The last weekend was a bit extended, between leaving for a random trip to Nice on Thursday afternoon and having no school Monday. It was great to go out of France, on the last real weekend, with a bang- somewhat literally. I really don't even know how to begin explaining this; I already hate how watered-down it will be. This was one of the most powerful experiences for me, and there is absolutely no way to explain it in cyberspace.
Jon contacted Amelie, his Parisian friend, somtime last week, and when she replied, it was with an invitation to spend the weekend with her and her father at his home in Nice. We instantly accepted, and planned to leave Friday after class. However, the railway station had different plans. Due to all of the holiday traffic (Bastille Day was the 14th), the only open train was at noon on Thursday. I wasn't at the ticket booth with Jon, so he had to make the decision... and he got them. Who could say no to three euro tickets to the sea?
We explained the situation to our teacher and left in time to catch the train, which wouldn't get us into Nice until 7. I've come to love train rides so much, and going through Provence, which is easily the msot vibrant part of France, for three hours was a good way to spend an afternoon- much better than sitting at my window, staring at my tree. The colors are so saturated in the south, between the lush foliage, houses of every shad of orange you could imagine, clouds that turn purple when the sun is behind them and the purple-gray of the sea, my mind couldn't choose a scene to rest on.
Amelie wasn't able to pick us up until 10, so we had time to wander about the train station's neighborhood and eat the best kabab that I've ever had. They're really popular here, since it's so close to the Middle East, but they are not the kebabs you think of in the states. They're much more like "our" gyros, stuffed into a pita with tons of spices and salad. When Amelie scooped us up, we went to here father's boat to grab supplies for the weekend, took a driving tour of Nice, which was glimmering in the light from the huge moon and the salty air, and got ice cream near the harbor.
We were originally staying with her father at his home, but his friend had the weekend free. They decided to take the days to go to Port St. Louis du Rhône, to work on the other, larger sailboat that they have. So, after rearranging some travel plans, we were ready for our Friday in Nice and Saturday in Port St. Louis.
Friday, we made lunch and headed to the park for the entire afternoon. The large garden was next to a church on the top of a hill that overlooked all of Nice before ending in the sea. We sat and watched boats carry travellers to and from Corsica, that was hidden just behind some clouds on the horizon. When we got back to the house, it was time to head with Pierre and Pascal, Amelie's father and step-mother- and we headed right into the worst traffic jam ever. We gave up at 11 that night and stopped for a very Greek dinner. The salad bar at this restaurant was the easiest way for me to try tons of new food and gets a million new flavors that I will miss when I come back home. The weight of the meal and the car's motion put me to sleep. I woke up at 2 a.m. when we pulled into the port.
The boat was docked inland since it was being serviced, and it would be our home for the next two days. We weren't on it much, between shopping with Pascal for supplies and groceries (I absolutely loved getting free samples and seeing what foods a French family bought on a regular basis) and going to the beach (a.k.a. the sea) for the day. That night, we again went to a late dinner at a restaurant sitting between the Rhône River and the southern coast. Storms were going on in both bodies of water, and we were sitting the the strip of calm. The conversation was buzzing and it was amazing to feel at home and comfortable in a different country, with people different from anyone I have known before.
The experience, especially their kisses goodbye and their waves as we boarded the train on Sunday, was my favorite part of this month. We got to be completely immersed in French culture and language, and see just how far we have come and still have to go. I hope that one day, I can give a young student the same experience.
Monday was Bastille Day, the French national holiday. Thus, there were no classes and no stores open... and the morning was full of rain and cold. I was depressed as I studied at my window, but when Jon came and convinced me to go out and sit at a cafe for a bit, in the sun that had finally decided to show, things brightened up (no bad joke intended). We talked about our trip, about what we would miss, and wandered through the strees looking at absolutely everything, as if to make sure we wouldn't miss anything important. I savored my cappuccino to the last and looked at the people sitting around me, full of envy for their ability to go whenever they like.
That night, after getting a bit lost, we found our way to the Stade Mager, where the town was holding their festival. We watched a multicultural dance show and ate sugar crepes before sitting the closest either of us ever have to a large fireworks display. The crowd was only yards away from the field, and it was as if the whole scene was seen through 3D glasses. I really think I could have touched the sizzling, flying bits of color falling in front of the mountains. The crowd's sounds of aaw were heartwarming and probably better than the show itself. I'd never felt like such a part of the town.
Today is our last full day in Chambery. We catch our train to Nimes tomorrow, to watch the Tour de France, then go to Montpellier and head for home Monday. Thus, this will be my last blog abroad. I will definitely wrap things up when I get back home, possible after I recover from a long depression. I'm so thankful to be going right back to a family vacation that will throw me in with the people I miss most, doing something so familiar, and work to keep my mind off of how much I will miss this place.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
le jour parfait
Our class was canceled on Monday, so we spent the day studying and catching up on small things. After that, we soaked up the sun and the fact that no class one day meant six hours the next.
We got to school in the morning while there was still a bit of a chill in the air; it was the first time in the past month that I've arrived without sweating (not that it ever stopped me from immediately buying a cappuccino). I entered the classroom of my favorite teacher we've had so far, Karine, six months pregnant and the absolute model of a patient teacher.
The morning was spent focusing on grammar, learning the intricate details of the past tense, which everyone had thought that they understood. We hit our vocabulary hard, took a break and regrouped without losing much steam- I took this as a really good sign, since some people in the group are easily distracted by the amazing view in front of the school.
Three hours. Lunch break. Back for three hours... This time, we focused on speaking and becoming comfortable with different accents. While we normally work in pairs, she through us into awkward quartets that we would have never chosen for ourselves, forcing us to use more of our vocabulary than we would otherwise. I was really proud of myself: Normally, I'm one of the quietest in class and I volunteered to play a game where I had to be interviewed by the entire class. I love public speaking and all, but there's something so completely different about a classroom setting that still gets me all jittery and nervous. My classmates have caught on to the fact that I blush (rougir, in French)about everything, so they're always calling on me to say things. I knew that I was gaining confidence in my ability when I volunteered myself for so much speaking.
I left class on such a high note, walking out in the perfect 25°C weather with a sky so blue and clouds so white you would think they were a family portrait backdrop, that I had to just give myself a moment to stand and realize what I was doing. I took the walk home slowly, taking in all of the daily happening, the gardens being watered, the streets being swept, the grocery stores closing for their lunch breaks. But this day, I took extra care to take in the things I could never see again: a trim black cat dodging down a narrow side street, the pink flowers blooming against grey apartment buildings, a weathered man sitting in front of the bar by our residence that was painting the buildings leading to the church. The man had some of the oldest paintbrushes in his army-green cup that I have every seen. I would never have expected his hand to be so steady. The detail on his paper stunned me; the trees' leaves blew in the wind and the buildings seemed heavy with their age.
I went back to my room and ate my dinner in front of the open window, watching les pies pecking at the ground around the tree that fills my view. Their voices carried up to me and I was glad I hadn't reached for my i-pod; it's so easy to let them pull you out of your world.
I've started my second French book, Le Rue du Havre. It's one that I found for 20 cents in Paris, and the langauge is so fluid that it's easy for me to read out loud. When I was mentally exhausted, I rolled over and let myself drift into a nap, thinking of how happy I was to be missing everyone, and how great it would be to see them again, or even better, to have them here to share it with.
We got to school in the morning while there was still a bit of a chill in the air; it was the first time in the past month that I've arrived without sweating (not that it ever stopped me from immediately buying a cappuccino). I entered the classroom of my favorite teacher we've had so far, Karine, six months pregnant and the absolute model of a patient teacher.
The morning was spent focusing on grammar, learning the intricate details of the past tense, which everyone had thought that they understood. We hit our vocabulary hard, took a break and regrouped without losing much steam- I took this as a really good sign, since some people in the group are easily distracted by the amazing view in front of the school.
Three hours. Lunch break. Back for three hours... This time, we focused on speaking and becoming comfortable with different accents. While we normally work in pairs, she through us into awkward quartets that we would have never chosen for ourselves, forcing us to use more of our vocabulary than we would otherwise. I was really proud of myself: Normally, I'm one of the quietest in class and I volunteered to play a game where I had to be interviewed by the entire class. I love public speaking and all, but there's something so completely different about a classroom setting that still gets me all jittery and nervous. My classmates have caught on to the fact that I blush (rougir, in French)about everything, so they're always calling on me to say things. I knew that I was gaining confidence in my ability when I volunteered myself for so much speaking.
I left class on such a high note, walking out in the perfect 25°C weather with a sky so blue and clouds so white you would think they were a family portrait backdrop, that I had to just give myself a moment to stand and realize what I was doing. I took the walk home slowly, taking in all of the daily happening, the gardens being watered, the streets being swept, the grocery stores closing for their lunch breaks. But this day, I took extra care to take in the things I could never see again: a trim black cat dodging down a narrow side street, the pink flowers blooming against grey apartment buildings, a weathered man sitting in front of the bar by our residence that was painting the buildings leading to the church. The man had some of the oldest paintbrushes in his army-green cup that I have every seen. I would never have expected his hand to be so steady. The detail on his paper stunned me; the trees' leaves blew in the wind and the buildings seemed heavy with their age.
I went back to my room and ate my dinner in front of the open window, watching les pies pecking at the ground around the tree that fills my view. Their voices carried up to me and I was glad I hadn't reached for my i-pod; it's so easy to let them pull you out of your world.
I've started my second French book, Le Rue du Havre. It's one that I found for 20 cents in Paris, and the langauge is so fluid that it's easy for me to read out loud. When I was mentally exhausted, I rolled over and let myself drift into a nap, thinking of how happy I was to be missing everyone, and how great it would be to see them again, or even better, to have them here to share it with.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Le Week-end Dernier
So, we were all a little torn on whether or not we wanted to celebrate the fourth of July. That is, everyone but Jennifer. On Monday of last week, she decided that we were having a pot lock- and everyone was required to supply red, white and blue. It took some real creativity, but we all figured out something different to bring. I brought as much of France with me to the dinner as I could: cherries, a baguette and blackberry jam (that looked blue).
Jon definitely won the prize for most original dessert. He spent the afternoon baking three-layered cupcakes like pancakes in a skillet, due to our lack of ovens. They were iced with cream that he tried to whip by hand and got to a thicker, gel-like consistancy, and the layers were strawberry and blueberry. Then, the chef grated dark chocolate on top and made us all look bad for just slicing things and putting them in bowls.
We ate three different flavors of spaghetti with three different sauces (thank God one of the sauces wasn't blue), a tricolor salad and drank beverages of, ok, two colors: white and red.
As the night went on, we got more excited about the idea of a real celebration, and we were missing our fireworks. So, we headed out into Chambery and went to BRC, a small bar/club in the centre ville. It wasn't very lively when we got there, but some girls that had been there before insisted we be patient.
At about one, the dance floor was filling up and we all joined in. Lights and electro dance music were filling the air. Greeks, Italians, French and Americans were mixing together in air heavy with hot breath and body heat, and all of the odors that go along with that combination. Everyone was moving, smiling, jumping and feeling the most alive most of us had felt since arriving in Chambery.
The dancing is so free here. There's no need to be on each other, telling the whole room that you're together, and what you'll be doing later. People were dancing together and with five other people at the same time, spinning and throwing themselves around, not caring what it looked like to anyone else there. It was as if I was dancing in a room, completely alone, and yet surrounded by my closest friends; our inhibitions were gone, and it was not due to any alcohol... We were able to get in, hang out and enjoy the night with only one person having to buy a drink.
Saturday, there was a trip set up for us by ISEP, the exchange program. We took a bus through the countryside and the mountains up to Chamonix, the city at the base of Mont Blanc. The mountain is the highest in France, and stands out with its ice and snow from all of the other tree-covered, rocky peaks and cliffs surrounding it.
Jon and I packed a lunch and set out, trying to escape the American entourage for a day, into the middle of the town. We wandered through the market and bought fresh fruit (I'm going to miss that so much) before returning to a cafe for the afternoon. The cafe was close to the tram station that carried you up to the ice caves of the mountain, and when you looked behind the station, Mont Blanc stood staring back at you. I sat at an outdoor table and spent the afternoon journaling and staring at the largest mountain I have ever seen.
French people were all around us, as were hikers from around the world that had come to climb the mountain for the day. I listened to their conversations and took in as much as I could, partly for language learning, partly for possible things to write about later. There are so many things that I have heard, felt and seen here that I am so afraid to forget but have no way to put into words.
One of them, and certainly not the least of them, was the cappuccino that I sipped while sitting in the sun of the cafe's deck. The espresso was strong; the froth was a perfect foam; the grated, unsweeted chocolate melted from the steam of the drink. With my sunglasses on and my book in my lap, I had never felt more at ease and perfectly content.
Jon definitely won the prize for most original dessert. He spent the afternoon baking three-layered cupcakes like pancakes in a skillet, due to our lack of ovens. They were iced with cream that he tried to whip by hand and got to a thicker, gel-like consistancy, and the layers were strawberry and blueberry. Then, the chef grated dark chocolate on top and made us all look bad for just slicing things and putting them in bowls.
We ate three different flavors of spaghetti with three different sauces (thank God one of the sauces wasn't blue), a tricolor salad and drank beverages of, ok, two colors: white and red.
As the night went on, we got more excited about the idea of a real celebration, and we were missing our fireworks. So, we headed out into Chambery and went to BRC, a small bar/club in the centre ville. It wasn't very lively when we got there, but some girls that had been there before insisted we be patient.
At about one, the dance floor was filling up and we all joined in. Lights and electro dance music were filling the air. Greeks, Italians, French and Americans were mixing together in air heavy with hot breath and body heat, and all of the odors that go along with that combination. Everyone was moving, smiling, jumping and feeling the most alive most of us had felt since arriving in Chambery.
The dancing is so free here. There's no need to be on each other, telling the whole room that you're together, and what you'll be doing later. People were dancing together and with five other people at the same time, spinning and throwing themselves around, not caring what it looked like to anyone else there. It was as if I was dancing in a room, completely alone, and yet surrounded by my closest friends; our inhibitions were gone, and it was not due to any alcohol... We were able to get in, hang out and enjoy the night with only one person having to buy a drink.
Saturday, there was a trip set up for us by ISEP, the exchange program. We took a bus through the countryside and the mountains up to Chamonix, the city at the base of Mont Blanc. The mountain is the highest in France, and stands out with its ice and snow from all of the other tree-covered, rocky peaks and cliffs surrounding it.
Jon and I packed a lunch and set out, trying to escape the American entourage for a day, into the middle of the town. We wandered through the market and bought fresh fruit (I'm going to miss that so much) before returning to a cafe for the afternoon. The cafe was close to the tram station that carried you up to the ice caves of the mountain, and when you looked behind the station, Mont Blanc stood staring back at you. I sat at an outdoor table and spent the afternoon journaling and staring at the largest mountain I have ever seen.
French people were all around us, as were hikers from around the world that had come to climb the mountain for the day. I listened to their conversations and took in as much as I could, partly for language learning, partly for possible things to write about later. There are so many things that I have heard, felt and seen here that I am so afraid to forget but have no way to put into words.
One of them, and certainly not the least of them, was the cappuccino that I sipped while sitting in the sun of the cafe's deck. The espresso was strong; the froth was a perfect foam; the grated, unsweeted chocolate melted from the steam of the drink. With my sunglasses on and my book in my lap, I had never felt more at ease and perfectly content.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Genève
So, we went to Genevia on Saturday. Switzerland is an amazing, beautiful country and the coffee I got when Jon and I stole away from the usual crowd we hang out with was exactly what I needed to fix my mood and get me ready for tourism.
There's really not much to report. We spent the day sampling chocolate and walking down the streets, finding random buildings and listening to French conversation. We would stumble upon an interesting building or just stop on the bridge to admire the huge jet of water from their fountain, or the clear water. Most of the time, we were envying their ability to be neutral and amazing in every way.
We toured the United Nations and I learned so much. The compound is the largest next to the one in the U.S. It was also the home of the League of Nations. I've thought about working with them, through UNICEF or another humanitarian-based organization for a long time. Being there and feeling the hope and possibility within the place, and learning how much the countries have worked together to keep it going makes that want so much stronger.
I know it's not terribly exciting, but outside of eating the best sugar-free chocolate of my life, made with tangerine purée instead of sweeteners, the feeling I had in the UN makes everything else feel so small.
Today is the 21 week mark for me. At this time three Mondays from now, I will be somewhere over the ocean, heading to Toronto.
There's really not much to report. We spent the day sampling chocolate and walking down the streets, finding random buildings and listening to French conversation. We would stumble upon an interesting building or just stop on the bridge to admire the huge jet of water from their fountain, or the clear water. Most of the time, we were envying their ability to be neutral and amazing in every way.
We toured the United Nations and I learned so much. The compound is the largest next to the one in the U.S. It was also the home of the League of Nations. I've thought about working with them, through UNICEF or another humanitarian-based organization for a long time. Being there and feeling the hope and possibility within the place, and learning how much the countries have worked together to keep it going makes that want so much stronger.
I know it's not terribly exciting, but outside of eating the best sugar-free chocolate of my life, made with tangerine purée instead of sweeteners, the feeling I had in the UN makes everything else feel so small.
Today is the 21 week mark for me. At this time three Mondays from now, I will be somewhere over the ocean, heading to Toronto.
le messe, more appropriately "the mess"
I've been trying to go to church for the past month and have failed miserably. Paulina was in the same boat as me and we made it our mission to get to Sunday mass. She had found a church just down the block from us, which means it is hidden down a European side street where you could quite possibly never be able to find it again.
The mass was scheduled to start at 10h, but when we got there the doors were locked. I knew no one in France really went to church, but I was thinking "Really, they just STOPPED having a mass here?" We decided to give it a few minutes, and during our wait a woman walked up with her children and went through the same bizarre attempt to enter as we did.
We asked her what her plan of attack was and she gave us directions to the cathedral. Through the park, tous droit, tous droit, tous droit. We had no idea how long of a walk 3 "stay straights" equaled, but we headed off in what we thought was the right direction. After about five to ten minutes, we can across what was clearly a large, stone, Catholic church. Definitely the cathedral, right? What else could it be, since we followed the directions?
The woman had said that mass was slated to start at 11h, so we sat down to wait for the doors, which were also locked, to open and begin letting people in. No one came. 10h50. No one. 10h58. No one. 11h. Un petit vieux couple français. The couple was too cute and too old to have ever learned Engish (the case with most of the people in our town- it's perfect). They explained that the cathedral was having a special internation mass this week, and it must be the only one for the day. Waaaait, this ISN'T the cathedral?
Oh, no, the man explained, it's just around the... and before he had finished his thought, he'd opened the car doors and ushered us inside. We were explaining why we are here and listening to an old French woman yell at her husband for his driving before we really understood where we were headed.
When we arrived at the cathedral, it was clear that there was no way we could ever have continued straight enough to find it. The front is completely covered in scaffolding, the back is hidden by buildings and there are no signs. It is, however, right by the pub we frequent, so finding it again will not be a problem. I can imagine the true soccer supporters stopping by before the final last night.
The inside of the church is beautiful, but completely painted by an impressionist to appear decorated on the ceiling and walls. It was distracting through the mass, as was the fact that the French was spoken at warp speed. I managed to snag over half of what was going on, and I'm anxious to get back and read the gospel and the readings on my own, to see how much I really understood.
I can't wait to see what religious adventure we have next week. That effort should earn me some brownie points with the big guy, right?
closing note: the sign of the cross is so much cooler in French. le père, le fils et l'esprit sant (not sure on the spelling. i'll get back to you.)
The mass was scheduled to start at 10h, but when we got there the doors were locked. I knew no one in France really went to church, but I was thinking "Really, they just STOPPED having a mass here?" We decided to give it a few minutes, and during our wait a woman walked up with her children and went through the same bizarre attempt to enter as we did.
We asked her what her plan of attack was and she gave us directions to the cathedral. Through the park, tous droit, tous droit, tous droit. We had no idea how long of a walk 3 "stay straights" equaled, but we headed off in what we thought was the right direction. After about five to ten minutes, we can across what was clearly a large, stone, Catholic church. Definitely the cathedral, right? What else could it be, since we followed the directions?
The woman had said that mass was slated to start at 11h, so we sat down to wait for the doors, which were also locked, to open and begin letting people in. No one came. 10h50. No one. 10h58. No one. 11h. Un petit vieux couple français. The couple was too cute and too old to have ever learned Engish (the case with most of the people in our town- it's perfect). They explained that the cathedral was having a special internation mass this week, and it must be the only one for the day. Waaaait, this ISN'T the cathedral?
Oh, no, the man explained, it's just around the... and before he had finished his thought, he'd opened the car doors and ushered us inside. We were explaining why we are here and listening to an old French woman yell at her husband for his driving before we really understood where we were headed.
When we arrived at the cathedral, it was clear that there was no way we could ever have continued straight enough to find it. The front is completely covered in scaffolding, the back is hidden by buildings and there are no signs. It is, however, right by the pub we frequent, so finding it again will not be a problem. I can imagine the true soccer supporters stopping by before the final last night.
The inside of the church is beautiful, but completely painted by an impressionist to appear decorated on the ceiling and walls. It was distracting through the mass, as was the fact that the French was spoken at warp speed. I managed to snag over half of what was going on, and I'm anxious to get back and read the gospel and the readings on my own, to see how much I really understood.
I can't wait to see what religious adventure we have next week. That effort should earn me some brownie points with the big guy, right?
closing note: the sign of the cross is so much cooler in French. le père, le fils et l'esprit sant (not sure on the spelling. i'll get back to you.)
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