In the cours de français intensif, we students gave presentations, which served excellently as an excuse to wax eloquent on the virtues (and foibles) of Henri Cartier-Bresson, the father of photojournalism. If you search him right now on Google Images, you can easily obtain a sample of his stunning work. I recommend the boy with the wine bottles.
Then, as a special treat, our class went to the café La Cupole. This famous Montparnasse café was the haven of the Bohèmes, a favored retreat of Cézanne, Hemingway, and countless other miserable icons who toiled in the luxurious salon du thé or engaged in conversation late into the night. I just had an espresso.
My beautiful espresso even came with a little chocolat noir!
After a fascinating lecture on French history to follow up on the one from yesterday, and a discussion of culture shock in France, we had some free time. Now, I didn't take a picture (I was too busy savoring the taste), but I bought a perfect persimmon at Franprix when we went in search of a snack. Now, for those of you who aren't overly familiar with the persimmon, it's a king of fruits. This orange spheroid, somewhat crisp but mainly soft (like a mango, or, better, like a tomato), is a delight to several senses simultaneously. It was worth every one of the 79 centimes. I also went to FNAC (the big electronics/books/etc. store) and FINALLY bought notebooks and ink for my fountain pen. Context: I have been trying to acquire these goods all week. I have travelled across Paris and back looking for the best prices.
We met our language partners, students from ISEP with whom we will work on a project and generally engage in a cultural exchange. My group is going to Versailles. My partner is a lovely young woman named Juliette, who has a proclivity to use lovely words that have lost popularity with the new generation. I know somebody like that… I think it's chouette.
After an Italian dinner of raviolis gargonzolle, aubergines, et viande, with a goat cheese, some gâteau, and, of course, baguette, I went out to meet the other Stanfordians. I chose to walk, as is my wont, and discovered some beautiful buildings.
If you look carefully, you can see the flag fluttering above the dome. There is something inspiring in France's strong displays of national pride coupled with a cultural sense of subtlety.
The Senate. I promise that, in real life, it is right-side-up.
I walked past the place the first time, went around the block in a sizable circle, and, at last, found it tucked away on the wrong side of the rue de l'Odéon. I went in and searched, didn't see anyone, and awkwardly loitered outside, engaging in some of the most absorbing window shopping of my life so as not to look awkward or suspicious, and, periodically, checked again. After three checks and having seen nobody, I went to the Métro station, but I didn't see anybody; it was in returning home that I ran into one of the others and, after a bit of a tangent off to Place St. Michel to retrieve a lost member of the party, we spent the evening together. Then I walked back through much quieter streets.
It's lucky I am writing this, because my English is becoming problematic. I don't think I pronounced "because" a single time this evening; every time I wanted to express that particular conjunction, it came out as "parce que"! Donc, if I return sans the ability to parler English, I apologize. My Franglish has become, truly, quite good.
On an unrelated note, remember the mysterious orange fruit that I mentioned the other night? Well, an informant has let me know that it is in fact a Red Kuri Squash, or a "potimarron" in French (http://www.fondation-louisbonduelle.org/france/fr/connaitre-les-legumes/atouts-nutritionnels-des-legumes/potimarron-47.html#axzz3OuX5Zhak). I thought that was really interesting.
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