La fin.

I did it all.

Les années parisiennes.

Saw a double feature at the Pompidou today.
Kandinsky and Calder.

Paris is warm.

AND

You don't have to believe me, but eeeeveryone is wearing birkenstocks. Even the cool kids.

I got interviewed today.

Paris.

During the last two weeks of travel I have had the most bizarre accomidations. First the sex den in Marseille, then the 25/7 tacky party house in Nice, and last night I stayed in this bizarre quasi hotel thing. I feel like this is the kind of place that has hidden cameras in the showers.

Also. I keep reqding about this Serge Gainsbourg film. They really know how to do biopics over here.

A bientot.

I leave Nice for paris in three hours.

Fucking time is going fast now.

Seattle in less than a week.

I learned to skip rocks tonight.

I just realized that I won't have a cell phone when I get home and I got kind of excited. I think I might make my parents install an extra line on the land line. You know, like the ones that the cool girls had in middle school. Before beepers and cell phones.

I want a fucking beeper. Please.

ALSO.

I almost forgot.

You have to pay for public toilets here. And there are attendants who have to sit in public bathrooms all fucking day and take 50 cents from every asshole who uses the WC. Today I saw a bathroom attendant with a bleached rat tail chase a homeless man out of a bathroom for not paying. All I could think of was 'it takes a special kind of person to do this work.'

Quitte.

So much has happened.

It just sounds better when I tell the stories. I won't be writing them all down.

Paris in two days.

I'm reading a book in french. It's not a novel by any means. But lets face it, I feel cooler reading it in public. It is a series of letters. Which reminds me.

The other day I found a book that is just a collection of break up letters. One of the letters just read 'je te quitte'. Translated literally it pretty much means I quit you. But I think it's supposed to mean I'm leaving you. Quitter = to leave. But it looks too much like quit. I'm rambling.


Anna and I bought french gossip magazines at the train station today. Annas magazine had FOUR pages devoted to nipple slips. Mena Suvari has the largest nipples of any celebrity by far.

I sun burnt my boobs.

And.

Eurpope really needs to fall out of love with mgmt.

I met a spanish woman in Marseille and we listened to Bob Dylan and Joan Baez together. She had never heard of Sam Cooke. I'm a missionary for soul music. Spreading the good word.

Cannes.

The last two days have been kind of bizarre.
I've never been one to gawk at extreme wealth, but I have to say. It's been interesting.

I saw celebrities in Cannes. Lots. They look older in person. I wish I had more to offer.

Bleu.

I hiked through the mountains in Marseille and went swimming off cliffs in the ocean. I also got another sun burn. Fucking never learn.

Italy tomorrow.

Nice.

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South.

So.
This hostel I stayed at in Marseille was beyond words. It was so fucking confusing.
There was no reception. So when Anna and I checked in we just talked to this guy sitting on a couch in what seemed like his living room. He was smoking Marlboro reds inside, and didn't stop the entire time we were there.

He also have us tips on how to make 'space cake'
Walked us through the finer points of Philippino love making
AND AND AND
Invited us to a fucking BBQ rave. He was insistent we go. It started at noon somewhere near the alps and ended at one in the morning.

I don't know. This hostel was such a mind fuck. There were secret rooms. Common areas in the garageloudsexatnighttwopeopletoabedmojitopartythelastnightweweretherekissesonthelips. The list goes on.

Hey.

I'm in Marseille and I've made several observations.

The main one being...if Paris is 'the city of lights' then Marseille should be 'dirty little secret'.

Later.

Today is my last full day in Nantes.

I'm bouncing out tomorrow at noon.

Ete 2009.

This summer I plan to listen to 'Dominique' on repeat, and drink nothing but pastis. I've really adopted the lifestyle. And by that I mean, I've finally acquired a serious fondness for taste for pastis.

I also want to be a gypsy. I need a persian rug I to live on. No bed, just some sea shells old candles. And a bunch of silk scarves to sleep under. I don't know why that constitutes being a gypsy. It just does. This sounds like it would be fun for like two days. Maybe three if I made some money off selling home made ashtrays or friendship bracelets.

Les barbares.

Dear University of Nantes,

I have a bone to pick with you. For my last final I had to analyze and give an oral presentation on an article about the history/birth of the words 'savage' and 'barbarian'. Why they play a huge role in how we define society today, but how they also really mean nothing to modern society. How everything is about structure? And how these words have simple, but impossible definitions. Lets not forget the part about the negative connotations these words carry.

After a quarter of singing fucking Quebecois songs and talking about the meaning of love. You throw that fucking curve ball at me? Really? And you only gave me 30 minutes. You are such a cold hearted bitch.

bisous.
Caitlin.

Shades.

I saw a guy who had lavender lenses in his Ray Bans recently.

I could be down with that. It looked cool.

Yes.

Don't you love buying something solely based on the packaging, and then finding out it's a legitimately good product?

Construction.

I can't get any of my friends to go fucking dumpster diving. But they don't mind breaking in to constructions sites. I was having fun until I ate fucking shit. Well, even after it was a damn good time.

I kind of like it. I hope it scars.

Whoot whoot.

Alice/Quote.

"Caitlin, Why do you have Alice Delall written on your desk."

"I need a daily reminder of what I'm up against."

Samedi.

It is my last Saturday night in Nantes.

I'm going to go out with style.

Jesus.
I can't believe this is almost over.
Seriously. Fuck.

A few things.

My time in France is coming to a close. I am freaking out. In three weeks I won't be here anymore. I have planted roots in this city. Fucking roots.

I sent an email to a friend a while ago and I told her how strange it was. One day I was walking around and it hit me. I was totally acclimated.

I thought for a long time about all of the things I've become kind of immune to, things that are different. I guess it's not fair to say 'different' because that kind of carries a negative connotation. Here are a few...



The smoking thing is exactly what you imagine. I bet 75% of people in their 20s have a pack if cigarettes with them right now.

NO TIPPING IN RESTAURANTS OR BARS. This took a while for me to get used to. But they kind of consider it an insult? Plus, there is an extra tax in restaurants just for gratuity.

Magazine culture is huge. Everyone loves magazines. Yesterday i saw italian BABY vogue (Vogue Bambino) in a presse. And by the way, presses are like 711. Not high brow.

Drinking/eating outside. Almost every restaurant/bar you come across has an indoor or outdoor seating option.

Kronnenberg is the bud light of France. This shit is like 5 euros for a 12 pack. It will be hard to drink it without laughing when I get home.

The women are so thin. There really isn't much more to add. They're like twigs.

Discotheques. Guiltiest pleasure. There is something amazing about dancing to the soundtrack to Grease all night, and watching the sun rise on the way home.

Malls exist, and are crazy popular. I had to go to an ikea (yeah. i know) in a mall that had a huuuuuuuge fountain with palm trees in the center.

That's all for now. More later.

I almost forgot.

When I first got here I had to have tons of medical exams. Well, four.

They wanted to make sure I didn't come all the way to France to leech off the health care (which by the way isn't all it's cracked up to be, Michael Moore).

I had to have an X-ray to make sure I didn't have tuberculosis. When the doctor was done with it she let me keep it.

Far and away my coolest souvenir.

Vogue Collections.

Ok.

I made the most amazing discovery today. But it was kind of a backwards discovery. Like the first time I listened to the kinks. I loved them, but felt like an idiot for not knowing about them before.

Vogue Collections.

This fucking shit melted me in to a puddle on the floor of a presse this afternoon. Fuck. I can't even begin. There are no words. I'm really not even sure I can properly describe it. I will try.

Ok.

Each page is contains a detailed photograph of every individual piece from different collections/designers. Each page is a different designer/collection. However, the magazine is organized in to different fashion weeks. The photos are really detailed. Alright. And they only issue two per year. Autumn/Winter and Spring/Summer. It was like taking garance, jack and jill, style bubble, and fashionologie and putting them in a glossy book.

It was 20 euros. It will be the last thing I buy before I get on the plane in Paris.

p.s.
Am I the only one who isn't gaga for those Nini Ricci shoes? They remind me of the film adaptation of 'the grinch' with Jim Carey.

Concert.

Ghostface killah is playing a show in the city next week. Five hours after I leave for good.

Thanks, Nantes.

Fuck.

I found the french equivalent to tofu cream cheese.

It's good. Really fucking good.

It took me 8 months, but I finally found earthy hippie food.

I almost forgot.

I like rosaries, but I'm not really comfortable wearing them.

But I did get a necklace with a saint on it.

Saint Michel.

Threads.

I took a 2 hour final this morning and in a little bit I will leave for my trois heures cet après-midi. I am stuck in this strange world between français et anglais.

J'ai lu un artcle énorme sur la traduction de la littérature, et la ce qui est perdu et gagné par la traduction des textes dans d'autres langues.

Yeah.

No more french for a while.

I have been preoccupied with clothing lately. Like more than usual.

Looking at pictures from the met costume institute gala since I got home from my test. Fucking Amber Rose.

Also, I think I saw Zaras interpretation of those Ann Demeulemeester ss/09 lace-ups. It was part of their new ad campaign. I shouldn't even be thinking about the interpretation. I really want the real thing. Just forget about them all together. But Jesus. I haven't seen them in person yet. France doesn't have Barny's. Damn. Those Ds are my dream shoes. Gawd.

I read this and I'm not sure how I feel about it. Might be one of those cases where it's just better to get your hands on the real thing? I've been disappointed with collaborations in recent history.

**edit
I was NOT disappointed with Opening Ceremony for Uniqlo. I'm just not a boy.

peace.

p.s.
I made it across the finish line. Went all the way from red to bronze.

p.s.s.
I hate that I was forced in to getting a facebook. I hate it. I hate facebook. When did facebook take over the world? Why can't people just give me their addresses? And, how is Steve Aoki still a working DJ? Does anyone still care about that?

I almost forgot.

My favorite phrase in french.

I miss you = Tu me manques.

I like it because when translated literally it means 'you are missing from me' or 'you lack me'.

Ecole.

Have I mentioned what a joke school is here?

I have finals starting tomorrow, and none of my professors did reviews or gave me any information as to what will be on our exams. I just know I have to write an essay, listen to a radio show and talk for an indeterminate amount of time.

Today one of my friends told me that French students have a reputation for being lazy. I was initally offended before I remembered that I am an American student.

p.s.
I forgot to mention that I am constantly asked to specify when I say American "North or South."

I guess it really isn't that obvious. Racial ambuiguty can be fun sometimes. Only sometimes.

Shit. That reminded me of the time I kind-of-not-so-accidentally went to a Brazilian samba club in Ireland. Yeah. Let that soak in.

Thing I love vs. Thing I hate

Thing I love: Television.

Or maybe I should say lack thereof. I have figured how to watch movies online, and there's always UBU. But I feel better without it.

Thing I hate: Coffee/Cafe.

Coffee here is shit. I hate it. They over extract their shots. They're ALWAYS too hot. The quality is just horrible. But no one really seems to care. I tried to convince people for ages that they do coffee wrong here. But I realized that they just do it 'french'.

Tuberose.

I have spent the better part of this evening researching perfume factories in Provence.

I am going to find that scent if it kills me.

Phone.

I'm going to be excited when I don't have to deal with phone cards anymore. 30 minutes went too fucking fast.

Also. Mrs. Knowles is playing a show in Paris day after tomorrow and I want to go. I have a final that day, and the day after. But you never know. There is still time.

Did she take Z as her last name? Is a hyphen in order?

Thing I love vs. Thing I hate

Thing I love: Secrets.

This might be hard to explain. But I guess in the end the only person who really needs to know what I'm talking about is me. Alright. There are no front yards here. That is a lie. Yards exist. But the vast majority of houses in Nantes, and in most cities are not single family houses. I am talking about areas in the more dense part of the city. There are single family houses near my dorm, but we're not near any hustle. More near downtown the houses start to disappear and apartments are more commonplace. BUT. They aren't all apartments. It's a secret kind of. Some of the places that look like apartments are actually houses. And some of these houses have amazing gardens. Sometimes when you walk past their windows you can see clear through the back. I've seen a few. I've also been in one such house. Anyway. The reason I like it is because from the street there isn't much difference between a particular house and the one next to it. It's almost the opposite of the way houses are presented in Seattle. We really build up the exterior so when you go in to a house you totally know what you're in for. Even before you walk through the front door.

Let me add...I can say that for 80% of houses I see here my rule of 'secrets' is true. There are exceptions to this rule. Exceptions include the hierarchy of window boxes and door knockers.

Thing I hate: Sunscreen.

A bottle of sunscreen is 14 fucking euros. That is like $20. Sun protection isn't cheap. And with that said. Here is a picture of my burn. I am an irresponsible girl who is not immune to UV rays. It looks worse in real life.

I wish I were a little bit taller.

I wonder what they were thinking when they named her Chanel Iman?
I mean seriously, is the joke on me or them?


I wish I was a baller.

It was an amazing two days. I can't really think of anything more to say. Everything I saw was so fucking beautiful.

I almost forgot.

This picture was taken right after I ate cooked salmon for the first time.
I've become quite adventurous.

Sheer.

Underwear as outerwear. I'm going to see how Nantes feels about this tonight.

Beach.

I spent a large portion of the day beachside on a little island south of Nantes.

I have the most hilarious sun burn. I am almost unrecognizable. Seriously. And this shit hurts. It hurts so much that I justified buying pressurized mineral water to spray on my burns every few minutes. La crise? Quelle crise? I can already feel the rude awakening I'm in for when I get home.