Moving in and repenting

So it's Yom Kippour in Paris. I was going to go to services with the director of the program, Madame Schneersohn, but I called her late this afternoon only to find out she's only going tomorrow. So instead I took the Metro (it's getting to be more natural for me) to the Marais, the so-called Jewish quarter, to look around for a synagogue. While searching for a synagogue on the internet, I found a warning from the French Jewish organization to be careful, because many anti-semitic attacks have happened around the High Holidays. And sure enough, there were two guards stationed outside the shul I chose. But people were very friendly- I explained my situation to the guy checking tickets, and he let me in without a ticket. I went up to the women's balcony, and introduced myself to some elderly women who were there early; they were surprised that I had come there by myself. They told me about a Yiddish center and library that I hope to go check out. One woman kept repeating what I had said, often in the same words, to the others. I don't think my French is too bad; yesterday, at the Musee Carnavalet (on the history of Paris), I had an extended conversation with the people at the desk, and they seriously thought I was French. One landmark reached! In any case, I don't think it's my accent that's the problem; it's the grammar and vocabulary. So I need some time to adjust. Back to the service: I understood the parts of the sermon that I could hear, and it was interesting to see a different set of customs, although most things, including the tunes, were very similar. During the service, I realized that I recognized a face in the crowd: it was Greg, from my program! He goes to Harvard, and is renting an apartment in the Marais. There are four or five synagogues in the surrounding two blocks, so it was a big coincidence, but I couldn't get his attention because he was on the men's floor. I ended up talking to him after the service.

Over the past week, I've been flaner-ing (that is, wandering around the city) a lot, and visiting many museums. I've definitely been learning a lot of art history; I love going to museums. The first Sunday of each month, including today, all Paris museums are free. I took the opportunity to visit the Musee d'Orsay and the Orangerie, which was newly renovated. The Orangerie shows off Monet's Water Lilies to great advantage in huge oval rooms, and has an amazing collection of Picasso, Renoir, Matisse, Derain, Rousseau, Utrillo, and Soutine. I even got to stop and have a nice meal of a cheese omelet and a salad in a cafe on la rue St-Germain. I sat outside and read a book that my host-father, Jean-Marie, recommended and lent to me: Exercises de style by Raymond Queneau. The book is a collection of 99 variations on the same simple anecdote about a young man on a bus, including a sonnet, an olfactory version, anagrams, a logical analysis, and even a version made completely from interjections. It's pretty awesome, but probably not the same to read in English. It's nice to be pretty immersed in French, but it means that when I'm called upon to speak Spanish or Hebrew, I have many issues.

On Thursday I moved in with my host family. They far exceed my expectations. Somehow I alone of the group am living near the center of Paris. I'm in the 7e arrondissement, about four blocks away from the Musee d'Orsay and a twenty-minute walk from the Tour Eiffel and the Assemble National and les Invalides and Notre Dame and pretty much anything else you would want to see. It's a chic neighborhood, and very pretty. The apartment is full of college kids, and I'm the youngest. The inhabitants are: the dad, Jean-Marie Guichard, a retired journalist in his 50s; the mom, Sophie, a currently unemployed journalist in her 50s; their second child, Paul, who's studying biology at the Ecole de Sciences, and is 22 (and frankly good-looking); their third child, Adele, a 19-year-old law student at the Sorbonne; and another American exchange student, Yasmine, from Georgetown, who's taking international economics at the Sciences Po (a Grande ecole, or really really good school). I've been doing a lot of things with Yasmine- it's great to have another person in my situation to help translate and commiserate with. She has an interesting background: her mother works for the U.S. State Department, and married her father, a native of Ile Maurice (which is near Madagascar), when on assignment there. Yasmine was born in Switzerland (her mom was on assignment again) and has lived in France before, and is perfectly fluent. She's both Hindu and Christian, and is funny and a great person to hang out with. Everyone has been very flexible, and Sophie is even cooking delicious gourmet vegetarian food for me. (They have a cat, and I'm allergic, but that's the only dent in a fabulous situation.) I have my own room for the first time, with a beautiful balcony with flowers that I go on to get a view of the courtyard from the sixth floor.

I'm loving this freedom and having little adventures. I've been meeting up with AYA people, especially Christine, to do things, and I'm looking forward to the next week, before classes start. I hope I can take classes at the Sorbonne itself instead of the international grammar course; I'm still waiting to hear back from the scholarship people about that. I also hope I can see some more manifestations and get more integrated into Paris life!