Pictures from Black Forest, Germany

Tea time on the terrace

Maia's grandmother lives in the same neighborhood as I do; Maia, Matt and I met there, and I was finally able to meet this stunning, lovely woman. We sat on her terrace overlooking all of Paris while we drank tea and ate cakes, and she told us all kinds of stories about growing up in Italy, coming to Paris and meeting the man she would later marry, about living in India for two decades and her spiritual master there, and, of course, we got plenty of adorable stories about little Maia.

Home

I don't ever want to have to leave this apartment

The Eiffel Tower and I soaking in the sun

Paris does fireworks better than 'Merica

Goofballs

Every day this week I've come home from work with pictures on my phone that make me laugh myself to sleep - pictures of a certain two little faces that I'm growing to love more and more every day. This morning, when I woke up at 7 a.m. to go to work (they have vacation the next two weeks, so I'm with them 8:30 a.m. to 7:30 p.m. every day), I realized I was actually looking forward to going to work and seeing them. I genuinely have fun with them. So far this week we've painted mini pumpkins; had bubble blowing contests with random kids at the park; ridden their new scooters up and down their street four times in a row with a total of only four crashes, one of them being me as I fell flat on the sidewalk rescuing Josephine from hitting a dumpster; made American-style banana pancakes together (which was a little bit of a mistake because now Josy wants to help me cook every meal, and a 2-year-old's version of "helping" is anything but...). I get exercise, fresh air, and I have to no choice but to be playful and practice patience all day long. I genuinely love this job. Obviously it's just an in-between kind of job before I start my real career, (I've started looking around for some writing opportunities), but I'm so lucky to have an "in-between" job that I actually like.

I admit by 6 p.m. I'm reallyyy tired of hearing my name (Pel-ee-see-ya! PEL-EE-SEE-YA! PELEESEEYA?!), but I'm still happy to see their faces in the morning and when I pick them up at school and they literally jump into my arms. How could you not smile at faces like this...?

Modeling his prized collection of hillbilly teeth

"Monsieur Potat"

"Feleeseeyaaa! I put gel in my hair."
"Wow, Gabi! It looks...tres beau...!"
(Thank God this was right before bath time)

Appreciation Post! (with plenty of exclamation points, which I usually hate!)

I’ve met at least 20 other au pairs at this point, and heard at least half as many horror stories about theirs and other au pairs’ experiences with their host families. Each story makes me more and more grateful for mine.

Out of all the situations I’ve heard of thus far, I definitely have it the best with my host family. I couldn’t ask for any better! As I said in my last post, the kids have been getting sick rather often the last couple weeks, which means more work for me, but I haven’t minded at all because I really love them and it’s not a big deal to get them at school and give them medicine or whatever. Even so, though, Laetitia came home early Friday night and handed me a little Sephora bag saying she felt bad for me the last couple weeks, so she bought me a gift – it was Chanel nail polish! In a color I’ve been looking for since I came here! (She got Chanel because, she said, it’s very French.) I thought that was the most thoughtful thing. I’m seriously the luckiest in the world.

Spoon and Flea

On Wednesday one of my oldest friends, Max Suhner, hit me up on Facebook; he’s been studying in Germany since last winter and is leaving to go back to the U.S. in a few weeks, but we wanted to meet up in Europe before he went back. The only weekend I really had before he left was the coming weekend, so I threw that out there, even though it was super last minute and unlikely he’d be free. He bought the train ticket the next day, and Friday night I went to the station right after work to pick him up.

It was surreal finally seeing him in Europe! I thought about how when we met, more than four years ago when we were both little pothead freshmen in Wilson Hall, we never would’ve guessed we’d be chilling in Paris together in a few years. Last winter, before Max left, I was going to his apartment all the time and hanging out with him, Elliot and Nate, just drinking beers and playing hockey video games and maybe making it to Monopole if it wasn’t below 0 degrees Fahrenheit, and we would talk about how we were going to meet up when we were both over here; but it didn’t feel real until the moment we were hugging at the train station.

Unfortunately, I was starting to feel sick all day Friday. The kids have been taking turns getting sick for weeks, first with fever and cough, then with a stomach bug, and everyone in Paris seems to have this same horrible cough I feel like my immune system was worn out from fighting to not get sick. I was just exhausted, and it got progressively worse, but I didn’t let it ruin our weekend.

As we were catching up on the metro, Max kept accidentally saying little things in German instead of English, and it was so funny because I don’t know any German. It’s true, though, that when you’ve been in another country for a bit and you’re used to always being around another language, you start to talk in that language first out of habit, mostly with little words. It’s not like you say a whole sentence in another language and then you’re like, oh damn. It’s more like “yes,” “thank you,” “sorry,” etc. For example, even when I’m speaking English lately I accidentally say “oui” instead of “yes” half the time without thinking about it.

When we got off the metro at my station we were in the middle of talking about one thing or another non-chalantly when Max suddenly stopped and said, “Wait, whoa. Paris,” and took a good look around at the buildings before nodding his head in typical Max-like satisfaction. He got to see the top of the Tower all lit up, of course, on the walk to my apartment. We dropped off his bag and walked to Trocadero, and he got his first crepe  after asking, “Wait, what’s a crepe again?”  and we walked under the Tower. A man sauntered up to me and stuck a rose in my hand before I had time to think, and he told Max, “Good work.” It was a total newbie move for me to not throw the rose back at him, because OF COURSE they’re not free, but I was so distracted that I wasn’t even thinking. As we continued walking and I made a sarcastic comment about how I am, of course, a prize to be won, being an object, of course, the man pulled Max aside and put on a show of discretely making him give him coins. Max was adamant that he only had 2 euros, though. So I got a 2 euro rose.

I was back on my “local”game, though, when we got closer to the Tower and other people tried putting random stuff in my hands.

The next day Max and I walked all over the city so I could show him as much as possible in one day, since it was supposed to rain Sunday. By night, I felt like I was dying. I had a fever and a wet cough. My skin was scalding and my cotton shirt felt painful against it, yet I was freezing cold. But, I pulled myself together enough for us to go to a bar.

^ Max in front of Notre Dame

We sat outside watching the extremely drunk party of friends in costumes ranging from sexy panda to Superman as they danced. They waved merrily at a passing fire trucks with sirens ablaze; the firemen waved back and smiled. At one point a black, old-fashioned Chevrolet pick-up truck made a loud entrance by backing up onto the sidewalk directly behind me. There was a yellow honeybee painted on each door of the truck. Max and I sat back and watched as the drunk party ran up and greeted the two guys in the truck like they were all old friends. A man stepped out of the driver’s side – he was wearing all black, not at all uncommon in Paris; however, on his head he wore a bee-keeper’s hat, net and all.

He went to the bed of the truck and proceeded to uncover it and pull out one of those tin cans that beekeepers use to create smoke that they blow into the hives to put the bees in a calm, dazed state before doing hive work. Max and I had absolutely no idea what was going on.

The guy started blowing the smoke from the tin canister into the bed of the truck, as though there were beehives there, and then he started running through all of us spraying the smoke everywhere. Then he ran inside the bar, where they were blasting metal music, and sprayed all in there, until we all smelled like a campfire. (It was just dandy for my sick lungs.) It was incredibly confusing, but Max and I couldn’t help cracking up the whole time, especially since the drunk people seemed to know exactly what was going on. They were climbing all over the beehive truck and taking photos of themselves doing very weird things to each other. Way better than tv.

Finally, we figured out what the hell was going on when a girl came up to us and handed us each sunglasses with bees on them and a little bee pin and then gave each of us a free shot of Jack Daniel’s Tennessee Honey Whiskey. Duh.

Sunday was a rainy day that perfectly matched how I was feeling – like a cloud being drained of life force. It hurt to walk. Somehow, though, I made it to the mosque, and we had mint tea. We walked back home through the rain and watched Young Frankenstein, in the spirit of October. There wasn’t much else to do, since everything is closed on Sunday, so we ended up going to the cinema. We wanted to see Sin City, but it was sold out, so we saw the new Dracula (in English with French subtitles).

Even though I was ridiculously sick the whole weekend, it was amazingly beautiful to finally meet up with Max in Europe and just kick it like we always have.