FIELD NOTE 6.63 - The end.

And here it is: the moment I've dreaded/looked forward to/avoided/awaited. Tomorrow at 11h00 I will be boarding a plane back to the United States.

My bags are packed and waiting beside the door. I came here with 2. There are now 4. I hope that I can take them all with me; I hope that they are all within their weight limits.
I am not good with endings or goodbye's. I tend to be one of those people who avoids them at all cost, walking away without a backwards glance. So I will fall back into that old pattern once again.
This is the end of "A Field Guide to Being Lost" - I am no more found than I was at the beginning of it.
So there it is. The end.

FIELD NOTE 6.62 - Haggling.

He wanted 100euro for a handmade leather bag and I didn't want to pay that. So I made my friend Pegah go with me to the marché today and we had decided that we would tag-team the man until he gave me a lower price.
Eventually, after shrewd bargaining on her part and pointing out flaws on my end, he finally conceded and agreed on the price of 85 euro. It was a fun experience and I left the market with a handmade leather bag, the perfect way to carry my glass bowls back from France.

FIELD NOTE 6.61 - Cleaning house.

Before we are able to vacate this Parisian apartment it must be clean. Living here for a month has led to the accumulation of dust in corners and promises to clean later. But now we are at the point where all the "I can get it later"'s in the world are not enough and so today I took the dustpan and broom out and began the long process of cleaning.
Funny to think that for such a small apartment cleaning it should last so long. But now the sun is setting and the apartment is finally clean to the point where it looks like none of us have ever been here. Were it not for my luggage and made bed I would be tempted to believe that even now I was gone.
This sterilization of space has been the same for every room I've ever rented. And even still every time it comes time to move again, the entire process feels new. But if I could count the number of rooms I've left behind without a trace of me, the number would be great - all those dorm rooms, apartments, and hotel rooms.
So many places where I am not remembered. But the irony of this is that even now I begin to forget what all those rooms looked like. I fear that this apartment will soon be among those fading memories. But this is a fear I always carry, like a coat.

FIELD NOTE 6.60 - La March des Fiertés.

Today was Paris Pride, the culminating experience of my Gay Culture & Identity Studies course in Paris.
I'm not exactly sure what I was expecting. From what I'd gleaned from pictures and clips of international pride events on Logo's news shows, I expected something large and loud. And I wasn't disappointed.
I cannot describe to you all of the sights and sounds of Paris' Marche des fiertés - they were just too much and too many to ever recount. But it was an amazing experience just to stand there beside the train of floats as people passed out pamphlets, fliers, condoms and candy and watch all the people going by.
And in less than 2 hours it was all over and the tractor announcing the end of the parade was passing us. Some people just began to follow the float path as it wound toward Place de la Bastille but I decided it was time to go home and take a shower to clean off all the glitter and sweat that had accumulated.

FIELD NOTE 6.59 - One class down.

That is is.
I have just emailed in my final exam for my queer theory course, which means I am officially done with my Queer Paris course and now nothing is left to wait for the grade, to wait for the grade. And in the interim between the 2 there are endless things to do: clean the apartment, buy coffee bowls, buy a leather bag, buy gifts.
I knew it was only a month even before I came here but now that the end of it is at hand I find that even still it felt shorter than I ever thought it would.
Just another thing that's over, just another ending.

FIELD NOTE 6.58 - Têtu.

Today our last queer theory class was devoted to 2 guest speakers from Têtu, the most famous and mainstreamed gay magazine in France. Ursula and Tim were both amazing and as they talked to us about the magazine and French queer history I found myself lamenting my imminent return to the United States.
Sitting there and listening to them I wished I somehow could find the time to work my way into a job with the magazine (I imagined myself a half-wit translator, but that is tentative and I would settle for less). That way I could stay here in France.
But dreams are silly and destined to fade when classes are only 2.5 hours long.

FIELD NOTE 6.57 - Strikes and other inconveniences.

Today it was almost impossible for me to muster the energy to get up and start the day. This is nothing new since I have had to get up at 7h00 every morning for the past month but it seemed harder today than ever before - possibly due to the knowledge that today marked the last day of queer theory or perhaps due to the knowledge that today was a massive strike by the public transportation system, a strike that I knew would take my normally 20 minute ride to the Sorbonne and make it an almost hour-long process.
Eventually (and by "eventually" I mean 5 minutes later) I managed to push the covers off of my body and to drag myself to the bathroom. Forty minutes later I walked out the door and through Parc Montsouris to the RER station where I learned I would have to wait 20 minutes for a train that would take me only 1 stop to where I would catch a métro for 12 stops to Saint Michel.
Class begins at 9h00 and at 9h03 I walked in the door with a breathless "Bonjour" and the professor, noting my breathlessness, only told me that she didn't really think it was that bad of a strike today. And as she said this, the majority of the class was absent.

FIELD NOTE 6.56 - Farewell, farewell dinner.

Tonight CEA was hosting a farewell dinner for all of us at a restaurant in Paris' most famous mosque. I had every intention of going and so at exactly 6h10 I left my flat to make my way to the RER station.
As soon as I walked out of my door, the air was filled with loud noises that ended up being a seemingly endless stream of French supporters of the Algerian World Cup team walking down the side of Parc Montsouris. Deciding to brave the crowd and not speak any English just in case there was any negative sentiment remaining from the Algerian loss to the American team, I walked alongside the park until I came to a line of French SWAT officers. As soon as I approached the spot where they were standing, they began to move and bring their transparent shields in front of them to barricade people so that the metro wasn't overfilled. Thankfully I and my 2 roommates just made it past their shields in time to crowd into a non-active metro.
So it seemed that dinner was impossible as it was by this time 7h00 - 15 minutes past the time of our reservation. Any attempt at finding another route would take us at least an hour to get there.
So we admitted defeat in the metro and walked home, a walk that would have been only 7 minutes had there not been SWAT and rioting Algerians but one that ended up taking almost 30.
So farewell, farewell dinner. My baguette ended up being just as nice as I opened my bedroom window and grew happy in the fact that I had chosen not to brave the metro once the voices escalated to a near deafening level just before dying out.

FIELD NOTE 6.55 - Maps.

Six hours and 4 cups of English tea later, my final project is finally done. I only just finished adding the final touches to it an hour before class.
It felt like a triumph. The sleep I gave up on to make this project possible, however, didn't feel so much like a triumph as an impossible hurdle.

FIELD NOTE 6.54 - Project.

Tomorrow I have a project due for my queer theory class which means tonight will be devoted to its completion regardless of how long it takes to put everything together between readings and random French conjugations.
But tomorrow I will have my life back and tomorrow I will have something to share with the class.

FIELD NOTE 6.53 - A gift for Maite.

Maite and I have formed as close of a friendship as two people with language barriers and 9AM French classes can form in only a month. I've come to regard her as a constant and reassuring presence here in France.
Last week before our phonetics course she said that it was important for her to give me something before I go and she handed me a 20 centavos piece of Argentinian currency. Not knowing what to say, I just said thank you.
I don't know why I am always like this, but I don't really know how to accept gifts. Ziming said once that I am one of the most thankful people she's ever met and that it seemed to her that she couldn't believe someone would actually want to give me anything. While I don't know if this is true or not, I thought it might be nice to offer Maite something in return.
Since she had given me a piece of her currency, it only seemed fitting that I should do the same although the only piece of American currency I had on me is an Adams dollar my aunt gave me for good luck 3 years ago when I graduated from high school, something that I've kept on me ever since.
After some hesitation, I took the coin from the pocket of my bag where it stays and handed it to Maite telling her, "This has always brought me luck." Having seen the coin earlier and knowing that it was the same one I had told her about, she was on the verge of not accepting it. But it was only when I closed her hand and told her that I hoped it would bring her luck that she well and fully accepted it.
It's strange now to think that the dollar is no longer with me. I like to think though that the coin was meant for her and maybe the luck it brings will come once I return to the United States and she remains in Paris and we see if we keep in contact.

FIELD NOTE 6.52 - One week.

Seven days from now I will have packed my bags and cleaned this apartment. Seven days from now I will be preparing for my last night of having to close the shutters and remember to close the bathroom window. Seven days from now I will already be lamenting what I haven't yet lost.
It's strange to now have the span of a week separating me from the United States. It seems like only yesterday was January and I was counting down the days. And now I'm still counting down but all the numbers are half-hearted and abstract.
What is it that I want of this week? Right now all I want is to get through the classes and muddle through the realization that I will leave here without any real connections to this city beyond the handful of people I've come to know.
I guess this is life. I guess this is how it happens. After all, what could I really expect from a month?

FIELD NOTE 6.51 - Si loin.

"Tu viens de si loin... mais je ne te demande pas qui tu es."

François Cheng wrote this in his work Le Dit de Tianyi, which appears in the anthology of French literature that the Sorbonne gave me my first day of classes. We weren't scheduled to read this piece but even still I just happened to stumble across this page and found the passage fit entirely with what I feel now.
I am not, nor will I ever be, French. The French know this. I think they can see it in my hair, in my skin, in my walk. And if not there, then in my accent and my half-wit words. I can only say enough to get by, they can understand. And even in this, they let me pass and pretend that I can speak French.
That's enough for now, I guess. It will have to be at any rate since I can't change it now.

FIELD NOTE 6.50 - Again.

...and here it comes again, this feeling that I could live here in France forever and be happy.

FIELD NOTE 6.49 - Marché.

Today's goal was to find the Marché aux Puces at the Port de Clignancourt. My roommates and I had originally intended to wake early and set out before 9h00 as the tour books all suggest but noon came before any of really managed to wake.
Before the flea market there stands another marché where vendors sell nothing but clothing and accessories and men stand on the outskirts of this with various designer-name bags, watches, belts, and scarves and approach anyone who dares to even glance at them in passing.
This first marché ended up being more enjoyable than the flea market - we spent nearly 2 hours wandering and looking at all the things. I had to tell myself to walk away from a gorgeous 100euro handmade leather bag and ended up buying only a gift for someone and a 10euro piece of luggage for my trip back since I'm not sure my suitcase as it is now will pass the weight limit.
But oh how enjoyable it was to be in a Parisian market, so much bigger and grander than those of Nantes, but still it had the same energy. I love markets for this reason: it's the only place where I feel that I really get to know the city past the monuments, past the souvenirs that come in their plastic bags.

FIELD NOTE 6.48 - Paris by boat.

...is actually quite cold at 23h00. But even still it was nice to just ride around the Seine hearing the story of the city first in French and then again in English.
I sat through the entire voyage with my camera in hand but without ever turning it on while all around me tourists from various parts of the world kept igniting the Parisian night with their flashes and the Parisians on the banks of the river occasionally waved and called out to us.

FIELD NOTE 6.47 - Couscous.

Two weeks ago CEA gave us tickets to go on a boat tour of Paris with Bateaux-Mouches. Since the weather that week was both cold and rainy, my roommates and I decided not to go until this week. Our professor, who also didn't go, suggested that we go together and that we should also grab a quick dinner together before.
So 8h00 found Pegah, Susan, and I standing in front of one of the two fountains at the Hôtel de Ville and praying frantically that that fountain happened to be the one Dr. Provencher had meant in his message to us. At 8h05 and worried that we had chosen the wrong fountain, Susan and I walked around to the other fountain. When we came back Pegah and Dr. Provencher were waiting for us.
And so we talked about what to eat and eventually couscous was decided upon. We went to a restaurant on a backstreet of the Marais where the owner was very nice but the waitstaff left much to be desired in terms of friendliness and speed.
But the couscous was wonderful and the merguez was amazing! And sitting there, eating and talking was one of the most enjoyable moments of the week and I feel like it was a wonderful bonding moment.

FIELD NOTE 6.46 - Crime et Châtiment.

Friday I finally went to the Musée d'Orsay to see their temporary exhibition, Crime et Châtiment, before it finally closes this week.
So many rooms filled with paintings, death masks, and newspapers of or relating to death. I think the most striking thing for me about the exhibit though was that, even though the works themselves spanned the centuries, the themes and styles seemed to all be the same - I continually found myself thinking "Oh this painting has to have been done in the past century" only to find it was done in the early 18th century while a drawing that seemed quite aged would only be 50 years old.
I wonder if this means anything about death and crime in general. Perhaps we never really come to view it in a new way, but continue to resee it in the same way over and over again.

FIELD NOTE 6.45 - The end is in sight.

It's strange to think that the end is finally drawing near. Stranger still to know this and be unable to really imagine it.
It seems that life can go on like this forever. When I walk beside Notre Dame on my way to my Sorbonne class or when I pass the fruit merchant who always tries to get me to buy his strawberries, I almost forget that this isn't my life.
Every day my prof tells me stories of students who came here for a semester or a summer and ended up deciding to stay here for years. Years is a scary word for me. I realize that I could in fact be one of these people.
Never having been one to give any real attachment to many people, I feel that I could pick up my life and start it over again without a moment's hesitation. And I'm finding now that the thought of this doesn't scare me anymore. I can say that I want to live around the world, in countries where I know how to say nothing more than "hi" and "I love you."
When I go back to Virginia maybe this will all be different again. Maybe I will return to that life where I get though the day by telling myself that this assignment will be worth something, this class will be worth something, this degree will be worth something. But what worth can a piece of paper really hold when I know that there is no interest in me remaining?
So now I fear Paris will be an end. In more ways than one.

FIELD NOTE 6.44 - Proper French.

I'm afraid my French has become a little informal after months of talking out of class and growing used to using tu and dropping ne's whenever I speak. This is the wrong language to use in a classroom and I can practically see my prof cringe.
And so I've decided that from now on I will only speak in proper French. So there go the tu's and here come all the ne's! Maybe now I will finally be able to move past my Shakespearean meerkat phase and become more like Moliere as Ge suggests.