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
Sunday, July 26, 2009
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
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