Another crazy day. Last night we went out to a bar with a good music scene. A ton of Americans and Brits all sang and the amazing thing was every one of them was good. Even the original pieces were surprisingly entertaining. Huddled in a basement with dim lighting, a Jack and Coke, and some inspiring music – this is Paris. It reminded me of why I love it. After, we stayed to chat with the bartender and his friends. Everyone in this city is so multi-cultured. The people we meet can generally not define where they’re from because they’re from everywhere.
The cab didn’t stop at our door till almost 3:30 so it was a good thing class was delayed until 2:00 p.m. We met at the Cité Nationale de l’Histoire de l’Immigration at the Palais de la Porte Dorée. It’s an immigration museum that tells the history of immigrants in France since the 19th century and serves as a reminder and to increase awareness of this population in France. After, three of us went with our professor and TA to the Buddhist temple across the street. Well, at least we thought it was across the street. It was actually across the street down a long path in the park. We did get a personal lesson on the religion from a Buddhist, which our professor translated (our shoes were off and everything). The religion is all about controlling desire and essentially being in touch with yourself and a good person. It reminds me of the therapy constantly being pushed in America. While yoga became popular practice in the West and quickly became disassociated with religion, meditation is doing the same. Buddhist ritual is congruent with mindfulness (something that didn’t work for me). Anyway, enough school for now.
By the time we decided to leave it started to pour. We decided to wait out the storm in a pagoda where Cambodians were having some kind of cultural gathering. They were selling various Asian foods so I got 2 spring rolls and a sandwich. I forgot how much I love Asian cuisine. We also watched the boys do some crazy acrobatics – lifting each other up by the hands and balancing on top of each other.
Eventually, the rain got worse and we ended up sprinting back to the metro. By the time we arrived, my jacket was soaked through (yes, my rain jacket) and my pants felt about thousand pounds heavier. By the time we got home it was almost 7:00 and I couldn’t believe where the day went. I wrote an essay and am currently anticipating doing my reading and responses while cooking Pasta Ponza in a way-too-tiny kitchen. Maybe tomorrow I’ll have a minute to breathe. But that’s okay. This is the way I like to live.