The only living girl in Paris.

I know the minute Thanksgiving's over everyone starts thinking about the fantastic Hannukah-Christmas-New Years' holiday extravaganza, but I do want to return quickly to my Thanksgiving in Paris. In short, it was nothing like the real thing, but not bad anyway. Real Thanksgiving is, at least for me, an occasion to be gloriously chintzy and sentimental in a particularly American way; even thinking about it, I'm imagining warmly-lit kitchens, arrays of mismatched casserole dishes and salad bowls, those turkey hand-drawings kids do, snowman sweaters. None of these things exist in the French idiom as I've experienced it. Instead, people from our program met up at a nice restaurant in the 18th, where the tables were set with spotless white cloths and multiple types of forks. We had a delicious dinner. The turkey was, sadly, served on the plate, rather than carved at the table, but I guess it's not really the same if it's not one's Uncle Billy-Bob-Joe doing the carving anyway. The mashed (puréed) potatoes, sweet potatoes, peas, corn, cranberry sauce, and gravy were set out in adorable white pots that we passed around. Dessert was cheesecake -- the French version of cheesecake has a different texture, because they don't have cream cheese here and so use something else instead, but tastes pretty close to the American version -- and pecan pie, with vanilla ice cream and chocolate sauce. Oh, and coffee, of course, after we'd spent two hours drinking le Nouveau Beaujolais.

It was a great meal and a good night, but I missed being home a lot that day.

Lately, I've been working on finals. Next week, I'll have my last classes before winter break, and then after break I'll have two more weeks of mostly exams. That means all of my papers are due this month. I've already turned in fourteen pages on Dostoyevsky, and I'm done revising eight pages on French feminism at the turn of the century. Leaves one exam (Francophone Literatures) today, and a ten-pager on Marx for next Thursday. And next Friday, I'll be leaving to travel through Europe by train! (I don't know how much internet access I'll have, but I will try to update as much as possible while I'm Eurailing it.)

I'm trying to take enough breaks from writing to enjoy being in Paris, though, and last weekend Lizzie came to visit, giving me plenty of opportunities to explore the city. I had a really great time while she was here (and I hope she did too!). We went to the Rodin Museum, to the Best Falafel Place in the World, to the Café Universel, to the Marché aux Puces at St-Ouen, to the 11th, and to see the amazing window displays at the big department stores. As usual, I don't have enough pictures, but here's a few.


Opéra Garnier at night. This picture didn't come out too well. When you're standing in front of it, both the scale and the brightness of the gold are beautiful and overwhelming.


Karl Lagerfeld's Christmas window display at Printemps! I was endlessly delighted by this. One, it has nothing to do with Christmas, as far as I could tell. Two, it is utterly terrifying. I felt that the dolls were somehow in danger.


One of my favorite windows, from the Galeries Lafayette. This is what various parents walking by me kept calling a "fashion" window, breaking the displays into pour les enfants (for kids) and juste la mode (only fashion, and not for the kids). I could see why -- although this window was gorgeous, the one next to it had tons of awesome, moving rabbit marionnettes, up to all sorts of shenanigans at a tea party.


The World's Best Falafel! I mean, I haven't been to the rest of the world, but the sign is pretty convincing, and the falafel was undeniably good.


The lights on the Champs-Élysées.

Last night, I went to see Kubrick's Paths of Glory at the Champo -- great great great movie -- and afterwards there was a little talk by Antoine de Baecque. I found this thrilling, because he wrote one of my favorite books about the French Revolution. ("Glory and Terror: Seven Deaths Under the French Revolution," in case anyone's interested.) It was also a little surprising to see an author and historian be so young. I was picturing old and crusty, but events proved me wrong. Gives one hope for an academic career at a young-ish age. At least in France.

I couldn't stay for the whole debate, though, because I had to head home to study for a test. In fact, I'm about to leave for St-Denis in a few minutes to take it -- my Francophone Lit final. Wish me luck!