I was looking forward to working with medicine balls and hand weights, kind of like Jillian Michaels’ 30 Day Shred.  Little did I know that “cardio sculpt” actually implied something completely different.   Nowhere in the description of the class did it say “crazy step aerobics class for advanced steppers.”  By the time I realized my mistake, it was too late; everyone had already welcomed me to the class, thrown a few hand weights at me, and rolled a medicine ball over.  As we started the basic up-down step (I’m sure it has a name…), the instructor looked around at the class and must have noticed the panicked look on my face.  “Do we have any newbies in the class?”  I raised my hand.  “Do we have anybody who is new to stepping?”  I raised my hand.  30 women looked at me, shaking their heads as if to say, oh boy, she doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into.

I’ll show them, I thought.  Nodding my head, pumping my fists and lifting those knees high, I was ready to roll.  Then out of nowhere, the 30 women plus instructor began doing the most insane moves.  My jaw dropped as they began L stepping, sashaying and cartwheeling over and around their steps, arms and legs flailing every which way in an apparently controlled motion.

I stumbled out of the room an hour later, sweaty, confused and determined.  Whether or not this determination was directed toward mastering step aerobics or never to set foot in a step class again, I’m still not really sure.

My evening class, called Politics of Biodiversity, kind of caught me off-guard.  I knew it was going to be interesting when my professor walked in 20 minutes late, his hair disheveled and his beat-up suitcase banging on the table as he rounded the corner to get to the front of the class.  He started rambling in French until he realized all of us were giving him a dumbfounded look; we were under the impression that the class was supposed to be conducted in English.  He apologized, and started introducing himself all over again, this time in the proper language.  He didn’t take any papers out of his briefcase, and asked us what we wanted to learn about.  We were all kind of quiet and didn’t know what to make of it.  He threw some ideas out there, we listened, and agreed what he said sounded good.  We’re going to be talking a bit about conservation science (hmm…?), why biodiversity has become such a hot topic, and wolves.  And bears.  Because wolves and bears are his specialty, and they are what France pays him to protect.  Right.  So after all of this happens, he asks us if he needed to grade us on anything.  At this point we all just kind of smiled and laughed; this course wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

Talk about a shocker!  Almost everything represented the antithesis of what Sciences Po is all about: the rigid methodology, strict grading system, etc.  The only thing that even remotely resembled the typical Sciences Po class was the fact that we will still be doing exposés, although they will be in pairs, and they will be on topics of our choice.  Crazy.  I’m pretty excited for the class though; he’s really passionate about what he does, knows his stuff, and really wants to pique our interest on biodiversity and why it’s important.

Even though I get out of class at 9:15 on a Thursday, at least I will be loaded with information about wolves when I head to the bars.  I mean, what guy doesn’t like a good pick-up line about wolves?

So!  I absolutely LOVE my class called Food and Food Ways: A Social, Cultural and Political History of Food and Eating (aka my DREAM).  It’s taught by a Cornell professor who lives here with his French wife.  He seems pretty tough and old-fashioned, but he really knows his stuff and is passionate about food, food culture, and the role food has played throughout history and continues to play today in shaping the way people think, act, and interact.  I picked up my course pack, which is a hefty size, but all of the readings look incredibly interesting.  My professor described himself as Monsieur le Pain (Mr. Bread) because he loves studying bread and the way it is viewed, treated, and eaten in different cultures; we’ll be doing a couple of readings about that.  We’re also learning about the role of food in religion, how food relates to gender, and the role food plays in the economy and in the political realm.  Food is even closely tied to language.  Just think of the myriad expressions that somehow incorporate food: full of baloney (also properly known as bologna), sour disposition, pea brain, hunger after righteousness…the list could go on forever!

We’re also reading Michael Pollan’s Omnivore’s Dilemma, which is actually the book that piqued my interest in food culture, justice and distribution.  I read this book a couple years ago in my Global Sociology class, and was absolutely fascinated by the fact that so many of the food products we consume are made of corn.  I was also deeply disturbed by the statistic that pointed out that even though the amount of food produced in the world today is more than enough to feed every single human being, more and more people were going hungry each and every day.  I wanted to learn more about these issues, and I joined a group called Real Food at BC.  I also did a couple of projects on global food distribution this past semester, and am currently thinking about writing my thesis on the topic.

To sum up, I was smiling the whole time and found myself nodding emphatically after almost everything my professor said.  I don’t want to wait another week to learn more (ha, I’m such a dork)!  I have never felt so engaged or passionate about a class before; I think I have found my calling in life.  I NEED to be doing something that relates to food and the culture surrounding it.

As I finish my glass of wine, I shall leave you with the following thought-provoking, pro-hunter-gatherer quote from an Australian aboriginal: “Why should we plant, when there are so many mongomongo nuts in the world?”

Anyway, the switching of classes meant that I had the discussion aspect of the class last night (the other aspect is a lecture).  There were 17 students, most of whom were either French or English (who seemed they had been studying French since before they emerged from the womb).  My professor was a large, pretty intimidating Frenchman, who pointed out several times that he was a fan of the traditional Sciences Po methodology (read: LOVES exposés/oral presentations).  Although I understood most of what he was saying, I was still a bit intimidated by how well everyone else seemed to speak French.  We had to pick our exposé date, which is a really intense process; the professor reads off a topic and date (if you’re lucky), and before he even finishes his sentence, dozens of hands shoot up in an attempt to get the best dates and topics.  The French students have obviously have much more experience than us poor exchange students, who end up with the most inopportune dates and the least interesting topics.  I fared no better than most, and ended up with the Monday after our winter break, which means I will have that hanging over my head for the entire week.  I suppose I should just stop worrying about it all, as I can take one class pass/fail, and also…I’m abroad.  Grades and school work should NOT rule my life this semester.  Or ever, actually.  But particularly this semester.

I stumbled upon another stupid French policy today: the return policy.  Or should I say the lack thereof.  I bought what was supposed to be a pretty good straightener for 40 euros about a week ago, tried it, and realized it was awful.  Since I only used it once, it was still in fabulous condition, so I just repackaged it, threw it in its original back with the receipt, and trudged over to Galeries Lafayettes (which is a HUGE department store, and quite beautiful, too) with Kelsey.  After being shuffled around from cashier to cashier and waiting in line after line, I finally end up speaking with a grumpy guy at customer services.  I explained to him my problem, and told him that it didn’t work.  As soon as I said this, he took the straightener out of the box, walked his skinny, French buttocks over to the outlet, plugged it in, and said ça marche (this works).  He then refused to let me return it, exchange it, or receive store credit.  WHAT IS UP WITH THAT?  I feel like in America, you could return half a tube of toothpaste if you really wanted to.  I was très fâchée (very angry).  I think I’m going to try to sell it on e-bay; it’s not a bad straightener, it’s just not the right one for my hair.  PLUG: anyone want a BaByliss Wet/Dry Ceramic Straightener?  I’ll sell it to you for what I got it for…

Anyhoo, after all of this, we came back to our apartment and made some lunch.  I had cute little ‘tuna toasties,’ as Kelsey called them, which consisted of some fresh pain complet (whole-wheat bread) topped with balsamic glazed tuna, emmental cheese, and cherry tomatoes.  I roasted these little buggers in the oven, and they tasted absolutely scrumptious.

For dinner after class, I met up with the three nicest, most fabulous girls ever, Kelsey, Melanie and Chrissy.  We walked down Saint Germain and Saint Michel a bit to get to the Latin Quarter, and ended up finding a cute restaurant called Le Menhir (note: the picture to the left was not taken by me; I found it on Google.  Once again, I didn’t have my camera on me…sorry guys!).  Their prix fixe (fixed price) menu looked pretty good and was reasonably priced, so I decided to go for it.  For my entrée (which actually means appetizer in French), I ordered soupe à l’oignon (French onion soup)…OH MY GOSH, I cannot believe I have never had it before!  It was just a bowl of gooey deliciousness, and it was pretty much a party in my mouth.  I could have left satisfied at that point, but I was just beginning.  Next came my plat principal (main course), which was le veau en sauce aux champignons (veal in a mushroom sauce) with a side of cheesy potatoes.  I paired it with a glass of Merlot, which tasted like an odd combination of grape juice and rubbing alcohol (description courtesy of Kelsey); not the best.  Anyways, I finished with an excellent raspberry souffle, which was doused in a vanilla cream sauce.  The girls and I also traded bites of each other’s dishes, so I got to taste some coq au vin, a savory crêpe, and a cheesy torte…thing.  The atmosphere of the restaurant itself wasn’t the greatest, in my opinion; the waiter wasn’t the most personable, and there was a cat that kept walking around and creeping up on us.  Overall thoughts: YUM.

I don’t know how to extricate myself from the passionate affair I am having with French food.