day of rest

Typed on Aug. 26.

So, I actually got some internet access going on by bumming by a collegue's place, Carmen, who lives in another building. Kathy invited me to go, and I could not turn down the internet—who could? The post below was typed the second night I got here, and it looks like, for now, my posts will be delayed in a sense that they'll be typed days before they'll be posted.

Bear Grylls and my father would be proud though of me surviving in Paris with limited money. I've been living off water, baguettes, and cheese. It's actually pretty tasty, and it saves me money. I've bought fruits and this really tasty apple sauce that also has strawberries in it. It is amazing! God, even packaged food is amazing here. What the heck? Come on, America! Step the quality of food up a notch.
This morning, I went with Kathy and some other friends, Morgan, Kristin, Derek, and Chris to Monoprix—France's version of Target. We found some people who told us that it was closed on Sundays, as most stores are in France. It's a day of rest!

They wanted to go to the American Church in Paris to look at some postings for housing instead, and I decided not to go since I went already. So I went to a boulangerie, bought bread for today and headed home.

I've been jetlagged ever since I've arrived, wanting to sleep at around 2 or 3pm, which is 5 in the morning for Californians. But I went for a walk in the Parc Montsauris, and everyone was having picnics and playing badminton and sunbathing, and I thought, “This is why all the stores are closed—everyone's in the park!” The last time I went to my local park, the birds and geese outnumbered the people there. The French really enjoy their leisure time and being in the company of good friends or lovers. It's really nice.

Got lost a couple of times with friends while trying to find things, and it's really fun, but they also talk about housing, which scares me a lot. They've already contacted people and everything. That's so crazy! I haven't even started looking. I don't want to worry until I really have to, but I heard that the MICEFA office—the people who are taking care of us while we're here—will make sure that we're not living under some bridge. God I hope they're right.