Merry Christmas & Happy New Year!

I promise promise promise to update the blog in the next week! Quick summary: I was crazy busy with school and fun since October 20 -- about 18 presentations, one trip to Normandie, a week in London and a move into Paris! I'm so excited to post pictures of my new Swiss Family Robinson apartment in Le Marais. I hope that you've all been doing well and I'll write much more soon. I'll do my best to make it exciting because you have a lot to read.

xxx,
Allison

It's All Happening

Alright, it’s become fairly obvious that my blog is suffering due to time constraints. Two things happened today that reminded me that I should be enjoying this experience and sharing it with my nearest and dearest (you). First, Margy nagged me to death about posting. Hee hee. I’m teasing. Then, Anne reminded me that I am supposed to be at school during the week and enjoying culture when I’m not in class. After a couple of stressful weeks, I somewhat forgot that I should be making the most of this experience and sharing my adventures with you.

So let’s reeee-wind and get this posting party started. Settle in because you’ve got a lot to read. Oh, and I want to know which one of you has been reading this blog from Latin America.

BFC, 100 year-old Korean Wine and Party at Nond's Palace
Friday, September 21st

My friends Damian and Stephanie and I decided to celebrate completing our Financial Accounting mid-term with lunch at BFC (Best Fried Chicken) near school. Damian and I had been joking about BFC since day 1 of classes and finally curiosity got the best of both of us. Best Fried Chicken is a bold statement when someone like me comes across it. It might very well be the best fried chicken in Cergy, in France or in all of Europe as far as I know, but simply Best Fried Chicken? Doubtful.

BFC is also Gyro Sandwicherie, a fact that we discovered only when we got close enough to examine the situation. How can fried chicken and gyros share one space? I still don’t know, but apparently they can. I think many people would have walked away from BFC at this point, but not us. Actually, I’m not sure how many people even think to walk toward BFC at all. Fearless, we entered and ordered a big ole family meal that came with 800 french fries. I was nervous that instead of BFC it would be WFC (Worst Fried Chicken). However, BFC isn’t so bad. It’s no Mrs. Winners or even KFC, but BFC adds its own little spiciness that makes its fried chicken a Cergy delight. Don’t worry, I won’t make any of you go when you come visit. It’s not that good.

After waking up from my BFC coma, I met pretty much all of the Asian kids in my class at a Korean restaurant in Paris. Unfortunately, I missed dinner – most likely from oversleeping – but I did have a few minutes to sample two kinds of Korean wine, one famous for being aged 100 years, and learn some things about Korean dining culture. Some of you, and you’ll know who you are, will be delighted to learn that among good friends, putting your empty glass on your head is really a sign of needing a refill. Needless to say, Jung-Ick was a little surprised when I responded to his question, “Do you know what you do in Korea when you want someone to fill up your glass?” by putting my glass on top of my head. I was doing it as a joke, but it turns out I was actually right!

After dinner, we all headed to a party at Nond’s apartment right outside of Paris. Nond decided to throw a birthday party for Ginger, Vanessa and himself since they all had birthdays this week. Nond’s apartment, is actually Nond’s family’s apartment and it’s huge. I contemplated hiding out in one of the bedrooms. I think I could have lived there for three weeks before he noticed. Here are some pictures from the party:

Party at Nond's

And some from the weeks before:

Paris

Alumni Cocktails: A Story of Hope and Despair

Saturday, September 22nd

On Saturday, we had a networking cocktail party in Paris with the local alumni. No alumni showed up for quite a while, which was a little unnerving and a little annoying since most everybody was still tired from the night before. Finally, a few appeared. Unfortunately, the first two alums I spoke with had just graduated in July and still didn’t have jobs. Yikes! I don’t like being unemployed. No alums, then unemployed alums? I became even more tired. Fortunately, I then found employed alums with good jobs – a ray of hope for the year to come. Then, Jody’s wallet got stolen.

Heaven in a Macaroon and Graduation with Chantal Thomass

Monday, September 24th

On Monday, our class was “invited,” as in told it was mandatory, to the graduation ceremony for the Class of 2007. I was sort of in a mood that day and didn’t want to go. Then, because I didn’t want to go, I piddled around, ended up drying my dress with a hairdryer and making myself late for the train. Nice. In a scene reminiscent from my early days in New York, I attempted to buy a train ticket with coins (and small coins at that). Unfortunately, I didn’t realize that the machine did not accept 2 and 1 cent pieces so I was 5 cents short. A line had formed behind me. I had 1 minute to catch the train. It took 30 seconds for all of my coins to drop back out of the machine. What’s a girl to do but use her non-Paris ticket to get on the train and just worry about it later?

In France, you must use your getting-on ticket to get out of the station. Since my getting-on ticket wasn’t for Paris, I couldn’t technically get out of the station once I arrived in Paris, but that is a small detail. The machine should accept all coins. It’s the machine’s fault. I thought I would just crawl through the first turn-style and that I would then find a ticket machine for the metro. Knowing that someone would hold the little metro turn-style door open for me, I followed a man out of the RER station section – “Merci! Merci!’ as I crawled under the turn-style in my nice dress. Oh, so classy. Oddly enough, there was not a metro ticket machine to be found anywhere. I was forced to crawl under yet another turn-style. I did end up on the metro and ran into Gabby on the way out of the station. Luckily, the exit doors were broken and I didn’t have to do any more crawling.

We were required to arrive to the graduation ceremony 3 hours before it began. I’m still not entirely sure why. I tied the diplomas together with red ribbon and then we took a class picture in the garden of the fancy Cercle de L’Union Interalliée, where the fancy 2007 graduation ceremony took place, which is on the fancy Rue de Faubourg Saint-Honoré. After picture taking, we were allowed to go for about an hour. A group of us walked over to Ladurée, the most fantastic, dreamy, wonderful tea house in the world. I’m in love. I had rose-flavored tea, which was divine, and 3 of the most heavenly macaroons. The best best best was the caramel au beurre salé (salty butter caramel) macaroon. Contrary to BFC, I will be taking all visitors to Ladurée for caramel macaroons. Everyone should have one. It’s happiness in a macaroon.

After tea and cookies, we headed back to the graduation (my friend Diane took a quick 10 minutes to introduce me to the Roger Vivier store – my now second favorite place behind Ladurée), which was boring – too many speeches and not enough fun. Chantal Thomass was the highlight of the night for me though. Among other things, she makes very beautiful umbrellas and she is sublimely French with a straight black bob, dark glasses, and high high-heels. I introduced myself to her at the party afterwards, but I was too star struck to say much of anything. She said that she promised to come to class and talk for an hour. I’m looking forward to that.

The boredom of the ceremony had all but erased the macaroon high, and by the time the post-ceremony party had started, I was back into whatever mood I began the day with. À la ESSEC MBA Luxe pomp and circumstance, waiters offered us champagne from silver trays right as we came to the top of the stairs. Champagne never hurt anyone’s mood. And, then, I walked over to a big French window that looked out over the garden below and on to a magnificent view of the Eiffel Tower all lit up. I am in France!

Graduation

Career Conundrums

Thursday, September 27th

Today I had my first meeting with the career counselor. This story isn’t really interesting. I told her I was interested in jewelry, watches and wine, but I’ve since changed my mind. I’ll have more to reveal after my second meeting in November.

A Trip to Les Puces in Paris, the Hobo, the Party and the Missed Train

Saturday, September 29th

Saturday, Jody, Stephanie and I went to Les Puces (The Fleas) right outside of the city limits. It was nice to walk around outside and discover another something in France. These were serious flea markets, though. Everyone had his or her own stall that they opened every weekend. One part of the market was really nice and fancy. The other was more like Chinatown on a Saturday afternoon. Neither part consisted of a bunch of junk strewn across tables like the old Chelsea flea markets. Therefore, I wasn’t inclined to buy anything since the fun of digging was taken away from me. We did, however, all stop for crepes (I had nutella, banana and coconut – yum):

Jody and I took the train home to change clothes and then we headed back into Paris to go to a party at Lacy’s friend’s sister’s friend’s house. So, Lacy, I met Caroline and she is really nice. We didn’t get much of a chance to talk, but I’m making it a point to meet up with her some weekend soon. Our schedules keep missing each other.

On the way to the fete, we stopped at an ATM to get some cash and a hobo proceeded to harass Jody for about two blocks. He smelled like cheese. Finally, we out-maneuvered the hobo at a red light and were free.

We arrived at the party a little confused by our encounter on the street, but we were immediately put at ease by Caroline and all of her nice friends. Sadly, we had gotten a late start so we didn’t have much time to mingle. I sacrificed Jody to a gay couple to talk to a nice boy, but then, as always, the train! Stupid train and its stupid schedule that never jives with mine! So Jody and I made a classic French exit, which consisted of a few frantic good-byes, before jumping into a taxi to race to the train station. But there is no racing for anything in Paris. We hadn’t been in the taxi for 5 minutes before we realized that we were never ever going to make the last train. Oh well, back to Cergy en taxi we went. We should have gone back to the party. At least we laughed about it the whole way home.

Sunday Ritual

Sunday, September 30th

On Sundays, I go with Meeta to get coffee and croissants at Show Gourmand. It’s not a replacement for Sundays at Georgia’s, but it is nice to have a Sunday coffee routine again. If we are extra industrious, we manage to do laundry too.

A Trip to the Other Side of the World

Monday, October 1st

Rabbit, rabbit. Today I had to go to the opposite side of Paris to visit the doctor in order to get my residency card. The exam consisted of an eye test in French and a chest x-ray. I’m afraid I might grow a second head now because the x-ray machine seemed a little old. Anyway, I was declared not to be a “danger to society” and was then told to bring my x-ray to whichever GP I chose to that if I ever got the flu . . . . Huh? As many times as I’ve had the flu, I never once had a doctor request a chest x-ray. Anyway, step 65 of getting residency card completed.

London Business School

Wednesday, October 3rd

Today I officially found out that I was selected to go to the London Business School for a week in December as part of an exchange program. Five of us are going and it’s a great group. It should be a lot of fun (and educational, of course) and I’m looking forward being in London for the first time in a long while.

Another Hines & La Nuit Blanche

Saturday, October 6th

Tonight I saw another friendly Hines face in the form of Chesley. I am averaging seeing one Hines a month, which is fantastic. Next month will be a double-Hines Thanksgiving in Nice!
I was especially glad to be out because it was La Nuit Blanche in Paris. I really had no idea what that meant, but Chesley and I found out when we walked from dinner through the Jardin de Tuleries. The gardens were packed with people and everywhere you looked were little flower pots filled with fire. There were tubes of fire in the middle of the gardens and the little boat pond was aflame too. Nearer the Champs-Elysées, two big sculptures of afire flower pots were already dwindling a bit while the Eiffel Tower gleamed on in the background. La Nuit Blanch était vraiment magnifique!

The Financial Accounting Exam

Tuesday, October 9th

This subject does not need much recounting. Because of the previous project (see above), I did not have enough time to study for this exam. I don’t think I did badly, but I definitely could have done better. The two of us who had been shouting at the third the night before ended up being two of the last to leave the exam because we got stuck on a couple of problems. Then, that third had the nerve to tell my other group member that she and I should have studied more for the exam and that we were wrong for working so hard on the company project. Hey, guy, we would have had plenty of time to study if we hadn’t been doing your work! Ahhhh!

La Cours du Francais: Elle est Foulle

Thursday, October 11th

Today we had our first French class. I think it will also be my last. The teacher is a little crazy and there is absolutely no structure to the class. Welcome to France. I understood everything because we were reviewing grammar I covered at Harpeth Hall, but I don’t think I would have followed it at all if I had never seen it before.

I’ll admit that I was behaving badly in class. We had had a full day of classes and I was tired and I didn’t want to be there. And the teacher made us watch a video. Yuck. It was about a man and his wife who come to the French boonies with their sulky daughter to open up a restaurant. When asked to describe the daughter, I said, “Elle est malheureuse (She is unhappy).” The teacher exclaimed that that was a bit of an exaggeration so she didn’t write it on the board. I maintain that the daughter was, indeed, malheureuse at moving away from Paris. I thought the whole point of the exercise was to use our personality explaining words anyway. Je suis malheureuse about this French class so I think I am going to find a conversation partner in Paris instead.

Installments

The rest will have to wait until later, hopefully just until tomorrow. Here is a list of stories to come:

Research at Sephora (Friday, October 12th)
The Communist Party (Saturday, October 13th)
A Bad Week, A Good Dinner, Tout Est Impossible and Les Reves en Francais (et Espagnol) (Monday October 15th – Friday, October 19th)
Adrian’s Birthday (Friday, October 19th)

Oh My Gosh!

It's been 13 days since I wrote. I'm still here! Don't leave me! I will get on writing tomorrow. You have a lot to catch up on. In the meantime, here are some pictures of my new friends (see I'm making some, Mom) and me.

Meeta and Me
















Wei Kung, Chris, Oscar, Jung-Ick, Marta, Fabio, Suen, Meeta and Tyler . . . and Me

And now blogger is being a pain so I'll have to wait until tonight to post more pictures.

xx,
A

Nobody Beats the Wiz!

Since I can’t possibly devote enough time to all my stories in one night, I’m submitting in installments.

Allison Attends the Most Excruciatingly Boring Gemmology Class Ever
Wednesday, September 19th

Seriously, it was horrible. Let’s not relive it in full: ugly “gemstones,” no instruction and lots of rolling of the eyes among classmates. The class is best summed up with this little story: the gemmology woman (I don’t think she deserves to be called an instructor, at least for our group) handed my friend from New York, Jody, her 8th box of terrible stone bits to examine for goodness-knows-what and all Jody could say under her breath was a despondent “really?” Moving on.

The Cheeseburger That Was Not

After gemmology class, I stayed in Paris to go out to dinner with my friend Monika, who is Hungarian, but lives in, and I gather prefers, Switzerland. We did a good tour of Les Galeries Lafayette before walking to a pedestrian area of bars near her house in the 8ieme Arrondissement. We settled on a bar called Razowzki’s, which I remarked “sounded like a bar you’d find in Chicago.” After a glass of wine, we looked over the menu and I noted dishes called “Tribeca Salad,” “Nolita Salad” and “Brooklyn Bagel.” Interesting . . . I had landed in the only New York themed bar in the neighborhood.

As I’m sure you could all infer, since I am “cooking” for myself in a miniscule kitchenette, I’m in dire need of meat. Alors, I opted for the cheeseburger. Okay, the description went as follows:

Cheeseburger: bun, beef, salad, onions, cheddar cheese and mayonnaise

Good enough. Leçon appris earlier about the ham hamburger so I double-checked the beef situation. All good. Let’s do it. I’ll have the cheeseburger sans mayonnaise.

Now, when one says cheddar cheese, I believe you. I don’t assume that you reserve the right to put any sort of cheese you may have all willy-nilly on the hamburger. However, I can pretty much deal with any type of cheese that’s not of the blue variety. You know what I can’t deal with? Cheez Wiz! This is not cheese. This is a “cheese food product.” It clearly says so on the CAN it comes in. To simplify:

Cheez Wiz ≠ cheese

Or

≠

Write that down.

Ugh, my glorious cheeseburger dream was all double-thin-pattied, triple-bunned and cheez-wizzed out. Gross. And try as I might, I just couldn’t scrape off enough to escape the nightmare. Don’t get me wrong; I ate it. There was no way I was going to let this Wiz ruin my protein pursuit completely. The burger itself wasn’t that great, but what are you going to do? Katie and Sarah, all I could think of at the moment was Mato Mato Squiz.

I won’t even go into how Monika the vegetarian ordered a pastrami sandwich thinking it was the “brother sandwich” of minestrone soup. Um, not the first time she’s made that mistake either.

All in all, it was a funny dinner experience and it was nice to go out to a relaxed non-group dinner. I’m now going to be the American girl that asks at every restaurant “Is it real cheese or is it the Wiz?” I don’t care. I can’t face that stuff again.

For Shame!

I have been so remiss in my blogging! Big entry to come with pictures later this afternoon -- promise!

A

I lied. I didn't do it and there is too much to write to start now.

Here's a teaser of stories to come:

• Allison attends the most excruciatingly boring gemmology class ever
• The cheeseburger that was not
• 100 year-old Korean wine and party at Nond's palace
• Alumni cocktails: a story of hope and despair
• The story of the work group that did not work
• Heaven in a macaroon and the tea that was a rose
• The girl who didn't buy a train ticket
• Graduation with Chantal Thomass and the Eiffel Tower
• Tuesday, Wednesday?
• Career conundrums
• C'est vendredi! and my first graduate school grade
• Sleep, sleep and more sleep
• A trip to les puces in Paris
• The party and the missed train

Holy moly, that might take me a while. I'll do it tomorrow -- double promise. I'll also mail those postcards from Labor Day . . . what's wrong with me?! I have to go get my medical visit over with tomorrow morning at 9:00 a.m. in Paris. Yuck. I bet you five million dollars that a French version of Ointment Man sits down next to me -- or this guy: Girl, Sugar Pie, mwah, mwah.

Pourrais-j'avoir un petit café à emporter?

September 10 - 16

à emporter: to take away/to go
I learned this one after talking around it for about 5 minutes this morning during my coffee order. I now have my order down pat: un petit café crème à emporter, s.v.p.

sur place: to stay
This was also a part of my bakery language lesson.

écrémé: skim
Thank goodness this means what I thought it did. I only looked it up today and I was a little worried I had been downing whole milk for two weeks.

Pourrais-je?: May I?
I never realized how much I used this phrase until I didn't quite know how to say it correctly.

Everyday French Class

It's Saturday and I'm not afraid to let you know that I stayed in tonight with my new friend, Stanley the $6 bonsai tree. I was supposed to take part in round 2 of this weekend's Paris nightlife: the danceclub. After another really late Friday night out and a splitting afternoon headache -- due to my having had no water in about 48 hours and, I'll admit, the cup of Bartles & James-esque "wine" that I was half-forced to drink last night -- I decided to take a little time to pull myself together. Better to be fun every time you go out than to go out every time just to appear fun, right?

Big news today is that I got a cell phone! Yay. Looks like I'm going to have to learn to text message a little faster because buying minutes here is très cher. Although, the salesman didn't quite agree with me when I exclaimed that in the store. "C'est le prix (that's the price)," he said. I'm not sure what kind of argument c'est le prix is supposed to be. It may be the price, but it's still expensive. Anyway, I posted the number on the right so you'd have it in case you need it. Receiving calls is free so don't worry that you're putting me in the poor house minute by minute. I guess that won't exactly be so cheap for anyone of you either . . . so Skype's probably the best unless it's an emergency -- like someone is in the hospital or you can't decide which shoes to wear with your new dress.

Last night I went to a party in a real live Parisian apartment with real live Parisian people. I did a great job of practising my French in the beginning with an artist lady and a guy, who seems to have a complicated job because it took him about 3 minutes to explain it. Unfortunately, I didn't exactly understand what he was saying. Oops. I also think that the artist lady invited me to another party or concert soon. I'm going to have to follow up with the girl who threw the party to figure that one out. Maybe next weekend I will be wearing all black and philosophizing avec musicians and visionaries.

Today was filled with cell phone getting and a brief language lesson at Show Gourmand. I ordered my café au lait, which I've gathered is really called a café crème. I wanted it to go, and I tried to express that fact to the lady making the coffee. So I asked if I could have it "pour aller?" (my literal translation of "to go" -- thanks a lot google). From her look, I knew I wasn't even close. Then, a second lady says something to the first about language or lesson or, really, I have no idea. I then tried my own version of "paper cup." The first lady held up a napkin.

When they realized that I wasn't asking for a napkin, it prompted them to start guessing about my nationality. Vous êtes allemande (German), espagnole (Spanish)? Ah! No, "Je suis américaine." Now, where was I? I was totally thrown off course. Okay, let's try "I want to take it outside." "Oh, yes, you can take it outside." I looked to where she pointed and saw tables on the sidewalk behind me. Not quite there. "I want to take it outside and go away." I accompanied this statement with little walking fingers. "Oh, à emporter!" "Oui! À emporter!" At this exclamation, the two ladies looked very proud, as if they'd manage to drag me safely out of a terrible language swamp. Coffee went from porcelain to paper cup.

I've quickly come to realize how truly amazing communication, even on the most basic level, is. The French people have been so wonderful about teaching me how to parler. Rarely does anyone speak English to me and they are very patient in trying to understand what I'm attempting to say. And, each time I have a eureka! moment with someone, he or she seems genuinely pleased that I've learned to speak a little better.

Even people at the grocery store are helpful. For example, a man took it upon himself to explain to me that I didn't need to weigh a cucumber because cucumbers are sold by the piece. Thank goodness because there was not a picture of a cucumber anywhere on the scale, and I would have stood there for a long time trying to figure out what to do.

All of this helpfulness makes it easier to get along slowly but surely. I've dicovered that I have a million other cultural things to learn about my classmates as well. Swiss people get three kisses, while just about everyone else gets two. Greeks believe that if you drink the last of a botte of wine that you will have a good wedding. Asians don't usually appreciate you diving into personal questions after 5 minutes or, in some cases, ever. In China, it seems that chocolate pudding doesn't exist because my friend from Shanghai bought some thinking it was yogurt. When he discovered it wasn't, he put it on a salad assuming it was "salad sauce." The French take the word "hamburger" literally and sometimes make hamburgers out of ham. That was a rather unpleasant discovery. I also learned that I've been holding my chopsticks wrong for years and that in Japan you can hold your rice bowl off of the table, but in Korea people consider it rude.

In return, I've tried to be a good ambassador for the South. About half of the class understands "y'all" now and I've promised them fried food, chess pie, tea punch and mint juleps before the year is up. I've also fielded some English language etiquette questions, and I talk very slowly. Just my way of giving back.

Une Baguette, s.v.p.

I've decided to take a little break from $'s and #'s, but I don't have much to report. Today, believe it or not, was the first day I bought a baguette. I went to the bakery and said, "Une baguette, s'il vous plait," and I received a nice warm baguette. Warm! Honestly, after hundreds of Harris Teeter baguettes, I didn't really know that they could come all soft and warm. Not that I'm knocking Harris Teeter; it has it's own specialties.

Yesterday, some of us tried the Japanese restaurant in town. Bizarre, I know. We barely have enough here to live a normal life, but we've got sushi. Go figure. It was pretty good, but I was feeling a bit not so happy. I'd forgotten how hard it was to really move away from everything and start something new. It's easy to feel like everyone else is making friends and that you're on the outside. I think we're all feeling a like a haphazard best friends crew because each of us has gone from not even knowing the others existed to spending at least 8 hours of intense class together every day, all in just 2 weeks.

After class today, though, I think I'm getting over my short blue period. One of the girls in class is throwing a party tomorrow at her apartment in Paris, which should be fun. Rest assured that you will not be reading about how I spent another night in the City of Lights trying in vain to get home. Remember, leçon appris.

Okay, back to work!

Any Place Is Paradise Until There Are No Taxis

Finally a break! We got out of classes today at 4:15 and don’t have another until 1:00 tomorrow. Of course, that means class until 7:45, but it’s wine class so evening is as good a time as any I guess. I am over the exhaustion of last Thursday, but I decided to really delve into the pit of fatigue despair before sleeping it all away like a bad dream.

On Friday night, I met a group of classmates for dinner in Paris and then joined a few of them at a discothèque called Showcase, which is under the Pont Alexandre III. I should have known better, but I’m really trying my best to socialize, so a-clubbing we shall go! Despite the impressive location on the Seine, the club crowd was rather unimpressive in the way of fun. The drinks were even more unimpressive in the way of actual liquor, which would have helped me ignore the crowd’s general age of 23.

Anyway, I had a fun time talking to the people from school and the club itself was pretty cool. I really did feel like I was under the bridge, and you can see the Seine from huge openings in the side of the building. I think the club, however, thinks it’s way more awesome than it really is.

When I walked up to the bouncer (after waiting in line – and you know how much I hate that!), I said “Bonsoir!” I got a “bonsoir” back and then a “well, what the hell do you want?” look. Fortunately, my classmate Gabby stepped in and said that we were 6 people. I’m sorry, since when do we not ask questions when we’d like information? Are French night clubbers all telepathic?

We were then told to stand in a line. We were then scrutinized. A lady was called. She looked us up and down. “Are they okay in the face?” She said “oui,” but she wasn’t very convincing. Gabby said it was because our friend Nond’s friend, Pun, had “that pirate thing on his head,” but I thought Pun looked better than 75% of the guys in the club. Whatever. We were a good looking group.

Midnight’s approach prompted the “how are we going to get home?” discussion. This discussion is boring and never ends on a good note, unless you are with Ainsley and she comes up with brilliant plans like staying in nearby hotels. The last train back to Cergy leaves Paris at 12:45 a.m. The next train leaves at 5:35 a.m. Ergo, there is a 5-hour window of this trainless lassitude that requires you stay in Paris and would be wonderfully romantic on an exceptional first date, but is just problematic when you are out just for the sake of being out. But, I speak from experience. I was not so wise on Friday.

Train? No train? Train? Bus? No, not bus. Train? No, wait, taxi! Yes! The idea hatched from a New Yorker in the group, and I obviously thought it was the best option. In New York on any given night, apart from New Year’s Eve and very rainy, snowy or freezing nights, one simply has to step outside and lift an arm to hail a taxi. Lift arm. Taxi appears. Of course, it’s not always that easy. Sometimes the process requires waving, whistling, yelling, exhibiting some leg, yelling at other taxi hailers, fighting off perceived taxi stealers and everything short of (yet sometimes including) throwing yourself in front of the taxi.

My point is this: in New York there are taxis that you can hail at any time at any place. These taxis, once hailed, will take you home.

Although I have several extraordinary taxi-hailing memories that include images of my friend Liz leaping across icy streets in heels, me banging a metal bowl against a lamp post on the FDR and the like, I don’t think it ever took me more than 40 minutes to get a cab. Even in Greenwich Village on Saturday at 2:00 in the morning in the rain.

So, yes, we will take a taxi. Around 2:00 a.m., a group of us decided that we wanted to go home. Time to get the taxi! I was aware that Paris does not allow the free-for-all taxi hailing of which New York is so fond, but I also knew that taxi stands were prevalent on the Champs-Elysees. We walked to a taxi stand and waited. And we waited. And waited. In 35 minutes, I think we saw one taxi stop. There were millions of taxis. Taxis, taxis, everywhere, but not a one to stop! It appeared that every night owl and dog in Paris had hailed a taxi from some other magical “Stop Here!” taxi stand.

We walked to another stand. Then we hobbled to another. One of the, how shall I say, “less together” members of the group kept walking to and fro across the street. I swear, I thought I was going to be scraping her off of the Champs-Elysees before dawn. Around 3:45, we decided to call it quits, stop for pizza, and wait for the 5:35 train.

Not cool. This is not my scene. I’m not a “let’s watch the sunrise type of person.” No one looks good after midnight, much less after 5:00 a.m. And I, for one, am not so pleasant for lack of sleep leads to crankiness. Because of this fact, I made the smart decision to talk less and less as the early morning marched on.

Pizza came and went and our little troop wandered back out into the streets. Finally, by some miracle, the New Yorker (or the other New Yorker, since I can now count myself as at least New Yorkie), found a taxi hot spot and hailed one down. By this time, 4:55, I had declared Paris “every man for himself” land so I Frogger-ed it across the street and jumped in . . . to blaring Elvis. Seriously, I entered a tiny mobile Las Vegas. At 5:00 in the morning. It took “Suspicious Eyes,” “You’re the Devil in Disguise,” “A Little Less Conversation,” a few other hits I don’t remember and a Shakira song to get us home. I’m still singing “Whenever, Wherever” in my head.

Having flown into bed at about 5:35, I was fairly worthless until Sunday. Since France closes on Sunday, I had to amuse myself with about 6 hours of Financial Accounting homework. After one class, I realized that Ainsley gave me the best business school advice yet when she told me to stay on top of the reading and do the homework. I think I might be a little numbers nerd at heart because I actually like the class. Oh, how I could have managed lemonade stands, LifeSavers, Inc., and Dixie Darlings with such financial wizardry, if only I had taken this class earlier! Come the mid-term next week, however, I might not be so happy about it.

I also started gemmology classes, which I was really excited about on Monday morning. Not so much anymore. We’ve had two classes and I’m still not entirely sure what a) the purpose of the class is and b) what information I am supposed to retain. I don’t take kindly to people who discount emeralds as “crap” and praise moonstone, so perhaps the first teacher just turned me off a bit. I think you are allowed to like any type of stone no matter what. Our teacher today was better, but she talked mostly about the diamond industry – flashback to 47th Street. For some reason, a lot of people in the class had very specific questions about insuring gemstones. Yawn. The teacher is also an expert on antique jewelry so I think Thursday’s lesson will be more interesting. Regardless, I’m thinking about asking her to talk to me about the jewelry trade industry in Paris because I don’t know much about it.

Other than attending class, I have agreed to help plan our January field trip to NYC. Dorrian’s here we come! Just kidding, but I really hope I didn’t need to clarify that I was joking. My French/Luxembourgish friend is teaching me more French in exchange for Southern dialect tidbits. So far, I have given her “y’all,” “conniption fit,” and “cattywhompus.” Actually, I am slowly converting the entire class into y’all-users. Whenever I say “y’all,” no one understands what I am saying. Rather than omit such a phenomenal word from my vocabulary, I decided to enlighten my international class. Feel free to send me other Southern words when they come to you. I don’t want to run out before I become fluent in French.

Thinking about New York, yesterday was the first day I really and truly missed it since June. Maybe it was a reminder of today, but I wanted nothing more than to be in the city running around and doing all of the things I used to do. So if you are in New York today, tell it that you love it (even if you don’t feel like it) because one day you might be gone and you’ll regret not appreciating all of the everyday wonderfulness it offers – like taxis.