moments of social competence. I really can't believe this life over here is actually me living it. Things are actually happening to me over here! I'm finally getting to have a life that I can tell other people about without having to worry about boring them to tears.

Mike's alarm went off at eight and he scooted out and back to his room. Happily, Lauren was still asleep or I would have gotten quite the interrogation from that quarter if she had seen Mike leave my room at eight in the morning. I haven't seen him since so I don't know how this will change anything, probably not at all. I starting to think there is some supremely unkissable, undateable quality about me. I should just buy ten cats and an old farmhouse and be done with it. So now I'm sitting here at my computer, pondering over everything and basically letting my little crush wane. Crushes never last very long with me, probably because they never really go anywhere. This was the first time probably since Evan I've had a crush on someone who might actually have reciprocated at some point. But I forgot to factor in my undateable quality so now I'm back to being perfectly happy being Mike's buddy. If he didn't make a move on me at any point in the last twenty-four hours, is he really ever going to? Seems unlikely. He had ample opportunity.

So I take the words of the girls around me and the relayed conversations at face value. He likes me and that's enough for me to know right now. He likes me and he thinks I'm really smart, which makes me feel great. I've always had this side of me that fears people thinking I'm a complete ditz and I'm kind of simultaneously realizing how great it is to be a "smart girl." I shouldn't have to fear showing my intelligence so I just speak up and share whatever tidbit I've got. At this point, I've decided I'm not changing in an attempt to lure males. This is me, I don't want to have to act around you. Either you like me as me or you don't. Thank you, Smith.

Love love love,

Corey

Paris: Part Five which is part one of the Louvre (confused yet?)

Yuan set his alarm to go off at six so he could shower. Mike set his alarm to go off at seven so he could wake up Courtney and get ready. The plan was that I would get up after Yuan’s shower and shower myself before Mike or Courtney were up and needed the shower. Now, the thing about Paris that is strange is that its time is an hour different from the time in England. You would think they’d be in the same time zone, but then, nope. Yuan, while aware of this time switch, had forgotten to change his clock alarm to accommodate the new hour. As such, I was awoken on Saturday morning by the cacophony of both Yuan and Mike’s alarms going off simultaneously at the French 7am.

I immediately jetted into the shower to get ready since we had now lost an hour (but, happily, gained an hour’s sleep and giving us a grand total of four). By 8:30 we were all out of bed, relatively cognizant of our surroundings and eating a quiet breakfast in the hotel’s dining room. It was a classic French breakfast of baguettes, croissants, jam, butter, orange juice and hot chocolate (or café, as Mike and Courtney had). It wasn’t very invigorating but it tasted good. Still rather sleepy, we set off for the Metro to get to the Louvre. After completely giving up on the whole thing the day before, Mike had decided perhaps it was just best to go and wait in line and buy the tickets at the Louvre when we wanted to go. I agreed simply because going through the pyramid is something not to be missed, especially for Courtney’s first time.

We arrived outside the Louvre by a little after nine and headed through the courtyards towards the pyramid. It was still a bit chilly from the night before but the sun was already up and the Louvre would have to try really hard to look bad. We got into the relatively short security line and snapped some shots of us with the pyramid or with the fountains. The lines moved very quickly and it was only about fifteen minutes later that we found ourselves proud possessors of four maps and four reasonably priced Louvre tickets.

The Mike/Courtney/Yuan theory of Louvre-seeing is quite different from my theory of Louvre-seeing. The Mike/Courtney/Yuan Theory (hereafter the MCY Theory) involves doing that which tourists do and seeing all the things the Louvre map tells you that you absolutely must see. Highlights of the MCY Theory include the Mona Lisa, the Venus de Milo and the Winged Victory of Samothrace. Since I had already had the happy experience of doing the Louvre in the style to which I am accustomed and had already started to relish in just being a tourist, I agreeably went along with the MCY Theory and we started off to find the Mona Lisa.

We passed by the Winged Victory of Samothrace on our way to the room where the Mona Lisa is now housed. I personally adore the Winged Victory. I don’t really understand who chooses that the “really good art” is the Winged Victory, Venus and the Mona Lisa, but they certainly knew what they were talking about when it comes to the Winged Victory. The carving is amazing and her position looks exhilarating. You can almost feel the rush of the wind pushing her tunic close to her skin. I love it.

We then entered the Italian paintings hall. We were almost to the Mona Lisa room (yes, she now has her own room) when I turned to look at a painting on my left. Mike, Courtney and Yuan were right next to me. When I turned back to find them and enter the Mona Lisa room, I was alone. Crowds ebbed around me, but no face was familiar. I couldn’t believe it. We hadn’t been in the Louvre half an hour and I had already been lost. I was lost in the Louvre. It was not a good feeling. The Louvre is enormous, they would never find me again. We would never meet up again for the whole day, I would have to go back to the hotel and just wait at some point. I acutely felt the downside of not having a cell phone for probably the first time since arriving in Europe. We had absolutely no way of contacting each other or finding each other once detached.

Feeling rather unloved, I wandered around trying to think where they could have gone. I was in the Mona Lisa room for about ten minutes, assuming they had come in and had to be around somewhere. I stayed in the vicinity of the place where I had last seen them and hoped they would come back since it was also presumably the last place they had seen me. After a bit, I just gave up and sat myself down on a round plush sofa to wait for them. I flipped idly through my map, thinking about the places I’d like to see. The Mona Lisa was exactly the way I’d pictured her. Most people say she’s a disappointment and that they expected her to be bigger or somehow more impressive, but not me. She was exactly the size I was expecting. It’s a fine painting, it wasn’t outstanding to me. Perhaps it was because my expectations were so mediocre that I wasn’t let-down. The way her eyes follow you, however, was quite the accomplishment in terms of Da Vinci’s painting ability. One wonders if he meant to do that or it just sort of happened. It probably just sort of happened; the man was a genius.

Thinking these thoughts and looking at my map, I kept looking up and around. It must have been very obvious to anyone watching that I was waiting for someone. After a bit, I looked up randomly and there they were! All three of them! Giddy and mildly annoyed at my abandonment, I rushed over to them. I was greeted with distinct unconcern for my well-being. They figured I would be around here somewhere so hadn’t been too worried. I rolled my eyes and rejoined the group, just happy to be with them again. As it turned out, they hadn’t seen the Mona Lisa yet at all (so much for my waiting in there for ten minutes) so we went in again.

After the Mona Lisa, we wandered into the Large-Format French Paintings hall. Courtney and I plunked down on another bench for a seat and Mike and Yuan headed off to find a bathroom. After a bit, Mike returned. “Where’s Yuan?” he immediately asked us. Puzzled, we replied that we thought he was with Mike himself. Come to find out that Mike had waited by the bathrooms for ten minutes but there was no sign of Yuan so he had come back to us since he assumed Yuan had returned. No such luck. So we had lost Yuan. This was to happen many times, so many times that we joked around that we need some kind of “Oh no we lost Yuan” hand gesture to use in quiet places or across rooms.

Mike informed us that there was a good sketches exhibit near the bathroom and said he would wait in the French paintings room for Yuan if we wanted to go check it out. We did and set off. The sketches were completely wonderful and by far my favorite part of the whole Louvre experience. It was a special exhibit in a temporary hall, so it was doubly special. It was sketches made by a man named Hubert Robert primarily of landscapes but with little bits of people in them. They had wonderful movement and personality and we all loved them. As Courtney and I wandered among the sketches, Yuan suddenly appeared. “Yuan?!” you might well be asking. Yes, indeed. We still to this day have no idea where he went or how he ended up in the Hubert Robert exhibit, but there he was. We immediately sent him back to the French painting hall to fetch Mike and told him to come directly back with Mike and not to lose himself or Mike along the way.

They both successfully reappeared a few minutes later and we all finished up looking at the exhibit. At this point things get blurry in my mind. At some point we went back to finish looking at the French paintings hall, lost Yuan again and then ended up seeing the Venus de Milo, Greek statues and then meeting up with Yuan again at noon at the Winged Victory of Samothrace. I think it was after that that we decided lunch was in order since breakfast had been so unfulfilling. So we decided to check out the Café Mollien located at the opposite end of the French paintings hall since it was probably cheaper than the museum restaurant. We once again traversed the French paintings hall (one painting of Napoleon haunted me particularly) and got in line at the Café Mollien. As we moved up in the line, we suddenly realized that the line stretched out onto the outdoor balcony. We were going to be eating on the balcony of the Louvre, overlooking the pyramid and the Tuileries. Understandable giddiness ensued. It was like some supreme power felt genuinely bad about everything going wrong the day before and was hell-bent on making it up to us.

Lunch was quite good. We all had chicken salad sandwiches on baguettes and I got to order for everyone. Throughout ordering and conversing with the waiter in French, Mike was looking at me a little strangely, sort of bemusedly. When the waiter finally left, he grinned and said, “It’s really very cute when you do that, when you speak in French. You have a cute accent.” I nearly swooned on the spot but managed to just thank him and turn a little red. I internally vowed to speak more French when at all possible.

Monday (more Paris to come later)

Monday morning found me dead asleep snoring in my bed. The alarm went off for a full half an hour before i even heard it and then I still slept fifteen minutes more without it going off. Finally, I dragged myself from bed and went about feeling more alive. I called Courtney since I'm her alarm clock and then sat down to get some work done. I had read everything that was required for Speck's class last week but I still didn't have the "suggested" reading done. The "suggested" reading is really more mandatory than anything else since he expects it to be read and asks questions about it. So I skimmed the two articles, trying to understand as much as possible before heading off to class. It was once more sweltering in Oxford and I was once more happy (hello, I was in Paris hours previously) so I put on my nicest shirt and went out.

As the day progressed, I found my giddiness slowly ebbing away. By four, I hadn't seen anyone but Lauren and my classmates all day and was actually, physically missing Mike and Courtney. As if the UMass Summer Seminar was out to thwart me in my desire to see my friends, I was assigned the balcony dinner Monday night and dinner at the high table Tuesday night. I was not looking forward to either event.

Upon returning from Paris, Lauren had beneficently bequeathed two items of food to one. One, a roll of chocolate biscuits she didn't particularly like and, two, a quart of apple juice that she found too sweet. Since we had had a running Eddie Izzard joke about chocolate biscuits the whole trip, I armed myself with them (quite tasty, in my opinion) and headed up to Mike's room to see how his paper was coming and offer sustenance. Unfortunately, Mike wasn't there. A confused Sam (his roommate) was, but no Mike. Feeling mildly crushed, but not overly horrible yet, I went back to my room.

I called Courtney before heading over to join the balcony dinner people for drinks in the beer cellar and found that Mike was in her room. Before I could even tell her why I was calling, she informed me that she had reading to do that night and therefore couldn't do anything. I wasn't calling about that. I was just calling to say that I wouldn't be at dinner in case anyone was looking for me. I got the feeling they wouldn't have been. After such an unsatisfying and a little worrying phone call, I made myself go to the beer cellar.

The balcony dinner is a dinner provided by the program with your tutor and classmates. You get two (one for each class) and you get to sit in the balcony. At least traditionally you do. They have, since naming the dinner, moved it to a room behind the main hall that is the oldest room at Trinity, predating even the college itself. It's quite ritzy, surprisingly since it was used by monks before the college took it over. But we all filed in and I found myself at the end of the table, across from Yuan. The table was pretty large so it was almost impossible to talk to Yuan on the other end of the table. The tutors were seated in the middle, so all conversation spun around their words. I was isolated and unable to contribute. It was a very lonely dinner, emphasized by my continuing lack of Mike and Courtney and the knowledge that they were probably having a grand old time at dinner a mere room away.

Finally we were released from dinner and, after chatting briefly with another classmate (Jessy), I went back to my room. I spent the rest of the evening attempting to get my law readings done for the next day but really just wallowing in loneliness. Lauren and I actually bonded a little and had a good, procrastinating conversation before I just gave up on seeing Mike or Courtney that day and went to bed at eleven. By the time I hit the sack, my stomach had worked itself into a state of supreme agitation and was telling me I was really too stressed out. I was really pretty annoyed with myself for getting so worked up and letting my glee slip away. Stupid boys.

I fell asleep immediately and woke up ten hours later and took a shower. I had a great presentation in Law on Monday. I think I got "full ticks" as Jillaine says. It was good. I have another one today, but not a formal one. I think it'll be fine even though I haven't finished all the reading yet since I'm not in my happy place. I really needed the weekend, I guess, and now it's been eaten up by Paris. Seriously, there are so worse things that could have eaten it up! Now Paris is kind of bittersweet in my mind. I think of it constantly and it makes me smile a little sadly. Where are my friends? I honestly don't know how I'm going to function once back in the US; I won't see these people very often at all and I'm very close to liking them better than my remnant Smith friends.

So, some doldrums, but nothing too depressing. At least my relationship with Lauren is now prospering. I think she might have actually heard something I said last night. Maybe she's grasping the "listening is fun" concept.

More to say, as always, but I have law reading to do, as always. Love you both,

Corey

Paris: Part Four, Bastille Night

We found Courtney recumbent on the grass watching the Eiffel Tower’s lights dance. Yuan was seated a little bit away from her, anxiously awaiting our return. When we did return, he dashed off in search of a bathroom. I let myself fall onto the grass next to Courtney and used my bag as a pillow. My pony-tail was crushed under my head and I could just feel my hair becoming a mess but I didn’t care. The night was too beautiful to really care about anything. Mike lied next to me, very close and comforting. We just lied there watching the Eiffel Tower and thinking about everything that had happened.

Finally, Courtney reminded us of our provisions and we three started to unpack. We had gotten a cork screw from the concierge at the Hotel Tamaris but it was not easy to work. We passed it between the three of us until both Courtney and I had given up and Mike had made it his night’s goal to open the bottle of wine. As Yuan reappeared a little ways away, Mike finally prevailed at the cork sprung out of the bottle. He poured us each a cup and Yuan sat down across from me, taking his plastic cup full of red wine. Once everyone had a cup, we looked at each other expectantly. A toast was definitely in order.

“To the 6 train.” “To the woman who spoke English…but didn’t know the word ‘straight.’” “To the magical bus.” “To the random ferry ride.” “To Corey’s brilliant idea of coming here in the first place.” “To us.” “To Bastille Day.” “To the friendly couple at Marco Polo’s.” Things just poured out of us, equal parts silly and meaningful. We toasted a hundred things and then finally drank. We dove into the brie and crackers and gorged ourselves on grapes to remain hydrated. After we finished the wine and the cheese and had eaten all the chocolate we could bear, we all fell back into the grass and once again indulged in staring up at the Eiffel Tower. We were all slightly drunk, both from the wine and the exhilaration of simply being in Paris. We laughed and sang and joked about everything under the sun.

Yuan was the first to get antsy. I think the rest of us could have just lied there all night. I know we discussed it. I was the first to get marginally practical and Mike was the first to act on this practicality. It occurred to me that perhaps the Metro stopped running at some point. It was almost one in the morning now and we had no idea if and when the Metro stopped running. Grudgingly, we got all got up and packed our things up. Mike got the empty wine bottle, I bequeathed the wooden brie box to Courtney and we all reluctantly left the Eiffel Tower.

Judging from the events of the day and our general poor luck, it wasn’t really that surprising to arrive at the Metro stop to see the gates chained shut. The police were there, letting people get out but not get in. Turns out the Metro in Paris does shut down at night. In fact, it shuts down in between midnight and 12:30. Good to know.

So we wandered over to the street and attempted to hail a cab. There were no cabs. The only cabs there were already had people in them. Smug people who had somehow managed to attract a cab. Yuan once again stopped someone off the street who informed him that there was a taxi waiting point up the road back at the Eiffel Tower. We walked back the way we had come and waited at the taxi waiting point for a while. While Yuan remained confident that a taxi would come, Mike and I grew increasingly doubtful of the whole situation. There was a long line of people who needed a cab and no one ever asks to be dropped off at a taxi waiting point. Cabs weren’t coming here. Finally, we decided that it might be best to just start walking in the general direction of our hotel and keep a sharp eye out for a cab. We walked back into the Eiffel Tower and the park surrounding it. We came to another street and found ourselves at another taxi waiting point. Rather tired and hopeful that a cab would come (there were fewer people at this point), we got in line.

Courtney and Yuan crossed the street to see if the Russian café would let them use the bathroom and I wandered over to where Mike had sat down on the curb. The rest of the line had wandered off in an attempt to better their chances to find a cab so it was just us and the night. We sat quietly, talking occasionally, both exhausted. Courtney and Yuan came back eventually, both quite pleased with the friendly Russians and their amazingly cleanly toilet. Yuan had calculated that it would take us “only” two hours to walk back to the hotel from where we were. Not exactly reassuring. Mike and I stood up and then, miraculously, we spotted a cab. It was coming down the street from the opposite direction and a group of people who had previously been in our line where already rushing towards it shouting, “Cab! Cab!”

Undeterred, Courtney and I raised our hands in the air and waved them around spastically, hoping the cab driver would honor the fact that we were at the taxi waiting point. He stopped at the light at the far end of the intersection. We dashed across the street and continued waving our arms desperately. The group had mobbed the cab now and were engaged in conversation with the cabbie. We kept waving our arms in hopes of attracting his attention. Mike and Yuan looked on, obviously not believing the cab driver would put off so many pleas for a ride.

The light turned green. The cab didn’t move. He was still talking to the group. We didn’t stop waving our arms. Then, incredibly, he slowly pulled away, being careful not to hit anyone in the group and drove towards us. We screamed in joy and wildly gestured for Yuan and Mike to join us on the other side of the street. “Place de la Nation?!” I asked him happily. He nodded his assent. Another screech of joy and we all piled in. I was scrunched in the middle between Mike and Courtney. It was unbelievably relieving to be in the cab. It was warm and safe and we were racing along directly along the Seine towards the Hotel Tamaris.

My eyelids kept dropping and I resisted the urge to let my head fall onto Mike’s shoulder and just doze. We sped along and shortly we were at the Place de la Nation. We all tumbled out of the cab, thanked the cab driver profusely (he got at least twenty “merci beaucoups” from us) and started to walk back towards our hotel. We got there, trudged to our room and collapsed onto the beds. Courtney and Yuan were asleep in minutes without changing their clothes and just barely getting their shoes off before succumbing to sleep. Mike decided to shower and I changed into my pajamas before getting into bed and trying to sleep. Both Yuan and Courtney were snoring but I was too tired to let it keep me up. I heard the shower go on and then off before I drifted off. Mike told me the next morning that when he came out of the bathroom we were all snoring in unison and that he could have conducted us if he liked. The image of Mike standing at the foot of the bed conducting our sleeping noises amused me.

It was about three in the morning and we were finally all safe and sound in our beds. I slept the deep, dreamless sleep of pure exhaustion with the knowledge that I would have to get up early the next morning to shower before heading out to the Louvre. But, of course, that plan didn’t exactly work out perfectly, either.

Paris: Part Three in which our Bastille Day plans crumble

After a battle with two irritable waiters at Marco Polo’s, we left and hastened to the Metro. Because of said irritable waiters, we were running late. We dashed down into the Place de le Nation Metro stop and quickly scanned the Metro map. I quickly suggested we take our normal train (the 1) and transfer over at some point to the six. Mike and Courtney agreed with this assessment and we three started off. We were three steps before Yuan suggested that we instead simply take the six straight from Nation to the Eiffel Tower. This sounded logical enough and by this point we all knew better than to argue with Yuan when he had an idea stuck in his head. So we did a 360 and headed off to the six. What we did not know was that the six had three closed stops and that Parisian metro trains do not whiz you through the closed stops, they deposit you before the closed stops and leave you stranded in a place called Bercy.

The only train available for transfer at Bercy at the 14. This left us with very little choice than to get on the 14 and do what we could with it. After consulting yet another map and time dwindling, we thought it was a good idea to take the 14 one stop to the C train, which looked very much like it looked around conveniently dropping us at the Eiffel Tower. We successfully made it to the connection stop but soon found ourselves hopelessly lost and quite possibly on our way to Versailles. Feeling increasingly frustrated and now stuck at a stop where there were no other connections, we leaped over the ticket turnstiles and ran for the surface (Yuan protesting the whole way). It was 10:20.

We got up into the open air again and suddenly everything seemed desperate. We sprinted for a while until we were all too winded to continue. We were lost somewhere in the 13^th Arrondissement, on the complete opposite side of Paris from the Eiffel Tower. At this moment of supreme frustration, Yuan accosted yet another Parisian. Finally, Yuan found someone useful. The law of large numbers tells us it had to happen sometime. Anyway, this woman spoke fluent English (with the exception of the word “straight” which she didn’t know) and helpfully pointed us the way of the Place d’Italie, which had numerous trains we could take or any number of taxis we could pick up. We thanked her profusely and power-walked on.

It was finally getting dark in Paris and the patriotic people of France were taking to the streets. As we hurried along nearly deserted side-streets, we would come across little bands of Parisians with personal firecrackers and bottle rockets. They had wands that spurted little bursts of colored flame and they laughed as they aimed them at hapless pedestrians. It was eerie as we tried to avoid these clusters and hurry towards the Place d’Italie. The streets would be occasionally lit by bright colors of brief fireworks and sporadically there were loud bangs of a nearby explosion. We hurried on.

As we just kept walking and it just kept getting later, Courtney took up as her mission the task of finding and hailing a cab. This irritated Yuan who was of the mind that if we were still going to the Eiffel Tower, we should take the metro and, secondarily, it was rather pointless to go to the Eiffel Tower since we had definitely missed the fireworks. Mike alone kept a cool head; I was almost on the verge of killing Yuan with my bare hands. Courtney manically searched for a cab, I quietly stewed and Yuan loudly stewed. Mike, I can only assume, was thinking up a rational solution to the problem at hand.

We finally all had it out after a mean cab driver refused to take us to the Eiffel Tower twice. We really had no idea where we were or how far we still had to go. We’d been walking for half an hour and we were still stuck in the 13^th Arrondissement. Yuan and I were the most spirited participants in the decision-making with Courtney taking my side and Mike trying to pacify us three. I argued that we might as well keep walking and save ourselves the metro passes. We were going to miss the fireworks, that much was certain. If we were going to be late, we might as well save ourselves some metro passes. Yuan insisted we get on the metro if we were still hell-bent on getting to the Eiffel Tower but perhaps we should just give up and do something else. Courtney, agreeing with me, said we were more likely to actually see some fireworks aboveground than going down into the Metro.

Still extraordinarily angry with Yuan, I set out walking with the rest in tow. I didn’t even get half a block before Mike stopped us all and pointed out that if we took the Metro right then, we would get there faster and possibly catch the end of the fireworks. It just all came down to if we cared that we missed the fireworks at the end of the train ride. To me, it didn’t at that point. I took a deep breath and told myself I was angry over nothing. Yuan was insufferable, but we were in Paris, France and there was no reason for me to fly off the handle. Thus immediately appeased, I agreed with Mike (a visibly surprised Mike) and we all hastened into the Metro at the Place d’Italie.

On the train we downed the gigantic bottle of water we had bought earlier. I’ve never been so thirsty as I was in Paris. There was just never enough water. We just kept drinking it. We finished this huge bottle of water in probably two minutes. It was lukewarm and delicious. About halfway to the Eiffel Tower, we realized the fireworks were over. The Metro was crowding with people and everyone was heading away from the direction we were going. We shrugged; there was nothing else to do at that point.

We emerged from the Metro basically at the Eiffel Tower and were immediately in a gigantic throng of people, all hastening in the opposite direction. The area around the Eiffel Tower was a like a mix between a war zone and the beginning of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. There were people running everywhere and explosions coming intermittently from all sides. People would just light a firecracker and drop it in the street where, if you were lucky, you caught sight of it and fled before it exploded around your feet. Sirens blared all around as ambulances and fire brigades tried to get through the crowd-clogged streets. It was complete chaos. We fought our way through the crowds and soon the Eiffel Tower was in view. Suddenly none of it mattered. It didn’t matter that at any moment we could be taken out by a ten-year-old with a bottle rocket or that we were a mere ten minutes too late or that we had spent most of the evening at odds and running. We were there, finally, and even without fireworks the Eiffel Tower was a sight to behold at night.

We waded through the chaos and finally found ourselves in a park-like area at the base of the Eiffel Tower. We were all thirsty for more water again and didn’t want to start in on the wine without hydrating first. Mike dispatched Courtney and Yuan to find a place for us to sit and said that he and I would go find water. We wandered towards the base of the Eiffel Tower. Chaos was all around us but I was serene. It was beautiful, breathtakingly so, and the flavor of the culture swirling around us was heady.

Mike and I wandered to and fro trying to find a place that was open and sold water. All the vendors directly under the Eiffel Tower had packed up and closed already. We came out from under the Eiffel Tower and headed towards the Seine. There, strangely, was a small carnival comprised of a concessions stand and a twinkling carousal. The concessions stand was cleaning up since it was the only thing open for blocks and blocks. We stood in line for a while, deliberating the necessity of water at 2.50EU. We were really that desperately thirsty?

Turns out, we weren’t. So Mike and I left the throng gathered at the carnival and started back to where we left Courtney and Yuan. We walked not in any particular hurry, just reveling in the moment and the company. It was completely lovely. We dashed away from yet another prepubescent with a small explosive and went along the little pond next the Eiffel Tower. As we walked, the Tower suddenly lit up and dazzled with thousands of randomly placed white, blinking lights. It was completely magical and unexpected. We awed at it and took pictures and then ogled it some more. Finally, we turned back to the lawn and wandered in search of Courtney and Yuan.