Palace of Versailles

Making Movies
A professor once asked me why I like movies. Taken aback by the question, I responded blankly, “movies are my favorite form of entertainment.” I couldn’t comprehend how someone wouldn’t feel the same.

However, if I had the chance to elaborate, I would have explained that what I appreciate about film is the combination of striking visuals and music, which is why Sofia Coppola’s “Marie Antoinette” is one of my favorite movies.

Anticipation
Her film is also one of the reasons Versailles was the destination I was most excited for. Not only did Coppola have unprecedented access to Versailles, she paired her highly stylized, sympathetic take on Marie Antoinette with a new wave soundtrack.

Listening to The Strokes’ “What Ever Happened?” and New Order’s “Ceremony” as the tour bus drove to Versailles, my anticipation continued to build. I couldn’t wait to walk on the same ground that both Marie Antoinette and Sofia Coppola graced with their direction - one of a country, the other of a movie.

Marie-Antoinette Sweet Lolita
As we passed through the palace rooms, I imagined what it would be like to live in such a grand structure and have the grand responsibilities that Marie Antoinette had at the young age of 14.

Walking outside, I looked ahead to the gardens, which were stunning even though the flowers are not in bloom. The gardens were both visually pleasing and eerie for that reason. It made me think of the hauntingly beautiful graphic novel, Marie-Antoinette Sweet Lolita I bought from the gift shop. Meanwhile, the passersby reminded me that I would need to learn French in order to fully enjoy the souvenir.

Père Lachaise Cemetery

When You’re Strange

Family is important to Europeans. The same can be said for many Americans. However, I tend to take my family for granted.

I’m independent and my family has come to accept that. When other students on the trip mention being homesick, I think I can relate. Then they mention that they miss their parents or siblings and I realize that although I care for my family, what I am homesick for is the solitude of my apartment in Chicago.

A Twist In My Story

For a long time, I’ve contemplated continuing my life as solo act. I never considered having children, and I questioned whether or not I’m the “marrying type.” Then I went to the Père Lachaise Cemetery and my outlook changed a bit.

Home to the likes of Oscar Wilde and Jim Morrison, the cemetery is tantamount to a village, occupying 118.6 acres. The cobblestone streets and elaborate grave sites resemble illustrations from the macabre mind of Edward Gorey. It’s lovely.

Hand In Hand We’ll Stroll Again

What’s more lovely though is the dedication these families have to their deceased. Seeing generations of families buried together reminds me of my grandparents.

Alex and Annabelle O’Kash are buried together in my hometown of Lake Nebagamon, Wis., and their gravestones read, “Hand in hand we’ll stroll again.” I can only imagine that they’re still madly in love and enjoyed celebrating their 67th anniversary on Jan. 11, 2010.

Married With Children

Being at the cemetery also reminded me of the importance of family. I realized how simple gestures like leaving a flower at a loved one’s grave site conveys the tradition and love of a family. It made me realize how over the years I’ve considered my grandparents a stellar example of unconditional love and how visiting their grave site leaves me feeling content.

Most importantly, Père Lachaise Cemetery made me seriously consider having a family of my own to carry on the traditions of my parents and siblings and start new traditions with a husband and children.

Photos by Erin Edwards ... watch out, Ansel Adams!

I Love the Eiffel Tower, but Just as a Friend

Perhaps I was jetlagged or perhaps simply jaded, but for the first day or two in Paris, it just didn’t feel like Paris. Don’t get me wrong, everything I saw was jaw-dropping but I hadn’t gotten that “little kid on Christmas morning” feeling yet.

That is, until I saw the Eiffel Tower.

While walking to a nearby meeting, my group and I decided to cut through a park. We turned the corner and BOOM—there she was in all her glory. I was finally in Paris.
I started towards it with a strange combination of running and skipping while continuously looking back at the rest of my group to see if they shared my excitement.

Much to my chagrin, everyone else was acting like they had seen it hundreds of times. I kept shouting various things like, “Is anyone else seeing this!?” “Why aren’t you excited?!” and “Oh my God, I’m so excited!”

It’s hard to imagine iron looking soft and elegant but it was more gorgeous than I could ever have imagined it would be. It still looked beautiful in the gloomy rain with water dripping onto the tourists below. No picture I have ever seen of the tower comes close to doing it justice.

I took some painstaking pictures which I plan on cherishing forever.
As I fell in love with it, my mind wandered to an episode of the Tyra Banks show I had recently seen. What? Tyra Banks? What does Tyra Banks have to do with the Eiffel Tower? Not quite as much as Erika Eiffel does.

Remember when you were in grade school and if you said you liked something, the usual response from your friends was, “Well if you like it so much, why don’t you marry it?” And that’s exactly with Erika Eiffel did.

Erika Eiffel, formerly LaBrie, married the Eiffel Tower in 2007. Erika suffers from a unique disorder called objectum sexuality; an affliction which causes her to feel an emotional and physical love for inanimate objects. Since then, she’s been the subject of dozens of documentaries and news stories and has become an ambassador for objectophiles all over the world.

Here’s a clip from her appearance on the Tyra Show: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0uKPe7WtH8A

And here's an interview with Erika from the official OS website: http://www.objectum-sexuality.org/faq-erika-eiffel.pdf

Notre Dame & Taxi Stands

Growing up seeing images of Notre Dame plastered on the walls of my Catholic grade school convinced me of its grace and grandeur. It was the church to visit (besides St. Peter’s in Rome) for the majesty of the Catholic Church to hit you like a 2 x 4.

Even though when I arrived at Notre Dame I had been awake for almost 24 hours and had just gotten off a sleepless, eight and a half hour trans-Atlantic flight, the sight of the church across the Seine invigorated me.

As our group entered the church, I was careful to stay close to our tour guide to avoid getting lost among the hundreds of ‘Oohers and ‘Aahers’ (the real getting lost part comes later.) We toured the church in record time, much to my disappointment, and my pictures ended up painfully blurry. Then we were released for a little free time. I grabbed a group of my friends and immediately ran back inside to try to soak in as much of Notre Dame as I could.

From the sweeping arches to the towering stained glass windows, it was just as I remembered seeing it as a girl. I took as many pictures as I could and left feeling elated.

We exited the church to meet up with the rest of the group only to find the group was nowhere in sight. A few minutes later, we found out the group had left. On the bus. After a few moments of panic (mostly my panic) we pulled ourselves together and resolved to take a taxi back to the hotel. We marched to the street corner and confidently stuck our arms in the air and watched taxi after taxi zoom past us. It turns out, that’s not how you get a taxi in Paris. Go figure.

Long story short, Google saved the day. So, for future reference, here’s how to get a taxi in Paris in three easy steps:

Step 1: Find a taxi stand. They’re located near busy intersections and major monuments. Don’t stand on the curb waving your arms like a crazy person; no one will pick you up.
Step 2: Tell the driver where you’re going, preferably in French. If you can’t, just point to a spot on a map or show them an address.
Step 3: Arrive at your destination, pay the driver and bask in the satisfaction of surviving a French taxi ride. Don’t forget to tip!

Delectable Paris.

We've all seen pictures of the Eiffel Tower and for me, I've always thought it was a beautiful structure I would never see other than in pictures. Then, there I was. Standing and staring up the most beautiful structure ever. Paris was more than I had ever imagined it to be and It slowly became a reality as I watching Erin's expression. Erin couldn't constrain herself as a smile spread wildly across her face, "Am I the only one freaking out about this?" and though I wasn't jumping up and down, it finally hit. I'm in Paris.

The Paris that knows how to enjoy a meal, the kind where you order wine with every meal to enhance the taste and find yourself lost in conversation with some of your closest and maybe newest friends. Paris is perfect. Perfect for people watching. Perfect place to catch the best deals that only come once a year. Perfect place to see the most beautiful artwork in the world. Perfect place to make new friends. Perfect place to learn a new language.

It's a completely different lifestyle then the one back home, where we are in a constant motion. The motion in Paris is the kind where you take your time enjoying that perfectly flaky croissant with only the most perfect amount of chocolate. The taste still lingers in my mouth thinking about it.

That's Paris, and I'm loving it.

11

Our last night in Paris could not have past any better. The whole group bonded. It was a uncommonly remarkable moment. We owe it all to our little entertainer, he really got the party going. Listening to him play the guitar to songs we all know really set up the vibe for the night. It’s crazy that a group of people who barely knew each other in Chicago have made so many memories together in Europe. I have tons of videos singing and laughing at one another, some of us are defiantly tone deaf haha.

Even though I was sad we were leaving, it was my favorite day spent in Paris. I got to explore the streets of alone which made it more of a soul searching expeirence. I made some friends, I got lost (haha) and I saw some pretty random things. Like a guy in front of the Louvre who was blowing bubbles with these giant strings...so random but cool.

What made the last day so impressive was my solo trip to the Fashion History Museum. It’s a hidden museum inside of the Louvre. IT WAS STUNNING. Some people look at Venus De Milo and tears of passion and love roll down their faces, but when I see a marvelously crafted couture gown, I can’t help it, tears swell up. So I guess it was a good thing I was alone because I was basically blown away by everything.

It was a swamp of designers. You look left and you see Dior, right Gautiller, straight Alexander McQueen and then turn around there’s Balenciaga!! I almost passed out.

When you see renowned clothing with your own eyes it’s completely shocking from when you see it in a magazine or on TV. Everything instantly becomes more real and you start thinking about all the work individuals put into crafting. Hours and hours of drawing, measuring, choosing colors, sewing...thank god I only have to write about it.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I truly admire the creative people in the world. Which brings me to my other favorite moment of the trip. When a small group of our group went to the fashion brand 11 Colors and talked to the director of menswear Golnaz Adham Khazei. She was awesome. Everything about her was unique. It would be hard to find a designer like her in Chicago. I’m going to write my feature story on her because her journey into the fashion world and where she is now is quite astounding. I’ll give you a little sneak peak: She started out at one of Europe’s top house designers and interned with him for 1 year and left that job (which millions of girls would have killed for) and got offered a position created just for her at the clothing line she is at now, 11.

How impressive is that?! They literally created a position just for her. Well I could talk about fashion for hours so I’ll leave it rest until my feature story :) Stayyyyy tuned!!

Lost and Found in Translation

A non-French speaker in Paris is like a fish out of water that can order a crepe but will get the death stare while doing it.

Tu comprends?

That’s why, when I heard there would be a translator going with us to the market on Sunday, I jumped at the opportunity to get some good investigative work done. Coralie, our translator, transcends the limits of being, not only a Parisian, but a kind and thoughtful human being as well.

La crème de la crème.

Anyway, she accompanied us to the flea market at Porte de la Chapelle, the northernmost stop on the 12 metro line in Paris; not necessarily the most glamorous market, but one that would end up yielding a story with depth and humanity.

“Out of the flea market,” you say?

Mais bien sur.

However, in the process of attempting to dig up a story, I discovered what most journalists trying to do their job probably discover at one point or another…

It’s just not as easy as you hope it’s going to be.

First of all, I wanted to get some nice b-roll of the market without having to ask every single vendor if

1. they spoke English
2. it would be okay if I, a student from the United States, filmed their goods
3. it was okay that I was using the film for some larger purpose

So, I took the short cut and filmed whatever I wanted without consent. This resulted in vendors telling me not to film after I had already gotten the film I wanted and, in one instance, an artist almost physically accosting me after I had shot some of his art without his consent.

Is this appropriate? Is this the way it should be done?

I’m not sure. I think that’s the whole point. There is all this gray that we, as journalists, must constantly navigate. I didn’t feel completely comfortable shooting that artist’s work without asking him, but there is another part of me that is trained to think, “Shoot first; ask questions later.” And still another part of me that knew I had no intention of stealing his work; but rather which wanted to make art out of his art-to give his art more exposure than perhaps it would have ever received without my filming it.

This sounds presumptuous. It is presumptuous. At the same time, I don’t really know any other behavior.

Without trying to be too romantic, I think this is the American way. A shared experience-An artist who recognizes another artist. Uncertainty, exploitation. Trying hard to be better than you are. To be better than we all are as human beings.

Whether French or otherwise.