San Francisco!

Look another post within mere days of the previous one! I must really be bored now that no one’s around anymore.

I actually decided to write because the girl who I’m renting the room from just came over to see the apartment and say thank you and good luck. She just got back this morning from studying abroad herself. It was so weird to see her again, I associate her with my arrival (which you all know was a bit traumatizing) but when she came back I realized that it’s bee more than four months since I got here! It was like everything’s come full circle and it really hit me that I’m leaving.

In the spirit of m’en profiter of my last days in Paris (sorry, I really can’t think of the right English phrase to reflect what I mean) I have been walking a lot and trying to see some things I have put off.

This morning, for example, I went to Pere Lachaise cemetery and saw Jim Morrison’s grave. First of all, the cemetery is huge and very eerie. You walk on these winding cobble stoned paths among above-ground graves and shrines. Even though there are many people there to see the scores of famous people buried in the cemetery, you are bound to find yourself alone a few times. These times are really kind of odd.

Yesterday I meant to go to the Musee d’Orsay because it was the first Sunday of the month (aka, it was free), but when I showed up the line was so long it would have taken me the same amount of time I’d budgeted to spend there as a whole just to get in. So, I set off to find some lunch and coffee and read until I went to work, where I had a great day.

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this, but I’ve learned Web production and have been in charge of the sports site on Sundays for the last few weeks. Those who know me are probably wondering why in the world they would trust me with the two things in the world I probably know the least about: sports and technology. However, I have actually really enjoyed it and I find that I understand a lot more about web production, if not so much sports. I also had a very awesome phone conversation with the person who’s been working with the situation in Serbia recently. (Sorry I’m being so vague, I think most of you know what I mean though). Anyway, when I come back, ask me to tell you about this person and about work in general really, there are so many stories to tell, just not on the internet.

Otherwise, I’ve been spending a lot of time in the library, the glorious library. Recently I’ve been burying my nose in some good books about the development of public opinion and the changing political culture leading up to the French Revolution. Yes, I am a huge geek, but I find it so fascinating. There’s so much I want to read in the library before I leave, but I’m afraid it just won’t be possible to get to it all.

Like I’ve already said, I’m going to be sad to leave. But I feel like the time has come to go home. Everything is closed down for August vacation and there are few Parisians even left here among the tourists. After tomorrow, I won’t see my roommate anymore since she’s leaving for her vacation and not returning until after I’ve gone. In short, there’s not much left for me here at this juncture.

Now it’s just a matter of getting ready for re-entry, so to speak. Another huge trip with massive bags, closing bank accounts, exchanging keys, converting currency (not that I’ll have anything left to convert), setting up a new room, getting used to a new schedule. The only difference between coming here and going home will be the return to speaking English and the welcome of friendly faces. Yes, my adventure is nearing an end.

To prepare for my return to San Francisco, I have been reading “On the Road,” which makes me feel like going west is the perfect thing to do. The way Jack Kerouac writes about it, San Francisco may as well be an adventure in itself, even though I’m returning rather than visiting. Last night, I couldn’t get to sleep and I was thinking about how much I love seeing the Golden Gate bridge on my way to class, how much I love joking around before the budget meeting in the office, walking home from the library late at night, or standing in the student section for football games, the Campinile poking up in the background. It will be nice to get back.

The other night when I was leaving the metro, a woman asked me if I had a cigarette. When I told her no, she ventured that I was not a smoker. I confirmed that I was not and suddenly she said: “You’re not French are you?” I said no, that I was American.

“America! Where are you from?” I told her I was from Oregon, but went to school in California. Of course her first question was isn’t Miami in California (second person I’ve met who thinks this). Anyway, once I said no, she remembered that San Francisco was in California. I told her that this was where I was returning in a few weeks.

“San Francisco! That’s my dream! I want to go to America and eat hamburgers and drink coca, you know? Wow, San Francisco, I don’t believe it!”

I guess I am pretty lucky.