Recently posted by Jennifer Larsen

A few weeks ago, I headed to the Marais on a Friday night for a friend's birthday party.  (The Marais is a hip neighborhood in Paris, similar to Boston's South End.)  I headed up the stairs of a bar called Les Etages (a bar I don't particularly like, but that's besides the point,) and joined my friend Anna and a few dozen of her friends in celebrating her 28th birthday. Anna is a former classmate and now writing teacher of mine at the writing workshop I attend at the Shakespeare and Company bookstore.

As soon as I arrived, I focused on a face across the room that looked familiar - a blond girl about my age with glasses and light white skin.  I said to Anna's boyfriend, Dorian, that this girl looked familiar.  Dorian is French, and when he said her name back to me in the loud bar it sounded like "Enn-lee."  As familiar as she looked, I couldn't place the connection, and as she was across the room in a noisy Friday night bar I didn't puzzle for too long on how I knew her.

Later on that night, after a few beers and some small talk with an English friend of Anna's, I wandered upstairs to the bathroom.  When I got there, the one toilet stall was in use, and the familiar-looking blond girl was waiting in line.  As friends of friends do, we got to chatting and she asked one of the five most common foreigner questions in Paris - "How long have you been here?" I always have to stop and absentmindedly recollect my history when I am asked this question.
 
"Well, I first came here as a student for eight months, then I went back to Boston to finish school, and I returned to France immediately after that but I was in Normandy for seven months and then I came back to Paris... so roughly three and a half to four years."

"Where in Boston did you go to school?" she asked with a bit of a smirk.

"Well, it's this really small school called Simmons, you probably haven't heard of it..."

Her smirk widended and she said, "I went to Simmons."

My brain yawned and stretched and my eyes widended : "You DID? Wait, when did you graduate?"

And so Henley and I were formally introduced.  Graduating a year earlier than me, in 2005, I was away in France for all of her senior year.  We went over fields of study and best Simmons friends and deduced that we must have met once or two in connection with the Simmons Voice.  She's been in Paris for a few years but is planning to leave for grad school next year.

Meanwhile, back in my writing class at Shakespeare and Co, a classmate announced that he will be moving to Boston in a few months so his wife can start school.  Where, you might ask?  Simmons, of course! She will be getting a master's degree in the Education department. I gave him one (of the many) Simmons pens I have fumbling around in my handbag and told him to look into apartments in Jamaica Plain.

So, goes to show that even if you're in Paris, it's a small world after all.

In Paris today, most business and shops are closed - except the flower shops!  Flower shops all over the city, as well as unauthorized sellers and boy scouts and bakeries and anybody else who owns a table and a pair of scissors is out on the streets selling small bouquets of lily of the valley flowers.  Today is a special day where "unauthorized" selling of lily of the valley is tolerated, therefore anybody can (and will) sell it.

May Day holds two traditions in France - it is firstly the true beginning of spring (it rains a lot in March and April so March 21st doesn't really count in the minds of Parisians.)  Lily of the valley is thought to bring good luck when offered to someone around the 1st of May, but for some people only those sprigs with 13 flowers are truly lucky.  According to Wikipedia, it was Charles the 9th who first offered lily of the valley (called muguet in French, pronounced moo-gay) in 1561 and the trend went on from there.

The second significance of May 1st in France is similar to America's labor day.  Called La fete du travail, it is a day for worker's rights, an official government holiday so most people don't have to work and many civil servants will demonstrate today to exercise their workers' rights.

I wonder if Simmons is celebrating it's traditional May Day today.  Is Bob White out on the quad giving his May Day speech for this year?  Will that be followed by a May Day brunch, complete with mimosas (only for the seniors!)  Enjoy your May Day and accept this virtual "porte-bonheur", or good luck charm.

My previously mentioned apartment search took a hiatus last month when I jetted over to San Francisco for a Simmons reunion with one of my bestest classmates, Kate Diamond.  

It was my first venture further west than the east coast (embarrassingly enough,) and it was great to catch up with Kate and another classmate, Carla Doughty, as well as various other friends and family members.  See below some photos of my Bay-area expeditions with Kate.

My partner Seb and I are currently in the process of buying an apartment.  The apartment we'd like to buy is small, but it is just the right size for us for the next few years.  It is in a great neighborhood - in the 11th arrondissement of Paris - and is close to a major transport hub.

As in any city, one must first understand the real estate lingo before signing a contract.  In Paris, apartments are not referred to by the number of bedrooms they have, but rather the number of rooms they have outside of the bathroom and the kitchen.  This means that agents can be sneaky by calling a studio "a one room apartment" instead of just "a studio."

The first and foremost thing one looks for in a Parisian apartment is the size - in square meters.  Both our current and next apartments are about 24 square meters (260 square feet.)  Small one bedrooms in Paris can range from 20 square meters (215 sq feet) to 40 square meters (430 sq feet.)

Here are some other tips, just in case you're planning to move to Paris:

• Most ads will specify whether the apartment is on the street, the courtyard, or both (which is called "double exposition.")  Because of the way Parisian buildings are designed, most buildings have a small courtyard inside.

• Many buildings in Paris do not have elevators.  If you see an ad specifying that a flat is on the 6th floor, but the ad does not specify the possession of an elevator, be sure to ask!

• In french, a "cuisine americaine" or "American kitchen" means an open kitchen in the living room.  Sometimes this is nice, but sometimes it is code for "tiny kitchenette with a midi fridge and hot plate."

• Nearly every building is condominium-style, and every apartment owner must pay a certain amount in co-ownership charges per month.  This money goes to things like repainting the stairwell, paying the person who takes out the garbage, paying the caretaker if there is one, and maintenance of the elevator if there is one.  Be sure to ask how much the charges are.

Happy hunting!  And, once we've signed the deal, pictures of our new flat to come...

Last week, most of the Simmons community took advantage of the Thanksgiving holiday by traveling home to see their families and enjoying a delicious meal.  Here in Paris, Thanksgiving is less apparent -“ I still plan a meal with close friends, but I do have to work that day.  In addition, some of the staples are hard to come by - cranberries, sweet potatoes, and canned pumpkin to make the pie.  

Thankfully, however, there is an annual event during the third weekend of November that I have to look forward to: the wine fair!  The Salon des Vignerons Independents, or Independent Winemakers Expo, is usually held the weekend after Thanksgiving at Paris' largest expo center - Porte de Versailles.

The best part about this event, besides sampling any and every kind of French grape-made alcohol you could imagine, is that you can actually talk with the folks who've made the stuff.  Winemakers and their families travel around the country twice a year to participate in the fair, where they will let you taste their wines and answer questions about their products.  

The expo center is organized into 20 alleys (A-T) and each winemaker has their own alley and stand number.  The armagnac that we buy, for example, was at stand M-43.

The photo below is a quick look at alley M.  The colors marking the stand names denote different regions, as everything is all mixed together!

I've been traveling a lot over the last two months.  The first big trip mid-October was to Prague with a group of students, then early November I flew to Lisbon to meet up with a fellow Simmons alum and good friend for a long weekend.  This past weekend I went to Brussels and Bruges, again with a group of students, and in three very short weeks my partner Seb and I will fly to New York for the holidays.

I really like to write travel stories, so today I post this story below I wrote about an experience in Northern Ireland in 2005.  I was a junior year abroad student in France, and a fellow Simmons friend Kate Diamond and myself were traveling in Ireland together.  Both of Irish heritage, the trip was somewhat of a root-seeking mission, so I've titled this story "Our Roots."  Enjoy!

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Kate and I were walking eagerly down an unknown street in Belfast, chatting about our families' Catholic origins in contrast to our distant relationship with the Christian faith.  It was our second day in the city, and we felt more at ease there than our current home of France.  Belfast reminded us of our native New England: we drank beer and scarped up French fries and fried fish enthusiastically, surrounded by native speakers of our own mother tongue.
    "Yeah, we never really go to church.  Maybe on Christmas Eve, or Easter occasionally, but even that is rare."
    "I think the last time we went was when my brother Greg was still in high school..." Kate replied, pausing to furrow her brow in the direction of a lightly colored rain cloud that was headed our way.
    "But I was totally born in a Catholic Hospital.  Baptized from birth."
    "Yeah, me too - well, not the Catholic hospital part, but my parents had me baptized when I was a few months old," she said. 
Neither Kate nor myself made it as far as confirmation, but we felt a sense of camaraderie with the outcast Catholics of Belfast who wanted to unite their island as one single nation. Sporting our shiny Bostonian clauddaugh rings, we soldiered on in the poorly paved sidewalk in hunt of the famous murals.

    Trying to understand an unfamiliar city is like putting together a 3-D jigsaw puzzle.  In the middle of this anonymous street, I paused.
    "Kate, are you sure this is the way?" I took our free tourist map out of my pocket and studied our route.
    "Yeah, I think so... at least, that's what my Lonely Planet says.  it should be the right street but lets try to find a street sign just to check," she responded.
    We walked a block further, passing more fast-food shops and Spar convenience stores.  The gray sky was an appropriate backdrop for this sore city, and as we searched for a street sign, I remarked the absence of other tourists in the town.
    "Dude, maybe we should just ask someone.  What do you think?"  I hoped it wouldn't rain during our afternoon exploration.  As a student of politics specializing in terrorism, Kate was thrilled with Belfast and ever more ecstatic to finally see the murals she had been reading about for years.  As a student of literature, I was looking forward to the Oscar Wilde statue in Dublin, but had only recently learned who Bobby Sands was...
    "Yeah, okay.  That could be good," Kate responded.
    We pondered which of the passersby to ask.  The gruff looking teenage boys might not be friendly, and their accents might be difficult to decipher.
    I spotted a nun waiting for the bus.  She had on a navy blue habit, her skirt stopping just below her knees. 
    "Excuse me, M'am, could you tell us how to get to the murals on Shankill Road?"

    "Oh dear, this is Shankill Road all right.  Is it St Nicolas you're looking for?"
    "No Ma'am, we're looking for the Catholic murals."
    "Ooh right, well you know, there is mass at St Nicolas' today at four thirty."
    "Oh, thank you very much ma'am.  Do you know which direction we should go to find the murals?"
    "Ah yes, it's up thataway about two blocks.  You know, there's also a mass tomorrow morning at Saint Mary's.  It's down to the right."
    "Thank you very much," I responded politely.
    "Are you girls Catholic?" she asked with an expectant look in her eyes.
    Kate and I looked at each other quickly.  Thinking back to our earlier conversation I replied, "Why yes, we're both baptized Catholic!"
    "Oh well that's good," said the nun, smiling.
    Just then, the yellow city bus rolled up to the stop.  The nun started away towards it, "You girls have a good day now!" she shouted.
    "You too, thanks very much!" we responded. 
    We turned around in the other direction and found our way to the murals.  We never did make it to mass though.

We were asked to write about why we agreed to be a part of this project for our first blog entry.  To respond to that question, I would like to go back to the beginning of my relationship with Simmons.

When I began my college search, I had only a few main criteria:

• Small school
• In or very close to Boston
• Majors in both English and French

When I put all of those specifications together, I only came up with two schools: Simmons, and Merrimack College in New Hampshire.  At first, I thought, "Oh, crap - a girls' school or a catholic school??"  

Throughout the winter of my senior year, however, I kept receiving messages from Simmons.  Invitations to visit campus, reminders of the college's strong academic record, even phone calls from current students asking if I had any questions.

By the time I received my financial aid award notices in the spring of that year, my mind had already been made to go to Simmons.  I preferred the urban location, and having visited the campus a few times I felt it would be a good fit for me.

During my four years at Simmons, I flourished.  My story is similar to so many others: I thrived in the challenging academic atmosphere with professors who gave me the courage and skills to succeed, I made some of the best friends I've ever had, and the student community leadership opportunities I took advantage of taught me not only how to lead, but also how to be part of a successful team.

Since my graduation in May of 2006, I have tried to stay close to Simmons - which is difficult considering that I have (fairly) permanently relocated to France.  I try to keep in touch with my former classmates and professors, as well as staff members who supervised and assisted me as a student worker.  

Last summer, Kathy Porteus, Senior Assistant Director of Admissions, wrote me to see if I would volunteer to represent Simmons at the Paris College Fair.  Eager to attend, I had a great time spending the afternoon talking about Simmons and sharing my experience with potential students.  I will be representing Simmons once again at this year's fair later on this month.

Thanks to a connection through Robin Melavalin, the Colleges of the Fenway GEO Center Director, I got in touch with Jan Taylor, Associate Director of Alumnae/i Relations.  Jan and I planned a Tea event for alumni and current students studying abroad in Paris with former President Scrimshaw last fall.  

When I received an email recently asking me if I would participate in this blog project, I didn't hesitate on  my response.  Not only do I love to write (and don't do enough of it since my time as a student,) but I really appreciate the ability to stay close to Simmons even from so far away.  I hope that my contribution to this project will help others in numerous ways: a prospective student trying to decide where to attend college, a current student wondering about the possibility of studying/living in France, or an alumni wanting to get back in touch.

I am looking forward to relishing this experience as I have with so many others I've had at Simmons, and I hope you'll participate too through comments and messages.