Losing Pounds to Gay Paris

Sorry it's been so long, but I have been having such a great time not being in the states that I lost track of the fact that I hadn't blogged in over a week. Much has happened, though only about ten percent of it is likely to be of interest to anyone other than me. Generally, Oxford is very much like being in my first year of college. I walk everywhere. Having lived in New York, I figured walking wouldn't be very different from the ten or fifteen blocks I walked nearly everyday to get to class or to work or to the club wearing four-inch heels when thin, non-platform heels were in vogue. No! I was wrong. I'm certainly not 18 or in my early twenties, nor am I carrying the same body I had then (though I think the body I have now is just as fly). It's not the same. Part of the difference is also that I'm walking miles and miles a day. There's no bodega on the corner where I can purchase small necessities or the random dinner. I have to walk half a mile to the right or a mile and some change to the left to get out of the neighborhood and purchase anything. Not really what's up. However, I'm looking forward to the pounds that I will be losing (apparently both in my belly and in my wallet). As is the nature of being a student taking advantage of such a unique experience, you are forced to part with some things whether you like it or not. The pounds on my body, I want to lose, yes. The pound in my wallet that are worth so much more than the little dollars in my bank account are making this trip a bit difficult to navigate financially. I will make it work though. Last weekend, I went to Paris. BEAUTIFUL!!!! I was so happy to be there, I wanted to do everything we'd talked about in my high school french classes. I wanted to tell Monsieur Meyer that we could indeed stroll along the Champs Elysees because now there are shops and restaurants lining it. (You didn't need to take ten points off my Paris Trip project. Punk! no, i'm not bitter.) Though the planning of this first weekend trip was a little rocky, we made it and for what was far more affordable than anticipated. Our hotel was right off the Rue de Carnot and within walking distance to the Arc de Triomphe. We went the first night to this monument because it was closest, and then headed to dinner. This is where my trip to Gay Paris turned sour for a moment. Everyone who knows me knows I have food allergies. Not to everything, and not to the typical shell fish or peanut or nuts in general. I'm allergic to Pinenuts (pignon) and eggplant (aubergine) and coconuts (noix de coco). We ordered garlic bread as an appetizer. Safe choice...not. I was eating that bread like a champ before I felt that familiar need to empty my stomach into the nearest porcelain bowl available. Something was in the bread or in the oil we poured on it. Sigh. So here I am without benadryl or anything and i'm having a nut allergy in a country where I am not fluent enough to really have a proper conversation, let alone explain that I need allergy medicine ASAP. So what do I do? I leave the restaurant with just my coat and wallet and begin to walk in the direction we'd been exploring. I walk alone. I walk quickly. I stop in a hotel and through a very thick throat ask where the pharmacy is and they reply, in English. Yes! I got into the pharmacy, which was actually quite swanky, and got some allergy medicine. Saved! but of course, I couldn't eat anything really for the next few hours while my system regained control of itself and the swelling settled. But I was alive and hadn't had to go to the hospital. Clearly that would be the worst to happen, but I felt like this trip began to target me for random not so nice happenings. The next day, we caught a tour bus that would take us around Paris, allow us to hop off at any monument and then hop back on when the next bust came, all for a single price paid up front. Exciting. We climbed the stairs of the Eiffel Tower (to the first observation deck only. those stairs are a bitch) and then we went to the Louvre. We saw the bride with all the locks on it. My friend kept calling it the "love bridge" though I'm sure the French prefer the more technical name (pont des arts). Then, we headed on to Notre Dame. smh. We get off the bus and immediately, I'm aware there are a dozen or so seagulls or miner birds or whatever swarming around the bridge we have to cross to get to the Cathedrale de Notre Dame. I cross fairly quickly, not stopping to take any pictures of any sort. What are my companions doing? Taking pictures. I think about it. I go back to join them. Then, we all proceed together. Why? Why didn't I just stay put? (because i'm an idiot) I am immediately, as we begin walking, shat upon by a bird. Yes. Shat upon. It landed on my back and shoulder. My friends were stunned and appalled and I kept thinking, as any girl would, please don't let this be in my hair. Luckily, that prayer was answered. My friends used napkins to get the poop off and then the Cathedrale was beautiful. I kept reminding myself that in some cultures, this pooping experience would be deemed good luck. I'll let you know! For now, I'm back in Oxford and back to being a student. I'll be sure to fill you in on the next adventure for the Girl Next door. I leave you with a few photos from Paris to brighten your day. It is truly a happy place to be. Hence it is called Gay Paris.