Am I really here? Or is this a bizarre dream?

One thing about my trip here is that it doesn’t fit the picturesque expectations one has after watching countless romantic movies set in these old cities that are portrayed magically like what they were like 100 years ago during the golden years. I was rather excited to go to the Champagne region. I daydreamed of acres of vineyards, a sunny barrel-filled tasting room with a charming older guide with a lovely accent, large caverns of yummy smelling concoctions, and sitting around tasting various flavors as we look upon all the countryside. I got something quite different than this dream. We went to the Champagne region on a Sunday. We went through a whole ordeal debating whether or not we should go because the train tickets were very spendy, and finally decided to go – Me, Amy, Elizabeth, Hilary, Laurel, and her sister Molly, who was visiting. We got there only to find out that the tour we looked into was closed on Sundays. So a cab driver took us to the Madame Pommery champagnery (?), the woman to actually invent champagne, and the only tour open on Sundays. When we got there, we found out that the next available tour in English was at 4, so we decided to do the 2:30 tour. We had some time to kill so we went into the town. Nothing was open of course because all of Europe is a ghost town on Sundays so we did the only thing there is to do on Sundays – go to the local massive church. I’ve seen so many churches, but I really like them here because it makes me feel like I’m a little girl in Catholic school again. The churches are three times as big so I feel three times as small. Instead of feeling reflective and respectful, I get the mischievous feeling everytime I enter a big beautiful church. It’s kind of that “giggle during mass” feeling – it’s the one place where you know you can’t be naughty but you REAlly really want to. And all catholic churches kind of feel like home to me since I spent so much time around them. It’s weird being comfortable and respectful of a place at the same time. It’s fun, I think I’ll send my kids to catholic school just so that they can fully revel in that feeling, too.

Speaking of children, I have a tangent… as we were on our way back from the Elie Saab show I was thinking of the name “Coco” since I saw Coco Rocha, and recently I’ve been really in love with the name Coco Rose if I were to ever have a little girl (Ally will make scornful fun of me for this to my dying day). Then I got to thinking about the name I’ve always had in mind for a boy, Toby Orion, and I was thinking what kind of kid he would be and I flashed to him getting married and I got a little choked up. At which point I realized that a) I really am too much of a Fulton and b) I was an overworked delusional busy bee from doing so many shows during fashion week. I don’t even know whether I want to get married myself. (Even so, if any of you cousins steal those names, I know where you live).

Anyway… so we went back for our tour. The French speaking tour guide led us through what looked like purple versions of the doors into the Emerald City and thus began our darkside of willie wonka champagne tour. We went down 122 slippery weathered steps to the cellar, and into a room that had a walkway down the middle and on either side there were amps and electric guitars and hundreds of chickadee like birds that chirped like squeaky toys. They’d land on the guitar strings and take off and it would make noises. I had no idea what was going on. And we couldn’t understand the tour guide because he was speaking French like an auctioneer. After that, we went through a series of rooms that were a cross between batman’s layer, the bottom of a well, and the caves the goonies go through. They were these rounded cave like rooms that were taller than cathedrals and the only light that was emitted into the place were what looked like a single manhole at the tip top of the room. It was so dark, and each “cave room” had some bizarre artwork. There were creepy videos and mirrored hallways, an old ship that was covered in glitter, a rickety staircase that led up to a creepy shack house that was lodged in the middle of the wall, a projection of an alien jesus, and room after room of bizarre things where we just kind of had to give each other looks just to make sure we didn’t slip into a nightmare. The only thing that had to do with champagne were rows and rows of black bottles coated with a few mm of dust that lined the “halls” between the caves. Occasionally the tour guide would pick one up and hold it up to the light as he was speaking a mile a minute. I can tell you one thing: I was more than ready to have a few glasses of champagne by the time that tour was over. It was an experience. We went back to the more comfortable ambience of the tasting room (although not rustic – it was like a trendy club) and each had two/three glasses before buzzily giggling our way back to Paris. Madame Pommery must have been a very cookoo lady.

I went to the Erotica museum on the (I’m going to call it) sex block of Montmartre. I invited my friend Sebastian as I was on my way and didn’t really consider that it might be awkward. It was fine, though. I saw a real chastity belt and statue after statue of very interesting positions with characters with the funniest expressions on their faces. Each ancient culture had very distinctive faces that they’d put on their figures that were doing the deed. I want to go back to that area to get souvenirs for my immature friends and my dad J.

For St. Patty’s Day we went to an Irish Pub. The waitress gave us a free shot of whiskey and various cheesy irish freebies. I got a free clip-on skinny green satin tie. Me and a couple other girls found a hookah bar as we were on our way home, and I had to go down some weathered slippery steps again into the basement and I fell HARD on my butt, down a couple steps, and the people all looked at me like I was some vile creature as I was the only one laughing. They didn’t even crack a smile or say “Are you ok?” in French. My middle name of “Grace” is a curse. I still have a bruise about the size of a baseball on my left cheek. I couldn’t sleep on that side for a couple nights.

Amy and I had an excursion to Milan and Bellagio on lake Como. We found a free place to stay through couchsurfing.com. Our host said that he loves dancing and he could teach us some latin moves before going out to some good clubs, but when we got there he didn’t seem interested at all the first couple nights, and the last night he decided at 12:30 he wanted to go but we were too pooped. He also said he had towels for us, and we took his word, only to find out that they were still wet from whenever he used them himself. Bleh. And like most Italian showers, there was no curtain. I showered once out of the three days and tried to dry myself with toilet paper. I have a picture to show how greasified I was.

Milan is the place to shop, so that’s what we did. The next day we decided in order to avoid more shopping we’d go have a scenic day trip on lake Como. We went to the actual Bellagio via a ferryboat and I can see why it’s the source of inspiration for a place of hospitality. It was my unexpected rustic picturesque experience. The town is so beautiful. There’s nowhere to drive a car, really, it’s all just foot traffic down cobblestone roads that are a few meters wide. I wish I had about three days there because we just got a little taste and I would’ve loved to get lost in the town and discover hidden treasures. We had a gelato on the lake (pistachio is hands down my favorite flavor), and went back to the train station by bus. It was this huge almost double decker bus, and he went about 50 mph through these winding steep mountainous roads. It was kind of like a rollercoaster. We’d whip through these beautiful mountainous towns as the bus driver is perpetually honking his horn around corners because the road hardly fit the bus itself, any oncoming cars would be a disaster. The towns we passed in the flurry were perched on carved out sides of mountains overlooking the lake. It kind of reminded me of the elf towns in Lord of the Rings. They were so quiet and sweet, and each town had a bridge over a nearly bottomless pit valley. We were doing all this during sunset, so it was quite the site to see.

The ultimate souvenir I want for myself is the sheet music for the accordion in the amelie soundtrack. They don’t have it in the states, the closest thing they have is piano, and that’s no help because the base is half of playing the accordion. I know the composer, so I’ve been looking in music shops for it. No luck so far, but it has revealed some really cute parts of town. I’m excited for the two week break when my parents come so that I can actually spend more time really seeing Paris. I hate that we have class til 5, and usually we’re not even doing anything in class. I’m actually writing this blog in class because I am not doing anything else. And it’s only 10 am. 7 more hours of nothing when I could be out on the city. It’s ridiculous. We have to be in class for the allotted time, it’s not like in the states where when you get your work done in lab class you can go. I feel like I’m in grade school. Oh well, not everything can be perfect.

I’m having a really hard time finding souvenirs for people. Anything specific that anybody wants from Pareee?

I did skip class the other day to go see the Eiffel tower during the day time. It was windy and cold, but I still sat and soaked it in as I sketched for one of my classes. The Eiffel Tower is an incredible place to go if you have kids. They have about 5 different very unique fun playgrounds. One of them had a pedal car race track, and another had a carousel with suspended swing type horses, and you could crank it so it’d spin around and you’d get a little height on the horses from the momentum. Paris is all about carousels. Every square seems to have them. There are a lot of stereotypical things about the city. One weekend I awoke to carnival music, and when we were walking to go out somewhere we were eager to see where it was coming from, we turned a corner expecting a full carnival but alas it was coming from a guy who was pushing a cart that he cranked and it would boom this music. It was so loud that we thought it was a whole production, so it was funny that it came from something the size of a bicycle. A lot of the time I feel like I’m dreaming because things don’t seem real. On our way to the airport for Milan we saw a guy walking two ponies and a donkey down the street like they were dogs. Man, I have no idea how I’m going to survive back in Corvallis after leaving my dream town.

Favorite meal purchased thus far: A salad with a sweet balsamic vinaigrette type sauce with sautéed potatoes, a baguette, and (ready for this?) a honey roasted block of camembert cheese. It was a combo of all sorts of flavors and textures. We went into the restaurant right before a rain/hail storm hit, and it cleared up just in time for our check so we could go out for a crisp sunny walk.

Today I had to go buy some fabric and the best place to do so is Montmartre, where Amelie takes place. I kind of felt like her today. You know how she'd dip her hands in bags of beans and such for a small pleasure? I realize I've been doing the same with fabric. I find myself just spacing out in these warehouse size stores just petting some $50/m buttery cloth that I could never afford. It's so nice.

I think that’s all my adventures since last time. Hope all is well on the homefront and love and miss you all.