Pardon, could you tell me where. . .

I have this problem in cities that I don't know very well. In order not to be obviously lost to those around me and thus invite whatever sorts of dangers are attracted to the vulnerable and disoriented masses, I evidently overcompensate in the air of confidence department. In other words, the more lost that I am, the more likely it is that someone will ask me for directions because I am so determinedly looking oriented . This isn't usually so bad, because at least I always have a map with me when I'm visiting somewhere new, and I can show that to the person. But here, I keep disappointing unwary French people with my complete disorientation and American accent. Hopefully, this will occur less and less as I actually do learn to make my way around and become capable of giving directions.

The last few days have continued to be full, lovely, thought-provoking--and exhausting. A couple of days ago, I walked around the Jardin de Luxembourg, where I found an unexpected additional treat in what are already amazing gardens. I had intended to sit at a nearby cafe that had been recommended by a friend of a friend, but was tempted away by the gorgeous green atmosphere of the park--so I ate my salmon and basil quiche on a bench there. The following picture doesn't really give you an idea of how lovely it is, but you can imagine for yourself. There were so many other people there, too, who were lounging, chatting, smooching, reading, wandering, and thinking. Many of these people were also smoking. For those of you who have heard that the French smoke a lot--it is true. Fortunately, I've primarily been outside or in museums, so it hasn't been so bad. And the people that I saw in St. Augustine, Florida definitely smoked more. For instance, I've not seen anyone here holding a cigarette over a baby carriage (something that I may associate with St. Augustine, Florida for many years to come), although I've seen a lot of cigarettes and a lot of baby carriages.





But the unexpected treat: The gardens are hosting a special art exhibit, entitled Femme y es-tu , in which contemporary artists interpret themes related to femininity. Some of the sculptures are independent, but others are installations built around historic, permanent statues of past queens of France. Below you can see one of my favorites from the exhibition. The original statue is of Anne de Beaujeu (1461-1522), and was sculpted by Jacques-Edouard Gatteaux (1788-1881). The contemporary installation is by a German artist who lives and works in Paris, Nicole Barthe, and is entitled "Anne et le jeu des perles en verre" (Anne and the Game of Glass Beads).










And yesterday, I finally visited the Musee du quai Branly. I've read so much about it, but still found a few surprises. As disturbing as many of the curatorial choices are, it is indeed a very seductive museum, with many amazing objects inside. Yet the audacity of the colonial attitude is so blatant, so ghastly. And I'd read that it was dark inside, but I didn't understand that it is genuinely dimly lit in that place. I was actually made dizzy by some of the effects from suddenly bright spotlights and some strange pointillated shades on the windows. I may write more on this museum later, so I won't now, but when and if you go, be prepared that it is dark inside, and easy to find yourself in the displays of Middle Eastern art when you mean to be in the African collections. But the museum store is amazing--I was interested to find a much greater emphasis on books than one finds in most American museum stores. In fact, it is called a bookstore (librairie ) instead of a museum store in most of the literature.

This afternoon, I attended a language exchange, in which small groups of people first speak in French for forty-five minutes and then in English for the next forty-five minutes. I plan to attend several of these until I meet a few French people so that I am speaking French in more than brief conversations with shop clerks, waitstaff, and museum employees. I may also meet more people once I begin conducting archival research at the quai Branly, but I've reserved these first couple of weeks for orienting myself and becoming familiar with other museums.

Rest assured, however, that I am watching TV and listening to the radio in the meantime. And I found both Yoga and Pilates videos conducted in French.... The yoga video is actually an American one done by MTV--but what better experts should one turn to for yoga than those at MTV? And it is not actually conducted in French, but one can choose from 10 or so languages that have been dubbed over the English. Anyway, it is helping with my immersion somewhat, I suppose, although I realized today that the vocabulary of yoga classes is more limited than one might think. There is a lot of "Breathe in, breathe out," and references to legs, heels, arms, and such, but nothing too complicated.




It is strange to be incorporating television into my life, but I find it much more helpful to improve my French than the radio because of the images that provide context. And it is easier for me to become distracted with my thoughts when listening to the radio. But I love the news on French television--it is very thorough, with frequent commentary by very serious, very earnest sociologists and psychologists.

So it goes, though: living in a foreign country requires so many adjustments, even for the most routine-oriented of us. The first couple of days were especially difficult food-wise, and in addition to being thankful to Paul Poiret, Marie Claire, and Manon Michels Einaudi (the namesake of the grant that got me here), let us also be thankful for Whole Foods lactase pills for allowing me to eat dairy products in France in peace instead of a. eating dairy products in France in misery or b. subsisting on sparkling mineral water and bread. I'm figuring out a bit more about where I can acquire what food, and my life has been immensely improved with yesterday's purchase of oatmeal and honey. For all of my attempts to immerse myself in the French language, I just really don't want bread for breakfast in some lame attempt to immerse myself in French culture. I'm living alone after all--who's going to know that I'm happily eating oatmeal and fruit for breakfast?