Saturday, September 28, 2013

Third week in France

Salut!
C’est Katie pour cette partie.

(This update is a day late, because I couldn't access the internet last night)

Highlights for the last week (approximately) in the life of your humble writers.

On Monday, Opera Garnier presented “La Dame aux Camelias.” This was the first event out of a list that Hollins students could sign up for. Because of the pricey nature of these tickets, we could only choose two, and originally Rachael and I wanted to go to a comedic ballet called “Le Parc” but this took place during another school trip to Belgium, Brussels and Lille. So between the two we chose the trip instead of the happy dance, and signed up for the sad ballet as our alternative. 




It was perfectly beautiful and very tragic. I was also very glad that I paid for the (ridiculously overpriced—bleh!) program that gave a synopsis for all the acts—12€ later…But like I said, it was worth it, because it’s a mixture of French and English, with profiles on the performers and other good stuff. Without it, a lot of the subtle undertones of the ballet would have been lost on me, especially since the way the ballet was designed, it was almost two stories in one.
Two negative points to touch on around the night in general: It was a night of agony for the feet. Mostly I’m sure for the dancers, but they’re also used to it and train around the inconvenience of broken toes and such. I was just incredibly stupid and so brought pain upon myself for no gain.
I wore heels… >.>

There is a simple explanation for it though—I was in a hurry (as usual), running around trying to find something to eat and something appropriate to wear. By the time I’d accomplished those goals, I needed to dash to the metro to meet Rachael. Shoes first. What do I wear to the opera normally, I thought to myself. Heels. I have heels. Wore the heels, and long story short by the end of the night, I’d managed to completely take the skin off two of my twos. They are very sad, but healing alright now that I’ve given up on Band-Aids and socks. I just kept telling myself, if ballerinas can do it, so could I. It helped me persevere long enough to get back to my apartment and become a puddle of a human being. Rachael has decided that I’m not a girl, not that she needed more proof of this in the two+ years of knowing me. 
            
So in addition to that lovely aspect of the evening, Rachael and I got box seats in the opera on the third floor near the stage. And in France, they don’t count the ground floor as the first floor. That’s the 0 floor. So really it was four flights of stairs, one of which was grandiose and expansively scaled. We sat in the chairs in front of the balcony which gave us an okay view of the stage, but an even better view of the probably fifty foot drop into the crowd below. Especially if we leaned over to see the side of the stage closest to us which was partially blocked from standard view because of a column. Walking to our seats was an interesting affair mostly because once I caught sight of the balcony, my stomach started to turn. I pretty much suction cupped to the wall and crouched to my seat when the wall ran out. It was a pathetic site I’m sure, but Rachael seemed amused, so I suppose all was not lost. It was better once the ballet started and the lights went down, because then I was distracted from the horrific scenario of tumbling over the balcony to a horrific death.
           
The ballet was well done, as far as I can tell—I’ve only been to see one other. I maintain my opinion that the lack of voices perturbs me on some deep level. I just think with the amount of drama and emotion displayed, there needs to be some kind of vocal harmonization. The orchestra was synchronized and in tune, and the whole ballet was choreographed to the work of Chopin, who I adore as a classical musician. When I listen to his work in a normal context, it feels whole and perfectly expressed. The story was sad, being the base for the film The Moulin Rouge (which Rachael explained later when I pointed out several similarities).
            
There is one good thing about tragic love stories like that, ending in poverty and death and suffering, if there is such a thing as a bright side here. I usually come out of them with a better perspective on my own life and whatever happens to be going on at the time. Because at least it’s not as bad as dying of consumption right after you finally resolve traumatic differences with the love of your life.
            
I did come out of the ballet with a few impressions or questions that I feel were not really intended by the creative director. Do male ballerinas have a special name or are they just called dancers? How does one find ballerina costume dresses for typical retail sale (because let me tell you what, they were all beautifully and elegantly shaped, with a sort of classic coloring and design that looked good on all of the dancers, which is no easy feat—a few times, I became completely absorbed with watching how the material moved instead of the dancers.) And an observation—If you do something with enough purpose mixed with casualness, no one will ever question that it wasn’t supposed to be like that. For instance, several times when the dancers performed lifts, the dresses of their partners would fall into their eyes or cover their faces entirely, and the ballerinas would gracefully move their arms as if it was part of the dance and push aside the material. I only noticed because for some reason the idea of the dancer not able to see where he was going really bothered me.
            
That was a late night for Rachael and me, especially because I had a while to travel on the metro. I think I’m one of the farthest people out from the center of Paris. Which makes sense when you think about the fact that Montmartre used to be a suburb outside of Paris before Paris decided to have a growth explosion and kind of ate the neighborhood. Which in French is called a quartier or an arrondissement. Arrondissement implies a larger area though. If you look at a map of Paris, it is divided into 20 arrondissements, arranged like the carapace of a snail. The first one is in the center, with the rest swirling out from that point.  Montmartre is the 18th arrondissement north of the city. Rachael’s is the 14th and she is near the southern end of the city. Reid Hall is situated north of Rachael, but south of the direct center of Paris, in the arrondissement of Montparnasse. That is also the train station is that Rachael, Katie, and I took to go on our weekend voyage!
            
Some quick details of that—we started planning this trip toward the beginning of the week, around Tuesday or Wednesday. We had a few setbacks where we thought the weather would be too bad over the weekend in the areas we were looking at, so we formulated a back-up plan. We decided though that we didn’t like the back-up plan, which was to travel to Auxerre, a city southwest of Paris. Rachael thought what we’d seen about the city was a tourist trap and talking to other people, like our host families, about the trip seemed to confirm that. So we went back to the original plan to venture to Rennes, a city northeast of Paris in the province of Bretagne (close to Normandy, where we had our orientation week before arriving in Paris.)
            
So Thursday evening we booked our hotel, went to the train station, bought our tickets and a special discount pass, then went home to pack and prepare for travelling the next morning.
We all woke up this Friday morning around five am (shudder), and met at the train station around 6:50. The train left the station without any incident and a nice French man moved over in his seat so that I could be closer to Rachael and Katie. I ended up flubbering a little because I wasn’t expecting the sudden gesture of kindness, but managed a “merci” and sat down.
            
After a two hour train ride, we arrived at the Rennes gare (train station) and realized that in our bustle to get the initial details sorted, we’d completely forgotten to look up directions from the station to our hotel.

After a lot of walking (always more walking then one could desire) and hauling our bags around, we reached out hotel. Maps at bus stops are helpful things. It’s on the outskirts of the city, which is actually quite pleasant because it’s quieter than Paris ever is, even in the wee hours of the morning. There’s a lot of grass and a river running through the city, which is very similar to Paris. There are a lot of other similarities too, to the point that Rennes almost feels like a less populated, congested (and certainly smaller) version of Paris. It has a good vibe to it.
The hotel is situated around a lot of residences which are exactly as one would picture French living quarters to appear. Lots of plants and flowers all around the walkways, painted shutters, balconies with wrought iron. It oozes charm and I have been successfully wooed.

So I’m trying to get my fill of fresh air and quiet while we’re here. Also in our wanderings today, we found an extended square with a lot of quirky shops. Found a movie shop, which I kind of splurged on because they had all the right movies for great prices. Got some Cedric Klapisch films and some American ones with French dubbing! It makes me really happy and chuckly. There was also a sort of cult fiction shop with lots of pacman and star wars paraphernalia. Eventually we settled in our rooms (when we arrived, we couldn’t go up because the rooms weren’t ready), went out again to get a grocery store/picnic dinner, gorged ourselves on food, and then hung out in our rooms for some quiet relaxation time, the likes of which we have not really experienced since arriving. Tomorrow, we’re hitting the town hard and hoping to explore as much as we can because we have an early train on Sunday to catch back to Paris.

As a general update on life, classes continue, and I don’t particularly feel like talking about that because it’s class and it’s French and they’re together, so it makes my head swim. And Rachael thinks they’re all poopie-heads. “Except for the nice language lady who talks all nice and clear and helps you when you feel stupid. But the other ones are poopie heads for sure.” This moment brought to you by Rachael and her sleepy mumbles.


A bientot! <3  

Sunday, September 22, 2013

Daily life in Paris, as told by Rachael


So classes have started… Thought a mental break was on the horizon the first couple days but it might be slightly better now. At least I like to think so. Oh it’s Rachael again by the way. Katie yelled at me for taking so long to post again but I have good reason to be distracted I think. Anyway back to the classes… I have Impressionism, Architecture, French oral and written courses. So if you think about it which do you think of as the most fun? The first two? I naively thought the same. Oh how wrong I was. So in these courses I have one day in the classroom and one in the city visited whatever spot the professor has chosen for the week. Ok so far so good. Then… they speak in rapid-fire French and you are on the street or in the Louvre and there are other people and noises and they use very specific vocab. Do you have the picture in your head yet? A couple students following at a leisurely pace understanding the lecture and then me and Katie… at the back, trotting along like panicked puppies. Lost and confused and furiously taking notes that more resemble random thoughts written on paper or just gibberish. Oh yeah… fun times guys. Then… the unknown expenses come in. “oh you need to buy this book…” “oh you need to go get a museum pass…” “it should only be like 10 or 15” Then 50 euros later and one book and one museum pass richer I feel very dark feelings for these kind professors.  
            I am slightly awed and frightened of my language professor but I adore this beautiful woman. I’m stupid and I don’t know anything. Does she keep going or judge me? No she explains and gives examples and speaks CLEARLY. I feel more strongly for her than for any man I have dated. She is my hero. (I think Katie feels the same.) So recap… hate artsy classes, like boring language courses. How do these things happen you might ask. Simple, live in another country where everyone speaks at you in a language you aren’t fluent in and all your classes are in, then talk to me.
            I feel like I should include the fact that there are many beautiful things in Paris and I have had good experiences too. I have new friends and have seen wonderful, historic sites. I have the two Katies in my classes and Jeremy is fabulous and the other girls in my classes are all very nice and fun people. I have kind people around me and get to do fun stuff but then I have the super exciting (sarcasm might be happening here) art classes and public transit.
            Oh…. Public transit. How I love thee… Not. Let’s just take a moment to appreciate all the aspects of things such as the metro in Paris. First, yummy smells every time you enter and leave. Yes smells like urine and worse substances. Yay my favorite. Then add in crowded cars. We are talking like 20 people in a 5 to 10 square foot area. Are you with me yet? Is this your paradise? Then you have turtles (the wonderful people wearing GINORMOUS backpacks). These individuals love to smack one in the head repeatedly with their grand shells. Always fun. And the kind gentlemen that use this closeness to invade any trace of personal room you ever thought you had. I just can’t wait for the ogling portion of my ride every day. Also the people that sack out and make themselves at home while you are pressed between three people, a suitcase, and a pole. Yes please ignore the sign that says don’t use folding seats when it’s crowded. It makes the game of how do we fit and not fall more fun. So you survive this either push your way out or get pushed out. (I did help a woman though when a metro I wasn’t even trying for was too full and her bag got caught in the door and she almost lost it. Another man and I pushed it through the closing doors for her. So that restored a little faith in humanity.) Then you are exiting the metro. Still a good crush of people. Perfect time for strangers to cop a feel as you go up stairs or walk down hallways. My butt has been touched more times here…. But I digress. You get into fresh air from this labyrinth and still have to find wherever you are going and cross streets with made up traffic rules. It’s all very excited. Gets the blood pumping.
            Thankfully the lady I live with is super nice and helpful and helps me figure out my life and gives me advice for the best ways to get places. Without her and my map I bought I would be forever lost. Let me just say what I never thought I would, “I can’t wait to get back to Frankfort, Kentucky.” Sad, but true. I love the sites and some people and the opportunity but it’s all a bit hectic for me. Also I know I’m a loser and can’t have a social life. Latest reason: I try to go to a party through Eramus last night with the other students in my program. I’m kind of excited because it’s on a boat and will be 10 euros for food and a boat tour and the party (not counting) drinks. Also because we should be getting a free bottle of champagne because my birthday is in September. Sounds like a good time. Then we go. We follow the hoards of students and find the line. Ooh and Aah over a great view of the Eiffel Tower. Then the wait begins. 10 minutes. 20. 40. An hour later we have moved 10 to 20 feet. We are all slightly cranky and hungry as it is now 9 or so at night. We wait a little longer then decided dinner is more important. We have the idea to go to a Portuguese restaurant near me. I have vague directions and of course they fail. BUT… we find an awesome Thai place. I loved it and enjoyed it much more than I would have the party anyway. We are having a good time. I get some wine and unwind a bit and the check comes we all put in what we think is correct. Because it’s the whole group, we come up short. There are some less than pleasant exchanges. Everyone is tired and done at this point. Katie R tallies up the money again. I get the receipt and start going one thing at a time. “Who got this?” “Who splite that?” etc. After WWIII almost breaking out it is resolved and we can all head home. The moral of the story? Don’t try to go to parties when you don’t do so on a normal basis.
            Today was good though. Katie stayed over last night. We had breakfast with my homestay lady. Made plans to meet back up at a garden. Went to Katie’s abode. The other Katie decided to meet us at the garden too. We all eventually meet at the parc floral on the outskirts of Paris. See lots of pretty plants, eat some food, listen to some music. A few hours later my lady heads home and we go for aperitifs at a café/bar. It all works out and we have fun times. Just lots of learning experiences to break up the fun times. I’m exhausted so that’s it for tonight but I will post some pictures tomorrow! Au revoir mes amis!!!

Sunday, September 15, 2013

Second Half of Orientation Week in Paris

So update by your Katie,

This past orientation week, we’ve been learning a lot about the history of France while being exposed to current French culture. We had a few days in Normandy which I suppose were there to orient us to France in a smaller and less chaotic place than Paris. Then we had Paris orientation with a tour guide by the name of Marie Laura. I found her much easier to listen to and more enjoyable as a whole than our previous guide—although I think he was instructed on pain of death to only speak French to us, and with our school director sitting in the seat behind him, there wasn’t much he could do. But Marie Laura understood saturation levels of the brain and attention span, and when your audience has hit one and run out of the other. So she was a lot more flexible with us as she guided the group around Paris. Normally we had two or three large events on our itineraries for the day which usually included museums, monuments, historic sites, etc.

They were packed days and by the end of them, I thought I would immediately fall into bed and pass out. For how tired I’ve been though, it’s taken me a while to fall asleep. I think it’s a mixture between brain overload and being cold. I think that’s just something I’m going to have to get used to. It’s exceedingly strange though to think “I can’t wait until I go home in December where I can finally be warm again.” It’s December so it’ll be freezing, but at least the house will be warm. My poor toesies.  

Anyway, so far we’ve spent a lot of time near the River Seine, which runs through the center of the city, toward the west. September 10th we explored Notre Dame and the Latin Quarter, also Shakespeare and Company which is absolutely beautiful. Shelves packed full of books, organized by genre, everything from the classics of the previous century to new releases, books for academia and leisure. It’s completely charming and swoon-worthy, and that’s not taking into account the name of the place and the history behind it. And it’s full of British people so that’s a lot of fun. There are actually a shocking number of British and American tourists here in the city and I can’t tell if they’re just remnants of the tourist season and the flow of English speaking people will slowly taper away, or if this is a year round kind of flux.
           
Speaking of tourists and experiences with orientation: holy cow there are a lot of Asians. I mean a LOT of Asians. Just walking around there are a good number of them, most of them tourists, although a few do seem to be locals. But it’s nothing compared to the big hot-spots in Paris, like the Louvre or Versailles (we took the train to Versailles on the 13th). Our tour guide calls the phenomenon the Asian Invasion, and pointed out that at places where photography is not permitted, this did not seem to occur. Seemed kind of strange to me, but in a positive vein, it’s kind of nice to realize that the things that fascinate one culture also hold sway in others. Perhaps it indicates that there is a shared concept of glory and beauty, and that people everywhere can appreciate it.
           
It’s hard to remember that though when cultural differences come into play, and the tiny Chinese woman behind you seems to be trying her best to crawl on top of you to see the Mona Lisa. That was Rachael’s experience, not mine. I stayed away from that horde of people. I’m perfectly content to stare at sculptures and less than renowned paintings if that means I don’t have to fight the press of unsympathetic bodies.
            
A simple piece of advice for anyone who would venture to these spots: go early. I don’t care what it takes, set the alarm and arrive when it opens. Especially the Louvre (It was our first stop on the 12th). Find the star attractions and see those first. Then go back and wander through at your own pace. Also having a guide walk us through was really nice, because she was able to offer a lot of tidbits about the paintings or the artists or history in general, which enriched the experience.
           
I got distracted again. Okay, so we saw the Notre Dame and the Musee de Cluny (also called la Musee National du Moyen Age—medieval history/art) in the Latin Quarter, the Louvre (general history/art) in its respective quarter, and Marais where the infamous Bastille is located (though we didn’t venture that way—we went into a museum that documented the Reign of Terror though and saw an actual guillotine that actually cut people’s heads off, as it was so eagerly described to us by our tour guide. She’s a funny lady. One of the tidbits she told us, apparently Marie-Antoinette accidentally (or not, I’m thinking) trod on her executioner’s toe when she was mounting the platform to be guillotined and she apologized to him. “Oh no problem, I’m only going to cut your head off.” What made it better is that Marie Laura (the guide) is French, but when she speaks English, it’s with a British accent. I don’t know much about Marie-Antoinette so maybe she really was just that polite…I guess it’s better to go out in a flare of love than in spite. In walking around Marais, through quite a few alleyways we found the King’s Square. Don’t know if that’s the actual name, but that’s what I’m calling it. Victor Hugo’s house is one of the houses in the square that make up the perimeter. At the heart is a grassy park which was lovely, with a big statue of a man on a horse. I wanted to investigate it, but we were late in getting to the bank to (finally!) set up our bank accounts so it was hurryhurryhurry to the metro. Sigh.

The lady on the right (a la droite) is Marie Laura.
            
If I’ve learned anything so far from this trip, it’s that royalty with a lot of money do really weird things with even weirder motivations. Like, “hey I want to build a house. And other people can live near me too. But they have to have the same house as me in the same style.” They were lovely of course, but it helps when you have wads of cash to buy all the pretty things with and smart people to tell you how it all goes together.
            
Hugo’s old house is now a sort of pseudo museum dedicated to his life and works. There are a lot of paintings and related items to The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Fan art basically. But really cool fan art. I took a lot of pictures of the paintings and depictions of Esmeralda. A lot of them were beautiful, but they were also felt personal and familiar. Thank you Disney for your bastardized version. I keep telling myself I need to read the actual book, but I’ve heard that it’s kind of a downer…maybe later in life I’ll get to it.


Two images of Esmeralda, one of her helping Quasimodo and the other spreading out playing cards with the goat whose name I now forget...

            
Over the weekend, the little group consisting of me, Rachael, and other Katie did a fair amount of walking without all the museums. Mostly just wandering around Paris. For the most part, we’ve kept to the Latin quarter because when we’re not actively looking for something, we’re usually hungry, thirsty, or have to pee and that means a café or creperie or some other place like that. And so far, this quarter is the only quarter with prices that anyone on a limited budget can appreciate.
            
Also, I really love crepes now. They are magical delicious deliverers of happiness and sugar. Unless you get the more solid, savory version, which is usually called a galette. I had one again for lunch yesterday, but it wasn’t nearly as awe inspiring as the one that I had in Normandy. That one had everything: meat, potatoes, cheese, leafy greens…

I kind of miss potatoes and other starchy things that aren’t bread…
I would like everyone who knows me well to fully comprehend the enormity of that statement.
Do you know how much bread I’ve had since arriving here?
Not a single ounce of sliced sandwich/white bread though. I’ve had baguettes, croissants, crepes, galettes, pita, pain aux raisins (like sweet swirled bread with raisins) and a chausson de pomme (similar to an apple turnover) and some kind of Indian chip…but there’s been a lot and I kind of miss a nice plate of chicken breast, with some veggies and mashed potatoes.
            
Yesterday we had a leisurely, wandering day that started near Notre Dame with us venturing to this festival thing called the Marches-Flottantes. There was supposed to be events going on, live music and such, but when we went there, it seemed kind of small, mostly a market for produced goods, like honey, cider, chocolate, and the like and we were in between events. So then we figured we might go visit the Eiffel Tower, since we’d not gone near the area at all before. We ended up walking to the Champs Elysees, through the massive garden that bears the same name. There were a lot of fountains and flowers blooming, statues and the like. We found one that was called “Le Baiser” which means “the kiss.” I don’t know why, but we all adored it and kind of went girly-giggly over it. Very romantic. We didn’t know where we were only that we liked the spot. Eventually found a school with a large lawn and more statues. Sat down in a bench and hung out to rest our feet. There were a lot of birds and Rachael started to sort of feed them. She has no immunity to sad animal eyes. The crows didn’t bother with us though, just went straight to the trash after Rachael threw her apple core away, tore through the bag, and fetched various morsels out. We must have spent at least half an hour there, just watching the birds.




            
We found the exit of the garden, which suddenly turned into a high vehicle traffic area, with a lot of cobblestone and pavement and steel/glass buildings. There was a large pointed monument, sort of like the Washington monument that had hieroglyphics on it. Found out later in my guide book that it was given to Paris by Egypt in the 1820’s. There was also a large nautical themed fountain I think to represent the seafaring spirit of France’s past. Across that multi-lane (I use lane gratuitously here—for the most part, the cars drive in lines without markers) road was the famous tree lined walkway of the Champs-Elysees. I remembered this area from a scene in the movie The Happening, where all the plants send out pheromones to block the survival instinct in people, instead making it the opposite. Just when you think the movie is resolving into a happy ending for the characters, the last scene jumps to this tree lined Champs Elysees where the same thing starts to happen. In the movie it was the height of summer, and looked quite warm and sunny, with the trees wearing dark green leaves. Compared to that, the park seemed lackluster and dreary. It didn’t help that we were all cold and damp. It was the perfect day for Rachael and I to finally buy our umbrellas because it did nothing but rain all day. The trees were starting to show signs of autumn, but seemed vaguely brownish, like they couldn’t muster up the energy to throw out some color.


           
We found a metro at that point to take us to the 7th arrondissement, where the Eiffel Tower is located. Our plan was to get close to the tower and then wander down sidestreets and such until we found a decently priced café to get some tea. We would then go to the tower, sight see, and find some dinner. However, despite our pretty well thought out logic (we knew what to expect of the prices near the monument, but seven or eight blocks down they were unchanged and ridiculous) it fell through. We sat down at a small place out of desperation and ordered tea, so we could be people again, as Rachael puts it. Then we oriented ourselves, found a metro, and took it to the area near our school of Montparnasse, figuring we could do some exploring there to find dinner.
           
Another good plan we thought, getting to know the places we’d be spending a lot of time around and also scouting out the eateries for dinner. We got back on the metro and encountered an accordion player. However this was the second one of the evening, and there must be a trend or something going on with them, because they both came onto the metro, set up a speaker that played songs of which an accordion can accompany, and then went to town. The first time it was funny, the second time it was just mildly irritating. After they played for a minute or two, they would stop the music and then walk along the length of the car with a cup. And then they would hop off at the next stop and get on the next metro car. It just seemed really automated and mass produced. Different people doing exactly the same thing, no originality or ingenuity or personality even. Almost robots. It took the life out of the music.
            
It did help me appreciate even more an accordion player I saw on a bridge near Notre Dame. He sat on a chair on the sidewalk and played his accordion solo. It was more natural and harmonious with the energy of the street than the others, and it was also just better playing.


            
Our arrival in Montparnasse was met with frustration and disappointment, as it was also expensive and high end, most of the places with prices higher than we had the ability to pay (even if we did have the stomach for it) if we wanted to be able to get food for today. I’m thinking that the area is good for lunch or le dejeuner because of the number of boulangeries (bakeries) in the area that you can grab a sandwich at or a pastry. There’s also the student center that provides lunch, a whole meal, for 3 euros. Dinner is a different creature entirely though. All those lovely affordable places aren’t an option because they close right around the aperitif social hour. The evening and night belongs to the bars and restaurants that inevitably cost around 10 euros more, minimum.
            
So we wandered and wandered and circled and looked at menus and huddled under our umbrellas and did some dancing because we all had to pee again. Eventually we settled on an Italian place, which turned out to be really delicious and not horrifically painful for our budgets. We were also so hungry that when the food got there, we pretty much inhaled it. I’m not one for Italian usually, I just usually feel like there’s way too much starch and not enough everything else, but it was delicious. We had bread and wine with the meal too, and the wine definitely helped us loosen up after the rough day we’d had out in the Parisian weather. We were all in much better moods after we tucked in, and I think our cheerful demeanor and English talk encouraged our waiter to pick up a conversation with us. The typical questions of course, where are you from, what are your plans for your stay in Paris, etc. He wanted to practice his English he said, and I think he sensed a sympathetic audience. It was a bit of an awkward turtle though with this mixed Franglish thing going on, and him continually darting away to do waiter things and picking the conversation right back up when he stopped by our table. But it was nice to make a sort of pseudo connection in the city. So far we’ve had very little opportunities to actually have a conversation with French people aside from in restaurants and at our homestays. Usually the first is limited to ordering and the second is sad and pathetic from fatigue and stress.
            
Tomorrow is the first day of classes and I’m hoping those go well. I’ll have two each day of the week, Monday through Thursday, all of them with the Rachaelkins. Hopefully we’ll be able to settle into a normal schedule here and a normal life. While learning experiences are good, I’d prefer them to occur in an intermingled fashion with familiarity. I’m just getting tired of everything seeming so new all the time. I’m sure by the time we have to leave, we’ll finally have it down lol. That is the way of these things.

So to incorporate some more French—

Words/Phrases I’ve learned/relearned since being here:
Améliorer: to improve
Les vitrails: stained glass windows
L’archevêque: arch bishop
Annuler: to cancel
Porter: to carry
Le pigeon: pigeon. This is what we call a cognate my friends. You never know when they’ll happen, so it’s always good to check.
Moitie: half
Quelle heure est-il?
Mairie: city hall
Les Mobiliers : furniture
L’ouïe: hearing
L’odeur: smell
La gout: taste
La touche : touch
La vue : sight
La droite : right
La gauche : left
L’épaule : shoulder
Le genou: knee
Le Haut: top

La bas: bottom

Thursday, September 12, 2013

Katie's Homestay--the first week

Katie speaking, as one would assume from the title. But just for clarity's sake:

These past few days have been fatiguing to say the least, some moments more pleasing than others. One by one, we were all claimed by our new host parents and taken away, almost like a street orphanage on super speed.

My hostess was late, stuck in traffic. And let me tell you what, you have not seen crazy traffic until you have seen the traffic in Paris. It’s terrifying. For one thing, a lot of the roads are unmarked with traffic moving in at least two, if not three or more directions. Especially in front of l’Arc de Triumph. At that particular spot, it’s more like a “drive wherever there’s space for your car in the general direction you want to go.” We were literally inches away from other cars, buses, and trucks. And don’t even get me started with the bikes, motorized and not. They go wherever they want, at whatever speed they want. It’s lucky they keep to the roads for the most part, otherwise I would be a lot more wary about walking around outside.

My hostess gave me a quick tour around the neighborhood in her car, then we parked it in a side street, where she managed to squeeze into a space literally the size of her vehicle. It was impressive and again, terrifying. I think she actually managed to tap the bumper of the car in front of us, but it wasn’t a problem. Looking around, most of the other cars were touching or almost touching, so it must be an accepted aspect of driving in this city. Then she walked me around the neighborhood and showed me where the metro was, which seemed simple enough and not too bad of a walk, about ten minutes.

We returned to the car, dropped my stuff off at the apartment, left again to park the car in a parking garage, then walked back to the building. I am on the sixth floor and in the apartment I have to go up a flight of tight, winding stairs to reach my bedroom. (The Hollins abroad program is housed in the top floor of Reid Hall also—I can’t get away from them!) My legs are going to be hard as rock from all the walking and stair climbing.

Speaking to my hostess is a little difficult, only because I’m nervous and second guess myself, so all of my useful French flies out of my brain whenever I try to have a conversation with her. But I think she can sense my frustration and desire to learn, and she helps me figure out what I’m trying to stay. She gave me a little notebook as a welcome gift, about the size of a pocket book that reporters use, but much thicker. So far I've been using it to keep notes and write down vocabulary.

The food is good, and so far I've had a bit more diversity than I expected. Lunch is always out and for the most part consists of sandwiches or salads. Dinner is a bit more varied because they are home cooked or eating out at restaurants/cafes. So far at the house, I've had pork and pasta with a savory sauce that reminded me a lot of mom’s beef stroganoff. One night we had mashed potatoes with fish flakes mixed in. Literally bits of fish just mixed in with the mashed potatoes. The whole time I was eating it, I was thinking, this is so weird, they’re fishy mashed potatoes, but for some reason that I do not understand, it’s actually working for me. Always there’s a salad and often fruit for dessert. Last night we had a salad of tomatoes, mozzarella cheese slices (not shredded, apparently the notion of shredded mozzarella is exceedingly weird), and some olive oil which was really good. Very light and refreshing. I think that’s one thing that has surprised me. I was expecting all the food I ate to be very heavy and rich, and pretty much destroy my digestive system, but mostly it’s been much of the same food I eat at home presented in a different fashion, and perhaps a greater quantity of fruits and vegetables.

One of the great differences between American and French meals is the hour in which they’re taken. Breakfast isn’t  normally a big meal here, but my hostess has been doing this a while I think, so she provides a lot of things that are not part of the standard French breakfast, like yogurt, cereal, orange juice, etc. Lunch happens sometime between 12 and 3ish, and is apparently the big/important meal of the day. Dinner is the weirdest one, because usually they eat from 7:30 to 9 pm. This subject came up in an earlier post, and for me this isn't really so far outside of what I’m used to. The problem is, during this orientation week, we've been running literally all over the city of Paris, usually with an hour or so to grab lunch. That means we go to a café or a supermarket and pick up stuff, and because of the rush and confusion, usually the amount is less filling than desired. Because of all the activity and the lighter meals, by the time dinner occurs, my stomach is hell bent on trying to consume itself.

The large negative drama of the week would be my getting lost trying to find the metro station. It was a simple mistake that led to over a half hour of panicked wandering. The road split at one point into a Y intersection. I didn't remember moving in a diagonal direction when I was with Mme. Mella, so I stayed on the sidewalk, which looked a little straighter to me. That was not correct. On my first circuit around the area I didn't even notice the alternative. If I’d wandered in the right direction I probably could have found the metro, but I don’t believe I have that kind of luck in those kinds of situations so I kept trying to retrace my steps, thinking I’d found a point that I recognized and desperately hoping it was right, only to worsen my confusion. Eventually I went all the way back to the beginning and walked out again. This time I noticed the split and when I looked along that road, I recognized a few shops. I followed it, found more familiar markers, which led me to signs pointing toward the metro, which got me the rest of the way.

Relief was the strongest emotion at the moment when I was riding the metro, but I was deeply shaken. It didn't take much to set me off again. I looked at the map carefully after I got off the metro and found my path. However, as soon as I stepped out of the tunnel onto the street, I was completely disoriented again, with no idea where to go. I chose a likely direction and hoped for the best, squashing the rising panic as best as I could. At one point I literally started muttering to myself, talking myself down. When it started to overwhelm me again, I stopped in a bakery and asked the owner/employee for directions. He seemed a little confused by my request, or perhaps giving directions makes him as nervous as it makes me. Also my French was pretty much destroyed from the morning’s stress, so it could also be that he was having difficulty understanding me. But he gave me the assurance that I was in fact going the right way, and that my turn was literally at the next corner.

I found the school. Another wave of relief, but I’m even more destabilized. I walk into the building only to discover that it is not small or simple like I imagined from previous student’s descriptions. There are three floors with two different wings and many different international schools contained within. I found a map and discovered which floor I needed, but I couldn't tell which wing. So I chose at random, but this time I was wrong. I wandered around that floor for a while before another teacher came out to talk to a student, asked me what I was searching for, and directed me to the other wing.

Went back down the stairs. Climbed up the other side. Wandered around the third floor again. Finally discovered the classroom, where it appeared that everyone was already gathered and proceeding onward with the meeting. Audrey was pleased to see me, and didn't seem put out at all that I was late (granted I wasn’t too late, just by a couple of minutes—but I felt horrendous because I gave myself an hour and a half, using all of that time, for a trip that should have taken me 45 minutes). She asked me if I had fared all right on the metro, and I tried to nod, but I was thoroughly crushed on the inside, with residual waves of terror running through my brain. I think when I was on the street, in the middle of the crisis I was able to hold myself together because I had no other choice. I had to get to my destination and crying definitely wasn't going to help me. But as soon as I found it, my resolve and willpower crumpled into nothing. And I've found in the past that when I experience such an event, asking if I’m okay is the trigger to completely lose my mind. I literally felt my face crease down and my eyes started pouring, even though in my brain I am shouting at myself about what an idiot I am, and why can’t I just be okay, I made it here, didn't I? There was no reason for my tears now and I was only embarrassing myself.

But it happened and Audrey immediately leaped out of her chair and herded me into the office, probably to keep me from distressing the other students and to give me some privacy. She talked to me and tried to reassure me that it was okay, first days were always rough. I think I did a pretty good job explaining what was going on in my brain, in French none the less (for the most part), so that was a bit of a silver lining in very dark skies. The rest of the day was crap because I was so distressed, but being with my host mom actually helped calm me down. She has a reassuring and stable personality, like she’s not perturbed by much, so I tried to absorb a bit of that energy.

So after some quiet time and sleep, I was feeling much better. Nervous about going out again because of the first day, but it passed with no problems. I was actually the first one at the school the next morning for my program, even before the director. I think she was relieved that I’d had a successful venture.

So we’re pretty much touring the whole city bit by bit with a tour guide, who is English and has a great sense of humor. She switches from French to English and back again, so that’s kind of nice, and I've picked up a lot of words from her to write in my little notebook. We've seen some amazing sights, and there were plenty of times when I went to take a picture but gave it up as a lost cause, because the picture didn't capture the magic—it missed either the extravagant detail of the subject or the immense size and grandeur. Either that or Rachael was two steps ahead of me with her iPhone camera. I like my camera and I prefer to have my phone and camera separate, but hers is definitely more efficient and doesn't sacrifice much image quality. So if I don’t already have my camera out, and she’s pointing her camera at the same places I would, I just wait until she posts them so I can steal them and save them to my computer.

Tuesday we took the placement test, which was an official government test a lot like the SAT in America, without all the pre-anxiety or studying because I decided months ago I didn't want to be in the advanced French grammar/composition class. Had a moment during the test when I was about to lose it again, because I didn't understand the recordings of french conversation enough to answer the questions, but then I decided that I didn't care, because I wasn't trying to pass into the upper level french class. So then it was okay and I was able to calm down. My French isn't nearly that up to snuff and it will be easier on me to take the two subjects separately at the lower level. But we also did a dictée with Audrey the day before, where she read a few lines and we wrote it down, and from that she said I was borderline and that I could possibly take the higher class if I felt up to it. She instructed me to attend both classes on Monday and decide then. So that’s the formal plan. But the informal plan is still in place, and I’m proceeding with the formal one to go through the motions.
          
It’s kind of nice to have her confidence, but honestly I just don’t think my conversation skills nor my vocabulary is as advanced as it needs to be and I don’t want to put more stress on myself. I've already made myself sick once in the past school year from that, and I’d rather not make it a habit, especially when I’m so far away from home.

Well this has reached seven pages now, so I’m going to stop and let the pictures fill in the rest.

Bonsoir!


Passed this adorable cafe in Honfleur, one of our stops on the way to Paris. The name is "The Cat who Fishes." There's a little black cat sign at the very top of the picture by the red flowers. 


Calvados is a French liquor made from fermented apple juice. Normally consumed as an aperatif, during the social drinking hour before dinner. 


Rachael and me in the church or eglise in Honfleur. The ceiling was built to look like the bottom of a ship. 


"Sanctuary!!!" --Quasimodo


Rachael in front of the arches of Notre Dame (which translate to "Our Lady" in french, and is a church dedicated to the Virgin. For those of you who didn't know the translation/connection)


Wickedly intense archways up close. This scene depicts what happens to people after they die--their souls are weighed and they are given wings to ascend to heaven or chained and dragged to hell. This was one of the ones that has so much detail it was impossible to capture on the camera, but we tried. 

More posts with pictures later. Tomorrow is the adventure to Versailles!



Sunday, September 8, 2013

Normandy Day 3


Hello! (from Katie)

So for the third day in Caen, we had a nice day of mourning. A lot of grey. But I had a kiwi this morning for breakfast so that was a positive moment to start everything off. Had to postulate for a few minutes on how to go about eating it, but together (Rachael, me, and the other Katie) we were able to figure it out. This was also Katie’s first taste of a kiwi and the expression on her face said that her life was changed forever.

Anyway, back to the sad.
Our first stop of the day was at the Caen Normandy Memorial, a large building split down the middle with a glass corridor between the two, and a phrase carved into the building: “la douleur m’a brisée, la fraternité m’a relevée, de ma blessure a jailli un fleuve de liberté.” Translated (looked this up, because I definitely did not understand how it translated in my head) it says, “Grief broke me, Brotherhood raised me up, from my wounds sprung a river of liberty.”



Follow about two hours in the museum, relearning lots of horrific details about World War 2. We started reading the plaques in French, but the group ended up picking up speed, so Rachael and I switched to reading the English sessions. And then a while later after that, we just had to look at the pictures, because we were mentally and emotionally drained. Although there was this awesome picture of a group of women during the liberation in France, where every single one of them had these expressions of absolute glee. It was refreshing.

After the museum, we went to a German cemetery, St. Laurent, honoring the fallen soldiers.  They had plaques and a giant mound with statues topping it. It was sobering to look out over the field, seeing each of those markers in place of two lives lost. It would have been a massive crowd if the people were standing in place. Later Rachael reflected on the millions of lives lost to stop one man and his corrupted influence. While the stories of those who resisted and fought were heartening, it was also disheartening to think of all the steps that could have been taken to reduce the cost of war, or evade it entirely. If only they knew what those mildly disturbing events would lead up to. Hindsight in a grand scale.



We had lunch near the D-Day beaches in little town, where the sun disappeared and it started sprinkling. By the time we got to Point du Hoc, one of the German defensive positions lost to the Allies in the Normandy Invasion , it was pouring. We did a quick trot over the grounds, stopping at the first bomb hole in I think a mixture of shock and awe. The depth of it and the width is something a camera has a hard time capturing, perhaps because in our minds we know the full implications. We were walking by, and I couldn’t help but think, what must this ground have looked like during that July a handful of decades back. Just another stretch of unmarked land before the soldiers arrived.

The bunker offered us protection from the rain. Our tour guide pointed out the blackened wooden beams on the ceiling from the Rangers who decided that if bombing the bunker wouldn’t work, they would turn it into a giant furnace…They used the air pipes, hooked up their flame throwers, waited a bit for the gas to run, and flipped the switch. There was no body count because of the intensity of heat, just ashes.





By the time we boarded the bus again, we were all soaked. Still emotionally holding on though and maintaining our energy. By the time we got to our last stop of the day though, I was at the end of my limit. The American Normandy Memorial and Cemetary. It included another small museum walk through and video, which went through a few letters and stories. Outside was the cemetery, marked with Latin crosses and stars of David. Several markers were unmarked, one of which Rachael chose to leave her flower. There was also a reflecting pool, an MIA wall that listed all the names of the men who were never found. (There were bronze markers next to men’s names that they’d later discovered and buried in the cemetery). One of the quotes stated that the difference between conquering and assisting was that at the end of the battle, the only land desired was enough of a plot to bury the dead with dignity. Several of the people in the video commented on the beauty of the place as a fitting memorial and a place that people could find peace after such horrific trauma.





Two statues at the end of the cemetery depicted America and France, to represent the heroism of the American troops who came so far to protect people they had never seen, and the gratitude of France for their liberation.



Eventually Rachael and I wandered back to the bus (again, we were the last to finish our meandering). Not long after, we arrived at our hotel, our last night in Caen. After a while relaxing from the day and trying to dry completely off (my toes have only just warmed up to a normal temperature) we went out again to find dinner. Only, it’s Sunday, and in France they take Sunday seriously as a day of rest. Most of the places don’t open or have shorter hours. We eventually found a subway which was an interesting experience in and of itself.

Walked inside the building and hovered for a while, because we realized we couldn’t remember the exact words for the ingredients that go in a sub. Eventually we tottered over and tried to place our order, but our hesitation marked us as English speaking. One lady was sympathetic and seemed to appreciate our attempts, but the other I’m fairly certain just wanted us to scoot on out of there, and switched to English. In the end, we all ended up a little confused, because they also did things a little differently than the suway back home. Got our bread and our meet and cheese and then the other lady summoned us to pay, then we went back for vegetables. Or maybe that was just part of the hurry up and get out mentality. Perhaps if we visit another subway in Paris, we will find out. Lettuce is salade, by the way. We all completely spaced on that one. The bread was good though and the cookies reminded me of home, so in the end we dubbed it a success.

Tomorrow we venture onward to Paris and meeting our homestay families. The nerves begin again.

Until tomorrow!