2011 May « Barbara Leung « The Life of an NYU Student

May 30, 2011 by Barb

Taittinger champagne cave

Last Monday, I woke up the earliest that I have since school has ended to head on over to Gare de l’Est to catch my 9AM train to Reims (~50€ round trip). Funny that the first-class tickets were about 5€ cheaper than the regular second-class ones. There isn’t much difference between the two degrees, except for larger seats and a free magazine in first class. After skimming through several articles, including one about the infiltration of the NY hipster style in Paris, I took a short nap and found myself in the city forty-five minutes later.

Stepping out of the TGV with no NYU tour group to guide my way was a little uncomfortable, but also exciting. I hurried quickly to the tourism office by the train station for a map of the city. Walking through the city, one becomes quick to realize that everything is rather walkable since Reims isn’t that large.

First on the agenda was to check out the Reims Cathedral, which is celebrating its 800th “birthday” and was the site of coronation of past kings and Napoléon I. The cathedral in itself is magnificent, what with its tall pillars, and colourful light shining through the stained glass windows.

From there, I started the 1 to 2 kilometre walk to where the bulk of the champagne houses resided. Along the way, I ran into the Abbey of Saint-Remi. The basilica is like all the others, except for the fact that I entered alone and was treated to a personal concert of organ melodies. I would have loved to sat and enjoyed the music longer than I did, but a group of children filed in, and I decided it would be time to leave.

Arriving at the Taittinger champagne house, I entered the lobby to find out that I had just missed the French tour. Not wanting to stay around in the neighbourhood, which was quite bare, for the next French one (starting after their lunch break), I opted to go along with the English tour and tasting (14€). The guide was quite knowledgeable and patient in explaining everything, but for me, it was a bit of a rehash of what I already knew since reading Tilar J. Mazzeo’s The Widow Clicquot. I was quite fascinated, however, with the galloroman chalk ruins; unfortunately, they weren’t discussed as much. And even more unfortunate was the fact that the Cryptoportique in the city center, which is a gallery of galloroman ruins, is closed until June 1st.

I headed back to the city center, hoping to catch some lunch. But as I sat down in the busy city forum, it soon became clear that they had stopped serving lunch at 2PM (highly unusual for the French). As hungry as I was, I needed to give my feet a rest, so I stayed seated for a café crème and some downtime with a book I had recently purchased, Apologie du carnivore by Dominique Lestel.

Fifty pages later, I left to check out the Musée Beaux-Arts. This particular Beaux-Arts houses, apparently, the second largest collection of Corot’s works; the first being the Louvre.

Afterward, with pretty much everything that I found to be interesting in the city was completed, I headed back to the station so as to change my ticket for an earlier ride back. Admittedly, Reims could’ve been a lot more exciting had I rented a car, but not having the funds or a valid driver’s license tends to make that a bit difficult. In any case, there is much more to explore in the area, and I will surely be back.

The light shining through the stained windows of the cathedral

Walking through the cathedral

Outside the cathedral

The sediment in the demo bottle

Different bottle sizes, including the 'Nebuchadnezzar,' which holds 15 litres

The Beaux-Arts in Reims, which holds the second largest collection of Corot paintings next to the Louvre

Public transport in the form of a tram

Day Trip: Giverny

May 29, 2011 by Barb

The famed bridge featured in many of Monet's paintings

With school being over, I finally took it upon myself to head out on a day trip to Giverny, best known as the location of impressionist painter Claude Monet’s home and garden, with my friend Jasmine. Traveling to and from the small town is rather easy what with several trains running the trip daily, stopping at the nearby town of Vernon (~18€). From there, we had to wait for a coach bus, which cost 4€ round trip, that took us to Giverny.

It didn’t quite occur to me until we arrived in the town that there really wasn’t anything else to do except to see Monet’s home and gardens. The long line leading into the estate moves rather quickly. Unfortunately, the usual art history NYU card and under 26 Paris VII card combo has no use here. Saying that you are a student hacks off a bit of the fee, but you’re still forking over 5€.

Upon entering, the garden is quite lovely with its wide array of flowers. Head to where the waterlilies are, duck through a short underground passage and emerge to find a somewhat different atmosphere. More shady than the other section because of the large trees, dabbles of lily pads and waterlilies decorate the pond. The croaking of the well-hidden frogs can also be heard, as they create some kind of melody.

We also entered Monet’s house, and while it was impressive to see where the painter spent his final years, it was rather difficult to appreciate what with the number of people visiting. Perhaps the most impressive room of the house was the kitchen, which was incredibly spacious and full of cooking equipment.

One can easily spend a couple of hours just in the gardens, but outside of the estate, there isn’t much to do. In which case, we headed on back to Paris, where I hurried home before heading on over to Parson’s annual fashion show.

Flowers

In the gardens

The famed waterlilies

Entering Monet's house

On the porch of Monet's house

All Things Come to (Some Kind of) an End

May 26, 2011 by Barb

I pretty much looked like this all of second semester of sophomore year

It’s not to say that I could never leave. As easy as it was to put one foot in front of another and pull myself into the office (that alone, I’m not quite sure), I could have requested for a new nurse practitioner or psychiatrist. But the number of complexities that arrive in saying I want someone new aren’t usually considered when people ask why I haven’t jumped ship with the Cat Lady.

First thing to consider was the fact that slotting in me for the next available appointment with someone else would take at least a month, according to the Intern and the PhD whom I’ve asked in previous sessions. Knowing that, I decided that in this period of time, I was in no condition to spend a month rogue with my pills, especially with what the medication was doing to me.

Over the course of the four or so months that I spent taking Lexapro, I made little improvement in managing my side effects. Perhaps it was the increments in dosage that the Cat Lady prescribed, despite the somnolence of which I spoke, or perhaps it just did not agree with my system. To give you an idea of the constant sleepiness that I endured, I required at least eight or nine hours of sleep even to be able to pull myself out of bed, followed by droopy eyes, drifting in and out of micro-naps, in classes, and frequent yawning at work. On arriving home, I had to flop myself onto the bed to nap for several hours before having the energy to even sit on the computer and check my email. In other words, I basically slept through my second semester of sophomore year. Albeit there were the days, when I had enough coffee enough my system to not need a nap or to hang out with friends, but those days were few and my mind often found itself, in any case, occupied by ideas of sleep.

Granted, the Lexapro had stopped me from friends finding me curled into a ball in my bed, as well as placed a limit on the extremes of my emotions, but it had limited me so much that it was in fact constricting. Emotionally, I was numb; nothing made me happy nor sad. Every day was spent completing the schedule laid out on my iCal and wanting “enough” sleep so that I wouldn’t be struggling to stay awake come afternoon. It was in this time (and shortly thereafter with my summer courses, by which time I was on Prozac and could not sleep for more than two hours at a time) that I learned that I could conceptualize and whip out papers in three to four hours, and earn As.

Coming back to the discussion of why I never requested a change in nurse practitioner, despite all my unpleasant experiences of not being heard, I have to address the fact that I am never really comfortable with new persons. Though I say that my experiences with both the Intern and Shrink have been great, one should remember that I spent a good several sessions being hostile and stonewalled. Working with someone I can’t stand somehow seemed a tad better than working with someone that I didn’t know. In retrospect, especially after meeting with others who have disagreed with my course of treatment, I should have gone the slightly less uncomfortable path.

Some good ol' Prozac; doesn't quite work like it does in the commercials

This relationship between Cat Lady and I pretty much culminated in two meetings; one at the end of April, and one in the beginning of May. My complaints of somnolence and inability to “feel” were finally met with a suggestion to switch to Prozac. I took up the suggestion and began taking this well-known medication only to find that I wasn’t able to sleep. Or rather, I wasn’t able to have any restful sleep; I’d wake up every two or so hours, and in effect, I’d leave my apartment exhausted but unable to rectify it.

I came in about three weeks after I began taking the Prozac to meet with the Cat Lady. Explaining that I was unable to sleep, she simply offered to increase my dosage. And it was there that I couldn’t be bothered to have faith in her credentials and experience any longer. I questioned her as to why we would prescribe a higher dosage when I already couldn’t sleep, and it just seemed as though that she didn’t quite understand what I was saying when she answered: “to cure the depression.” At what cost would I be willing to pay? Certainly not all ability to function in my life and no chance of enjoying anything when I all would want to do is sleep.

And there we sat in the office with half a prescription ordered, and unable to see eye-to-eye. There was no banter, only a digression by me asking a series of irrelevant questions, such as whose office we were sitting in (it was a Saturday, so it meant that we were using a borrowed office on the third floor), and the difference between a psychiatrist and nurse practitioner. The Cat Lady described a psychiatrist as someone whose goal is to cure the “disease,” and the nurse practitioner aims to mediate better living with the current lifestyle of the patient. At that moment, I wanted to blurt out and ask where the Cat Lady stood since I felt that neither direction was wholeheartedly pursued by her. Instead, I merely asked which professional would I be better off working with; the reply was “whoever you will listen to,” followed by the conceding that she knew that I called her “Cat Lady” with the other staff. Though I had the urge to question the logic of my course of treatment and her general attitude towards me, I let the desire to do so simply pass me. It was then that I was finally let go, and told that I would have someone new and experienced to work with, and that they would get in contact with me within several days.

Images courtesy of flickr.com (users: Dalla* and ~ Aidan Dunbar)

RT @WarbyParker: Excited to be there! RT @LinleighHawk: First Ogilvy Office Hours kicks off! @fab @warbyparker @birchbox @havetohave htt ...

May, 2011

Day Trip: Reims

Day Trip: Giverny

All Things Come to (Some Kind of) an End