-When in France, order the profiteroles-

Following three flights, one lost suitcase, and one restaurant in which I felt more exposed as an American than if I had been wearing nothing but the menu, I can now tell you 2 choses incroyable about Paris: everything is round, and les profiteroles are delicious. (Correction-everything is round but the people.) The round things I am referring to are the power outlets, the light switches, the buttons, etc.

This first post will be a bit of an overview, because I am tired, but perhaps this weekend I will go back and give you a brief introduction to what shall henceforth be my blog: Je suis french toast.

Now, repeat after me: LAY PRO-FEET-AIR-HOLES
These are cream puffs filled with ice cream, smothered in a smooth, warm chocolate sauce, and generously sprinkled with sliced almonds. I think the waiter was kidding when he brought me a soup ladle and told me it was to eat the profiteroles...I think.
Other than those discoveries, my first day in Paris was rather laid-back. I met the people taking care of us at the ACCENT centre, I bought my first cheese from the grocery store, and I had dinner at Chez Lyon Couscous with three other girls in my program. What did I try for my first meal, you ask? Well, before the profiteroles, I had the pastilla. Sitting on a plate of a sweet yellow sauce with corn and almonds (I think), were two square pastry pockets filled with shredded chicken, nuts, and raisins, and all was thickly dusted with cinnamon and topped with a sprig of mint. It could not have been farther from a Hot Pocket, even though that's what I was immediately reminded of.

As for the feeling of exposure...I will just say that some of my dining companions did not seem to notice that they were the loudest guests in the restaurant, that the waiters were pointedly staring at our table, and that it is typically not polite to drink your wine with any goal other than a pleasant accompaniment for the meal. Yes, it is refreshing to be able to legally order a drink at a restaurant, but just because you can...The rest of my Parisian meals will be more tasteful, and will hopefully not reek so much of the rudest American behaviors. (no offense intended to my sweet and loving American readers)

Lunch today with our entire group went considerably better, and I even ordered the plat du jour, which today at the Cafe de l'Industrie was breaded veal. My second day in Paris I tried the veal. And it was fairly tasty, after I stopped thinking about what I was eating. The girls who ordered fish and didn't expect the entire fish to be on their plate had a harder time not thinking about the little fried eyeballs staring at them.

Today has been a bit more of an adventure, as this evening I met my host "family" and am now typing the first bit of my blog from the room I will be living in until June. It is...interesting. I was informed there were 2 cats (hurray!), but not that there was another student living here from a different program. Monsieur Picasso and I have made friends already, though his gray companion has barely acknowledged my existence. I suppose that's fair, since I can't seem to remember her name.

Madame Fleury (pronounced just about like the McDonald's specialty, but without the "Mc") and her daughter Alice (pronounced Eh-lise) and their other student Eleanor, who has been here since September, are my living companions. I don't know much about them yet, because Mme Fleury went to a dinner as soon as she dropped me off at the house, and Alice-who is 13-is currently on a study vacation on Rome. Which left me having my first dinner and conversation in a French home with Eleanor. Who is from Chicago. And it was all in English.

Eleanor and I share the toilet closet and the shower room, and in my room I have 2 shelves, 2 smallsmallsmall drawers, and a tiny bit of hanging room in the closet for my things. It is crowded, but on the bright side, my room is bigger than the entire kitchen. Perhaps I will share a photo of my room later (I'm sure I can fit all of it in one shot).
So far, Paris is interesting. It's odd to be the only one on the street speaking English, to not understand billboards and advertisements, and to be living with strangers in a cubby. Who knows what tomorrow will bring.

Actually, I do know, because they gave me a schedule: tomorrow is our dreaded language placement exam at La Sorbonne, and after that complete drain of my intelligence, a relaxing boat tour along the Seine River.

-Au demain