heeeelp!!!
Today is supposed to be the hottest day ever...37 degrees celcius....you do the math.
I sit in my room with my face practically in my tiny little fan, waiting for a friend to accompany me on a grand adventure - finding an air-conditioned cafe nearby. Oh, it will be quite the conquest.
Later, I'm going to take my camera gear to a local cathedral, where hopefully I will get an interview with a nun. I'm trying to film a little something something that may or may not work out so we'll see....it's so hard to get people here to open up to you though.
First, it's hard to form all those vague, non-threatening, complimentary, connotations-laden sentences that I can in English when speaking to people in the states.
Next - in Tours, you don't really talk to strangers and get them to reveal their life story to you...it's just never done and doesn't really work :(
Third - everyone really really values privacy...like liquid gold... or solid gold...or ...platinum? And religion is just absolutely not spoken about (I think I mentioned this in another post).
So hopefully I'll get a nun or two to talk to me today....that is, if she actually shows up. I mean, I don't know ... nuns are generally untrusworthy, shady people, so I need to think of a plan B in case I get stood up. Again. Two days ago, I was supposed to meet one of them at 15 oclock on the dot. I showed up, panting from lugging my equipment in the heat of the day, and expectantly entered the grand cathedral. My eyes flew to the little booth where we were supposed meet.
The light was off, and there was not a habit in sight.
:(
It was like being knocked on the head by a giant lollipop. Strange and ...nonsensical.
Yay for Ireland tomorrow! And Paris in 1.5 weeks, and then CA. I miss America. I'm sorry, I can't help it. Thought it has been an adventure here, I really really am so excited to come back home.
mwah
jean
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Monday, August 17, 2009
quick update
2 weeks left to go! Trying to wrap things up with Rotary, see if I can get some more footage (of the little I have), and enjoy!
Last Friday, went with French Grandpa, French Grandma, and my Swedish Friend Sarah on a tour of Tours. French Grandpa, Andre, and French Grandma, Josette, took us to 2 castles, their garden in the suburbs, 3 parks, a painter's studio (their friend), and finally back to their summer house for a 6 course meal, 4-hour dinner complete with all traditional foods of Touraine. Quite the experience! And I gave him the fish-shaped soap I bought for him in Marseille :)
Leaving for Ireland in 3 days..for surfing, cliff jumping, exploring castle ruins, guiness touring, hiking mountains, etc. Woot! Paris next weekend, and then back to the US. Sorry I've been such a delinquint during the second half of my stay...I just don't feel like writing out everything that's going on....and that's my lame excuse.
Hopefully that'll change when I get back from Ireland...and I'll try to post photos from Marseille...but my start-up disk/memory drive is almost full :( My poor macbook...I've used it so hard for the past 3 years...
love
Jean
Last Friday, went with French Grandpa, French Grandma, and my Swedish Friend Sarah on a tour of Tours. French Grandpa, Andre, and French Grandma, Josette, took us to 2 castles, their garden in the suburbs, 3 parks, a painter's studio (their friend), and finally back to their summer house for a 6 course meal, 4-hour dinner complete with all traditional foods of Touraine. Quite the experience! And I gave him the fish-shaped soap I bought for him in Marseille :)
Leaving for Ireland in 3 days..for surfing, cliff jumping, exploring castle ruins, guiness touring, hiking mountains, etc. Woot! Paris next weekend, and then back to the US. Sorry I've been such a delinquint during the second half of my stay...I just don't feel like writing out everything that's going on....and that's my lame excuse.
Hopefully that'll change when I get back from Ireland...and I'll try to post photos from Marseille...but my start-up disk/memory drive is almost full :( My poor macbook...I've used it so hard for the past 3 years...
love
Jean
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Garlic, Grammar, and Grandpas
What a lovely dimanche! I went to bed late last night and did not wake up until 10:30 this morning - slept right through my alarm and thus missed church :(
So I wanted to be productive - I got my grammar books together and headed out in search of a cafe that would be open on a Sunday. Much to my surprise, upon exiting the front door, I was met by all the people of Tours. The streets were jammed pack - it was the festival of garlic. Every you turned, there was a table set up with bouquets - and I mean bouquets- of all different kinds of garlic! Most were woven into bunches with flowers and stems and looked tres joli. Like the festival of music that took place last month, there were vendors and people galore out on the street. So my friend and I took a little digression and hit up the flea market and farmer's market and garlic fair.
Afterwards, we went to Les Trois Rois (The three Kings) cafe and studied French grammar for a good 3 hours. I love French grammar, though I'm very bad at it - I just love how there are so many little rules and once you get it - it all makes sense - even if it is just for a moment...until I forget.
Then we returned home so that I could go on a loooong run. It was very lovely outside - in the low 80's, and everyone, their french dog, and their french mother was outside walking about. So, after talking with some friends on skype, I exited the hostel and headed towards the river.
I like to run away from the main road - it's much more peaceful, less people, better ambiance, more trees and nature and scenic views. But also, I like to regard the little fishermen who like to set up every so often on a small bank. So after a while, I came to a small clearing and decided to take a little dirt road closer to the bank - and from my point of view, I looked down and saw a little old man sitting in his folding chair. At first, I hesitated, not knowing whether I should disturb him or if he would turn out to be a grumpy dude who did not want to be disturbed by a sweaty student jogger. But then I saw his Che Guevara hat hanging on a stick stuck in the bank and I couldn't resist.
So I headed down and pestered him with questions about what he was doing, what kind of fish were in the Loire, if he came there often, etc., etc. He showed me the fish he had already caught - a perch amongst many little ones, and then he asked me if I wanted to give it a go.
So I don't know if you know, but I can't stand reeling in fish. I've only been fishing one time in my life - and that was when I was around 13 years old, with my dad, at a fish farm - ie - a pond full of already caught fish that you can catch to make you feel like a cool fisherman. And after a day of several tramautic experiences (including some very sad accounts of watching bloody, desperately floundering fish gasping on the soggy ground, and my sister swinging her reel too excitedly, thus swinging her rod above her head and hooking me in the leg), I wasn't too keen on trying it out again. But before I came, I resolved to never turn anyone's invitation down if I could help it, so I grabbed the hook from him and gave it a go.
It all came back to me - little black bodies moving through the water, blood, guts, worms, that terrible flapping noise of fruitless attempts to escape - and then I felt a tug - You got one! he told me. So I swung the rod up - but a little too fast - and the fish I had caught glimmered in the air for one moment before my hook slashed completely through his lip and he fell back into the water with a soft *splash!*
Oh my, I said aloud, more frightened then anything. "Goodness, goodness, goodness," said my new friend. "That fish is going to die now" (pointing into the water) "you cut straight through his mouth - he hasn't got a chance."
I apologized profusely, event though I didn't feel that bad because a) if I reeled it in there is no doubt that he would have made me grasp my hand around its flapping lungs and tug it free from the hook, and b) because he said it so kindly I knew he wasn't actually cross.
So for the rest of the time there we spoke and he did the fishing. After an hour, I helped him carry all his things back to his car and was about to head off to finish my run when he invited me to his second home, (next to his mother in law's house) for a drink. So despite my previous experience with getting into a stranger's car and the whole thing turning a bit sour, I went off with Andre - a 59 year old retired half-Spanish half-French man to his place.
After about a 2 minute drive, we stopped in front of these green gates and entered into a lovely garden. Then Andre gave me a tour of his home which was absolutely beautiful complete with a huge open loft-like space upstairs with two big dining tables for entertaining. Then we sat outside on the patio and talked about politics, history, his voyages to North Africa, Greece, Italy, Spain, Crete, Laos (Basically this guy's been everywhere but the states). I was thinking that I should leave, when he told me to stay because he wanted to introduce me to his wife. So we talked about his other house in the countryside, where he has a big garden that produces strawberries, tomatoes, squash, onions, melons, cucumbers - he is SO cool.
Then his wife came home, who was also very nice but not quite as much of an immediate kindrid spirit as Andre. And then they commenced cutting open and gutting the fish. Finally, I said I had to head back and we exchanged e-mail addresses - then I was invited to come to their place in the countryside for a traditional French dinner! And also, to go catch bigger fish with Andre near Amboise. Yay for meeting cool strangers!
I returned home, cut opened my pineapple (which I bought at the market this morning for 50 centimes), and steamed some salmon, mushrooms, onions, and brocolli. After a lovely dinner, I headed to the common room to finish my French homework. But after 20 minutes, I was stuck because I didn't understand when to make an accord between the past participle and the auxiliary verb. Right then, in walked this cool dude from Senegal who lives in my hall. He's a Biology professor and speaks English but refuses to speak it with us since we're supposed to be studying French :) So I asked him for his help and 20 minutes later - I understood. He is such a good teacher! Then I asked him what he did this past weekend and he talked about how he's recovering from Malaria. An expression of terror covered my Korean friend's face - which he saw and thus tried to calm her - "Oh, it's such a normal thing in the place where I come from. Don't worry." Then I talked with the Algerian dude (who also spoke Arabic) and the Moroccan dude (who also spoke a little Hebrew) for another 2 hours about a small French region in Israel and current relations between Israel and Palestine. Sweeeet.
Overall, successful day. I'm a little sore but excited about soon to occur events - Tomorrow, I and the other Rotary scholar are talking with the events coordinator at the Institut about hosting discussion groups about international relations (very broad but I will describe in my future blog posts).
Then I'm making sushi with my friend and going to an "international cafe" even in Tours for international students. Tuesday, I'm going to the Serpant Volant to play blues guitar with Moroccan friend (whose name I forget and must retrieve soon). Wednesday I'm going on a biking trip to a chateau, then hopefully going on a longer biking trip this coming weekend.
Oh - and did I tell you? I'm going to Ireland!!! YIPEEEE!!!!
Love
Jean
So I wanted to be productive - I got my grammar books together and headed out in search of a cafe that would be open on a Sunday. Much to my surprise, upon exiting the front door, I was met by all the people of Tours. The streets were jammed pack - it was the festival of garlic. Every you turned, there was a table set up with bouquets - and I mean bouquets- of all different kinds of garlic! Most were woven into bunches with flowers and stems and looked tres joli. Like the festival of music that took place last month, there were vendors and people galore out on the street. So my friend and I took a little digression and hit up the flea market and farmer's market and garlic fair.
Afterwards, we went to Les Trois Rois (The three Kings) cafe and studied French grammar for a good 3 hours. I love French grammar, though I'm very bad at it - I just love how there are so many little rules and once you get it - it all makes sense - even if it is just for a moment...until I forget.
Then we returned home so that I could go on a loooong run. It was very lovely outside - in the low 80's, and everyone, their french dog, and their french mother was outside walking about. So, after talking with some friends on skype, I exited the hostel and headed towards the river.
I like to run away from the main road - it's much more peaceful, less people, better ambiance, more trees and nature and scenic views. But also, I like to regard the little fishermen who like to set up every so often on a small bank. So after a while, I came to a small clearing and decided to take a little dirt road closer to the bank - and from my point of view, I looked down and saw a little old man sitting in his folding chair. At first, I hesitated, not knowing whether I should disturb him or if he would turn out to be a grumpy dude who did not want to be disturbed by a sweaty student jogger. But then I saw his Che Guevara hat hanging on a stick stuck in the bank and I couldn't resist.
So I headed down and pestered him with questions about what he was doing, what kind of fish were in the Loire, if he came there often, etc., etc. He showed me the fish he had already caught - a perch amongst many little ones, and then he asked me if I wanted to give it a go.
So I don't know if you know, but I can't stand reeling in fish. I've only been fishing one time in my life - and that was when I was around 13 years old, with my dad, at a fish farm - ie - a pond full of already caught fish that you can catch to make you feel like a cool fisherman. And after a day of several tramautic experiences (including some very sad accounts of watching bloody, desperately floundering fish gasping on the soggy ground, and my sister swinging her reel too excitedly, thus swinging her rod above her head and hooking me in the leg), I wasn't too keen on trying it out again. But before I came, I resolved to never turn anyone's invitation down if I could help it, so I grabbed the hook from him and gave it a go.
It all came back to me - little black bodies moving through the water, blood, guts, worms, that terrible flapping noise of fruitless attempts to escape - and then I felt a tug - You got one! he told me. So I swung the rod up - but a little too fast - and the fish I had caught glimmered in the air for one moment before my hook slashed completely through his lip and he fell back into the water with a soft *splash!*
Oh my, I said aloud, more frightened then anything. "Goodness, goodness, goodness," said my new friend. "That fish is going to die now" (pointing into the water) "you cut straight through his mouth - he hasn't got a chance."
I apologized profusely, event though I didn't feel that bad because a) if I reeled it in there is no doubt that he would have made me grasp my hand around its flapping lungs and tug it free from the hook, and b) because he said it so kindly I knew he wasn't actually cross.
So for the rest of the time there we spoke and he did the fishing. After an hour, I helped him carry all his things back to his car and was about to head off to finish my run when he invited me to his second home, (next to his mother in law's house) for a drink. So despite my previous experience with getting into a stranger's car and the whole thing turning a bit sour, I went off with Andre - a 59 year old retired half-Spanish half-French man to his place.
After about a 2 minute drive, we stopped in front of these green gates and entered into a lovely garden. Then Andre gave me a tour of his home which was absolutely beautiful complete with a huge open loft-like space upstairs with two big dining tables for entertaining. Then we sat outside on the patio and talked about politics, history, his voyages to North Africa, Greece, Italy, Spain, Crete, Laos (Basically this guy's been everywhere but the states). I was thinking that I should leave, when he told me to stay because he wanted to introduce me to his wife. So we talked about his other house in the countryside, where he has a big garden that produces strawberries, tomatoes, squash, onions, melons, cucumbers - he is SO cool.
Then his wife came home, who was also very nice but not quite as much of an immediate kindrid spirit as Andre. And then they commenced cutting open and gutting the fish. Finally, I said I had to head back and we exchanged e-mail addresses - then I was invited to come to their place in the countryside for a traditional French dinner! And also, to go catch bigger fish with Andre near Amboise. Yay for meeting cool strangers!
I returned home, cut opened my pineapple (which I bought at the market this morning for 50 centimes), and steamed some salmon, mushrooms, onions, and brocolli. After a lovely dinner, I headed to the common room to finish my French homework. But after 20 minutes, I was stuck because I didn't understand when to make an accord between the past participle and the auxiliary verb. Right then, in walked this cool dude from Senegal who lives in my hall. He's a Biology professor and speaks English but refuses to speak it with us since we're supposed to be studying French :) So I asked him for his help and 20 minutes later - I understood. He is such a good teacher! Then I asked him what he did this past weekend and he talked about how he's recovering from Malaria. An expression of terror covered my Korean friend's face - which he saw and thus tried to calm her - "Oh, it's such a normal thing in the place where I come from. Don't worry." Then I talked with the Algerian dude (who also spoke Arabic) and the Moroccan dude (who also spoke a little Hebrew) for another 2 hours about a small French region in Israel and current relations between Israel and Palestine. Sweeeet.
Overall, successful day. I'm a little sore but excited about soon to occur events - Tomorrow, I and the other Rotary scholar are talking with the events coordinator at the Institut about hosting discussion groups about international relations (very broad but I will describe in my future blog posts).
Then I'm making sushi with my friend and going to an "international cafe" even in Tours for international students. Tuesday, I'm going to the Serpant Volant to play blues guitar with Moroccan friend (whose name I forget and must retrieve soon). Wednesday I'm going on a biking trip to a chateau, then hopefully going on a longer biking trip this coming weekend.
Oh - and did I tell you? I'm going to Ireland!!! YIPEEEE!!!!
Love
Jean
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Always Talk to Strangers
It's my new motto. The best things come out of it. Also, possibly the worst things such as death. But the risk is a small price to pay in the grand scheme of things - we're all gonna die anyways one way or another. Let me explain.
My Korean friend, Bo-Hyun and I were walking down Rue Bretonneau today after classes. She was complaining about her arm fat and i yelled at her in Korean to stop her nonsense. This man must have overhead me, because he stopped us and asked if we could help him write a letter to Korea. We could meet up in an hour at the cafe, he said, and he would buy us coffee and we could help him write the letter.
Now I know this sounds mad shady, and I'm sure many of you would shake your heads at my seemingly dismal use of common sense, but after having spent a year in the shadiest places of Philly with the dodgiest people, I felt like I had a pretty good shady-radar and the friendly looking French man who stood before us seemed harmless. So we agreed.
And what a good decision it was! He is this super cool chef who has a restaurant in Montpelier and was in Tours to take care of his sick mother. He worked in Korea for 3 years, also in Egypt, Argentina, Cuba, Japan, and Thailand. We had a lovely time talking about local cuisine and how his connaisance in Korea was basically like family. Then we started talking about Korean food and Bo-Hyun and I described how we missed it so much. But there is a good asian grocery store in Tours Nord, he told us. I will take you there.
So, despite all my elementary schooling, complete with videos illustrating what happens to children who get into strangers' cars, we got into Jimmy's car. On the way, we told him that we were planning to bike to Amboise, but he refused to let us go explaining how French drivers are crazy, especially on Saturday b/c everyone's drunk for the weekend and insisted on taking us there.
And then we went to the Asian store and bought lots of delicious things. While we were there, Jimmy explained to us several interesting thoughts about different types of Asian cuisine. And then we decided to have a picnic in Amboise. Bo-hyun and I would make the Korean sushi, he would bring the salmon, bread, cheese, and wine. Yay.
Then we headed into the banlieus (countryside) of Tours. I was very unfamiliar with the place and there weren't that many pedestrians. It occurred to me at that point in time that he could very easily kill the both of us, cast us off along the bank, and get away in time to make dinner for sick mother. Just as my imagination was getting the best of me, and thus making me regret my foolishness, he began shuffling in his glove compartment to put away a paper, and while reorganizing it, pulled out a small knife. Oh my, I thought. I didn't see this coming. Terror gripped Bo-Hyun's face. Jimmy looked up - "Oh, ca c'est pour mon champinions" ~ "Oh, this is for my wild mushrooms." Whew.
He ended up taking us to this really cool wine cave near Vouvray called MontLouis. He buys most of the wine for his restaurant from this cave, so he knew about the grapes and fermentation process very well and gave us a private tour followed by a superb wine tasting. And the white wine there, the carbonated one especially, was sooooo delicious. The best I've ever had. He bought a bottle of our favorite bubbly and then we drove to Amboise , next to the castle, and parked across the river. It started raining cords, "Il pleut comme les cords," which describes heavy rain, similiar to the american idiomatic expression "raining cats and dogs." So we sat in the car in the midst of the storm listening to Aretha Franklin and drinking the bubbly, which spilled over his car when we first opened it. After spending an hour there talking in French about movies, cuisine, French-American relations, Korea, eating donkeys, Rabbit, and frogs, we headed back. I got a little tipsy having finished....get this...two whole flutes of wine! Jimminy Crickets- and had to try my hardest not to slur my words and fall asleep immediately.
Back in Tours, we promised to meet up tomorrow at 3 PM after classes, which point in time he will take us to another chateau exploration. Getting out of the car, it started thundering deliciously. And in order to get read of my headache, I went on a run next to the Loire. I think my new favorite pastime is running with the thunder. No one is around and I got the gushing Loire all to myself.
When I returned home, soaked and happy, I looked in the mirror and found something shocking: I have dark circles under my eyes! I am getting old. Old old old. Aging. No really, there are these high school girls at the Institut and I feel ancient next to them. Also, much to my surprise, I realized today something else. I looked in the mirror, double and triple checked : One of my pupils is higher than the other! No really, I think one pupil is set lower in my left eye and my right eye's pupil is set higher!
Strange.
Love
Jean
My Korean friend, Bo-Hyun and I were walking down Rue Bretonneau today after classes. She was complaining about her arm fat and i yelled at her in Korean to stop her nonsense. This man must have overhead me, because he stopped us and asked if we could help him write a letter to Korea. We could meet up in an hour at the cafe, he said, and he would buy us coffee and we could help him write the letter.
Now I know this sounds mad shady, and I'm sure many of you would shake your heads at my seemingly dismal use of common sense, but after having spent a year in the shadiest places of Philly with the dodgiest people, I felt like I had a pretty good shady-radar and the friendly looking French man who stood before us seemed harmless. So we agreed.
And what a good decision it was! He is this super cool chef who has a restaurant in Montpelier and was in Tours to take care of his sick mother. He worked in Korea for 3 years, also in Egypt, Argentina, Cuba, Japan, and Thailand. We had a lovely time talking about local cuisine and how his connaisance in Korea was basically like family. Then we started talking about Korean food and Bo-Hyun and I described how we missed it so much. But there is a good asian grocery store in Tours Nord, he told us. I will take you there.
So, despite all my elementary schooling, complete with videos illustrating what happens to children who get into strangers' cars, we got into Jimmy's car. On the way, we told him that we were planning to bike to Amboise, but he refused to let us go explaining how French drivers are crazy, especially on Saturday b/c everyone's drunk for the weekend and insisted on taking us there.
And then we went to the Asian store and bought lots of delicious things. While we were there, Jimmy explained to us several interesting thoughts about different types of Asian cuisine. And then we decided to have a picnic in Amboise. Bo-hyun and I would make the Korean sushi, he would bring the salmon, bread, cheese, and wine. Yay.
Then we headed into the banlieus (countryside) of Tours. I was very unfamiliar with the place and there weren't that many pedestrians. It occurred to me at that point in time that he could very easily kill the both of us, cast us off along the bank, and get away in time to make dinner for sick mother. Just as my imagination was getting the best of me, and thus making me regret my foolishness, he began shuffling in his glove compartment to put away a paper, and while reorganizing it, pulled out a small knife. Oh my, I thought. I didn't see this coming. Terror gripped Bo-Hyun's face. Jimmy looked up - "Oh, ca c'est pour mon champinions" ~ "Oh, this is for my wild mushrooms." Whew.
He ended up taking us to this really cool wine cave near Vouvray called MontLouis. He buys most of the wine for his restaurant from this cave, so he knew about the grapes and fermentation process very well and gave us a private tour followed by a superb wine tasting. And the white wine there, the carbonated one especially, was sooooo delicious. The best I've ever had. He bought a bottle of our favorite bubbly and then we drove to Amboise , next to the castle, and parked across the river. It started raining cords, "Il pleut comme les cords," which describes heavy rain, similiar to the american idiomatic expression "raining cats and dogs." So we sat in the car in the midst of the storm listening to Aretha Franklin and drinking the bubbly, which spilled over his car when we first opened it. After spending an hour there talking in French about movies, cuisine, French-American relations, Korea, eating donkeys, Rabbit, and frogs, we headed back. I got a little tipsy having finished....get this...two whole flutes of wine! Jimminy Crickets- and had to try my hardest not to slur my words and fall asleep immediately.
Back in Tours, we promised to meet up tomorrow at 3 PM after classes, which point in time he will take us to another chateau exploration. Getting out of the car, it started thundering deliciously. And in order to get read of my headache, I went on a run next to the Loire. I think my new favorite pastime is running with the thunder. No one is around and I got the gushing Loire all to myself.
When I returned home, soaked and happy, I looked in the mirror and found something shocking: I have dark circles under my eyes! I am getting old. Old old old. Aging. No really, there are these high school girls at the Institut and I feel ancient next to them. Also, much to my surprise, I realized today something else. I looked in the mirror, double and triple checked : One of my pupils is higher than the other! No really, I think one pupil is set lower in my left eye and my right eye's pupil is set higher!
Strange.
Love
Jean
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
homesick
alright alright alright. So I haven't posted for a while. Here's my lame apology - I just haven't had the urge to write that much. At first, I attributed my lack of correspondence and over all delinquency to laziness. Then, the next week, I figured I could be excused because of the crazy busy time I've had being lazy. Maybe lazy isn't the right word. Today I spent two hours sitting in a tree overhanging the Loire River reading Le Petit Prince, then a little more writing my story. Then I went to this weird cult-ish gathering in this tiny little chapel on a little street just off of the independent theater. This guy in my class invited me to go - we thought it would be this classical music concert...but then I walked in and saw a bunch of friendly looking nuns, some wearing long jean skirts (?) smiling at me and i thought to myself..."hm...change of expectations." So as not to be impolite, I sat down and, for the next hour, endured the special guest, an old lady all the way from Quebec, who read these letters that Mary (not magdeline or Jesus's mere) wrote. The entire chapel was completely dedicated to Mary...with a crucifix in the front. Yes, the one-woman sing/chant/reading performance was weird in itself, but I was confused by the nuns in the chapel. Did they worship Mary or Jesus? I am of the opinion that you cannot do both. Thoughts?
On Sunday, I walked 4 miles to find a protestant church similar to mine at home. I ended up in Tours Nord, got lost for a while, and ended up at this huge empty (everything is closed on Sundays) parking lot adjunct to what looked like a French version of Costco. So my friend and I walked around and around asking people over and over if they knew of this church, Eglise Evangelique and NO ONE KNEW. And it was supposed to be RIGHT THERE - I knew it - I had looked on a map the night before...but everyone kept telling me that I had passed it a super long time ago and to retrace my steps because I had a long way to head back. But I knew what Church they were talking about which was one I wasnt looking for and I got more and more frustrated over the fact that no one knew that a church existed right in their own neighborhood.
Finally, defeated, we started to head back, when my friend saw a bright blue sign with a cross on it. We followed the path to this open door and as my eyes adjusted from the bright light, I found myself standing in the midst of a small room, right in the middle of the pastor's sermon.
But it was cool...closest thing I found to not just what I'm used to, but Christianity, period. Service, which I only understood a part of, was cool, but what I liked the most was the worship songs in French. I learned so much new vocabulary - stuff they don't teach us at the Institute. Cool.
After everything was over, this nice Korean man approached us and, after finding out that my friend and I were Korean, began to speak to us in Korea. Then he turned around and said "you must meet my kids." He grabbed a boy, who I thought was just a random French boy, but indeed that was his son. So then I brilliantly deduced that his wife was French. Which was why he spoke such good French. And lived in France. Then he called over his wife, a very friendly, motherly blond lady and we spoke for a little in French. But then he put his hand on her shoulder and said in Korean, "Honey, what was the name of that other church closer to them?" And then when she responded, it was like watching a turtle moo. She spoke perfect Korean.
So then the four of us just had a hey day speaking our melanger of KoreanEnglishFrench. Chouette.
Chouette is my new fav word. ~ Sweet.
Anyways,
This weekend, a few friends and I will be going on a biking trip to Amboise - the home of Leonardo Di Vinci - his tomb, a museum of his originals, his former home - and the Amboise Chateau of course! I'm very excited...but not looking forward to the fact that my butt is going to be in so much pain after the entire deal.
Also just bought my ticket to Marseille for the 2nd weekend in August. Very excited!
And though I am having much much fun here learning how to take things a little more slowly, enjoying the culture, getting better at French, and meeting interesting people every day, I am, I must admit, quite homesick. Yeah - for my parents and my CA home and my sister, but also for my family from Penn. I think about a few people every day - par exemple. The other day I went into this huge church which had been just sitting in the city, deteriorating. It had been taken over by the Romans, then bashed by the protestant invaders, and was blocked off so as to preserve the "history" of Tours...that is until the Pope came and suggested that it be fixed up. So my friend Bo-hyun and I went in, just wanting to check it out, and this small little french lady swept us up and took us on a free tour all by our two-sies. I learned quite a lot and was happy I understood a lot of what she was saying - that the church was a motley of gothic, roman, and renaissance architecture since it had been beaten and burnt and abandonned over and over. It's actually quite interesting - in the front arches you can see the little stubbins where the saints icons had been broken off by the protestants...and then compare it to the neighboring arch where the little surviving saints still remain...I guess those protestants didn't do a thorough job of it.
At any rate, by the end of it, we were outside in the garden. I looked up up up at the belltower and asked our guide if she had ever been. She said yes, just with a few other tour guides, but it was blocked off to the public since it was so old and the rails were missing so if you slipped or a strong wind came upon you or if a very large bird knocked you over you would fall fall fall down to the ground and splat next to all those missing saints. This made me want to sneak up there after closing hours, but none of my lame friends would go with me. Which made me think of Zach and the time we snuck up on the roof of the Fine Arts Library. He would have come. Boooo.
Then I thought of Mariya a few days ago when I met this girl named Sarah from Sweden. She is like Mariya - knows what she wants, frank, spunky...European...hahahaha, and she reminded me so much of Mariya - sans Christian - and well...as I would say in French, "Mariya me manque" (I miss Mariya). In French, you flip it around so that the person/thing you miss comes first.
Then this pidgeon nearly killed me and I thought of Sarah - the students here are so kind about my irrationalities but there's nothing like an empathizing kindrid spirit.
Then all throughout my time in Paris I missed the heck out of Sue because I was at the Louvre the whole time and museums are our thing :(
Then I saw these crazy sunglasses at Lafayette and thought of Luis, tennis raquet --> Matt, antique ring -->kristin, Little Prince -> Laura...and the list goes on and on and on and on.
I really really really miss Korean food actually! There is no KIM here (dried seaweed) and I NEED MY KIM...I have rice and avocado and egg and articificial crabmeat...I can even buy pickled radish or make do without kimchi but there is no good kim and it makes me sad...
So I eat chocolate croissants instead! Yaaaay....
I thought about Alaska today...Antioch Church should be going there in a few weeks (mid August?) Please keep them in your prayers.
Love
Jean
I truly miss everyone and sorry for getting mushy on you but really really really want to see you!
On Sunday, I walked 4 miles to find a protestant church similar to mine at home. I ended up in Tours Nord, got lost for a while, and ended up at this huge empty (everything is closed on Sundays) parking lot adjunct to what looked like a French version of Costco. So my friend and I walked around and around asking people over and over if they knew of this church, Eglise Evangelique and NO ONE KNEW. And it was supposed to be RIGHT THERE - I knew it - I had looked on a map the night before...but everyone kept telling me that I had passed it a super long time ago and to retrace my steps because I had a long way to head back. But I knew what Church they were talking about which was one I wasnt looking for and I got more and more frustrated over the fact that no one knew that a church existed right in their own neighborhood.
Finally, defeated, we started to head back, when my friend saw a bright blue sign with a cross on it. We followed the path to this open door and as my eyes adjusted from the bright light, I found myself standing in the midst of a small room, right in the middle of the pastor's sermon.
But it was cool...closest thing I found to not just what I'm used to, but Christianity, period. Service, which I only understood a part of, was cool, but what I liked the most was the worship songs in French. I learned so much new vocabulary - stuff they don't teach us at the Institute. Cool.
After everything was over, this nice Korean man approached us and, after finding out that my friend and I were Korean, began to speak to us in Korea. Then he turned around and said "you must meet my kids." He grabbed a boy, who I thought was just a random French boy, but indeed that was his son. So then I brilliantly deduced that his wife was French. Which was why he spoke such good French. And lived in France. Then he called over his wife, a very friendly, motherly blond lady and we spoke for a little in French. But then he put his hand on her shoulder and said in Korean, "Honey, what was the name of that other church closer to them?" And then when she responded, it was like watching a turtle moo. She spoke perfect Korean.
So then the four of us just had a hey day speaking our melanger of KoreanEnglishFrench. Chouette.
Chouette is my new fav word. ~ Sweet.
Anyways,
This weekend, a few friends and I will be going on a biking trip to Amboise - the home of Leonardo Di Vinci - his tomb, a museum of his originals, his former home - and the Amboise Chateau of course! I'm very excited...but not looking forward to the fact that my butt is going to be in so much pain after the entire deal.
Also just bought my ticket to Marseille for the 2nd weekend in August. Very excited!
And though I am having much much fun here learning how to take things a little more slowly, enjoying the culture, getting better at French, and meeting interesting people every day, I am, I must admit, quite homesick. Yeah - for my parents and my CA home and my sister, but also for my family from Penn. I think about a few people every day - par exemple. The other day I went into this huge church which had been just sitting in the city, deteriorating. It had been taken over by the Romans, then bashed by the protestant invaders, and was blocked off so as to preserve the "history" of Tours...that is until the Pope came and suggested that it be fixed up. So my friend Bo-hyun and I went in, just wanting to check it out, and this small little french lady swept us up and took us on a free tour all by our two-sies. I learned quite a lot and was happy I understood a lot of what she was saying - that the church was a motley of gothic, roman, and renaissance architecture since it had been beaten and burnt and abandonned over and over. It's actually quite interesting - in the front arches you can see the little stubbins where the saints icons had been broken off by the protestants...and then compare it to the neighboring arch where the little surviving saints still remain...I guess those protestants didn't do a thorough job of it.
At any rate, by the end of it, we were outside in the garden. I looked up up up at the belltower and asked our guide if she had ever been. She said yes, just with a few other tour guides, but it was blocked off to the public since it was so old and the rails were missing so if you slipped or a strong wind came upon you or if a very large bird knocked you over you would fall fall fall down to the ground and splat next to all those missing saints. This made me want to sneak up there after closing hours, but none of my lame friends would go with me. Which made me think of Zach and the time we snuck up on the roof of the Fine Arts Library. He would have come. Boooo.
Then I thought of Mariya a few days ago when I met this girl named Sarah from Sweden. She is like Mariya - knows what she wants, frank, spunky...European...hahahaha, and she reminded me so much of Mariya - sans Christian - and well...as I would say in French, "Mariya me manque" (I miss Mariya). In French, you flip it around so that the person/thing you miss comes first.
Then this pidgeon nearly killed me and I thought of Sarah - the students here are so kind about my irrationalities but there's nothing like an empathizing kindrid spirit.
Then all throughout my time in Paris I missed the heck out of Sue because I was at the Louvre the whole time and museums are our thing :(
Then I saw these crazy sunglasses at Lafayette and thought of Luis, tennis raquet --> Matt, antique ring -->kristin, Little Prince -> Laura...and the list goes on and on and on and on.
I really really really miss Korean food actually! There is no KIM here (dried seaweed) and I NEED MY KIM...I have rice and avocado and egg and articificial crabmeat...I can even buy pickled radish or make do without kimchi but there is no good kim and it makes me sad...
So I eat chocolate croissants instead! Yaaaay....
I thought about Alaska today...Antioch Church should be going there in a few weeks (mid August?) Please keep them in your prayers.
Love
Jean
I truly miss everyone and sorry for getting mushy on you but really really really want to see you!
Sunday, July 12, 2009
thoughts,
Movie: Public Enemies
Food: plain yogurt with miel de provence
Song: Jason Mraz please leave France
He is everywhere. Every cafe, bar, store...Mraz is the new French H2O. And at first, I was like, this is nice, an American song here and there to assuage my random onsets of homesickness. But seriously, a girl can only take so much of "LUCKY TO BE IN LOVE WITH MY BEST FRIEND LUCKY TO BE COMING HOME AGAIN..." Please stop.
Public Enemies was terrible. I mean seriously, who was their DP? I think they must have had several, each with a million different cameras and styles and camera settings because if I had to choose a film w/ multiple personality disorder, this would be it. Either that, or one dude had a serious misinterpretation of the word "artistic." The script was blah - just take the most generic cop/thief story, add in the word "blackbird" and you got yourself roughly 2.5 hours of wasted screentime. The only thing that salvaged this movie was Johnny Depp, who was still quite nice to look at and who's character was reminiscent of the lead in Cry Baby, a film which is in my head, one good, long memory. Cotillard was also good for however good she could possibly be in this setting. It really befuddles me, how such a crappy script can nab so much star power...and now I rephrase.. it really is quite shocking how much politics gets in the way of filmmaking. Society needs a filler mid-summer crime film. Through in some money+mindlessness. Voila.
And yet, I had quite a nice moving going experience. I went with a girl from Sweden named Sarah, a guy from Norway named Ivan, and a girl from Korea named Bo-Hyun. Bo-Hyun's English and French are not so stellar. My Korean and French are not so stellar. Thus we use Fronglish to communicate. It's really quite interesting - I can almost feel my brain switching on and off the different knowledge compartments it's made for itself, and very amusing to myself. Anyways, it was interesting because whenever there was a snide comment/joke that might have referenced American humor/American culture, I laughed. But my guffaws echoed in their awkward lonesome...subtitles and a lack of cultural knowledge don't allow for the same kind of punch, I suspect. But any of the slapsticky jokes, the audience got...but I don't really enjoy slapstick unless you're a funny short man with a mustache. Thus ensued a lovely see-sawing evening.
Also, I had this friend from middle school, Jill, who lived in Norway for a good deal of her life. That was around the time when Titanic came out. She explained to me how, in Norway, nudity isn't nearly as big of a deal as violence when it comes to ratings. So everything about Titanic was PG until the gun scene towards the end when everyone's freaking out and trying to nab a lifeboat (sorry if I spoiled it for you...JACK DIES!), which then gave the film it's "PG-13". I'll give you this: Public enemies was super violent. I wonder what the Norwegians would think of it. I am kicking myself right now for not asking Ivan about it...must remind myself to bring it up later.
On an entirely different note...
Going to Paris today! Yippee! When I get back, might start doing a few interviews with the homeless here in Tours. Or I might go to Italy w/ the other scholar and talk to Rotary clubs there. Because my host Rotary Club has officially abandoned me so I'm left to my own quick wit, sharp kick, and mastery of the French and Italian language...
It should be interesting what I can come up with. I love improv.
It's raining outside right now and French rain, as opposed to American rain, is really quite lovely. Every time it hits the ground I hear a chorus of watery "Bonjour! Ca va?"
Currently I have my balcony door wide open so that I'm able to feel the light stroke of droplets bouncing into my room. I can also see my across-the-street neighbors who are not so much across the street as across the yard and are not so much my neighbors as my unassuming cohabitants, considering the close proximity of our living situations. It's really quite appalling. Now I'm not a hermit by any means, but I do enjoy sitting in my room and using my lap top on my desk, which, at an angle, looks straight into the room of this kid who also enjoys using his computer. Which unfortunately...also faces the window. So now it's really awkward to be in my room without feeling like a creeper with my co-creeper on the other side of the yard. And I can't close my blinds because usually it's so hot in my room (and there is not air conditioning) so I need to open my balcony door to circulate the air...suggestions?
Most leave now to catch the train. Peace to you all!
Love
Jean
Food: plain yogurt with miel de provence
Song: Jason Mraz please leave France
He is everywhere. Every cafe, bar, store...Mraz is the new French H2O. And at first, I was like, this is nice, an American song here and there to assuage my random onsets of homesickness. But seriously, a girl can only take so much of "LUCKY TO BE IN LOVE WITH MY BEST FRIEND LUCKY TO BE COMING HOME AGAIN..." Please stop.
Public Enemies was terrible. I mean seriously, who was their DP? I think they must have had several, each with a million different cameras and styles and camera settings because if I had to choose a film w/ multiple personality disorder, this would be it. Either that, or one dude had a serious misinterpretation of the word "artistic." The script was blah - just take the most generic cop/thief story, add in the word "blackbird" and you got yourself roughly 2.5 hours of wasted screentime. The only thing that salvaged this movie was Johnny Depp, who was still quite nice to look at and who's character was reminiscent of the lead in Cry Baby, a film which is in my head, one good, long memory. Cotillard was also good for however good she could possibly be in this setting. It really befuddles me, how such a crappy script can nab so much star power...and now I rephrase.. it really is quite shocking how much politics gets in the way of filmmaking. Society needs a filler mid-summer crime film. Through in some money+mindlessness. Voila.
And yet, I had quite a nice moving going experience. I went with a girl from Sweden named Sarah, a guy from Norway named Ivan, and a girl from Korea named Bo-Hyun. Bo-Hyun's English and French are not so stellar. My Korean and French are not so stellar. Thus we use Fronglish to communicate. It's really quite interesting - I can almost feel my brain switching on and off the different knowledge compartments it's made for itself, and very amusing to myself. Anyways, it was interesting because whenever there was a snide comment/joke that might have referenced American humor/American culture, I laughed. But my guffaws echoed in their awkward lonesome...subtitles and a lack of cultural knowledge don't allow for the same kind of punch, I suspect. But any of the slapsticky jokes, the audience got...but I don't really enjoy slapstick unless you're a funny short man with a mustache. Thus ensued a lovely see-sawing evening.
Also, I had this friend from middle school, Jill, who lived in Norway for a good deal of her life. That was around the time when Titanic came out. She explained to me how, in Norway, nudity isn't nearly as big of a deal as violence when it comes to ratings. So everything about Titanic was PG until the gun scene towards the end when everyone's freaking out and trying to nab a lifeboat (sorry if I spoiled it for you...JACK DIES!), which then gave the film it's "PG-13". I'll give you this: Public enemies was super violent. I wonder what the Norwegians would think of it. I am kicking myself right now for not asking Ivan about it...must remind myself to bring it up later.
On an entirely different note...
Going to Paris today! Yippee! When I get back, might start doing a few interviews with the homeless here in Tours. Or I might go to Italy w/ the other scholar and talk to Rotary clubs there. Because my host Rotary Club has officially abandoned me so I'm left to my own quick wit, sharp kick, and mastery of the French and Italian language...
It should be interesting what I can come up with. I love improv.
It's raining outside right now and French rain, as opposed to American rain, is really quite lovely. Every time it hits the ground I hear a chorus of watery "Bonjour! Ca va?"
Currently I have my balcony door wide open so that I'm able to feel the light stroke of droplets bouncing into my room. I can also see my across-the-street neighbors who are not so much across the street as across the yard and are not so much my neighbors as my unassuming cohabitants, considering the close proximity of our living situations. It's really quite appalling. Now I'm not a hermit by any means, but I do enjoy sitting in my room and using my lap top on my desk, which, at an angle, looks straight into the room of this kid who also enjoys using his computer. Which unfortunately...also faces the window. So now it's really awkward to be in my room without feeling like a creeper with my co-creeper on the other side of the yard. And I can't close my blinds because usually it's so hot in my room (and there is not air conditioning) so I need to open my balcony door to circulate the air...suggestions?
Most leave now to catch the train. Peace to you all!
Love
Jean
Monday, July 6, 2009
Whatever Works
is a film made by a man whom the French adore. It is also the perfect title for Woody Allen’s new, groundbreaking film about a beautiful, young woman who falls for a psycho, neurotic, bitter older man who thinks the world is out to get him and that his existence is meaningless save for those rare moments of happiness attributed to luck. Then he runs away from space aliens, takes on the form of a female detective, becomes creepily close to a minor, realizes that his portrayal of the minor is actually an indication of his underlying sexual attraction to his adopted daughter, continues to rant at the world and shack up with younger women, then uses different characters to shack up with said younger women after his audience started complaining about having to watch his actual person doing so, …oh ...woops.
No but really – let’s be serious about Allen’s film that I saw today with a French audience at Les Studios, the one and only “independent” theater house in Tours. I loved every screen second during which the main character, who took on the incredibly novel persona of a passive aggressive Jew, spewed about the unavoidable doom of all humankind, getting old, and being Jewish – I especially appreciated him making those delightful jokes about concentration camps and the Holocaust! “So many parents put their children in camps! …tennis camps, magic camps, etc….they should put them in concentration camps for ten years!” These quips fit right in with the main character’s knee-slapping rants directed at the young ones carefully allocated to appear every fifteen minutes throughout the film– oh the idea of calling children "stupid" as a way of spinning humor is so new and funny that it was a real treat to hear that motif repeated over and over and over again! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahah......ha.
Okay, I beg your pardon. I’ll restrain myself now and be honest with you because I know repetition can get a little annoying– but first let me tell you about how honest I’m actually being about my depression and how all-accepting I am of everyone’s beliefs in order to explain why my belief is really the only belief that works - you know, the one that is all accepting. Something kind of unique about this film (and the only other recent film I can think of on top of my head that did this too was Unwanted with Angelina Joli and James MaCavoy), was that the main character spends the opening and closing of the film talking directly to the audience – he introduces himself – Hi my name is Boris Yelnikof – and explains away a few years of his life and how he is a quantum physics genius– then returns to the screen at the end of the film and, looking directly at the camera ….INTERRUPTION! Actors from a black and white movie jump out of the screen and someone who looks curiously like a ....via...lia...Shmia Shmarrow enters the cinematic world as the audience watches and then everyone analyzes eachother and the whole experience becomes so metaphysical and post-modern! Hurrah - oh we are so smart!
Alright alright. So it doesn’t take a magnificent brain to recognize that all his films are the same. But really – do people know? All his films are the same. So why do they watch his films? Why do you watch his films? Why did I bother to sit through 3-hours class every week for an entire semester on Woody Allen and even after learning for the 100th time that all his films are the same, pay 4.50 euro to go watch his “new” one?
I have this theory. Bear with me. America …and as I’m discovering, mayhaps France as well, simply put, likes funny men. And however much you want to accidentally push Woody into that same black man-eating abyss as Tom Cruise, you want him sing a little first…maybe dance a little too.
But what-ho if the machine's broke? Cuz the sad fact of the matter is that Whatever Works, if you haven't caught my drift by now, well, doesn't work. In all fairness, Allen does a remarkable job trying to salvage the entire production with his, par usual, downright blatancy about his agenda. At the end of the film, after all the crazy bible-belt goody-two shoes who are so representative of all Christianity utterly degrade - woops i mean liberate - themselves in sexually deviancy – Boris tells them – hey! (then looking at the camera) Do you see all those people out there looking at us? Of course, the other characters can’t – only he can - "no? he repeats over and over. You can't see them? But I can! I can!"
oh! The metaphor, it tingles. Then, wait - here comes the best part. Never has he been ballsy enough to do this in any other of his films.
Once again mooking at the camera, Boris in one witty sweep finally proclaims the very words of holy self-proclamation that have been stewing in Woody's confused heart of hearts for so long - "You know why I’m considered a genius? Because I’m the only one who can actually see the whole picture.” Which picture Allen? The one in which you’re not funny?
The sad part is, I think this will either be Woody's last movie, or he will come up with another one, much more full of doubt and uncertainty. The general trend runs that way - you thought he caught onto something in Interiors, then Husbands and wives. But then someone introduced him to a fedora wearing man named luck and things made an ever slight turn from there.
As the credits rolled, I got up, squeezed past the people still sitting – oh yeah, French people actually stay to watch all the credits – and, I ran to the bathroom because my bladder can only hold so much coke zero that I sneak into the theater. As I sat there peeing, I thought to myself, I wonder what my fellow audience members thought of this whole extravaganza? So after washing my hands while singing Happy Birthday twice, I ran back to the theater door and creepily stood close to the line of people filing out. The line of 30+ year olds filing out. The line of people that were either absolutely silent or in the middle of talking about what they wanted for dinner. I am not kidding you – as I waited in suspence to stalk the first person who said the words Woody, Allen, Boris, film, old people, sex…anything that had to do with the film, I got nothing. Actually, I heard the word “fromage,” three times – French people are so freaking quiet! Speak up! How else can I listen in on your convo, jeez.
Finally, I went outside to stand next to all the smokers, hoping a little nicotine or other such things – you know, whatever works – would at least get a little intellectualizing going on. Nothing.
Finally, I threw my hands to the air and began walking home when – BINGO! I heard the man walking in front of me say to his companion “Je ne comprende pas.” I inched a little closer. Ten minutes later, as we past by one of the empty, indefinitely closed cathedrals in Tours, the guy said in French – "I followed a little in the beginning but then lost interest in the blah blah blah.” The woman responded, “I think all of what he said to be very true.”
And there you have it. As I began to realize the implications of their conversation, the lady turned around, probably from feeling my breathing on the back of her neck, and gave me a dirty look. But no matter – I had discovered the secret as to why the French are obsessed with Woody. They either don’t understand all his heavy american-culture laden quips (surprise surprise) and just care about the funny (in which case they wouldn’t like the film like aforementioned man) or…OR…ORRRRRR…they AGREE with his philosophy. And no wonder. The title of the film, the Nike motto, French Catholicism in Tours – it is all the same idea. I can honestly say that, and seriously – please excuse my slowness, I have never really considered Christianity as more of a cultural habit then a religious belief – maybe because it was never for me, personally, that way. And believe you me – I am one of the flakiest Christians I know – but this year, after taking Korean American History and figuring out how the modern Korean-American Church is used as more of a place of cultural release rather than of worship, I was able to pick up on a similar practice here in France. Every person I’ve spoken to here about religion– I was raised this way or that way but now, hey, whatever – has told me the same thing – whatever works, whatever works, whatever works. JIMINY CRICKETS. The most popular “persuasion” here isn’t Catholicism. I must go correct the Office of Tourisme tomorrow, have them scratch that and put out brochures for The church of Woody Allen.
No but really – let’s be serious about Allen’s film that I saw today with a French audience at Les Studios, the one and only “independent” theater house in Tours. I loved every screen second during which the main character, who took on the incredibly novel persona of a passive aggressive Jew, spewed about the unavoidable doom of all humankind, getting old, and being Jewish – I especially appreciated him making those delightful jokes about concentration camps and the Holocaust! “So many parents put their children in camps! …tennis camps, magic camps, etc….they should put them in concentration camps for ten years!” These quips fit right in with the main character’s knee-slapping rants directed at the young ones carefully allocated to appear every fifteen minutes throughout the film– oh the idea of calling children "stupid" as a way of spinning humor is so new and funny that it was a real treat to hear that motif repeated over and over and over again! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahah......ha.
Okay, I beg your pardon. I’ll restrain myself now and be honest with you because I know repetition can get a little annoying– but first let me tell you about how honest I’m actually being about my depression and how all-accepting I am of everyone’s beliefs in order to explain why my belief is really the only belief that works - you know, the one that is all accepting. Something kind of unique about this film (and the only other recent film I can think of on top of my head that did this too was Unwanted with Angelina Joli and James MaCavoy), was that the main character spends the opening and closing of the film talking directly to the audience – he introduces himself – Hi my name is Boris Yelnikof – and explains away a few years of his life and how he is a quantum physics genius– then returns to the screen at the end of the film and, looking directly at the camera ….INTERRUPTION! Actors from a black and white movie jump out of the screen and someone who looks curiously like a ....via...lia...Shmia Shmarrow enters the cinematic world as the audience watches and then everyone analyzes eachother and the whole experience becomes so metaphysical and post-modern! Hurrah - oh we are so smart!
Alright alright. So it doesn’t take a magnificent brain to recognize that all his films are the same. But really – do people know? All his films are the same. So why do they watch his films? Why do you watch his films? Why did I bother to sit through 3-hours class every week for an entire semester on Woody Allen and even after learning for the 100th time that all his films are the same, pay 4.50 euro to go watch his “new” one?
I have this theory. Bear with me. America …and as I’m discovering, mayhaps France as well, simply put, likes funny men. And however much you want to accidentally push Woody into that same black man-eating abyss as Tom Cruise, you want him sing a little first…maybe dance a little too.
But what-ho if the machine's broke? Cuz the sad fact of the matter is that Whatever Works, if you haven't caught my drift by now, well, doesn't work. In all fairness, Allen does a remarkable job trying to salvage the entire production with his, par usual, downright blatancy about his agenda. At the end of the film, after all the crazy bible-belt goody-two shoes who are so representative of all Christianity utterly degrade - woops i mean liberate - themselves in sexually deviancy – Boris tells them – hey! (then looking at the camera) Do you see all those people out there looking at us? Of course, the other characters can’t – only he can - "no? he repeats over and over. You can't see them? But I can! I can!"
oh! The metaphor, it tingles. Then, wait - here comes the best part. Never has he been ballsy enough to do this in any other of his films.
Once again mooking at the camera, Boris in one witty sweep finally proclaims the very words of holy self-proclamation that have been stewing in Woody's confused heart of hearts for so long - "You know why I’m considered a genius? Because I’m the only one who can actually see the whole picture.” Which picture Allen? The one in which you’re not funny?
The sad part is, I think this will either be Woody's last movie, or he will come up with another one, much more full of doubt and uncertainty. The general trend runs that way - you thought he caught onto something in Interiors, then Husbands and wives. But then someone introduced him to a fedora wearing man named luck and things made an ever slight turn from there.
As the credits rolled, I got up, squeezed past the people still sitting – oh yeah, French people actually stay to watch all the credits – and, I ran to the bathroom because my bladder can only hold so much coke zero that I sneak into the theater. As I sat there peeing, I thought to myself, I wonder what my fellow audience members thought of this whole extravaganza? So after washing my hands while singing Happy Birthday twice, I ran back to the theater door and creepily stood close to the line of people filing out. The line of 30+ year olds filing out. The line of people that were either absolutely silent or in the middle of talking about what they wanted for dinner. I am not kidding you – as I waited in suspence to stalk the first person who said the words Woody, Allen, Boris, film, old people, sex…anything that had to do with the film, I got nothing. Actually, I heard the word “fromage,” three times – French people are so freaking quiet! Speak up! How else can I listen in on your convo, jeez.
Finally, I went outside to stand next to all the smokers, hoping a little nicotine or other such things – you know, whatever works – would at least get a little intellectualizing going on. Nothing.
Finally, I threw my hands to the air and began walking home when – BINGO! I heard the man walking in front of me say to his companion “Je ne comprende pas.” I inched a little closer. Ten minutes later, as we past by one of the empty, indefinitely closed cathedrals in Tours, the guy said in French – "I followed a little in the beginning but then lost interest in the blah blah blah.” The woman responded, “I think all of what he said to be very true.”
And there you have it. As I began to realize the implications of their conversation, the lady turned around, probably from feeling my breathing on the back of her neck, and gave me a dirty look. But no matter – I had discovered the secret as to why the French are obsessed with Woody. They either don’t understand all his heavy american-culture laden quips (surprise surprise) and just care about the funny (in which case they wouldn’t like the film like aforementioned man) or…OR…ORRRRRR…they AGREE with his philosophy. And no wonder. The title of the film, the Nike motto, French Catholicism in Tours – it is all the same idea. I can honestly say that, and seriously – please excuse my slowness, I have never really considered Christianity as more of a cultural habit then a religious belief – maybe because it was never for me, personally, that way. And believe you me – I am one of the flakiest Christians I know – but this year, after taking Korean American History and figuring out how the modern Korean-American Church is used as more of a place of cultural release rather than of worship, I was able to pick up on a similar practice here in France. Every person I’ve spoken to here about religion– I was raised this way or that way but now, hey, whatever – has told me the same thing – whatever works, whatever works, whatever works. JIMINY CRICKETS. The most popular “persuasion” here isn’t Catholicism. I must go correct the Office of Tourisme tomorrow, have them scratch that and put out brochures for The church of Woody Allen.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
1E = $1.50
Gallon of gas: 1.25E
Small Carton of Tours Strawberries: 3.75E
Stamps for America: .85E
Fan: 18.95E
1 Pen (papermate): 3E
1 Crest toothpaste: 5E
Dove Body Soap: 2.85E
1 Crepe Sucre: 2E
1 Crepe Gallette: 4E
1 Pain au Chocolat: 1E
Evian Water: .60E
Small Bottle of Renu Contact Solution: 10E
(At A Bar)
A glass of vin: 2E
Coca Cola Zero: 3E
Cafe: 2E
Tea: 3E
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Chinon et Fete de la Musique!
Music: MC Solaar
Movie: Harry Potter et L'Ordre du Phénix
Book: White Tiger
Every year at the end of June, France puts on her Vanilla Ice sunglasses, neon checkered pants, and high ankle kicks for some good old fashioned harmonica-accordian-whatever-you-like music fest. In Tours, La Rue Nationale, the major street that runs through the city, trades in the noise of every day car traffic for a dissonant sound of quite another kind: good old fashioned, mettalica-latin-indian-classic-african-drum-beat rock and roll!
At every bar, restaurant, street corner and crosswalk, there parked one, two, sometimes even three bands blaring their tunes in an all out guitar-pick fight. And as the night sauntered along, the mess that was once intangible took on the loveliest forms: puke, puke...drunken dancing...and puke. Not my own, I
I'm glad I left when I did (around midnight) because had I stayed longer, the remembrance of the evening would not have been quite so pleasant. But my friends who ventured out a bit later came back with the loveliest stories...
I met up with the girls around 930 (2130) at Tutti Gusti, the best icecream store in Tours (rocks a mad delicious white choco cappaccino). The lady, who to my abashment, now recognizes me immediately, gave me a taste of this nutella softserve, which was like having cherubs envoyed directly from heaven to dance in my mouth. Then, holding onto our cones, we happened upon this circle of African drumming, with a large throng of people gathered round -and it was so cool- that of course I couldn't help but join in, and before you knew it, my friends and I had formed a congo line and, with the encouragement of our grand audience, stuck our icecream in the air and danced through the crowd in style. We soon realized that dancing; in addition to being a great accompaniament to the music around us, was also the key to getting past huge masses. Get at least 4 other people, grab onto eachothers purses (in a linear, orderly manner), and put a little bop to your swing. It was like having Moses by our side - besides the little bit of gawking, it worked like a charm. Good times.
Then on Saturday, I went to Chinon via train. They are known for their kick-butt red wine, which I had sampled in Tours and liked a lot. The day began with a very intense kayaking trip on the Cher river. The water had looked so calm - but it became quite a different story one hour later, arms exhausted, me and Amber having run, several times, into a thicket of old trees on the bank. Though we were tempted to turn around and go in the direction of the current - non! - we persevered and made it around the entire trail. hurrah! Afterwards, we went to this "wine museum" which was the biggest waste of money in my life and it still makes me upset to think about it. Jenna, Amber, Maddy and I walked into this old, dark room - the entrance to the museum (mind you, this place was recommended to us by the very official office de tourisme.) Warning bells went off in all of our heads, but we proceeded to give our money to the man with a huge, curly moustache à la Moulin Rouge. He had another friend with the same moustache. Also pictures of his head cut out and pasted onto other bodies on the wall behind him.
He told us to go outside and then pointed to this really shady, narrow stairway into this dungeon like area, where there were these moving manneuquins miming out the process of making wine barrels. Only problem was - it smelled so bad there (like rotting human bodies and soggy disease-ridden birds), that I felt like I was going to throw up. Also, the moving mannequins were missing fingers, arms, legs, and eyes. We got out of there fast..like 30 seconds later fast...and with 5 euros-less, ran away as fast as we could. We all felt like such stupid tourists...until one of us pointed out the brighter side of things...at least we weren't murdered by the crazy man with the moustache and left to rot in that dingy cellar where we were far enough away from civilization that our screams would be left unnoticed...
And now for the big news!!!! readddyyy!!!!??? I'll be prob going here again on Bastille day - but this weekend is different. It is the weekend to dust off my mickey ears, strap on my fanny pack, and sport an obscenely large camera. Also duct tape my wallet onto my stomache. Paris for the ever-excited tourist! Here I come! Yours Truly!
Movie: Harry Potter et L'Ordre du Phénix
Book: White Tiger
Every year at the end of June, France puts on her Vanilla Ice sunglasses, neon checkered pants, and high ankle kicks for some good old fashioned harmonica-accordian-whatever-you-like music fest. In Tours, La Rue Nationale, the major street that runs through the city, trades in the noise of every day car traffic for a dissonant sound of quite another kind: good old fashioned, mettalica-latin-indian-classic-african-drum-beat rock and roll!
At every bar, restaurant, street corner and crosswalk, there parked one, two, sometimes even three bands blaring their tunes in an all out guitar-pick fight. And as the night sauntered along, the mess that was once intangible took on the loveliest forms: puke, puke...drunken dancing...and puke. Not my own, I
I'm glad I left when I did (around midnight) because had I stayed longer, the remembrance of the evening would not have been quite so pleasant. But my friends who ventured out a bit later came back with the loveliest stories...
I met up with the girls around 930 (2130) at Tutti Gusti, the best icecream store in Tours (rocks a mad delicious white choco cappaccino). The lady, who to my abashment, now recognizes me immediately, gave me a taste of this nutella softserve, which was like having cherubs envoyed directly from heaven to dance in my mouth. Then, holding onto our cones, we happened upon this circle of African drumming, with a large throng of people gathered round -and it was so cool- that of course I couldn't help but join in, and before you knew it, my friends and I had formed a congo line and, with the encouragement of our grand audience, stuck our icecream in the air and danced through the crowd in style. We soon realized that dancing; in addition to being a great accompaniament to the music around us, was also the key to getting past huge masses. Get at least 4 other people, grab onto eachothers purses (in a linear, orderly manner), and put a little bop to your swing. It was like having Moses by our side - besides the little bit of gawking, it worked like a charm. Good times.
Then on Saturday, I went to Chinon via train. They are known for their kick-butt red wine, which I had sampled in Tours and liked a lot. The day began with a very intense kayaking trip on the Cher river. The water had looked so calm - but it became quite a different story one hour later, arms exhausted, me and Amber having run, several times, into a thicket of old trees on the bank. Though we were tempted to turn around and go in the direction of the current - non! - we persevered and made it around the entire trail. hurrah! Afterwards, we went to this "wine museum" which was the biggest waste of money in my life and it still makes me upset to think about it. Jenna, Amber, Maddy and I walked into this old, dark room - the entrance to the museum (mind you, this place was recommended to us by the very official office de tourisme.) Warning bells went off in all of our heads, but we proceeded to give our money to the man with a huge, curly moustache à la Moulin Rouge. He had another friend with the same moustache. Also pictures of his head cut out and pasted onto other bodies on the wall behind him.
He told us to go outside and then pointed to this really shady, narrow stairway into this dungeon like area, where there were these moving manneuquins miming out the process of making wine barrels. Only problem was - it smelled so bad there (like rotting human bodies and soggy disease-ridden birds), that I felt like I was going to throw up. Also, the moving mannequins were missing fingers, arms, legs, and eyes. We got out of there fast..like 30 seconds later fast...and with 5 euros-less, ran away as fast as we could. We all felt like such stupid tourists...until one of us pointed out the brighter side of things...at least we weren't murdered by the crazy man with the moustache and left to rot in that dingy cellar where we were far enough away from civilization that our screams would be left unnoticed...
And now for the big news!!!! readddyyy!!!!??? I'll be prob going here again on Bastille day - but this weekend is different. It is the weekend to dust off my mickey ears, strap on my fanny pack, and sport an obscenely large camera. Also duct tape my wallet onto my stomache. Paris for the ever-excited tourist! Here I come! Yours Truly!
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Moby Dick
throat parched from tea and speaking, eyes red from cigarette smoke, head mushy with thoughts of water...
The past 2.5 hours I've spent in the upstairs room of Serpent, taking turns reading chapters aloud (each in French, then English) from Moby Dick with some newfound friends. There's a reading circle here once a week, and I've invited myself in. Pendant the earlier part of the day, I went to language school, wrote a terribly composed French paper about the horrific existence of a boy with eyes on the back of his head. Then I returned home, got in bed, and finished the second half of Kite Runner, cried it a bit. I was so emotionally and mentally dazed from the profound journey, that I had to go outdoors - get rid of my zombie state. I brought along my laptop in hopes of getting in some writing, found myself at Serpent after running into a couple of friends at Place Plume, and then proceeded to immerse myself in another watery journey of quite a different kind.
Now it is nearing midnight - and I feel like I should begin my walk home - out of Centre Ville, over the Loire - but the music here is so delicious, the water in my creepy Orangina cup so refreshing (creepy because Orangina, for some reason, finds it clever to market bestiality all over Tours [example 1] [example 2] ...yum...) - I do not want to return chez moi. But return I must. au revoir!
The past 2.5 hours I've spent in the upstairs room of Serpent, taking turns reading chapters aloud (each in French, then English) from Moby Dick with some newfound friends. There's a reading circle here once a week, and I've invited myself in. Pendant the earlier part of the day, I went to language school, wrote a terribly composed French paper about the horrific existence of a boy with eyes on the back of his head. Then I returned home, got in bed, and finished the second half of Kite Runner, cried it a bit. I was so emotionally and mentally dazed from the profound journey, that I had to go outdoors - get rid of my zombie state. I brought along my laptop in hopes of getting in some writing, found myself at Serpent after running into a couple of friends at Place Plume, and then proceeded to immerse myself in another watery journey of quite a different kind.
Now it is nearing midnight - and I feel like I should begin my walk home - out of Centre Ville, over the Loire - but the music here is so delicious, the water in my creepy Orangina cup so refreshing (creepy because Orangina, for some reason, finds it clever to market bestiality all over Tours [example 1] [example 2] ...yum...) - I do not want to return chez moi. But return I must. au revoir!
![[example 1]](http://top-news.fr/wp-content/uploads/orangina_pinup.jpg){kind=link}
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Le Serpent Volant
Read: The Kite Runner (soooo excited)
Tune: French Jazz
Film: No film.
Am currently sitting in the coolest find ever - Le Serpent Volant - literally, the flying serpent.
Reasons why this place is not so cool -
1) My friend found it, not me :(
(small tosh tosh reason which does not detract too much from...)
Reasons why this place is cool
1) Per usual - cafe by day, bar by night
2) There are people sitting outside improvising on the harmonica/guitar
3) Not too crowded
4) Wifi
5) France's translator for the Simpsons goes here...
6) Good drinks/good location
7) Hole in the wall
8) (and most importantly) In the five minutes I've been sitting here, I've seen more attractive French men then I've seen during my entire stay thus far. So this is where they go...
I'm thinking about purchasing a guitar/bike. thoughts?
beautiful day, pink nail polish, cafe, the smell of red wine (chinon) and cigarettes...what more can a girl ask for.
Tune: French Jazz
Film: No film.
Am currently sitting in the coolest find ever - Le Serpent Volant - literally, the flying serpent.
Reasons why this place is not so cool -
1) My friend found it, not me :(
(small tosh tosh reason which does not detract too much from...)
Reasons why this place is cool
1) Per usual - cafe by day, bar by night
2) There are people sitting outside improvising on the harmonica/guitar
3) Not too crowded
4) Wifi
5) France's translator for the Simpsons goes here...
6) Good drinks/good location
7) Hole in the wall
8) (and most importantly) In the five minutes I've been sitting here, I've seen more attractive French men then I've seen during my entire stay thus far. So this is where they go...
I'm thinking about purchasing a guitar/bike. thoughts?
beautiful day, pink nail polish, cafe, the smell of red wine (chinon) and cigarettes...what more can a girl ask for.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
obama-sarko
Book: Larousse's French-English Dictionary
Song: I Want to Hold Your Hand
Movie: Good Morning England (tres drole mais comci-comca)
I've been so pre-occupied with stalking old french ladies and eating baguettes that I've only recently forced myself to buckle down on my duties as Rotary Ambassador...
So for the past hour I've been trying to catch up on my French-US public relations knowledge...I'm having trouble finding up to date stuff since most of the major articles are from immediately after Sarkozy's election. I'm beginning to form an idea for my presentation next week about my thoughts on future American-French relations...we will see how that goes. If anyone has ideas, let me know.
My shoulders are a bit sore right now - you wouldn't believe what a girl needs to do to find some wifi around here (which, btw, is pronounced weefee in France). I had to walk all around the city like some poor, lost beggar child stopping at every pseudo-cafe looking joint.
Speaking of American-French relations...I feel like I can confidently pick up a few of the major cultural differences between here and America.
1) The asian culture is super fetishized...like MUCH moreso than it is in America. Any dish, paper, pot, towel, dress that has the resemblance of an orchid or a chopstick or a slightly squinty eye is like 50 times more expensive than it should be.
Also, I think the phrase "politically correct" does not exist.
Whenever I'm walking down the street, I get at least one "wong chai tong ting [insert here other impressions of metal clanging sounds]. Like sometimes by grown men. At first, I had to look around and be like - why are they making those noises... until I soon realized...oh..me? oh...
Also, during class the other day we were learning about different descriptive words to describe peoples' physical appearance. We were reading this one passage written by this guy describing his exchange student. Her eyes, he described as "les yeux (eyes) bridés." We were all like - what kind of eyes? What is bridés?"
Frédéric points at me and goes, "Comme ca!" ("Like that!"), takes his fingers and places them on either side of his eyes, and pulls.
There was this awkward silence during which everyone avoided eye contact with me, being the only Asian in the class. The students from the South were especially uncomfortable. Meanwhile, Frédéric continued to keep his fingers like that, repeating over again "les yeux bridés! les yeux bridés!" Poor man, not having any idea...
2) Fashion - Dreadlocks, MC Hammer pants, Converses (at the cheapest, 90 bucks a pop), and Goth are most definitely in. So are these weird bottoms, I don't know what they are actually called, but they look like skirt-capris-pants...or scaprants, if you will. Finally, aviator sunglasses - much moreso than America. Everyone has them. You should get one too.
3)Food. I think I've gained about ten pounds since I've arrived here. I have no idea why...oh wait, maybe it's because people here only eat bread and cheese and goose liver all the live long day. And the bread isn't the delicious whole grain kind you can pick up at Clark Park's farmer's market after grabbing a $2.95 iced-coffee with soy milk from Green Line. It's the let-me-stuff-this-huge-baguette-with-tons-of-butter-and-sugar-and-sell-it-for-70-cents-so-it-is-the-only-thing-you-can-afford kind. So I don't know how French women are so damn skinny. It completely befuddles me. I think I've seen 3 over-average French women bracket 0-40 years since I've been here. 10 per cent of French adults are obese, compared with UK's 22 per cent, and America's colossal 33 per cent.
So I read part of How French Women Stay So (damn) Skinny..or something like that...I don't remember the exact title. Apprently it's because they walk a lot. This reason I found absolutely unconvincing. Unless they're getting up at 3 AM every day and sprinting the Oregon Trail in its entirety, there's no way that walking around Tours (which isn't that big) does it for them.
Also, the time that people usually eat dinner here is absurd. My host mother usually serves dinner around 9 or 10 PM. I tried to go to a major restaurant in Place Jean Jaures with some of my friends the other day. It was around 7 PM. We asked for a waiter after waiting around for 20 minutes. No one came. They thought we were crazy - who eats dinner that early? Most restaurants fill around 9:30.
4) Staring - Now I'm not talking about the creepy stalker kind you do through the telescope nestled against your bedroom window. I'm talking about the sit outside a cafe kind with your huge dark, reflective sunglasses so that you can watch all the flanerie passing by. I am convinced this is directly related the the aviotor sunglass craze.
And finally...
5) Going Green you thought it was big in America? Try going to a major grocery store here. Seriously, if you even THINK about asking for a plastic bag at the register for your 20 million apples you just bought on sale for 2 euro/pound, you'll get several pairs of dirty looks. That and they'll charge you for it - like 15 cents a bag.
There you go, that's my two cents. I've been having some rip-roaring fun with some new friends around the city - waiting for them to send the pics to me - but for now, here's a pic for your entertainment, compliments of my 13-year-old host brother, Simon who hopes to one day become a world-famous chef. Pre-dinner, he shared his amazing creative talents with me...
Song: I Want to Hold Your Hand
Movie: Good Morning England (tres drole mais comci-comca)
I've been so pre-occupied with stalking old french ladies and eating baguettes that I've only recently forced myself to buckle down on my duties as Rotary Ambassador...
So for the past hour I've been trying to catch up on my French-US public relations knowledge...I'm having trouble finding up to date stuff since most of the major articles are from immediately after Sarkozy's election. I'm beginning to form an idea for my presentation next week about my thoughts on future American-French relations...we will see how that goes. If anyone has ideas, let me know.
My shoulders are a bit sore right now - you wouldn't believe what a girl needs to do to find some wifi around here (which, btw, is pronounced weefee in France). I had to walk all around the city like some poor, lost beggar child stopping at every pseudo-cafe looking joint.
Speaking of American-French relations...I feel like I can confidently pick up a few of the major cultural differences between here and America.
1) The asian culture is super fetishized...like MUCH moreso than it is in America. Any dish, paper, pot, towel, dress that has the resemblance of an orchid or a chopstick or a slightly squinty eye is like 50 times more expensive than it should be.
Also, I think the phrase "politically correct" does not exist.
Whenever I'm walking down the street, I get at least one "wong chai tong ting [insert here other impressions of metal clanging sounds]. Like sometimes by grown men. At first, I had to look around and be like - why are they making those noises... until I soon realized...oh..me? oh...
Also, during class the other day we were learning about different descriptive words to describe peoples' physical appearance. We were reading this one passage written by this guy describing his exchange student. Her eyes, he described as "les yeux (eyes) bridés." We were all like - what kind of eyes? What is bridés?"
Frédéric points at me and goes, "Comme ca!" ("Like that!"), takes his fingers and places them on either side of his eyes, and pulls.
There was this awkward silence during which everyone avoided eye contact with me, being the only Asian in the class. The students from the South were especially uncomfortable. Meanwhile, Frédéric continued to keep his fingers like that, repeating over again "les yeux bridés! les yeux bridés!" Poor man, not having any idea...
2) Fashion - Dreadlocks, MC Hammer pants, Converses (at the cheapest, 90 bucks a pop), and Goth are most definitely in. So are these weird bottoms, I don't know what they are actually called, but they look like skirt-capris-pants...or scaprants, if you will. Finally, aviator sunglasses - much moreso than America. Everyone has them. You should get one too.
3)Food. I think I've gained about ten pounds since I've arrived here. I have no idea why...oh wait, maybe it's because people here only eat bread and cheese and goose liver all the live long day. And the bread isn't the delicious whole grain kind you can pick up at Clark Park's farmer's market after grabbing a $2.95 iced-coffee with soy milk from Green Line. It's the let-me-stuff-this-huge-baguette-with-tons-of-butter-and-sugar-and-sell-it-for-70-cents-so-it-is-the-only-thing-you-can-afford kind. So I don't know how French women are so damn skinny. It completely befuddles me. I think I've seen 3 over-average French women bracket 0-40 years since I've been here. 10 per cent of French adults are obese, compared with UK's 22 per cent, and America's colossal 33 per cent.
So I read part of How French Women Stay So (damn) Skinny..or something like that...I don't remember the exact title. Apprently it's because they walk a lot. This reason I found absolutely unconvincing. Unless they're getting up at 3 AM every day and sprinting the Oregon Trail in its entirety, there's no way that walking around Tours (which isn't that big) does it for them.
Also, the time that people usually eat dinner here is absurd. My host mother usually serves dinner around 9 or 10 PM. I tried to go to a major restaurant in Place Jean Jaures with some of my friends the other day. It was around 7 PM. We asked for a waiter after waiting around for 20 minutes. No one came. They thought we were crazy - who eats dinner that early? Most restaurants fill around 9:30.
4) Staring - Now I'm not talking about the creepy stalker kind you do through the telescope nestled against your bedroom window. I'm talking about the sit outside a cafe kind with your huge dark, reflective sunglasses so that you can watch all the flanerie passing by. I am convinced this is directly related the the aviotor sunglass craze.
And finally...
5) Going Green you thought it was big in America? Try going to a major grocery store here. Seriously, if you even THINK about asking for a plastic bag at the register for your 20 million apples you just bought on sale for 2 euro/pound, you'll get several pairs of dirty looks. That and they'll charge you for it - like 15 cents a bag.
There you go, that's my two cents. I've been having some rip-roaring fun with some new friends around the city - waiting for them to send the pics to me - but for now, here's a pic for your entertainment, compliments of my 13-year-old host brother, Simon who hopes to one day become a world-famous chef. Pre-dinner, he shared his amazing creative talents with me...
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Wine, French Grandmas, and Platonic Pick Up Lines...
Song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T8Ub5OGGBAg
Read: The Economist
Movie: The Newsies
Yesterday, a few friends and I went on a trip to the Vouvray wine caves, organized by your's truly. There were seven of us, each someone I had met in the past week. The girls were impressed by my social skills - so I let them in on my method - the 3 approaches to pick up a friend.
1) The Introductory Approach
This is when someone you already know introduces you to someone new. The person you knew then becomes the mutual go-through friend who can remain as the go-through friend until the new friend you know through the go-through friend is no longer new and is the friend you know and can then become the friend you know who introduces you to someone new. This is a nice approach, I feel - very Austen/Montgomery. However, there are a few downsides - the first being, you already have to know someone in order to be introduced to that person's friend who is stranger to you. Second, that friend whom you already know may only have other friends who are like themselves and thus you might end up with a homogeneous bunch of hangouts ...which may be good or bad depending on how much you like that person you know.
2) The Creeper Approach
I will demonstrate via dialogue:
Person A: Hello!
Person B: Hello!
Person A: So, You know about that thing tonight?
Person B: What thing?
Person A: You know, the thing!
Person B: Oh, that thing.
Person A: Yeah - are you going?
Person B: Oh, I might
Person A: Yeah, me too. Are you going with anyone?
Person B: No, I don't think so.
Person A: Yeah, me neither...
Person B: Oh...(awkwardly)...do you want to go together?
Person A: Oh...yeah, that would be cool.
3) The Desperate Approach
a
In order to use this approach, you must either be very confident in yourself, or well...just very desperate.
(Once again, demonstrative dialogue)
Person A: Hi!
Person B: Hello.
Person A: I'm looking for friends! I don't have any friends. Do you want to be my friend!?
(Please note the repetition of the word "friend." The auditory reinforcement will emphasize your overtly-convivial air and persona, if not already obvious.)
Potential Downfall: Don't smile too much if you feel yourself getting nervous or if you have a scary smile. This might frighten the potential friend. Word gets around quickly. A scary smile--> no friends.
Using various combinations of the above three methods, I managed to get the group together :)
Our trip was very lovely. We hopped on the 61 bus at Place Jean Jaures and took it to Vouvray, which is about 9 KM from Tours.
Vouvray is absolutely lovely with rolling green hills, small quaint homes, crumbling stone steps, and...wine. Delicious wine.
Upon arrival at Caves des Producteurs de Vouvray, I was met by many pleasant things. First, there was this nicely sized shop filled with the most delicious looking wines, juices, wine-jellies, and bubbly. Second, there was a very nice tour guide who, I must admit, was one of the few attractive French men I've seen thus far in my visit. He lead us first to a room with traditional wine press machines and gadgets which were mad baller:
Then we entered into the CAVES.
It was cool, damp, and dark - some parts cold enough to freeze some of the wine (will explain later). The tunnels ran underground some 7 km long. One friend told me that a couple of silly tourists wandered into the cave one day and a guide had to go running after them - getting lost in some parts which are pitch black or venturing a particularly windy path would be less than ideal. It was so much fun! We looked at rows and rows of Vouvrays, each bottle turned on its side depending on its age and fermentation process.
The caretakers put white tape on each bottle to mark when the bottle was turned. All the bottles are turned by hand - and there are thousands of them! They are also set in crates with a lever you can press to change the inclination of the bottles. Only the bubblies are inclined completely upside down. After a wine has been sitting for a while, the sediment falls to the bottom of the bottom. In order to get the sediment out, the bottles are inclined so that the sediment settles at the neck of the bottle. Then, they are stored at the perfect temperature so that only the liquid at the neck of the bottle is frozen (the sediment part) - the bottles then go through this machine where the frozen capsuls are popped out of the bottles, and then the bottles are re-sealed.
Most if not all Vouvray wines (which are white) use grapes called Chenin Blanc, which are native to the region. There are many different wineries along the Loire river of both reds and whites, but Vouvray is the second largest maker of bubbly, the first being the region of Champagne. Personally, I prefer Vouvray's sparkling wine, of which there are two kinds: First, "Méthode Traditionnelle," or more widely known by its former name of "Méthode Champenoise." This kind has more bubbles and is better for parties, etc.
The second is "Vouvray Petillant” which has finer bubbles. Thus, you can taste more of the wine itself. I liked Vouvray Petillant the best, but bought a bottle of still white for my parents.
After the tour, we had a tasting and I tried seven different wines - brut, sec, demi-sec, stills and sparkling.
The sweeter ones are made with grapes that are picked later in the maturation process, the dry ones with early, younger grapes. I had this one kind that was so sweet, it tasted like honey. It even moved more slowly in the glass - very cool.
After finishing the wine, we hit up the shop. 
Then, with a slightly rosy face and a heavy,clinking plastic bag, I left with the girls walked through the countryside munching a baguette.
On our way back to the bus station, I thought, wouldn't it be cool if I could have a French grandma whom I could visit in Vouvray? Together, we would pick fresh legumes from her garden, laugh at French jokes, and, elbow deep in dough and our noses covered with flour, we would kneed the bread for fresh, brick-oven baked baguettes for that evening's dinner. In the midst of this day-dream, my friend, Amber (who very may well be a kindrid spirit!) and I passed by this smiling elderly French lady standing in a small garden. "Grandma?" I thought. But I didn't want to miss the bus so I hurried on. Sure enough, just as we reached the stop, we saw the 61 rounding the corner...imagine our relief - our persons laden with heavy bags of alcohol. But the bus didn't stop. In slow motion - it passed - our mouths gaping in disbelief - the faces of several dozen school children smashed against the windows, laughing and making faces at us. "Catch the next one - this one's full!" The driver managed to yell at us (in French, of course), before continuing on his way. Right. The next one. In forty minutes. So we all found some shade and sat. But soon I grew restless. One girl suggested that a few of us go on a walk, so, in hopes of seeing that French grandma again, I tagged along.
We took the same path full of lovely small homes and gardens. We approached this one particularly beautiful old home, and I began to think about what it would be like to live there. I was so caught up in my reverie, that I almost did not notice, straight in front of me....GRANDMA!
"Oh my God!" I told Amber. "There she is!"
I stared at Grandma, and was gathering up the courage to speak to her, until she shifted, and I saw behind her...ANOTHER GRANDMA...and they were having a jolly time. 2 french grandmas?! - so joyous I could not speak. So Instead, I stared creepily as I passed - slowing down and smiling at them...until the first grandma could not help but notice me and she spoke - (in French) - "you were the girl I just saw!"
Me: Yes that was me!
Grandma: Oh okay.
Me: My name is Jean!
Grandma: Lovely.
Me: Yes, I am an American student and these are my friends, we are all students, who are here to check out the wine caves.
Grandma: Oh yes. We never go - it is to far to walk...
Then she started telling me about her family and we stood out there and chatted like that for the next 15 minutes or so until my friends and I had to leave. Before we parted, she said something to me which I did not quite understand...but I did pick out the word "encore," which means "again," so...I thought about it...and maybe she said "I hope I see you again!" Which would be REALLY COOOL because I want to go back (maybe a bike trip this time) and be friends with her and the other grandma! Yayyyyy!
Read: The Economist
Movie: The Newsies
Yesterday, a few friends and I went on a trip to the Vouvray wine caves, organized by your's truly. There were seven of us, each someone I had met in the past week. The girls were impressed by my social skills - so I let them in on my method - the 3 approaches to pick up a friend.
1) The Introductory Approach
This is when someone you already know introduces you to someone new. The person you knew then becomes the mutual go-through friend who can remain as the go-through friend until the new friend you know through the go-through friend is no longer new and is the friend you know and can then become the friend you know who introduces you to someone new. This is a nice approach, I feel - very Austen/Montgomery. However, there are a few downsides - the first being, you already have to know someone in order to be introduced to that person's friend who is stranger to you. Second, that friend whom you already know may only have other friends who are like themselves and thus you might end up with a homogeneous bunch of hangouts ...which may be good or bad depending on how much you like that person you know.
2) The Creeper Approach
I will demonstrate via dialogue:
Person A: Hello!
Person B: Hello!
Person A: So, You know about that thing tonight?
Person B: What thing?
Person A: You know, the thing!
Person B: Oh, that thing.
Person A: Yeah - are you going?
Person B: Oh, I might
Person A: Yeah, me too. Are you going with anyone?
Person B: No, I don't think so.
Person A: Yeah, me neither...
Person B: Oh...(awkwardly)...do you want to go together?
Person A: Oh...yeah, that would be cool.
3) The Desperate Approach
a
In order to use this approach, you must either be very confident in yourself, or well...just very desperate.
(Once again, demonstrative dialogue)
Person A: Hi!
Person B: Hello.
Person A: I'm looking for friends! I don't have any friends. Do you want to be my friend!?
(Please note the repetition of the word "friend." The auditory reinforcement will emphasize your overtly-convivial air and persona, if not already obvious.)
Potential Downfall: Don't smile too much if you feel yourself getting nervous or if you have a scary smile. This might frighten the potential friend. Word gets around quickly. A scary smile--> no friends.
Using various combinations of the above three methods, I managed to get the group together :)
Our trip was very lovely. We hopped on the 61 bus at Place Jean Jaures and took it to Vouvray, which is about 9 KM from Tours.
Vouvray is absolutely lovely with rolling green hills, small quaint homes, crumbling stone steps, and...wine. Delicious wine.
Upon arrival at Caves des Producteurs de Vouvray, I was met by many pleasant things. First, there was this nicely sized shop filled with the most delicious looking wines, juices, wine-jellies, and bubbly. Second, there was a very nice tour guide who, I must admit, was one of the few attractive French men I've seen thus far in my visit. He lead us first to a room with traditional wine press machines and gadgets which were mad baller:
Then we entered into the CAVES.
It was cool, damp, and dark - some parts cold enough to freeze some of the wine (will explain later). The tunnels ran underground some 7 km long. One friend told me that a couple of silly tourists wandered into the cave one day and a guide had to go running after them - getting lost in some parts which are pitch black or venturing a particularly windy path would be less than ideal. It was so much fun! We looked at rows and rows of Vouvrays, each bottle turned on its side depending on its age and fermentation process.
The caretakers put white tape on each bottle to mark when the bottle was turned. All the bottles are turned by hand - and there are thousands of them! They are also set in crates with a lever you can press to change the inclination of the bottles. Only the bubblies are inclined completely upside down. After a wine has been sitting for a while, the sediment falls to the bottom of the bottom. In order to get the sediment out, the bottles are inclined so that the sediment settles at the neck of the bottle. Then, they are stored at the perfect temperature so that only the liquid at the neck of the bottle is frozen (the sediment part) - the bottles then go through this machine where the frozen capsuls are popped out of the bottles, and then the bottles are re-sealed.Most if not all Vouvray wines (which are white) use grapes called Chenin Blanc, which are native to the region. There are many different wineries along the Loire river of both reds and whites, but Vouvray is the second largest maker of bubbly, the first being the region of Champagne. Personally, I prefer Vouvray's sparkling wine, of which there are two kinds: First, "Méthode Traditionnelle," or more widely known by its former name of "Méthode Champenoise." This kind has more bubbles and is better for parties, etc.
The second is "Vouvray Petillant” which has finer bubbles. Thus, you can taste more of the wine itself. I liked Vouvray Petillant the best, but bought a bottle of still white for my parents.
After the tour, we had a tasting and I tried seven different wines - brut, sec, demi-sec, stills and sparkling.
The sweeter ones are made with grapes that are picked later in the maturation process, the dry ones with early, younger grapes. I had this one kind that was so sweet, it tasted like honey. It even moved more slowly in the glass - very cool.
After finishing the wine, we hit up the shop. 
Then, with a slightly rosy face and a heavy,clinking plastic bag, I left with the girls walked through the countryside munching a baguette. On our way back to the bus station, I thought, wouldn't it be cool if I could have a French grandma whom I could visit in Vouvray? Together, we would pick fresh legumes from her garden, laugh at French jokes, and, elbow deep in dough and our noses covered with flour, we would kneed the bread for fresh, brick-oven baked baguettes for that evening's dinner. In the midst of this day-dream, my friend, Amber (who very may well be a kindrid spirit!) and I passed by this smiling elderly French lady standing in a small garden. "Grandma?" I thought. But I didn't want to miss the bus so I hurried on. Sure enough, just as we reached the stop, we saw the 61 rounding the corner...imagine our relief - our persons laden with heavy bags of alcohol. But the bus didn't stop. In slow motion - it passed - our mouths gaping in disbelief - the faces of several dozen school children smashed against the windows, laughing and making faces at us. "Catch the next one - this one's full!" The driver managed to yell at us (in French, of course), before continuing on his way. Right. The next one. In forty minutes. So we all found some shade and sat. But soon I grew restless. One girl suggested that a few of us go on a walk, so, in hopes of seeing that French grandma again, I tagged along.
We took the same path full of lovely small homes and gardens. We approached this one particularly beautiful old home, and I began to think about what it would be like to live there. I was so caught up in my reverie, that I almost did not notice, straight in front of me....GRANDMA!
"Oh my God!" I told Amber. "There she is!"
I stared at Grandma, and was gathering up the courage to speak to her, until she shifted, and I saw behind her...ANOTHER GRANDMA...and they were having a jolly time. 2 french grandmas?! - so joyous I could not speak. So Instead, I stared creepily as I passed - slowing down and smiling at them...until the first grandma could not help but notice me and she spoke - (in French) - "you were the girl I just saw!"
Me: Yes that was me!
Grandma: Oh okay.
Me: My name is Jean!
Grandma: Lovely.
Me: Yes, I am an American student and these are my friends, we are all students, who are here to check out the wine caves.
Grandma: Oh yes. We never go - it is to far to walk...
Then she started telling me about her family and we stood out there and chatted like that for the next 15 minutes or so until my friends and I had to leave. Before we parted, she said something to me which I did not quite understand...but I did pick out the word "encore," which means "again," so...I thought about it...and maybe she said "I hope I see you again!" Which would be REALLY COOOL because I want to go back (maybe a bike trip this time) and be friends with her and the other grandma! Yayyyyy!
Friday, June 5, 2009
bon nuit, bonjour
Yesterday was a day of water and flowers, flies and gypsies, and sun. Lots of sun. But then again, every day is full of sun, (en français, soliel), because right now in Tours, it is dark for only 8 hours a day - the sun does not set until around 10 pm and rises around 6am.
The morning and part of the afternoon was filled by mon classe français, during which we talked about ourselves - how old are you, what is your name, where were you born, what is your nationality...do you like cats...how much do you make a year(to which i answered,-40,000 dollars) ...then we learned the proper way of asking someone if they were single, to which one replies, if answering in the affirmative, "oui, je suis celebataire"...which of course sounds terribly monk-ish, or for the sans-virginity obsessed, quite ghastly...
----for the past 10 minutes, this girl next to me has been watching on youtube a series of prokofiev's violin concertos while flinging her head to every dramatic beat.. resulting in her long hair flicking my arm...oop, there it goes...flick..flick...flick...one moment please while i grab some sheers...
----
BACK. :)
Then we had to guess the answers to the aforementioned questions in regards to our teacher, a 34 year old Parisienne divorcée who found cats comçi comça and played a little soccer - jouer au foot. Then we had to describe his caractère - which included his physical appearance - and someone in my group wanted to use le mot (the word) "skinny" which, in french, sounds quite uncomplimentary... "malgré." I found it reminiscent of, as we say in anglais, "emaciated," and did not want to offend, so I suggested that our group use a less negatively charged mot, hmmm, how about le mot "fit," a lovely euphemism for "skinny." The group agreed. So I looked up the french mot for "fit," in my handy dandy français-anglais dictionnaire, and waited for everyone else to finish.
Another group presented first, and sure enough, when it came to le caractère de Frédéric, they used that terrible word....
"Je suis malgré?!" Frédéric cried.
He gestured at our group, seeking some assurance, and looked straight at me...
"No, I stuttered...umm...tu es...propre." I was nervous at the sudden spotlight.
"Je suis...quoi?" (I am what?) asked Frédéric.
I could not tell if it was because he did not understand what I had said or if I had actually, in my haste, mispronounced "propre" so terribly that I had unknowingly thrown out some other mot from my little saucer of French babble
"Um....propre?" I responded.
"Un phrase complète, s'il vous plait" (a complete phrase, please).
"Tu es propre?"
"What?" cupping his ear.
"TU ES PROPRE!"
"Propre? What is propre?"
And now i didn't want to say it because I had finally realized how shady it would seem if I were telling my single, french teacher, "I think you are fit..."
So after unintentionally hitting on my language instructing and learning how to pick up Pièrres, I went to la musée de beaux-arts, which is about a 10 minute walk from L'institut de Touraine. The museum itself, I found mediocre, but I loved the garden and lay out in the sun for an hour, until I was woken up by a drone of clear-colored flies. So I got up and I walked amongst the wild roses (I think they are becoming my new favorite flower) pink and white and cream and yellow and peach wild roses. I reached an old stone, vine-covered wall. Apparently an elephant used to live behind that wall...
In the wall, there was a wooden gate with a small key-hole filled with spiderwebs. I sat on a bench facing the gate and thought about the Secret Garden, Fairy stories, and nymph tales. My mind really wanted to form a new idea for a children's story but could not come up with a good plot. I just got more and more frustrated with my writer's block (which has been standing strong ever since my arrival) until it was time for me to go home and change for my first French Rotary Club meeting - also, a couple appeared next to me and started making out...and no one wants to see that, especially if they are both old and ugly...
so I walked to center city - centre ville, hopped on the bus, arrived home, and took a hot shower with my new French pommegranate conditioner which apparently is now all the rage...
... but as soon as I was ready to head out the door, I got a phone call from the president of the Tours club, who told me that this week's meeting would be extremely short and that i should come to the next one prepared to give a 15 minute speech in French about my hopes for the future relationship between France and America ....after I expressly told him - JE NE PARLE EN FRANçAISE BIEN ...
Indeed, I felt pretty screwed. So I grabbed my kicks and went on a looong run.
I've been told by a few other students not to go along the rivière ( specifically the Loire River) by myself if I could help it, especially not at night. But this advice was too reminiscent of the advice given to me during my freshmen year at Penn regarding West Philly....and it was not yet night.... so I went running along the rivière.
And it was très jolie! There were lots of gypsies and guys with dreadlocks (perhaps gypsies w dreadlocks?) along the bank, and they looked like they were having so much fun that I wanted to join them. But I'm not yet completely crazy so I practiced some self control and minded my own business. Luckily, soon one of them stopped to speak w me - he shouted out in French, "Hey, what you're doing there looks hard,"...(thank you? I know Im sweaty but I've been running for an hour in hot weather which is prob more than you can say for yourself.... and he was, at first a little creepy, but then turned out to be quite delightful - he asked me if I was having a good time, to which I gave a long response that he understood (!!!!!!!) and then asked me if I would like a cup of coffee, which I was obliged to decline. I continued on my way and got lost in a quartière (but it was okay because i was able to amuse myself with the loveliest narrow cobblestone streets), and an hour before dark, unintentially found my way back to the foot of the main bridge.
There on a old wooden bench sat a homeless man I had seen on the first day of my arrival in Tours. He wore a faded blue tie and carried a plastic bag from one of the most expensive stores in the city.
"Bon nuit!" I told him.
He looked up - it was beginning to dusk. "Bon nuit," he responded, and after a second, added, "Et bonjour."
After a moment's hesitation, "Bonjour," I responded, turned, and ran back home.
"Just as well," I thought to myself. After all, in Tours, it is dark for only 8 hours a day.
The morning and part of the afternoon was filled by mon classe français, during which we talked about ourselves - how old are you, what is your name, where were you born, what is your nationality...do you like cats...how much do you make a year(to which i answered,-40,000 dollars) ...then we learned the proper way of asking someone if they were single, to which one replies, if answering in the affirmative, "oui, je suis celebataire"...which of course sounds terribly monk-ish, or for the sans-virginity obsessed, quite ghastly...
----for the past 10 minutes, this girl next to me has been watching on youtube a series of prokofiev's violin concertos while flinging her head to every dramatic beat.. resulting in her long hair flicking my arm...oop, there it goes...flick..flick...flick...one moment please while i grab some sheers...
----
BACK. :)
Then we had to guess the answers to the aforementioned questions in regards to our teacher, a 34 year old Parisienne divorcée who found cats comçi comça and played a little soccer - jouer au foot. Then we had to describe his caractère - which included his physical appearance - and someone in my group wanted to use le mot (the word) "skinny" which, in french, sounds quite uncomplimentary... "malgré." I found it reminiscent of, as we say in anglais, "emaciated," and did not want to offend, so I suggested that our group use a less negatively charged mot, hmmm, how about le mot "fit," a lovely euphemism for "skinny." The group agreed. So I looked up the french mot for "fit," in my handy dandy français-anglais dictionnaire, and waited for everyone else to finish.
Another group presented first, and sure enough, when it came to le caractère de Frédéric, they used that terrible word....
"Je suis malgré?!" Frédéric cried.
He gestured at our group, seeking some assurance, and looked straight at me...
"No, I stuttered...umm...tu es...propre." I was nervous at the sudden spotlight.
"Je suis...quoi?" (I am what?) asked Frédéric.
I could not tell if it was because he did not understand what I had said or if I had actually, in my haste, mispronounced "propre" so terribly that I had unknowingly thrown out some other mot from my little saucer of French babble
"Um....propre?" I responded.
"Un phrase complète, s'il vous plait" (a complete phrase, please).
"Tu es propre?"
"What?" cupping his ear.
"TU ES PROPRE!"
"Propre? What is propre?"
And now i didn't want to say it because I had finally realized how shady it would seem if I were telling my single, french teacher, "I think you are fit..."
So after unintentionally hitting on my language instructing and learning how to pick up Pièrres, I went to la musée de beaux-arts, which is about a 10 minute walk from L'institut de Touraine. The museum itself, I found mediocre, but I loved the garden and lay out in the sun for an hour, until I was woken up by a drone of clear-colored flies. So I got up and I walked amongst the wild roses (I think they are becoming my new favorite flower) pink and white and cream and yellow and peach wild roses. I reached an old stone, vine-covered wall. Apparently an elephant used to live behind that wall...
In the wall, there was a wooden gate with a small key-hole filled with spiderwebs. I sat on a bench facing the gate and thought about the Secret Garden, Fairy stories, and nymph tales. My mind really wanted to form a new idea for a children's story but could not come up with a good plot. I just got more and more frustrated with my writer's block (which has been standing strong ever since my arrival) until it was time for me to go home and change for my first French Rotary Club meeting - also, a couple appeared next to me and started making out...and no one wants to see that, especially if they are both old and ugly...
so I walked to center city - centre ville, hopped on the bus, arrived home, and took a hot shower with my new French pommegranate conditioner which apparently is now all the rage...
... but as soon as I was ready to head out the door, I got a phone call from the president of the Tours club, who told me that this week's meeting would be extremely short and that i should come to the next one prepared to give a 15 minute speech in French about my hopes for the future relationship between France and America ....after I expressly told him - JE NE PARLE EN FRANçAISE BIEN ...
Indeed, I felt pretty screwed. So I grabbed my kicks and went on a looong run.
I've been told by a few other students not to go along the rivière ( specifically the Loire River) by myself if I could help it, especially not at night. But this advice was too reminiscent of the advice given to me during my freshmen year at Penn regarding West Philly....and it was not yet night.... so I went running along the rivière.
And it was très jolie! There were lots of gypsies and guys with dreadlocks (perhaps gypsies w dreadlocks?) along the bank, and they looked like they were having so much fun that I wanted to join them. But I'm not yet completely crazy so I practiced some self control and minded my own business. Luckily, soon one of them stopped to speak w me - he shouted out in French, "Hey, what you're doing there looks hard,"...(thank you? I know Im sweaty but I've been running for an hour in hot weather which is prob more than you can say for yourself.... and he was, at first a little creepy, but then turned out to be quite delightful - he asked me if I was having a good time, to which I gave a long response that he understood (!!!!!!!) and then asked me if I would like a cup of coffee, which I was obliged to decline. I continued on my way and got lost in a quartière (but it was okay because i was able to amuse myself with the loveliest narrow cobblestone streets), and an hour before dark, unintentially found my way back to the foot of the main bridge.
There on a old wooden bench sat a homeless man I had seen on the first day of my arrival in Tours. He wore a faded blue tie and carried a plastic bag from one of the most expensive stores in the city.
"Bon nuit!" I told him.
He looked up - it was beginning to dusk. "Bon nuit," he responded, and after a second, added, "Et bonjour."
After a moment's hesitation, "Bonjour," I responded, turned, and ran back home.
"Just as well," I thought to myself. After all, in Tours, it is dark for only 8 hours a day.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
la premiere classe
Jeez louiz i must be the oldest person here. i awoke after a very long night of bizarre dreaming - see additional post for a full account - and was met, at the gates of Institut de Touraine, by another nightmare - under-age drunk crazies.. yipeeee...
guy 1 - like omigod where can we party?
girl 1 - I am so excited to get like...DRUNK
guy 1 - we can practice our french
guy 2 - je suis gayyyyy
Actually, a whole bunch of them were gay and really wanted to find a gay bar. And the girls just wanted to hook up w sleazy french guys ...tempting...
... so I decided to hang out w my roommate and her friends - a group of international students from China studying at Bard College in NYC. Now after several ours of hearing only rapid Chinese youd think id want to slice my head open with a cheese knife and stuff it with paté, but they were all so nice i actually had a good time. We all went on a walking tour for about an hour - the cobblestone streets were nothing close to anything i had seen before - even caesars palace in the great land of Las Vegas - surprise surprise - because these streets and these buildings resonated with the very weight of anicent. Très vieux. We passed by so many cool restaurants and so many small shops i have never felt so greedy in my entire life - wanting to guwwle EVERYTHING...all at once.
Upon our return, I rented a mobile for my " month stay - one which could receive calls but not dial unless i also purchased a phoen card. But My newfound friends from China were so patient and waited for me - so i decided to look fr a phone card on the way to lunch.
Me - where do you want to go?
Chinese friends - To a chinese restaurant
Me - ...really?
Chinese friends - yes.
Me - but we are in france...
*Chinese friends already walking down the road to a faux front bombarded by tacky, generic paper lanterns*
Feeling bad for making them wait for so long, i followed. but alas, the restaurant was closed.
OUVRE LES PORTES ( open the doors) - shouted one of my friends
We continued down the cobblestone street, past the delicious aromas of the various FRENCH restaurants..until we got to row of three different restaurants all covered w crappy paper lanterns.
Look- I cried, hungry enough to eat anything by now...
yes yes - they responded and headed toward the middle one..which was the only one of the three that was un restaurant japonaise, not chinoise.
We all sat down, the owner came out, and began to talk rapidly to my Chinese friends in Chinese. I tried to follow their expressions - but it was absolutely impossible - so I whipped out my french-english dictionary to look up the word for pre-paid phone card.
observing my non-participation, one girl leaned over - Our waitress is from Taiwan - she whispered.
Ah, oui? I responded, my go-to response to show interest for any passing comment
We ordered food, which came out to 12 euros for me - about 15 dollars - which is très pricey for mediocre asian food - one plate which came out with patches of duck furr remaining on the skewered meat...
I sat there, drinking my miso soup, thinking
There I was in France, sitting at a Japanese restaurant owned by a Taiwanese lady listening to rapid Chinese while speaking in English, holding up a French-English dictionary, and trying to find the right word for telephone card....which is, as I later found out...*in a french accent* telephone card.
guy 1 - like omigod where can we party?
girl 1 - I am so excited to get like...DRUNK
guy 1 - we can practice our french
guy 2 - je suis gayyyyy
Actually, a whole bunch of them were gay and really wanted to find a gay bar. And the girls just wanted to hook up w sleazy french guys ...tempting...
... so I decided to hang out w my roommate and her friends - a group of international students from China studying at Bard College in NYC. Now after several ours of hearing only rapid Chinese youd think id want to slice my head open with a cheese knife and stuff it with paté, but they were all so nice i actually had a good time. We all went on a walking tour for about an hour - the cobblestone streets were nothing close to anything i had seen before - even caesars palace in the great land of Las Vegas - surprise surprise - because these streets and these buildings resonated with the very weight of anicent. Très vieux. We passed by so many cool restaurants and so many small shops i have never felt so greedy in my entire life - wanting to guwwle EVERYTHING...all at once.
Upon our return, I rented a mobile for my " month stay - one which could receive calls but not dial unless i also purchased a phoen card. But My newfound friends from China were so patient and waited for me - so i decided to look fr a phone card on the way to lunch.
Me - where do you want to go?
Chinese friends - To a chinese restaurant
Me - ...really?
Chinese friends - yes.
Me - but we are in france...
*Chinese friends already walking down the road to a faux front bombarded by tacky, generic paper lanterns*
Feeling bad for making them wait for so long, i followed. but alas, the restaurant was closed.
OUVRE LES PORTES ( open the doors) - shouted one of my friends
We continued down the cobblestone street, past the delicious aromas of the various FRENCH restaurants..until we got to row of three different restaurants all covered w crappy paper lanterns.
Look- I cried, hungry enough to eat anything by now...
yes yes - they responded and headed toward the middle one..which was the only one of the three that was un restaurant japonaise, not chinoise.
We all sat down, the owner came out, and began to talk rapidly to my Chinese friends in Chinese. I tried to follow their expressions - but it was absolutely impossible - so I whipped out my french-english dictionary to look up the word for pre-paid phone card.
observing my non-participation, one girl leaned over - Our waitress is from Taiwan - she whispered.
Ah, oui? I responded, my go-to response to show interest for any passing comment
We ordered food, which came out to 12 euros for me - about 15 dollars - which is très pricey for mediocre asian food - one plate which came out with patches of duck furr remaining on the skewered meat...
I sat there, drinking my miso soup, thinking
There I was in France, sitting at a Japanese restaurant owned by a Taiwanese lady listening to rapid Chinese while speaking in English, holding up a French-English dictionary, and trying to find the right word for telephone card....which is, as I later found out...*in a french accent* telephone card.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
just for now
bonjour mes amis - insert exclamation point here -
the keyboard i am using is a little different than the american ones .... alas, i left my charger at sarah`s and must purchase another one here soon... only problem is - everything closes on sundays so... zut alors.
i will update soon with picture i have taken of this crazy cool buddhist dude who lives in the woods and fed me flowers and gave me roses --- yaaaaay
the keyboard i am using is a little different than the american ones .... alas, i left my charger at sarah`s and must purchase another one here soon... only problem is - everything closes on sundays so... zut alors.
i will update soon with picture i have taken of this crazy cool buddhist dude who lives in the woods and fed me flowers and gave me roses --- yaaaaay
Monday, May 25, 2009
Pre-departure
Bonjour mes amis, ma famille, ma petite cherie,
I am currently sitting in Sarah's house in Philly, freshly turned, spitted, and seasoned with graduation galore, a small sum of congratulatory monies, and a few extra pounds gained from a series of celebratory meals comped by the recently departed parentals.
I'm leaving for France in 4 days, and I'm scared shitless, considering the fact that I forgot (procrastinated/didn't try) to obtain a student visa, have not yet made contact with my host family/host Rotarian, and have no idea how I will get from Paris to Tours to my place of stay.
Why am I going to France? I'm going through Rotary International through the Ambassadorial Scholarship Program
Originally, the reason for my going was to produce a short documentary about the racial relations between African French peoples/African immigrants and "locals," to speak to Rotary Clubs in France about the happenings in American Rotary Clubs, and to take language classes at L'Institut de Tours.
Problems with these goals:
1) I'm going to be in Tours, not Paris - where I believe the race issues are most evident...is there even this issue in Tours? I don't know...good job Jean, good job.
2) I suck at French
3) I don't have a student visa
4) I have no idea what local Rotary clubs in America are doing (prob not that much, considering the current economic crisis)
5) I suck at French.
6) My name belongs to half of France's male population and, for pronunciation, requires a nasal grunt. Attractive.
7) I don't have a phone or a bank account.
Those high school French classes look mighty appealing now - Monsieur Jeorger and his wife standing up front, holding hands and singing Parisian school children songs as I dozed off or nibbled on a piece of cheese...
So I've been trying to brush up with a book that was part of this wonderful little package entitled A Quick Guide to learning French that I borrowed from the CA Mission Viejo Library in 2005 - complete with audio tapes, etc...unfortunately, when I returned said audio/literary package to the library way back when, I forgot to include the book...which remained in my suitcase...and is now in my lap...
The book is filled with the most helpful phrases, expressions, and dialogues.
Most useful sentences so far:
1)Je donne le livre à l'enfant : I give the book to the child
2)Je ne veux pas y aller : I don't want to go there. (used in place of rape/murder whistle)
3)Donnez-vous de l'argent? : Do you give money?
4)Plus jambon, s'il vous plait : More ham, please.
I hope to share notes, pictures, and video clips of my adventures in Tours with those whom I love in CA, Philly, NY, and everywhere else in the big wide world as post Penn winds have driven them so. Ultimately, I hope to make my experiences sound so deliciously irresistible, that you will feel compelled to drop everything, and rush to me in Tours! (Faites-le aussi vite que possible - Do it as quickly as possible) And keep me company..and fight off, what are sure to be.. millions upon millions of pigeons *shudder*
But until then, I will tantalize you with French delicacies and decadence until toi aussi (you too) will feel the same as I hope to feel...
Tours, Je t'aime.
je t'adore, je t'embrasse,
Jeanette
I am currently sitting in Sarah's house in Philly, freshly turned, spitted, and seasoned with graduation galore, a small sum of congratulatory monies, and a few extra pounds gained from a series of celebratory meals comped by the recently departed parentals.
I'm leaving for France in 4 days, and I'm scared shitless, considering the fact that I forgot (procrastinated/didn't try) to obtain a student visa, have not yet made contact with my host family/host Rotarian, and have no idea how I will get from Paris to Tours to my place of stay.
Why am I going to France? I'm going through Rotary International through the Ambassadorial Scholarship Program
Originally, the reason for my going was to produce a short documentary about the racial relations between African French peoples/African immigrants and "locals," to speak to Rotary Clubs in France about the happenings in American Rotary Clubs, and to take language classes at L'Institut de Tours.
Problems with these goals:
1) I'm going to be in Tours, not Paris - where I believe the race issues are most evident...is there even this issue in Tours? I don't know...good job Jean, good job.
2) I suck at French
3) I don't have a student visa
4) I have no idea what local Rotary clubs in America are doing (prob not that much, considering the current economic crisis)
5) I suck at French.
6) My name belongs to half of France's male population and, for pronunciation, requires a nasal grunt. Attractive.
7) I don't have a phone or a bank account.
Those high school French classes look mighty appealing now - Monsieur Jeorger and his wife standing up front, holding hands and singing Parisian school children songs as I dozed off or nibbled on a piece of cheese...
So I've been trying to brush up with a book that was part of this wonderful little package entitled A Quick Guide to learning French that I borrowed from the CA Mission Viejo Library in 2005 - complete with audio tapes, etc...unfortunately, when I returned said audio/literary package to the library way back when, I forgot to include the book...which remained in my suitcase...and is now in my lap...
The book is filled with the most helpful phrases, expressions, and dialogues.
Most useful sentences so far:
1)Je donne le livre à l'enfant : I give the book to the child
2)Je ne veux pas y aller : I don't want to go there. (used in place of rape/murder whistle)
3)Donnez-vous de l'argent? : Do you give money?
4)Plus jambon, s'il vous plait : More ham, please.
I hope to share notes, pictures, and video clips of my adventures in Tours with those whom I love in CA, Philly, NY, and everywhere else in the big wide world as post Penn winds have driven them so. Ultimately, I hope to make my experiences sound so deliciously irresistible, that you will feel compelled to drop everything, and rush to me in Tours! (Faites-le aussi vite que possible - Do it as quickly as possible) And keep me company..and fight off, what are sure to be.. millions upon millions of pigeons *shudder*
But until then, I will tantalize you with French delicacies and decadence until toi aussi (you too) will feel the same as I hope to feel...
Tours, Je t'aime.
je t'adore, je t'embrasse,
Jeanette
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