Artifacts from my Study Abroad Trip

PARIS-Discreetly out of view for most visitors sits an unlikely sight at 29 Avenue Rapp. Amid a seemingly normal neighborhood filled with buildings that resemble the Parisian style, the creation by Jules Lavirotte is what some call the beginning to Art Nouveau. Most people walking by the building don’t even realize that the building exists, but once they catch a glimpse, they are hooked. 

            Their eyes start at the door, staring at the large phallic symbol, asking themselves if what they are looking is truly what they are seeing. Embarrassed, their eyes shift away and catch themselves at the intricate details growing across the building. Around the door, vines sprout straight from the wall, framing the door, and the women relaxing against the corner of the frame. 

            As their eyes continue up the building, they notice that every floor is different, and has its own personalities. The first floor has smooth, white marble, decorated with delicate lines and leaves. It’s like a polished, polite woman who wears suits to work, and meets every deadline. 

The second floor is spunky with textured walls and a farm of animals supporting balconies and windows. It has the personality of a 20-year-old, tall, scrawny boy, whose arms are covered in tattoos that express his inner desires and dreams. 

And before their eyes reach the sky, they stop on the third floor, the most unique of them all. It has a full covered balcony, striking green and gold columns, and interlocking lines and loops. Unlike the other floors, this one feels like a rich 60-year-old woman, whose husband died years ago. She now lives off the money from his life, lounging in designer dresses, drinking dirty martinis. The last floor feels as if money were no object, and the designer took the time to carve intricate designs into each wall, window, and balcony. 

And after the third floor, their eyes make one, final sweep, some still gazing confused, others gazing with admiration at the building covered in creativity, imagination, and complex details that represent the Art Nouveau period. 

Stepping Through History: Bercy Village

Although unlike other areas of Paris, Bercy Village sits just above the 13th Arrondissement. Written by Michaela Lumpert, July 26th, 2019. 

BERCY- Not the first area to visit on everyone’s list, Bercy combines city life with scenic outdoors through its large park on the Seine River and downtown street neighboring the park. Once a wine-making village is now a quaint area, covered in cobblestone and carpeted with history, that welcomes visitors to step inside and travel back in time.

            The Parc de Bercy is one of the main attractions to the city that runs along the Quai de Bercy. Remnants of the old wine village are left all over the park: train tracks coating paths, old walls standing alone, vines sagging with grapes. A garden, overflowing with vegetables and fruits, greets visitors as they enter. It feels as if the past residents of the wine making village are still walking through the garden, gathering vegetables, talking with neighbors, watering plants. If one listens hard enough, the sound of past children can be heard, running through the vineyards, racing between moving wagons and the workers picking grapes. 

On this July morning, the current tenants of the vegetable garden are harvesting fruits and pruning leaves. Their baskets are filled with plump vegetables and they work under the gaze of visitors enjoying the ambiance. Although centered in the middle of bustling city, the park provides visitors with a return to nature. With ripe fruits and vegetables, insect houses, and a pond filled with ducks, the busyness of Paris melts away. The different shades of green, exploding throughout the park, provide a canvas of beautifully painted plants and flowers. The trees look as if they have been growing since the village began, their large trunks so wide that the arms of a child cannot fit around them, their branches so entangled that they create a canopy over the park. 

            A pond stretches down the back of the park, giving visitors a spot to sit and enjoy the peacefulness around them. There’s a slight breeze rustling the leaves and just for a second the Parisian life fades out of view. One can imagine laying here forever: ducks splashing in the pond, cooling themselves from the July heat, baby ducklings swimming in lines behind their mothers. 

On this morning, a mother walks with a stroller and wide-eyed little girl, who grabs a loaf of bread from her. Immediately the little girl leans over the edge of the pond, the mother calling out to her in French. I assume she tells the smiling child to stay away from the edge, as the daughter takes a step back, still looking at the babies. She thrusts her little hands into the bag, grabbing at bits of bread. Soon the ducklings are munching away happily. 

            The Rue François Truffaut lines the other edge of the park. On the other side of the street is a wall of the backs’ of stores, with a passageway leading into the shopping area of Bercy village. The park’s signature cobblestones continue down this stretch and shops fill the old stone buildings that once housed an entire village. Instead of wine stores and fresh markets, visitors can now expect to find a collection of restaurants and shops, all opening their doors to new faces. 

            Above the heads of visitors hangs balloons that cast colorful shadows onto the street. This summer art installation by Patricia Cunha, reminds visitors how the new and old has blended in one city. 

            Parallel to Bercy Village lies one last secret gem, untouched by society. The Musée de Arts de Forains is located at 53 Avenue des Terroirs de France and offers a private collection of exhibits showcasing the history of carnivals, including a carousel that visitors pedal themselves. It also serves as a venue for private events. The best way to ensure tickets to the museum is to book them online before visiting.

What Paris means to me

To truly understand this iconic city, one must be willing to tear up their itinerary and step into the streets of Paris without a plan. Written by Michaela Lumpert, August 1st, 2019. 

PARIS- My mom has dreamed of visiting Paris since she was little. She would tell me bedtime stories of the things she would hope to see one day. Every night images of us enjoying the twinkling lights of the Eiffel Tower would occupy my mind until I fell asleep. When I finally had the opportunity to study abroad in Paris, I knew I had to do it for me and for her. 

            Stepping off the plane into the city streets, I was devoured by Paris. She instantly grabbed me, dragging me into her routines and her schedules. I always had this romantic view of Paris, couples strolling along the Seine, patisseries on every corner, and Parisians sitting in cafés for hours. If I have learned one thing about Paris: expect nothing like you have ever imagined. 

            July in Paris is slow. The heat seems to drag everyone along, even while they fight to escape its firm grip. The days are long as the sun stays high in the sky until about 10:30 p.m., until suddenly it winks out of sight, bathing the city in a cool, dark blanket. But unlike New York City, the city that never sleeps, Paris closes its eyes, and settles every night. She starts each day rejuvenated, ready to tackle the next group of tourists invading her streets. 

            It was the days were I had nothing planned that I truly enjoyed the most. Every time I created a schedule different than what Paris had for me, my life was turned upside down. When I wanted to visit the Louvre, tickets were sold out. When I decided to venture down to the Eiffel Tower, all the Metro and RER lines travelling to the tower were closed. The hardest lesson that I had to learn is that I was not in control. Being open to change is the only way to survive the controlling woman that is Paris.

            Getting around Paris is convenient. The Metro and RER lines completely cover the city, making it accessible. The trains propel themselves underground, filling the tunnels and stations with a symphony of sounds from the constant buzzing of closing doors to the high-pitched squeal of an incoming train. Musicians fill the hollowed spaces with peaceful music of violins, cellos, and guitars as people around them rush from one platform to another, like ants running through tunnels. It was one afternoon that I was sitting on the RER B, heading back towards Cite Universitaire, when I saw a mother and her son sitting across from me. Mostly these trains are filled with working class citizens, trying to commute home. On this particular afternoon, the train was silent except for the quiet conversation the mother was having on her phone. Suddenly she handed the phone to her son, who looked as if he was 4 years old, and he cradled the large phone in his little hand, holding it up to his ear. He smiled and said with his sweet little voice, “Papa!”. The rest of the ride back he spoke eagerly to his father, giggling with glee, and squirming with delight. 

            It’s little images like this one that I will remember about Paris. I may have dreamed up an entire city before I came, but the minute I stepped foot on her bustling streets, my mind went blank. Paris is strong, independent, and unforgiving, but she is also soft and nurturing. There were days where I felt defeated by her, but I was determined to not let her win. And on the days I stood up to her,  and she showed me the parts of her that I had dreamed about.

            Parisians spend their summer afternoons lounging in parks, soaking up every single ray that the sun emits. It was the weekend before the record breaking heatwave was about hit. That weekend, it felt like everyone knew what was coming, so they decided to enjoy the last few moments of comfortable weather outdoors in parks all over Paris. Jardin de Luxembourg was filled with families and friends sprawled out on colorful blankets, eating, drinking, and laughing. When I dreamed about Paris, I always thought about how busy Parisians were. They constantly look as if they are late to a meeting, rushing through metro stations and across crowded intersections. But watching them laugh and share food with one another, I was shocked by the strikingly different this version of Paris felt. The day seemed to drag itself out, two hours slowly turned into four hours, and yet the same groups of people carried on as if they were living in their own worlds. 

            There was a group right next to us, sitting haphazardly all over the grass, some lying down, others leaning against each other. They were celebrating a birthday party, each person wearing the embarrassing cone hats, blowing on little horns. They even had a small pink raspberry tart, covered in little pink candles. Together they all screamed “Happy Birthday!” as one of them blew the candles out, laughing along with her friends. Amid Paris and her consistent pushing of people forward, even the Parisians have found the time to break free from her tight grasp, and escape her pressure for a few long hours. 

             After five seemingly short weeks, I now face the last four days of a trip with a new confidence and acceptance to who I am. I entered this city, a loud 20-year-old girl, scared for the journey before her, and I feel that I am leaving with a newfound acceptance to the adult I am turning into. For now, I leave Paris with just one simple phrase: I will be back.