kickin' it with the deceased

It got really cold really quickly here these last few days. Not only cold, but smattered with rainstorms that come out of nowhere and make your hair frizzy. The horror! We've managed to carry on despite the weather.

Today, Chloe and I decided to go to Père Lachaise cemetery, where all kinds of famous people are buried and a whole lot more notsofamous people are ingraciously stepped over to get to the famous people's graves. I can't decide whether I'd like to be buried there or not. On the one hand, I'd get to hang out with people like Apollinaire, Molière, Edith Piaf, Modigliani, and Chopin for the rest of time. On the other, I would probably get squashed in some corner (the cemetery is huge and PACKED. I cant believe they even try fitting more people in there) and forgotten about. Chloe and I were also wondering how one gets to be buried there. Maybe there's a waiting list, like getting married at MemChu. Perhaps I can be cremated and some of my remains can be scattered around Père Lachaise? In any case, I hope I don't have to worry about that for a long, long, long time.

Cemetery kind of day, don't you think?


Rockin' out with Jim Morrison:


Kisses to Oscar Wilde:


The Preeminent Proust Scholar in the Nation:


Bing Trip to Carcassonne this weekend! Get ready for the life of luxury...

write a novel / just to save the world

After reading Life of Pi, the stuffed fox in my room has taken on somewhat of a new character - he's a lot friendlier looking, especially in comparison to the 450-pound tiger lurking in my imagination. Devouring a book will do that to you. I started it Sunday and finished it this evening - haven't done that in forever. It felt awesome. It's amazing how school can ruin reading, even reading for pleasure. I bought Life of Pi at a used bookstore called San Francisco Books, then bought Lonesome Dove at Berkeley Books across the street (my next read - the bookstore owner laughed a lot when I bought it, and I assume my parents will too. I guess they turned the book into a cheesy Western TV series? I don't care as long as it's exciting). For future reference, I recommend Berkeley Books, right next to the Odéon metro stop on rue Monsieur le Prince - it's better organized and the owner is really chill. He's actually from Berkeley, if that's any illumination.

This evening I had a first round interview for an internship at the Gap that I'm dying to get, and as a result, I wasted away the entire day either trying to prepare for the interview (obsessing over questions like, what is my greatest weakness? where do I see myself in 10 years? do I have any questions for them? aaugh) or coming up with ways not to think about the interview (i.e., reading Life of Pi and trying to find cheap travel to various destinations around Europe. Sara wants to go to Amsterdam.) The interview went really well though - keep your fingers crossed for me.

On the docket for tomorrow: Paris En Couleur exhibit at the Hotel de Ville, or perhaps an nice long cafe visit, with Conan, and in the evening, an alumni meet and greet complete with champagne and a Galette de Roi - a delicious almondy cake only made around this time of year. Thursday I'll be going to the theater with my language partner... should be interesting, to say the least.

the plight of the sunday meal

I found where all the Parisians go on Sundays: Parc Monceau, and they bring their dogs, children, and lovers to keep them company while they "jog." No joke, I saw all of the following during my 3 loops:
- Two women, walking briskly in fur coats around the loop, chain-smoking cigarettes
- Three men stretching along the benches for the entire duration of my run
- A couple in full exercise gear, jogging (or I should probably say galavanting, or frolicking, because their movement was simply too joyous for simple jogging) while holding hands and stopping every once in a while to make out.

Sunday meals are a little harder to come by than every other day because everything closes. I got talked into buying a kilo of strawberries (a kilo=2.2 pounds. yikes) for 5 euros and ate dim sum. You can usually count on the ethnic places to be open. But where do the Parisians eat who don't cook on Sundays? Maybe all of them cook...

Today in my French class we learned a ton of slang words used by young French people. They're really big on inversing words - like our version of abbreviations? For example, musique (music) becomes zikmu, or just zik, and femme (woman) becomes meuf (not exactly derogatory, but not complementary either).

Before I run to get coffee with Sara, one quick side note: there will be no more listening to iPod while walking around Paris. I see French people do it all the time, so I thought I was fitting in, but this may not have been the case.

I'm getting a cold, slowly but surely... bah humbug.

ten day forecast of sunshine

Goodness, these last two days have been absolutely beautiful here, and the ten day forecast only shows one day of rain. One!

Yesterday, after my art history class at the Louvre, I wandered over to the Latin Quarter to meet Sara for falafels and book shopping. Though she ended up ditching me to have lunch with her cute language partner, I still did everything on my to-do list. Remember the post about the best falafels ever? Nix that - these were even better, because for 4.40, you got a pita full of falafel and a full salad bar with which to fill the rest of the pita (olives, carrots, beets, sauces, lettuce, etc). Anyway, it's called Maoz, and it's on Rue de la Huchette.

Next I hung out in Shakespeare and Company bookstore for a couple hours trying to find a book to buy. I'm hungry for a good book - I just finished Paris to the Moon, and my bedtimes feel empty. I want a good book, not necessarily a "classic," but one that I won't get bored of after 100 pages and doesn't require an English professor to explain to me. Anyway, the employees at Shakespeare and Co. were baffled by my demands for a list of some of their favorite books (imagine a small brunette British girl saying, "Well, gosh, I cahn't really pick, you know... I cahn't give you any suggestions unless I know what some of your favourite books ahre...") I ended up getting so overwhelmed that I didn't buy anything. Maybe next time.

Last night we met up to celebrate Maggie's birthday, and ended up drinking cheap wine on the bank of the Seine till we got too cold and tired. Apparently half of the group had been clubbing till 6 AM the night before and (if you can imagine) weren't in top form, but it was still really fun.

For lunch today, we went to the market on Rue Cler in the 7th and (with astonishingly good teamwork that warmed the crevices of my heart) bought bread, cheese, meat, fruit, and veggies and had ourselves a picnic on the lawn outside of the Ecole Militaire, surrounded by lively games of bocce ball and tons of people playing soccer. We then walked about an hour over to the Notre Dame area to get "the best ice cream in the world," according to Paul, called Berthillon's. I have to admit that I think Graeter's is better, but this was pretty good - I got two (tiny) scoops of ice cream, one ginger bread and the other nougat with honey.

Then comes the bad part of my day (it can't be all great, can it?): I decided to walk home, since by this time it was about 5 and I had dinner plans with Natalie and it was such a lovely evening. I guess I underestimated how long it was going to take me, because about an hour later, I was still walking, and by then I was moderately cold and it was getting dark and I didn't feel like walking anymore. About 6 blocks away from home, walking on a fairly busy street with my iPod headphones on, this man walking towards me on the sidewalk swerves in as we cross paths and smacks me in the head and pushes me into the building. I screamed, he glared at me, and we both kept walking. Once I realized that I was not hurt and not in danger, I burst into tears and cried the whole rest of the way home. Overreaction? Certainly, but it was more of a realization that this is a big city and people don't play by the rules - a couple well-placed blows and I could've been knocked cold, purseless, and no one else would have been there. It's the things you know in theory that you don't think ever actually happen, I guess. Anyway, it wasn't a big deal and I'm over it, but I think I'll start taking the metro around dusk next time.

On a lighter note, pictures!

At Don Quichotte:


Picnic and a pretty day:

bisoux to the neighbors

Well let's see. Tuesday night, we saw Don Quichotte contre L'Ange Bleu - a musicomedie starring some really famous lead actress. I don't think I understood most of it because it wasn't very funny, though Natalie assured me that even if I had, I probably wouldn't have thought it was very funny unless I was French. The lead actress looked WAY younger in all the promo ads than she did in real life, and we were all scandalized by how skinny she was.



Today, Chloe left for London, so I've got the whole place to myself! How do you say "rager" in French? No, just kidding. In fact, we got a lovely note from our downstairs neighbors asking us to "PLEASE not make ANY noise after 10:30 because SOME of us have to work in the morning. Thanks!" Psh. The thing is, we don't make that much noise. The simple act of walking around up here is creaky as hell, but we don't make a point to jump up and down or listen to music or take baths or talk above a whisper after 9:30, as requested. We've really been making a conscious effort since we got the note, so if they still can't sleep, I'll send them a little note saying something along the lines of: "We have taken your concerns into consideration, however, we've decided that there is simply no more we can do for you other than offer these two pairs of earplugs. No need to repay us - consider it a gift from your upstairs neighbors. Bisoux!"

I have my first expose tomorrow on a portrait by Ingres - 5 minutes in French, shouldn't be too big of a deal, but I'm still a little stressed about it.

More Brussels pictures - you'll notice the Little Peeing Boy fountain and La Grand Place:




On a final note, kudos to my mom for ziplining in South America! What a pro.

the happiest place on earth - no, not disneyland...

It's BRUSSELS! Who would have thought that Brussels, low on my list of cities to see in Europe, could have turned out to be so wonderful? I really loved the people and the food - everyone was so generous and friendly and didn't point out that I wasn't Parisian, and tasting a real Belgian waffle comes close to touching the divine.

We arrived on Friday evening, picked up by Natalie's family friend Henri. Though we were supposed to stay at his place, there wasn't enough room, so he put us up in a four-star hotel in the middle of Brussels. Not a bad introduction to a city, especially for four broke college students. We then went to the bar/cafe next door, and though they weren't technically serving food anymore, they heated up some homemade lobster bisque for us and let us sit for as long as we wanted. Natalie said we had to drink Belgian beer, so we tried all sorts of varieties (as long as they were light and/or fruity. yum!).

Saturday, we saw all the touristy sites - the Grand Place and the Little Peeing Boy Fountain (?), then went out to dinner and a movie with Henri. (You might be asking - why a movie? Well, the movie theater we went to was in itself a national landmark - IMAX-size screens, right next to this huge public art piece of an oxygen atom that lights up at night. Also, we were too tired to do anything else). We saw National Treasure: Book of Secrets, which warmed our little America-deprived hearts and souls. Unfortunately, Henri also bought us about two pounds of candy - totally unnecessary, but so fun.

Sunday, we ate at Le Pain Quotidien - incredibly good breakfast, and wandered around some more with Henri. Unfortunately everything is closed on Sundays, so when we finally got on the train that evening, we felt ready to go back to the busy streets of Paris, where, if anything, there's too much to do. I'm also glad I left when I did - another week and I would've gained 50 pounds. The waffles would have been worth it, though - they're shaped sort of like "Belgian waffes" that you get at any old breakfast place, but they're doughier and sweeter, sometimes dipped in a little caramel or chocolate, delicious enough on its own.

Oh yes, and did I mention Belgian chocolate? I wanted to buy some for people at home, but I was worried that it would go bad by the time it got there.

Pictures!




The Belgian waffle truck. (how waffle!)


Chocolate, anyone?


More pictures later - my internet does not seem to want to cooperate. Au revoir!

parc monceau

The French outlook on one's appearance is one of the many Parisian idiosyncrasies that Adam Gopnik talks about in Paris To The Moon. Parisians dress very well, all the time. It's not like in America where we clean up for special occasions but don't mind going to the grocery store in our sweats; rather, one feels as though all of Paris is sizing you up the second you step out of your apartment. I didn't really understand why until I got here, but now, I wouldn't dream of getting on the Metro without accessorizing properly - hell, I'm worried about having dinner with my host family wearing my yoga pants.

The only similar feeling that I can come up with is exercising at Stanford, especially going around campus loop or lake lag. Peer pressure to exercise is significant at Stanford, because everyone works out every day, managing to squeeze it in at all hours of the day and night. You keep jogging, even when feel like you'd rather keel over, because you're terrified of rounding the corner and seeing "x" running in your direction (where "x" is your ex-boyfriend, your TA, your arch nemesis, that bitchy girl in your IHUM section who always looks really put together, etc). Such encounters happen more often than you'd think.

Trying my best to look Parisian has had some unfortunate consequences, mostly foot-related. I've been waking up in the morning with achy feet - I think I put too much emphasis on the balls of my feet when I walk - and come home often with blisters, but what is there to do? My mom suggested that I just wear my running shoes to class and then change when I get there, but see, it's not about running into anyone I know and being underdressed - it's every Parisian I run into, period.

I haven't quite given up cute shoes, but I have given up walking to class. However, I'm fairly certain that the constant walking (along with chain smoking and heavy coffee drinking) is what keeps French women skinny despite eating fromage and baguettes with every meal, so to replace the activity, I've taken up jogging again. Today, going around the Parc Monceau loop, I kept encountering a French woman in a red jumpsuit jogging in the opposite direction (notable because she was the only female jogger I saw - the others were all men, and seemed to be all training for marathons). On my last loop, I rounded the corner and saw her, hands on hips, walking - though the second she saw me, she jumped a little and started jogging again.

I'm not going to lie: after experiencing two weeks of peer pressure from the French, it felt great giving out a little of my own.

miam!

The weather for the last two days has been absolutely terrible - blustery, rainy, and cold. All kinds of bad. The sky was cloudless and beautiful while I was walking to class yesterday - the Pont des Invalides was shining beautifully. By the afternoon, however, it was definitely time to hide inside and travel by Metro.

Our winter group crossed off another thing on the communal to-do list: Angelina's hot chocolate, here known as chocolat chaud. Between the six of us, we ordered 5 hot chocolates, one hot white chocolate, and three pastries: the famous mont blanc (chestnut paste, whip cream, my favorite), religieuse pastiche (pistachio-cream filled tower of fluff), and the tarte au chocolat avec framboises (chocolate tartine with raspberries, too bitter for my taste). I wish someone had told us that we were never going to be able to finish our hot chocolates - we could have done away with half of them and saved 5 euros each. They were terribly rich - some people liked them, but I was not one of those people. It was like drinking straight dark chocolate and half and half, which sounds great in theory, but was heavy beyond heavy in real life. The pastries, on the other hand... ooh la la.

Photographic evidence of such decadence, courtesy of Cathy:




Today, I escaped the rain by hanging out at the Musée de l'Art Moderne, aka the Musee de Tokyo. My art history professor said it wasn't very well funded and therefore lacked the "presentation" that she usually preferred, so I was expecting something run down and bland, but I don't think she could have been more wrong. It's a small museum, but 1) it's free to the public every day and 2) it's got some incredibly important pieces from the Parisian avant-garde, all of which are well-displayed. I was floored by Delaunay's "The City of Paris" - a piece I studied in an art history class last quarter and most wanted to have for my future home. I wasn't expecting to see it there, and I certainly wasn't expecting it to be as big as it was. Oh well, when I buy it, I'll just have to build it its own separate room...



They also had "Boite-En-Valise," by Duchamp - an incredibly important work which (like all of Duchamp's works) calls into question the meaning of art, several Modigliani's (whose women never fail to intrigue me just a little more than they creep me out), some Picasso, Braque, Léger, etc., and a really great painting by an artist I had never heard of before, Gérard Schlosser, called "Il ne se plaignait jamais" - meaning, "He was never pleased". Seemed more pleasant than the title let on.

Finally, I ran across a piece of stencil graffiti that totally tickled me today:


"Berk" means "yuck" in French.

Ghosts on the Pont-Neuf

"The hardest thing to convey is how lovely it all is and how that loveliness seems all you need. The ghosts that haunted you in New York or Pittsburgh will haunt you anywhere you go, because they're your ghosts, and the house they haunt is you. But they become disconcerted, shaken, confused for half a minute, and in that moment on a December at four o'clock when you're walking from the bus stop to the rue Saint-Dominique and the lights are twinkling across the river - only twinkling in the bateaux-mouches, luring the tourists, but still... you feel as if you've escaped your ghosts if only because, being you, they're transfixed looking at the lights in the trees on the other bank, too, which they haven't seen before, either.

"It's true that you can't run away from yourself. But we were right: You can run away."

- Paris to the Moon, Adam Gopnik

Workin' for the weekend

Busy week, busy weekend! After hitting up the famous bar The Frog and the Princess with the other Stanford students on Thursday night, Chloe and I decided to stay in on Friday night. The Garrigues were out and about, so Madame left us some food to reheat, which we were somewhat skeptical about but proved very satisfying… at least after we figured out how to use the microwave. We also bought a few bottles of 3 euro wine (point of reference: we got a bottle of water at a restaurant for 3,90) and invited Sara, Natalie, and Natalie’s friend over for some after-dinner cheese and wine.

Saturday, we made plans to visit the Musée Picasso in the Marais, so we got moving around noon and ate lunch at Le Cactus in the 3rd – I had a sandwich, Sara had a lovely salad, and Chloe had oysters. Oysters seem like they’re everywhere around here – good thing for Chloe, because she loves oysters, but I’m not their biggest fan.





On our way to the Musée Picasso, we stumbled across this incredible vintage/consignment store called “Free ‘P’ Star” on Saint Croix de la Bretonnerie, choc full of French people fighting over hats, leather bags, dresses, and shirts. The stuff was actually reasonably priced – all between 10 and 20 euros, but since we wanted to get going to the museum, I decided to write down the address and make a point of going back. Somehow it distresses me that I’ve done all this shopping in Paris and haven’t gotten around to buying anything…

Of course, when we got to the Museum, we were sorely disappointed to find that it was closed for renovations this week. Just our luck. We wandered around the Bastille and saw the Opera house, the Hôtel de Ville, and the Centre Pompidou, and stopped into the Café Beaubourg – described in the guidebooks as the “it café” for trendy intelligentsia - for an expensive cup of tea outside of the Centre Pompidou (wonderful people watching).

The Bastille, a bunch of skater kids in the area, and the Hotel de Ville. Also, why eat churros in Paris, seriously?





Centre Pompidou and Café Beaubourg:





We met up with Sarah and Maggie around 7 in the 6th, and ate dinner at a small pizza place that Chloe recommended . We were all craving pizza, and this was particularly good and very authentic Italian, though I have to admit that the salmon pizza that we took a chance on didn’t quite do it for me. Sara stopped at a candy stand to buy candy for the party (see below), and in our inability to judge 100 grams, ended up paying three times what she had expected.

Finally, we made our way to Natalie’s apartment-warming party, full of French twenty-somethings and everyone from the Stanford in Paris program. The theme was wine and cheese, so everyone brought something, and it was great fun getting to know the other Stanford students better. I got to practice my French quite a bit with the French people there – they were very enthusiastic about talking to me, though I found that the more wine I drank, the less I understood (shocking!). All of the French people were smoking like chimneys, though, which made me glad that I’m here in a post-smoking-ban city.

The party (photo courtesy of Cathy):


This afternoon, we met up again for falafels at L’As du Falafel in the Marais, in the center of the Jewish community in Paris. I knew it had to be good because there was a HUGE line going around the block, but it moved quickly and was totally worth the wait – only 5 euros for a perfectly-proportioned falafel. Having vegetables with lunch (lots of yummy cucumber, cabbage, and tomatoes in the pita) was also a refreshing change after so many days of ham and cheese baguettes.





Afterwards, we warmed up Parisian style, at a lovely café. Natalie had this apricot pastry that looked eerily similar to sunny side up eggs - of course I needed photographic evidence.





I’ve been trying to get logistical stuff done all day, and have been somewhat successful. Pretty soon it’ll be back to the grindstone with school. Hopefully it won’t spoil all the fun…

Blustery day

Rainy day. For some reason or another, I decided to walk to class this morning - didn't really think about the weather, so it's a darned good thing I brought my *parapluie* (umbrella). I allotted myself an hour and fifteen to get there - also a darned good thing, because it took a solid hour, and I was bookin' it towards the end. Of course, I was 15 minutes early and I arrived sweaty and flustered. Gotta work on the timing next time...

Class started Wednesday, and I really like all of them. I'm taking:
- Second World War: Between History and Memory from a French Perspective
- French Painting 1780-1900
- Adv. French II
- Student-designed Lecture Series

For a grand total of 14 units. Not too shabby, considering the classes are all in French, and I am supposed to be experiencing life in France and not just studying. With the art history class, we go to the Louvre/Musee d'Orsay every Friday (free student pass for the whole quarter to both!!). That's something to look forward to.

The girls and I are also planning 3 weekend trips. We've found some excellent travel fares, and have friends that are studying abroad just about everywhere, so things are looking good. On our list of possible places:
- Brussels (probably next weekend, actually)
- Athens
- Madrid
- Somewhere in Italy
- Prague

Input would be appreciated.

Tomorrow we're exploring the Musee Picasso and the Marais - very exciting. I'll be sure to bring my camera!

Les Soldes

The sales, the sales! The twice-a-year French phenomenon started Wednesday and is being billed heavily towards tourists in hopes of reclaiming the status of Fashion Capital du Monde. I went to the sales yesterday and today and didn't buy anything at all (the "sales" pretty much just make everything close to American prices, and nothing has jumped out at me quite yet), but for the most part it's been more overwhelming than anything. Too many people, too little bargains. Photos:






Oh well, I made up for it with a visit to Mariages Frères, the boutique tea shop in the 6th arrondissement. I went with Jenny, the Orientation Coordinator for the program in Paris who I got very close to last quarter. We had a lovely time chatting at the salon, and she insisted on buying my pot of tea (a hefty 8 euros, but I daresay worth every centime). I bought a little tea to drink in the mornings - Jenny bought about 150 euros worth of tea and tea accessories (she spent a long time in England and says Mariages Frères is the best tea in the world). I'll bring some home, if I remember.





So no clubbing last night, but we did get ourselves a little lost in the Bastille area. Finally, we found the café we were looking for - the Café de l'Industrie, a famous café/bar in the area, and had ourselves some delicious bordeaux. It still gave me a headache - I think I'll have to stick to white. We did, however, almost miss the closing of the Metro at 12:30/1 (we can't really figure it out, but we know we were cutting it close).

Final note of great enthusiasm: finally slept past 6 AM last night. I woke up at a luxurious 9 AM, having slept the whole night through. Hooray!

tarte au chocolat? mais oui!

Two things of note today:

1) Finally reached my maximum capacity of orientation. Thankfully, it seems to be over - I was going into information overload. All useful and all important, but hard to digest, especially on a measley 4 hours of sleep. I swear, I'm regressing into jet lag. Saturday night, 9 hours, Sunday night, 7 hours, last night, 4. I plan on making this short and going to bed imminently, however, so hopefully I can boost it back up to 9.
2) I had one of the best lunches ever. I didn't bring my camera, so i didn't take a picture, but rest assured that there will be plenty more where that came from. Maggie, Conan and I tried the boulangerie near the Luxembourg Gardens, and bought a long baguette with italian ham, cheese, and tomatoes, a tarte au chocolat the size of my palm, and a soda for only 5 euros. Considering the food budget is 8,20 a day, I'd say I've saved up enough money to wreak havoc at the sales that start tomorrow.

Anyway, everyone's tired tonight, so no future outings - however, Sara wants to go to a club tomorrow night, so hopefully there'll be some stories.

French toast.

So there I was, strutting my stuff down an avenue off the Champs-Elysees, feeling ever-so French with my ever-so French outfit (almost all shades of brown - tights, boots, skirt, shirt, coat, and a green scarf) - when all of a sudden, one of my shoes slipped off my foot and I tripped on the sidewalk. I tried to recover gracefully, but knew it was useless when a man across the street yelled over "Sans regarde!", meaning, "Nobody saw it!". Maybe pretending to be Parisian will take a little longer than I thought.

And speaking of Parisians, today was our first full day of orientation in Paris. We learned the important stuff, all about how to access our bank account, how to recharge our cell phones with minutes, etc etc. We also learned all about culture shock, which made me a little more at ease. You see, my host family isn't trying to be cold or rude by not showing me around the house on my first day, or locking Chloe and I into our petite éspace (and, consequently, out of theirs), etc etc - they're simply French, and this is their way. Still, it's a little hard to accept. So, the French lifestyle is all about you assimilating into their culture - they won't go out of their way to make you happy, they won't make eye contact with strangers, they won't make conversation for conversation's sake, they won't offer help unless you ask for it. Very hard for this smiley American girl to deal with. Oh well, "on doit s'adapter à ses environs." Roll with the punches.

Tonight, Sara and I went to see the Eiffel Tower - it was so so beautiful. So much prettier in person than any photograph or Delaunay painting. We had ourselves a good time:

Salut tout le monde!

Whew. Finally, a deep sigh of relief: I've arrived in Paris, safe and sound, and so have my bags. Not without a little effort, of course - one of my suitcase was beaten to death by an airline employees and the handle no longer works, which made my rendez-vous with Sara that much more difficult. It took me over an hour to get from Terminal 1 to Terminal 2 to find Sara (you think they'd be right next to each other, but no, Terminal 3 is in between the two, and Terminal 2 is composed of 6 mini-terminals, and I was sure that Sara and I would never find each other).

We had a pleasant ride with a cab driver who was very interested in the presidential election ("Et, qu'est-ce que tu penses de Obama? Et Hilary? Alors, à mon avis..."), and I arrived at 83 boulevard de Courcelles at around 11:30. My host family, the Garrigues, are very nice and very French. I get the impression that not only are they both products of pure Parisian blood, but that the apartment I'm staying in has been in the family since 1850 (and hasn't been redecorated since. It's all very antique.)

Photos of my room:


My favorite piece of decor in my room:


Bathroom:


La Toilette:


Chloe's Room:



Check out the crown molding!


The view from my balcony:



Well, I'm going to try and hunt down Sara or Natalie - more later!