Special Edition: FLOWERS

The gang and I all went to Giverny (about an hour northwest of Paris) today to visit the house and gardens of Claude Monet. The house is pretty darn cool, but photographs were forbidden inside the house, so I have nothing to show for it save the exterior shot above. However, his magnificent gardens and the "nymphéas célèbres" were all there for my photographing pleasure. Below are some of the best. Enjoy!

Ahhh, La France

So I've been in France for a week now. Which means that I have indeed started my study abroad program. Which also means that I am currently in Paris. Which also means that I owe y'all an entry about the city of light and of love.

To be honest, there is way, way too much to share with you.

So let's start with the flight to Paris: not at all as stressful as I was thinking it was going to be. I was mildly terrified by the prospect of flying all the way across the ocean to lands unknown. What if something was wrong with my visa (especially after all the work I went to to get it)? What if they lost my luggage? And what could I expect when I attempted to communicate with the Parisians? Would they instantly recognize my accent as American and insist upon speaking to me in English?

In fact, I did not need to worry about any of that. My visa was fine. My luggage arrived safely. And the Parisians are nothing but helpful and patient when I am speaking to them.

The flight to Paris took about six and a half hours, which is trying on one's nerves when there are small children roaming about the cabin (seriously, parents of the world, it's called a seat belt and a little melatonin), but short enough for a good nap if one had the extraordinary ability to fall asleep on planes. I say "extraordinary" because I cannot fall asleep on planes. So, in general, the flight was about the same amount of time it takes to fly non-stop from Boston to San Diego. The Air France flight attendants were very nice and gave us dinner and breakfast. The dinner menu looked a little something like this:

I enjoyed the "Pâtes orzo au curry et poulet grillé" and the "Pâtes penne à la provençale" along with everything else you see listed there and a little wine to accompany the food. Surprisingly good for airplane food... but perhaps not surprising since it is Air France and France is known for their cuisine. Also, I find it interesting that the word for cheesecake in French is... "cheesecake." Breakfast, on the other hand, was nothing special, so I'm skipping over it.

Our hotel is what is known as an "apart'hotel" because it was designed for people who plan to be vacationing in a certain spot for a lengthy period of time. Named the Citadines Paris Saint-Germain-des-Prés, our particular apart'hotel is right in the heart of Paris, or "le coeur de Paris." One can walk from our residence to la cathédrale Notre Dame de Paris in one direction, or go down to le Musée du Louvre in the other other direction, or simply take a lovely stroll along the Seine. And, in fact, I have done all of these things. Here are some pretty pictures:

The view from my room:

The Venus de Milo, which is, in my opinion, a much better example of feminine beauty than any beanpole of a supermodel walking runway today:

La Victoire de Samothrace (Nike of Samothrace), the most beautiful sculpture ever created in the history of art:

The friggin' ceiling in the Louvre, which, I should remind you, was once a royal residence, so what your seeing here used to be the ceiling for the apartments of French royalty, and these over-the-top ceiling decorations are EVERYWHERE. Honestly, it is worth going to the Louvre just to look at the ceiling:

The interior of Notre Dame, which is really hard to get a good picture of when they don't do a lot to light up the place and the natural light coming in through the stained glass is not super strong:

Detail of the flying buttresses of the cathedral taken from the Square de Jean XXIII:

Oh, yeah, I should definitely mention that all of these photos were taken with my camera by me. It is entirely possible to take epic photos of Paris with a simple digital camera because Paris is that awesome.

Ok, pretty pictures have been shared. So what else have I been up to? Well, let's see... I took a boat ride along the Seine to see some of the best sights in the city from the water, ate dinner on the Eiffel Tower, wandered around le Marais, a neighborhood in Paris which roughly translates to "the Swamp," traversed the Île de la Cité and the Île Saint Louis, where you can find Notre Dame and some of the finest ice cream ("la glace") in Paris, spent an afternoon shopping along Boulevard Saint Germain and Boulevard Saint Michel, explored the Latin Quarter, ate at sidewalk cafés nearly every day, including Les Deux Magots (The Two Figurines... aptly named for the two statues in the restaurant) - an old haunt of Ernest Hemingway and others belonging to the Lost Generation - visited a French bar, got lost in the city with friends while looking for said bar, tried 20 types of cheese and 6 types of wine in the course of four hours or so...

Yeah, I've been exhausted at the end of each day. And there are still two more weeks in Paris! There is still so much to see!

I must be frank with you, though. I did not fall in love with Paris until Friday. It took me nearly a week to fall in love with a city that I have been dying to see since I was quite young.

I think it is because, if I truly want to appreciate a city, I have to explore it on my own. I need to wander the streets and lose myself in a new culture. I need to see the sights and hear the sounds of the city at my own pace. This becomes complicated when so many activities are scheduled and I tour the city in a large tourist group of students. This is a fantastic way to learn about the history of the city, but you essentially only discover the tourist spots, or the places that the tour guide knows and loves. That's all fine and dandy since I've never been to France before, but if I am going to be living in this country for the next nine months, I want to get to know it on my own terms. I want to go to restaurants and shops and be treated like any other resident of France. Now, obviously, that won't always happen because I have an American accent when I speak French, and I am not totally fluent yet, but I want to feel more like a person and less like A Tourist. I mean, it's fine if people can tell right away that I am American, but I am here to absorb a culture and learn a language, and that is harder to do when one is attached to seventeen other Americans who are sightseeing with me.

And I was able to do that on Friday. After my French Civilization crash course, I took off from the Citadines and went exploring. I saw Notre Dame on my own, bought some cookies from a little pâtisserie on the Île Saint Louis, where I conversed with the sales clerk in French. I bought a little ice cream cone from a ice cream stand attached to a Salon de Thé and took my time walking through the streets and taking in the sights of the ancient city around me. No one asked me if I spoke French or English. I was even able to tell a family of tourists how to get to the nearest metro station. I felt totally accomplished as an independent student abroad in a new country.

And so, from that, I slowly began to fall in love with "La Ville de Lumière" and its narrow streets and creamy white stone buildings and tiny balconies adorned with flowers and gold-tipped gates and jazz musicians who set up shop in the middle of a pedestrian bridge:

Oh, and, yes, I have purchased fresh baguettes and a striped shirt in order to better fit in, haha. ^_^

Gros bisous,

Rachel

Restaurant Review: WHERE IS MY MEXICAN FOOD?!?!

I have been on a Quest. For two years. This Quest has been so Epic that it has taken every last ounce of my willpower to not break down, throw myself on the ground, and start screaming "IT'S HOPELESS!!!" at the top of my lungs. Yeah, it's been that intense.

For the past two years, I have been on a Quest for (Semi) Authentic Mexican Food Somewhere in the City of Boston [Q(S)AMFSCB for short].

I wasn't asking for much. I knew from the beginning that I would not be finding any El Co here in Bean Town. But I was at least hoping for something that was ever so slightly more authentic than the white-washed tacos my family of solidly European descent can create for a tasty evening meal. In all honesty, I was merely praying to any deity that would listen that I would not be doomed to go to Taco Bell to get my fix. And that was assuming that they even had Taco Bell on the East Coast.

I did not realize it would be so hard. (My roommate would probably be shouting "That's what she said!" right now if she were reading this.)

I figured that the Q(S)AMFSCB would probably be along the lines of searching for a needle in a haystack: difficult and taxing and unnecessarily long and nigh impossible for someone like me who, even with infinite amounts of patience, still demands some sort of instant gratification. Instead, I have decided to liken this experience to getting wisdom teeth pulled without anesthetics while looking for a dark grey needle in a stack of black needles after sunset during an earthquake. In the middle of a blizzard. Without shoes.

Ok, so my tendency for hyperbole is starting to get the better of me. But Southern Californians be warned: New England is not friendly to authentic Mexican food. They just don't quite understand what goes into making a genuine burrito. And I finally figured out why.

After months of agonizing over why it was that Bostonians can't comprehend the difference between a grilled steak burrito and a carne asada burrito, I finally came to an astounding revelation (with the help of the post-doc I was working for): Flavor is a foreign concept. The tacos and burritos of Taco Bell, Chipotle, Qdoba, Boca Grande, and so on, will do to satisfy a desperate woman in need of something warm and wrapped in a tortilla. But they just aren't flavored correctly. I still haven't nailed it down, but it's something in the spices; the seasonings are all wrong. These hunks of meat and rice stuffed into tortillas are often bland and lack the full, rich flavor of Southern California taco shops. You can't just grill up some chicken, throw it on some rice, beans, and cheese, add a little salsa and call it day. You have to cook your burritos with care. You must grill with spices: oregano, red pepper, cumin... I don't exactly know what, but something that will add a little extra kick to what you are creating. Use fresh pico de gallo. Add some guacamole that is a secret recipe handed down through the generations of the family that owns the restaurant. And for Heaven's sake, would it kill you to use a corn tortilla? A taco or burrito is not a taco or burrito unless it has a Spanish sounding name and tastes like heaven.

So after an agonizing search, suffice it to say that I was ready to give up. Yes, dear reader, it was nearly too much for this Californian to take. I mean, there are only so many fake burritos that one can consume before one goes insane and starts massacring the whole town with naught but a stiletto and a whole lotta determination.

And then, as luck would have it, my saviour came in the form of an unexpected find in the midst of one of my wanderings through metropolitan Boston. While wandering through Coolidge Corner and up and down Harvard Street, my Q(S)AMFSCB finally came to a pleasant conclusion as I encountered a small restaurant by the name of Dorado.

This place was a dream come true. I was, as one might expect, quite skeptical at first when I noticed the sign outside of the establishment that read "Baja California-style fish tacos," but out of an insatiable curiosity, I decided to check this place out.

First off, the food looks like this:

And if that doesn't make your mouth water... well, then, you might be an alien. Or dead. Either way, I am impressed that you managed to get this far into my entry. Unless you are just looking at the pretty pictures.

Ahem. Anyway.

The above photo is the dorado fish taco, which is the spicy version of the ensenada taco, which, in turn, is the Baja California-style fish taco. And it does everything right. Now, of course, this may not be the perfect taco - I, in fact, have never been to Baja California, so I have never consumed a real taco from there. However, I have been to Rubio's. Many, many times. And they are famous for their authentic Baja California-style fish tacos. So I know what to look for here. And this taco has it all: two corn tortillas, shredded cabbage, fresh pico de gallo, beer-battered and fried fish of indeterminate origin, and spicy chipotle sauce to boot. My stomach is growling at the mere thought of such a scrumptious composition. There are even a couple of radish slices to top the whole thing off!

And that is just the taco. When I was there, I purchased the two-taco plate, which includes two tacos, a side of Mexican rice and black beans. And these are what really make the meal complete. The Mexican rice is flavorful and just the right color orange while the beans are neither runny nor congealing into a bean paste.

The flavor is there. The spice is there. Maybe it isn't the most authentic taco in the world, but when I took my first bite of this glorious dish, I nearly cried. And I had barely finished my plate when I was overcome with the desire to call home and share this fantastic find on Ye Olde Streete o' Harvard with the parentals. It was pure, homesickness-alleviating, mouth-watering bliss. And for less than $10 total. For dinner. In Boston.

Friends, this is exactly what I had been searching for.

Boston, thank you for not failing me forever. You may be a difficult mistress, but at least you reward your loyal followers in the end.

People of the world, go to this restaurant. Eat a fish taco. Discover nirvana for less than $10.

I am dead serious.

It was that amazing.

Elf out!

Squeeing Like a School Girl

That is all.

Peace, Love, and Pandas.

~Rachel