I considered writing about the inconstant feelings of homesickness and self-doubt, but the only questions people ask concern what foods I have been eating and what my living situation is like. Per request, I will do my best to continue documenting my gastronomical habits. But first, allow me to explain where I am living. Outside of my bedroom window is a garden and patio. My bedroom is quite sparse. I have a stand-up shower and a separate room for the toilet, both of which I share with the other housemates. The apartment sits on the first floor in a gated apartment building. I have been complaining every day that ma mère enters my room and moves my things about. I found out that she has a maid. How she can afford a maid and not dish soap, I have no idea, but now I won’t feel guilty requesting that my worn under garments not be touched. Anyway, the building is on a quiet, one-way street in a neighborhood full of old women and fluffy, little dogs. The walk to the metro has me pass two Chinese restaurants, a patisserie, a boulangerie, a fromagerie, two boucheries, the pizza shop, and a florist. In the neighborhood are also the Balzac and Monet museums.

The metro is two short blocks away. Three men live in the station (which is why they really can’t be called homeless). I find it worthwhile to mention that these men, on most mornings, are headless.

Waiting for my train, I always watch these men. They are often talking with one another and every morning I am reminded that they have found a friendship more tolerant and durable than any I'll ever experience.

This is a historically rich and beautiful city, but I have not found it particularly awe-inspiring. I read this urban experience like I would any other. Some buildings are concrete bricks of heaven when hit by the light of the rising sun, while others are merely canvases for graffiti. Like any other major world city, there are long, awkward metro rides, even though there are often accordionists playing on the train next to you. While this seems perfectly charming at first, once it has to compete with your iPod its simply obnoxious. Like many cities, it is easy to go a long period of time being bustled about by hundreds of other people without making any actual human contact or even having to speak. There are times when the urban experience is wholly alienating, but others when it prompts the genuine spirit of humanity.

Objective Truth: You have to operate the doors of the subway trains. There is a latch that has to be lifted up in order for the doors to open. Don’t push down – this will make you look like a tourist.

Let us return to the information that’s actually important. After my classes, I had un sandwich du poulet tika and, while shopping, a berry tart. For dinner, we had fried cheese cubes and some kind of macaroni noodle dish with sliced hot dog. The conspiracy theorist in me suspected this to be a sort of tribute to my infantile American incompetence.

I managed to postpone laundry by buying a new pair of jeans at H&M. Now I only need to find cheap socks. I tried some jeans at the Levi Store, but they didn’t fit properly. Here is an interesting study on cultural tastes. There are several different sectors of Levi-Strauss. The French/Belgium branch only carries three styles for women: Flare, regular, or slim-cut. The cuts and the washes are different depending on what region it is. I stopped to talk to the salesman about this. He described my style as classic (but surely not in that Parisian way). That wouldn’t exactly be the way I would explain it. He suggested that I buy some jeans with a streaked, European wash and that it would help my style to loosen up.

Song: Beirut - Scenic World