Shhh You're Making A Raclette...in France

On Est Ensemble

2009-06-08T11:05:00.000-07:00

This is my favorite expression that the Senegalese LOVE to say whenever someone does something nice for you - on est ensemble or no farr in wolof, all of which means 'We are together'. I would like to elaborate more on this but the internet café man is kicking me off! My last night in Sénégal; I am going to a sabar tonight, or a drum repetition on the beach, and then play some French Scrabble with the guys. Tomorrow is the baptism of Magueye's newborn son, he-who-has-not-been-named (babies here are named exactly one week after their birth) .

Mustafa! P'tit monstre!

I hate to leave this country where I find myself surrounded by béugué happiness, family and music.

The Gentlemen's Scrabble Club

2009-06-02T13:01:00.000-07:00

Malik, my host brother, invites me to his friend's house on Saturday night to chill . I have no idea what to expect, but mostly a bunch of dudes sitting around playing poker and smoking cigars . We walk into the house right around the corner from the beach, and I immediately love it - we're at "The Professor's" house, with a patio that is covered by a grass canopy with pillows and mats spread out . At a little card table, these two old men are playing not poker, but Scrabble. I immediately think of Mom and Aunt Amy battling it out for Champion of Scrabble. Malik introduces me to The General, who is probably fifty plus, with little spectacles, a bald head and a great wheezing laugh. He's playing against Cheikh, also known as Le Colonel. I meet Zappo, Diallo, Lando, DJ, who all live in the neighborhood and are musicians that repeat and play together every night. The atmosphere is chill and cool and "à l'aise" as they say in French. I join The General and Cheikh at the card table, where they sit for hours, smoking one Excellence cigarette after another and battling over French words that most I've never even heard of . As soon as Malik walks in, he sits down and takes score . Between all the guys here, who are all different ages, different backgrounds, different ethnicities and different work, but they all come together at The Professor's house on the weekend to play music, play Scrabble and discuss (and smoke a few joints here and there). Im enraptured the whole time to see this tight knit group, who are so nice and friendly with each other .for example, Zappo does everything to make sure that everyone is comfortable and has what they need, even if we're not at his house.
Later, we all go down to the beach and bring guitars, djembes, tam tams and percussion and play for hours. Once again, I feel like rhythm and music is flowing through me and my foot doesnt stop tapping .
The guys remind me over and over again "On est ensemble" or in Wolof "No farr" which is their way of saying "We're friends and we're in this together." Big Mo and Lando tell me that they are brothers, because there's a certain point in a friendship when you bypass friendship and become brothers. I also meet Laye, a doctor in the Senegalese army - we talk about Socrates philosophy and go on for hours talking about history, colonization and philosophy. I think I've found my new hangout spot.

Le Voyageur

2009-06-02T12:54:00.000-07:00

A word about Senegalese nightclubs - what an experience . I went on Friday night with my host brother and sister - Malik and Mamy . First, alcohol is forbidden by the Koran, but at nightclubs you have the odd bunch who drink . But since theyre not at ALL used to alcohol, they're falling all over the place and hit shamelessly on toubabs like me . Things dont get started until at least 2 in the morning - we arrived at the club at 1 and waited around the empty lounge for an hour before things got started. For music, they hit up all the classic American hip hop and rap songs, and I feel cool only because Im american and know all the words . My favorite part though is that there are mirrors on every wall surrounding the dance floor where guys and girls shamelessly dance by themselves in the mirror and see how they look. Dammmmmn apparently self consciousness doesnt exist here. And then, right when a good song comes on and you want to throw your hands up and shake your hips, you feel something behing you and its some creepy guy behind you whispering in your ear that he wants your phone number. I was preyed on nearly the entire night by guys swooping in and trying to dance with me. Thats when your elbow and a nice shove come in handy.

WAAW means YES!

2009-05-29T11:07:00.000-07:00

Gorée is...fantastic. Paradisical. I went back there for a day with Sophie, where we spent a fabulously relaxed and chill day. Sophie and I caught the ferry around 10 am and immediately went looking for Mikaela as soon as we arrived. I met the infamous La Hadt, Monica's admirer while she was here. He's...absolutely gorgeous. I could just stare at his all the livelong day, especially when he's playing the djembe. Julia number 1 was also there for a bit, so we got to catch up. She's allergic to something - a reminder that we are indeed in Africa and need to watch out. We hang out at the port, sit in the sun and chill out. So nice not to have anything to do or anywhere to be. Julia takes the next ferry out bc she's ill,while Mikala and I decide to swim in the little harbor. Amadou and Mbaye come in the water with us and we swim all the way out next to the ferry to send Julia off. We find an old surfboard chillin out in the water and 6 of us try to climb on without tipping off. We all jump off the surfboard into the water . Then swim out to an old pirogue boat in the water, climb in and jump off. The entire ferry witnesses me and my pathetic upper body strength as I hopelessly try to hoist myself into the old boat .FAIL ! Swimming is so much fun and all the guys have such nice bodies, not gonna lie. We dry out on the beach and buy some necklaces from a local. We all share the BEST mango I will ever have, it was like eating pure candy. We hang out at the beach alllll day, talking with the local guys who are all about the same age. Mikala plays on her flute while Amadou taps his djembe - hey, its Irish-African music! Nice!
You can just tell that music and rhythm flows throug his blood and in his soul. So cool.He's SO happy when he's playing the djembe, just the biggest smile spread across his face. La Hadt, Samba and Babacar are all gorgeous, I cant stop staring!
And then the highlight of the night : the repetition, where all the guys get together and jam on the djembe while the local girls dance . This goes on for nearly 2 hours, and I dont know how to describe it except that you have to see it for yourself. La Hadt is the leader of the circle, with about 8 drums. Samba is on the big drums, and the rest of the guys play the djembe. Ten hot sweaty Senegalese men banging on the drums, by the ocean, with the sun setting in the background - have I died and gone to heaven????
Then the girls start in formation and do their crazy African dance routine, banging their heads back and forth and shaking their arms, legs, asses as if none of their limbs are actually attached. My foot was stamping the whole time. The surroundings are amazing - behind us is a big old abandoned building , with the sea crashing up right behind us. We take fun jumpîng pictures and walk up to the top of the hill, where the sound of the drums is even louder .
Once the drumming rep is over, we chill out at Alfa's place, where I actually find a HAMMOCK! My life is complete. This island is officially paradise.

Alhamdoulilah

2009-05-29T10:41:00.000-07:00

Sunday I go chez Sophie; Magueye's wife hands up her son Cheikh to bring along for the ride to Amadou's. SO funny how different kids are treated here than the States. Nahadi hands us her 5 yr old son to take on two car rapides through the downtown city- no American mum would ever do that ! A word about transportation in Dakar - first, there's the bus, which is pretty regular but always packed . A few times I've held on for dear life with half by body in the rinkydink bus, with one arm and one leg hanging out the door. Next, there's the car rapide -oh, these are an adventure. First, the cars remind me of the ones I saw in India - crappy and beat up twister pieces of metal that have four wheels and carry 15 people (and spew out a black diesel fume) . A teenage guy hangs off the back ledge of the car rapide and hisses at people to give them a ride. Mikaela has ridden on the back of one, I rode on the back for about 2 minutes before I got kicked out. The inside is adorned in pictures of Cheikh Amadou Bamba (like an African Gandhi) and various spiritual guides that the Senegalese adore . On the front of every car rapide is written ALHAMDOULILAH (also my favorite word to say) , which in Arabic means 'Peace to God'. Im getting quite good at the salutations here :
-Salaamalekum!
-Malekumsalaam, nga def ?
-Ca va bien, ca va ?
-Oui ca va ! Alhamdoulilahi!
There's an expression in French that says "You're going like a Senegalese" because chez les Senegalais, things are ALWAYS going well. Non ca va pas is never a response to How's it going?
Next are the taxis, which take forever because haggling the price in French is about half the journey.
And last but not least are the clandos, short for clandestine, short in English for SHADY. These are the non-marked cars that are cheaper than taxis, and way more sketchier. How do you know it's a clando? Look for the realllly crappy cars, wave em down, ask em where they're goin and hop on it.

Sophie and I discuss how happy and accepting people are, especially thanks to the Islamic influence. I love how proud everyone is here of their country, something that you would rarely find in France . Mamy says she only likes Senegalese food and that Sénégal is Paradise on Earth. They are very proud of their country and of Africa in general. Another thing I've noticed here is that Islam/ Muslims dont talk about HELL/L'ENFER the way Christians do. It's not a concept in Islam the way it is in Christianity, ESPECIALLY Catholocism. For exemple, El Hadji says if you hurt someone, God will punish you, not that you will go to hell. People do right here and pray a lot, not so that they won't go to hell, but to prove their love to God.

We go chez Amadou for a bit, where he shows us pictures of his family, half of which is in Europe playing the djembes. His big bro who taught him how to play the djembe is so cool-looking, with long dreads and a sweet accent.

Afterwards, I go to El Hadji's house, where I salute everyone with the casual greetings. The salutation with all these guys is tapping their hand on your forehead four times, as a sign of respect. And then we shout "Bégué!" which means happiness. El Haji makes mint tea, a process that takes over an hour . Magueye tells me that to make tea and drink tea, you cant be in a rush. This is true. El Hadj makes the best mint tea because he adds a bit of cardamom seeds to it and makes a lot of mousse on top.

On my way home, my Congolese friend Michel is there waiting for me . I have NO idea how he found my house, because I dont even know where it is in the maze of this city, but he's there and waiting ! He's an acquaintance I've made through my friend Bruno in Paris, who lived with Michel for several months. Michel comes from Brazzaville Congo and has been playing the big tam-tams his whole life. He has awesome dreads that reach down to his waist, and he is a true Rastafarian . The next night we make dinner at his place, (a true Rasta is vegetarian) and he tells me all about Congo Brazzaville, about the Rastafarian religion and his respect for Bob Marley.
Bob Marley is HUGE here in Africa - I've learned so much about him. We even celebrated his birthday the 11 may. Africans are obsessed with him, his music and his message. Even though he was Jamaican, he identified a lot with Africans and sang "Africa Unite!" . Michel is very wise and has a lot to give, but I think he might have lost a marble or two. I cant decide. He is deeply distrustful of the Senegalese, especially after living in Dakar for over 3 years. I find they are a people who are generous and friendly, whereas he sees them as jealous and cheating.
He tells me all about his travels around West Africa, playing Congo drums and do traditional dance . I would love to go see his corner of Africa one day. We talk about raising money to build a community center for street kids that teaches traditional drums and dance.

The Island of Gorée

2009-05-26T10:39:00.000-07:00

The island of Gorée is a fantastic getaway from the chaos and noise of Dakar. When I think of Gorée, I think of paradise, or even a Caribbean island where the doors and windows are vibrantly painted, and are always open; the bouganvillea hanging off the sides of the multicolored houses. The darker side of Gorée is that it was a major station point in the Atlantic Slave Trade, and thousands of slaves stolen from West Africa passed through here on their brutal voyage to America in inhuman conditions. Gorée is teh keyhole to the African continent following the insatiable thirst for slaves during the 18th and 19th century following the European discoveries. When we checked out the slave house, El Hadj showed me tiny rooms where hundreds of slaves were stored, cramped and chained to the floor. I cant even begin to imagine how terrible the conditions were between the journey from the Congo, Nigeria, Guinée, to the storage house and the months spent at sea, only to arrive in America or the Caribbean to work your ass off as a slave hauling cane sugar. Built in 1786 by the Dutch, they say that out of the 20 million Africans stolen and sent as slaves, only 300 per year went through Gorée. El Hadj got so upset being in there, and for good reason. Except then he tells me that it's thanks to Cheikh Amadou Bamba that Africans arent slaves anymore, and its him who put an end to the slave trade...right. Can't argue with someone who is deeply religious though.
The door that opens from the storeroom to the sea represents the "voyage with no return" for African slaves that would never see their homeland again. The whole thing breaks my heart.
As for the rest of Gorée, it might be my idea of heaven on earth. It has a bit of Caribbean island feel to it, but when you think about the Caribbean's cultural origins- IT's AFRICAN!
The houses are red, yellow, with the bouganvillea overflowing over the sides in brilliant violet colors. Gorean artists post up their paintings, necklaces and African masks for all to see. We meander through the quiet streets where there are no roads, no cars, just serenity and harmony. The beach and port has a big jetti where Rasta and Baye Falls fish for carps rouges. Children play soccer while listening to MBALAX music played by a local DJ. Four guys sit on the rocks out by the beach and bang on djembes while singing chants about Islam . Dreadlocked (and hot) Senegalese guys chill out on the beach and play music.
We meander through the streets and up the hilll to see the statue of the two pirogues; symbolizing peace. AKSILEM ak JAMM - please feel welcome and come in peace .
I meet a local artist who shows me his work and how he paints the abstract canvas of African scenes. He has a funny little cap and quirky glasses, and is covered head to toe in PAINT ! He casually mentions that he'll give me a good price, but is not aggressive like those in Dakar . Ive noticed that everyone here is chill and relaxed. Im invited to several little boutiques to look at beautiful necklaces and fabrics. Good thing I left all my money at home or I would probably buy EVERYTHING
The island is not big, but there are a lot of tourists. Everywhere you ho, you hear the ocean waves. Its an island paradise. I love the image of the colorful laundry hanging out to dry; with the waves crashing up on the rocks . CEST TROP BEAU!
El Hadji and I eat lunch at a friendly restaurant where the owners are friendly as can be - the cook has the biggest smile I have ever seen; and his white crisp shirt sets off the beauty of his dark skin. Later on, we cross someone who is eating the local fruit here 'madd' and she doesnt hesitate in offering it to us strangers. Some kid later on asks us for some of our water, and El Hadji doesnt hesitate either in giving him half . I have a LOT to learn from the Senegalese about generosity and sharing what you've got. Mikala jokes that its funny I work in a savings bank because the Senegalase (or maybe West Africans) are the worst at saving money - cuz anything We chill out on the rocks by the sea for hours, watching the sun set and seeing the locals fish for their dinner. El Hadji goes swimming but Im not up for it this night. We share a lot of laughs throughout the day. AURA AND ANDREA - this one is for you girls: Ive started introducing myself as LULU because when I say 'Julia', they respond 'Chulian' . But they nail it when I say Lulu. So now El Hadj has nicknamed me 'LOLO" which, ironically, means big boobs in Wolof. Nice.

INSHALLAH

2009-05-26T10:31:00.000-07:00

This means "If God wills it"- such as, see you tomorrow!, Inshallah. I have gotten quite used to saying it, along with "leggy leggy" which means "see you later" (and is probably my favorite word to say) . Another thing Ive noticed here is the immense generosity. Neighbors come and go through our house, asking for running water or ice cubes. Life is pretty normal here; people in Dakar are nearly as poor as the rest of West Africa- the world's poorest region . There is, at least, running water and sewage. That's saying a lot for West Africa. But people here nevertheless are friendly and happy . They dont rush and always take the time to say hello. There are two national sports here; football and wrestling, but we say that haggling is the third national sport because the Senegalese are vicious hagglers. I've picked up some skills in India and Morocco, but here, I am way out of my league.

Djembes on the Beach

2009-05-26T10:20:00.000-07:00

My third night here we have a fish barbecue on the beach, known as a grillade. The other volunteers came: Mikaela, Monica, Sophie and Julia #1, and a bunch of Senegalese guys; Amadou, Moussa, Dominic and some others who played the djembe ALL night long . Magueye cooked up all dhellfish, all stuff that I normally wouldnt eat. In the dark though, I just accepted anything and shoved it into my mouth before I could see what it looked like the firelight. Good thing- I realize halfway through that I am eating sea urchin - tastes like sandy meat .I sit next to Amadou's brother, El Hadj,with really long dreads and an awesome accent when he speaks English. He lived in Amsterdam for years, playing djembe and giving lessons.
Next we have les moules, grilled over the fire and smothered in lime juice, so good! The guys banged on their djembes and Mikaela joined in - she's actually quite good and has rhythm. Amadou leads a circle between Sophie, Julia, Mik and I and I get the hang of it ! Kind of... But then they change the rhythm and I am lost completely. Moussa tries to teach me a bit on the djembe but I'm hopeless. Poor white girl aint got no rhythm. These Africans have got it in their blood!
When the guys play the djembe, Amadou leading the circle, their faces light up with so much emotion, especially Amadou's face - he shook his hair and banged so hard on his drum, as if he was closer to God or something . I've never seen emotion like that when someone is playing music. Julia, Mikala and I dance around the fire, singing to the music and shouting "Olé Olé Olé Olé" In the circle, this African woman jumps in and moves like I've never seen before , with her arms flailing and butt shaking . We dance in the sand, jumping up and down like crazy.
Later that night, I talk with El Hadji and he tells me about his infinite love for Cheikh Amadou Bamba, the marabout and "Gandhiji" of Senegal.

Fish Market

2009-05-26T10:14:00.000-07:00

Today I wander through the Sandaga market with ElHadji and he shows me all the famous ingredients used in African cooking, such as mint leaves, lentils, haricots and lots of spices. They even chew on sticks here to cure maladies. There are one man selling natural remedies such as boabab fruit, known as monkey's bread or bouye in Wolof, that cures "la rhume des fesses" otherwise known as diarrhea. I've tried it and it works ! They chew on sticks to cure stomach and head aches, and parasites feeding off your intestines. Yummy!
And I will NEVER forget the smell of a fish market in steaming Dakar, and seeing chopped fish heads, fish eyeballs and raw meat strewn across an acre wide rotting market. Yum! Afterwards we go to the literal armpit of the earth, where all the car parts and mechanicians are. Even the ground is covered in oil and grease. El Hadji's friend finds us a dinky little motor scooter that gets us around the city much faster than a car rapide.

TOUBAB !

2009-05-23T04:26:00.000-07:00

The little monster of a 2-year old named Mustafa calls me "Toubab" which means white skin , even after 2 weeks of living with him, he still doesnt remember my name is LULU. Hahaha he loves to run into my room and play with all of my cool stuff. He doesnt speak a word of French, except for "Merci" and "Bijoux!" when I ask him for a kiss (bisous). Whats funny is that in my house I dont know who is married or brother or sister or anybody's names.
Who is Malik's wife? Who is the guy who lives upstairs? Who is the random teenager in our house? Who got Mémé pregnant at age 17 (and is her name really Mémé?) These are all questions I ask myself the first week when things are still really unfamiliar and nothing has been explained to me - it's left for me to figure out. I will pick up later that nicknames here are used much more than actual name, even though Muslims have an elaborate naming ceremony whenever a child is born. I will learn later that my host sister's name is not Mémé but Mamy, and my host mum (the mother hen of the whole brood) is not Mami but Yaye, which means mother in Wolof. When I ask Magueye to clarify everyone's names in my house, he says that he actually doesn't know Yaye's real name and doesnt have the courage to ask such a daunting and disrespectful question. Hmmm... the whole naming thing here could not be more different than back home.

Another thing:the families here are enormous and everyone lives together. Whats even more confusing is that to call someone "your cousin" is actually an insult, so you call your cousin "your brother". I couldn't even begin to keep the family tree straight here because everyone is brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles and nieces and nephews. Also, the daughter of your aunt is "your sister", not your cousin. Beware ! To make matters worse for us toubabs, polygamy is allowed by the Koran and many Muslim Senegalese take this bit very seriously. Therefore it's quite common to come across someone with two, three, up to four wives. Magueye himself has 2 and they both live in under the same roof. This is more or less uncommon; usually a man with keep his second wife in a separate apartment as to not create jealousy among the wives. I'm not quite sure how Magueye's wives do it all together in the same house. Plus, both of them are pregnant at the same time!
As a result, the families are even more numerous because you have half brothers and sisters. Yaye, who is probably around 60, has a little sister of 28 years old - they have the same father. And let me get another one straight: Yaye's neice is younger than her own daughter, meaning that neice is older than aunty. Woo !
There are kids absolutely everywhere you look here- 30% of the population here is under 14 years old. The babies aren't coddled here the way they are in the States, and treated like fragile porcelain dolls. The women here strap them on to their back like duck tape and carry on with their daily chores. Another thing: it seems like it's the women who do all the work around here: laundry, cooking, child rearing, house cleaning. And the men? Usually lounging around in the shade working on their "social relationships."

Other things I have to watch out for: when we eat (on the floor, we all eat from a giant platter) you never eat with your left hand (your dirty hand) and never pose it on the ground because it's pushing your ancestors into the ground. For djuboudienne, the local dish of fish and rice, you roll up a ball of rice with your right hand and pop it into your mouth. Goodbye forks and spoons!

Today was incredible. I love Africa and the people here. They are very proud of their country - you see pictures of the African continent nearly everywhere you go. Islam has touched here in a way that makes eveyrone respectful and gentle. Once in a while you'll have a big, tall crazy African come by but you learn how gentle he truly is - such warm gentle hearts.

SENEGAL

2009-05-23T04:14:00.000-07:00

The adventure continues !! Off to Dakar for a month to work in a microcredit bank run by all women in Cité Nations Unies, a suburb of Dakar.
I am in the Land of the TERANGA ! which means hospitality in Wolof and thats exactly what it is . Everyone here is friendly and you salut people about 100 times a day because everyone says hi to...everyone! Quite a change from Paris .. .
Elegant women roam the sides of the sandy roads, clothed in colorful fabric that straps a back to their back like duck tape.
5 tips for how to ride a motorbike in Dakar :
1. Hold on for dear life. There are potholes, craters, speed bumps and head-on cars and buses and the occasionally horse drawn carriage.
2. Lean with the bike, especially when you're turning a sharp corner and need to avoid a few dozen people in the way.
3. Keep your eyes and ears open. Eyes open because there is always a someone standing in the middle of the road. Ears open because there is music playing EVERYWHERE - the Senegalese are obsessed with music !! including djembe, reggae, hip hop, rap (what they call "resurrection of african poetry)
4.Worst time to take your hands off the bile is when you're stopped. Because chances are Magueye is going to rev up and slip in between two moving buses
5. Never wear a skirt , trust me I learned this the hard way. It's really hard to get on a scooter with a paille tied tightly around your waist and 10 men watching you climb on to a bike.

El Hadj teaches me around the roots of Islam today; about how its all about sharing what you have and contributing to the community. Islam is an incredibly generous and compassionate religion, what its really about, not any of this extremist shit in other countries.
Magueye teaches me about how we drink mint tea here : the first cup is to hell, because its bitter, the second cup to friendship and the third cup to love.
My African mum Yaye teaches me about how too much money can make people unhappy and complicate. You need a little for "alimentation et logement" but its friendship and family that really count.

Camden Crawl

2009-04-29T03:28:00.001-07:00

How does one describe Camdentown in North London ? Underground, hipster, alternative, indie, grungy, goth emo punk (or as the Yeah Yeah Yeahs say gemunk) and where the music (and drug) scene is happening. It's here that legends have found their success, from the Sex Pistols to Oasis, Madonna's first UK appearance; or the legendary Barfly - the place that helped launch the careers of Coldplay and The Darkness, or where Amy Winehouse probably first started getting into trouble, or where Pete Doherty or Radiohead rocked out, where Lily Allen debuted or even The Cranberries. And it's here that the Camden Crawl takes place, a weekend-long music festival where you (practically) crawl from one pub to another to listen to alternative bands. Bands such as the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and the Maccabees appeared at the Roundhouse, where smaller, lesser-known bands such as Tommy Sparks, the Joy Formidable , Sportsday Megaphone, Does It Offend You Yeah? rocked out in small, but very crowded venues. By day, the Crawl is a sprawling carnival-style arts festival featuring comedy, short film, pop quizzes, bingo, busking, acoustic performances, workshops, spoken word, karaoke, unsigned band competitions, exhibitions, gaming, an outdoor stage with special guests and more… By night, however, the mile-long stretch of pavement becomes an all out live music extravaganza playing host to 150 of the best new talents performing across the area’s infamous venues.

London Town

2009-04-29T02:38:00.000-07:00

I arrive in London town on Friday night after taking the Eurostar which goes under the English Channel, right into the center of the city. It's funny to be a on a train that leaves from Paris, and to get off only 2 hours later and be in a completely different city. My dear friend Hannah, a good friend I met a year ago in India, meets me at the terminal with her friend Katie, a very warm and slightly drunken welcome. They've been at the Crawl all day, standing outside in the sunshine listening to bands rock out. We head back to Hannah's new flat at Queen's Park that she shares with her boyfriend Olly (from Kent), the most British person Ive ever met! In terms of sense of humor that is; I think I laughed at nearly everything he said all weekend. He's a bit of legend, Hannah tells me before, and I immediately see why. He's awesome! And the two of them make a perfect couple.
We sit around their flat, drink cold beers, or watching Summer Heights High (an Australian version of The Office, but set in a school...it's absolutely brilliant) and listen to freakin' good music Olly is an amateur DJ and between him and Hannah, they have a music rep that rivals that of a record company. The music scene in London is huge, and so much bigger than in Paris, esp when it comes to small rock or electronica bands.
The differences between the two cities is striking - here in London, there is a whole underground music scene of offstream, alternative, creative groups and its mostly centered in Camden. I havent sensed any of that in Paris; its more a scene of house or techno music, or influences coming from West Africans making their beats.
Another difference I've noticed, not surprisingly, is that Americans are much more like the British than the French. A little obviously I know, but true, and here's why. Hugs for example; the French wouldnt dream of hugging to greet one another unless of course someone died, but go 2 hrs on the train, and the English are all about hugs ! (as are Americans.) And breakfast: the French just dont eat it. It's small and usually consists of a croissant or a piece of toast. The English? Love a big breakfast! Eggs, bacon, toast, beans, the works! (As, I would like to compare, do Americans.) And tea and milk ! The French don't really do tea, and if they do, it's black almost always. Go two hours north, and the English make a mean cup of tea, always complete with a splash of milk or cream. At work one day in Paris, I put a splash of milk in my café/tea and everyone looked at me like I was crazy and remarked "That's a very English thing to do."
It's fun to see these apparent cultural differences, esp between 2 cities that are only 2 hours away by train (granted, Britain's an island), but that are so so different. We don't really have this concept in America - go 2 hours on a train and well, you'll probably still be in America, where things haven't changed much except for how much milk costs. But between London and Paris, the English and the French, they've evolved into completely different people and unfortunately detest each other for it. I was told all weekend how much the English hate the French (and almost all foreigners in England, there's quite a bit of racism there.)

Saturday morning, after everyone crashed on the floor, Olly cooks us all breakfast, complete with beans, bacon, fried eggs, all put on white bread with ketchup. We sat around in PJs and watched The Goonies, the pinnacle of the 80s as well as Josh Brolin's career. The movie was incredibly corny yet amazing. Katie's boyfriend Tom has a great sense of humor; by the end of the film, the comments made by Tom or Olly had me rolling on the floor.
After a lazy Saturday morning, we rollll out (all 6 of us) and head into Camden Town for lunch before going to see some bands. I basically had no idea what was going on all day but just went with the flow. I adore the British accent and vocabulary and could listen to it all day, esp words like mental! brilliant ! We get some greasy food at the Camden Market and sit by the river with a bunch of tattooed and blue-haired goths. There's some really good people watching around here. And there we stay all day, talking and drinking cider beer until 5 in the afternoon before the bands come on. The river is nice and relaxing, whereas up on the street is an absolute madhouse with the Crawl plus Market Day for the world-famous Camden Market, London's most popular open-air market area with stalls, shops, pubs and restaurants.
We hit up The Camden house for more drinks before going into The Black Cap, our venue for the night to hear The XX, Sportsday Megaphone, Golden Silvers and Tommy Sparks. We just danced our way through the night, esp the last band that was on (Tommy Sparks) was out of this world and so much fun. The crowd was fun and everyone was in a good mood. After hours spent there, we head to the Marathon Kebab Shop where they have a backroom where people come to play guitar or saxophone. It's there where Pete Doherty used to come and play unannounced, in the back of a kebab shop - brilliant. This is the side of London that I love.

Boycotting the Metro

2009-04-12T15:24:00.000-07:00

I fell in love with Paris tonight, finally.
All of a sudden, it just...clicked. And I realized how much I truly love this city.
I had just met up with my friend Jens for an "Adieu Ice Cream" because he's leaving town and packin' up back to Germany. Dommage. We got the city's best ice cream at Bertholy's - for a rich creamy and out-of-this-world chocolate ice cream. As we sat on le quai down by La Seine, les bateaux mouches passed by, filled with tourists. All the famous monuments were lit up so nicely and somewhere on a nearby bridge, a lonely man was playing Amélie tunes on his accordion. The air was warm and a pleasant breeze carried the smells of the local food markets in a nearby neighborhood. I assumed that Paris would be dead on Easter Sunday and that few people would be out - just the opposite ! There were all kinds of people out and about, enjoying the city that I've come to love so much. But it wasn't in stressful flurry of crowds - there was a certain placidity in the languorous, relaxed way that people were walking and talking and promenading.
After saying goodbye to my friend Jens, I decided to avoid the metro and walk along the Seine to enjoy the warm breeze and the view. It was incredible and something I haven't taken advantage of enough. Down by the water, one level below all the cars is a lovely boardwalk that follows the Seine and is lined by old fishing boats tied up. At the very tip of the tiny island on which Notre Dame cathedral is located, were people picnicking along the water's edge - usually with a 12-pack of beer or a bottle of red wine. Friends gathered to spend Easter Sunday afternoon sitting outside on a picnic blanket, telling old stories and having a good laugh. I walked all along the Seine, whistling with my hands in my pockets, stopping at each bridge to observe the people there enjoying themselves with good friends.

Another decision I've come to:
I'm boycotting the metro. Actually, that's how my love affair with Paris began this one evening. I discovered that there's an entire world, believe it or not, above the METRO that connects the whole city and which I've come to depend on. I literally take the métro everywhere and never get to see any of the above-ground scenery.
That has all changed this weekend.
On my way home, I rented out a Vélib bicycle and rode allll the way home. Everywhere I turned was a new monument - look left! Assemblée Nationale! Right!Le Sénat! Place de la Concorde ! La Tour Eiffel! Notre Dame!
Marion and I, during our 4-day weekend, have walked everywhere and it's been pure loveliness in terms of seeing new parts of the city. We discovered that Montparnasse is actually a lot closer than we thought. We walked to Invalides to have a look at Napoleon's tomb, and then enjoying the park at Le Musée Rodin. Today we walked to Cluny La Sorbonne and meandered around the small streets of the Latin Quarter. There were a bunch of intellectuels mosying around weird and small bookshops; others lined up at the door for cinema tickets on a lazy Sunday. Such a French thing to do. We tried to see an old movie with Audrey Hepburn in an ancient salon that only shows black & whites. The little streets that surround Notre Dame are among my favorite little cobblestone roads. Instead we see a black & white 1941 Greta Garbo film "Two-Faced Woman" or La Femmes aux Deux Visages in French. It was so much fun !

We also check out the only mosque in Paris, La Grande Mosquée de Paris, where they serve mint tea and Moroccan sweets under the canopy of orange trees in the courtyard. Beautifully-tiled walls line the courtyard and the big rooms that open up behind where dinner is served.
We walk through Les Jardins des Plants, where big magnolia trees are just starting to bloom, and colorful flowers are planted all over. The Natural History Museum is there (you can see the dinosaur bones from outside!) and a little zoo. How lovely!

On Friday, we walked all the way to Le Grand Palais and saw the Andy Warhol exhibit on display. His famous Marilyn Monroe, Jackie O and Elizabeth Taylor pieces were on display, as was his colossal portrait of Mao. Wow!

Florence

2009-04-09T03:30:00.000-07:00

I took a petit séjour, as the French say, this weekend in Florence, one of my favorite Italian cities. I love it's charm, it's people, and of course, it's gelato !
But the trip to get there was a bit of a fiasco. I arrived at the airport with my ticket already printed out and ready to go. Nice and easy getting from my work in the lower 14th to Orly airport. Well, I had some time to kill before I had to go through security, so I bum around the airport. Sitting down at a café I realize that my boarding pass says "Pisa to Paris Orly"...Wait a minute, that doesn't sound right...Merde! I've printed out the wrong boarding pass! C'est pas vrai! I go tearing through the airport with my purse and suitcase in hand and skid my way across the hall to the Check-in for EasyJet. Check-in closed, but the lady must have taken pity on my blotchy and desperate face so she takes a look and prints me out the right boarding pass. I then have about 2.67 minutes to get through security before my gate closes - so once again I go teetering and skidding across the airport in my high heels, with a suitcase in tow. I run into 2 or 3 people, shouting "Désolée!!!!" over my shoulder. I shamelessly cut the entire security line and push someone's stuff off the belt to get mine through. Whew. Ok Im in and unless I trip and die between this point and the gate, I won't miss my flight. But of course they want to do a random check. Someone searches (thoroughly, I might add) through my suitcase, and as I pick it up to leave and run to catch my flight, I quickly realize that it hadn't been zipped shut and allllllllllll my stuff goes, literally, flying across the floor. I'm talkin' underwear, tampons, socks, shirts, my Converses are flung across half the airport. And of course the entire security line witnesses it. So like a homeless old lady, I pick up my stuff in piles and dump it into my suitcase, sans folding or anything. But I make the flight so, whatever.

Florence is lovely - Kelly and I meet up on Friday night ( I had to wander around for an hour or so looking for an internet café cuz, like a dum dum, I forgot to write down her number) for drinks at an American bar right near the Duomo. I can't stop thinking about Lillian!!! Her name is everywhere in this city and it makes me miss her like c-r-a-z-y. This is her city and it made me so sad and nostalgic that she wasn't there. It's almost like she belongs there more than Boston. But it's good to know that Florence isn't going anywhere and she always has the option of moving back.
We make some fun basketball-playing American guy friends, go dancing until 4 am and then sit in a circle in Piazza Signoria singing "Akuna Matata" and other classic Disney tunes until well past 7 am. As soon as we sat down in the giant, but empty square, I remember thinking to myself "This is gonna be a good night."

On Saturday, after sleeping most of the day, Matteo and I meet up in Piazza Signoria and he treats to an extra-large gelato (my breakfast and lunch for the day) We have a little walk around the city centre, enjoying the little streets and certainly catching up on the months since we've seen each other. We even pop into Il Mondo di Heidi to see Heidi is soooooooo pregnant! She's huge! And due in a few weeks with a little girl :) I gave her a hug and kiss for Lillian
Matteo and I have a little aperitivo and red wine across from Oibò, and laugh about old stories from last summer. I can't wait for when he visits us for a month this summer!!!

On Sunday, we take a

Ventes aux Enchères chez Sotheby's

2009-04-01T03:07:00.000-07:00

La Chaîne benefitted on Monday night from a fabulous 4-hr long auction held at Sotheby's, directly across from chez Sarkozy at Elysée Palace. I went there right after work in one of the most expensive zip codes of Paris and shuffled my way in to the packed showroom at Sotheby's, where the items have been on display all week. I was privileged enough to see Claude Lelouche (the French Steven Spielberg), Michou, Laurent Baffie,
Pascal Selem et Mireille Darc

Ok, so they were all a bunch of French celebrities and I didn't know a single face, but everyone else was going gaga over the celebs there (called "people" in French, but pronounced "pipol") Loads of items were donated by stars, such as paintings, clothing, a roadbike, Edith Piaf's Chanel shoes, and then sold to benefit our charity and two others. Très chic!

Métro Boulot Dodo

2009-04-01T02:20:00.000-07:00

I'm quickly finding out what it's like to be in the real world and no longer a student (for the time being), and it fits in perfectly with the French expression Métro Boulot Dodo which is Metro-Work-Sleep. That's it. That's your life. Oh, you know there's the weekend, or the occasional vacation getaway but that flies by and you're back to Monday, and it restarts just until Friday. That becomes the cycle in our lives, everyday blends into one and there's not much to do once you get home after work, except to eat dinner and go to sleep. And then wake and restart. I've added my own word to the sequence for the typical American schedule: Mérto-Boulot-McDo-Dodo. It's cute how the French call McDonald's McDo (like dough) while we name it Mickey-Ds.
Something adorable happens yesterday at work- I brought in little Hershey's Kisses that I received for Valentine's Day and sent them out on the table for everyone to try. Well they all looked at the little Kisses and looked at me and said, "What is it? Is it cheese? C'est du fromage?" But of course, they would think a tiny little kiss is a piece of cheese and not chocolate!

My internship so far is going super-well. It's fantastic and I love it, which makes it much easier to wake up every morning at 7h30. I can't imagine working at a job where you dread going to a job you hate, especially because it's not just one day out of the week but every day for the rest of your life. I actually look forward to work every day, for a new project and more lives of children to save. It's so inspiring to be here, seeing that people actually can make a difference and save a life that otherwise would be forgotten in the misery of the world. Take Afghanistan for example; La Chaîne has just build a brand new hospital in Kabul- literally the only functioning healthcare center in the entire country. Not surprising considering the country has been an open battlefield and ripped to shreds for the last 25 years. I really like this article by the way, by my hero Sarah Chayes (an American woman living in Kandahar, Afghanistan for the last 8 years)

Even (not) more shocking is that the sanitation conditions there are abominable and hard to look at - trust me, I just saw a photograph the other day of the Children's Hospital a few years ago that had the dirtiest operation table I've ever seen. And some disturbing pictures to go with it. Miraculously, La Chaîne has raised millions of dollars through promotions and private donations to build a state-of-the-art Children's Hospital where we send missions of a team of doctors , from cities such as Paris, Caen, Toulouse, Nantes, Lyon and Rennes to Kabul for a few weeks to operate and save as many children as possible, for surgeries such as open-heart and plastic surgery. It's remarkable the things people around here do and I'm very proud to be a part of it.

Normandie

2009-03-27T04:16:00.000-07:00

Reims Cathedral

The week I was supposed to start my internship, a miracle for God arrived- a week off! As the French say, il faut profiter. So I went to Normandy. Well, actually, on one of my days off I took the train out by myself (after a restful sleep of, well, sleeping in until 2 in the afternoon...) to Champagne-Ardennes to the famous medieval town of Reims. Talk about Champagne! Rows upon rows of vineyards cover the hills like patchwork on a quilt, and green fields stretch out for miles. At this time in the year, farmers are already out there preparing for a new crop and a new season. Everybody needs their champagne! Reims has a very old cathedral that is packed with history from back in the day; including where a majority of the line of French kings were crowned. Sitting on the wall facing the mammouth cathedral, (covered in intricate designs of all sorts of holy men) I both witness a catfight between two French girls and make a new friend sitting beside me on the stone wall. My new friend is German, hailing from the southern city of Nuremberg. I am instantly reminded that my grandmother was there during the war crime trials. We talk and chat and get to know each other a bit while walking and exploring the old city of Reims. There's not too much to see beside the cathedral, but the charm of it is enough to for me to like it. What's ironic about my afternoon is Reims is that I saw about 2% of la ville (cathedral included) and spent the rest drinking Belgian beer and talking Jens. Always an adventure! We head out that night for drinks at Place de Clichy with his friends that he teaches with outside Paris- Germans, French, Spanish, and me the American. Thursday morning I am already thrilled to get out of Paris and take the train direct to Rouen where friends of Francoise and Daniel are there to greet me. Countryside, here I come !!! Fanfan and Michel are super-sweet and hospitable all weekend, and couldn't be more kind even if they tried. Fanfan was quite pleased to have a guest for the weekend - here I was expecting to not really go anymore all weekend and just have some quiet reading/relaxing time, while Fanfan is planning la grande adventure around Normandy!

Comme c'était beau, ooh la la! We drive along La Route des Abbayes where old churches and cathedrals are hidden gems along the towns and villages. We drive along fields filled with black and white cows, fluffy sheep and little lambs, and old thatch farmhouses that are still built in the Norman style. As for the history of the old cathedrals we saw, most of them date back to the 12th century or before.
Friday was a wonderful day, starting out with the drive to Deauville on the coast. Deauville is a horse-racing, casino beach town known for its "Parisien beaches" because all the rich Parisiens go out there to bet and purchase world-class horses. There's also an annual American film festival there, honoring the presence of some of Hollywood's best. We walked along les planches de Deauville, otherwise known as the boardwalks of Deauville where back in the day the bourgeoisie ladies of Paris would promenade and show off the latest styles. It's also where some of the first maillots de bain bathing suits were styled by daring women in the bains de mer.

Honfleur

La Manche

Next stop was Honfleur, a little picturesque fishing village on the coast of La Manche that has inspired hundreds of artists in the past and was one the places that inspired the pre-impressionist movement by Millet, Courbet, Jongkind and notably Monet. I can just picture Boudin sitting on the edge of the harbor with his pallet and beret, painting the little crooked houses lining the the harbor and the masts of the sailboats were lined up like ducks. Heavy fishing nets are thrown over the railing as old fishing sloops are coming in from a day à la peche. We drive next to Le Havre, one of France's biggest ports, and where I learned it was 80% destroyed by the Allies during WWII. As a result, most of the city is newly built with modern buildings and modern technology. We drive up to the hill that looks over the harbor of La Manche towards Angleterre, revered as one of the most beautiful harbors after Rio de Janeiro. And then the highlight of my day, the cliffs of Haute Normandie at Etretat. Comme c'est beau! It is breathtaking. The white cliffs jet into the water and big holes have been carved out of the massive rocks. I feel like I've been transported to the mediterranean cliffs of Greece!

Saturday we promenade around the old town of Rouen- the buildings still have the look of the Middle Ages! It is the epitome of what a French village looked like 500 years ago. It's also whereJoan of Arc was held prisoner by the English and where alas she was burned at the stake. In place of where she burned alive is... a lovely bed of flowers. :)

Paris' Best-Kept Secret

2009-03-05T09:32:00.000-08:00

Today I got to appreciate the quieter side of Paris.
I have the afternoon off, and there are so many opportunities to explore around this great city. After my class ended at noontime, I wanted my day to consist of something more than my room or a classroom: it was time to tackle a new neighborhood. Hop on a random bus and arrive at Hotel de Ville, totally unplanned but totally perfect. I discover something magical: that quiet actually exists in this city, where you can hear something more than cars honking and escape la foule, overwhelming and chaotic on the streets. It's le quai (boardwalk) alongside La Seine, down below all the streets and far away from the chaos. Here it's peaceful, tranquille, and wait...is that...is that a bird I hear? Do they really exist in this city ? Mais oui! Here it's cobblestone walkways and strange sculptures that hang on the giant wall along le quai. There are little tugboats that line the docks, filled with fishing nets or lanterns. Along the river passes les bateaux mouches, the tour boats that show a view of Paris from the water. Tourists hang off the sides and take pictures, awed at everything there is to see, from Notre Dame to the Eiffel Tower.
I grab a bench, bitter at the fact that this looks like a 'couples only' deal, with two people romantically sitting on each bench. I grab one my own and reluctantly make friends with a seagull.
Then it's to Le Marais, my new favorite neighborhood. It's right off Metro° St. Paul and the tiny, windy roads takes you out of Paris and straight into the old Jewish quarter. Specialty boutiques, like pictures framers, absynthe shops, shoe cobblers, and leather shops line the tiny streets. Even the street names are Jewish and no longer French. My favorite street that I find is called Rue des Rosiers, a road that is so...Jewish I thought I had stepped into a synagogue. Little boys run around with yamakas, Jewish bakeries open their doors to let out whiffs of freshly baked Challah bread. Hollllla! Ok, I can't resist, I need a Yiddish pastry. Le Marais is not only historic, it's quiet. A serene kind of quiet that you start to appreciate here in Paris. Forget about the commotion of the city and just...relax. Wow, haven't done that in a while. I see one friendly neighbor open the shudders and call out to another, and then just enjoy the quiet in Place des Vosges, a nice park in the centre.
Turn the corner and BAM! the Jewish quarter suddenly becomes a very, very gay neighborhood. Instantly and noticeably flamboyant. Brayden explained it as a Venn Diagram: where the Jewish quarter and the gay neighborhood meet, and you've got: gay Jews? Dudes walk past me with tighter pants than I have, with a hairstyle that puts mine to shame. One aggressively homosexual guy practically body-checks me out of the way to make room for his swaying hips coming through. Bonjour ! Even the teenage girls around here are dressed to kill, wearing Vogue fashion, and high heels at the end of their longggg skinny legs. This quartier is also known for its fabulous vintage shops; I mosy around and stop in a few. Even on a Wednesday afternoon, there's a scramble for vintage clothes from the 80s that are now making a comeback with a vengeance. Women are tearing through the racks, digging and digging for vintage clothes like it's going out of style. Oh wait, it already has! It seems that all the old ladies of Paris (most likely, all from my neighborhood) have donated their ancient clothes from the 60s that are now being sold back at record prices. Talk about recycling !

I wander some more and come across Paris's best-kept secret: the Picasso museum hidden away in the calm of Le Marais. The museum is as quirky and eclectic as the artist: mirrors confront and contort your image while bronze statues line the walls. It must be field trip day because there are loads of little kids running around the museum with colored pencils, given the task of redrawing Picasso how they see it. Imagine being a little kid and Paris is your playground: you have access to some of the world's greatest art. Here I see some of his most famous artwork, including his collages, two auto-portraits and his later work. Three levels wind up and up, with assymmetic walls and stairs. Very funky. Very French.

Chez Yves Saint Laurent

2009-02-23T14:10:00.000-08:00

I had an iconically French experience on Saturday. I had the privilege of seeing the side of Paris that is everything that myth and lore has led up to and built up. Films such as The Devil Wears Prada showing Meryl Streep as a kick-ass Vogue fashion editor: FASHION.
Although it wasn't a fashion show I got to see, it was the auction of the Yves Saint Laurent Collection at le Grand Palais. As everyone knows, the great French designer YSL, (yes, the genius man who gave women pants in the form of a business suit for which I am eternally grateful) just passed away last summer. His partner Paul Bergé hired Christie's to sell the chef-d'oeuvres they have been collecting since the 1950s - we're talking masterpieces, statues, sofas, and priceless works of art that YSL has collected during his life as a prolific fashion designer. The show is to be held over the course of two and half days at Le Grand Palais, an exquisite glass dome built at the turn of the 20th century and absolutely magnificient.
Emma, Lindsay, Brayden and I arrive at noontime, thinking we're gonna wait in a quick line to get into the auction. No. The entire city of Paris is here, waiting in a five hour wait to pay homage to famous French couturier. Looking at the line though, I feel like I'm watching "Paris's Best-Dressed". Everyone, and I mean everyone, is dressed for the occasions. We're talkin' fur coats, beautiful designer bags, expensive shoes. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the capital of fashion. I saw so many women who are fifty and older and looking killer with silvery hair, great shoes and chic glasses.
Well the 4 of us decide not the wait in a 4 hr line, there's plenty of other things to do in Paris. But Emma, always one to take advantage of the fact that she's handicapped, saunters up the front of the VIP line (and also where the wheelchair ramp starts) and just waits there. Doesn't say anything. The four of us just kinda stand around, surrounded by press and VIP passes, looking awkward in our sweatshirts and Converses. Before I know it, without saying a word, the bouncer is ushering the 4 of us in, without asking questions. Umm...what?? No bullshitting necessary, just assumes that we're important enough to cut in front of hundreds of people. HA! We go right in, past sore and achy people who have been waiting patiently in line for 5 hours. Oops.
Emma is treated like a queen and we cut past all the lines once inside the Grand Palais. The building is a dream. I remember seeing the Chanel Fashion show here at the MFA exhibit back in Boston, and how magnificient this place is.
The first of many, many rooms is le Salon Apollon: filled with Greek marble statues and ancient Egyptian sculptures from hundreds of years ago, valued at around a million euros. But, you know, no big deal. In le Salon Ingres (yes, he owned an original Ingres sketch) there's an Italian Renaissance mirror from the XVI century, and sofas from the Austrian Empire in the 18th century. Even the lanterns are valued at half a million. And this was actually all of his stuff! People sat on these works of art! The next room, Salon Duquesnoy is filled with bronze statues, one from a Chinese dynasty from hundreds of years ago. Salon Mondrian (yes, the original painting that inspired his checkered dress) is filled with priceless works of art, such as an original Picasso painting, original Matisse, Braque, Gauguin, Goya, de Chirico, Seurat and my favorite, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec. On the first day of the sale, Henri Matisse's work Cuckoos on a blue and pink carpet broke the previous world record set in 2007 for a Matisse work, selling for 32m Euros; auctioneers said the collection could fetch up to 300m euros. Imagine sitting in a sofa chez Yves Saint Laurent and a Matisse painting hanging above your head. No big deal.
I felt like I had just stumbled upon Aladdin's cave all filled with hidden treasures, original paintings that the world has not yet seen. Above, cool lounge music played, the kind of music they would play at a fashion show (which I guess would be utterly appropriate for a YSL exhibit). Overhead in one showroom, they had opera music eerily playing overhead.
This was one of those events that people dress impeccably well for; I have never seen so much designer clothing and well-dressed, chic men and women. Is that fabulous event that you dress to be seen. Fur coats, red lipstick, edgy glasses. Even the security guards here are six-foot slim top models. There were a lot of buyers there, working either for Christie's or for big-name clients, such as the Louvre or Musee d'Orsay, taking a look at YSL's collection to buy it for the auction the following day. And a LOT of stuffy, richhhh people. After hearing a lot of English speakers around me, I realize that this event isn't only for upper-class, fashion-oriented Parisiens; there are a considerable amount of Londoners here. I even heard one elegant British woman say to another "So when did you arrive darling?" "This morning". People have flown from all over the world to this event; I even spotted a couple from China and one from Japan. Good thing we only waited 15 minutes to get in, as opposed to 4 hours like the rest of the world....

What a dude

Les Sans-Abris

2009-02-23T12:13:00.001-08:00

Alors I'll address two ubiquitous themes here in Paris: the city covered in dogshit, and la grève. But it was when I was walking home from school the other day that I realized what else this city is filled with: bums! This day that I walked home though was no ordinary day; it must have been crazy people day because I literally ran into four of them on my way home, and had to check the news after to make sure it wasn't a National I-Am-Homeless-and-Crazy Day.
I'll start with the woman on the bus who was having a lovely conversation with...herself. Every person who would get on the bus, she would comment and criticise them (to herself). Ok, off the bus, run right into a guy who looks decently normal, just bought his lunch at McDonalds. Except, I think he has Tourette's, because he's violently cursing at someone invisible. Ok, crazy person number two. Then I walk to Monoprix on my way home to pick up some groceries. A homeless guy is cross-legged on the side of the road, bald shaved head and big Woody Allen type glasses. On a piece of cardboard with impeccable cursive, he writes something like "I am 53 years old without a job..blah blah" I never got a chance to read the whole sign because he was cursing and talking to himself, this time it was something about vélos. As I walked past, he got more worked up and starting shouting.
After three encounters in a row with crazy people, I have to wonder what the French government does for these people. Are there centres for somewhere to sleep? To eat? What choices do they have?
When you take the metro home at night, there's are always loads of dirty, barefoot homeless men just sleeping on the benches. Sometimes they even make a little nest with sleeping bags and found blankets. The word for homeless in French is either sans-abri or SDF (sans domicile fixe). I think the city has some centers around for them to go to, but honestly, the situation is pretty bad. Especially when you have immigrants coming from all over Africa, who can't find work or a place to live, and therefore just call the metro home.
There's a lot of criticism for example for the Sarkozy government because he made a lot of promises when he was campaigning for Pres in 2007. One of those promises was to ameliorate the living situations of SDFs and improve social work. But of course, just like all campaigns, it's all talk until they're elected. Now the French are looking at Sarkozy and asking themselves, Where are all these measures he promised us? Why is he helping big entreprises and not the little people? Why are the rich getting richer and the poor getting poorer? Some even compare him to Bush, saying he's France version of W.
Well, for the moment, I look with pity on the homeless folk who clog the metro and want to somehow help them. Although the task is a bit intimidating.

'Système D' They Say

2009-02-09T16:16:00.000-08:00

I've recently discovered something I both love and hate at the same time, for which France is quite popular: la grève. For all you non-French speakers out there, that's a strike. But we're not talking soccer-moms-with-pickets-protesting-outside-the-local-townhall, I'm talking about a full-on strike. Well, in France, this means that in order to go on strike and protest for better wages/conditions/union rights blah blah blah, that your job is to a.) not show up to work and b.) manifest at La Bastille as our famous ancestors did back in the day (you know, like the French Revolution, where they systematically dismantled the royal prison). We're talkin' parades, posters, angry people yelling, calm people singing, barbecues (!) and a variety of colorful balloons. I find this whole process iconically...French. Why? Because they really love their liberties and rights and take them very much to heart. That's why when the French are unhappy about something (which is usually...all the time, concerning Sarkozy, transport problems, Sarkozy, schools, the EU, Sarkozy) they'll protest it. A friend in Rennes (in Bretagne) even participated in a parade-type strike where angry moms and children sang and yelled about how much Sarkozy sucks.
This is just a little intro to the reason we had all our classes cancelled last Thursday: la grève. Except that this was no ordinary strike, we're talking a national strike where all public transportation is shut down across the country and people basically manifest and yell about everything they're pissed off about. This ranges from union rights (hence, transportation) to angry students protesting Sarkozy's reforms to angry professors protesting their students on strike to angry moms protesting the professors on strike.
Basically, Thursday was predicted to be a mess.
Actually, it reminded me a bit of the weather report of an ominous snowstorm; everyone predicts the worst, freaks the shit out of everybody else, and by the time the thing rolls around, it's never half as bad as we expect it to be.
That's kind of what this strike was like. Newspaper stands (called "La Presse") are laden with papers predicting the worst for Thursday. Strike reports (yes, reported exactly like the weather) say that the entire country will be immobilized, paralysed, you name it, on Thursday. And why would a country do this to itself and harm an entire day of precious work and income? For liberty's sake. To prove "Yea man! We worked hard for this right to protest and goddammit, we're gonna USE IT!"
My professors cancelled all class on Thursday.
Turns out, it really wasn't that bad. One out of two metros were running on most lines and three out of four buses were running throughout the day. Helllllo? Told you they were freaking out. So this day was OK because most people could get to work, unless you worked at La Défense (the Wall Street of Paris) which is on the outskirts of the city and were totally screwed (the strike shut down the main RER B line.)
However, in the case of a bad strike-storm, that is when all modes of transport are paralyzed, how does anyone get anywhere? The Parisiens have a term for it called "Système D." It's just one of those phrases people throw out there when you're stuck in some shit (literally) and need to get yourself out. We call this démerder, which literally means to de-shit yourself (goes well with my dogshit entry, doesn't it? An ubiquitous theme here in Paris). A less vulgar word is débrouiller, which doesn't translate directly (philosophically-speaking, anglophones don't technically need a word for it..) but is something along the lines of "to figure it out, to manage."
So when I asked a fellow Frenchman how does everyone get to work all across town on Thursday if there's a grève, he simply replies, "Systeme D." Voilà. Everyone is stuck in the same shit as you, and therefore you are just as responsible to se démerder, get yourself out of the shit and get your ass to work. Even if it takes you three and a quarter hours to get there, you made it. Even if traffic is hell and you can't get a cab. Walk. The système D way.
So I may have had a ball on Thursday with no class (Marion and I checked out the Picasso/Manet exhibit at le Musée d'Orsay, frolicked around Montmartre, ate ethnic Thai dishes in Belleville) but there will come a day when I have to get to my internship across several arrondissements on a grève day. Let's hope that day doesn't come soon.

Some little anecdotes about words not to mix up between French and English:
exhibition actually means to expose yourself in French. You can imagine the reaction when I said I was going to an artist's exhibition at the Louvre. The word is exposition en français.
plein- in English, we say we are "full" when it's time to stop eating cuz there's enough food in our bellies. In French, to say "Je suis pleine" means you're pregnant, not full. Again, please imagine your host family thinks you're breaking the news about an unwanted pregnancy randomly at the end of a big meal.
*more to come later on! I have to embarrass myself fully before learning them the hard way.

Playing Hookey the Parisien Way

2009-02-05T16:48:00.000-08:00

I did something bad today. Very bad.
I skipped class and played hookey all day. But needless to say, it was one of the best things I've done in Paris so far. (!)
So, just a quick a word of advice for the folk out there who want to explore a new city, especially Paris : GET ON THE BUS (no, I don't mean that figuratively, but literally). One of the best ways to get a (cheap) tour of a city is not by some crappy tourguide company charging you up the wazoo or to take the metro from one end to another...but the bus. That's right. Buttttt the only thing is deciphering the bus map. At some major intersections, such as La Bastille or La République, there are so many buses lines crossing in one spot that it looks like a tarantula map. But I reluctantly bought myself a handy little fold-up to see where I'm going (discreetly that is; I find it quite embarrassing to pull out a map in public....why don't you just scream " I'M A TOURISTTTT, ALRIGHT?!?!?!")
Although, this day I wouldn't need a map.
It began with my field trip for my Econ class; plan was to meet at Trocadéro metro at 9h30 Wednesday morning...except that I slept late and forgot this metro station was closed on the 6 line. So once I get there, and don't find the group, I ask some extremely unhelpful people where I could possibly find L'Union Europeen de L'Europe Occidentale - it even sounds like a big building, but of course, NO one knows where it is. Merci, buddy. Welcome to Paris, where everyone is as unhelpful as they come.
I find the building and once I get through the coatcheck, I ask where I can find the Boston University group that just walked through here. After thoroughly looking me up and down, the pretentious snob of a woman at the front desk of this marble palace kindly reminds me this is the European Union of Western Europe, not Boston University. Thanks lady, got it. I then try to explain that I'm here for my economics class and we're here for a field trip ( thinking, "Shit, how do you say 'field trip' in French?!) and again, she kindly reminds me this is the European Union of Western Europe. For freak's sake, I got it. "Big group? Came this way? 10 minutes ago? Hello in there?!" She clearly doesn't understand.
Finally, the light bulb goes off in her head and she recalls there was quite a large group of loud Americans that came rumbling through here about 15 min ago, naturally, but they're in the next building. Right. I've just about had enough of this, and am getting so fed up with pretentious unhelpful snobs, and en plus I'm now half an hour late for this goddamned field trip...Putain!

As I'm walking outside, I realize I don't even care about going in the first place and realize how utterly uneventful this whole thing is gonna be, so I...hop on a bus!!! Yup, that's right. Hop on a bus, didn't even wait at the stop but just got on a random one and saw where it took me.

This was the start of a very good day I decided- I found myself a little place to stand on the packed bus and leaned against the window to take in all the sights. There was an open-air market selling fresh fruits, old wrinkled women walking their springy dogs (both wearing Chanel), a worker standing outside for a refreshing cigarette, and newspaper stands with papers predicting the worst for tomorrow ("C'EST LA CRISE! PIRE CHAQUE JOUR! LA GREVE! GETTING WORSE EVERYDAY, EXPERTS PREDICT").
I'm like a little kid on the bus; wishing I had two sets of eyes so I could look out both sides at once. My favorite this about riding all around the city is that the Eiffel Tower is always there, gleaming in the distance. And, of course, the Amélie soundtrack is blasting from my Ipod because the music just brings out all the flavors and sights of Paris; it magnifies the light, intensity and sound of the city and describes it in notes, not words. It's the soundtrack of my life here. It even glorifies the metro- if I'm listening to the beautiful piano or accordion in the songs, even the metro seems ultra-Parisien and therefore glamorous.
One thing I noticed about the particular bus I was on is that I seemed particularly young. Oh yes, quite young. Oh wait, everyone on this bus is OLD! Where are all the young people? Apparently, like bats, they only emerge at night, ready to drink until dawn and terrorize the streets in a belligerent states. But during the day, this city is old-people land. At least in my quartier. Seriously, I think I saw maybe 3 young folks on the street during my little bus tour to Odéon. Otherwise, little old ladies hunched over a cane, a fur coat that weighs more than they do and far too much makeup roam the streets. Most of them have little pooches (yes, the little shits that are determined to cover every inch of this city in merde) and a caddy in tow with a baguette poking out.

We wind through the 15th, my 'hood, past the old restaurants and brasseries, up through St. Germain Ave and the quartier where Seb and I got quite tipsy one afternoon off Trappistes Belgian beer, past all the wonderful shops and markets and boutiques selling haute couture, past the Louvre and old men selling magazines from the 60s on the sidewalk, over Le Pont Neuf that crosses La Seine. Did you know that Le Pont Neuf (The New Bridge) is actually one of the oldest bridges in Paris? I realized that this city is filled with ways to spend money- that's why I'm so goddamned broke! Because that's all there is to do around here! Where's the good, quality-time FREE stuff to do? (besides riding the bus around..) Remember that? Helloooo it's called a PARC and a FRISBEE! Nope, apparently Frenchies don't do this. Just spend loads of money partout and complain about government.

Another wonderful thing about riding the bus in Paris is that out of nowhere, a famous monument will pop up. We'll ride and roll and jerk and stop and plow through the tiny streets of Paris and then Op! Notre Dame will appear out of nowhere, just like "Oh heyyyy girlfriend, remember me, y'all?" and then Op! there's the Pantheon, but like, no big deal.

So my bus tour comes to an end at St. Germain-Odéon, which I briefly recognize because I had been to a cinema around here before...the street is Maubert-Mutualité, a quartier near to the Latin Quarter, which I've been dying to discover and explore. I walk and walk and walk, down this street, up this street, until I find by intuition Rue de la Sorbonne- I think I smell the Latin Quarter. Oh wait, that's the nerdy students I smell. The windy, cobblestone streets house some of this city's oldest bookstores and quirky cinemas. I was on a mission to find one of these and see myself an old, weird-ass movie. Well, I discover three or four down this old road that I'll probably never find again, and they're all playing horror films from the 60s and Lolita and old scandalous movies from back in the day. Parfait. Unfortunately, none are playing until 14h and I have like 3 hours to kill...
I stumble upon Le Panthéon at the top of this huge hill I've just mastered, a sort of temple dedicated to the Revolution (I mean, how much more French do they get?!?) where folks like Voltaire, Rousseau and Emile Zola are buried. The Greek– (or Roman? One of those.) inspired temple is magnificent, my new favorite monument in Paris.
I duck into some old bookshops and a Tibetan store just to kill time. I've got all the time in the world! Sushi for lunch, and then I treat myself to a lovely piece of Belgian chocolate from Jeff de Bruges, while the Amélie music ringing in my head the whole time. Off to UGC Cinema to see The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, or at least buy my ticket. I still had another hour to kill so I ducked into the Horse's Tavern for a café noisette and some good solid writing time. The movie was genius by the way. GO see it if you haven't. I emerged at 5pm the afternoon, quite content with myself that I got farrrr more out of this day of exploration and appreciation for Paris than the L'Union Européen of Occidental Europe. Take that, snob.

Three Words for the Day? Poodles, cigarettes and baguettes. Because they're everywhere !

Lady made me a free omelette at Tour Montparnasse when Marion and I saw the sunset! Who says there aren't sweet people in Paris...

Paris, City of ....Merde?

2009-01-30T07:38:00.000-08:00

It's official. This city is covered in merde. If you haven't read the book yet, A Year in the Merde, you have to; and if you did, then you know exactly what I mean. The thing about Parisiens is that they all want little yappy dogs, like the one Paris Hilton has, but no one, and I mean no one, wants to clean up all the shit. Therefore, on every street corner, around every bend and sometimes even at the bottom of stairs, is a little "present" from the pooches of Paris. I'm starting to appreciate the little doggie bags that folks put up in Boston, and signs that yell "Clean up after your dog!" You would be shunned in the States if you didn't; people on the street would a.) scowl at you and b.) give you an evil stare-down.
Well, Parisiens wouldn't even entertain the thought of bending down, putting a hand in a plastic bag and picking up after their pooch. And to tell the truth, I can't picture it either; a woman walking her poodle, wearing a Chanel suit and leopard-print heels probably couldn't bend down to reach the ground even if she tried.

Don't be fooled

So, as a result, I can't ever be looking up around me and enjoying the beautiful architecture, or the Eiffel Tower in the distance, or even watching out for cars, because I'm always looking at the ground, calculating every step and cautiously walking the sidewalks, trying to avoid stepping right into some caca.
Plus, some dogs slash owners, are evil! They plot and scheme and get their dog to shit right at the bottom of some stairs, or next to parked car, so someone gets out and SCHLAK.
The best is when you see trails of it, and can just imagine the poor chap sliding his foot along the sidewalk, trying to get off the brown goo before his job interview. I might do as Paul does in A Year in the Merde and wear plastic baggies over my boots just to be on the safe side. I thought I was in the clear just the other day, caca-free, until I look on the back of my shoe; low and behold... no one is safe in this city.

Shoe-Shining in Madrid

2009-01-30T06:52:00.000-08:00

We catch the bus to Madrid early around 1pm, the bus ride is uncomfortable and uneventful. And Madrid, ultimately, is a city. It just doesn't have that same Spanish touch as Sevilla does. Claire and I were planning to go out and party til the break of dawn, but, um, room service and bathrobes? Yes please. So instead of partying Spanish style, we order delicious room service and call it a night.

La Reina Sofia

Next morning is our last day of our trip, tear. We stuff ourselves with buffet breakfast and take the long metro into the heart of the city to the Reina Sofia art museum, housing some of Dalí and Picasso's most famous art. We go first to an exhibition about Carl Einstein and the Surrealist movement back in the 1920s after WWI. It was cool to see how omnipresent the Spanish Civil was (and still is). As devastating as it was, it produced massive amounts of passionate art, esp from the masters like Picasso and Miro. The museum closes early, so we are left to wander around, past the Prado musueum and up to Sol and Gran Via, the centre of the city. But the best part of the day is when we go off the beaten track, and stop being tourists and start living . We stop in to Cafeteria Hawaii (promising, I know). Who knew we would have so much fun in there? the place is filled with smoke and locals. Our original plan is just to use the bathroom, get a cafe and then high-tail is outta there. Well, instead we order from the menu some random drinks and a plate of shrimp. Well the waiter brings over a bottle of Cava, says he's charging us the same price, so...we drink up!! We are beside ourselves with laughter that it's like 4pm and we're here getting drunk off a bottle of champagne between two, rather than out exploring Madrid. The prawns were actually soooo delicious, I'd go back just for those! The guys next to us just play cards the whole time and give us a wink and smile here and there. The old man next to us is "going to town", ordering an entire chicken for himself, a huge piece of cake, and then chain smoking his way through his pack of Winstons. Nice. The best part is when we pay at the end, over 2 hours later of doing god knows what, and the waiter charges us less than half for our meal. on the receipt he writes, "You girls are very beautiful, I would lke to get to know you. There's a fiesta tonight, here's my number..." HAHA! We are cracking up, I love Spain.
Back at the hotel, we swim in the pool and enjoy the hot sauna. So relaxing, although a part of me is disappointed that this is how we spend our last night in Spain, our last night of this trip. I didn't exactly throw myself out there, it hasn't exactly been a wild 3 weeks, although it's been super expensive. But I love having crazy experiences as well, meeting new people and wild adventures; that's what makes a trip and all the money I spend worth it...I didn't really feel like that this time.

Madrid!

Claire left this morning at 5am, I got up to say goodbye although I felt wide awake. Going back to bed all alone in that hotel room was really hard. I got this unmistakable feeling of sadness and loneliness, left to spend the whole day alone in my own company. So I suck it up, get dressed bright and early, eat breakfast solo and head out back into Madrid for a day to myself. This is precisely why I don't travel alone, I feel like such a loser! I go back to the Reina Sofia art museum and see Picasso's Guernica piece, it is exquisite. I love the way they set up the exhibit because they show his process leading up to the painting. I see loads of Dali's early works, as well as some famous paintings, which are actually quite disturbing in real life.
And the winner goes to: (!!!)

Shiny boots, not one word of Spanish

The highlight of my day: I walk up to a little shoe-shiner in Sol, thinking "Shit, how the hell do you say 'how much' in Spanish?!" Sit down after asking "Quanta costa?" (pretty sure that's not even Spanish, but Italian) and show him my change (I'm completely broke at this point, I had an array of pennies and 10 cent coins) He shines my boots, not knowing a word of what he's saying to me in Spanish, not a single word!!! But he works so hard, what a cute little Basque man, asking me "Cuanaksjrk sfdjklj asktisfi csaloroiw?¡?¡" (Ok, well that's what it sounded like.) Somehow I understand that he's asking me where I'm from and I say "PARIS!" with a half English/half French accent (with a tinge of Spanish, naturally.) and walk away laughing laughing laughing to myself. Two people who don't speak a word of each others language can still manage to communicate. Brilliant.
Back to Paris, my new home. Ready for new adventures, always.

Sevilla: The Heart of Andalucía

2009-01-30T06:18:00.001-08:00

Sevilla is definitely a place I want to return to. It is so...Spanish. The streets are all washed in sunlight- all the tiny, windy streets are dipped in a familiar yellow that reminds me of the tones in Tuscany. And the culture! It's magic. Think flamenco dancers, with bright feathery polka dot dresses, hair tightly pulled back and a red flower in their hair. Think of matadors and bull fighting, of fiestas in the street, all the time, to celebrate...anything! Think of a warm city that invites you in, to experience its rich culture, taste its delicious food (paella!) and drink its aromatic red wine. This is the real Spain.
Although, I have to admit, it's a bit depressing in January because you can just feeeeel that it's such a summery city- so I'll be back, when it's warm. Claire and I get in to our cooool hostel in Sevilla at Place Encarnacíon, where our coo, hip Oasis hostel is. They are cooking homemade paella that night (!) We make friends with some girls from Quebec and give them good advice for Morocco ( and the rest of our dirhams...) We also talk with David from NYC (such a new yorker, reminds me so much of Steve!) who worked in Sevilla for a year and is now going to Madrid to study abroad. He gives us some good directions and advice for Madrid and Sevilla.
We eat dinner just the two of us, having unsuccessfully made friends at the hostel, tear. Get a little frustrated with C cuz sometimes she loses that outgoing, fun side of her. But we did have some good laughs on this trip, like when I said "GOOD YOB!" without even noticing I omitted the J as Spaniards do. The paella was home-cooked and utterly delicious. We hurry out the door and hop in a taxi to get to a hole-in-the-wall bar called La Carbonería for flamenco!! It's all smokey in there but it is alll locals Sevillans, drinking and smoking like there's no tomorrow. Show starts at 11h30 pm, naturally. No one ever seems to sleep around here, no matter what age. On stage is an old Spanish man, a woman dressed with big hoop earrings, hair pulled back tight in a low ponytail. Well, the man starts singing flamenco, and it immediately draws me back to Uncle Will's opera "Ainadamar" with the flamenco singer that nearly brought me to tears. The other dude was strumming on his Spanish guitar with the biggest smile on his face! They start clapping and keep the beat with their hands throughout the show. The incredible rhythm comes just from clapping hands, stomping feet and a guitar. Endless clapping. And the music is sad; it sounds like he's singing about something painful as the clapping gets louder and faster and louder and faster the beat is picking up, faster faster faster she's stomping her feet now and getting into the beat and BAM! She's up and dancing with her arms out and fingers snapping, first one arm overhead and then the other, as her fingers keep snapping and her feet keep stomping stomping stomping bam-ity-bam-ity-bam...She's a big girl but is moving with the grace of a ballerina, and has so so much rhythm rhythm rhythm...she's doing some quick-quick tap dancing and alternates her hands up in the air, one finger pointing out, down, up, out, switch. She snapping her ponytail back and forth, in beat with her stomping feet thud thud thud on the floor. They build up up up up towards a climax, the combination of the flamenco singing, the dancing, tapping feet and the beat of the clapping, until you feel the music pulsing through you, feel the heat OW! as if everything is going to explode as it alll builds to a climax, and BAM! THEY ALL SHOUT! Olé!!!

They bring up two volunteers to dance, who are both just naturally good dancers, of course cuz they're Spanish. They draw you into the rhythm and just mesmerize you. Claire explains that the flamenco dance is full of meaning- which direction the fingers are pointing. So Claire and I, on our way home, think we know where we're going but of course, we have no idea and just get ridiculously lost- I mean, a 15 min walk probably took us more than an hour to get home. Yeah. First off, neither of us are very good with maps. Second, the map sucks and is incomprehensible. third, every person we ask for directions in the street says "It's complicated" or "Just go straight". That's become the running joke with me and Claire bc in Morocco, whenever we would ask for directions, they would say "Just go straight." Thanks for clearing that up buddy.
Well, for the first time in my life, Claire and I actually make a loop trying to get home. We were walking walking walking, lefts, rights, lefts, until Claire says "Wait, haven't we already passed this place?" Indeed, it was true. We were right back where we started and even farther away from our hostel that the first place. Everytime we think we're going in the right direction, we weren't. But it was also a good way to see the city at night and stumble across the giant cathedral in the center with a huuuge Moorish minaret, modeled after the one we saw in Marrakech.
The next morning, we had little time to explore in Sevilla cuz we had to catch the bus to Madrid; but, we did have a chance to see inside the gorgeous cathedral in the city centre, designed by the Moors and once again taken over by the Christians in the late 1100s (greedy bastards!!!!!)

Córdoba's Mezquita

2009-01-30T05:56:00.000-08:00

Claire and I walk later that night all through the small alleyways and souks of Tangier, but it isn't nearly as overwhelming as Marrakesh. We are able to stop into stores and have a look around without being hounded by the shop owners. We look at dresses, baboushes and take random turns here and there. Down to the Port to buy (expensive) ferry tickets and then a walk along the boardwalk to find a restaurant for dinner. We have couscous and legumes at a nice resto where the server pours tea from WAYYY up high into this tiny glass- quite impressive, we watch him like it's a spectacle. All goes well until Claire finds a staple in her food- yup, that's right. We have quite a laugh. The guy sitting behind us is from Bahrain and he invites us to his hotel- "Uhhh, no thanks." Sketchy! The taxi driver speaks really rreally bad English and tries to explain the difference in hotels, between "The interconti-mental" and the "enter-konti-mental"- great, thanks for clearing that up. Back at our hotel, or should I say, palace, we have the WHOLE place to ourselves and are so silly. We ask Abdul a few times for mint tea refills and we snuggle under our massive duvet comforter and read into the wee hours of the night. The rain falls outside, but we are so so cozy in our private palace :)
Up early to catch the ferry over to Spain, Tangier to Algeciras, the weather is shit-tastic. So much for sun in Spain (!) We eat at this incredibly sketchy resto in the shit town of Algeciras, nothing much there other than a port. We wait for hours at the train station for our train to Cordoba, which we get in the late afternoon. The train ride is gorgeous and sooo worth it! The landscape changes around every bend on the 3hr ride- from high mountains to valleys, to horse pastures, to small towns built on a hill, to vineyards bursting with Spanish grapes, to old farms, and then a beautiful sunset over the horizon. I love the region of Andalucía.
That night, once we get into our hostel in Cordoba, we walk around a bit in the old part of town. So quiet here! This place is a ghost town, but luckily the two of us feel very safe. We walk around huge ancient Roman walls and old medieval castles. Claire is totally in her element- loves speaking Spanish, loves the culture and loves the food. I know very little about Spanish culture, but this is a great way to start learning .
We find a nice little resto called Bodega Mezquita and order a phenomenal bottle of Cordoban wine, only €5! It was so delicious. Order a bunch of tapas, naturally, including whitefish and peppers, artichokes and garlic, and chorizo. Get a litttttle tipsy off a bottle of wine split between the two of us... but conversation soons opens up about Spanish wine, culture, history, music.
We make our way back to Lucano st. and crash. This morning, we explore the Roman bridge built across the river and the outdoor courtyard of the famous Mezquita. There are orange trees overhead, and inside the cathedral is stunning. Big red and white archways stretch overhead and don't ever seem to end; they are a perfect example of symmetry, design and color. I really love Moorish architecture. But more importantly is the mix of Christianity and Islam, a great building that started as a mosque but was taken over by the Christians, making it a hybrid cathedral and mix of two great cultures. Claire and I explore La Judeíra, the old Jewish quarter with whitewashed streets and winding, twisty cobblestones streets. This leads into the modern part of the city, with shopping centres blah blah I prefer the old!
Off to Sevilla!!

The Rooftops of Tangier

2009-01-30T05:46:00.000-08:00

TANGIER

Claire and I hop on the night to train to Tangier and a cool girl named Laura, from Perth, who'd traveling solo around Europe/Morocco. The train was comfortable actually! Slept the whole way.. We arrive in Tangier and split a taxi to the port and then through the medina to get to our hotel. We wait outside for an hour cuz no one answers the door at the hotel! We make a little contraption out of a string to tie to the door knocker and still whilst sitting down hehehe we're so silly. This guy Abdul is bothering us, offering me some hashish (the size of a tennis ball!) But I didn't come to Morocco to buy drugs.. He tells us about "the moskee!" and tries to get us to go to another hotel- nice try Abdul. Finally, one guy comes to open the door and ushers us inside- we tell him unhappy we are to be kept waiting...but the place is exquisite. Oh, how to describe?Tiled walls adorn the place, nice rugs and carpets and arched doorways. And COLOR! Even the stairway is gorgeous. We have the massive master suite, with two BIG beds. And the roof! It's right in the sun with a view to die for. Let's see, there's the port, with aquablue waters. In the distance are hillsides with houses built on them. And we are surrounded by the Kasbah on the other side, house rooftops are built up like tetris cubes, with laundry hanging out to dry in the warm sun. Mosques stick up as the highest points, one at the the very top of the Kasbah. Everything is generally white white white, but there are splashes of blue here and there. I hear a rooster crowing, a kid crying, whistles from the port. I have a panoramic view from our closed-in rooftop veranda, so there's so much to see. Woman wearing bandanas on their heads hang their laundry out ot dry. Actually, there's really only womens on the rooftops, no men to be seen. It's the opposite in the street: the men are out selling. When Claire and I are outside in the sun, sipping mint tea, the call to prayer rings out over the city, from every mosque, just a chorus of chanting. In the distance, out over the Strait of Gibraltar, are mountains, with the sun dipping in and out of the clouds. I'll stay in the veranda and read, rather than more souk-shopping. But as we walked through this morning, I noticed it's already a lot calmer and more relaxed than Marrakesh- it's not tourist driven; it's just a way of life. And that's what makes it more enjoyable and more natural. Not hectic, in-your-face, but chill and really beautiful, ready to enjoy and be savored.
Off to Córdoba!

How to Haggle 101

2009-01-30T05:45:00.000-08:00

Everytime you go to buy and argue for the price, they love to unravel the fabric and show you how sturdy it is, show you the length blah blah. Basically every trick in the book to make you pay more. Nah nah, not gonna work on me buddy! But I'm finally starting to get the hang of it here. First, talk in French, and go really low so that you can always go higher. You can never go lower than your original bid, rule number one. Laugh and keep things light; keep talking talking talking and repeating your price, and then say "What's the best price you can give me? Best price, come on. Aller. Best price. Voilà!" I go to haggle for some shoes that I've had my eye on this whole time, and I get it alllll the way down from 200 Dh to 100Dh. I try and go lower and lower (starting 50D and working my way up) until we get to my final, last last price of 75 Dh. I won't go any higher and he won't go any lower; instead of me walking away, he tries to walk about from me! Talk about role reversal- we meet in the middle at 75 Dh. Go me!
We recuperate back at the hostel and enjoy the view from our little rooftop balcony, of course with a refreshing cup of mint tea. Down below, you can see into the other courtyards of others, orange trees from inside would peek through. Laundry hangs out to dry and the rooftops looks like little tetris blocks. We go back out there and once again get lost among the endless souks- I've never seen so many shops! But once we get past Aladdin's treasures, we wander the tannery district, where animal hides are stacked up like cards, where dyed wool and hides hang out to dry like laundry. We just go left, right, straigh? Sure. On and on and on, dodging the vendors sticking their jewels out to you, and who yell out "Come into my shop! Maybe later?" Key phrases like that; they know em all. One guy nearly corners me in the road just to get me to come one! Whew, stay calm. This place is tourist-driven so they have to act like that. We get so turned around in this labyrinth and wander and wander until we see other tourists who look as lost as us. We dodge motorbikes, bicycles, donkeys and horse cariages charging though the crowds. I walking walking through the districts where you see them actually making the stuff, such as babouches, lanterns, dresses and silver. We finally find our way back to the Jamaa El-Fna for henna. God, what a nightmare experience this was. As soon as we sit down, this pushy woman preys on me like a vulture. She has her pen to my hand with henna until I pull back to negotiate a price- but everytime I try to, she talks about the colors (red, brown or black) "No! Wait! How much?" I try to tell her I want 2 hands painted for 20Dh and she's says Ok, "C'est parti! Let's go!"..doesn't even paint the design I've picked out... at the end she looks at me and says 40 Dh- "What?" We said 20! And alas, I've awoken the dragon- I've never seen anyone so mad. She looks at me with this terrifying face and yells at me "FORTY DIRRRRHAM MAM!" Of course, I have no more money on me and look to Claire, but she's broke too. The lady next to her, who doesn't speak a word of English or French, starts hitting my leg and showing me to pay up- I realize it's not only anger on their faces but desperation; these women really have no way of making money for themselves in La Place other than henna, and they depend on tourists. I leave totally flustered and feel as if my time in Morocco is stained by this experience. Mandy got totally screwed over though because they charged her 150 Dh at the time cuz she didnt negotiate before. oops.
Back at the hostel, Jordon and Mandy show us their photos from South Africa, which are unnnreal. They did a roadtrip from Pretoria to Cape Town, allll the way across S.A. But the inequality problems continue to plague the country, along with the AIDS epidemic. The inequality problems there may even be more stark that in India- apartheid only ended 14 years, which is racism by law. It's hard to believe and even harder to comprehend. Jordon tells us that the government receives massive donations for the AIDS problem, but of course none of the people actually suffering ever see a dime. Will the world always have problems this colossal? Will there always be suffering? Esp over problems we can easily fix, like clean water, cholera, malaria and contraception.

Dodging motorbikes and bicycles, and donkeys

2009-01-19T16:18:00.000-08:00

Three Words for Marrakesh- Julia's are: exotic, bustling, invigorating. Claire's are: tourism, hectic, delicious. Others we brainstorm about on the heavenly terrace of our guesthouse in Tangier: overexpectant, rip-off, dishonest, greedy, stinky, cluttered, clean, well-off, delicious, stressssed, chaotic, haggle, call to prayer. Dodging motorbikes and bicycles, and donkeys!
Three Words for Tangier: indulgent, relaxed, sunny, white & blue, guides* to the Kasbah is the market here, quiet, breathtaking, Spanish, lack of tourists, where they do take No for an answer. Right past the moskee, says the local.
Marrakesh:
Claire and I sleep in on Tuesday, shower and pack up before heading to the Majorelle Gardens with Mandy and Jordon. We haggle for a horse&carriage there, as it's all the way across town. We go outside of the medina- it's nice to see a new part of town, outside the city walls. The gardens are....well, not as much as I was expecting, as Francoise built them up. The colors are amazing however, as are the esthetics, but it's cacti and plants- not that exciting. Mandy and Jordon are quite silly, and we make it fun anyway. We walk allll the way back to Jamaa El-Fna, getting lost several times and ending up in some really obscure neighborhoods. But we went into a beautiful park, where all the locals are eating. We end up at a café is La Place for pizza (!) of all things and mint tea. I am quite impressed with our clean (relatively) Marrakesh is, even compared to...London! The streets and the souks are kept very clean and you see people sweeping at the end of the day, and not that much litter. Also, the men don't reek as they do in India, not what I was expecting. But the streets can get hectic as a tourist, stressed, chaotic, uncomfortable. Especially the fact that some guys are so desperate for money that they'll grab your hand and stick something in it to make you buy it!! Talking at me is one thing, but touching me? Back off, invasion of space.
In the square, there are snake charmers, monkey shows and storytellers telling old Arab tales to the beat of a drum. The 4 of us first go into a scarf shop where Mohammad wraps me and Jordon in turbans- his name becomes Mustafa Couscous and I am Fatima- sweeeet! After, we haggle for SO LONG with Mohammad, but I end up buying 2 scarves and help Claire haggle for hers.

This is Marrakesh, the real Morocco.

2009-01-19T16:16:00.002-08:00

MONDAY, JAN 5th 2009
Claire and I start the day off right- as soon as we awake, we go up to the roof to sit in the sun and wake/warm up. HAPPY. Feel slightly shit-tastic as we explore the new Cyber Garden, down Avenue Hassan II and allll the way to La Gare ONCF to buy the train tickets to Tangier. Afterwards, we get a quick bite at a local stand for chicken kebabs plus bread plus rice. THEN I got maybe the best massage...of my life. I think I died and went to heaven. A local the hostel hires comes by to work on me and Claire, and gets out alllll the knots that have been building up in my back, shoulders and neck. Wonderful! Talk about treating myself...
Afterwards, while Claire is getting her massage, Chris and I walk to a restaurant Chez Chegrouni for a quick bite, mint tea and some good chatting. I feel like my old self again, talking about my adventures in India. Chris has been to Egypt/Thailand/Australia so we exchange stories and some good laughs. He's such a quintessential English bloke. We meet up with Claire after and enjoy another sunset up there on our terrace haven.
The best part of the day though is when Chris joins us to explore the souks- WHAT A DIFFERENCE! We are barely pestered! We get hassled so much less. The usual markets in the main square are just so colorful and RICH, and it's nice to actually enjoy it and take it in without being on your guard. We get to the dyes section of the souks, and explore an old drum and instrument shop where the 2 guys in the back are clearly smoking hashish haha. We bargain with him over some Berber drums and tambourines and marrocas. Chris is quite good at haggling, unlike me, but we work together so it's O.K. We keep going down these dark alleyways, with dyed wool hanging from above, black/silver/hammersmiths souks where they make the lanterns at night. It's cool to see the market at the end of the day, when things calm down and people close up their shops, or you see shopowners sewing up dresses..I realize that tomorrow morning every will start again! And that's just how life goes here.
We wander down some of these dark alleyways, where the locals come out and we lose the tourists. Yes! We both feel so much comfortable/safer with Chris around. We get down some dark alleyway and find some hillbillies! AHHH! Creeeepy...but just went straight straight and wind up at a main road and wander wander wander aimless through the food markets. Great big wagons filled with heaps of abricots, figs, dates, almonds, pistachioes, litchies, cashews and sweets. Mmmm! All the locals are out buying their food, while the tourists (except us) are in.
But the highlight of my night is walking past the turnoff of our road and just keep going straight past meat shops, spice vendors, random-ass stuff on the ground to a totally non-tourist area. Bingo. This is Marrakesh, the real Morocco. We dodge the crowds, weave in and out and avoid the motorbikes and bicycles inching past us through the throngs of people. But I love every minute, it's so..invigorating. We wind up all eating some baklava sweets (and joking that we better not all get sick from it cuz there's only 1 bathroom!) , and then check out the big vats of frying meats and veggies in Jamaa El-Fna, as well as the drumming circles with an old Arab storyteller in the middle reciting an old tale to a watchful crowd, to the beat of a drum and a horn. I haggle for a tambourine, cuz it would be awesome to have :) Back at the hostel, we all sit in the courtyard, sipping beer with Jordon the cool Canadian now studying in South Africa, and traveling to the corners of Africa over break (Morocco, Egypt, S.A.) Conversation flows freely, between Canada and Montreal to the metric system to the incredible inequality Jordon tells us about in South Africa- and then wordl even. I want to research the history of South Africa and see if it's a place that interests me next year. Chris and I stay up even later, talking about mariage and inevitably..divorce.

Jamaa El-Fna

2009-01-19T16:16:00.001-08:00

The hostel is gorgeous; there's a little Garden of Eden courtyard at the centerpiece of the open-air hostel. Ripe orange trees dripping with great big fruits rise up to the sky, and surround this pool of water filled with rainwater. Up above are balconies to the guestrooms- and then the ROOF! Which I love because there are 2 seating areas with benches, pillows and hot tiles. We immediately strip of our 14 jackets, shedding both layers and tension. Ahhh. Shoes off! Barefoot! We take in the sun up their on the roof and just feel it healing our problems. Headache? Gone. Sore throat? Gone. Pale as ghost? Well, not quite gone but we'll try.
The windows in our room look straight down to the alleyway down below, as voices carry straight up, along with the drumming in the distance.
We venture our into the market after composing ourselves, where I am so reminiscent of India's vendors, shouting at you from the other side of the street: "Madam! Yoo hoooo! Have a look! Maybe later?" But it soon becomes overwhelming being there in the souks because we become the prey of the shopkeepers. Claire is not at ease at all, granted it's a very different market than she's used to. But it's the snake charmers that freak her out the most cuz they practically stick them in your face!!! She's so jumpy she even jerks 10 ft back when a guy is holding a belt in his hand hahaha. At lunch, we saw a guy weaving in and out of the table with a snake and of course the two of us are attempting to hide under our table- until we realize that the snakes are fake!!! For lunch, we eat at a touristy restaurant for some gooood couscous+chicken, delicious. Then back to the hostel (cuz the souks are too much) for some relaxation on the rooftop and some MINT TEA. We just bask in the sunshine streaming through, until we fall asleep like a cat in the sunlight. The sunset afterwards is gorgeous, as are all the colors everywhere- just incredible. Up there, you can spy on all the rooftops around, look into other's courtyard (and compare your orange trees to theirs..pfffff)
We go for Round #2 in the souks after our repose- it's different at dusk, a little jumpy, although everything is just as vibrant, all the fabrics and spices and silver and leather. I haggle for a mirror and some Moroccan slippers but unfortunately get followed by this dude whose shop I was in before (and left uninterested). You can't even enter without buying anything! They won't let you leave, or they follow you!
We have some more mint tea on the rooftop of the restaurant and admire the chaos of Place Jamaa El-Fna down below.
Back at the hostel, I start up a conversation with some cool New Zealanders, all fashion-y and kinda full of themselves. Claire and I start talking to Chris, a 30-something year bloke from London who's here traveling. We share some very similar experiences on trying to find this hidden gem of a hostel, and share some good laughs. New day and new adventures tomorrow!

Morocco: Finding the Riad in the Maze of the Medina

2009-01-19T16:14:00.000-08:00

Sunday, January 4th
Claire and I are so so pumped for Morocco, even from the air, looking down on the vast and endless landscapes, with mountains capping off the horizon. As soon as we step off the plane, the sun gently greets us, and we just grab each other and sing "HERE COMES THE SUN!!" God, after a week in the UK, I've never appreciated the sun so much. At the airport, I flag down a taxi to get us to the medina. We see loads of bikes with two or three people balancing on the bars, and rows and rows of orchards outside the walled city. Our taxi driver keeps driving, right to the entrance of Jamaa El-Fna, now a World Heritage site for it's incredible culture all in one square in the center of Marrakesh.
So he drops us off there, and we walk....forever. We wind through all the souks, Claire with her huge backpack and me pulling my suitcase behind me. Not ideal for our first excursion into the madness of the souks. In the main square, there's snake charmers, acrobats, weird hats, tambourines, tale-tellers and PEOPLE! Then we start going through the souks...ooooooh la la what a delight. I am in heaven (!)
It's like Aladdin's cave has opened up, the streets spilling out silver lantersn, tapestries, carpets, colorful scarves, Moroccan slippers (babouches), silver jewelry, leather works, big grain sacks of colorful spices like vibrant curry or green oregano or yellow saffron or brilliant chile powder. And all the walls of the winding alleyways are this deep ocre red color, illuminated by the hot sun, giving the city a glowing color. We make it to the Cafe France and head in the (hopefully) right direction, until we don't know which (2nd?) right it is. We learn quickly that around here, the best you'll get for directions is "Just go straight"...except what makes it even more helpful is that "straight" and "right" sound exactly the same sometime : tout droit et droite. Great. These children obviously spot that we're lost, and I make the mistake of asking them for directions in French. Pretty soon, we've got a posse of a million little boys waving their hands, saying "This way Madame! I will show you the way!" I soon realize that they're gonna want some money for this, and unfortunately, I only have 100 notes. Well the bantering boys are leading us alllllllll the way down these alleys, saying "Just a little farther Madam" until I no longer hear the din of the marketplace and start getting a little freaked out. Claire and I say that we'll just find the place ourselves, but the damn kids are so persistent!
I have this moment when I'm freaking out that they're leading us farther and farhter down an alleyway and into a trap for the clueless tourist. I would fall for that one. We get to #17, as it says on the sheet but no where on the building does it read "Riad Medina Azahara", so I'm still freaking out that we're being led into the place where they first maim the clueless tourist before killing them! Door opening...Oh! Ok, it's a woman we're safe. She explains in a far-off mix of French and Arabic (let's call it Frarabic, shall we? Or maybe Arabench...) that this is only the reception, and that our lovely little shits of a tourguide will show us the way to the hostel. I try to explain once again in French that we have no money to pay them but the punk is either changing the subject or saying we'll pay when we get there...Well they say they'll show us the way, "Just down here! 2 minutes!" Down a few lefts, a few rights, past the flowing stream of Rue Dabachi, some more rights, lefts, straights until we get to a doorway. I'm now sweating profusely in clothes that are fitted for the UK dark ages, not the blazing sun of Morocco. A nice man opens and pays the little shits for us- well, I am partly grateful cuz they did show us the way, even though we said we couldnt pay them. But hard part is over!

Camden Town Market

2009-01-19T16:13:00.000-08:00

London is amazing!!! Quite a different city from the last time I was here 3 years ago with Lill and when I was obsessed with London. This was a more expensive and posh trip, but in a way that kinda bugged me. Claire and I both are sick after New Year's, her with a nasty cough and me with a cold. But I'm always cold here in England, seriously. Can't quite get rid of it. OR I'm really really overheated in the Tube, never quite comfortable! We meet up with Hannah Rzysko, who I haven't seen since INDIA!! It's so so so good to see her, she hasn't changed a bit and still has that lovely aura about her, someone who's just so pleasant to be around and always telling fun stories. The 3 of us get along quite well, Hannah is telling stories, laughing, smiling, and saying "Oh, it was fantastic!" and "He was such a proper dude". We reminisced about our adventures in India and tell Claire alllll about our crazy, fun adventures. She spent two months in India, traveling partly with me and partly by herself to places like Varanasi, and then Goa with her boyfriend Olly.
In London, we spend a good part of the day on the Tube bc none of us actually know how to get anywhere. She shows us Camden market with all these ethnic restaurants, old stables, little shops and weird leather shops too. It was fantastic! We stop at a little Moroccan place for mint tea- Claire's throat is really raw, but it helps. After, we take the Tube to, well, first stop- Westminster to see BIG BEN and Westminster Abbey. A little walk thru the park to the London Eye and to see the Thames. Waterloo to Piccadilly Circus to see the little Times Square and walk to Chinatown and thru the sex shops of SOHO- great atmosphere, esp. in Leicester Square. Oh! And we walked thru Harrod's- which was absolutely packed. But we hit up the Chocolate Bar and get fresh strawberries, cream and fondue chocolate with double chocolate tart and espresso. Mmmmmm. Totally worth every pound!
Eventually we make it back to the hostel to settle down for a bit- I feel kinda bad for making Hannah stay the night in this shitty hostel with shitty dinner (just a sandwich() when there's nothing really going on tonight for nightlife. Meh. We didn't have a crazy night or anything but it is nice to spend time together- we make friends with these two Israeli dudes and French guy. We drink red wine and make fun of this cheeeeesy movie w/ an English Bruce Willis. Some h*** outside with the Israelis, where they teach us Arabic phrases that we'll use in Morocco, such as numbers, phrases and greetings. They write it down for us in a "easy-to-read" format haha. We all walk to the Lock Tavern for drinks before it closes at 2am- good music, good beers. Me and Hannah just talk the whole time, kind of ignored the other guys by accident, oops. Off to The Stables for dance, music and drinks!!! Very cool club, all open with these different rooms and lights. Hannah and I have a good chat on the way back, she feels bad that we were on the Tube half the day! I say we both love her to death, no hard feelings, it's not her fault that the city was just packed all day. She tells me about her dreams to move to Australia with Olly and 3 years and get married, which I just think is so so great...good for them! We stay up until 3am talking- this morning she left immediately, a little strange, I feel bad. She wanted to get out of that hostel and catch the first train back to Reading. Oops.
Claire was so so sick but trooper-ed on cuz she's amazing, what a good sport. We first went to Buckingham Palace to drop in on the Queen, she wasn't in for tea though...too bad! Then to St. James' Park for lunch at this cute little cafe called Pickles. Just what we need.
Then to Tower of London for some fun pictures, British Museum for big artifacts and back to Camden for our stuff. WHEW! My feet..are...killing...me....
AMAAAZING Hilton room to ourselves at Gatwick, Claire gets sweeet benefits for working there. We just pamper ourselves cuz tomorrow we're off to...
MOROCCOOOO!

New Year's in Glasgow

2009-01-19T16:12:00.000-08:00

NEW YEAR'S EVE 2008!!!! And wot a good year's it's been!!!!
We were planning on doing a "sub crawl" all day, but the night before hindered our plans- easy on the drinking. My liver hasn't recovered yet. But let me explain what a "sub crawl" is (instead of a pub crawl): the subway in Glasgow is a circuit, so you get off at every stop and have a pint at the local pub, and then back on! Except there are about 15 stops, so it takes the whole day. So instead, Stuart Claire and I go to Kelvinhall to see the West End and walk around a bit. Stuart is a riot, and has the best facial expressions but has such a strong accent. Haven't seen him in 2 years since the Red Sox game in 07....We wind up in one pub after another where ALL we talk about is..drinking or getting drunk. It's unbelievable that that can be the subject of conversation for so long. Oh wait, we talk briefly about Hitler/Stalin/Nazis/WWII for a wee bit. At home, we drink some champagne and get ready for the night. Hit up a pub in the West End but hardly notice the New Year's countdown.We wind up at a house party where I Get really super drunk and have lots of random conversations. Pascal and I spoon the air mattress with no air hahaha. Pack up for LONDON!

Arthur's Seat in Edinburgh

2009-01-19T16:07:00.001-08:00

Whew! It's been 4 days since I've written cuz it's just been a whiiiirlwind of activities- I don't think I have a liver left. Welcome to Scotland.
Arrived in Gothenburg City (Göteborg) on Sunday night and flew out to Glasgow, where Claire and Graeme pick me up at the airport. I'm starting to feel really ill so I'm doing everything not t to get sick- Vit A and C, hot bath, tea. Monday I sleep in until 1pm, then out and about to see Glasgow and Claire's university- it's absolutely stunning , straight out of Harry Potter! Looks like the pitch where he learns to play Quidditch! I take some gorgeous photos of all these archways on campus, and then we check out the art museum on campus in this old Victorian building.
At home, Claire and I make some homemade veg soup and ham sandwiches and just hangggg out all the day until Pascal gets in at 10pm. She's from Frankfurt, Germany and was also a study abroad student at Clemson 2 yrs ago. She's fun and totally crazy! We all decide to go out dancing to "Campus", which is SO much fun!!! I was barely even buzzed but it is nice not to be totally wasted. Graeme and Claire and Pascal are such fun to dance with, especially when songs like Grease Lightning come on. We spend the whole night, til almost 3am just dancing in a circle the 4 of us.
Up early to catch the train to EDINBURGH! What a lovely city, not at all like industrial Glasgow. All the buildings are so old and remind me of the Middle Ages or something. Right in the city center is a giant castle, built on the edges of a cliff- straight out of "The Sword in the Stone" hehe. People are more posh here, plus plaid and bagpipes and scotch everywhere. We stop in a pub quickly for lunch and a pint of local McEwin's brew, and then off to Parliament.
Highlight of the day though is our hike up "Arthur's Seat", a giant cliff that overlooks the city and provides a magnificent view of everything. Absolutely worth the walk up. We hike alllll the way up one side, lots and lots of steps, all frosted over, and then we do some real climbing- never a good idea in Converses with no traction. At the top though we get a whole view of the city- and what a beautiful day it is, luckily! We eat our lunch up there and laugh and walk our way down. Graeme decides to go off the beaten track- bad idea. Nearly tumbled off the mountain! We take the train back to Glasgow and straight out to Gourock for the Morton v. Partick football game with the locals. Fuckin' freeeeezing, I've never been so cold. But it's fun to hear all the Scots swearing their heads off at the ref. AFterwards, me, Stuart, Graeme, Claire and Michael get tanked at a bar called Classrooms because vodka and Jack Daniels is only 90p- deal!!! Claire and I say beforehand that we shouldn't drink but of course, inevitably, with 3 Scotsmen and 90p shots- whatta ya expect?!?! So we get in at 4am, wasted. Off to sleep in Frenchie's bed, cuz he's not here!

Skål! (Cheers in Swedish)

2009-01-19T16:03:00.000-08:00

Saturday, Dec 27th
COPENHAGEN today!!! In Swedish, it's called Köpenhamn (Shippin-hamm) Louise and I take the bus early to get some shopping done, and we all converge at Christian's place to drop off our stuff- then to the train station for a quick train ride across to water to Denmark. The train ride is really fun once the tension disappears btw Malin and Louise. But soon Malin is telling us funny stories from her first few months living in Florence and the rough start she had...First, by paying way too much in Emilia's house and what happened when she simply stole an apple! Then when she tells me the story of working at "Griglia #1" at McDonald's for 2 months (frying), and then the first day she moves up to chicken nuggets at "Grillia #2"- she gets caught on her first day stealing a chicken nugget and it's back to Grill #1!! We laugh about her "shaking lip" and her trying not to cry when her boss was yelling at her. Sad then, hilarious now. Ohmigod I was howling with laughter, so I arrive out of the subway in Copenhagen laughing my ass off.
There's a building like Harrod's there and an ice skating rink right in the center, and trees all covered in lights. Beautiful. We walk around the New Harbor and explore all the little streets- much more quaint than Malmö but expensive! Fresh baked muffins in the window mmmmm. For dinner, we pop into the Cafe Bellagio for some really good chicken club sandwiches and a Leffe brune beer. Skål! (Cheers in Swedish) I tell them about Les Frères Berthom in Grenoble, my favorite pub for my favorite beer...France feels so far away now! Christian and I talk about California, San Diego and I tell them about my trip to Mexico. He Just got back from South Africa, Zimbabwe and Botswana in September for 10 days- WOW! On safari and everything how coool. After dinner, we run right into the L.A. Bar for Coronas and Irish coffees- oh, we had fun. We talk about their friend Andreas in London and how badly he's doing there- drugs, alcohol, overboard, a bit strange and out of control. Malin, such a good friend and such a good heart, wants to go over to his parents' house and tell them what he's doing- so they can save him. She feels it's her duty of someone who used to be here friend- I admire her loyalty and her intentions. Then, once Christian tells us about his adventures camping outside in South Africa, we all get really really excited about traveling, maybe to South America all together or to Thailand. We name every place we want to go and conclude that the world is just too big to conquer. Maybe next year.
But Malin and I possibly want to go to Australia next year together and work/live together. I would love to, I really enjoy her company and trust her. We do a pinkie promise swear for the future, that we'll take next year off- LOTS of energy for being young, adventurous and FREE!
Back home to Malmö to pack and do pictures- M&L drive me to the train this morning and give me the CUTEST goodbye I think I've ever gotten: their little guinea pig dance where they are so synchronized and pretend to lick their paws- adorable! We keep saying how much we'll miss each other and they say how boring it will be without me..aww!! I love them so much! It's more of a "see you later" with Malin bc we have plans to visit each other, in Manchester or Dublin or Paris, or Prague with Christian! yay! super!
OFF TO SCOTLAND!

Svensk Jul!

2008-12-27T17:36:00.000-08:00

For Christmas Eve and celebration #TWO!, we drive from Malmö to their mother's mother's house- a bit more old-fashioned but very fun with Jonny there. We arrive at 4pm and start with some glögg (pronounced glug) with almonds and raisins. Their grandparents, Karin and Gunnar, don't speak a word of English, but hardly ask me anything anyway. Jonny is super nice and cool- he's 38 with 2 young boys but he's the "cool" uncle. Anci, their mother is in a chipper mood tonight, which is good to get her out of her depression. We start the meal with another smörgåsbord of meats, sausages, fish, eel and gratins. Food is not as good as yesterday...But dinner is fun, I just love Malin and Louise- they're so giggly and lovable and snuggly; Malin is such a sweetheart and Louise is such a snuggly-bunny! Jonny looks and talks a bit like a vampire - his canine teeth is so pointy! And his accent is a bit Italian. For dessert, more rice pudding, and better than yesterday! After dessert, we play the "gift game" where you roll the dice for a 1 or a 6 and have 10 min to steal someone's present- oh, we had a laugh. Jonny and I got so competitive for this little box, which turns out to be clay! Haha- after we open all the gifts, we play again to steal each other's presents, but I wind up with my candles :) Malin was getting so into it! hahaha We did real presents afterward with J as the Santa Claus to hand out gifts. M&L get me a white tee and an adorable vernis black clutch- it's perfect! Jonny was so nice to think of me and gets me some nice hand lotion. We turn on a creole swing dancing CD and Jonny and I dance around, then with the twins! hahah We are all doing the boogie and shakin' thing- even Grandma is doing a little shake of the hands! We laugh and laugh and laugh. Malin and I go for a walk outside and take silly pictures. Off to bed early to go out tomorrow night

CHRISTMAS DAY 2008
Merry Christmas! I sleep until the glorious hour of 1pm- ahhh. I told this week is good for my health! The twins and I hardly move from the kitchen table, we just sit around all afternoon and talk and talk and talk- mostly about the future. I'm seriously considering taking a year off, maybe with Malin. Louise wants to go to New Zealand to work- but she still has a lot of growing up to od. I want to work abroad, maybe Japan or Thailand. We get ready to go to Nils in the late afternoon; coffee and cookies, and old pictures of M&L as babies! so cute! I play a bit on the piano, which makes Nils sooo so happy, even though I sound like a broken record. And my favorite part of the day, the best Christmas present I could have asked for- old movies from
1 9 6 2 of Nils' and Arvid's first trip to the States. I see old clips of Dad running around as a 5 yr old- he is SO adorable, such a munchkin. Nearly brought me to tears, I feel so privileged to see the movies of Grandma back in the day when he was still a stud- so much more than a picture. And Grandpa! I got to see Grandpa! Edmands! Live! He is so so handsome and has such a kind, gentle face and deep, deep dimples. Dad reminds me so much of him. And Jeffrey! He is so adorable and such a little mischief maker- he has the same sparkling, crinkly eyes, even at age 5 :) In the movie, he does that that hand wiggly thing where he puts his hands on his head like a moose and sticks his tongue out! Christie has a deep side part, and Laurie is trying to be a girly girl but you can see her just doing everything Jeff does. It's funny to see her in the little pink dress. And GRANDMA! She is stunning. And radiant! She is straight out of Vogue or something-magnificient; even with 4 kids in tow, she maintains her elegance with a flashy, white smile and high heels. There's all this footage of Grandpa riding around on the old red tractor with the 4 kids climbing alllll over his lap- everybody is happy, carefree; Dad is the little runt in back, falling behind trying to keep up, then op! Falls down! What a cutie...
Next we watch videos from M&L's visit to the States back in 2003, footage that I never ever want to see of myself ever again. Oh god, horrified. Do teenages GET any more obnoxious than me? I kind of had an identity crisis afterwards, not understanding how I used to be that person, and so incredibly rude/loud/obnoxious/....a teenager. Thank god that phase of my life is OVER. Can we move on now ? Sorry Mom and Dad for my behavior in the past-- and for putting up with it. Saints? I think so.
It takes up about 15 min to get out the door with all the hugs and kisses from Nils and Greta. I really tried to pay attention to Nils, even though he sounds like a broken record! M&L have changed SO much since their last visit! And Nils has gotten so much older...
Malin and Louise teach me cute phrases of Swedish translated directly into English; for example, she asked me if this phrase made any sense: "How plenty is the bell?" (meaning "What time is it")or "What are you for one? I don't feel again you!" meaning "I don't think we've met before." Haha! Had no idea what they were talking about at first..
We eat a quick dinner at home of salmon, rice and veggies and white wine to get the night rolling. Swedish Christmas tradition (and my new favorite) PARTY ON CHRISTMAS!!! So hard to leave on time with these girls but we made it on time to catch the bus to Malmö, brought beers on the bus and were chugging them (!) Pre-party at their friend's house, all guys and us 3 girls. Nice. None of them were cute though, although they were all doing lines which really didn't settle well with me and freaaaked me out. Never seen it before and I never want to again. Kevin is the druggie who's tried them all and lived to tell the tale (that's his only purpose in life apparently), Nils is the guy with the hairsprayed lion's mane, Peter and Yann who want to talk with me all night. Christian meets us there and we all drive to ???? nightclub, packed with nearly 2000 people! It is huge and packed, yet the music is PUMPIN and so so good. Louise is already falling all over the place. I tearrr up the dancefloor with Malin, who is so so so much fun to dance with. The music is amazing techno songs- ah, heaven. Since there is a lot of pushing going on, Christian and I hang out outside half the night, where it's more of a party out there! This guy Yann is trying to get my attention all night by waving, and then standing next to me out of nowhere. Unfortunately, I just ignore him bc I'm having WAY too much fun dancing with Christian. Me, Christian and Malin have SO so much fun dancing all together- we owned that dancefloor. Finally have to call it a night around 4am but Louise is gone, disappeared. Malin is worried, but hears that she's made it home safely back to Svedala. We all walk to Max's for late night munchies (and new word that I've taught all the Swedes). Andres gives me a piggy back ride while I try some snooze.

Swedish Christmas!

2008-12-27T16:42:00.001-08:00

SWEDEN!!!!!!!!
Malin and Louise were there to greet me at the airport once I arrived in Copenhagen! Ohmigosh they give the BEST, biggest hugs ever!!!

I love Sweden...
M&L and I have so much to talk about on the train to Malmö and the car ride to Svedala. Bengt's house here is SO nice- warm, clean and COZY! (and straight out of Ikea) Eva is Bengt's fiancee and such a sweetheart- she has two girls, Hanna and Elin, who are very sweet. Bengt gives me a big hug when he sees me! I love the hugs here and I am so not used to them after 4 months in France...but it brings me back to the US and makes me feel so so loved, warm and cozy and snuggly. Exactly how you should feel around Christmastime! We make a nice, light dinner, and off to bed in my cozy room out attached to the garage. I love this bed!
Monday morning Malin has to work so Louise and I spend the whole day together. What a sweetheart! She tells me how she's been struggling with feeling a bit depressed these past few months; it started this summer when she lost her voice for a month, and was working way way too much at the airport. Now she's stopped working and studying and is just relaxing until she gets her feet back on the ground. Her mother is also struggling with depression, which doesn't help... But they seem to be much more open here about depression, rather than Americans who are very closed about depression, therapy and medication. Very interesting... I sleep until 1pm, Louise and I just hang out, read through a little of this journal, teach new words and expressions to Louise. We went for a walk through the Swedish woods, and talk about cultural differences. We share a nice hot cup of cocoa and dessert at the little cafe, talk about our oldest ex-boyfriends, hers was 31! UAU! For dinner, we eat in "downtown" Svedala with new friends Alexander and Julia (pronounced Yulia) who lived in New York for a year so she speaks perfect American English, no accent. Blonde blonde hair and reminds me so much of Sophie for some reason. Alex is half Polish, half Hungarian but grew up in Sweden. They are really cute and shy together as a couple but both so cool and nice. Conversation was great actually! They tell me about the military requirement for Swedish men (11 months) and the immigration issues here in Sweden. I ask Alexandr how he feels about building a mosque in Malmo for the immigrants to practice their religion- he said he doesn't agree with it, while Malin and Julia do- I'm not sure how I feel about it. They tell me about the neighborhood in Malmö (made up of all immigrants, from Iraq/ Middle East) that they would never dare to enter, not even the ambulance! Malin tells me she would never wear a T-shirt with the Swedish flag on it- she would get rocks thrown at her! And then there's the issues of Muslims who refuse to assimilate into the Swedish culture, or even allow their children... We all make plans for Thursday evening and watch the Hot Chick to bring back old memories from their visit in 2003.."It's going all over!!!"
TUESDAY, DECEMBER 23rd Christmas Eve Eve
Ooooh what a fabulous Christmas it's been! Going home is overrated-why not taste another tradition for once?! I wake up late today, got ready right away before the guests arrive at 3pm- wrapped all my presents while listening to Christmas music! Nils and Greta arrive, I was so so happy to see him! He's maybe the cutest old man EVER- so sweet and jolly. And Greta is adorable! Malin is always hugging her, like me and Grandma :)
We start with a traditional drink called glögg: Scottish rum mixed with spices and served hot- then we throw in some raisins and almonds! So good! We all sit around a candlelit table and talk (the Swedes love candles PS). Conversation and sitting with Malin and Louise is so pleasant- they are so huggly and snuggly and always smiling. I think it's been very good for Louise's health to be this energetic. We share old memories from M&L's visit to the States back in '03, and laugh about funny words between American and British: how we say "like", "actually" and the British say "lovely" all the time!! Malin is very bright in English and knows a bunch of expressions, as does Louise. She's always correcting Malin to show that she knows more than her hehe. Nils keeps telling me what beautiful eyes I have, what a good friend Ed was, how they were "the best family in the States!" and how sad he still is that Ed is gone. He sounded like a broken record all evening, says the same things over and over and over again. I suppose that's what old age does! We call Grandma on Skype but it is mostly Nils who does the talking, Grandma couldn't get a word in! He says his trick to staying healthy is a bit of port wine or whiskey, garlic or onions! What a cutie...couldn't stop talking about how nice it is to talk with Grandma, how great Ed was and asking if Grandma is in good health and if she has a good doctor. He seems like he's aged so much since his last visit to the States in '03. But just like last time, every thing is BEAUUUTIFUL!!! He says it ALL the time, it's really adorable. I just love him.
He wants us to come visit in Dalby and show us home videos on the "proyector!" of when we were "joung"! Hehe he speaks with a British accent, a bit like Michael Cain. For Christmas dinner, on a beautifully set candlelit table, we have, quite literally, a smörgåsbord of meats and fish. All types of sausages, Swedish meatballs w/ special mustard sauce, pickeld herring and potato gratin with herring. Christmas hams, cabbage like sauerkraut and SALMON! Only the best... And special Cola called "Julmust". Bengt is so funny- he is teaching me Swedish but gets me to say "Bengt is so handsome!" and gets such a kick out of it. I love teasing him, he's just so lovable. I love hugging him too! What a great dad. Eva is wonderful too- she's so kind and lots of fun; sometimes she lets loose and shows this fun, goofy side of herself, like when she crosses her eyes or dances.
For dessert, we have a traditional rice pudding mixed with cream and served with raspberry or cherry sauce poured on. Mmmmmm so delicious. They put one almond in and the one to get it will get married that year! Eva's mom thought she got it but it was the cherry pit instead haha! For coffee afterwards, we eat friend treats, a bit like crispy donuts. Mmmmm and homemade gingerbread- the best!
Then it's PRESENT TIME! There is a mountain of gifts. Eva and Hanna wear the Santa hats and distribute them, reading the little rhyme that hints what it might be and then "Onskar Papa" which means Best Wishes. The girls love my scarves I give them, the colors fit them both well. I love the turquoise on Louise, it really brightens her face, while the dark green brings out Malin's green green eyes. Bengt and Eva love the wine and the spice bread from France- I hope it tastes good! They give me a lovely pair of earrings, Lill sends me a pair of tights, and new makeup from M&L and a candle from Hanna and Elin- so sweet! It's fun that they hand out all the gifts and then everyone opens them at once, unlike our family tradition where we open them one at a time. After dinner, I talk with Shawna online, and chat with M&L about my passion for Indian culture, and Malin's plan to consider taking a year off, Louise's future. I'm considering taking a year off before I finish at BU. What's the rush? Christian hasn't even started his studies and probably won't until he's 24 or 25; for now, he's working and TRAVELING!!!

Repas de Noël

2008-12-19T17:04:00.000-08:00

My last week in Grenoble has been amazing! I've made a list of all the things I love about the city, including the Christmas markets, our favorite cafés around the centre-ville, and Le Mélies Cinéma for old movies. We all went over to Marie-Eve's apartment for our last repas together as a group- Kelly and I got there last cuz we picked up a HA-uge bouquet of flowers for Marie-Eve, filled with orange and red flowers. Chez Marie-Eve, we melted RACLETTE on the stove and poured the hot cheese over roast potatoes, charcuterie and fresh bread. We goofed around with Patrice and Canaan, and Marie Eve made a nice little speech about our AWESOME our group is and how well the semester went. It's sad leaving Grenoble, what a wonderful city. I love being in Centre-ville, but looking up, around the corner of an old building, and seeing snow-capped mountains ringing around, like they're all holding hands and hugging us in tight, the city nestled into the arms of the mountains.
After dinner, we sang Bon Anniversaire notamment to Patrice, our fabulous academic advisor and maybe one of my favorite people in the world (!) For cake, we ate la buche!, like a French version of a yule log hehe it was pear flavored and so so delicious. I took some last fun pictures with group, while Canaan, Patrice and Marie-Eve. We were all so jolly and giddy, mostly to be together again but also excited about the holidays and the future. After dinner, me, Marion, Max, Lauren and Evan went for beers at our FAVORITE bar- "The one with the tree inside." That's the thing with the bars in this city- some of them don't have actual names written anywhere, so we call them by events that've happened there. Par exemple, there's "the bar where Evan fell off his chair"- where, believe it or not, Evan literally knocked over his chair, while still in the chair, and took out some innocent passer-by. And since no one actually knows the name of this great bar, that's become the new name. There's also the "Wine Bar," the "Sand Bar" and the "bar with all the cool flavored shots in it" where Evan and I took FLAMING shots! They light the bar on fire and light the shots on fire, and then you suck it down! Awesome!
Anyway, we went to this cozy little bar and each ordered a delicious, caramel-y, frothy, crisp brown beer and washed it down with bubbly conversation. Evan was telling funny stories from Memphis, TN while Max and Marion made out while Lauren and I bonded on a new level over our love of cats. Yes, cats. I stayed up until 4:30 in the morning painting the platter for Daniel and Françoise, in her little atelier, listening to my kick-ass Beatles mix.
Thursday I freaked my way out through the day, mostly because I had left all my studying for that morning for my Art History exam at 14h. I nearly shit a brick when Anna wrote me saying the exam was cumulative and a whole semester's worth of artists, oeuvres and mouvements. Merde! That's over 60 artists to memorize, and 150 oeuvres. Oh crap. But ça y est, it was OK, I did well in the end. After my exam, quick home to finish my picture collage for Daniel and Françoise. And then, one of the BEST meals I think I'll ever eat. Ever. It was our planned Repas de Noël, a kind of Last Supper with the fam before we're partie, me and Xio. It's different for her because she'll be living with them next semester, so I feel much more sentimental about everything, right down the creaking third stair that I always hit on my way up. I love it! (although it's my enemy when I'm coming in at 4 in the morning).
The table was all decorated with red and white, with the table mats that I bought them in Provence that weekend.
For our apetizer (coincidentally called an entrée here), Francoise made a truffle mousse, eaten with a spoon and oh-so delicieuuuuuuse. Next up, foie gras and salmon, spread on toast with coarse salt and butter..mmmmm. I've acquired a taste for foie gras and now I absolutely love it! Next (so French) were escargot, finally! My French experience is now complete hehe. It was pretty legit too, the snails looked like the ones in Dad's pond, and we scooped them out from the inside with little forks. Francoise actually called it a bête (critter) , and I yelled that's dégueulasse! Next was probably the most amazing dish I'll ever eat, I don't even know how to describe how rich the flavor is. It was a gratin Dauphinois, from the region, with sliced, roasted potatoes and foie gras between the slices to give it so much flavor. I was in heaven, and just couldn't get enough! This is my favorite though- Francoise cooked the piederot bird that we plucked back in September. Daniel went hunting one weekend, and comes back with two tiny birds that kinda look like pigeons, called pedrots. Francoise was sitting down, plucking the feathers and preparing to cook it- I couldn't resist so I got my own bird to de-plume! And she finally cooked it for our last meal together, very appropriate. It had a strange but rich taste. Like nothing I've ever tasted before, but delicious at the same time. Finally, for dessert was la buche, it's not a Christmas meal without it. Afterwards, we opened presents; Francoise gave us each a beautiful necklace and earrings, right in a homemade box. I gave them the handpainted platter, and gave Daniel a little ashtray bowl, where I painted "N'Importe quoi Daniel! Inadmissible!" because he always says that! hehe he loved it, made him chuckle. From me and Xio, we gave them the picture collage with a pic of the two of us as a centerpiece. It came out very well, I'm happy with it.
Out with the crew afterwards, first to Bukana for tequila shots and dancing to good ol' American music. My man Farid was behind the bar and was very generous with the free shots :) Around 2am, me, Lauren, Max and Marion chased each other all the way to Le Vieux Manoir for some kickass dancing to really fun music. By the end of the night, vers 4am they were playing old revival music, like "It's Rainin' Men" and "Freedom." Said goodbye to Max, he's off to Africa next semester, to Niger! So I wished him safe travels and er, good luck. Marion is off to Brazil for a summer New Years, but I'll see her in a MONTH cuz we're living together in Paris (!!!!) And Lauren is pure awesomeness, and she'll be here in Grenoble next semester.
Friday was great- I got to close my shudders, which block out any trace of light and SLEEP IN. Oh, what a treat. I watched Love Actually with D, F, Xio and Anna Friday night. Packing was a bit overwhelming, but I talked with Mom and Dad for over an hour and heard how COZY and sweet the house is-- last night, they were baking gingerbread cookies while the snow was piling up outside. How darling! I miss home...but ready for new adventures! Off to Paris for the night tomorrow, and then off to SWEDEN!

Fête des Lumières, Round 2

2008-12-10T01:29:00.001-08:00

So apparently I didn't see merde when I went to the Festival of Lights on Saturday... good, because I found it was overrated anyway. My friend Benjamin (who is still pretty cool...haha there you go Ben!) who lives Lyon invited me to see the real Fête des Lumières on the official day, the 8th of December. In retrospect, I'm really glad I went back to see the real festival that is celebrated all over the region to commemorate La Vierge Marie, the Virgin Mary. I took the train late Monday night and arrived just in time to see the festivities starting all over the city of Lyon. Right as we got off the bus from the train station, there was FIREWORKS! over the river Rhône. The best part though is that on the 8th, everyone lights des petits bougies, little candles, outside their windows...so the whole city is flickering with candlelight. Up on the hilltop overlooking the city is the famous basilique Notre-Dame-de-Fourvière with a huge golden Marie perched on top and a lit up "Merci Marie" sign across. We promenaded a bit in the street, enjoying the light installations and decorations everywhere. The theme this year I guess is la mer so it has a bit of an underwater theme, with weird watery music playing in the street and ocean-themed light installations. I was confused at first, wondering where in the hell all the CHRISTMAS music was??? But Ben explains ça n'a rien à voir avec Noël- it has nothing to do with Christmas. Oh. Huh? I guess I'm used to everything Christmas-themed during the month of December, but then again, Americans don't really have old religious festivals... In the street, there were a bunch of drummers playing and marching bands. I think the best part though was there were fewer people and a big difference from Saturday- they were all Lyonnais, rather than tourists. So it was quaint and lovely, rather than overwhelming. Ben and I found a little restaurant near his place that was serving Lyonnais food tapas-style. I chose the boeuf et carottes, which was delicious...the best though was my chocolate tarte after, which was so yummy (although, not according to Ben...) I think I learn most of my cultural differences from Ben- for example, I think everything is great and pretty and jolie and awesome, whereas he tends to critique more, French-style. We exchanged stories though- I told him a little quip that Juliette told me that explains well the difference between French and Americans....using fruit! She said the French are like coconuts- they're hard on the outside and difficult to break into, but once you do, they're soft and sweet; whereas Americans are like peaches- super nice and sweet on the outside but there's always that hard pit that you can't crack into, so you never really really get to know them. Ben told me about his professor (from Boston) who taught at his university in Estonia, and who always used expressions like "At the end of the day", "You know whatta mean" and "Baaaasically"- for some reason, the French find these words so funny. Kind of like how I find it funny when they say "Baaaaaaan" all the time and "Eeeein?" But I realized I do use these words all the time in English, like "Definitely! Totally! Seriously! Honestly? For real!" Ben also told me about how his American professor explained another cultural difference: Americans use the word great or grand or big to describe or sell things, for example "Come get a nice big hot cup of cider!"; whereas, the French love using the word petit. For example, in the streets of Lyon, all the vendors were yelling out "Allez! Un petit vin chaud! On y va!" And they love that word! Un petit mot, boire un petit coup ensemble, un petit café, une petite rue, while we Americans love our word great. Another difference between the French and Americans- we're naturally friendlier! Ben ran into his old professor of French back in high school, and I tried to make conversation with her- they call it tutoyer, which is basically to employ the "tu" form in conversation to make it casual. He found it a bit strange that I would be making conversation with a complete stranger and use the "tu" form rather than "vous"- I forgot! Oops! I swear by the time I leave France, I'll remember to use the "vous" with my elders...I guess it's not common (or worth it) here to try and be friendly with strangers...they just don't do that here?
After dinner, we walked over to the vieux quartier to the cathedral St. Jean all lit up with crazy lights, and to see the light show at Hôtel de Ville - with the light effects, the story was a little kid who pretended to throw paint all over the townhall and dunk it underwater. All across town were lights shows and funky music. Some vin chaud to warm us up and then back home to warm up cuz it was so cold out!

As I write this, it's Wednesday morning and I haven't made it to class because it's snowing lightly outside and my bed is way too warm and cozy to leave the house! And my Christmas music is playing.....But eventually I'll make it outside the house and venture out in the snow to do mes cours and go shopping at the Christmas market in la place de Grenette.

Fête des Lumières, Round 1

2008-12-09T08:13:00.000-08:00

Interesting weekend- had it's ups and downs! All day on Saturday, the CUEF planned a trip to Lyon to enjoy La Fête des Lumières. I associated it originally with Noël, but it's a celebration to thank the Virgin Mary by lighting little candles all around the city. Only thing is, Saturday was TOURISM DAY! And therefore, pretty unenjoyable. In addition, it was freeezing and rainy all day, and we couldn't find a restaurant to eat some lunch for over an hour since everywhere was complèt. At night, around 5pm, the lights came on around the city- light shows everywhere! It was super! The crowd was HUGE all over the city, I've never seen so many people in one place. There's a big Christmas market, where the vendors sell ALL sorts of trucs and where they have all sorts of goodies to choose from. I spent the day with Marion and Kelly; we meandered around, testing out all the vin chaud (hot wine) around the city! I took the train home on the early side with Anna because I was getting up early to ski the next day!

SUNDAY, DEC 7th
Up at 6:30am (ouch) to catch the only bus to Chamrousse ski station. Sasha was supposed to come with me, but didn't have the motivation to get up at the ass-crack of dawn like me. So I waited and waited and waited in the bus station, only to find out that out of these 100 people...there's only one bus. Merde. Fortunately though I run into a girl from my language class at the university- Katherine (who's from Dover, MA! Weird!) is there with, like, sooo many Americans girls. I was just wondering: where they hell did they all come from? Apparently they all go to Davidson in the South, but the 7 of them are studying in Europe- one in Paris, Madrid, Grenoble, Florence, Prague. So that would make me the 8th person, perfect since we need two taxis to take us to Chamrousse. Prices aren't actually that bad-€20 for the taxi, €17 for rentals and only €11 for a lift ticket IN THE ALPS- I mean, come on. It works out perfectly though because we split off 4 and 4 for the day; Katherine, Emily and Eleanor are all super good skiiers and appreciate the view of the mountains as much as I do ! We ski a LONG-ass day; 10 in the morning until 4 in the afternoon! But the mountain is so huge and just keeps going and going and going ...We just hopped on different chairlifts and different trails and wound up in a new place (unlike Loon Mtn, where every trail leads to the bottom). Another thing about ski stations in the Alps is there's no lodge down at the bottom to warm up, each lunch, hang out. Nope. Just snow and the Maison de Tourisme, where you're not allowed to pique-nique.
We got off this one trail where it hasn't been groomed yet, so we're in full powder, surrounded by glades- it was amazing ! The view at the top of the téléferrique was unreal- just mountains everywhere you look. Later in the day, the clouds moved in over Grenoble way down there in the valley, so it looked like we were skiing down into a sea of clouds. So cool! By the end of the day, I catch the ONLY bus out of Chamrousse back to Grenoble. Quick shower at home, and although I'm exhausted and my legs are shot from skiing all day, I meet up with Marie-Eve and some studiants for some fondue at this really cool restaurant in the quartier on the other side of the river L'Isère. It's down this little street and barely has a sign outside advertising it, but is all very well-known. It's called A Confesse and is Halloween themed and very quirky. Both times I've been there, they've played Pink Floyd's "Dark Side of the Moon" for a weirdish atmosphere. I sat down with Kelly, Geoffrey and Anna and we literally laughed our asses off all night. I get along so well with Kelly, we both have the same ridiculous sense of humor. The cheese fondue was delicious, as was the chocolate fondue dessert. Geoffrey ordered this dessert called "Jekyll and Hyde" and had gummy eyeballs and rats in it ! Gross! But kinda good!

Preview of Paris

2008-12-03T16:21:00.000-08:00

Monday, December 1st
What a great way to start off the month of December- Paris for the night! My friend Gabriel (from Venezuela, also studying at the CUEF) asked me to join him for the night to visit Paris and see the City of Lights. We hop on a train around 6pm at night, after classes, and catch the TGV from Lyon to Paris. We are so silly at the bar at the back of the train, laughing and joking around over a beer - but after no dinner and two beers later, we get off the train at Gare de Lyon in Paris with no idea where to go! Soon his cousin Hugo (from Venezuela, but lives in Paris now) comes to pick us up at the station. We take the metro over to St. Michel, right near Notre-Dame Eglise in the 1st arrondissement of Paris. What a beautiful little quartier..It's filled with quaint little streets and loads of restaurants. We walk by shops, bars, pubs and loads of ethnic restaurants, and finally settle on a Savoyard Fondue place down some little rue. The food and wine is delicious, as is conversation. Hugo's wife Carla does humanitarian work all around the world (is in Colombia right now), and does independent consulting for organizations like the Red Cross. Immediately, I want to meet with her to learn more about the work she does.
Around 22h30, we all take the metro to the 2nd arron to meet Juliette for drinks in her neighborhood. She is Meredith's lovely daughter, now working at Warner Bros studios in Paris. She shows us around Montorgueil, another great area filled with Christmas decorations, little shops and people! Another Venezuelan friend Isabella joins us for drinks. Ironically, Isabella, Gabriel and Juliette are all into FILM- either working or studying it...so they have lots to talk about. Meanwhile, Hugo makes me laugh so much! He's so chubby and lovable- love him! We all order vin chaud at the bar and talk about Venezuela. Later, we catch the bus back to Hugo's studio near la Mairie de Lilas on the onze.
Next morning, Hugo's up early to do work but Gabriel and I aren't too stressed to get out of the house. We all enjoy a very French breakfast of cafe, hot chocolate and croissants with apricot jam. Gabriel and I start our adventure with Montmartre- Hugo, who could not be any nicer, accompanies us to the right train stop and leaves us to explore. On the train, some guy who is very nicely dressed (but still reeked of alcohol from the night before) talks our ear off about decibels or some crap like that... ha!
Soon we find Le Sacre-Coeur, right on the hilltop of Montmartre, overlooking all of Paris. It is magnificient ! Just like in my favorite scene of Amelie.... We take some fun pictures, and then explore the square with all the Montmartre painters. Their favorite thing to paint? Oui, la Tour Eiffel. We take the metro from Anvers to Trocadero- coming out of the metro is like BAM! Cuz the Eiffel Tower is right there in front of you- so gorgeous. I feel the same way about the Eiffel Tower as Lillian does about Il Duomo of Florence- I don't think I'll ever tire of it and could stare at it all day. We spot some (real-live) models (in their natural habitat) doing their little catwalk thing right in front of it- I mean, could you be more Parisienne?
But, the highlight of our day was not so much the touristy bit, but opening a bottle of wine on a bench right in front of the Eiffel Tower and slowly sipping it for about 2 hours and just enjoying life. We bask in the sunlight and crack jokes about how French we feel right now.
Next stop- Arc de Triomphe! It's fun because we have a mutual friend at the CUEF, from Dubai, who half brags all the time that he has an apartment on Champs-Elysees...so when we're there, the two of us joke around shouting his name, going "Faisal! Ou est tu?!" The Arc de Triomphe is naturally magnificient, as is Champs-Elysees - all decked out in Christmas decorations. We go into the Peugeot car boutique and admire all the beautiful new designs coming out. Next stop: Louis Vuitton- pourquoi pas? It is...unreal. An experience. Luxury at it's finest, but it's a bit overwhelming. We walk alllll the way down La Seine, past Place de la Concorde, to the Louvre and Musee d'Orsay to admire the beautiful architecture, the glass pyramide and Notre-Dame in the distance. We hop on the metro again to meet another cousin (I swear, that's how every story starts with Gabriel: "I have a cousin...") Pierre at Rambuteau, in the 1eme arrondissement. Pierre is half Venezuelan, but grew up in France and lives in Paris now (and about to become a papa!) We have a drink all together and talk in French, then I'm on my way to catch my train home from Gare de Lyon.
It's a short visit, a taste si vous voulez, but I can't wait to come back and explore some more.

Skiing in the Alps

2008-11-30T01:32:00.000-08:00

How I can I go back to skiing at Loon in New Hampshire once I've tasted the Alps?! Conditions were beyond perfection...fresh powder everywhere, endless trails, chairlifts that bring you to a new corner of the glacier, and BIG open trails.
Me, Gabriel, Isrrael (brothers from Venezuela, studying at le CUEF) Sasha, Sammy and Tom hop on a 2 hour bus on Friday night and arrive in the snowy ski town of Les Deux Alpes. There's just one main road, with ski shops, quaint little restaurants and pubs and cabins. In the night, you can see the outline of the ski trails sloping right down into the village. We stay at L'Hotel Des Neiges, and eat dinner all together at a fondue restaurant. Guinness beers afterwards in the local pub- meet loads of English people who work at the ski station during the winter.
Saturday morning, we way up at 8am and get our gear on - it's ski time ! It's takes a while to rent equipment, buy tickets and get breakfast (and cafe au lait), so it's almost 11am by the time we get on the first teleferry. It's a big round gondola that everyone jumps into, about 10 to each one. A 15 minute ride brings us up over the first mountain and to the base of the glacier. There's another teleferry to bring you to the top of the glacier, but we decide we just want to ski before waiting in any more lines. I kind of wish we went then because tempests came later on, so we never make it to the top :( Oh well, next weekend!
Instead, we all ski down to another chairlift (through some horribly cold wind) and hit a few slopes- the skiing is spectacular. I couldn't help screaming out "WOOP WOOP!" as I flew down the trail. Sasha and I are at exactly the same speed, so we stuck together throughout the day, while Gabriel and Issrael paired up (both snowboarders), and Sammy and Tom paired up. Sammy is from Vale, Colorado so she's a mad good skiier, but stuck with Tom (from Texas) who's never skiied before.

Sasha's incredibly good at snowboarding - it was so great to just FLY down the slopes. We get to one point on the mountain and just admire the breathtaking view of all the mountains in the distance. We couldn't get over the views, the powder, the conditions (and all the hot snowboarders :) Unfortunately, the wind gets too strong at the top so we make our way down to the base for lunch... we come to a crossroads- green trail (half of which is flat, no good for snowboarders) or black (très difficile). We debate, look at each one, look at each other- "Black?"
"Let's go for it!" We can't even see the other side of the trail, that's how steep it is- plus, the entire start of the trail doesn't have powder on it, so we just slide (and swear) our way down. It is SO steep - my legs are on FIRE as I try to turn sharply and hit the moguls. At one point, I lose control and take a little tumble...oh, can't stop, still tumbling, I CAN'T STOP! Op, there goes one pole, I'm rolling head over heals - I slide about 50 feet! I am a giant snowman, covered in snow. But I'm laughing laughing laughing because I literally couldn't stop rolling, it was so steep!
I use the rest of the energy left in my legs to get down the mountain- whew! Ok, never again... Blacks in NH are not the same as black diamonds in the Alps. Sasha and I are cracking up though because she just watched me tumble my way down the mountain, with my skis in the air and me freaking out! We walk a whiiiile over to a local restaurant for some hot pumpkin soup and espressos. The others guys all trickle in and we call it a day- the others got stuck in the tempest at the top and look frozen nearly to death. We all sit around for about 2 hours! The bus back to Grenoble isn't until 6pm...

Sanskgiving in Fronce

2008-11-28T05:24:00.000-08:00

We had a petit soirée chez Marie-Eve last night for Thanksgiving. It seems to me that the French really don't get our holiday- "What? A holiday where you just eat?" Yes, when you think about it, there's no religious banter about resurrections or deaths or births- just giving thanks for the heaps of food on the table. Once again, we've prooved to the French that we are indeed crazy. :) So Marie-Eve, our wonderful program director, keeps up with the American traditions, all the way over in Grenoble, and orders massive amounts of turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, cranberry sauce (the good kind) and gravy. The meal was delicious, although don't ever try to cut turket breast with a plastic fork- I go through about three. Then, of course, we break with tradition and add a little French twist- a cheese course. I've never seen so many on one plate before! Chevre, vache, fromage bleu- it certainly was a feast. When dessert came out, I could hear the bells of heaven. Geoffrey, our petit chef cooked a homemade pumpkin pie to die for. It's on the table for about 1.46 minutes before bam! it's gone. Others brought apple tarts, cakes, brownies, gateaux, and pudding.
After our feast, we celebrate Canaan's birthday with music - Jill and Geoffrey hit the piano and play songs that we all sing to. Canaan plays "Blackbird" and "Hey You've Got to Hide Your Love Away" by the Beatles on her guitar, I sing (2 glasses of wine later...). Then, for the finale of the talent show, Marion, Max, Evan and I get dressed up in 80s hairband costumes for our "air band" called "The Lost Kitties" (long story). It is fabulous ! Everyone laughs at our ridiculous costumes and Marion's imitation of Eddie Money singing "Take Me Home Tonight". I find a marocca in Marie-Eve's apartment, which entertains me the rest of the night haaha. After, Patrice does some ridiculous activity with all 25 of standing in a big circle. First we all whisper "Shoo shoo wa shoo shoo wa shoo shoo wa wa wa" and then sing "La laaaa la la la laaaaa" in a round until all of us have feet in, knees bent, butt sticking out, head up, tongue out! It was ridiculously funny, esp Patrice! Later, a bunch of us take the beers Evan brought to the soirée and drink them in a park, then "beers on a sidewalk" when he drops the box and they all explode :(

Is it France? Is it Germany? No, it's Strasbourg!

2008-11-17T03:27:00.000-08:00

It was a 7 hr bus ride to get there, but the trip was obviously worth it. We are going to a completely new and different region of France. We drive past the luscious fields of Burgundy, past Dijon, through Franche-Comte (which borders Switzerland), Le Doubs and into Les Vosges of Alsace. We arrive in Colmar, in southern Alsace, around 2pm in the afternoon. It is a city along La Route des Vins, or winecountry! There are vineyards absolutely everywhere, in this luscious and fertile valley nourrished by the Rhine river. Colmar, as the name suggests, has a very German feel to it. Anna and I immediately associate lunch- German- BRATWURST! and wander in search of it around the little streets of Colmar. But to no avail..I guess we're not in Germany after all, but still in France :(
Colmar is very charming, quaint and beautiful- they were just starting to set up the famous Christmas markets that happens all over Alsace, and to which all the French flock for Christmas gifts. There was a cute little river that ran through the town, cobblestone roads and very different architecture. All weekend I felt as if we were in Germany, not in France. The houses all had those colonial architecture and wooden frames... but everyone spoke French ! So it was trippy....
They speak a dialect called Alsacien, sounding more German than French.
In Colmar, we explored the little shops and admired the giant sandstone cathedral in the centre - the stones were all carried from Les Vosges mountains surrounding Colmar. We got back on the bus and drove to a tiny village surrounded by green, luscious vineyards, fed and nourished by Le Rhin. In the town of Kientzheim, we visited a vineyard for a degustation du vin (pas du fromage this time :( First we saw all the big wooden vats that store the vin, and the compression vat that squishes the grapes. We got to taste about 6 white wines, which were all absolutely delicious. There was a Reisling, a Gewurtztraminer Schlossberg and a Pinot Gris to name a few. It smelled so good in the there! Like wine, apples and pears....
We walked through the little village, past the fountain and la mairie (town hall). An hour to Strasbourg; Aly and I just played the whole time with our scarves, tying them like gypsy women.
In Strasbourg, we settled into the hotel, got dressed for dinner and walked through a bit of the city to get to the restaurant. Then BAM ! The most breathtaking cathedral I think I will ever see, Strasbourg's claim to fame. It was literally breath-taking, when you turn the corner and suddenly this enormous cathedral rises up above you, all lit up and gothic !
We ate flemmenkuchen (flatbread pizza with cream cheese, ham and croucroute/sauerkraut) at a beer hall in the center and drank big pitchers of delicious German beer.
The beer hall reminded me SO much of the Hofbrau house in Munich - I really felt like I was in Germany! But no, it's still France ! A little history lesson of Strasbourg, by the way -
After the war in 1871, Germany (Prussia, at the time) took the rich, fertile region from France. At the end of WWI, the territory was taken by France. During the German occupation from 1940-1944, the territory was retaken by Germany, and finally given back to France in 1945. Finally, someone had the bright idea of asking the actual people there which country they wanted to belong to, and they chose France. So that's why the language sounds Germanic, but the street signs are half in Frence, half in Alsacien.
Strasbourg is the home of Gutenberg- you know, the guy who invented the printing press and basically set off everything in Europe. Also the home of De Lille, who wrote the French national anthem La Marseillaise. Why is it called La Marseillaise you ask ? Well during the French Revolution, or some war (I forget actually) they used the song to inspire troops to fight to save the liberty of their beloved France (we all know how much the French freakin love their liberty), and a troop from Marseille sang the song when they were fighting in Paris . Something romantic like that.
On Saturday morning, we were up at 8am for breakfast, then out and about in the city. We walked first to Le Vieux Quartier- called La Petite France. Sounds cute and quaint, but back in the Middle Ages, it's where they used to cure venereal diseases all the sailors would pick up. Nice. But today, all the old buildings remain and give the quarter a very old, Mid Ages feel to it. And of course, all that German architecture. We went on an hour-long boat ride up and down the Rhine that runs through the city. We even went into a lock! Reminded me of our houseboating trip in southern France and all the locks we went through :)
Saw old buildings, cathedrals, statues at one end of the river, and at the other was the Conseil de l'Europe, ultramodern. Quite a juxtaposition ....what a great city for the Conseil de L'Europe, in a city between two countries that used to loathe each other, and now work together.
We visited an outdoor market, full of fresh fruits and wine from the fertile region. So many smells, and sounds...an accordian and a trumpet duet, a mime nearby. We went inside the huge cathedral (the only one in France to fly to French flag) to see the astronomical clock.
Julia, Doug, Evan, Anna and I sat into a very cozy restaurant for a midday beer and choucroute, the regional specialty. Anna and I finally found our bratwurst and hot wine, which were both out of this world. We also bought roasted chestnuts- so Christmassy!

Dégustations et Lyon

2008-11-17T03:01:00.000-08:00

We had wine tasting chez Celine et Remy for degustations du vin et du fromage. So much fun! Celine is the housing coordinator for the Grenoble program, Remy is her husband. He is very soft-spoken but kind of a big deal...He travels to Paris every week to eat at world-class restaurants and try exceptional wines, and then rate and write about it for the Michelin guide. What a job ! Paid to eat ! So he taught us a little about wines and fromage. He started us all out with a white wine - I actually learned what those words "dry" or "woody" or "fruity" mean! Before I would taste a wine and say "Oh yeah, this is so dry" and actually have no idea what I was talking about.... Ha! First we looked at the wine to see and judge by its color. Next you look at les jambes (the legs) to see les larmes, which indicates how much sugar or alcohol is in there. The next part is my favorite because it sounds so funny and I just picture doing it in a fancy-schmancy Parisien restaurant - its called retro-olfaction. Basically you drink a tiny bit of wine, then breathe in air through your mouth, then blow the air out through your nose. This way, the olfactory in your nose picks out the different scents and flavors of the wine. But it sounds like everyone is slurping ! Next you sniff the wine, swirl it, and smell again for new scents. Remy asks us what flavors we can pick out- fruity or flowery? Throughout the lesson, we smell apple, pear, orange, cassis, blueberry; for flowers, jasmine, rose, lavender, honey, cinnamon, leather, cloves. It's amazing the scents I could never pick out before.
We also tried with each wine some fromage from the region where le vin was made. The first one is a milk-based, very creamy cheese from La Haute-Savoie. Next, to go with our red wine we had a thicker, heavier cheese, like Comte. Another cheese was fromage bleu and delicious; un autre was le fromage de brebis - or ewe milk. So yummy!

I took the train right after to Lyon Part-Dieu to meet my new friend Benjamin. Ben is pretty cool! ..so French. Especially when he speaks English words like "perfect" hehe. But it's good cuz he makes fun of my accent and I make fun of his :) He also complains about...everything! But that's the French for you, everything that m'ennerve. We cook an easy dinner chez lui and then hit up a party in the chic quartier de Lyon. You can hear the party from 3 blocks away, which is always a good sign :) The theme of the party is La Crise, in sync with the economic crisis, so half the people are wearing shredded clothes, messed up hair, and a majority of the mecs (guys) there aren't wearing shirts! Or pants! I love France! I quickly realize that I don't know a single person here...Merde...Outside to the balcony, that's always a good way to meet people. I start talking with these cool girls, one who is in Lyon looking at schools. Everyone asks me all night if I go to EM Lyon, one of the top grand ecole business schools in France, and probably in Europe. A majority of the students I met at this party come from Paris, so it was cool to get a feel for what Parisiens are like- wicked cool. I should be in good hands. After that, I started talking to one of Ben's friends and we talk about franglais, or English words they use in French conversation, like Oui, c'est too much. But pretty soon, they have to leave as well- I have to find a new person to talk to! A guy is walking back inside, I quickly ask him in French "C'est quoi ta crise la?" ....what his crise is. He's not wearing a shirt, just a blazer with a price sticker on it. Anddd begin next conversation with Beaudoin from Paris. Through him I meet loads of cool people, one girl named Sixtine, who worked for a summer at RISD in Providence. She was so sweet! Offered to show me around Paris when I get there. I also met a guy, wearing a cow costume randomly, who is half French, half Scottish/English. Told me he's a baronnette- his father is a baron, his family name is (extremely British): Haycraft. But I just laughed at him because...he was wearing a cow costume with udders, so how am I supposed to take him seriously?
Sunday morning, Ben and I walked all around the old quartier de Lyon, which is absolutely beautiful. We walked up some endless stairs to a beautiful cathedral that overlooks the city of Lyon. The city reminded me a bit of Florence, with the houses all painted a light yellow, a big river running through it and small, cobblestones alleys that wind through the city. In the afternoon, our program took us to see Romeo and Juliet, the ballet at the Opera House. It was fantastic !

Gobama!

2008-11-07T03:30:00.000-08:00

We had a lot of fun over here for the elections- we started watching at 11pm here in a local pub, but it was too early for much election coverage, the first polls were just starting to close. So we returned home to get some sleep...going to bed felt like the night before Christmas! Only because you know you'll wake up early for a very nice, inevitable surprise...
We woke up at 5 am and had a little party with fresh croissants et espresso at our director's office au centre ville. Some journalists from the local France-3 channel came by to film us all huddled around a computer feeding us live info off the internet on CNN.com - at 5am here they announced that Obama won and we all went wild! A few of us got a little teary eyed at his acceptance speech. Very inspiring and very exciting. It's a much different experience for me here in France with the election results than in the States- I'm finally proud to say I'm American again. The French have gained a little more respect for me, and each time I say I'm American, they reply with "You voted Obama! Good job!" . The French are extremely informed over here, at least in Grenoble, about the elections. I had a conversation with a guy the other day who knew so many details about each candidate, I was very impressed. Even before the election, Obama was on the cover of many newspapers and magazines, one saying "Would they dare elect him?". I guess I'm seeing how much the results of our decisions as a nation affect our neighbors, allies and the whole world. Do you think its the other way around though ? For example, when France was choosing their next Pres, I'll admit I had no idea who the candidates were ! Maybe that's the difference between our country and others..
Anyway, we each were interviewed Wed morning about our thoughts on the election results, here it is! Its all in French, but bon courage! Its the video all the way at the end of the page, labeled "Grenoble Etudiants Americains Emus (Elated)"...Im all the way at the end of the video.
http://rhone-alpes-auvergne.france3.fr/info/48272388-fr.php#para48286006

Much love to all and Gobama!

Making Progress

2008-10-01T05:36:00.000-07:00

I feel like I'm getting more and more confident at French everyday! When I ride home on my bicycle, I listen to French music by either Carla Bruni or Yelle (sorry, that's all I have for now...) and try to catch every word they're speaking. I'm making progress. The bike path home is wonderful; it follows along L'Isere, I wear my Ray-Bans and meander along the bike path that goes direct from my house in Ile Verte to the University. I've been picking up a lot of things about the French language, little mannerisms, isms, if you will. One ism is how hard it is for anglophones to pronounce the vowels here. I learned in Linguistics the actual science behind it: they pronounce vowels at the front of their mouth rather than the back like us. As a result, sounds like "Je dit" sounds like a breath whisper or whistling at the end of the sentence. Can't quite master it, but at least I'm aware of it! They also go "euuuuhhh" rather than "ummm", and it seems to me that speaking French is much easier if you pucker out your lips hehe- it looks ridiculous to try, but it makes you sounds more French!
For my semester-long ethnography project, I've decided to do a study on "Franglais", mainly how English words are introduced, welcomed and rolled around in the French language. That is to say, how an English word is Francophonized- for example, les keufs is a verlan version of an English word for police- les flics. In the words of my French professor, the word was introduced into le roulette of the French language, tossed around and came out in verlan. I also think it's fascinating which words, especially English turned verlan, are recognized and understood by your everyday French person. What I want to do is look at different age groups, see what English words they use on a regular basis and which are thrown into a sentence. It would be most interesting to look at those who speak little or no English, such as my host father, yet use Franglais to express themselves in everyday life. Next, I want to look at how these words make their way in the French lexicon. How did cool and speed get introduced? American or British television shows? The media? Starting in Paris and then spreading out to the rest of France?
Another aspect, which broadens the topic a lot but it quite interesting, is how words from other languages are introduced and used in French conversation. For example, we talked about the word mesquin yesterday in class, an Arab word meaning missing generosity or grandeur that was introduced to the French lexicon back during the Middle Ages. It would be interesting the trade of individual words from an array of different languages, the swapping of words. The English language is a prime example; I've been making a list of all the French words we Americans, or Brits, use in everyday language without a thought to the origin of the word. For example: Voila, Bon Voyage, Bon Appetit, chic, cliché, and gourmet. See?!!?
Anyway, if anyone is interested in either participated in a survey I'll be sending out or have any more ideas, send 'em my way!

My French is getting better at the expense of my English. I can't form a proper sentence anymore! I swear by the time I get back to the States, I'll barely be able to converse normally with someone. I remember when that happened to Lillian when she got back from a year in Italy and said "I'm having 'ifficulties!"

La Grande Chartreuse

2008-09-29T15:50:00.001-07:00

Ah, at last, the Alps. My most préférée journée last Sunday, when we drove into the heart of the Rhone-Alps to the Chartreuse Region. Our coach bus chugged its way up the windy, hairpin turns, past the empty ski huts preparing for winter, the alpine log cabins and the endless pastures of caramel-colored cows. Just when I thought we couldn't go any higher (or that our bus wouldn't make it another inch) we just kept climbing and climbing. I knew we had arrived when the road literally ended- on top of a mountain. There was a little log hut serving hot beverages and the most incredible blueberry tart you've ever seen. We started en route up a cow pasture to reach the very tippity-top of the mountain (had to watch where we were going so we didn't step in big piles of cow dung!). Up and up and up along a windy path that weaved back and forth among rocks and steep slopes. At the very top of the mountain was a giant cross- no, not where someone died (that would be tragic, not to mention scary as seeing there were cliffs all around us) but to symbolize the heavily religious area. Why? In the distance was the famous La Grande Chartreuse Monastère, founded in 1084 by Saint Bruno. The monks wanted to build a monastery in a most isolated region, hidden and protected under the jagged mountains above.
At the top, the view was absolutely breathtaking. We're talking 360 degree view here- all around were just endless mountains. It seemed as if they never stopped. Each mountain was blanketed in velvery pastures, dotted with cows, with a rocky ridge on top. Far down below you could make out the road snaking its way through the valley and see all the clusters of villages.
Our group found a spot back down the path in a grassy field for our picnic. And for entertainment? Why, les parapentistes! Paragliders, if you will- over fifteen of them! A bunch of guys lay out their parachutes, strapped themselves to the harness, made a run for it- and literally jumped off a cliff. Made me think of: "Just because someone else jumped off a cliff, would you?"- hell freakin yeah!
It looked like SO much fun - you just float in the air on a giant parachutes, gliding on the air currents, swooping in and out over the massive valley. Sign me up for the next trip! A bunch of kids from our program are going October 8th- get back to you on that one :)
After lunch, Stephanie and I frolicked through a field a grass- on top of an Alp. It was amazing and felt quite appropriate. On our way down, there were these two little boys with their parents, walking down the treacherous path (and doing great! Little French babies!). One had curly blonde hair and they both were no older than five years old and ADORABLE. The little brunette finally stood in my way, and in his little voice goes: "Non! Tu peut pas passer!" while holding his arms up. Merdeux!
On the way down, Stephanie and I gently sang Sound of Music songs, like "The Hills Are Alive," "My Favorite Things," and that one that the puppets sing (we just liked the yodeling part.)
So on our way down this green pasture, spotted with dairy cows (wearing big cowbells and makin' a racket! Thought of Grandma's cowbell...I kept thinking someone was calling me for lunchtime), we were yodeling and skipping and just having a great time. As one point, I realized how much fun the hills looked like for rolling- so I just rolled the rest of the way down! It's fun to be a kid...
A cup of hot chocolate at the little lodge warmed us right up, bought some fromage, the freshest, with Geoffrey. Also immediately thought of Claire when I saw this beautiful St. Bernard running along on one of the hillsides. I thought, "A St. Bernard! On an Alp! Where's Claire?!"
Back on the bus, back down the hairpin turns, and right back up another Alp in search of the monastery. First, we visited a church in a nearby village completed decorated by an artist's contemporary religous artwork of the Bible. Extremely interesting. Who knew you could find such a treasure in a tiny Alpine village outside Grenoble. I'll say that the church was extremely bright and colorful, and each painting (there were at least 50!) had abstract drawings of biblical figures and angels (and a very abstract depiction of Christ above, like none other). There was a lot of red in the paintains and he used a lot of gold flecks in his work. Fascinating!
The road to the monastery wound right along a clear stream, and if you looked up, you saw only great rocks above from the tops of the hills. Nestled in the mountains is the monastery Chartreuse.
D'abord, we checked out the museum to get a sense of what life what like in the monastery for the forty or so monks who live there. They live in solitude in one modest room with a bed, desk, stove and pulpit. The only day they are allowed to talk are Sundays, when the monks have déjeuner together and discuss philosophy, God, gossip? Doubt it. At one point, we all self-reflected about living in that kind of solitude and speaking so rarely. Not for me, but I have immense respect for it.
To see the monastery (you aren't actually allowed to enter it but just view), we walked about a mile down a long road lined with big trees and cow pastures. Climbed up yet another hillside that overlooked the entire monastery nestled in a small valley hidden between two mountains. It was breathtaking- the sun was just setting over a hillside and the light shone through the trees to show a cascade of light down the mountain. Incroyable.
For me, the biggest highlight was after walking all the way back, un frère passed us on a bicycle and said "Bonsoir!" - a monk! On a bicycle! Wearing a beret! And talking, because it was Sunday. You don't see that everyday!

Antsy in Annecy

2008-09-24T13:32:00.000-07:00

So yesterday we had a day trip to Annecy, right near the Italian/Swiss border- not too far from Mont Blanc! Its a beauutiful Alp village called the "Venice of France" bc it has canals running through it (buttttt in reality not nearly as cool as Venice!). It's famous for a lot of things including where Jean-Jacques Rousseau lived for a while (and met his mentor Madame de Warens) and its Sunday market, where all the little cobblestone streets are filled with farmers selliing fruits/veg, salamis, sausage and FROMAGE! ( The farmers are such alpine mountain-men with big bushy beards hehe!). I picked up a lot of Italian walking through the streets because we were so close to the border. Annecy is right on Lake Annecy, which is 14 km in length and the most gorgeous color blue! It lies at the base of all these mountains and is absolutely pristine. In the summer, Solomon himself (as in Solomon ski gear) has a house there as well as the most populated five-star hotels/restaurants in France! Wow! I can picture it well during the summertime, with the big park going right up to the bord du lac and families walking around, swimming, wind-surfing, sailing, paddle-boating.
For lunch, we had a famous Savoie meal called raclette : it's similar to fondue (also originated in Savoie region) but wayyy cooler- you take a wheel big of cheese (best cheese I honestly will EVER have), slice it in half and stick it a heat source and let it melttttt right on to a plate of potatoes, salami, prosciutto, cornichons et oignons. Delicieux.

The last picture is with the director of the program, Marie-Eve Scheibling, who is absolutely wonderful. We would be perdue without her!

All for now, all my love!
Bisoux,
Julia