Recommencez.

Arrived home safely late on Friday, January 16th -- it only took three flights and six hours in O'Hare. I spent a few lovely days relaxing in Ohio, visiting with friends and family and generally catching up on la vie à l'américaine. Then Mom and I (mostly Mom) packed my stuff up and I flew to New York, and here I am back at Bard, sort of unpacked and certainly very tired. Class begins tomorrow morning at 9:30, but this blog is ending tonight. I hope everyone who read enjoyed the dispatches from Paris; if -- when! -- I go back, maybe I'll be able to write some more.

Thaw.

Today I did my "final check-out" with CUPA, signed a contract promising to take my last exam before I left, nodded politely in response to information about transcripts for graduate school. I renewed my subway card for the last time. I spent a few hours reading in the Contrescarpe, I went back to the Louvre to see some of the 17th- and 18th-century French paintings. I walked through the Tuileries at dusk. Tried three macarons at La Durée (chocolate, vanilla, and caramel: relevatory). Met a friend and went to a Breton-style creperie for one last dinner out, splurged on a dinner and a desert crepe. What the hell, I tell myself, it's the last time I'll be able to eat one. Walked up the rue de Rennes today, across the 6th and 5th to the rue Mouffetard, from the Louvre to the Madeleine, up the rue Vaugirard to Convention. Yesterday I sat in the Luxembourg -- maybe my last time there too, how could it be my last time there? -- and then went to a screening of La Règle du jeu at the Filmothèque du quartier latin, queueing and giggling and sinking deep into the plush red seats.

My clothes are laundered and ready to be forced into my suitcases. Am I ready to step on the airplane?

Sights seen.

Friday, I went to the Louvre. I'd delayed too long; it's an overwhelming, awesome experience. Even if it were completely empty of art, there would still be way too much to look at, all of the ceilings with paintings and what I'm pretty sure are called cornices. A lot of the wings are closed right now because they're moving some of the collection, so I did a sort of Greatest Hits tour: the Mona Lisa, Winged Victory, the 18th-century French school stuff (absolutely incredible -- Ingrès, David, etc), some of the Italians (Botticelli, Titian -- but I'd just seen quite a bit of Botticelli and Titian at the Uffizi in Florence). I plan to go back and try to get through at least one other wing of the museum. I'm also thinking of going back to the Musée d'Orsay (Impressionism).

Saturday, I finally got around to going to the Victor Hugo House. It's his apartments in the Place de Vosges, in the Marais. Their decor has been restored to the way it looked when VH lived there; he appears to have had a strong preference for insane, all-over floral wallpaper. The museum was also presenting an exhibit on Les Misérables, including volumes of the original, handwritten manuscript. Now, the printed, paperback-size novel is thousands of pages long. The manuscripts are huge. I hadn't really thought about how writers actually had to write before the advent of typewriters and computers: crank out a few thousand pages of manuscript, have it bound, and then reread it, edit by hand, have it typeset and published. The editing process was astonishing, according to the museum, which had a section showing Hugo's (extensive) revisions to a couple of pages.

I also really liked the museum because I know all of these 19th-century names now. Oh, Gustave Moreau? Lamartine? History of the 2e République? Yes, please!

After the Victor Hugo House, I decided to head over to the Pompidou Center. It's only a few blocks to the east, and the Marais is an adorable neighborhood, one of Paris' oldest and most fashionable. I visited the Pompidou's permanent collection of modern and contemporary art, which may be my favorite kind of art to actually look at. I get that modern art can often seem confusing and seem pointless, but I think that overlooks the (forgive the word) neatness of a lot of it. For example, I really liked a room where two binoculars were held suspended in the middle by a complex, spindly series of plasticky red ropes. I don't know what it "meant" -- although if I had to guess, I'd say something about the limited/constructed nature of sight -- but it was a pretty cool room.

Sped through the 1910s and 1920s collection (it's counterproductive to admire dadist art, no?), then shivered my way to the metro to go back to Issy for dinner. Madame made moules frites. Délicieux!

I might skip museums today in favor of wandering around, seeing a movie (La Règle du jeu, playing in revival), and maybe doing a little studying for my exam Thursday. Everything else, besides that exam and packing, is done! Well, I still have a lot of pastries left to sample, too.

One week left.

Next Friday by this time, I'll be on a plane zipping over the UK to Dublin. (And then a plane lumbering over the Atlantic, and then one hopping from Chicago to Detroit.) I'm not sure how to feel; I'm thrilled to be going home, but I am starting to wonder what leaving is really going to feel like. Although I've spent my fair share of time being frustrated with France this semester, I realize that it is because I am living here. Not hanging out here, not having a cozy summer-camp kind of experience -- living. Getting caught for an hour and a half in horrendous metro snarls, popping over to a favorite neighborhood restaurant, standing in line at the post office, buying groceries. I know my neighborhoods here. I've memorized the subway. Other than heading off to Bard in August of 2006, I've never really moved. I think next Friday will be the second time.

There's been a cold snap in Paris. It snowed about an inch on Monday, and then the snow froze into a sheet of ice. The temperature has been hovering around 20. I didn't bring any of my warm upstate-New York winter gear, since everyone told me that it never gets cold in Paris. My host mother cheerfully announced that the last time she can remember it being this cold was about fifteen years ago. Wednesday, my first day back at university, there was no heat in the classrooms, and I left after five hours of feeling my toes go numb.

There's also the sales, which began on Wednesday and have thrown the whole city into a bit of a frenzy.

There's also steaming fresh crepes to help stave off the cold.

To do: finish the last exam, pack, go to the Louvre, say goodbye to all of my favorite places (and people).

Home again, home again.

Back in Paris! It's been an exciting couple of weeks, but I'm very glad to be in my own room, with access to my own shower. I feel like I've been everywhere and seen everything -- Dam Square in Amsterdam, the Brandenburg Gate and the Reichstag in Berlin, the Riviera in Nice, the Colosseum and the Forum and the Palatine Hill in Rome, the Sistine Chapel and St. Peter's Basilica at the Vatican, the Duomo and Ponte Vecchio and Michelangelo's David and the Uffizi Gallery in Florence. I've eaten German breakfasts, a million espressos, lots of gelato, steak with blueberry sauce and a heavenly stew at a dark little restaurant in Old Nice. People have shouted "No photo!" at my traveling companion Allison in at least four museums.

And now I've got twelve days to finish my exams, pack, and say goodbye to Paris. Pictures when I have them.