Last night, I lost my favorite black cardigan

...that goes with absolutely everything, but I don't even care because:

1. The bittersweetness of celebrating Emily's last night in Bordeaux

2. Debating about which country has the largest Christian population between gulps of beer

3. FINALLY placing at quiz night

4. Tabasco shooters that made grown men cry

5. Champagne on the house

6. Being asked if I understand what "enculer les moutons" means (fyi: "to fuck sheep")

7. Seeing three straight French guys spoon in one bed while another king sized bed lies empty 3 feet away

8. Sharing a bed with three other people while the radio blasts French power ballads at 11 in the morning

9. Taking the tram home at 11:30, looking through the photos on my camera and laughing out loud. Alone. On the tram. With a ton of French people staring at me.

Pictures on facebook soon.

Ce que j'aime c'est...

1. The French:

Last night, my three host sisters threw a huge party at the house.

At one point, I heard music coming from the garden and went to see what was going on. A guy was singing...and playing the accordian.

An hour later, someone was blowing fire in the backyard.

I learned that trying to explain the concept of a fraternity to a French person is difficult. Especially in French, especially at 6 in the morning. 

2. And the Californians:

I went to sleep at 6:30, huddled under covers shared with Sam and Tiffany. We woke up at 10, eating cups of yogurt and laughing hysterically for an hour and a half about things that happened the night before.

An afternoon spent with the girls and Eurotrip, three to a bed again, swapping stories all the while. 

Walking home from downtown Bordeaux with Laura, talking about how every conversation we've had of late is laced with the word "last." As in "last month." As in "I wish this could last forever."

La France me manque déjà. J'essaie de bien profiter du temps qui reste, mais je pense tous le temps à ce dernier jour qui arrive si vite. Je suis pas prête à quitter cette pays magnifique avec laquelle je suis tombée amoureuse...

Get low

Tonight, I danced from the hips up and the hips down, both feet on the floor.

Love life.

Thirsty Thursdays are international

The Cock and Bull is our new favorite bar. On Thursday, we got a round of delicious vodka caramel shots on the house from Mickey, the English bartender, who refused tips because "The French don't tip." On Friday, the same amazing man offered us happy hour prices all the time, then gave us two shots each on the house. Yesssss. I knew we'd be back after the first time. 

The rest of Thursday night was spent barhopping around the Victoire district, famous for its nightlife. At one of the bars we went to, La Bodegon, you could order massive pitchers called "giraffes," which we picture-whored the hell out of. 

La Place de la Victoire is conveniently located by the tram, except as we predicted, we again missed the last one at 1 AM. Thankfully my host sister Lisa was out in the same area, so Laura, Tiff and I ended up meeting up with her friends. Outside, amidst historical monuments centuries old, drunk people and broken glass were everywhere.  We ended up going to their apartment, the same place as the house party that first weekend. There, while deliriously waiting for the first tram at 4:30, we decided to teach them some American slang to repay the favor of all the "argot" (French for slang) we had learned last weekend. Ambassadors for the United States of America as we are, we imparted such gems as "hook up," "facebook whore," hit it and quit it," and "walk of shame." Here are some of my favorite reactions, verbatim:

Q: (in French) I like this "walk of shame" expression, it's pretty funny.

B: I do not like this expression. It is not shame, it is natural. 

(Later)

B: It should be called the "walk of glory."

B: My last "plan cul" (French for hook up) was a Danish girl.

Me: Was she your hit it and quit it?

B: Yes.

Me: Was she hot?

B: I cannot tell you this. This is private.

In conclusion I love French people.

Today we went to St. Emillion to go wine tasting and it was so beautiful. Post pending with pictures! Going barhopping again tonight - I'm hoping to have more hilarity to share.

Also,

What gives us away as Americans is not necessarily our accents, which are pretty strong, but the fact that we speak perfectly proper literary French. Yeah, all that stuff you learned in school? Forget it. You're in the real world now.

Just got back from the Cock and Bull, an English/American pub in the Centre-ville (downtown, literally center of the city). It was a little awkward since none of us had drunk legally/been in a bar before, but I met a nice bartender from DC who used to go to school at Bordeaux. They had football playing on TV and shitty outdated American music, as in Nelly and pre-breakdown Britney. But they have all-night happy hour on Thursdays, which means we will be going back.

Oh and I almost got run over by a tram on the way home. Awesome. I forsee many more occurences of that phenomenon.

January 9, 2009: Californian invasion of Bordeaux

A few days ago, a director of our study abroad program cautioned us against debauchery in France.

"In France, they don't drink to get drunk. They have one or two drinks and that's it. You'll make a complete fool of yourself if you go out and get drunk."

I found out last night that this is complete and utter bullshit. Let's start from the beginning:

My host sister (also named Lisa) asked if I wanted to go to a party chez her friends Boris and Piga. Knowing that there was at least one other alcoholic in my program, I told her yes sans hesitation. I texted a couple of friends, not really expecting all of them to show up. My host sister and I were the first people at the party, which was not exactly awkward but a little confusing - I understand NOTHING when French "jeunes" or young people start yabbering to each other. It's incredibly fast and all in slang. Thankfully Lisa is amazing and leans over once in a while to ask me if I know what's going on, to which I unequivocally answer no, and then explains it to me in 3-year old French.

Anyway, then the "Californiennes" started arriving - all 9 of them. Oops. Lisa and the guys were joking that soon, "les Californiens" were going to outnumber "les Bordelais," Bordeaux folk. When the party got underway, I really enjoyed talking to the French kids, who were all hilarious. We explained to them what our program director had told us about French drinking habits, and they told us that it was ridiculous. And then proved it by taking consecutive double shots of vodka without chasers. I also mentioned a rumor I heard that French people don't smoke pot, and was proven wrong when a French girl pulled hash out of her purse. Damn.

There were so many hilarious things that happened at the party. Here are some of the most notable:

- Boris looking around the room and telling a friend that it was like 6 juin 1944, as in D-Day.

- Us speaking French to everyone, and everyone responding in English to us.

- Arnaud, a friendly Frenchie, yelling "Put your hands up! Put your hands up!" while awkwardly dancing to house music. Tiff and I tried to explain to him how 1990's that phrase is, and then taught him "Get low." We then realized we had created a monster, as he spent the rest of the night yelling "Get low get low, get low get low."

- Learning key words from our new French friends, like trashed, wasted, stoned, weed, and "shut your face."

- That one douche who asked Laura if "all American girls suck everyone," asked me if I liked to eat spring rolls, and threw a drink on Tiff's head.

- An unnamed friend who missed the last tram at 1:30 because she made out with a hot French boy and came back for seconds.

All in all, I love the French. Everyone, except that one asshole, was incredibly friendly and engaging. I'm consistently impressed by how well everyone speaks English, and I keep getting complimented on my French which is feeding my ego and hence fantastic. The only thing is that my clothes/hair/everything aboslutely reek of smoke now, because the apartment became a giant tobacco hotbox. Le sigh. Other than the chain smoking and the house music, it was just like an American party. It's good to know that alcoholism is an international language. At least I've got that one down.

5 of us missed the last tram, so we had to figure out what we were going to do for the next 4 hours before the first tram at 5 AM. Some brilliant guys had the idea to go to a discotheque, and since our other option was to stand in the freezing cold, we followed them. Except by brilliant I mean retarded, because this was the sketchiest of sketch places. Imagine the shittiest frat party you've ever been to. Now imagine it with 40 year old men and techno. We left after a little bit, but it was still only 4...so we decided to walk in the direction of home until the trams started running. This took half an hour. In below freezing weather. Except I didn't mind at all, because we were walking through the scenic, historical part of downtown Bordeaux and I had just had an amazing night.

All in all, a ridiculously good first weekend. Am going to leave soon for a British pub downtown and I'm sure I'll have much more to report after that.