Shopping

No pictures today, because blogspot apparently can't handle the National Geographic-esque onslaught of photos that I have been attempting to weave into my entries. But that's okay because I didn't take many pictures today anyway, since I was too busy shopping until my feet fell off.

My first and most important mission was to locate a hair straightener, since I wasn't allowed to bring mine due to European voltage incompatibility (according to the people who went last year, converters did not prevent their electronics from frying). In yet another poorly-constructed sentence, I asked my host sister if she knew of a good place to find the device ("As-tu une suggestion pour un edroit ou je peux acheter un....") but realized I didn't even begin to know how to say hair straightener, or blowdryer, or anything that might help me explain my need. "It is for... the hair..." I attempted, pulling a section through two fingers to imitate straightening. "Ah," said Louise, mercifully understanding, then told me that I could probably find one at the "grande surface" near the St. Placide metro stop. After meeting up with Erin, who was enjoying a $13 French onion soup at a nearby cafe, we set off. Despite getting temporarily sidetracked by a FNAC store, which turned out to be the equivalent of a Best Buy, I did eventually find a straightener in the Montparnasse centre commercial. Unforunately I also spent like, my life savings on it. C'est la vie.

After the successful purchase of the hair straightener we embarked on a long and far less successful search for a specific pair of boots that Erin had seen at a boutique, but couldn't find any in her size. Since we were nearby we also took a jaunt to Le Bon Marche, which Wikipedia tells me was the first true department store in history. It was very "aesthetically pleasing," as Erin said, but about as expensive as a Saks, so we limited ourselves to trying on some hats and critiquing the architecture. Outside the Bon Marche we ran into an anti-colonization protest parade (one of the banners proclaimed that it was anti-colonization week. Is it usually pro-colonization week?) which was interesting, but since our student handbooks clearly state that we should avoid participation in any social or political rallies and protests, we were obliged to keep walking.

Today was my host sister's 22nd birthday and I thought it would be a nice gesture to get her un petit cadeau, so our next stop was at the chocolaterie near my apartment, where I had one of my landmark victories of language. The shop was set up with some prepackaged chocolates and truffles, but for the most part you had to indicate which of several homemade chocolates you desired and estimate how many grams' worth you wanted. I asked the vender a question about the pricing, made three selections, and told him that I did not want the total package to exceed 300 grams, all in French. I was happy when he responded entirely in French, too, since most Parisians have been humoring our attempts to pose questions in French before they cut us off and finish our thoughts in English. Even if the responses are too complicated or the questions too fast, it makes me feel better when a Parisian speaks to me in French because it's an indication of their faith in my ability to comprehend. Not that I always do, but I'll never improve if they keep narrowing their eyes and repeating things slowly in English. Louise looked surprised when I presented her with the assortment ("J'espere que tu aimes le chocolat...") but gave me a grateful if awkward hug nonetheless. Now I'm at home eating taboule and some sort of chicken pita sandwich that I purchased from another Monoprix, which incidentally had the same giant psycho chocolate bunnies as the last store. I have decided to purchase one of these bunnies so that I can be like Dave Sedaris in Me Talk Pretty One Day ("the rabbit of easter. he bring of the chocolate.") and also because it's the funniest and/or most horrifying Easter candy I've ever seen in my life.

So that was my first Saturday in Paris. Tonight Erin and I are going to see Atonement (in French it's Revien-Moi, "Come back to me") at a local theater, but we don't know if it'll be in French or English. We're hoping it'll be English with French subtitles, which would be an amusing change of pace in the world of foreign films. I hope there won't be a lot of other Americans there though, like there were last night at the Eiffel Tower. Apparently the Americans come out in droves after sundown in Paris, because I heard more English under the Tower last night than in the whole week I've been here. And of course it was also the English speakers lounging around on the grass, sitting between each other's legs and yelling to their friends across the street, or shelling out pocketfuls of Euros to purchase mini light-up Eiffel Tower keychains. For the first time I wanted to pretend I wasn't one of them, but someone who actually belonged in this city, or who at least deserved to be here appreciating its culture. Despite all the times I've been one, I just wanted the tourists to go home.