You'd better watch your neck...

What a week I've had! On Monday morning, I woke up extremely early (okay, it was 8) and went on a walk in the Palais Royal garden. I eventually found my way to the Bibliotheque Nationale, the French National Library, a research library that houses special manuscript, map, and coin collections (among other things). My study abroad walk book (a student's guide to non-tourist Paris, written by BYU professors) suggested that a trip to the library would be fun, and it said, "Look for the door marked Salle de Travail. Step inside, and you will see the famous reading room built during the Second French Empire."

I had to pass through a security checkpoint to enter the library courtyard, and from there I proceeded to the massive main doors. I readily found a doorway that was labeled Salle de Travail, and the door was cracked open an inch. I did wonder if I could just walk in, but my walk book listed no restrictions. I just figured that the library was trying to block out street noise by keeping the reading room door shut. So, I pushed on the door and stepped inside. There were blue computer screens spotting the rows and rows of mahagony desks, and the lit bookstacks created eery silhouettes on the walls. I did not remember reading that the Salle de Travail looked like a submarine control room. Something felt wrong.

In the main lobby, I heard a gravelly female voice ask, "What is that girl doing?" A deeper male voice responded, "Who knows. I sent Pierre to find out." 'Pierre?' I thought. 'Surely, they aren't talking about me...' I slowly turned around and jumped when I saw a greasy little man standing at my shoulder, his face half hidden by shadow. "Madame, are you looking for something in particular?" he asked, flicking his sharp nose with his middle finger. I was too distracted by his dull grey eyes, his chalky skin, and his crooked teeth to respond. Instead of coming up with an excuse for myself, I could do nothing else but gape at his unfortunate resemblance to Grima Wormtongue from Lord of the Rings, and slowly back away.

"Mademoiselle, are you looking for something?" "Uhhh..." As he led me out of the Salle de Travail, I frantically searched for French words in my scattered brain. "I am a student on a study abroad, and I was supposed to come see the library. My professor researched for his dissertation here." Grima Wormtongue (aka Pierre) explained that because the National Library is a research library, users are required to carry high-security identification badges. He then led me over to another reading room, where he allowed me to peek in through the porthole window. He said, "I cannot let you go inside," pointing to the armed security guards inside the door, "but I can give you an informational pamphlet about the library. Would you like to read it in English or French?" After supplying me with a folding map of the library, he ushered me out of the library.

I don't enter a place if it looks forbidden. However, if a learned professor says, "Look for the door marked Salle de Travail. Step inside, and you will see the famous reading room built during the Second French Empire"... Why would I question? Now, though, we ALL know that the Bibliotheque Nationale is off limits. Right? Lesson definitely learned.

That same day, I also had a disheartening experience in Parisian Chinatown (or Chinastreet, a more appropriate name). My immediate family members-- parents, brothers, and I-- are pork bun connoisseurs. We have spent many holidays scouring Oakland for the best baked cha siu bao the Bay Area can offer. I assumed that Paris, being a large and diverse city (as well as the gastronomic capital of Europe), would surely be able to rival Oakland in a pork bun battle. So, obviously, I was eager to give some French pork buns a try. What I ended up eating was a hybrid of baked and steamed, bread and sponge, pork and ground beef, sweet and sour and barbecue sauces... I would not recommend the experience to anyone, connoisseur or not. The photo below was obviously taken pre-bite.

Monday redeemed itself with a visit to the Conciergerie, a royal residence that served as a prison during the revolution. I saw a replication of Marie Antoinette's cell, where she was held before being led to the guillotine. Aside from the dark history of the building, the gothic architecture was quite charming!

Ashley and I had a culinary adventure this week. We were craving spaghetti (how often does that happen?) and found some noodles in our kitchen. We didn't have anything resembling a sauce, though... So, we dumped some sliced tomatoes, zucchini and garlic in a pot, along with some basil, black pepper, olive oil, and a dash of chili powder... and made a delicious tomato sauce. We were pretty proud of ourselves.

Today, when I went to the Louvre for class, I saw two young men wearing BYU football sweatshirts. I took a photo with them in front of a famous painting from French neo-classicism. I'll post that photo soon! It was way too funny.

That's all for now... I am out of internet time. More to come!