Don't these people ever work?

Our apartment we are renting for the week is pretty darn snazzy. Apparently, this neighborhood--St. Germain de Pres--is hoppin'. When we arrived Friday morning, every cafe was packed with people eating outside, or walking around, or shopping at the gazillion boutiques along the street. Don't they have jobs?

The apartment owner--Lucas--came to explain the place to us (and show us how to use the washing machine). The apartment is right out of a movie, with opera music coming in the window from the courtyard, windows looking out over a narrow street, and a tiny bathroom with a bizarre shower. Lucas was wearing a little chic scarf and carrying a motorcycle helmet. Mom snapped his picture as he drove off. That night we expected to sleep like logs, but we forgot about what day of the week it was. The people outside partied ALL NIGHT, with loud screaming and singing and carrying on. Good thing I brought earplugs.

Mom snapped a picture of Lucas as he drove off

Mom with wine and baguette--how French.

Me standing in the doorway of our tiny studio (to the left of "Wok")

The view out our window

Our neighborhood watch dog

Nice job Team Koch

My mom and I successfully made it to France for our week-long vacation before school starts--whew! We've been here since Friday morning, I just haven't had a chance to write since then.

However, our arrival was a very close thing. Once we got to the airport for our 6:00 flight on Thursday, I realized I was missing one crucial thing--my passport. We had 1 1/2 hours before our flight, my passport was at home, the security line was horrendous, and traffic was really bad. After a few moments of panic, Team Koch leapt into action:

Mom:
-determined the next flight to France was in four days
-checked all three bags through security (hers and my two bags) thus allowing me to only have carry-on
-took my computer and quart bag so I had nothing to pull out during security
-called a taxi to pick up Grace
-planned what she was going to do in Paris for four days without me
-checked in at 5:10 and discovered the plane was delayed by 25 minutes (yes!)
-left me behind to wait for Grace to bring passport

Grace:
-ceased watching X-Files
-grabbed my passport
-got into taxi
-strongly encouraged taxi driver to get to the airport as soon as possible
-arrived at the airport at 5:25 p.m.
-handed me passport and waved goodbye
-sat and waited for Dad to pick her up

Dad:
-assured members that "we can do this!" at 4:20 p.m.
-left work at 4:30 to take a taxi home
-picked up our car
-drove to airport to pick up Grace

Me:
-waited for Grace outside the terminal
-jumped at every taxi thinking it was her
-grabbed passport from her at 5:27 p.m.
-checked in at the computer station for carry-on bags only
-walked briskly to security line
-waited in horribly long security line 
-sprinted through tunnel to gate C11
-endured annoyed stares by fellow travelers as I wove around them
-met my mom at the gate and boarded immediately

Word of advice: if you are flying internationally, you need a passport to board the plane...

On the plane with passport

Mon Panache

Because I’m leaving for Paris tomorrow, I thought I better begin this blogging…thing. I’ve never been one to publish all the details of my life on the internet for all to see, but I thought blogging whilst in France could 1) keep people updated about what I’m doing and 2) be a journal that I can look back on when I’m 80 years old. Two birds with one stone. So this may not be high quality literature, but who cares?

The title of this pithy periodical comes from a duelist and dramatist we learned about in French class—Cyrano de Bergerac. Though he lived in the 17^th century, his life has been blown out of proportion by fiction writers (the 19^th century play by Edmond Rostand is one of my sister’s favorites). In the last scene in the play, Cyrano lies dying from a head wound after finally admitting his love for Roxane:

ROXANE: Cyrano!

CYRANO: 

 Let be!  Yet I fall fighting, fighting still!

  You strip from me the laurel and the rose!

  Take all!  Despite you there is yet one thing

  I hold against you all, and when, to-night,

  I enter Christ's fair courts, and, lowly bowed,

  Sweep with doffed casque the heavens' threshold blue,

  One thing is left, that, void of stain or smutch,

  I bear away despite you.

ROXANE: 'Tis?. . .

CYRANO: My panache.

(The curtain falls) 

At the end of his life, all Cyrano has left is his “panache,” literally “plume.” 

The French king Henry IV was famous for putting a white plume in his helmet 

and charging into battle crying “"Ralliez-vous à mon panache blanc!" (“Follow my white plume!”)

 Before the play, the word “panache” had negative connotations. But thanks to Cyrano’s 

dashing swordplay and wit, the word now means flamboyant manner and 

reckless courage—traits epitomized by the French people. 

Hopefully, after spending 2 ½ months in France, I’ll understand 

what makes these stylish, confident, elegant people the way they are. 

And, on the off chance, I may learn some biology too…