Needle & Thread

When the world welcomes us in,
We're closer to Heaven than we'll ever know
They say this place has changed,
But strip away all of the technology
And you will see
That we all are hunters,
Hunting for something
That will make us okay.

Here we lay alone
In hospital beds tracing life in our heads
But all that is left
Is that this was our entrance and now it's our exit,
As we find our way home.

And all the blood and all the sweat
That we invested to be loved
Follows us into our end,
Where we begin to understand.

We are made of love,
And all the beauty stemming from it.
We are made of love,
And every fracture caused by the lack of it.

"You were a million years of work,"
Said God and His angels, with needle and thread.
They kissed your head and said,"You're a good kid, and you make us proud.
So just give your best and the rest will come,
And we'll see you soon."

And all the blood and all the sweat
That we invested to be loved,
Follows us into our end
We begin to understand.

Maybe Hollywood was right:
When the credits have rolled and the tears have dried,
And the answers that we have been dying to find
Are all pieced together and, somehow,
Made perfectly mine, mine, mine
Made perfectly mine

We are made of love,
And all the beauty stemming from it.
We are made of love,
And every fracture caused by the lack of love.
Caused by the lack of love...

--Sleeping at Last

WEEEEEEEE

My family is coming to visit me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Dear France,

Please be ready for my entire family, but mostly my mother. She's been listening to "Learn French" cds. It'll be quite a sight to behold when she finally lands on le sol francais.

Respectfully yours,
Carolyn

All that being said, I could not be more thrilled that she (and of course my entire family) are coming.

My dad chose to inform me of their final decision to come visit by sending me the confirmation email for the plane tickets. I was checking my email and one of them had the subject header of "Your US Airways Flight Info." Confused, and thinking perhaps it was something to do with my flights to Dublin or Prague, I clicked open the email to read:

Passenger Name:
Stephen St Cyr
Sarah St Cyr
Laura St Cyr
Stephen M St Cyr

Trip Details:
Depart: Charlotte, NC --> Paris, France

I started laughing hysterically and crying at the same time.

Laughing because its awesome they're coming and because that is SOOO my Dad, not telling anyone he'd decided they would go and just booking the tickets early one Saturday morning and telling me by sending me the confirmation email.

Crying because I was so happy and just so darn lucky to have a family that has the means to come visit.

They'll be here in month! So excited.

Florence

You know you're extremely lucky and kind of ungrateful when...

...you hate leaving Italy to go back to France.

After a two hour wait in the train station on Thursday night (thank you delayed trains), Kara and Carleigh and I finally boarded the night train bound for Italy. We made the occupants of beds 61-66, Car 85 rather angry, as we knocked on their door mulitple times confused as to why they wouldn't let us in, only to realize that we should have been bothering the occupants of beds 61-66 in Car 86 instead. Finding the right compartment, we settled in for the night. The three people who were already there had rather rudely taken our blankets and pillows. So, I passed a rather sleepless night (thank you, IPod) using my Northface and a sweater as blankets and my back pack as a pillow.

We arrived in Florence around 10:30 the next morning. Famished, we found a little hole in the wall pizza place and with lots of hand signals and laughing ordered pizzas and scarfed them down. We also left our mark on the restaurant.

After lunch, we headed to Il Duomo. Only the most recognizable symbol of Florence, this amazing church that had me dancing around in joy because I was finally seeing it with my own eyes. I took an early Italian Renaissance Art course my freshman year, and we talked about Florence almost more than we talked about paintings.



After seeing the Duomo and the museum right beside it (housing Michaelangelo's Pieta and Donatello's Mary Magdelene), we met up with Tyler, a friend from Wake who is studying in Florence. He took us to get our first gelato and see Santa Maria Novella, another famous church in Florence.

The gelato was oustanding. And after consuming the calories, we decided to climb the Duomo...all 463 stairs! It was quite the hike, but the view of the city was unbelievably worth the climb and the 8 euro price tag.

After meeting up with more kids from Wake, we ate dinner at an authentic Italian restaurant. I had two courses...first, "pasta with sauce like your grandmother would make" was the translation, and then roasted chicken. We went and got gelato again...and it was even better than the first gelato we ate.

Saturday morning, Kara, Carleigh, and I strolled through the streets of Florence on our way to meet Tyler. We cross the famed Ponte Vecchio, which couldn't have been more beautiful in the morning.

We then climbed up one of the hillsides to visit San Miniato al Monte, a church and monastery. The monks chant every morning at 4:30, but we defintely did not get up that early. We did sit in on part of a mass though, and I don't think I will ever ceased to be amazed by the power and might of attending worship in a centuries old church and just appreciating the magnitude that is God.

After lunch and more gelato, we went to see Michaelangelo's David. Sadly photos were forbidden, but this was my reaction:

KJAHOISUFOIEUF:L":ANFLKUSADHANM:L""?>">AJA:LDK}P!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It looked that that perfectly scuplted marble man was breathing. Truly and completely and totally amazing.

We also went to the Uffizi that afternoon, where we saw Botticelli's Birth of Venus, along with other famous works by classic Renaissance artists. It was particularly nice for me to see works Giotto and Lippi as well.

After a nap at the hostel, we headed off to meet our friends Matt and Thomas for dinner at the best pizza place in the world. Legitimately. The pizza I ate was the Campione del Monde 2002 (Champion of the World).

Three different kinds of pizza on one: tomatoes and basil; mushrooms, truffle oil, and gorgonzola cheese; and cabbage and something else delicious. Sounds odd, but legit was the best pizza I've ever had. That dinner was one of the highlights; not only did we get to spend time with Matt and Thomas, but they brought two of their friends Natalie and Anna, who were so much fun and it was great to get to know them.

On Sunday morning, we had a delicious breakfast of real Italian cappucino and pastries and then spent more money than we should have at the morning markets. I bought a sweater and cameo earrings, which according to the couple who sold them to me, are real cameos. Even if they aren't, they're still gorgeous.

The Bargello, famous museum with famous sculptures, was sadly closed because it was the third Sunday of the month. Random? Since we missed out on that, we decided to stroll through the Boboli Gardens at the Palazzo Pitti, which were gorgeous.

That afternoon, after gelato #4, we visited Santa Croce, where greats like Michaelangelo, Dante, and Machiavelli are buried. Sadly, so much restoration was being done inside that we didn't get to see everything we wanted. It was still gorgeous though.

After walking around a bit more and grabbing a dinner of BigMacs and beer at McDonald's, we finally boarded the train to head back to Dijon.

I'm sitting here in my room after week number two of classes and realizing that I have less than 7 weeks left in France. I can't hardly believe it. It literally astounds me. Where has my time gone? I remember being nervous about coming here, thinking how long 3 and half months sounded, which I think rounded out around 15 weeks. I thought 15 weeks sounded so long then...but here I am now thinking how short 7 weeks sounds.

My first 8 weeks here have been an unbelievable blessing, and if I learn even half as much about myself, life, and the Lord in the rest of my time here as I have already, I can only hope to imagine the kind of young woman I'll be when I return home.

One Week Down

Wow, done with my first week of class.

Other than the French grammar class that is totally going to kick my butt, I think I am really going to like my classes.

On Mondays, I have two hours of intense grammar with Stephane Dugois, who I think is the most hilarious French man I have met yet. So while the class might absolutely kill me, at least the proffessor is great.

Tuesdays are going to be my hardest days because I am in class for 6 hours. I have expression ecrite (to improve our writing skills) with Stephane from 9-11, France contemporaine (Contemporary civilization) from 12-2, and histoire d'art (art history) from 2:30-4:30. Poor Monsieur Tomarchio, our art history professor, is going to have a hard time keeping my attention.

Wednesdays will be a bit tough too, with comprehension orale (to improve our comprehension of spoken French) from 9-11 and comprehension ecrite (to improve our comprehension of journal articles, books, etc) from 11-1. Four straight hours of class will be intense too, but at least I'm done at 1.

Thursdays I'll occasionally have France contemporaine at 8:15 in the morning (ouch), and then always technique ecrite from 11-1. Technique ecrite is going to be really interesting because we'll be learning idioms and vocabulary used all the time in everyday French life but that aren't going to be taught in a French class in America. I guess its kind of like learning slang.

And my Fridays are freeeeeee. Which is fantastic. Allows for lots of trips to far off, fantastical places. Like Florence, Italy.

Which is where I'm headed in just a few hours!!! I could not be more excited.

And honestly, more grateful. How amazingly blessed am I that I get to spend a semester in France and visit places like Italy for a weekend because its just a train ride away? How amazingly blessed am I that I have the money to do it? It blows my mind how many opportunities the Lord has given me and how easily I take it all for granted.

Prayers for a weekend of appreciation, learning, safety, and gelato...and most of all, prayers of thanks.

"Oh that men would praise the Lord for his goodness, and for his wonderful works to the children of men! For He satisfieth the longing soul, and filleth the hungry soul with goodness." -Psalm 107: 8-9

"Qu'ils louent l'Eternal pour sa bonté et pour ses merveilles en faveur des hommes, car Il a désaltéré les assoifés, Il a comblé de biens les affamés." - Psaumes 107: 8-9

First Day of School

Not to bad.

I got up this morning and went for a run, my first run in about 2 or 3 weeks. So, it was a bit rough, but there's nothing quite like crisp, fresh autumn air to make me feel alive and well and completely happy. Running on my own is such therapy time for me. Its just me and the road and oftentimes God, as I seem to talk to Him a lot when I run. And today, this run was definitely a bright start to the day.

I got back to the house to realize I had no clean pants. And when I say no clean pants, I legitimately mean no clean pants. Its been almost two weeks since the last time I did laundry. Oops.

And of course I didn't like any of the dresses or skirts I tried on. And normally, I would have thrown on clothes and just gone to class. But everyone knows you've got to look good on the first day of school.

Luckily, I found a pair of pants that I only remember wearing twice, and they didn't smell, so they got worn.

I met some of the Wake kids at Resto U, the campus cafeteria where lunch is a mere 2.90 euro. It's not gourmet, but its cheap and filling, so we don't complain.

And 1:00 brought the first and only class of the day.

Grammar.

Yuck.

And by yuck, I mean not-fun-going-to-kick-my-butt-rather-not-go-at-all.

The professor Stephane (ste-fan) is hilarious and I think I am really going to like him. His three rules for the class are: 1) Make mistakes, 2) Participate, 3) Ladies, don't play with your hair because it makes me jealous (he's balding).

Regardless of how much I like him and how much he's going to make us laugh, the class will still be really hard. He called me out and asked what my greatest weakness in French was, and I got to say, "Speaking!" But of course, he then had to ask why. And luckily I didn't make a fool of myself and spoke quite coherently. I think.

We also did 4 exercises to begin our review of grammar. And if those exercises were review, then I'm history. Because they were hard. But luckily everyone in the class thought they were hard and had about the same amount of difficulty with them that I did.

But still, I HATE grammar. And being in the highest level grammar class is going to be no fun.

Tomorrow, I have one class at the university and then two classes with the Wake kids. It'll be a long day, and I've got a paper due tomorrow for my art history class, which means a long night.

Woopeee.

One Step Forward...

Several steps back.

Ok, so that's a bit dramatic.

But I'm finding that one of the most frustrating things about learning a language is that some days, you totally rock the conversations. The French is flowing, you're not making many mistakes, you feel like you've actually carried on an intelligent conversation.

The next conversation, you're stumbling over your words as if you've never actually had a conversation in French before.

For example, on Thursday night, dinner with my host parents was great. We talked, talked, talked. I walked away from dinner thinking, schweeetttt I'm getting there.

Dinner on Friday night was a completely different matter.

I went to the country with my family for the night. Their country house is gorgeous, and I knew I'd be able to relax and get work done. Madame Briotet had told me that two of her sons were coming that weekend. I'd already met Christophe, is around 23 and is the second oldest. My first conversation with him involved me convincing him that I didn't have the swine flu. Awesome. This weekend, however, I would meet Vincent, the oldest Briotet kid.

Now, I would be lying if I didn't admit that I find Christophe insanely attractive. So, I had high hopes for Vincent, and was not disappointed.

My host mom and I were sitting outside reading when my host dad and Vincent arrived. It was already dark, and so I was caught a bit off guard not only when Vincent, who is probably about a foot taller than me, came bounding out of the darkness and swooped in for the French cheek kisses. In France, I find it so awkward meeting new people because some of them do the cheek kisses and some just shake your hand. So I never know what to expect.

But, being caught off guard never helps you speak coherently. I stumbled out my name and then awkwardly went back to reading as Vincent, who actually turned out to be quite hilarious, bounded around the house singing and playing with the dog

We sat down to dinner a little bit later and began talking about Obama winning the Nobel Peace prize. I thought the conversation was going fine until I started making stupid mistakes that I normally don't make (I attribute it to the attractive company). And then, Vincent started rambling to me about a tv show and, due to the fact he was eating and talking super fast, I had noooo idea what he said. He finishes his little speech with, "So what do you think?"

I just stared (which, because of his handsome visage, was not hard to do) and mananged, "En fait, je ne te comprends pas" which means, "Actually, I don't understand you."

My host dad laughed and goes, "Yea, because Vincent talks too fast and with food in his mouth."

So, Vincent starts over and explains about a tv show that said lots of Americans are Nazis. I stumbled through an explanation that no, its definitely not a common belief system.

I then shut up for the rest of dinner. Which I hate doing, but when I mess up or feel stupid, I have the tendency to just not talk.

After dinner we watched a movie, some classic French comedy from the late 70s that was actually really hilarious, called Le Corniaud. Vincent was really nice and helped explain parts I didn't understand, although I redeemed myself slightly by understanding most of the movie without any help.

I was invited to go hunting with Vicent and Monsieur Briotet the next morning, although I am about 99.9% positive they were banking on me saying no because no French man in his right mind would give an American girl who barely speaks French a gun. So instead, I slept in and let the boys chase animals through the woods.

After eating a bit of breakfast, I sat outside with Madame. I did homework, and she spent the morning looking through old postcards and letters collected from her parents' house, which she and her 7 siblings are trying to clean out.

The hunters returned for a lunch of pheasant, onions, and carrots (which was DELICIOUS) and mid-lunch, Christophe came bounding in the house. Once again, even though I'd met him twice before, the cheek kisses caught me off guard and with food in my mouth. Awesome.

Lunch progressed in a blur of fast French, of which I understood little except "Do you think our dog is stupid?" when the dog went rolling around under the table, and "No worries, it happens!" when I had to tell them I'd left my fork in the communal bowl of pheasant.

I was again invited to go hunting the next day, but this time I had the excuse of returning to Dijon that night as an excuse. I spent the afternoon with Madame. We went grocery shopping and then she drove me around and showed me lots of little villages and a chateau which was closed but complete with ferocious guard dogs.

I took the bus back to Dijon around 6:00, and then had dinner and went out with the Wake kids. Gotta love crazy nights.

Tomorrow begins class. Kind of excited and nervous all at the same time. I placed into the highest level possible in the program, which is awesome but means it'll definitely be a challenge.

Shucks, I'll have to actually apply myself here...thought I was in for an easy ride.

And So It Begins...

Finally, this feeling I've been waiting for.

Not excited about, but expecting.

Stress.

That anxiety that starts to creep in when you realize that school is, unfortunately, about doing your work and making good grades.

I'd say I hit this realization every semester, usually around midterms when I realize that I've got only two months left to pull up my Bs to As.

But this time, I find myself being in the strange position of just now beginning classes.

Ok, yes I've technically been in one class since I got here, and we've had five tests and lots of mini essays for it. But when the class is broken up by so much traveling, its really hard to consider it class.

And this week, we had our first two days of my contemporary French civilization course. I think its going to be a really great class. We have to do a mini independant research project, and I'm going to research the French educational programs for children with special needs. Its a topic very close to my heart and I cannot wait to learn more about the systems here and, if everything works out like I hope it will, interact with children with special needs here in France. How amazingly awesome that would be.

Even though I am excited for that class, and ready to start the rest of my classes on Monday, I am already stressed. I see the next two months kind of tunneling out before me.

As in, I see all the things I have to do, both with school work and organizing trips (FLORENCE NEXT WEEKEND WOOOOOO!!!), and I am realizing how quickly my time is passing.

Two months seems like a long time, but as soon as all the stresses and frustrations that inevitably are on their way (and they'll be stresses and frustrations in a different language...even better!), I know I am going to be swept into such a whirlwind.

I'm hoping I'll be able to keep my feet on the ground through it all, but it'll be hard not having the same retreats here that I have back home. For example, when I get stressed at Wake, I crawl into bed and turn on the TV or turn on a movie or go get a veggie sub from Subway even if its 1:00am. I'm also accustomed to having 8 other girls living within 10 feet of me who I know will be there to listen to me vent for 10 minutes and even pray with me for 10 minutes.

And of course, the option of going home for a weekend so that I can study or write papers or just relax somewhere that's not school is a luxury I don't have here. Studying at home right before exams was always a good way for me to get work done.

But this semester, its a whole new ball game.

I guess I'll just have to dig my toes in the dirt and wind up, because the pitcher's playing fastball.

Three Middle Aged Couples and One American Student Equals...

One heck of a dinner party.

Kind of.

This week has been stressful. Monday was the entrance exam for the French university, which actually turned out to be super easy. Today, we had our test on all the stuff from the Loire Valley and our first comtemporary french civilization class. Both went fairly well, although the preparation required for the two has worn me out (which doesn't explain why I am blogging at 1 am).

As I walked in the door of the house this evening, my host mom bounds up to me asking if I want to leave that second to go see a movie with her, my host dad, and a bunch of their friends. I said yes without hesitating, wanting to spend as much time with my host family as I could.

Of course, when I said yes, I didn't think about the fact that Madame and Monsieur Briotet's friends are all in their late 50s, which of course is fine, but, I was then unaware of the fact that we were going to a dinner party with all of them afterwards. But I'm getting ahead of myself...

The movie was an espionage thriller entitled L'Affaire Farewell. A true story, it was about a French spy living in Russia during the 1980s who was passing vital information to both the French government and the American government that helped bring down the Soviet Union. It was really good, but super sad.

After the movie, we headed to this really nice, huge house to have dinner. It turns out that this certain couple (I can't remember their names, the night was French overload) wanted help picking out the wine for their son's upcoming wedding. I was the awkward plus one at this dinner party. Their 20 year old son (single!) was supposed to be there to keep me company, Madame Briotet had told me. He wasn't. I was the token American, a 7th wheel (there were three couples), and at least 30 years younger than everyone at the dinner table.

But surprisingly, I didn't really care. I didn't talk as much as I would have liked to, but I listened and absorbed as much as I could. I gave my opinion on the wine choices (No. 1 was too dry, but No. 3 was an excellent choice) and taught them all the word "hedgehog" because the hostess found one in the garden when she went to get fresh mint leaves for the after dinner tea.

After dinner, we sat in the sitting room (ha) and the discussion wandered from politics to insurance to buying cars to cointreau (alcohol...the host offered me some, telling me it would without a doubt clear the little bit of cough that is still lingering...I kindly declined) and lasted until 11:30.

I now find myself happy to have finished my blog updates on Paris, still laughing about tonight's adventures, and wondering why the heck I am still up at 2am knowing full well I've got another test on Thursday.

Resposibility? Nahhh. Not right now. I'm in France! I'd rather party with the old folks. ;)

Condensed like milk

So, I'm realizing how behind I am in my blogging. I have yet to record any of my adventures in Paris, and I didn't even journal while in Paris, so this post will be my only record of my infamous actions there.

Here's hoping I can accurately remember them and do them justice.

I believe I chronicled Monday in my last blog post. One day down.

Tuesday morning, bright and early, Lauren and I headed to the Notre Dame. We visited inside for about 30 minutes. The church is, of course, gorgeous and huge. But honestly, after all the churches I've seen since being here in France, it was honestly, to me, just another church. That sounds so awful saying that, and the church truly is beautiful. But, considering I've been studying gothic and roman architecture and have visited more churches in the past month than I have in my entire life, le Notre Dame de Paris was simply another gothic church.

Lauren and I tried to wait in line to climb the towers, but we had a guided tour with our group at the Musee d'Orsay at 11, and did not have enough time to do so. I regret not being able to! I would have loved to see the famed bells that poor Quasimodo rang each day.

The tour at the Musee d'Orsay was interesting, but actually very frustrating for me. The one bad thing about the guided tours that Madame organized was that very few left much free time for my own exploration. Our guide took us around and showed us famous and important works relevant to the art history class that we are going to be taking. For example, we saw lots of Corbet and Manet and Monet and Van Gogh, which of course is amazing, but we didn't talk about Degas or Renoir at all, and I anxiously walked past about 20 pieces that I would have preferred to stay and study, but I had to stay with my tour group. We did have about 45 minutes after our tour guide showed us everything she wanted to, and yes I could have stayed there all day, but Madame had given us a huge list of things we had to see, and I just didn't have the time to stay. Luckily, I did get to see some of Degas' paintings and his sculpture of the little dancer girl (LOVE IT).

After a quick lunch, we headed to the Musee Rodin to see all of Rodin's famed sculptures (you'd recognize "Le Penseur"). My favorite, however, was called "Le Baiser" (the kiss). Look it up. We also visited Les Invalides, the GIANT tomb of Napoleon 1st. And when I say giant, I mean giant. And gilded in gold. Craziness.

Lauren and I then tried to go inside the Paris Opera, but the auditorium was closed for rehearsals. Later that night, we went to an amazing concert at Saint-Chapelle, a gorgeous cathedral of great flamboyant gothic style. We listened to the musical stylings of Vivaldi, as played by a string quartet with an outstanding soloist named Frederic Moreau. My knowledge of the violin, limited by the 3-4 years its been since I really played, was good enough to recognize Moreau's talent. I have never sat up straighter and paid closer attention than I did when he started playing. He truly was incredible, and I missed my violin for the first time in a year or two.

Jessica, who was my best friend at Wake freshman year, hung out with us on Tuesday night. We went to a bar nearby, and it was quite the event.

So ends Tuesday.

Wednesday brought a trip to Versailles. As neat as it was, once again I just found myself annoyed by the extravagance. It was almost too much for me.

After passing the morning at Versailles, we returned to Paris and visited the Musee de Cluny, a superb museum of the Middle Ages which houses the famed tapisteries of the Lady and the Unicorn. I accidently took a picture with the flash and got fussed at. Oops. After Musee de Cluny came the Pantheon, which is home to the cadavers of people like Rousseau, Voltaire, the Curies, Victor Hugo, Alexander Dumas, and Louis Braille. Pretty nifty.

Wednesday night our group visited the Eiffel Tower. We sadly did not climb it, but it was still gorgeous. We rode a carousel that was just across the street, and I ate cotton candy that was bigger than my head. No lie, it was the biggest ball of cotton candy I've ever seen. And it was delicious. We then headed to the lawns behind the tower and just hung out for a bit before going back to the hotel.

On Thursday morning we had a guided tour of the Louvre. AKA museum extraordinare. It was awesome. I saw a little painting called the Mona Lisa. And also my favorite da Vinci painting, Madonna on the Rocks. And of course, works by all the greats like Delacroix, Ingres, David, even sculptures by Michelangelo...and numerous others that I am not going to sit here and name. But it was pretty great.

After the Louvre, I spent 20 euro on the best hot chocolate in the world and an amazing pastry at a tea shop called Angelina's. Worth every centime. The hot chocolate was legitimately melted chocolate, and my pastry, called Olympe, was a strawberry macaroon with crystalized violets, raspberry jelly, strawberry jelly, violet jelly, fresh raspberries, and a few gold flakes. The perfect match for the hot chocolate.

We also visited L'Orangerie, a small museum with some spectactular works of Monet, as well as Picasso and other famous artists. Next, we visited la cimetiere de Pere LaChaise, where greats like Jim Morrison, Edith Piaf, Frederic Chopin, and the great Oscar Wilde are buried. It's tradition (don't ask me why) to kiss Wilde's tomb when wearing bright red lipstick.

So we did. We being me, Carleigh, MaryKate, and Jenn. Peter and Wright stood by and watched, rather embarassed and annoyed.

One of my favorite Oscar Wilde quotes: "They have been eating muffins. That looks like repentance." -Cecily, The Importance of Being Earnest

Sacre Coeur, the beautiful cathedral atop a hill which offers a spectactular view of Paris, was our next stop. The church is beautiful, and I was able to listen to the first 15 minutes of mass. Incredible.

Dinner that night was hilarious. We ate at a fondue restaurant that served wine in baby bottles. Don't ask me why. But it was super fun.

Friday morning, Lauren and I went to the Opera. I, being the nerd that I am, was awkwardly singing Phantom of the Opera and making references to the musical every other second. I might have sang and danced Masquerade on the staircase and made Lauren take a picture of me. I also nearly peed myself when we saw the the auditorium (GORGEOUS) and the Phantom's Box, No. 5. Go ahead and stamp nerd on my forehead, I'm surprised it hasn't appeared on its own.

After a bit of shopping at la Galleries Lafeyette, I went to the Centre Pompidou, which houses a lot of modern art. It was not my favorite, as I don't consider much of modern art true art. I might be wrong, but a trashed room isn't art to me. The Centre Pompidou apparently thought so.

Friday night might have been the highlight of my trip. We went to the Cirque Plume, which is like Cirque du Soleil on a more modest, fun scale. It was outstanding. The acts where incredible, the clowns hilarious, and the music was beautiful. I had a great time. We finished our trip in Paris by drinking red wine beneath the glow of the moonlight and the Eiffel Tower.

Saturday morning we headed back to Dijon, and I started laundry and then napped for three hours. It was glorious, and much needed, and finally got me over the cold and cough that I had all during Paris week.

Whew, long entry. But now, at least, my escapades are recorded for my memory's sake.