what's in a name?

So I wasn't always called Kelly. Until about the age of 11 I had a Vietnamese name that sounds nothing like, but was pronounced "Two Train". I remember when this happened. It was during my first day of kindergarten and during roll call the teacher pronounced my name best she could. In her defense she did ask me if this was correct and I did nod. I didn't speak English at the time.

Did it bother me that people were mispronouncing my name? No. Why? Because I realized quickly there's something worse than having people mispronounce your name and that is trying to correct it. It goes something like this (shortened version):

Them: Two Train?
Me: [correct way]
Them: TWO Train?
Me: [correct way]
Them: Two TRAIN?
Me: [correct way]
Them: TWO TRAIN??? [hopeful and expectant look]
Me: Good! [I am lying]

I think it is very sweet when people try to pronounce my name correctly but I also think people need to accept that it's another language and not pronouncing it correctly is ok (kind of how I have accepted I will never pronounce the the french letter "U" correctly - it's ok!!!!). Let it go and let me move on with my life.

Anywho,when I became a U.S. citizen my mother decided that we would all change our names (I suspect it had something to do with the fact that it was free with the citizenship change). I was 11 at the time and my favorite show was Saved by the Bell so... well, it could have been worse. I almost called myself Adora.

So I was officially Kelly and tucked Train to my middle name and everything was hunky dory. Until I moved to France (of course).

For some reason (which I still regret to this day) I put my middle name on my CV and my company decided to take my middle name and hyphenate it with my last name. I'm not sure why they did this but it's annoying because now at work, to find me in lotus notes or to call me, you have to look under 'T' and now I have to have this conversation over and over:

Them: I can't find your email address/phone number.
Me: Try under T.
Them: But I thought your last name starts with a P.
Me: It does.
Them: So why is it listed under T?
Me: [BECAUSE FRENCH PEOPLE CAN'T HANDLE MIDDLE NAMES!!!!!] Dunno.

And it's not just in my work life. The French social security system decided to use the name on my birth certificate (Two Train) while issuing me a french identity card with the name on my passport (Kelly). What's worse is that the name on my birth certificate has my Vietnamese middle name (Thi) first followed by first name which lead to this conversation:

Bf: I thought your Vietnamese name is Two Train
Me: It is.
Bf: Card says Thi Two Train
Me: I don't want to talk about it.

So the other day, I finally received my supplemental insurance card which is sponsored by my company BUT works also in collaboration with social security so I was curious, which name would they use?

Why all of them!!!! I'm not kidding, the name on the card is:

Thi Two Train Kelly

I just hope they never ask for ID.

carbonara

So I don't really cook. In university my roommate always came back to the apartment with smoke coming out from under the door (this is not an exaggeration). One time I mixed up whipped cream for whipping cream thinking they were the same thing (they are not). In Japan, whenever we had group dinners my contribution was always corn (boiled).

So yesterday I was feeling ambitious (and hungry) so I looked in my fridge and thought I recognized the ingredients for carbonara. Since I have never actually made carbonara before I looked up the recipe online. It all looked fine until I read the warning that, if the raw egg bit was not done properly, you could end up with a lumpy sauce. In all my eating experience I have never had a lumpy carbonara and it didn't sound appealing. I looked the cooking level for the recipe. Medium. I started to think I was in over my head.

I went on gchat for guidance. One of my friends was very encouraging and believed in me: "You can do it! (Followed by: It's so easy!). One gave me a recipe (with step by step picture instructions).

So I guess I owe them an update and here it is: The carabonara turned out great (The bf made it).

bretagne

So I've decided that the sky can be gray for 4 days if it wants to, as long as I still have a view.

czech it

So in the Halloween spirit, this past weekend I pretended to be someone I'm not by putting on fancy clothes and going to the opera. In Prague.



And no it wasn't my idea. It was the bf's - a surprise for my birthday. Three days in Prague. I was thrilled.


What really struck me about Prague are the colors. The the hazel green eyes of its citizens, the red rooftops accented by the fall foliage of yellows, oranges, reds, and browns.



It was a lovely way to get away from the 'Metro, boulot, dodo' routine I had slipped into since starting to work full time in Paris. To sit on the balcony of the hotel drinking coffee, taking in the view, and being reminded of how lucky I am.

la banque

So my atm card expired and my bank sent me a new card only they sent it to my old address in Rouen (as you may or may not recall I have not had a proper address for about a year). Seeing as how I am now legitimate and all I went to my bank in Paris to get it sorted out.

Only turns out the only bank that is "my" bank is the branch in Rouen where I opened my account. Nevermind that the branch in Paris has exactly the same name and looks exactly the same. No, they couldn't do anything to help me. Could the bank in Rouen do something? Yes, but if they ordered a new card for me it would be sent to Rouen. Could the bank in Rouen order it and have it send to the bank in Paris? No, of course not you silly foreigner! Rouen is YOUR bank and all your dealings will be with them and them only.

Uh, could somebody please tell me why this bank has branches all over the country? What is the point of that if only to frustrate and annoy me and make me think my bank is accessible everywhere when clearly, it is not.

But ok, this is the way it works in France (I asked around, this "national" but NOT bank thing is very common) and I choose to live in France so ok, tell me what I have to do to get my card without having to travel one and a half hours by train.

Them: You can transfer your account to the branch in Paris.
Me: Ok.
Them: But it will take three days before the bank in Paris will have to power to order your card.
Me: Ok.
Them: And it will take another week to receive the card.
Me: But in Paris right?
Them: Yes.
Me: Ok.

One week and three days later I go to the bank in Paris to pick my card only... wait for it...

It's in Rouen. What??? How did that happen???? Did I or did I not just jump through all your hoops so the card would not go to Rouen.

Them: Well yes.
Me: So?
Them: The card is in Rouen m'am.
Me: Yes, I know. But WHY???
Them: I don't know why m'am but the card in is in Rouen.
Me: But... WHY???
Them: I don't know why m'am but the card in is in Rouen.

Continues on like this this for a while.

Me: [different tactic] What can you do for me?
Them: We can have it sent here from Rouen. It will take one week.
Me: Do you realize I've already been without a bank card for a week and a half? And I'm going to London this weekend.
Them: The card is in Rouen m'am.
Me: Yes I get that. Can you send it faster?
Them: Let's see, it's already the afternoon so it would have to be tomorrow (Friday) at the earliest that the card can be sent. You are not here this weekend. We're closed on Mondays. Tuesday there's a strike....

I know when I'm beat.

Them: You know m'am you can always get cash out.
Me: Good idea could you give me some cash?
Them: No, sorry we don't have cash here. But we can call the one a 10 minute walk away to tell them you are coming and to give you cash.

It was at this point that I turned around and walked away.

cours de francias

Professeur: Mlle, c'est quoi un aperitif?
Moi: Beh, une petite verre de quelque chose a boire avant manger?
Professeur: [Big smile] Mlle je pense que vous avez beaucoup des amies en France, n'est pas?

Translation:

Teacher: Ms. what is an aperitif?
Me: Uh, a small (alcoholic) drink one has before eating?
Teacher: [Big smile] I'm guessing you must have a lot of friends in France isn't that right?

Turns out he said 'impératif' (imperative) and not 'un aperitif' which you know, makes sense in a French course.

I am dum.

luton i hate you

So the bf and I went to London this past weekend for a friend's 30 birthday celebration. Because tickets on the Euro star leaving Saturday and coming back Sunday are ridiculously expensive I went with easyjet and thought myself lucky when I found roundtrip tickets for 50 euros.

It was only when I arrived at Luton airport when I realized, hey, wait a minute, I've been here before and the last time I was here, I swore to never fly into Luton again.

Why?

Calling Luton Airport a "London" airport is like calling BWI a "D.C." airport. Shit is far. I guess if you have a nice long leisurely stay in London it's not a big deal but when I've gotten up at 5:30am that morning and have to leave the next day it's kind of painful.

But of course things could always be worse which I realized the next day when not only was I dead tired and having to go to this stupid airport but I was also hungover which ill-ed prepared me for (or was the cause?) of the epic journey back t Paris the next day:

1. We get to the bus 10 minutes early so the bf goes into the convenience store to buy something to eat. Bus arrives right when he goes into the store. I am screaming and waving like a mad woman trying to get his attention because I can't run across the busy street because I have all the bags. In the end I have no choice and run across the busy street with all the bags. Meanwhile bf is trying to choose between muffins or apple tart.

2. We fall asleep on the bus and almost miss the stop.

3. We sit around waiting for our gate to appear on the screen only to find out 20 minutes before our gate closes that we don't find out our gate number until AFTER going through security.

4. We stand in the long security line and I notice a sign that says "Give yourself 40 minutes to get to the gate" (we have 15 minutes left) when I hear someone yell "Has anyone lost a passport?" and realized, it's me who has lost her passport.

5. Bf forgets water in his bag and is delayed at security

6. We finally get through and I quickly check our gate which was gate 2 and we run like madmen down the labyrinth of gates that for some reason go from the highest number to the lowest.

7. I am outrun by bf whose legs are twice as long as mine. While catching my breath I check again the gate number and realize our gate is actually 17 (which we ran past 5 minutes ago) and not 2. I go running down the labyrinth screaming bf's name like a madwoman the second time that day to no avail and have to go to gate 2 to retrieve him least I leave him behind (I seriously considered it).

But alas we made it on to the flight and back in Paris. I was in bed by 9:30 that night.

Never. Again.

asia 2010

hong kong



kuala lumpur



taipei




shenzen



macau

concierge

So I have a concierge in my new apartment which sounds really fancy but that's just because the word is French. Although I'm not sure about her exact duties, I believe she is in charge of the overall general welfare of the place. I sometimes am awakened by the sound of her sweeping early in the morning and she often greets me as I pass by her apartment on the ground floor when returning from work.

She lives there with her husband. They are portugueses and from my estimate probably in their 80's. I imagine that they have lived here long before I arrived, a permenent fixture to the place.

My interaction with her was limited to the occasional "Bonjour" or "Bonsoir" as I came and left the building until recently .

I was writing my address on a self-addressed envelope when I realized, I didn't know my apartment number. Since I still recieve mail for the British girl, I checked the mail she recieved to find the apartment number only to realize the reason I didn't know it was because there simply wasn't one.

Until this point mail had been magically appearing underneath the apartment welcome matt from time to time and I never questioned how it got there. Was it being left there by the mailman? The concierge? And if so, how did they know what mail went to which apartment?

After a bit of sleuthing I realized that the location of my apartment is based on, well, it's location. What is stated in the apartment chart in the front hallway is the person's last name, their floor and the position of their apartment relative to the elevator. For example I would be 3eme (3rd floor) Face (across from the elevator). My neighbor is apartment 3eme, 2e Porte Gauche (2nd door left). Unfortunately the name next to my apartment location was not mine which meant any mail with my name on it to the apartment complex would probably be returned.

So this is how I came to talk to the concierge, armed with my apartment contract and the British's girl's old mail as stage props in case I had to monkey gesture my way to comprehension.

I knocked on the door of the apartment and was told to come in. The apartment was small which probably didn't matter much to the couple since they each stood under 5 feet tall. They were both there and staring at me inquisitively. I immediately began what I had rehearsed on the way down. The concierge looks at her husband and said in her thick Portugese accent "J'ai rien compris". I understood this clearly. It means "I don't understand a thing".

Prepared for this I shoved my apartment contract and old mail under their thick glasses. After a bit of time and some consorting with each other the way old married couples do when they are pushed off balance by things like the asian girl speaking French with her thick american accent in their living room.

Finally they agreed that they understand what I needed, gave me a pen so that I could write down my name, and told me that the apartment chart will be changed. Satisfied I thank them and left for work.

When I arrived home that evening I checked the apartment chart and wait for it, no change.

Normally I would insist but they are just too adorable. I'll give them another couple of days.

the last six months

So I did something very strange the other day and that was to move out of an apartment I was moving into. To understand how this happened we have to go back 6 months.

March - Crazy roommate asks for the apartment key back two days shy of my agreed upon departure date. Having no other alternative I frantically call bf to pick me up. Normally this should be easy enough except for bf lives 30 minutes outside of Rouen. Oh and bf is on duty as a volunteer fireman and can't be further than 5 minutes away from the firehouse (i.e. not Paris). Bf frantically calls other fireman to arrange for someone to cover for him and thankfully succeeds.

I pack up all my things within 2 hours. Crazy roommate watches me pack and then does her laundry.

Despite what happened I sleep like a baby because I am away from crazy roommate. Unforunately the next day I still have to go to work so I have to get up at 6am to be at work at 9:30. Then I get back to Rouen at 9pm, eat dinner, go to bed so I can wake up again at 6am the next morning. I do this for about 2 weeks.

Oh and I pay about 200 euros in train tickets a week for the pleasure.

Until one day I make a mistake and forget to put my work shoes in my bag so I am walking around the office in brown yellow striped pumas and a pencil skirt. A british colleague inquires. The whole story comes pouring out.

"So how much are you looking to spend on rent for an apartment?" she asks.

I tell her.

That's funny she replies, because I am looking to leave my apartment in Paris.

I see the apartment during lunch that very same day and it's so perfect it makes me want to cry.

April - So I learn that in France, it's not enough to that there will be an empty apartment and you have enough money to rent the empty apartment. No. In France you need:

- Have a long term work contract
- Make 3x the amount of rent
- Have a guarantor
- a 'dossier' with all sorts of papers that proves that you have the above + any other information that would assure then that you are not going to be the type of person that lives in an apartment and doesn't pay the rent.

What? You say? If I person doesn't pay the rent, they simply get kicked out of the apartment, right? Not in France. In France, once you sign a contract and have moved into an aparment it is very difficult to make you leave even if you don't pay the rent. And if it's during the winter, it's nearly impossible.

So owners are b*tches about who they let in. And because a good apartment in Paris is so hard to find, at any given time an owner has his/her pick of something like 30 dossiers so they can afford to be picky. And even if they didn't they would rather the aparment remain empty than let someone in who is at high risk of not paying the rent.

In my casae I didn't have my work contract yet because it's a tricky thing in France when you want to switch your visa status from student to working. Basically if you go to the company they will ask that you have a work visa before they can give you a work contract.

No problem. Except when you go to the prefecture, they ask that you have your work contract before they give you a work visa.

Right.

The way around this is for the company to write a 'letter of intention' which states that they plan to hire you once you have a work visa. You take this to the prefecture instead of a work contract and usually it's enough.

So because I didn't have my work contract yet I tried to submit my dossier to the agency (the owner of the aparment uses an agency instead of having direct contact) with the letter of intention.

Doesn't work. The agency tells me I need my work contract.

During this time the British girl is leaving the company and also Paris at the beginning of May. Fortunately she takes pity on me and holds on to her lease till the end of June so I have time to get my work papers. She also allows me to live there (I paid her the rent of course).

I asked around the expat community about how long it would take for me to get a work visa. One guy told me that since I was American it probably would be quick and he didn't want to get my hopes up by sounding too optamistic, but he thought that it would probably only take... 8 months.

May - I wait.

June - I wait. And panic. British girl extends her lease till end of August.

July- I get my work visa and rejoice. Re-submit my dossier and it is accepted.

But that's not the end because my dossier is accepted by the agency which only means they agree to send it to the owner for acceptance who at this point didn't even know of my existance and how hard I was working for him/her to take my money.

So the agency sends my dossier to the owner who has the power to reject the dossier altogether without explaination or second try. That's if, of course, he/she even saw the dossier at all because at this point we are in 'holiday season' in France where people take holiday for 4 weeks at a time.

So I wait some more. Fortunately I was accepted. I'll admit I squealed when I heard the news.

August - Despite the owner accepting to take my money, they apartment still wasn't mine yet because I still had to sign the contract (it took 2 weeks to prepare because of people's holiday schedules). Then an inspection of the apartment needed to be scheduled and both the old and new tenant have to be there.

This wouldn't be a big problem except British girl had gotten a new job with an asian company and was in China for the first 3 weeks of August. We finally got an inspection date of August 26th.

So that brings me to why I had to move out of the apartment I was moving into. In France there are two types of apartment rentals. Furnished and non-furnished and depending on the existance or absence of furniture, very different rules apply (Don't ask me why because I have no idea and frankly don't want to know). The apartment is of the non furnished varity so was suppose to be completely empty for the inspection.

Except the British girl didn't want to move the furniture and left it all to me. But the agency wanted the furniture to be moved out anyways. Nevermind that moving a queen sized bed, washer, refrigerator, couch, etc. out of an apartment only to move it back in the very same day is abso-positivily insane.

In the end we came to an agreement with the inspection guy that we would move all the furniture to the center of the rooms to he could inspect the walls and such.

However I still had to move out all personal belongings because, you know, I wasn't suppose to be there although I'd been living there for a past 5 months.

In the movies, when someone talks about moving to Paris in the next sceen they are sipping un cafe in their apartment overlooking the Eiffel Tower. But of course real life isn't like that. In my case it took 5 months and no Eiffel Tower.

This is, however, the view from the street:



Not too shabby.

the past two weeks

Monday - Negotiate with my director about the terms of a permenent position with CSC. Haggle my way to an ok offer.

Tuesday - Tell my roomate I probably will take a position with CSC she tells me she "needs the apartment in March" so I need to leave. Gives me 2 weeks to find another place. I convince her to give me 3 weeks by telling her actually she had agreed to let me stay until the end of my internship (the 8th of March).

Wednesday - Everyone tells me I need a work contract to get an apartment in Paris.

Thursday through Sunday - Consider [read: agonize over] CSC offer. Go back and forth a million times. Finally decide to accept.

Monday - Meet with director ready to accept offer only to hear that offer has decreased substantially along with the sound of all my plans going down the drain. Shock, confusion, and anger ensue.

Tuesday - Get in timeless argument with roommate over not returning something I borrowed. Only problem is that the "thing I borrowed" is an electricity bill she gave me to pay 4 months ago and hadn't made mention of since so I had to find it and told her that I possibly left it at work. Roomate still demands I give it to her right away with arguments such as "you have to return things [a bill] you borrow" and "there's no reason to take it [a bill] out of the apartment" that from what I could tell, was delivered sincerely and without sarcasm or humor.

I start sleeping with my door locked.

Wednesday - Pride prevents me from taking CSC offer and I try to get back to something close to the original offer by threatening to not accept the offer and hence withdrawing from my current project. Doesn't work and end up having to follow through by going with my director to my current project manager and telling him I won't be staying.

Realized that although I leave the meeting with my pride in tact I now am one week away from being without job or home. i.e. a homeless person. i.e. a bum.

Thursday - Go into work with French pastery breakfast thingys hoping to surpress any ill will felt by client about my sudden last minute departure from project. Arrive to find manager has scheduled a meeting with me for "manager review". Brace myself for a bitching out.

Manager dicusses posibility of hiring me directly to work for the company.

I know it's just February but I think I've had my fill of emotional roller coaster quota for the year.

catacombs

So the French culture is well known to be one of theatre, beauty, and art and this past weekend I saw that this extended even to Paris' remedy for storing the bones of the dead.

First you have to walk a ways to get to the actual bone room and along the way I must say I was very impressed with the place's use of light (Is it wrong to want the person who did the lighting there to do lighting for my next apartment?)



It really created a good ambiance before seeing the entrance which states: "Stop! It's here, the empire of death!" (Best door sign, ever).



Immediately upon entry I was greeted by inhabitants of the empire.



After of course, the initial shock, I began to realize the enormity of it all. The walls for a good half mile (maybe more) consisted of human bones.



And after I got past that, I began to see that the bones were arranged in a decorative, almost artistic way. Some obvious (skull and crossbones).



Some practical (a giant vase).



And some even romantic (a heart).



Which begs the question, why? From what I had read, the catacombs resulted in a need to store human remains due to insanitary conditions in the city - not someone's art project. My own personal theory is that the guys whose job it was to do such a morbid and monotonous task just simple got tired of stacking femurs all day. And we all know boredom is the father of creativeness so one of the guys started being fancy and before you knew it, they had built a giant vase.

I was told that they search you before leaving the place to make sure you weren't trying to bring home with you the remains of a dead stranger. I found this to be silly.

But sure enough, before we left someone checked our bags. Next to him were a stack of bones (even skulls) all confiscated within the last couple of days.



Right. I wonder what people say when they're caught. Er. I had that skull on me before I came.

So yeah in the end the catacombs really made me think (about life, death, and humantiy), like good art should.

carte de sejour part deux

So today I went to the prefecture to get my new carte de sejour. You may be asking yourself, wait but didn't Kelly already go through this hellish nightmare?

No that was just the process of renewing my residence card. From that I got a receipt that says I have requested a new card along with an appointment to pick up the real thing in two months.

Those who are astute might wonder now, but wait today is 2 months and 2 weeks after Kelly's renewal appointment. Correct. I originally had an appointment on the 6th of January and on that day I went to the prefecture only to be greeted by a locked door and this sign:



No that's not an advertisement for a new club opening, it's the poor student's only means of knowing that the prefecture has in fact, moved, and if are unlucky enough to have an appointment during the week of the 4th - 8th you now have a new appointment 2 weeks after your original date (remember my rule about never getting something done the first time you go in France? mmm h'mmm).

That brings me to today. I was a little concerned about finding the place but that turned out to be silly since the prefecture was clearly marked with a giant line of unhappy people outside.

I was prepared for this because knowing how France works I was pretty sure that before they decided to change everyone's appointment on the week of the 4th to the week of the 18th , they had already given out appointments for 18th. That meant that now the already beyond capacity number of "appointments" (it's not really an appointment it's a time slot you have assigned to you along with like 50 other people) have doubled for the week of the 18th. This I was sure of.

What I didn't account for was the fact that the prefecture had now joined offices with... wait for it.

The French DMV! (that France, still full of surprises). So now imagine the above scenario and add to that people waiting at your average DMV.

Do you ever wonder to yourself that perhaps god is just some really bored guy that tries to amuse himself when there's no good t.v. on? Or perhaps that humanity is one big video game for aliens where the goal is to make doing the simplist thing as challenging as possible. Bonus points for ridiculousness.

I wondered these things while I stood in line to get in into the prefecture. Because it's like someone saw me go to the prefecture on the 6th and decided that no, it was just too easy. Let's multiple the line by 100, move the line outside, and make it not only cold, but raining as well. Hahahahahaha.



Everything. Happens. To. Me.

In the end I got in and got my new carte de sejour. The physical act of getting it took 2 minutes. Total wait time: 2 hours.

It expires in October 2010. I shall cherish every moment until then.

il neige encore

saint sylvestre

So against the advice of Parisiennes and my own experience of underwelming "iconic" things to do (yes New Year's eve in Time Square I am looking at you), I celebrated New Years at the Eiffel Tower. But first there was dinner.

Thinking ourselves clever we tried to book a restaurant next to the Eiffel tower only to be asked for a 300 Euro deposit for dinner. Per person.

Searching for something a little more budget friendly I exhausted my Lonely Planet for choices and scoured the internet. I finally found a resteraunt for 60 euros a plate and in a decent range of the Eiffel festivities.

The upside was the restaurant turned out to have a less expensive set menu for 35 euros that was not the 7 course New Year's eve special. We opted for this because 1. We wanted to finish dinner early to head to the Eiffel and 2. We (and our stomaches) still had vague memories of the other 7 course meal we had recently (Xmas).

The downside was that get what you pay for and I ended up getting two oysters as an appetizer (90 percent of the dish consisted of the uneditable shell, unediable salt pebbles, inediable seaweed, and oyster ice shreds which I didn't eat - on the right):



For my main course I ordered Gambas but it turned out to be just one big shrimp (I'm convinced the beady eye thing is laughing at me in the picture):



The chocolate cake for dessert and the live entertainment (the owners of the restaurant are also a paino/singer duo) weren't half bad this could be due to the fact that I was already drunk by this point (hey, I did have two oysters and a big shrimp for dinner, k?).

At 11 we headed to the Trocadero. Unforch so was everyone else so by the time we actually got close enough to the train to board it we were denied by the law of physics in which a body of mass can not occupy the same area as another 500 bodies of mass squeezed into a metro car. We got lucky by the 4th train when some unfortunate souls squeezed their way off the train.

Five arm-pitt filled "why the hell are you trying to hold on to the bar therefore pressing your arm against my face, falling is a luxury for those with space TO fall" metro stops later, we ended up at Trocadero only to get into the queue to get out of the metro.

At 11:50 we stepped out of the metro and into the mud and fog to view the Eiffel tower never before lights "spectacle" (read: the Eiffel tower turned different colors):



Then it kind of did this thing were the lights incrementally decreased from the top down and I guess the this was the countdown because then the Eiffel tower went into a blaze of white light:



Afterwards you heard scattered cries of "Happy New Year!" and popped champagne bottles (gotta love the absence of open liquor laws) throughout the crowd after everyone checked their watches (or cell phones) and figured that it was, in fact, new years (thank you confusing and unorganized France).

Then everyone kind of waited around for the Eiffel Tower to do something else. When it didn't the crowd started to thin out.

Cold, and ankle deep in mud we decided to walk to a further smaller metro while swigging champagne and dodging drunk people on the streets. It took us a total of 2 and half hours of metro transit time to get back to the hotel.

So yeah that was my New Years. Two and a half hours to consume 2 oysters and 1 shrimp, 15 minutes to watch the Eiffel tower change colors , and a total of almost 4 hours trying to get to the metro, on the metro, riding the metro, and finally off the metro.

90 percent crap kinda like my appetizer. C'est la vie.

Happy New Year.