Rosh Hashannah Paris Edition

    There's no time of  year that'll make a girl quite as homesick as the holidays.  Even though I've been at school during the High Holidays for the last two years, I'm always nostalgic for the arguments about when to go to synagogue and the look from my mother that says, "are you really wearing that?"  This year, being a lot farther away from home (and in a somewhat anti-Semitic country), I was concerned that I would be more homesick than usual for brisket and shofars. 

What is appetizing about gefilte fish?

     Luckily, I was placed with a Jewish family in Paris, so I knew I would at least be able to celebrate the holiday.  After an exhausting day of class, I arrived home at around 7:30pm knowing I'd have to perk up to meet the extended family who had already arrived.  I put my backpack down in my room, ran a brush through my hair (Grandma Rho would be proud) and went outside to meet the family.  I was promptly handed a shot of honey flavored vodka.  Suddenly, the night wasn't looking so long.  After hors d'oeurves, a delicious combination of bread, spreads (the eggplant spread was my favorite), pastrami and more vodka, we went inside to say the blessings over the challah, wine, and apples dipped in honey.  It made me laugh a little to hear the Hebrew blessings spoken in overwhelmingly French accents.  I really never considered how Fre-brew would sound, but it was definitely a funny surprise.  After the blessings, we had a fish course of smoked salmon and gefilte fish (and, of course, wine).  When I told my host mother that I'm not a huge fan of gefilte fish, I heard the all too familiar phrase, "just try some."  Suddenly, I realized that I'm hardly a world away from the Rosh Hashannahs I grew up with, I was right back at Jewish holidays past, explaining, for the millionth time, that gefilte fish creeps me out.  The fish course was followed by the main course: brisket, potato kugel, kasha and some more wine.  I felt right at home.  There were only two changes to the menu I'm used to, duck, instead of chicken, and tongue.  Fortunately, no one forced me to try the tongue.  Stuffed, I was not thrilled when the dessert course immediately followed dinner.  Even though I tried to just have some fruit, pieces of cheesecake and honey cake were piled on my plate, despite my not-so-convincing protests.  Everything was delicious.  It was funny that not only the food made me feel at home, but the company too.
     From this experience, I learned that it really does not take a room full of Jews very long to start talking about Israel.  I don't think we had been eating hors d'oeurves for five minutes when the topic came up.  The conversation was eerily similar to ones I've had with my own family: the younger generation more liberal than the older generation.  My oldest host brother, Jonathan, lives in Turkey but came home to celebrate the holiday.  He was grilled on Turkish-Israeli relations by his uncle.  Everyone had an opinion, most of them different, and by the end of the night I don't think we were able to draw any conclusions.  I feel like that's probably an accurate summary of any conversation I've ever had with my family.  My host father gave a toast, worthy of my dad's usual toasts at family dinners.  He began with a quotation about Jews from Leo Tolstoy and continued to talk about the importance of being Jewish in the modern world.  It was a really nice toast, especially when my host brother, Alexi, whipped out his iPhone, found a version of Aleinu at the iTunes store and played it on repeat as his father spoke.  The night was filled with a lot of laughter and happiness, family just happy that they could be together on a holiday.  It was bittersweet to be a part of the Rosh Hashannah celebration this year.  I was so grateful that my host family welcomed me in their celebration of the new year, but sad that I could not spend it with my own family.  Regardless, I found comfort in the fact that no matter where I am in the world, I can eat some brisket and fight about Israel.

Weekend Excursions

    Two weekends down, two weekend excursions to recount.  My first French excursion was to Versailles.  After a night of enjoying wine by the Seine, only Sophie and I were able to get ourselves together on a beautiful Saturday morning (meaning noon) to take the train to Versailles.  Thanks to our French visas, we were able to skip all the lines and get into the Palace for free.  No small victory, as a typical day at Versailles costs upwards of €27 and those lines looked awfully long.

Sophie in the Hall of Mirrors

      The walk towards the Palace was stunning enough.  The town of Versailles itself is nothing to write home (or blog) about, but as soon as you turn the corner onto Avenue de Paris, an enormous, wrought iron and gold gate stands between you and the most extraordinary place I've ever seen.  First, Sophie and I toured the mesdames apartments, which were sparsely decorated, but had amazing views of the vast gardens.  Next, we saw the real palace- the rooms where Louis XIV-XVI and their wives slept, ate, worked and played.  We were given headsets (also free) that provided information about the respective rooms and artwork.  These rooms were lavishly decorated and the art was unbelievable.  Many of the rooms were inspired by the Greco-Roman pantheon.  For example, the Mars room, decorated in reds and oranges, was the monarchical French equivalent of the Situation Room.  There were rooms dedicated to Diana, Venus, Mercury, Apollo and Hercules.  I'm not exactly sure how the Pope felt about all this, but the rooms were certainly interesting to look at.  At the end of the god-themed rooms was the infamous Hall of Mirrors.  The Hall was truly incredible (and not just because I love looking at myself in the mirror).  The windows had the best views of the gardens and the crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling reflected light in strange and beautiful ways.  After the Hall of Mirrors, there were a few more rooms that were not nearly as memorable, but because it was such a beautiful day, Sophie and I really just wanted to get out to the garden.
    The gardens at Versailles were incredible.  Every inch was manicured to perfection.  Meanwhile, I was thinking about how glad I was that I didn't have to weed it. (Not that I weed our garden at home either....)  It felt like some sort of fairy tale: classical music was playing through the hedges, people were boating around the lake, everything just seemed so perfect.  It made me wonder how anything got done in the late French monarchy, because it seemed like the only place to be was outside.  After meandering to the Dauphin's quarters, we took in a special exhibit comparing 18th century fashion to modern 18th century-inspired fashion.  Vivien Westwood, Alexander McQueen, Dior and Chanel were all heavily featured in the exhibit.  The clothes were stunning, but there was a big emphasis on the "inspired" part of the exhibit.

Chagall stained glass

     The second excursion was a Columbia-organized trip to Reims in Champagne country.  Reims is home to an enormous cathedral, Notre Dame de Reims, which just celebrated its 800th birthday.  No big deal.  Especially because the Notre Dame in Paris is a few decades older (our tour guide told us nonchalantly).  The cathedral was stunning- the outside was covered in statues, reliefs, and gargoyles.  The inside had enormous stained glass windows, some were the original 800-year-old glass and others were made by Chagall.  Either way, they were a sight to behold.  After touring and climbing the cathedral, we went to the champagne caves for a tour and tasting.  We saw the caves at the Pommery, inside the caves there were stacks of bottles ready to be shipped all over the world.  They even had a champagne library, with bottles dating back to the 19th century.  While the caves were interesting, everyone was far too eager to get to the tasting part of the program.  We were each given two flutes of expertly-poured champagne and let loose upon the other champagne tourists/enthusiasts.  Not knowing anything about champagne (or really being told what I was supposed to be tasting), I probably didn't get as much out of the tasting as I could have.  Other than getting tipsy at 3pm.  After a two hour trip back to Paris (in which almost everyone fell asleep), I felt eager to explore France more and hope to do so in the upcoming weeks and months.

A Redhead in Paris

     After nearly two weeks in Paris, I realized that it was probably about time to restart the blog.  While hardly a native yet, I'm quickly learning the ins and outs of this busy, beautiful city.  Paris is constructed in a giant spiral with numbered neighborhoods- starting with the 1st arrondisement (neighborhood) in the center of the city and ending with the 12-20th arrondisements on the outside of the spiral.
     I live with a host family in the 16th arrondisement in a house built in the 18th century on a private street.  Needless to say, I have it bon.  My host family, Cecile and Didier, my host parents, and their four kids Jonathan, Alexi, Adele, and Laura, are some of the nicest people I've ever met.  Alexi, 24, and Laura, 14, live at home with me, while Jonathan, 28, works for the World Bank in Turkey and Adele, 21, goes to school elsewhere in France.  This family is incredibly smart and talented.  Both my host parents are doctors.  Everyone plays piano or guitar or both- ridiculously well, I might add.  It makes me feel incredibly unaccomplished, even though they assure me that I sound great when I sing in the shower. 

Also, her dog is bigger than any French dog I've ever seen. Just saying.

     The one thing that I have noticed, in the short time I've spent here, is that my favorite childhood books, the Madeline series, were complete and utter lies.  There are absolutely no redheads in Paris.  I understand that Madeline was an orphan, so maybe her parents weren't originally French, but that book gave me all kinds of false hope that I would naturally fit in here.  People assume I'm an English speaker before I even open my mouth.  It's really frustrating when I'm trying to improve my French.   I don my chicest clothes and look annoyed on the metro, like every other Parisian I see, but to no avail.  My hair will forever serve as a fiery beacon to my un-Frenchness.