An American Girl in Avignon
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Bon Jour, Bonne Vie (good day, good life)
Yesterday morning I woke up in a furry to finish my history homework, noticing that my alarm clock had not gone off…again. I need to get that checked. Rushing and running from the bathroom, to the kitchen, to the desk in our room to finish before class, I yelled for my roommate to get up, thinking that we were going to be very late – again. Sad, considering how close we are to the school when it is held at its originally assigned location, but hey, it happens. Power walking to class, homework in hand, we arrived (late of course) only to find the rest of the class waiting for us outside. Instead of class today, we would be having a walking tour in town. No homework turn-in necessary.The weather was perfect for walking, and after our educational tour of our home away from home, I spilt to quickly grab some lunch before going back to the house. I needed to finish the paper I had procrastinated on, due via e-mail that afternoon. I stopped at a snack shop for a sandwich, and as soon as I opened my mouth, the owner said, “Tu es américaine, n’est-ce pas?” They always know: it’s the accent. He then started pointing to the pictures of LA, New York, and Chicago that were posted on the walls of the café, confessing that the only other places he had heard of in the United States were Flordia (Disney World and Miami) and Texas (Bush). When I told him I was from Ohio, he just nodded, and said, “Is that in New York?” Safe to say that Ohio doesn’t have as much resonance here as the Big Apple or Hollywood. It’s funny to be thought of as an American here, because most French people think of one thing when they hear USA: New York City. This city, and shows like “Desperate Housewives,” which our host dad watches religiously :), are their perceptions of Americans and America. I’m always sorry to disappoint them when I tell them I am from a suburb of Dayton, and not anywhere exciting like LA.
Thankfully, I finished my paper in time to go to class and run home just in time for Kristina and I to make pancakes for ourselves and Monsieur M and Paul before going out that night. Alas, we finally got our pancakes! We figured it was best to exit on a good note, if we were going to leave at all. You want to avoid burning any bridges at all costs. It was really awkward when the director of the program called (while Monsieur was away). I think all of my normally bodily functions stopped for a minute as Kristina and I looked at each other in a panic! We still hadn’t officially told them we were leaving yet (wanted to make sure we had someplace else to go before doing this and to do so in a professional manner), so we feared the worst. Luckily, I was able to call him before and inform him of this. Thank God, because we would have been scared to return home that night if I hadn’t gotten a hold of him! So, we met today and talked the situation over with our leaders. He is making a telephone call to arrange a meeting at the house tomorrow. All we can do now is hope and pray that things work out smoothly.
We saw the film “Coco avant Chanel” at a local theatre, all in French of course, before going to the Red Sky. The movie had a charming artistic flair, a characteristic of French cinema (think “Marie Antoinette,” “La Vie en Rose,” and “Paris, Je t’Aime”), and was very touching. I had no idea that Coco Chanel had such a rough childhood and life. It just goes to show you that some of the most extraordinary people can rise above the worst of circumstances. Not wanting to stay out too late (we had an excursion the next morning), we only went to the pub for a little while before turning it in to make our very healthy lunch for the next day: Nutella and banana sandwiches. So bad for you, yet so good…
Today, we had an excursion to three places in Provence: the Boires, the Gordes, and Roussillon. The first stop after our hour long bus ride was Boires. When we arrived, I was surprised to find out that Boires was nothing more than a bunch of stone huts up on a hill. But, it was pretty neat to see, and the weather was perfect today, so that made the pile of architectural rocks we were looking at much more enjoyable. Don’t get me wrong, it was fun, and the view was breathtaking from the village. Good pit stop.
After this, we stopped at Gordes, the town made famous in the novel A Year in Provence, for lunch and exploring. I now understand why this town is so famous: it was absolutely stunning. Though the hike up the side of the hill was exhausting. Biggest stair master on Planet Earth! The view, and the city, were both worth that hike, as well as the fresh strawberries we bought from the local market. That’s one thing I love about France: you’re never short of finding good, local, fresh produce. Best euro I spent in Europe, bien sûr. (The small basket was a costly four, but split four ways, we were all able to enjoy the fresh fruit of Provence…for a more reasonable price). After some browsing and enjoying the sights, the bus took us to Roussillon, a town with yummy lavender and violet ice cream and a miniature grand canyon.
What fascinates me about France is that even though the country can fit inside the state of Texas, there are many different climates and varied terrains found here. We went from one extreme to the other: lush, green vineyard-covered hillsides to desert-like conditions with pine trees and red dirt. The red dirt that is naturally found in Roussillon is called “ocres,” and all of the buildings in the village have a reddish tint to them, since they are made out of this natural red dust material. The mini Grand Canyon type place is called the Sentiers and was worth the 2.5 euros we spent to walk around and get our feet dirty. Watch your clothes and shoes if you are planning on going here, or else they may be permanently stained an orangey-red color from the ocres.
Gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous. If I am a millionaire one day, I am going to build a mansion in the hills of Provence…XXX
Things J'adore About France
The fashion
The weather
The people (most of them are nice, but of course, there are mean people everywhere)
Crêpes with Nutella
Wine and champagne
The flowers
The pretty language
All the food
The Old World feeling
The relaxed Provencal attitude
The scenery
The proximity (close to the other European countries)
The newness of each day
Being “legal”
Strong coffee
Open air markets
Walking everywhere in town
The weather
The people (most of them are nice, but of course, there are mean people everywhere)
Crêpes with Nutella
Wine and champagne
The flowers
The pretty language
All the food
The Old World feeling
The relaxed Provencal attitude
The scenery
The proximity (close to the other European countries)
The newness of each day
Being “legal”
Strong coffee
Open air markets
Walking everywhere in town
The art
The history
The culture
The music
Thursday, April 23, 2009
The Transient Window of Opportunity
Who hasn’t heard, “don’t let the window of opportunity pass you by!” at one time or another during their lifetime? Well, how many people actually take these opportunities, and use them to their full advantage? That’s what I thought. I am guilty of this as well; we all are. My roommate and I see the window of opportunity flashing before our eyes, and we sure as heck aren’t going to wait around until it’s too late.I mentioned in a previous blog how our living situation is not ideal. I am going to refrain from going into details, but I think we have decided it is best that we seek beds elsewhere. We both met with the director of the program on Monday, and after talking with him, it was clear that things aren’t the way they were supposed to be. Yet, we did not want to move out, without hearing what the other side had to say. I believe that a vast majority of problems are caused by miscommunication or lack of communication at all. Our situation proves this point. Although it may be hard, and I hate confrontation just as much, if not more, than the next person, but if you never speak up, no one will know…and that gets you nowhere. After weighing our options, we decided it would be worse to suffer in silence, then to have that awkward conversation with our host family as to why we feel uncomfortable, what’s wrong…and eventually, why we are leaving. I am upset that it has come to this, but after weighing our options, we think it is best. I just hate feeling like a baby or cop-out, and I know that having to deal with a family that is having a rough time would be a learning experience. But after talking with several adults, we feel it is probably best if we leave, for the sake of the family situation and to avoid being obligations to a family going through a rough time. I am a little sad to be leaving in some ways, because Kristina and I talked with the dad last night, and he sympathized and was willing to listen to our concerns. I feel horrible, because I accidently left one of the doors unlocked, twice, but I swear I thought it was closed and locked. I feel really terrible about this, so I can understand why and if they are angry at me. However, things have not been up to par, and the thought of kindhearted and sympathetic Monsieur M leaving on Saturday for three weeks, and being left here with his busy, stressed, and worried wife (who has been gone the past few days), is not ideal. I don’t think we need to cause her anymore stress – especially after we found out that her mother was really sick. All I could do was pray for God to show me what we were supposed to do, and I think I got my answer today.
Katy talked with me and Kristina and told us that we could move in with another family, and to let her know our final decision by the end of the week. When we were in grammar class, our oral production teacher discovered our dilemma (by looking over Kristina’s shoulder), and started questioning us. We explained to her our situation; she sympathized and was even willing to suggest an alternate residence. Her friend, an English professor (big plus), has taken students before and has vacancy! She told us that the woman lives in the center of town, is welcoming, and would most likely be willing to take us in. Thank you, God! We talked with her more after class and got some details, and it sounds like a winner.
My only concern is hurting Monsieur’s feelings after he was so nice to us last night. But I know that he will be gone for three weeks (perfect opportunity to leave without having to explain why. Although, I kind of wish he was going to be here, so we could explain that we will still think highly of him), so we will avoid the awkward move-out day with him at least. I know that our director will explain our reasoning in a clear manner, so I am not too worried. I am sure that after some explanation (and clear communication), the family will understand. Deep down in my heart, something tells me that this is the right thing to do. But I know if things change, and I do have to continue living where I currently am, I could do it. It would be a challenge, but I would be fine. Who knows, maybe things will get better just as we are officially ready to hit the door, and we will end up staying. Life’s full of surprises and little miracles. It’s never too late for a bold gesture...
Comment dit-on «courgette» en anglais???
23 avril
Ah, the joys of French cuisine. The French are vraiment experts in two areas: food and wine. Being the domestic person that I am, my idea of cooking involves sticking something in a microwave and pressing start, or dialing the nearest Chinese takeout place. And my knowledge of “good” wine involves finding something cheap with a cool name and a pretty bottle. In other words, I never cook, and I know nothing about wine. Yet, being in France is slowly changing my attitude towards cooking and fermented grape juice. I am beginning to acquire a taste for them both. Monsieur M. is constantly trying to educate us about the joys of French wine, and I think his efforts are beginning to pay off. According to him, if the wine is good, it will pleure (cry) when you swirl it (meaning that a dripping residue will trickle down the sides of the glass as you swirl it around), and it must be from France, of course. Oh, and never, never, never leave water in the bottom of your glass before pouring the wine in it, or mix water with wine: it is considered insulting. The Provencal wines and champagnes come in wider shaped bottles – symbolizing their locality and high quality. I know that we are allowed to bring 2 bottles back with us: one of wine and one of champagne (that amazing stuff we had at Easter…that is decided) pour moi. As to which kind of wine, that is still up in the air, but I know I will use my new-found knowledge to make the decision. Thanks, Monsieur M.
As for cuisine, today, we had l’atelier de cuisine at the Halles to test our skills in the kitchen. (The Halles is a large indoor marketplace in Place Pie with arrays of fresh produce, bread, fish, pastries, pre-made goodies, and even artwork – just waiting to be bought!) We were split into three groups: one prepared the pork, the other made the apple tart, and the last, mine, whipped up some ratatouille (yes, the dish made famous by the Disney-Pixar film with the cooking rat :) ). I was surprised at how much I actually enjoyed shopping for - and then making -the food. In a strange way it was kind of enjoyable. My inner Stepford wife was finally coming out! Who knows, maybe I’ll take up cooking when I get back home? I’ll have to learn eventually someday – although I am currently capable of making some mean stir-fry and am a master at the microwave, coffee maker, and telephone.
The list of ingredients were in French, bien sur, so it took some time figuring out what exactly it was we were looking for. Since I had not had supermarket vocabulary since French 2 in high school, this made things more difficult. For example, what the heck is a courgette? I assumed that it was either cabbage or cauliflower; since I knew carrot was carrotte. Nope, it was a zucchini…see what I mean. So after hunting the fresh food stands, we boiled tomatoes to peel, chopped veggies, made the sauce, and cooked away. It was actually kind of fun, although it was sheer to torture to have to sit and smell all of the food we had just made, knowing that we had a long walk ahead of us before we could eat it. After the pork was finally done, we packed up our culinary creations, grabbed a baguette and something to drink, and headed to a park for an outdoor picnic. Sitting in the sun, while smelling the Irises, and then deciding to go play on the seesaw with Rachel, made me forget all about the mounds of homework I had waiting for me back at the house. I was going to go to the island and have some fun!
The island in Avignon, Barthelasse, is a strip of land just off the main part of the city that can only be reached by the ferryboat over the Rhone. The ferryboat picks up one load of people, crosses the river, unloads, picks up another group, travels to the other side, and so on and so forth, all day long. Thankfully, it was free. When we reached the island, Meghan, Kristina, Kyle, and I joined Lance, John, Melissa, and Brad for some sunbathing, wine, and cards.
While sunning ourselves, a man with a professional looking camera approached us and asked if we wanted to be in his documentary about springtime in Avignon. Of course we said yes; how exciting! Who doesn’t want to be in a movie? He asked us (while recording) what our names were, where we were from, and what came to our minds when we thought of spring. My lame answer was papillons and fleurs (butterflies and flowers)…which is true, but if only I knew more French vocabulary, I wouldn’t have sounded so lame. After I heard Lance’s answer of “vert” (the color green), I felt a little better. Of course he was kidding, but the man filmed us bursting out laughing after his response…and then reverting back to English. He left quickly after that, but said he would use our responses. I’m not so sure if I believe that…haha. I think our film star days are over. But hey, I guess we all have the right to claim our foreign stardom, and say “I’m famous…in France.”
Ah, the joys of French cuisine. The French are vraiment experts in two areas: food and wine. Being the domestic person that I am, my idea of cooking involves sticking something in a microwave and pressing start, or dialing the nearest Chinese takeout place. And my knowledge of “good” wine involves finding something cheap with a cool name and a pretty bottle. In other words, I never cook, and I know nothing about wine. Yet, being in France is slowly changing my attitude towards cooking and fermented grape juice. I am beginning to acquire a taste for them both. Monsieur M. is constantly trying to educate us about the joys of French wine, and I think his efforts are beginning to pay off. According to him, if the wine is good, it will pleure (cry) when you swirl it (meaning that a dripping residue will trickle down the sides of the glass as you swirl it around), and it must be from France, of course. Oh, and never, never, never leave water in the bottom of your glass before pouring the wine in it, or mix water with wine: it is considered insulting. The Provencal wines and champagnes come in wider shaped bottles – symbolizing their locality and high quality. I know that we are allowed to bring 2 bottles back with us: one of wine and one of champagne (that amazing stuff we had at Easter…that is decided) pour moi. As to which kind of wine, that is still up in the air, but I know I will use my new-found knowledge to make the decision. Thanks, Monsieur M.
As for cuisine, today, we had l’atelier de cuisine at the Halles to test our skills in the kitchen. (The Halles is a large indoor marketplace in Place Pie with arrays of fresh produce, bread, fish, pastries, pre-made goodies, and even artwork – just waiting to be bought!) We were split into three groups: one prepared the pork, the other made the apple tart, and the last, mine, whipped up some ratatouille (yes, the dish made famous by the Disney-Pixar film with the cooking rat :) ). I was surprised at how much I actually enjoyed shopping for - and then making -the food. In a strange way it was kind of enjoyable. My inner Stepford wife was finally coming out! Who knows, maybe I’ll take up cooking when I get back home? I’ll have to learn eventually someday – although I am currently capable of making some mean stir-fry and am a master at the microwave, coffee maker, and telephone.
The list of ingredients were in French, bien sur, so it took some time figuring out what exactly it was we were looking for. Since I had not had supermarket vocabulary since French 2 in high school, this made things more difficult. For example, what the heck is a courgette? I assumed that it was either cabbage or cauliflower; since I knew carrot was carrotte. Nope, it was a zucchini…see what I mean. So after hunting the fresh food stands, we boiled tomatoes to peel, chopped veggies, made the sauce, and cooked away. It was actually kind of fun, although it was sheer to torture to have to sit and smell all of the food we had just made, knowing that we had a long walk ahead of us before we could eat it. After the pork was finally done, we packed up our culinary creations, grabbed a baguette and something to drink, and headed to a park for an outdoor picnic. Sitting in the sun, while smelling the Irises, and then deciding to go play on the seesaw with Rachel, made me forget all about the mounds of homework I had waiting for me back at the house. I was going to go to the island and have some fun!
The island in Avignon, Barthelasse, is a strip of land just off the main part of the city that can only be reached by the ferryboat over the Rhone. The ferryboat picks up one load of people, crosses the river, unloads, picks up another group, travels to the other side, and so on and so forth, all day long. Thankfully, it was free. When we reached the island, Meghan, Kristina, Kyle, and I joined Lance, John, Melissa, and Brad for some sunbathing, wine, and cards.
While sunning ourselves, a man with a professional looking camera approached us and asked if we wanted to be in his documentary about springtime in Avignon. Of course we said yes; how exciting! Who doesn’t want to be in a movie? He asked us (while recording) what our names were, where we were from, and what came to our minds when we thought of spring. My lame answer was papillons and fleurs (butterflies and flowers)…which is true, but if only I knew more French vocabulary, I wouldn’t have sounded so lame. After I heard Lance’s answer of “vert” (the color green), I felt a little better. Of course he was kidding, but the man filmed us bursting out laughing after his response…and then reverting back to English. He left quickly after that, but said he would use our responses. I’m not so sure if I believe that…haha. I think our film star days are over. But hey, I guess we all have the right to claim our foreign stardom, and say “I’m famous…in France.”
La Grève continues, so let’s go to London
Lundi et mardi (avril 20 et 21)Unfortunately, the situation with the grève is not improving. I discovered that violence had broken out the other night (Thursday, the night we got the call that we would not be having classes the following day), which resulted in the injury of a professor, a police lock-down, and several arrests. The university is “officially closed” the rest of the week, due to the severity of the grève. Yet, even though courses aren’t continuing, the library, the cafeteria, and the campus reopened Monday morning. But for our safety, M. Corbin insisted that we have classes at an alternate location (farther away from our house; gotta get up earlier now) for the next two weeks. It is confusing to be living in the midst a situation that we don’t understand – especially when it is affecting the family I am staying with so severely. I still don’t know how the situation is being resolved, because from the outside looking in, it seems as though no side is progressing – people are just getting more and more angry and impatient.
In our history class, our Professor pulled out the local paper with a front page story reading that McDonald’s had offered to let students take their exams there, if the university did not reopen. I thought about what would happen if the students decided to go on strike at OU, and I’m pretty sure it would last a day, a week, or maybe only a couple of hours, before someone intervened. I also would bet that we wouldn’t be taking our exams at Chipotle – or be taking any exams at all – if something this extreme was going on the United States. The thing is that this wouldn’t: since our universities aren’t directly controlled by the government or state. I just hope that something gets done soon for the sake of everyone: students, professors, and the government. Right now, the people of France are confused and frustrated, and like an 8-ball, “outlook: not good,” my friend. The future is foggy, and present is hazy, but a glimpse of sunlight peers through the clouds of chaos in that the cafeteria and campus is now reopened, although heavily guarded.
I took my first test in France today: grammar. I feel that I didn’t have enough time to finish or recheck my work properly, on the account that we had to finish watching “Marius” before the test and that I am a naturally slow test-taker. Oh well, I’ll learn from my mistakes, and better luck next time. I probably should have studied a little more though, but as I have mentioned before, it is hard to get work done here, because as horrible as it sounds, I feel like I am on vacation. I want to go out and explore and enjoy France! Which is understandable and perfectly okay…as long as I get work done sometime too. :) And quite frankly, me and my rommie’s habit of procrastinating till the wee hours of the morning is just not working out. Haha
Speaking of work, I need to find a job this summer. Part of me wishes I was going back to Athens for a summer session, so I could get some GEs out of the way that I am not taking this quarter. But I think it’s too late to sign up, and I really need to make some money with a steady job. The economy, the fact that I won’t be back until June 13th, and the whole “I can’t come in for an interview, because I am in France” issue is going to make this task interesting. I’m for the challenge though, and I know I NEED to start applying now. I wonder if they would do a Skype interview…
Back to classes: I am beginning to like the courses more and more every day, but I am still very confused as to how exactly we are being graded. There is no syllabus for three out of the four classes I am taking, and it seems to me like we have little work to do in some of them, but a ton in others. At the same time, I feel like I am learning a lot in all of them, and that is really the sole purpose I am here. Tuesday in Literature, our professor kept referencing Sophia Copolla’s “Marie Antoinette,” my favorite movie, and artists like Degas, so I am really enjoying that subject. :)
On other positive notes, my roommate, who was sick last week with a horrible cold, is finally starting to get better. I, on the other hand, think I may be allergic to France. Just kidding, but seriously, I have never had an allergy test done, and my eyes have frequently been itchy, watery/dry (one of the two extremes), and red. I hope I am not starting to get sick, but I know if I was, that whipping Mistral blowing dust in my eyes sure wouldn’t help. Thankfully, the wind should be dying down soon, so that should help my sore eyes.
Oh! I almost forgot: I bought my ticket to London for next Thursday night, and I am pumped!! Although I love France, London was the first city I wanted to visit in Europe (after Paris, of course), and I am always up for a change of scenery from time to time. So far, the only people going are me, Kyle, and Kristina. I know we will have a blast if it is just us three, but the more, the merrier, I say. So hopefully, two of the other students who are pending will decide to tag along. We will be getting back Monday afternoon (and skipping class…I know shame on us, but we already told M. Corbin, and he a-okayed it, since the tickets would be half-price). Although the tickets were more than I had originally thought they were going to be, and I accidentally spent 15 euro each flight I registered for by accidentally marking that I had a checked bag (oops…merde de vie moment (French version of FML)), it still wasn’t unreasonable. It is Britain, for goodness sakes! I can’t wait to drink some of that English tea, see Buckingham Palace, Big Ben, London Bridge, and *bonus*…speak ENGLISH! No “lost in translation” moments here! I hope I see Prince Harry…
XXX
In our history class, our Professor pulled out the local paper with a front page story reading that McDonald’s had offered to let students take their exams there, if the university did not reopen. I thought about what would happen if the students decided to go on strike at OU, and I’m pretty sure it would last a day, a week, or maybe only a couple of hours, before someone intervened. I also would bet that we wouldn’t be taking our exams at Chipotle – or be taking any exams at all – if something this extreme was going on the United States. The thing is that this wouldn’t: since our universities aren’t directly controlled by the government or state. I just hope that something gets done soon for the sake of everyone: students, professors, and the government. Right now, the people of France are confused and frustrated, and like an 8-ball, “outlook: not good,” my friend. The future is foggy, and present is hazy, but a glimpse of sunlight peers through the clouds of chaos in that the cafeteria and campus is now reopened, although heavily guarded.
I took my first test in France today: grammar. I feel that I didn’t have enough time to finish or recheck my work properly, on the account that we had to finish watching “Marius” before the test and that I am a naturally slow test-taker. Oh well, I’ll learn from my mistakes, and better luck next time. I probably should have studied a little more though, but as I have mentioned before, it is hard to get work done here, because as horrible as it sounds, I feel like I am on vacation. I want to go out and explore and enjoy France! Which is understandable and perfectly okay…as long as I get work done sometime too. :) And quite frankly, me and my rommie’s habit of procrastinating till the wee hours of the morning is just not working out. Haha
Speaking of work, I need to find a job this summer. Part of me wishes I was going back to Athens for a summer session, so I could get some GEs out of the way that I am not taking this quarter. But I think it’s too late to sign up, and I really need to make some money with a steady job. The economy, the fact that I won’t be back until June 13th, and the whole “I can’t come in for an interview, because I am in France” issue is going to make this task interesting. I’m for the challenge though, and I know I NEED to start applying now. I wonder if they would do a Skype interview…
Back to classes: I am beginning to like the courses more and more every day, but I am still very confused as to how exactly we are being graded. There is no syllabus for three out of the four classes I am taking, and it seems to me like we have little work to do in some of them, but a ton in others. At the same time, I feel like I am learning a lot in all of them, and that is really the sole purpose I am here. Tuesday in Literature, our professor kept referencing Sophia Copolla’s “Marie Antoinette,” my favorite movie, and artists like Degas, so I am really enjoying that subject. :)
On other positive notes, my roommate, who was sick last week with a horrible cold, is finally starting to get better. I, on the other hand, think I may be allergic to France. Just kidding, but seriously, I have never had an allergy test done, and my eyes have frequently been itchy, watery/dry (one of the two extremes), and red. I hope I am not starting to get sick, but I know if I was, that whipping Mistral blowing dust in my eyes sure wouldn’t help. Thankfully, the wind should be dying down soon, so that should help my sore eyes.
Oh! I almost forgot: I bought my ticket to London for next Thursday night, and I am pumped!! Although I love France, London was the first city I wanted to visit in Europe (after Paris, of course), and I am always up for a change of scenery from time to time. So far, the only people going are me, Kyle, and Kristina. I know we will have a blast if it is just us three, but the more, the merrier, I say. So hopefully, two of the other students who are pending will decide to tag along. We will be getting back Monday afternoon (and skipping class…I know shame on us, but we already told M. Corbin, and he a-okayed it, since the tickets would be half-price). Although the tickets were more than I had originally thought they were going to be, and I accidentally spent 15 euro each flight I registered for by accidentally marking that I had a checked bag (oops…merde de vie moment (French version of FML)), it still wasn’t unreasonable. It is Britain, for goodness sakes! I can’t wait to drink some of that English tea, see Buckingham Palace, Big Ben, London Bridge, and *bonus*…speak ENGLISH! No “lost in translation” moments here! I hope I see Prince Harry…
XXX
Grant me serenity
Avril 19 Sunday
Last night, after a much-needed shower after a day in Nimes, I agreed to meet Rachel at Red Sky and accompany her to her correspondent’s party, mainly to alleviate the awkwardness of a first-time rendez-vous. It is crucial that I mention how “rendez-vous” does not have the same connotation/undertone as it does in English. When one mentions a “rendez-vous” in America, the implied meaning is a romantic/secret meeting with the opposite sex at some ungodly hour of the morning. This belief connotation can be attributed to Eve 6’s “rendezvous then I’m through with you” lyrics. However, in France, the word rendez-vous has no romantic or scandalous undertone unless one adds the word “romantique” at the end - then my friend, you have la même chose (same thing); it simply refers to an arranged meeting: whether for business or pleasure. No wild night of forbidden love intended.
Her correspondent, whose name I didn’t understand (he is from Morocco), met us outside the pub with his friend and walked us to his apartment. Now, at first, I was a little concerned, and thanked God that I had not seen the movie “Taken.” After I found out his girlfriend was going to be there, I let out a sigh of relief. Call me paranoid, but I made sure my cell phone was in my pocket, with Kyle and Adam’s numbers on speed dial. Thinking back, I really should have paid attention to the street name, because even if I needed help, I would not have been able to give them a ballpark region of where we were. You live, you learn. Two girls going to the apartment of two French boys they just met a week ago sounds like the base for the next slasher film.
Of course, everything was fine and there were several other students there. So, talking with them was easier than I thought, especially after they brought out some food, drinks, and started blasting some American tunes that the French seem to love so much. But, just in case the situation was awkward, we had pre-arranged for Kyle to text us, and remind us to meet him at Red Sky after an hour or so (sounds horrible, but you gotta have an out). So, we left, but agreed to be back next week with our other friends. They were really nice and friendly to us, had a really cute cat, and the décor was red flower-themed. I was surprised to learn afterward that he had chosen the décor himself. The French men are very secure in their masculinity/metro-ism.
Well, today we woke up early, even after being out, because the family had agreed last night at dinner that we would make pancakes in the morning. Yet, when we got up, the usual array of burnt bread and jelly was on the table (including the box of cereal I had bought for Kristina and myself. Even though we had asked them to provide cereal for us (and they’re supposed to), I just said, “screw it,” and bought some. Sometimes if you want something done, you just have to do it yourself). When we asked to make pancakes, they acted shocked and confused (I kind of figured this would happen when Kristina tried to show the mom the recipe the night before, and she blew us off). Oh well. The situation with the family is getting more and more challenging every day. Things will get better, but then they will get worse. I don’t want to use this blog as a place to complain, but I will say that the other night, when Kristina, Meghan, and I tried to walk in the living room to pick out a movie to watch upstairs, they told us, “Ne nous derangez pas.” (Don’t bother us). This baffles me, because we were just going to walk in the room, pick one out, and take it upstairs. A lot of more serious stuff as happened, but I will just use these events as examples. I am trying to keep a positive attitude by reminding myself that the grève and hard economic times must be taking a toll financially and emotionally on the family. I know that having to deal with problem such as these is just a learning experience; so hopefully, I will grow to thicken my skin a little by dealing with some blatant rudeness. But after talking with the host family tonight (Wednesday), I feel better about the whole situation (in an upcoming blog). Yet, I don’t want to feel like a burden to a family who is going through a hard time. They say what doesn’t kill you, only makes you stronger (ain’t that the truth!), so I know that learning how to deal with a difficult situation such is this is probably a blessing in disguise: it’s a learning experience. I have been saying my favorite prayer, the Serenity Prayer, a lot, and it really helps. “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and the wisdom to know the difference.” Words of wisdom indeed.
Unwelcome at the family lunch today (after the mysteriously missing pancakes), we were wished luck in our attempt to find places open on Sunday as we waltzed out the door.. Sick of steak frites, paninis, crêpes, or salade niçoise, we decided to fulfill the American stereotype and take a trip…to McDo (the French nickname for Micky D’s). I found it funny that the girl behind the register knew I was an American as soon as I opened my mouth and began speaking English to me. I can wear French clothes, speak French, and try to blend it, but as soon as they look at me (and I speak in my “accent”), they have me pinned: American. You can take the girl out of America, but you can’t take the American out of the girl.
While at McDonald’s, a lady who had forgotten her glasses, approached us and asked if we could read aloud the bathroom code on her receipt. As I mentioned before, it is not uncommon to have to purchase something before being granted access to the toilets. McDonald’s has a punch-in access code and operating hours for their porcelain thrones. Amusing, but annoying to all those who have “gotta go”
Last night, after a much-needed shower after a day in Nimes, I agreed to meet Rachel at Red Sky and accompany her to her correspondent’s party, mainly to alleviate the awkwardness of a first-time rendez-vous. It is crucial that I mention how “rendez-vous” does not have the same connotation/undertone as it does in English. When one mentions a “rendez-vous” in America, the implied meaning is a romantic/secret meeting with the opposite sex at some ungodly hour of the morning. This belief connotation can be attributed to Eve 6’s “rendezvous then I’m through with you” lyrics. However, in France, the word rendez-vous has no romantic or scandalous undertone unless one adds the word “romantique” at the end - then my friend, you have la même chose (same thing); it simply refers to an arranged meeting: whether for business or pleasure. No wild night of forbidden love intended.
Her correspondent, whose name I didn’t understand (he is from Morocco), met us outside the pub with his friend and walked us to his apartment. Now, at first, I was a little concerned, and thanked God that I had not seen the movie “Taken.” After I found out his girlfriend was going to be there, I let out a sigh of relief. Call me paranoid, but I made sure my cell phone was in my pocket, with Kyle and Adam’s numbers on speed dial. Thinking back, I really should have paid attention to the street name, because even if I needed help, I would not have been able to give them a ballpark region of where we were. You live, you learn. Two girls going to the apartment of two French boys they just met a week ago sounds like the base for the next slasher film.
Of course, everything was fine and there were several other students there. So, talking with them was easier than I thought, especially after they brought out some food, drinks, and started blasting some American tunes that the French seem to love so much. But, just in case the situation was awkward, we had pre-arranged for Kyle to text us, and remind us to meet him at Red Sky after an hour or so (sounds horrible, but you gotta have an out). So, we left, but agreed to be back next week with our other friends. They were really nice and friendly to us, had a really cute cat, and the décor was red flower-themed. I was surprised to learn afterward that he had chosen the décor himself. The French men are very secure in their masculinity/metro-ism.
Well, today we woke up early, even after being out, because the family had agreed last night at dinner that we would make pancakes in the morning. Yet, when we got up, the usual array of burnt bread and jelly was on the table (including the box of cereal I had bought for Kristina and myself. Even though we had asked them to provide cereal for us (and they’re supposed to), I just said, “screw it,” and bought some. Sometimes if you want something done, you just have to do it yourself). When we asked to make pancakes, they acted shocked and confused (I kind of figured this would happen when Kristina tried to show the mom the recipe the night before, and she blew us off). Oh well. The situation with the family is getting more and more challenging every day. Things will get better, but then they will get worse. I don’t want to use this blog as a place to complain, but I will say that the other night, when Kristina, Meghan, and I tried to walk in the living room to pick out a movie to watch upstairs, they told us, “Ne nous derangez pas.” (Don’t bother us). This baffles me, because we were just going to walk in the room, pick one out, and take it upstairs. A lot of more serious stuff as happened, but I will just use these events as examples. I am trying to keep a positive attitude by reminding myself that the grève and hard economic times must be taking a toll financially and emotionally on the family. I know that having to deal with problem such as these is just a learning experience; so hopefully, I will grow to thicken my skin a little by dealing with some blatant rudeness. But after talking with the host family tonight (Wednesday), I feel better about the whole situation (in an upcoming blog). Yet, I don’t want to feel like a burden to a family who is going through a hard time. They say what doesn’t kill you, only makes you stronger (ain’t that the truth!), so I know that learning how to deal with a difficult situation such is this is probably a blessing in disguise: it’s a learning experience. I have been saying my favorite prayer, the Serenity Prayer, a lot, and it really helps. “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and the wisdom to know the difference.” Words of wisdom indeed.
Unwelcome at the family lunch today (after the mysteriously missing pancakes), we were wished luck in our attempt to find places open on Sunday as we waltzed out the door.. Sick of steak frites, paninis, crêpes, or salade niçoise, we decided to fulfill the American stereotype and take a trip…to McDo (the French nickname for Micky D’s). I found it funny that the girl behind the register knew I was an American as soon as I opened my mouth and began speaking English to me. I can wear French clothes, speak French, and try to blend it, but as soon as they look at me (and I speak in my “accent”), they have me pinned: American. You can take the girl out of America, but you can’t take the American out of the girl.
While at McDonald’s, a lady who had forgotten her glasses, approached us and asked if we could read aloud the bathroom code on her receipt. As I mentioned before, it is not uncommon to have to purchase something before being granted access to the toilets. McDonald’s has a punch-in access code and operating hours for their porcelain thrones. Amusing, but annoying to all those who have “gotta go”
a plus tard!
XX...X (three bissous: this is Provence after all)
XX...X (three bissous: this is Provence after all)
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Je t'attendrai (I will wait for you)
Saturday : Avril 18
Sometimes you need a change of scenery – mix things up a little – makes life more interesting. There is something healing in “getting away for a day” that helps clear your mind (especially after the difficult situation in our host family, which I will address later). Why is it that one can think so much clearer once you “get away,” remove yourself from the situation, and just relax? Maybe this is why we supposedly do our best thinking in the shower. I am willing to argue that we also do our best thinking on vacation.
Today I hopped on the TGV with Rachel, Adam, Jenny, John, Kyle, Kristina, Katie, and Meghan to spend the day away. Destination: Nîmes. To be honest, I knew nothing about Nîmes before going there. I had heard that the city was clean and pretty and since was dying to get out of Avignon for a day; I thought it sounded like a good (and cheap) solution. Boy was I shocked when I stepped off the TGV and found a Roman arena (miniature version of the Roman coliseum) in front of my eyes. It made me want to hop ofnthe next train and head for the Vatican. The formerly Roman-occupied city was architecturally stunning, and by purchasing a day-pass for around 7 Euro, one was granted access to the four major sites: the arena, la Maison Carrée, la Tour Magnes, et la Jardin de la Fountain.
Side note about French trains/TGVs: before you board, your ticket has to be “composted” at these little blue and yellow machines scattered around the station. You stick your ticket’s barcode under the red light, and it is “composted,” meaning that the station of departure is inscribed in black ink on the side of the ticket. Pretty nifty, huh? Yet your ticket is not considered valid, unless it is composted – even though the paper clearly reads the date, time, and place of departure. This is odd. Also, no one checks your ticket before boarding, or in our case, when you are on the train (meaning that we could have easily gotten a free ride to and from Nîmes that day). The Europeans lessen the likelihood of free rides by threatening to fine every last penny centime out of anyone who boards the train without buying or composting their ticket (over 200 euros to be exact…that’s a pretty penny). Fear (and the rare times that conductors do make their way through the cabins to check tickets) steers the dishonest away from the rails. But I wouldn’t be surprised if there were a handful of train hoppers every day. I also find it bizarre that train stations, like many other places in Europe, make you pay to use the restroom. I guess I really don’t mind paying 50 centimes to use the toilet if it means the facilities will be clean, and if there won’t be bums sleeping in the stalls at night. But imagine having to go and having no cash on you. It’s a win-lose situation.
Thankfully, the weather was wrong today…again. I learned from my host family that French people rarely check the weather, because it is almost always wrong. In Provence, you can be sure of two things: number one: the météo will predict rain for the day; number two: it probably will not rain, but if it does, it will either sprinkle or be a violent thunderstorm complete with whipping wind, lightning, thunder, and hail. The weather today, however, could not have been more perfect. To quote a Relient K song, it was “sunny with a high of 75.”
Our first stop with the pass was the arena: a place where they used to hold gladiator battles is now a location for modern bull fights. My favorite part of the day was when we climbed all the way to the tippy top and stood at the summit of the circular arena. The view and the sensation of being so high sans railing was worth the climb, but getting down was a different story. Slipping/getting too close to the edge=death. Thankfully, we all made it out alive to go to the Maison Carrée (a miniature version of the Parthenon) to watch a 3-D movie about the history of the city. I think the sole reason that the movie was in 3D was to make it more interesting, but what I found really bizarre was how a 3D movie about gladiators and bullfights involved reading a lot of on-screen text. A little disappointing, but being inside the maison was worth it.
Lunch was a starving student’s dream, and a dieter’s nightmare: Pizza and ice cream. We stopped at a café in Jenny’s guidebook for authentic Italian Pizza (yes, I am aware I am in France), and was it worth every centime. Deciding to be my “adventurous” Sagittarius self (I don’t really believe in this kind of stuff, but I think it is interesting that some of the personality traits are dead-on. Apparently, I am supposed to like to travel and to try new things, and hate feeling constrained or tied down. Hmm…who knew?), I thought I’d try an ice cream flavor that I had no idea what it was. I still can’t remember what it was called, but it was a vanilla/pale yellowish color and had bits of cookie-like pastry pieces in it…and it was dang good. I tend to try things when I don’t know what they are; I can be a risk taker in that way. One could say that I am adventurous with my taste buds. That sounds really weird. Never mind. ..
Even though Nîmes was a beautiful, clean, and friendly city with lots to offer, it seemed like we kept crossing paths with dead pigeons everywhere we went! As we were walking by the Maison, Kyle thought it would be funny to say, “Oh look, Catherine (but only he and everyone else keeps insisting on calling me Cathey…don’t really know what that’s all about. haha), I found you a new friend,” referring to the dead, featherless baby pigeon with bulging eyes, a broken neck, and deformed body lying on the railing. I am going to have nightmares for that one! It seemed like we just couldn’t escape the winged pimples on the pure façade of France, because we saw two more deceased, disease-invested pests that day. One’s remains happened to be adorning the side of a statue in the Jardin de la Fountain. Thankfully, I have yet to see Alfred Hitchcock’s “The Birds.”
The Tower de Magnes was located at the top of a hill in the Jardin de la Fountaine, and after a hike up the stairs, we realized that our day of fun was coming to a close, so we decided to head back to the square by the Maison to relax and chat before boarding the train back to rainy Avignon.
While sitting on the steps in the Place de l’Horlage, we started talking about Athens and all of our friends back home. I had just bought some postcards, so I think this must be why “home” came up. I started thinking about how weird it was going to be to go back to Athens in the fall. We all had the same fears: losing touch with people back home, losing someone we loved back home, or just plain feeling out of touch when we returned. We all know it will be strange when we go back, because there will be all these things that happened with our friends this quarter that we will have missed and vice-versa. What will the common ground be? Will our friends be the same? Will we be the same? Will we have problems “getting back into the swing of things” after spending so long abroad? We realize by then we will have made and bonded with new friends over here, as we are sure they will have done the same back in Ohio. It is amazing how much people don’t realize what they have until its gone; sometimes it takes journeying to the other side of the world for you to realize what it is you truly had.
Thankfully, we will all have our summers to get over a phenomenon called “reverse culture shock,” but I admit that I am a little worried about things being different. Thankfully, I adapt pretty well to change, so this shouldn’t be too much of a problem, but I know it is going to be an adjustment. Three months is just a drop in the bucket.
To close, we finished reading Marius the other day. One of the last lines Marius says is, “Je suis sûr que si je partais, tu m’oublierais.” (I am sure that if I leave, you will forget about me). I don’t want this to be the case for me. Even though I am having the time of my life, I still haven’t forgotten about my friends! Many students have the fear of losing their significant others or friends, because of the distance. Sadly, several have already had this fear become a reality (in the significant other department) since being here. I consider myself lucky in that way. Instead of worrying about losing someone, or contacting them every day, I began thinking about how exciting it would be to bring someone special back here someday. I made a vow to myself that when I am in love, I am returning to France: it truly is a country for lovers.
At the end of the novel, just as Marius is leaving, Fanny says, “Je t’attendrai; je ne t’oublierai pas” (I will wait for you/I won’t forget you). Athens, see you in the fall!
Sometimes you need a change of scenery – mix things up a little – makes life more interesting. There is something healing in “getting away for a day” that helps clear your mind (especially after the difficult situation in our host family, which I will address later). Why is it that one can think so much clearer once you “get away,” remove yourself from the situation, and just relax? Maybe this is why we supposedly do our best thinking in the shower. I am willing to argue that we also do our best thinking on vacation.
Today I hopped on the TGV with Rachel, Adam, Jenny, John, Kyle, Kristina, Katie, and Meghan to spend the day away. Destination: Nîmes. To be honest, I knew nothing about Nîmes before going there. I had heard that the city was clean and pretty and since was dying to get out of Avignon for a day; I thought it sounded like a good (and cheap) solution. Boy was I shocked when I stepped off the TGV and found a Roman arena (miniature version of the Roman coliseum) in front of my eyes. It made me want to hop ofnthe next train and head for the Vatican. The formerly Roman-occupied city was architecturally stunning, and by purchasing a day-pass for around 7 Euro, one was granted access to the four major sites: the arena, la Maison Carrée, la Tour Magnes, et la Jardin de la Fountain.
Side note about French trains/TGVs: before you board, your ticket has to be “composted” at these little blue and yellow machines scattered around the station. You stick your ticket’s barcode under the red light, and it is “composted,” meaning that the station of departure is inscribed in black ink on the side of the ticket. Pretty nifty, huh? Yet your ticket is not considered valid, unless it is composted – even though the paper clearly reads the date, time, and place of departure. This is odd. Also, no one checks your ticket before boarding, or in our case, when you are on the train (meaning that we could have easily gotten a free ride to and from Nîmes that day). The Europeans lessen the likelihood of free rides by threatening to fine every last penny centime out of anyone who boards the train without buying or composting their ticket (over 200 euros to be exact…that’s a pretty penny). Fear (and the rare times that conductors do make their way through the cabins to check tickets) steers the dishonest away from the rails. But I wouldn’t be surprised if there were a handful of train hoppers every day. I also find it bizarre that train stations, like many other places in Europe, make you pay to use the restroom. I guess I really don’t mind paying 50 centimes to use the toilet if it means the facilities will be clean, and if there won’t be bums sleeping in the stalls at night. But imagine having to go and having no cash on you. It’s a win-lose situation.
Thankfully, the weather was wrong today…again. I learned from my host family that French people rarely check the weather, because it is almost always wrong. In Provence, you can be sure of two things: number one: the météo will predict rain for the day; number two: it probably will not rain, but if it does, it will either sprinkle or be a violent thunderstorm complete with whipping wind, lightning, thunder, and hail. The weather today, however, could not have been more perfect. To quote a Relient K song, it was “sunny with a high of 75.”
Our first stop with the pass was the arena: a place where they used to hold gladiator battles is now a location for modern bull fights. My favorite part of the day was when we climbed all the way to the tippy top and stood at the summit of the circular arena. The view and the sensation of being so high sans railing was worth the climb, but getting down was a different story. Slipping/getting too close to the edge=death. Thankfully, we all made it out alive to go to the Maison Carrée (a miniature version of the Parthenon) to watch a 3-D movie about the history of the city. I think the sole reason that the movie was in 3D was to make it more interesting, but what I found really bizarre was how a 3D movie about gladiators and bullfights involved reading a lot of on-screen text. A little disappointing, but being inside the maison was worth it.
Lunch was a starving student’s dream, and a dieter’s nightmare: Pizza and ice cream. We stopped at a café in Jenny’s guidebook for authentic Italian Pizza (yes, I am aware I am in France), and was it worth every centime. Deciding to be my “adventurous” Sagittarius self (I don’t really believe in this kind of stuff, but I think it is interesting that some of the personality traits are dead-on. Apparently, I am supposed to like to travel and to try new things, and hate feeling constrained or tied down. Hmm…who knew?), I thought I’d try an ice cream flavor that I had no idea what it was. I still can’t remember what it was called, but it was a vanilla/pale yellowish color and had bits of cookie-like pastry pieces in it…and it was dang good. I tend to try things when I don’t know what they are; I can be a risk taker in that way. One could say that I am adventurous with my taste buds. That sounds really weird. Never mind. ..
Even though Nîmes was a beautiful, clean, and friendly city with lots to offer, it seemed like we kept crossing paths with dead pigeons everywhere we went! As we were walking by the Maison, Kyle thought it would be funny to say, “Oh look, Catherine (but only he and everyone else keeps insisting on calling me Cathey…don’t really know what that’s all about. haha), I found you a new friend,” referring to the dead, featherless baby pigeon with bulging eyes, a broken neck, and deformed body lying on the railing. I am going to have nightmares for that one! It seemed like we just couldn’t escape the winged pimples on the pure façade of France, because we saw two more deceased, disease-invested pests that day. One’s remains happened to be adorning the side of a statue in the Jardin de la Fountain. Thankfully, I have yet to see Alfred Hitchcock’s “The Birds.”
The Tower de Magnes was located at the top of a hill in the Jardin de la Fountaine, and after a hike up the stairs, we realized that our day of fun was coming to a close, so we decided to head back to the square by the Maison to relax and chat before boarding the train back to rainy Avignon.
While sitting on the steps in the Place de l’Horlage, we started talking about Athens and all of our friends back home. I had just bought some postcards, so I think this must be why “home” came up. I started thinking about how weird it was going to be to go back to Athens in the fall. We all had the same fears: losing touch with people back home, losing someone we loved back home, or just plain feeling out of touch when we returned. We all know it will be strange when we go back, because there will be all these things that happened with our friends this quarter that we will have missed and vice-versa. What will the common ground be? Will our friends be the same? Will we be the same? Will we have problems “getting back into the swing of things” after spending so long abroad? We realize by then we will have made and bonded with new friends over here, as we are sure they will have done the same back in Ohio. It is amazing how much people don’t realize what they have until its gone; sometimes it takes journeying to the other side of the world for you to realize what it is you truly had.
Thankfully, we will all have our summers to get over a phenomenon called “reverse culture shock,” but I admit that I am a little worried about things being different. Thankfully, I adapt pretty well to change, so this shouldn’t be too much of a problem, but I know it is going to be an adjustment. Three months is just a drop in the bucket.
To close, we finished reading Marius the other day. One of the last lines Marius says is, “Je suis sûr que si je partais, tu m’oublierais.” (I am sure that if I leave, you will forget about me). I don’t want this to be the case for me. Even though I am having the time of my life, I still haven’t forgotten about my friends! Many students have the fear of losing their significant others or friends, because of the distance. Sadly, several have already had this fear become a reality (in the significant other department) since being here. I consider myself lucky in that way. Instead of worrying about losing someone, or contacting them every day, I began thinking about how exciting it would be to bring someone special back here someday. I made a vow to myself that when I am in love, I am returning to France: it truly is a country for lovers.
At the end of the novel, just as Marius is leaving, Fanny says, “Je t’attendrai; je ne t’oublierai pas” (I will wait for you/I won’t forget you). Athens, see you in the fall!
