tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8793383298938877282026-07-23T08:34:13.775+02:00A re-telling of all my little french moments, to better help you live vicariously through me on my great adventure.laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14263960049152617876noreply@blogger.comBlogger202125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879338329893887728.post-72274369847420207342019-03-25T11:18:00.002+01:002019-03-25T11:18:40.159+01:00

Like so many of those who have come before me, and I imagine that those who are newly arrived will one day discover, blogging about my life in France has become more difficult, as it no longer feels like my life in France. It is simply my life. I am intégrée. Like all good Frenchies, when I go abroad I miss terribly good bread. I eat baguette almost every day. I sing the Marseillaise at the

laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14263960049152617876noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879338329893887728.post-86329280060069039192016-01-31T12:30:00.000+01:002016-02-01T09:59:45.754+01:00

While still on the job hunt, I was discussing the different interviews I had been on in France with my brother. I had gone to job interviews at eight different companies at this point, and at most of these, I was offered a beverage (coffee/tea/water) at the very beginning of the interview. At interview #8, however, no such offer was made. Eventually, after about an hour of interviewing, the

laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14263960049152617876noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879338329893887728.post-77041257921179495012016-01-03T17:23:00.001+01:002016-01-03T17:23:46.792+01:00

Being unable to re-enter the French territory if I left it due to visa complications, I celebrated Christmas this year in France, with the Frenchboyfriend and his family; my very first French Noël. Christmas in Paris. French Christmas is all about family and food, a lot of food, with a little bit of Père Noël thrown in. The celebrations started on Christmas Eve, with a family dinner lasting

laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14263960049152617876noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879338329893887728.post-48867647426391635152015-11-30T16:33:00.000+01:002015-12-01T09:53:32.794+01:00

I waslucky enough to celebrate Thanksgiving twice this year. For maybe the first year ever in France, I celebrated Thanksgiving on Thanksgiving thanks to a wonderful American friend who came to visit and cooked a wonderful dinner. I also had my traditional Thanksgiving potluck, using my tried and true recipes. As has become a personal traditional, here are five things I’m thankful for this

laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14263960049152617876noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879338329893887728.post-87270445430467657552015-08-29T18:37:00.003+02:002015-08-30T11:43:10.529+02:00

The Bois de Boulogne is a large Parisian park found on the city limits. It is twice as big as New York’s Central Park, and yet Parisian’s love to complain about the city’s lack of green space (maybe because if it’s not found in the center it counts less?). Regardless, the Parisians do love their outdoor space and most weekends the bois is packed with families, friends, and dogs, picnicking,

laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14263960049152617876noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879338329893887728.post-63649617699859812572015-05-30T19:23:00.000+02:002015-05-30T19:24:44.544+02:00

Compared to America, the French are very pro-PDA. Nobody thinks twice if a couple is canoodling on the metro, or exchanges a quick kiss on the lips for a greeting. I am a supporter of PDA. I like to partake in cuddling and even small kisses in front of friends or strangers on the street. That said, I was forced to observe a little bit too much PDA the other day on the metro. This was one of

laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14263960049152617876noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879338329893887728.post-39252511788441914712015-03-03T14:49:00.000+01:002015-03-03T14:49:25.959+01:00

An important part of any job search is networking, which is unfortunate, as I am terrible at it. After a time spent responding to job announcements, I finally decided to accept the fact that sustainable development is a niche field where most available jobs are only on the hidden market and put myself out there. Luckily, living in Paris means lots of conferences open to the public on the

laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14263960049152617876noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879338329893887728.post-47524752623989312092015-02-05T19:03:00.000+01:002015-02-05T19:04:29.773+01:00

I was lucky enough to get to go back home to California for two weeks during the winter holidays. Christmas à la plage. I made sure to only put really light weight objects on my x-mas wish list and asked my parents to not gift me anything too heavy, as I was hoping to use the return flight as an opportunity to bring more of my belongings to France. As luck would have it, the gifts that I

laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14263960049152617876noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879338329893887728.post-57110556401392889122015-01-28T14:20:00.000+01:002015-05-30T19:19:15.641+02:00

The reason most people sign up with pole emploi, the unemployment office, is because they are getting chomage, or unemployment benefits, which are only accessible via this government body. Sadly, having a stage (internship) doesn’t qualify one for chomage, and so I didn’t immediately sign up. However recent graduates frequently do register despite the lack of monetary benefits. While they do

laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14263960049152617876noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879338329893887728.post-19690610809558274292015-01-16T13:35:00.000+01:002015-01-26T15:21:07.187+01:00

The process for obtaining the APS visa begins 4 months before the expiration of one’s student visa. After compiling, printing, photocopying, and organizing the various documents required and writing a lettre de motiviation (cover letter), I made my way to the prefecture de police. After placing the various documents on the counter and saying that I was there to drop off my application for the

laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14263960049152617876noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879338329893887728.post-81799332725954107982014-11-28T19:00:00.000+01:002014-12-22T21:06:04.847+01:00

Six years of being away from family and other Americans on this very American holiday has made it seem almost the norm. I am once again hosting a Thanksgiving potluck with my French friends (using my tried and true French thanksgiving recipes), and I am once again using this as an opportunity to reflect on all that I am thankful for in my French life. This year, I am thankful for: 1. The

laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14263960049152617876noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879338329893887728.post-52844203380331910282014-10-31T18:43:00.000+01:002014-11-01T12:11:46.336+01:00

The price of going to the movies has always been a factor in why I hardly ever go to the movies. Plus, since moving to Paris and no longer being under 26 (the age when Europe no longer considers you jeune), the price I have to pay to go to the movies has exponentially increased, exponentially decreasing my frequency of attendance. If I do go, however, it’s because I want to see something that

laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14263960049152617876noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879338329893887728.post-2596175494841831232014-10-19T12:54:00.000+02:002014-10-21T18:21:08.636+02:00

While most of this blogs chronicles “how weird I think everything French is,” it’s becoming harder and harder to do, as I’ve become steadily more accustomed to life here (five years might do that to a person). Last weekend, I felt especially comfortable in my little French life. I felt especially Parisian, and it all started off with tacos. I had given up on ever tasting Mexican food worth

laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14263960049152617876noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879338329893887728.post-27232969054932582192014-05-29T17:53:00.001+02:002014-05-29T17:56:41.449+02:00

My internship has come with many perks. The company is paying for half of my monthly metro pass, there is a small gym with a trainer and group classes available for free (yes, even to us interns), and there are two in house lunch dining options available with very reasonable prices. Up till now, I have avoided eating at French cantines(dining halls/canteens). My first experience was during my

laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14263960049152617876noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879338329893887728.post-45708888556991946022014-05-07T09:51:00.003+02:002014-05-12T16:17:01.965+02:00

Paris. Despite having spent a semester abroad here, many weeks visiting with my parents, and weekend or day trips visiting with friends, there somehow remains museums and other activities left undone. While I have enjoyed the freedom of not being obliged to visit 4 museums in one day, or even to “see the sights,” I still want to take advantage of living in the city of light. That said, things

laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14263960049152617876noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879338329893887728.post-63715723422153134182014-03-27T11:45:00.000+01:002014-05-25T10:49:39.038+02:00

Somehow, despite having lived in France for 4 and a half years (admittedly not consecutively), I have avoided up till now purchasing and using French deodorant. And no, I wasn’t just not wearing it! Somehow the deodorants that I’ve brought with me were enough to last. I use solid deodorant, and I really made my last stick count. I was stabbing the weird plastic-y part at the end with a q-tip to

laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14263960049152617876noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879338329893887728.post-33806664032547972492014-02-23T17:20:00.000+01:002014-02-23T17:20:43.320+01:00

For all my complaining about how unorganized my university is, how uncommunicative the professors and administration are, and how nobody ever seems to know what’s going on, I can at least now say that it has prepared me pretty well for the realities of being an intern in France. After accepting the offer and settling on a starting date in December, come mid-January I still had no information

laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14263960049152617876noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879338329893887728.post-69583673755507201572014-02-01T14:37:00.000+01:002014-02-01T14:38:00.083+01:00

This Monday I will start my new internship in Paris and say goodbye to Troyes. While the unknowns before me do make this a stressful change, I will not be sad to leave, at least not in the way I was heartbroken to leave Lille. Timbered houses in Troyes. Troyes is a beautiful fairy tale miniature city. But whether it was because the university wasn’t actually in the city, or because I was less

laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14263960049152617876noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879338329893887728.post-44484360655394592572014-01-25T20:51:00.000+01:002014-01-25T21:15:39.156+01:00

A while ago I was nominated for a Liebster Award by one of my new blogger friends, Dana from As Told By Dana. I've been a bit lazy and the questions she asked were a bit personal so it's taken me a while to get around to it. Nevertheless, I present to you, the Liebster Award! 1. Why did you start blogging? I started blogging because I wanted to remember every moment where I felt “French.”

laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14263960049152617876noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879338329893887728.post-30905339845403366952014-01-20T12:08:00.000+01:002014-01-20T12:08:12.186+01:00

Winter break was the second time I visited my parents in their new home. The first time I was accompanied by the boy and had so much to show him that nothing felt different, really. Yes, the house was new, but enough of the old pieces of furniture were there (including, as my dad said, “these old pieces of furniture” while referring to himself and my mom) that it still felt like home. This trip

laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14263960049152617876noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879338329893887728.post-42566213257518998852014-01-06T19:28:00.000+01:002014-01-06T19:28:48.417+01:00

2013 went by way too fast with me way too busy getting my graduate degree to blog sufficiently. Here's a quick rundown of my year: January I finished my first semester of my masters with 7 finals, and started my five week inter semester break (can't complain about French vacation days). The boyfriend and I headed down to his hometown, Grenoble. Grenoble, a city surrounded by beautiful

laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14263960049152617876noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879338329893887728.post-48516534329947233332013-12-31T18:05:00.000+01:002014-01-01T03:07:28.612+01:00

I am currently at home in California for the holidays, and there is nothing better than spending Christmas with the family (especially if you get to go to Disneyland). Disneyland Christmas lights and Sleeping Beauty's castle. I thought coming back home would be an especially smooth transition seeing how I came home for a visit last summer, but nevertheless I forgot how we do things in

laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14263960049152617876noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879338329893887728.post-24432923416353469232013-11-30T14:25:00.001+01:002013-11-30T14:55:50.576+01:00

I have spent five consecutive Thanksgivings in France. It’s a hard holiday to miss out on, as any American expat can attest to. So, just like last year, I held a Thanksgiving potluck, complete with my recipes for green bean casserole, twice mashed potatoes, and stuffing. Another American friend brought candied yams, and the French participated by bringing bread, pumpkin pie, and cheesecake. My

laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14263960049152617876noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879338329893887728.post-76944554982164940282013-11-11T11:40:00.000+01:002013-11-11T11:40:45.224+01:00

When looking for a new apartment to move into with the French boy for this last semester in Troyes, after several mediocre apartments, we walked into one where I had a coup de coeur (love at first sight). It was luminescent. There was a puit de lumiere (a lightwell / a skylight) in the center of the building that provided light for the living room. The apartment was facing a little used street,

laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14263960049152617876noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879338329893887728.post-87102072367743528142013-09-07T17:05:00.000+02:002013-09-07T17:05:25.269+02:00

Gone are the days when I try to disguise myself as one of the French. While living in France has influenced my style, I have accepted the fact that there are certain things I’m unwilling to go without. This is why it’s easy to spot that I’m not French, even before I utter "bonjour". Here are five tell tale signs that I ain’t French: 1. My Chapstick, or should I say Carmex. I am addicted to

laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14263960049152617876noreply@blogger.com9