View Post

Three Hundred Twenty Americans Can be Wrong

In The Art of Travel, 10. Books (2), Paris, Places by Zoya1 Comment

In Sixty Million Frenchmen Can’t be Wrong by Jean-Benoît Nadeau and Julie Barlow, the two authors discusses their time in France and its culture. They use observations in the French language, customs, laws, history to speculate about what it means to be French, make conclusions how these characteristics affect the relationship and perceptions between the Americans and the French. I …

View Post

Au revoir

In The Art of Travel, 15. Farewells, Paris by Zoya2 Comments

You’re at a supermarket, a Costco or H-Mart, and you’re shopping for food. You see a plastic table set up with a tablecloth with an employee standing behind it expertly cooking the food for distribution. Free samples. You’re attracted to the colorful packaging and the oh so wonderful smells that are coming from the pot. So you walk over, intrigued …

View Post

À Plus Tard, Paris!

In The Art of Travel, 15. Farewells, Paris by Anna L0 Comments

Saying goodbye has always been a difficult thing for me to say. I never want it to be “goodbye,” but rather “until next time.” This is how I felt when I said goodbye to my friends at the end of the summer before I left for freshman year, how I felt when I had to hug one of my best …

View Post


In The Art of Travel, 10. Books (2), Paris by Anna L0 Comments

We’ve talked about the idea of “flaneuring” through the streets of Paris, an idea from which we referenced Edmund White’s “The Flaneur.” The idea of flaneuring is to be a stroller through the streets of the city, being both within the street and removed from it – being a participant observer in the streetlife of Parisians. This is partially something …

View Post

The Room of a Stranger

In The Art of Travel, 13. Third person, Paris by Zoya1 Comment

This room is a mess. Not an uncommon sight to see with a job like mine, which is to clean the hotel’s rooms by simply cleaning floors and replacing the towels and linens. Sometimes, residents will forget which day I come and forget to tidy up enough floor space to allow me to clean it. Either they’ve forgotten or they’re …

View Post

Looking Closely at Strangers

In The Art of Travel, 12. Strangers, Paris by Zoya0 Comments

Boulevard Saint Germain / Monday: I arrive at 10:50AM in my classroom on the 5th floor to get settled in for our class that starts at 11. My fellow classmate and I begin our mini routine of observing people from down on the street of the busy Boulevard Saint Germain. From the height of the NYU building, we observe the …

View Post

Oui à Paris

In The Art of Travel, 14. Tips, Paris by Anna L1 Comment

Everyone is going to say, yes I recommend ___insert study abroad site here____! And of course I’m going to be hopping on this train as well, but there are some things that I would say before you book your flight. Let’s start off with the fact that Paris is a dream. As the semester nears the end, this city has …

View Post

Quand on a peur, on doit travail.

In The Art of Travel, 11. Travails, Paris by Zoya0 Comments

As someone who is frequently absent minded and possesses a hopelessly poor sense of direction, one can imagine how often I find myself in unfortunate situations. There’s been many times where I’ve lost my way down a seemingly simple and straightforward path. There’s been many times where I’ve taken the train going the opposite direction, realizing my mistake only after …

View Post

So Many Cameras?

In The Art of Travel, 13. Third person, Paris by Anna L1 Comment

This girl just rushed passed me and stopped a few feet afterward, pulling out her camera and pointing it in a bunch of different directions. She’s wearing this thin white shirt and athletic shorts that have dirt all over the back. Her sneakers are white like they used to be. A pair of sunglasses teeter on the top of her …

View Post

Dynamo 11h

In The Art of Travel, 13. Third person, Paris, Places by Clara1 Comment

I run into class just as the instructor starts to dim the lights. I start adjusting the bike but the handlebar lever is jammed. I look to the girl riding to my left and tap her on the shoulder. “Savez-vous comment baisser le guidon?” “Pardon? Wait what sorry?” She looks up at me puzzled. As if I’m the strange one …