tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19634965340131995222024-03-18T20:42:43.530-07:00Le CheminementRebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10751144897063885381noreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1963496534013199522.post-72767929121205692802009-12-17T13:59:00.000-08:002009-12-17T14:27:26.533-08:00Resumée<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLGmD-Ux43Iav4KFqkNUGCbYd2_iIRj2dWbja3-QHDQW6f-voHZaiBKYajuYrSChD3tiFVv8wSWhVJI-FcG7XSN4CErsjnzSRZ2-h8rjIg7nmvNc6SE2ywCjOfdWU9YwLIWTVOesSb-Dg/s1600-h/DSCN6983.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLGmD-Ux43Iav4KFqkNUGCbYd2_iIRj2dWbja3-QHDQW6f-voHZaiBKYajuYrSChD3tiFVv8wSWhVJI-FcG7XSN4CErsjnzSRZ2-h8rjIg7nmvNc6SE2ywCjOfdWU9YwLIWTVOesSb-Dg/s400/DSCN6983.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416333871409153714" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Since my last entry I have:<br /><br /><ul><li>written a 4th french paper bringing my 2 week total to 21 pages of FRENCH</li><li>had 4 exams</li><li>had a wonderful, love-filled dinner with all the friends at Horace's house</li><li>visited the Musee Dobree </li><li>visited the crypts and treasury of the cathedral</li><li>had one failed attempt trying to play music for change on a street corner with Forrest</li><li>had food poisoning 2 times</li><li>GOTTEN MY HAIR CUT<br /></li><li>walked around the exterior of the Jules Verne museum (which is supposed to be the best part, anyway)</li><li>had hot chocolate at La Cigale with Hanna and Elisa</li><li>gone to the IES farewell party and taken lots of pictures with people I'll miss<br /></li><li>done lots and lots of Christmas shopping</li></ul>I have been busy! And I'm not through!<br /><br />Tomorrow I will:<br /><ul><li>buy 2 more presents, while attempting to spend 0 money</li><li>walk around</li><li>have one last dinner at a creprie in the Buffay </li><li>likely cry</li></ul>Saturday I will be traveling all day non-stop.<br /><br />One of my favorite teachers of the semester, M. Kersaudy, with Elisa:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9BjCwMT4sVE0yHWZ5iGa92ADeb4S-TnhUwqaYn934LQAXzVHRNSfHU3ypa-WsKm0P4Qhfd_snNFN91_dxmx6HkoOx2m6EhtoE_L_VoQ0eXHa_OnVml8n6687AZb4yOuWw4ZqUQRhGFUU/s1600-h/DSCN7008.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9BjCwMT4sVE0yHWZ5iGa92ADeb4S-TnhUwqaYn934LQAXzVHRNSfHU3ypa-WsKm0P4Qhfd_snNFN91_dxmx6HkoOx2m6EhtoE_L_VoQ0eXHa_OnVml8n6687AZb4yOuWw4ZqUQRhGFUU/s400/DSCN7008.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416332601337709618" border="0" /></a><br />Inside La Cigale:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG3LkoMmiANSdzbfa6rtzuxDYW57bkfGxxOQBCP4vjpeSXtp9akx_S1psf38SkCLVyQ6YDbTMsmeYDYfzS8XzP3idl6daNq3dmaNCVNgDr1VwbFvOz4WMEQd0GZGeTv0D1bbFIe8s5FV0/s1600-h/DSCN7026.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG3LkoMmiANSdzbfa6rtzuxDYW57bkfGxxOQBCP4vjpeSXtp9akx_S1psf38SkCLVyQ6YDbTMsmeYDYfzS8XzP3idl6daNq3dmaNCVNgDr1VwbFvOz4WMEQd0GZGeTv0D1bbFIe8s5FV0/s400/DSCN7026.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416332581110543730" border="0" /></a>Crypts of the Cathedral:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn8pFFR2SivpAgM3JH9wIVPpZqBvKAnPABFmrIujzCOmpc9KJDGxZ481EVp2Jfjw8U1b8_n0L_PNXdB472IUweJ6s5lU5DrTEKCGaAUkqOKDKn6YhNcr5NLYl_Tww9o6f0nj9xzYGMNO0/s1600-h/DSCN6952.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn8pFFR2SivpAgM3JH9wIVPpZqBvKAnPABFmrIujzCOmpc9KJDGxZ481EVp2Jfjw8U1b8_n0L_PNXdB472IUweJ6s5lU5DrTEKCGaAUkqOKDKn6YhNcr5NLYl_Tww9o6f0nj9xzYGMNO0/s400/DSCN6952.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416332588133984498" border="0" /></a>Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10751144897063885381noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1963496534013199522.post-82905336420395263682009-12-06T12:33:00.000-08:002009-12-06T14:07:27.061-08:00Winding down... !!!!!!!Shortly after Thanksgiving, I grew panicked at the thought of leaving. As a result, I've been trying to go non-stop, which is inevitably just making me tired. I think I'm actually accomplishing and adventuring less as a result of trying to do more. Regardless, these are the things I've been up to:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaB9oKjPkcOrwRqBlmUVdp7LGVubjoCcwavQCuReUyxPjsqRyMk-YCvYV2_ug86iC7oEFsnFwp2Amns_cL7r_jJKmN6Wj0e85RkkPCqe05UMmNR0s05VGuOb6Hy0D7pWkmW_pmL3Z-C6k/s1600-h/DSCN6854.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaB9oKjPkcOrwRqBlmUVdp7LGVubjoCcwavQCuReUyxPjsqRyMk-YCvYV2_ug86iC7oEFsnFwp2Amns_cL7r_jJKmN6Wj0e85RkkPCqe05UMmNR0s05VGuOb6Hy0D7pWkmW_pmL3Z-C6k/s200/DSCN6854.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412246852138616530" border="0" /></a>1. I went to a French soccer game. Nantes v. Chateauroux. It ended in overtime and eventually a tie. I loved going; I typically love watching live sports - almost as much as I dislike watching televised sports - and found the energy at the soccer game to be a bit wilder than I'd anticipated. Approaching the stadium at night, you could hear the chants and the drums from miles away. Inside, people were waving banners that looked more befitting a middle ages jousting tournament than a 21st century "football" game. It felt every bit like I was attending the Quidditch World Cup.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixXmkz_ADwdIyUKDbnDj1Dk2kUKBqsgIwaT5I2Lx0ArqzMUAPBzrpoBJ6c3HZnxPOmDSvOErQignJ3XjNHC3gkRnHy-h_m88aOdbzhV6vbSTXx93DT9kEy5h4HHDp13MUhvh3DJ5vHHHg/s1600-h/DSCN6866.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixXmkz_ADwdIyUKDbnDj1Dk2kUKBqsgIwaT5I2Lx0ArqzMUAPBzrpoBJ6c3HZnxPOmDSvOErQignJ3XjNHC3gkRnHy-h_m88aOdbzhV6vbSTXx93DT9kEy5h4HHDp13MUhvh3DJ5vHHHg/s320/DSCN6866.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412247461409002242" border="0" /></a>2. On the way home from said football game, Hanna, Horace and I had a 30 minute long conversation with four or five 10 year-old French boys. One in particular was absolutely brilliant; he already spoke English very well (and by that I mean had a very good English accent but knew very few phrases). I was very impressed with him and we talked non-stop all the way to our stop. He asked me in French: "How old are you? Do you live with your mom and dad? Do they miss you? Do you miss them? Do you have your own house? Are you in college yet? Are you an American? Do you have a brother? Bigger or smaller? Are you married? Do you have a love? Where does your love live? France? America? Spain!? Do you have a baby? Does she (Hanna) have a lover?" He also informed me he wanted to be a surgeon when he grew up; I have no doubt he'll be able to succeed. He was the cutest child I think I've ever met and kept calling me Madame. It was just too sweet. His dad was there with him and was decidedly beaming at how intelligent he was when he spoke English.<br /><br />One of the other children was decidedly less bright and far less polite; he asked me if I liked Obama, if I voted for Obama (I said, Yes, very enthusiastically as a response to each) and then promptly informed me, "Well Sarkozy DOESN'T like Obama!"<br /><br />3. I finally visited the museum inside the Nantes Chateau. I went by myself and really took my time. Nantes has a fascinating history; it used to be considered the Venice of France it had so many islands and and rivers and bridges. It was called the Mermaid City because it was said to belong to both man and fish. Around 1900 the rivers were channelized and filled in; I suppose in hind sight it <span style="font-style: italic;">might</span> have been a smart move (Venice as we all know is in the process of sinking). All the same, I cannot imagine how much more magical Nantes would be now if it had remained the same. I kept thinking about all the transitions it had undergone: Roman city, chateau of the dukes, later captured by the crown, becoming one of the King's favorite vacation castles, a city of the Revolution, executions taking place in the Place du Bouffay, where all the trendy bars are now, and then WWII, when it was bombed to pieces, and the reconstruction with lots of shanties lining the streets until houses could be rebuilt (thanks to the Marshall Plan). And now the Isle of Machines and all the eccentrics, hobos and beautiful French families that live here now.<br /><br />It is impossible for me to wrap my head around how the history of Nantes (or I suppose, of the world)is a progression. It is hard to envision that the town of bold and disobedient Brittany dukes would became the town of such unimaginable destitution at the end of the war, or that that destitute town became the expensive, chic, clean city of Nantes today. It seems rather that they're all separate cities, full of separate people. And yet its entirely possible that Nantes has had some of its same inhabitants for millenia. I cannot fathom how many people have paced the worn stones in the old cathedral, or walked the winding streets of the Bouffay. I can't even fathom how many families, how many dramas, how many secrets our old apartment, built circa 1800, has known. I certainly cannot fathom how small and insignificant that makes the day to day trials of my own life.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg31zj18adj2IkjoGK3SXIToCuAlRbJ-oNheC9TCJnqUUcghtyR4Su4ScyqdiFSODtK2QLyNiFJmcitPsLcTbtsIbgLbRw0XEbZoNFIW2U-2FgZ6IiJdmSqOWkt8FtraSEzBGQ-ZrPII-E/s1600-h/DSCN6828.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg31zj18adj2IkjoGK3SXIToCuAlRbJ-oNheC9TCJnqUUcghtyR4Su4ScyqdiFSODtK2QLyNiFJmcitPsLcTbtsIbgLbRw0XEbZoNFIW2U-2FgZ6IiJdmSqOWkt8FtraSEzBGQ-ZrPII-E/s200/DSCN6828.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412246863487085730" border="0" /></a>4. Christmas is here!!! The streets are decorated, and what's more, there are Christmas villages set up in Place Royal and Place du Commerce full of little artisan chops and street vendors. Vin Chaud (which is very much like mulled wine) is everywhere, very cheap and very delicious. I also tried some chi-chi, which is like Spanish chorro and very similar to American funnel cake. But better. I've been trying to attack Christmas shopping and so far accomplished very little.<br />Nantes is absolutely magical looking with all of its holiday decorations, still it is hard to connect it with the any nostalgic memories of Christmases past because it is just very different, very European. They have very few French Christmas songs, Christmas movies, and seem to have borrowed the majority of their Christmas decorations, which mostly read "Merry Christmas!" rather than "Joyeux Noel." Still it was one of my favorite days ever walking around the Christmas villages with Hayley, Elisa and Hanna.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsbZ81irRoKVY0zR9l1-oOC1bEq77IYZAcL3Fmx1lPNI_2JbcSlcBuWbGBdNqRSkcxu5jrYiUoQV3WHjJgdqtEfGWz6BZH7K2zehN597wc6ocRa7cFVmnIfFBqR90HCnlsLKBUUKGusco/s1600-h/14667_1232856421392_1228590393_30807332_7308760_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsbZ81irRoKVY0zR9l1-oOC1bEq77IYZAcL3Fmx1lPNI_2JbcSlcBuWbGBdNqRSkcxu5jrYiUoQV3WHjJgdqtEfGWz6BZH7K2zehN597wc6ocRa7cFVmnIfFBqR90HCnlsLKBUUKGusco/s400/14667_1232856421392_1228590393_30807332_7308760_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412244478904330978" border="0" /></a>5. In keeping, last Thursday, the 3rd, Hanna and I went with her host parents, Stephane and Laure, to see a Concert de Noel at their church, Notre Dame de Bon Port. I cried all the way through it because it was so beautiful. The ensemble was called Stradivaria and is a baroque ensemble out of Nantes. Their visiting Tenor, though, was named Jeffry Thompson and comes from the Cincinatti conservatory. His voice was absolutely beautiful; on the high notes it seemed to rise up to heaven. I've never heard anything so beautiful before. And he seemed to be singing with his whole body, as if he became a breathing instrument. It was terribly moving, being in the old church; thinking of all the ways people have honored God - the construction of beautiful buildings (Bon Port has a dome ceiling with painted stars on a blue heaven) - and the composition of beautiful airs and concertos. My favorite was an extract from Back's BWV 19 cantata, or possibly the encore, which was<span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>"Minuit Chretiens," an old French Christmas hymn that was later translated into the English "Oh, Holy Night!" It was simply beautiful.<br /><br />6. I've been going out a lot to celebrate various things, in particular the night that concluded the hell week of writing three papers in French (totaling around 17 or 18 total typed French pages=way too much for one weekend, especially considering that meant having to completely switch gears 3 times during the weekend. I could have handled easily writing one 17 page paper in French, but switching topics and having to research and plan in three different subjects was a nightmare). All that to say, going out is a great way to meet French people and practice speaking.<br /><br />Most drunk French people have complimented me on how well I speak, probably because they're drunk. Still, all in all, I have been pleased with how easily I could converse with them more or less. Either that, or I thought I was doing better than I really was as a result of being a bit tipsy myself.<br /><br />One such night I was with a group of six or seven IES students when three French guys came and started chatting with us. They were fairly amusing, but at some point we realized that one of them had been sneaking behind the bar and stealing beers and then hiding them under his shirt. The bar tender came once and patted down Seth, and IES student who is a bar tender back in the states and was most definitely not stealing. It was funny but a little unnerving.<br /><br />One other such night an Algerian girl who was really high , on crack, became obsessed with us and kept saying she was going to come stay with us in America. She also tried to kiss Seth and kept talking about how sexy Americans are. She gave me her number so that I can call her when I get back to America and make plans for her to come visit. This will most decidedly not be happening.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoID4HV46czEgG0RchrgsnemxP0VfjehhcFs-6bUij09AJFF7BdFDJWhe7E_irn1OGc68_VkYEEJShz2DFzfTKwHOnrdvDiV3uOvii2YKwr88pneM4_U08hWbCEZoGsw3t4-ArcrUyVQ8/s1600-h/10834_1195770576912_1307880099_30787646_3018574_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoID4HV46czEgG0RchrgsnemxP0VfjehhcFs-6bUij09AJFF7BdFDJWhe7E_irn1OGc68_VkYEEJShz2DFzfTKwHOnrdvDiV3uOvii2YKwr88pneM4_U08hWbCEZoGsw3t4-ArcrUyVQ8/s400/10834_1195770576912_1307880099_30787646_3018574_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412244468668142642" border="0" /></a><br />One other such night a very sweet bar tender bought a round of shots for our entire table, which was very sweet of him.<br /><br />And I finally went to Lieu Unique, which is inside the old Lu cookie factory. I had a ridiculously fun time there, the music was very bizarre techno but it was still super fun to dance to.<br /><div style="text-align: right;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3VWxRCjN17wNoZ4hJs9V7bA1Tc9X10gW3W9-UEz8E2eZO0DOfGBhQ6SKEmuyrLNWDktfEy_gcr2nhEk9U1RGrp_PnvzeP8sga66K5ufVRcpACOZeQx2rj8dHaTUAQ_vUgrRH1fGrG7mw/s1600-h/14667_1232858181436_1228590393_30807376_2878506_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3VWxRCjN17wNoZ4hJs9V7bA1Tc9X10gW3W9-UEz8E2eZO0DOfGBhQ6SKEmuyrLNWDktfEy_gcr2nhEk9U1RGrp_PnvzeP8sga66K5ufVRcpACOZeQx2rj8dHaTUAQ_vUgrRH1fGrG7mw/s200/14667_1232858181436_1228590393_30807376_2878506_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412245191058762322" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2kQlbi5BtAYnkW9chriCsqaO6uBmRJlnY0d6y6x7KNsRWaLQ3StnNORe21B7oYW13RTwyC4egbfQrlOKd95Kw3Hpz4BvSo3fvyzm2UF_Cgfu4kNogFpXAOEZSIFw6eI7RaXtrStTYj6o/s1600-h/14667_1232858341440_1228590393_30807380_5274773_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2kQlbi5BtAYnkW9chriCsqaO6uBmRJlnY0d6y6x7KNsRWaLQ3StnNORe21B7oYW13RTwyC4egbfQrlOKd95Kw3Hpz4BvSo3fvyzm2UF_Cgfu4kNogFpXAOEZSIFw6eI7RaXtrStTYj6o/s200/14667_1232858341440_1228590393_30807380_5274773_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412245186523987442" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAlF-XQufVIl8Ih8Z0QcdbqaORjgTc6fSqdCjeOQp1O9U4v5dg5NQGG3lnqqFrurnAtQaMyKrpw0FLO2giF9idbohl-E1Pw0PQLQ5iJhmumngkvIGT9mu3kxhbzGPUSlmBRyvxJWstQ84/s1600-h/14667_1232858301439_1228590393_30807379_2502451_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAlF-XQufVIl8Ih8Z0QcdbqaORjgTc6fSqdCjeOQp1O9U4v5dg5NQGG3lnqqFrurnAtQaMyKrpw0FLO2giF9idbohl-E1Pw0PQLQ5iJhmumngkvIGT9mu3kxhbzGPUSlmBRyvxJWstQ84/s200/14667_1232858301439_1228590393_30807379_2502451_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412245186809608018" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOnOF7n_4ZkStX95p5megPPOQKbHHZisvKQothH6foPekInN4YrSiggMc5f5mSpEx-UA6fUV7PkBnhO7ngaPD3qGP52JwQrKlWqQZ2s20dBl9AV6ck3nJX7Jajq3P3pzvIbCJ3hy100aQ/s1600-h/14667_1232858221437_1228590393_30807377_3388895_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOnOF7n_4ZkStX95p5megPPOQKbHHZisvKQothH6foPekInN4YrSiggMc5f5mSpEx-UA6fUV7PkBnhO7ngaPD3qGP52JwQrKlWqQZ2s20dBl9AV6ck3nJX7Jajq3P3pzvIbCJ3hy100aQ/s200/14667_1232858221437_1228590393_30807377_3388895_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412245182951587922" border="0" /></a></div><br />7. I love the friends I've made here. I'm very glad that two of the friends I've made here, namely Forrest and Hayley, are Sewanee students I just didn't know before, meaning that I get to keep them as friends in the Spring! But the others, like Maddie and Horace and Seth, to name a few, I know I'm going to miss badly...<br /><br />8. Yesterday we baked cookies with Hanna's host sister Clemence, who is 8 years old, absolutely adorable and decidedly crazy. I loved it!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTrFp5tUPl1pP3JxYVlArLxaPyk67idsnMdGLGvR0npew0fPIjGdT0fVHBCaYA5PaoD3EaKLKRUhB3RJgjn4n0atZJ-QqFh9E0vWQ3Rec7z3yG6ChIXb74l9vHqvAVYjA1LlIplngbdIw/s1600-h/14667_1232858581446_1228590393_30807386_1587478_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTrFp5tUPl1pP3JxYVlArLxaPyk67idsnMdGLGvR0npew0fPIjGdT0fVHBCaYA5PaoD3EaKLKRUhB3RJgjn4n0atZJ-QqFh9E0vWQ3Rec7z3yG6ChIXb74l9vHqvAVYjA1LlIplngbdIw/s400/14667_1232858581446_1228590393_30807386_1587478_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412244471271201490" border="0" /></a><br /><br />To conclude, before leaving (in less than 2 weeks) I have five exams, one paper, and one recitation to do. It is going to be ridiculous.<br /><br />The next blog entry I write, most likely, will be entitled Le Cheminement, which will explain the title of my blog and sum up this experience a bit.<br /><br />I am so excited about everything right now: excited about the next 13 days here, excited about my whole life ahead of me and how much I know this experience has impacted it. I'm excited to see my family and MY DOG who I have missed a ridiculous amount. I am also so excited to see Jonathan; we have now spent a grand total of around 6 months apart this year, and I'm ready to be in the same country with him for a change!Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10751144897063885381noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1963496534013199522.post-3981289779593283382009-12-03T14:18:00.001-08:002009-12-03T16:09:03.081-08:00And in reality, Thanksgiving was....<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir4skDjTF7UIENHTzdso8oQ1jJJ-9NW2A7MadJSPpTRV1rrnZVQhS71DFDqLdpt7ZupyalGV6hWNx8wTafzVET8PzFrHLwPatZfPi8x8Cv56C12N1UX2SkhLd9sPpeo72v92mH4XIPPLs/s1600-h/16465_1235313085363_1305270169_30955692_314790_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir4skDjTF7UIENHTzdso8oQ1jJJ-9NW2A7MadJSPpTRV1rrnZVQhS71DFDqLdpt7ZupyalGV6hWNx8wTafzVET8PzFrHLwPatZfPi8x8Cv56C12N1UX2SkhLd9sPpeo72v92mH4XIPPLs/s400/16465_1235313085363_1305270169_30955692_314790_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411141201012159618" border="0" /></a><br /><ol><li>Very French. I've never had a more French meal in my life. The entree was a toasted half of a baguette, on top of which was an olive spread, two large broiled? belle peppers and a sun-dried tomato. It was very bizarre and had to eat but very delicious; all of the French people thought it was an American dish and all of the Americans assumed it was French. The turkey was covered in cranberries and mushrooms. The "stuffing" was actually some sort of meat pâtée. The desert was "pumpkin pie" WITH LOADS OF CURRY - which I was in no mood to eat having just recovered from curry food poisoning two days previously.</li><li>A terribly comforting and wonderful experience. I had some revelations. Well, Hanna had some revelations that I ended up benefiting from. Despite the fact that the food at Thanksgiving was decidedly sub-par, it is absolutely the best thing in the world that I miss home and my own Thanksgiving so much. Having a French Thanksgiving made me so grateful for all of the wonderful holidays I've gotten to share with my own family. It is such a wonderful thing to <span style="font-style: italic;">miss</span> you family, and I do and I am grateful that I love them so much because they are so wonderful.<br /></li><li>Additionally, I was so grateful on Thanksgiving because I got to share it with so many wonderful friends. I LOVE the people I've met here, and I love that I do feel like I'm part of a community here. I will miss everyone so much when it is over, but I am so grateful to have gotten to meet them and spend this time with them.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJwOuzvCxFb9tHI13XeVNUFA1PNOm-SYoFxmcBpHlVFXii5ONz83n5LUVyzrau5GJ1j64Nq387AMI1jwoqfNf1hdWd1t-btClnMZscOGi08Rtn5QvoFwY3WjQDAiSEgEsgpAdcPq5I8aI/s1600-h/15769_221181121717_733596717_4747308_5953765_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJwOuzvCxFb9tHI13XeVNUFA1PNOm-SYoFxmcBpHlVFXii5ONz83n5LUVyzrau5GJ1j64Nq387AMI1jwoqfNf1hdWd1t-btClnMZscOGi08Rtn5QvoFwY3WjQDAiSEgEsgpAdcPq5I8aI/s400/15769_221181121717_733596717_4747308_5953765_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411146928593199586" border="0" /></a></li><li>Performing with Forrest was one of my highlights from being in France. We did two songs, "Don't Think Twice" by Bob Dylan followed by "La Vie en Rose" by Edith Piaf. I was terribly nervous, as usual, going up there in front of 200 people, half of whom were French, but it was just such a wonderful experience. We got encored after our first song and followed it with La Vie en Rose; all of the French couples started singing along, and I seriously teared up a bit because I felt such a part of a French community in that moment and it made me so glad. After we finished, we got encored again but didn't have anything else to perform. So. The experience just made me so happy. Additionally, I love that Forrest and I kept getting introduced as The Tennesseans, because we're both from Sewanee (although Forrest is actually from Texas, of course.)</li><li>Having a beer at the Graslin afterward with Hanna, Forrest and Horace. I had a 3 euro Banana Beer, which was only pretend alcohol at around 3%but extremely delicious.</li></ol>Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10751144897063885381noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1963496534013199522.post-47227625929972219292009-11-25T11:11:00.000-08:002009-11-25T11:57:24.994-08:00Thoughts on Thanksgiving...There is something so strange to me about missing Thanksgiving tomorrow, my first major holiday spent apart from my parents and brother.<br /><br />I have always loved Thanksgiving, perhaps even more than I love Christmas, because it is less commercial, because it is more genuine. It is a holiday created to give thanks, something I firmly believe in - it is a time when families cross our country to reunite, to break bread, to share their trials and triumphs of the year.<br /><br />And perhaps I always loved it so much because I have always been such a loved, spoiled individual. Every year, Thanksgiving as a child meant being surrounded by people whom I <span style="font-style: italic;">loved</span> and who I knew loved me. It was about my mother dressing me up in pretty clothes I loved and putting my hair back in huge barrettes and my father making me change out of my tights and into jeans before I ran out to play with all my male cousins.<br /><br />It is strange to me that these are the things about Thanksgiving that I miss - I pretend that if I were in America this would be the reality of the Holiday. But I know that's not the case. That I am not seven years old anymore, not a little girl, that I would not be romping around in the backyard with my cousins, that my father would not demand I change clothes to do so, that fewer family members would likely make it this year, because as the years have passed our families have evolved. Priorities change. Nuclear families begin to form and grow and disperse. Grandparents grow older and traditions have to change accordingly.<br /><br />And I cannot help but be saddened by the passage of time, even as I know I am young and it will only get worse as I grow older.<br /><br />The thing that makes me saddest yet though is that families seem to be under attack in America, and no where is that made more obvious than in how our country treats Thanksgiving.<br /><br />Take this article in the Times: <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2009/11/24/health/24well.html?_r=1&ref=health">Food, Kin and Tension.</a> Two cousins have made Thanksgiving Insult BINGO cards, with negativesayings like "That outfit is interesting," that they fill out throughout the meal.<br /><br />Or this movie, cited as being one of the best to watch on the topic of Thanksgiving: <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0113321/">Home for the Holidays</a> in which the characters seem to absolutely despise being together for the majority of the film.<br /><br />I don't understand how families grow so far apart that Holidays become something that they have to suffer through.<br /><br />And such attitudes are so completely at odds with the true spirit of Thanksgiving. Perhaps Americans have become too ready to reject blood ties in favor of forming friendships. To say, I don't need my sister's companionship, I can make my own friends and form my own family amongst them.<br /><br />But as Mary Schmich wrote in her famed 1997 <a href="Get%20to%20know%20your%20parents.%20You%20never%20know%20when%20they%27ll%20be%20gone%20for%20good.%20Be%20nice%20to%20your%20siblings.%20They%27re%20your%20best%20link%20to%20your%20past%20and%20the%20people%20most%20likely%20to%20stick%20with%20you%20in%20the%20future.">Chicago Tribune article (one of my favorites!):</a><br />Get to know your parents. You never know when they'll be gone for good. Be nice to your siblings. They're your best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.<br /><br />And I believe that. Friends are wonderful and amazing and I plan on keeping them as long and as best I can. But they aren't<span style="font-style: italic;"> family.</span><br /><br />All that to say, this Thanksgiving I am grateful for the following:<br /><br /><ul><li>That God is the same everywhere - that He followed me to France.<br /></li><li>For my wonderful, wonderful family. For my amazing parents and my kick-ass brother. For Jonathan. For Nana and Grandma and Grandpa. For Baba. For Donnie. For Rodney and Tim. For Paul. For Bob. For Barb. For their spouses. For all my other crazy cousins and great-aunts and first-cousins-once removed. I feel so grateful.<br /></li><li>For my lovely, beautiful life-long friends. </li><li>For the experience to get to be in France.</li><li>For Sewanee - the amazing University my parents let me go to that I get to return to soon.<br /></li><li>For being 20 years old and having so much life behind but mostly ahead of me.</li><li>For so many other things that I cannot even begin to name all of them, among them woods, music, coffee, the air, gardening, Christmas decorations, hymns, my chickens that I get to meet in a month and how blissfully happy everything makes me on a fairly regular basis.</li></ul>Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10751144897063885381noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1963496534013199522.post-86860524553286054722009-11-21T13:08:00.000-08:002009-11-22T02:20:31.969-08:00Rainy NightSometimes things don't work out the way you planned,<br /><br />and so this weekend I am in Nantes, not Bilboa, and after getting over my original disappointment, I realized several things:<br /><ol><li>I only have one month left; time will go by fast enough without passing 20+ hours on a train by myself.</li><li>I have a ridiculous amount of work to do between now and leaving.</li><li>I have a lot left to see and do in Nantes before leaving.<br /></li></ol>I bought a notebook and entitled it: Final Month in France = The Final Push.<br /><br />It is divided up into three sections<br />-Vocabulary (where I'm writing down all the words I learn and look up)<br />-Grammar<br />-Plans and Goals<br /><br />I've already been using it a lot. I also bought myself two grammar work books, intermediate and advanced, and have started working my way through the exercises. I think it will be really helpful.<br /><br /><br />Yesterday I somewhat crazily decided to venture out on my own for dinner, toute seule, because I had the hankering for a kabab.<br /><br />It was raining but the streets seemed flooded by tourists; I heard lots of Arabic and German as I made my way down to the stand next to Place Royale. I bought my kabab, 4 euros, and walked around, trying to find a dry spot out of the Nantaise rain to enjoy it. I finally sat down on the steps of Saint Croix, just as it's deep bells rang the 8 o'clock.<br /><br />And I felt alone, nearly, pedestrians walking by me, watching me watching them, and wondering if they're thinking I'm homeless. It is a homeless sort of hang out.<br /><br />Then a few drunks stumbled into the court yard from the main road, and they looked at my stoop in what I perceived to be a territorial way, and so I skiddishly ceded them the stoop and began wandering the twisting streets of the Bouffay.<br /><br />I found myself outside of the gelatto shop, and went inside and ordered an Inimitable - the best gelatto I've ever had - and found a table by a window and sat and pretended to preoccupy myself with whatever I could find in my purse. I love people watching, but doing so all alone and without any other sort of purpose seemed somehow pathetic to me, and so it was for pretense that I pulled out my journal and started rereading all the entries- all the while trying to take in as much of my surroundings as possible.<br /><br />To my good fortune, five men walked in: four arabic, one french: one from New York, the others speaking rather hilariously sparse English and decidedly not from America.<br /><br />They sat down at the table just next to me, and proceeded to talk in such a way that I KNEW they had no clue I could understand them. They were talking louder than anyone else in the shop.<br /><br />Topics of conversation proceeded as follows:<br /><ul><li>their bowel movements</li><li>what internet chat sites they'd been on and whether or not they thought they were going to get lucky with a girl anytime soon</li><li>their bowel movements</li><li>whether or not the American was depressed about having to get married</li><li>whether or not people were happier making their own decisions or whether it was best if their decisions were made for them (at this point it becomes clear to me that they are all Engineers. This topic revolved primarily around a description of a TED lecture and was quite interesting)</li><li>their bowel movements</li><li>internet chat rooms</li></ul>And then they left.<br /><br />It was terribly interesting to listen to, if at times a bit vulgar and raunchy; I kept debating about whether or not I should, at some point, let them know I could understand everything they where saying, but it seemed too late in the conversation to do so, me feeling already quite guilty really for being able to eavesdrop so easily.<br /><br />I wandered around a bit more. I passed one sad SDF who had nubs for legs and was rocking back and forth and clapping his hands wildly and mumbling some sort of tune for change, and I was too taken aback by his appearance and the whole grotesque display to do anything except increase my pace as I passed him. I passed one friendly bum chatting it up with his potential benefactors as they stood in line at the ATM. I passed an endless amount of cigarette butts, still smoking on the wet sidewalks. I passed a dozen drunks, some singing loudly and out of key, happy despite the rain, others angrily cursing one another as they passed. I passed a million cafes, the clientele looking cheery and warm and completely oblivious to all the<span style="font-style: italic;"> <span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span>madness going on outside.<br /><br />And then at some point Horace called, so I made my way across town to L'Huberloo, had a quick drink (a pint of Jupiler, pas mal) and then we all headed back to the Bouffay. At some point Hanna called, and we met up with her and her father Tim! who is here for the weekend.<br /><br />The three of us walked around a bit, we ended up seeing three people fall flat - one a twenty something man who drunkenly ran into a construction barricade, knocking it over and creating a lot of racket, before stumbling three or four feet and falling on his face. His friends came just short of kicking him as he lay there, cursing him and yelling at him to get up before grabbing him and flinging him to his feet. The second was a middle-aged lady wearing high heels on the cobblestoned rode in front of the Passage Pomeray. She seemed to slide a yard or two before coming to a rest; Tim helped her to her feet and she limped off with her two friends. The third was a SDF pandering for change inside a restaurant. He fell down just as he was exiting, and the crowd waited a while as he lay motionless on the ground before two men grabbed him roughly and stood him on his feet before shoving him out of the door. Additionally, a couple on a bicycle rode past us quickly, the boy at the handlebars all the while saying, "No breaks no breaks no breaks," and before he was quite beyond our hearing we heard him yell "NO BREAKS" and then the distinct sound of a crash.<br /><br />It was, and this is an understatement, a bit of a crazy Nantaise night.<br /><br /><em></em>Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10751144897063885381noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1963496534013199522.post-82111125307423103202009-11-16T02:36:00.000-08:002009-11-16T10:23:57.841-08:00Biarritz: Things I loved....<ul><li><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJzOsgr3S4NAMX2pfN1vvoc5TXIUKvW0WcIEScxGvU4InJDsL-8u6RcWrXFaj2nVV87mHIlq4hZ8wJGGYLW19qmAGYWULXUz59syJ_zkzsMvyndEEY2wzr8b5UG2pt2z1DFNNunNmoI7U/s1600/DSCN6651.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 257px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJzOsgr3S4NAMX2pfN1vvoc5TXIUKvW0WcIEScxGvU4InJDsL-8u6RcWrXFaj2nVV87mHIlq4hZ8wJGGYLW19qmAGYWULXUz59syJ_zkzsMvyndEEY2wzr8b5UG2pt2z1DFNNunNmoI7U/s400/DSCN6651.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404768323138253570" border="0" /></a>The voyage: The train ride was beautiful. A river had over flowed its banks, putting whole orchards of sycamores and fruit trees in a blue, silvery mirror of water. Fields were lost beneath the six inches or so, and the whole landscape was beautiful as a result, seeming almost as though the stone walls and fences of the fields rose up not from the earth but instead out of a meters deep lake.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWFnwsxKgen2m920CprmNBfK6RQstxQ2NewNdhFqbZaRUOlDP2RNyoNRPEu0-4atbpMUwQEEatuoiS0ED840zu-AaQFnzT5mgFc4nfVe7reyOr15DQPSbR32P_uZtIB9jhaCJ0PFs0QAs/s1600/DSCN6555.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWFnwsxKgen2m920CprmNBfK6RQstxQ2NewNdhFqbZaRUOlDP2RNyoNRPEu0-4atbpMUwQEEatuoiS0ED840zu-AaQFnzT5mgFc4nfVe7reyOr15DQPSbR32P_uZtIB9jhaCJ0PFs0QAs/s400/DSCN6555.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404768305079346962" border="0" /></a></li></ul><ul><li> The city: On the edge of the ocean with dramatic bluffs and overlooks and even more dramatic waves. The town has established even more trails than San Sebastian, and Jonathan and I walked along them and ate our various picnic meals and watched the numerous surfers below.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMuWaoZk08zG-HwL2MC2DFxbWaxPj4IbJXeT56HtzmdkMzFm0jY3OFWTU-J-lAMZnaHaklIeXGIgYG85hsVlC6duUTXVQWLxkZrp5Eh1AFAs-6fKacXv_eDZV1wqnKJ5bqGLE5nZokNm8/s1600/DSCN6562.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMuWaoZk08zG-HwL2MC2DFxbWaxPj4IbJXeT56HtzmdkMzFm0jY3OFWTU-J-lAMZnaHaklIeXGIgYG85hsVlC6duUTXVQWLxkZrp5Eh1AFAs-6fKacXv_eDZV1wqnKJ5bqGLE5nZokNm8/s400/DSCN6562.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404768318180736706" border="0" /></a></li><li>The pastries: for breakfast we stopped into a market and ordered two tartlettes - mine was raspberry and Jonathan's was chocolate - and then ate them at another ocean overlook.</li><li>The chocolate: Biarritz is famous for its candies and so on our last day in town Jonathan and I went to one such chocolaterie, Miremont, and splurged on two chocolate domes - mine filled with mousse de café and his filled with dark chocolate mousee. It was the richest eating experience of my life. Additionally, Miremont was a very beautiful shop with its entire back wall given up to a view of the ocean and the entire interior looking as though it had likely not changed in a hundred years, with old mirrors and arm chairs and wall hangings. It was a very elegant experience to say the least.</li><li>The ocean. With waves more fierce and pounding than I have ever seen before.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvwiWyGUQ4QfFm1uNlE9v_YfLXoFlUt4_Zs-YD0EN2nuy1UkyuvQCi-8P4xJP0ZTHLGkHVWOsvrr3WIJ5iEkoZG9hWlx6zl1uagGslYZzXmKAdEltVTZwkDBiiCDzlX0TPbnSYGnhXVdY/s1600/DSCN6557.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvwiWyGUQ4QfFm1uNlE9v_YfLXoFlUt4_Zs-YD0EN2nuy1UkyuvQCi-8P4xJP0ZTHLGkHVWOsvrr3WIJ5iEkoZG9hWlx6zl1uagGslYZzXmKAdEltVTZwkDBiiCDzlX0TPbnSYGnhXVdY/s400/DSCN6557.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404768310908647954" border="0" /></a></li><li>Taco Mex: After trying to find an open restaurant for around an hour, Jonathan and I finally stumbled upon this little gem of a place, tucked back in an alley with its neon sign beaming like a beacon of hope. We went inside and were greeted by the nicest French couple I've met so far who spoke to us in a mix of French, Spanish and English. We ordered two fajitas, which arrived, looking desolate, small and all alone on our plates. They cost 9 euros (so roughly 13 dollars) and were so paltry looking it was laughable. Suddenly! Our waitress directed us to a buffet that contained the most appatizing display of Mexican food I have ever seen! Her husband, the chef, preceded to instruct us as to which beans were best with which sauces, what to eat with the the potatoes, which sauce to put on which fajita etc. He even would endearingly say, "Please, for me, put a little more of the green sauce on your corn." Which we did. And it was incredible. The next day it was all we could do to stay away until dinner time, but once 8 o'clock rolled around we found ourselves embarassingly coming back for more. The waitress greeted us with a, "Coming back for more!?" using the cutest French accent I've yet to hear. All together some of the best Mexican food I've ever had. And such a welcome treat.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeVLlBoyHwaBcTkrcMVszo4u4LuqGdDvx0eM0oNgeqR8yxaWfindDfIUW12M7mxq1QjIyeI1KNBawwsXZBrQwfRFzJqcFsTXF5Sv4A1Uc-exXU8Or_wIFXKMjOKdLSpZTw27Hser2Jtdk/s1600/DSCN6618.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeVLlBoyHwaBcTkrcMVszo4u4LuqGdDvx0eM0oNgeqR8yxaWfindDfIUW12M7mxq1QjIyeI1KNBawwsXZBrQwfRFzJqcFsTXF5Sv4A1Uc-exXU8Or_wIFXKMjOKdLSpZTw27Hser2Jtdk/s400/DSCN6618.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404768318971997586" border="0" /></a></li><li>Jonathan: One of my favorite traveling companions. On weekends like this, it almost feels like everything is a date - grocery shopping becomes romantic. I am simply crazy about him, and I'm so glad that at every turn in our lives where we could have suddenly found some way in which we're incompatible - like traveling - we instead figure out we're more compatible than we'd previously thought. So many couples have problems traveling with each other or simply have different ideas of what is important to do and see while traveling. Happily, Jonathan and I seem to have exactly the same concept of what traveling should consist of and divide our time between relaxing lethargically and then feverishly taking in the sights and tourist attractions. It's perfect. Each weekend like this has seemed so much longer than a weekend and I'm so glad to have gotten to see so many beautiful places with him!<br /></li></ul>Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10751144897063885381noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1963496534013199522.post-44905477560470606102009-11-12T01:51:00.000-08:002009-11-12T02:34:18.483-08:00Nantes Continued: The Yogurt Incident, Pumpkin Cheesecake, Le Petit Nicolas and more...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPop5pVVLs_8CsKykBN4p02dcYCvDO6Rnzi-YgE-wwHAHoFtcpWNWB4YO8Ec28qCQpEQxVpOUuPfVjYgsU9Km5Fz2iYCqh4w_9FdCXyUXOMAQqS8Oiucw06OT5ohSnQLrxe9tNjqEB9tk/s1600-h/15559_1179085126487_1508910319_30559903_1396820_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPop5pVVLs_8CsKykBN4p02dcYCvDO6Rnzi-YgE-wwHAHoFtcpWNWB4YO8Ec28qCQpEQxVpOUuPfVjYgsU9Km5Fz2iYCqh4w_9FdCXyUXOMAQqS8Oiucw06OT5ohSnQLrxe9tNjqEB9tk/s400/15559_1179085126487_1508910319_30559903_1396820_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403162254986478498" border="0" /></a><br />This past weekend I was quite ready for a break and so rather than going to Paris as I'd previously planned, I decided to stay in Nantes and relax and study for my midterms. And despite the fact that I know Paris would have been wonderful, I know I made the right decision. You can't do it all!<br /><br />So Friday night I went out with Horance and Hanna for Sushi, which is another food I've just craved since being here. It was a pleasant enough evening; I tried Saki for the first time and found it very good. Coming outside after finishing dinnner, we found that it had started raining, and rather than going with Horace to meet up with other IES folks Hanna and I decided to go back to my apartment and watch a movie.<br /><br />On the way home, we stopped by a super market and got some great caramel mousse yogurt. Arriving at the house, we said hello to Clotilde and then headed to my room. Which is when we realized we'd need spoons.<br /><br />So.<br /><br />This may not seem like any sort of issue at all, but I'm always so unsure of what's normal in such situations. For instance, I've never seen any of them eat anything outside of the kitchen. But we really just wanted to sit in bed and watch tv and eat yogurt. Additionally, I've never seen any of them snacking, and I didn't know how bizarre or not it would be for me at 10 o'clock to be eating yogurt in my room. So the original plan was for me to go sneak spoons out of the kitchen.<br /><br />And I was scared about it.<br /><br />Which is why when I ran into Clotilde in the hall I decided to just ask her if I could use two spoons to eat yogurt.<br /><br />Which is when she started flipping out, in the sweetest way possible.<br /><br />Saying (in French, of course):<br /><br />Of course you can have spoons! of course! get some yogurt out of the fridge!<br /><br />(I tell her me and Hanna bought yogurt)<br /><br />What?!<br /><br />You have the right to eat our yogurt! The right! you can eat yogurt anytime! you have the right! go sit in the kitchen and have some yogurt and drink some orange juice or something! are you two idiots? you don't need to buy yogurt!<br /><br />She was laughing the whole time and so was I and I feel like it was a major turning point, after 2 months of being here, realizing that I can and really should chill out and just relax while I'm at home.<br /><br />So anyway.<br /><br />The next day Hanna and I went on a grand adventure to get moules-frites: mussles and fries. There's this little old building in the middle of the Bouffay that sells them that is ALWAYS either closed, full, or available by reservation only. This was our third or fourth attempt to get moules-frites, but it was incredibly worth it.<br /><br />The building was terribly old and fabulous, very narrow but long, squeezed in between two buildings and obviously from about the 16th century. We sat on the second story and had the room all to ourselves for the first hour. I ordered mussles with cream, and Hanna ordered mussles with some sort of cheese sauce. A minute after ordering, a pound of mussles is placed in front of each of us dripping in delicious sauce. It is accompanied by a bottomless plate of the best fries I've had since being in France. We ate and ate and ate. It was the most satisfying meal of my life, and afterwards I was unbelievably tired. It was incredible.<br /><br />Walking home, we passed by Clotilde's shop and stopped by. We told her we planned on making pumpkin cheesecake, and she told us that the girl who lived with them before me, Melissa, had left behind some canned pumkin, which is a good thing because you cannot buy canned pumpkin in France. So Clotilde told us how to use the oven and the stove and everything. She also gave us directions on how to get to the Park de Procé.<br /><br />So going home we called Eliott Le Calvé. He is our new French friend that we met at the Conversation Club. He is very sweet and friendly and terribly in the know about what to do and where to go. He walked us to the park, which was very lovely and nice especially because unlike the Jardin, you're allowed to walk on the grass there.<br /><br />We walked around there quite a while. The autmn colors are just barely existant, even at this late date, but they were pretty enough. We walked home on a greenway, and then Eliott escorted us to Monoprix to buy grociery supplies.<br /><br />We had such a hard time finding everything to do with Pumpkin cheesecake. Cream cheese is practically non-existant here and very expensive. We got home and kept running into ingrediants we hadn't thought of that are less commonly used in France. Among them Vanilla and cinnamon. We also ran out of sugar. It turned into a massive undertaking, and the end product was somehow off. It might be the fact that we used a crust Clotilde already had that was not gramcracker. Or maybe it was the wierd consistancy of the cream cheese. Or maybe it was the brand of the pumpkin. Either way, the pie that we poured lots of time and money into ended up tasting kind of funky.<br /><br />That night, after Clotilde insisted that Hanna and I eat some dinner before heading out for the evening and giving us coupons for the theater, Hanna and I went out again to meet Eliott to go see <a href="http://www.lepetitnicolas-lefilm.com/">Le Petit Nicolas</a>. I was a little anticipant as it was the first French movie I've ever watched without having French subtitles to read along with ( I can read French much better than I can understand it when spoken).<br /><br />But! I am quite pleased to announce that I understood almost everything, other than a sentence or two now and then. I was so glad I went!<br /><br />And then we took Eliott to meet some IES people at L'Huberloo. I got very animated during the evening talking to Seth about socialism and health care and America in general and was speaking very quickly and loudly. Eliott told me later that "It was great for him to hear because he'd never before heard an American talk in the back of their throat. Like in movies."<br /><br />So there's that.<br /><br />The next day all I did was study.<br /><br />For lunch Clotilde served the Pumpkin cheese cake, which Erwan almost refused to eat, but it was just another one of those growing experiences. Rather than being mortified, as I might have been in the past, I thought the whole thing - them politely not liking the pie and trying their best to get out of eating it without letting me know thats what they were doing - really funny and endearing.Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10751144897063885381noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1963496534013199522.post-12197343767047831982009-11-11T09:37:00.000-08:002009-11-11T09:58:05.994-08:00Wednesday Night Mexican Party, Jonathan in Nantes, and Avignon!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirev2pGYRpd8Dj8kplkC-wbUt9P3qeh1amTUTJmcOYIbfTRAHnPcvEyZp9435Zt6KHYD-y2yMqzqFV5do98M3bZUO4PKVfxuc1HD6QS14WC1ZEisLMXSEpQHYp6lZ382tD6SU4ts9rGbI/s1600-h/10839_172577286568_616186568_2845655_1343995_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirev2pGYRpd8Dj8kplkC-wbUt9P3qeh1amTUTJmcOYIbfTRAHnPcvEyZp9435Zt6KHYD-y2yMqzqFV5do98M3bZUO4PKVfxuc1HD6QS14WC1ZEisLMXSEpQHYp6lZ382tD6SU4ts9rGbI/s400/10839_172577286568_616186568_2845655_1343995_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402905662571125426" border="0" /></a>So Wednesday the 28<sup>th</sup> of October, Elisa Faison prepared a heavenly Mexican feast for a group of us at her house. It was seriously the best present ever, since I’ve been craving Mexican food since the day after arriving here. French cuisine is still superb, don’t get me wrong, but at times it lacks variety, and Mexican was EXACTLY what I needed. The evening was a lot of fun; Forest’s French brother Benoit and his girlfriend came to the party as well, making it a legitimate French party, and we all had a lot of fun dancing, drinking margaritas, and trying to teach Benoit how to make the “th” sound. To no avail. <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>Thursday, after helping Elisa clean up her house, Hanna and I headed to the bus station to wait for Jonathan, who ended up arriving around 2:30pm after traveling around 13 or 15 hours. We took him for a walk in le Jardin des Plantes, around the Chateau, into the Cathedral, all of our favorite Nantes haunts. He was obviously impressed. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzy8OMAhpitDlDJr6busJsiAiNF-pEFAV2yet7G5WFEyl1GCK5aWRG6ksukxMOejz56zkM1XBXLV4Q19zvUrt8C6pUk4AbochXoHoEMTjdV16YQuXiiETLHDuCd46eavv7gtdzTGdNrqI/s1600-h/15439_1211239920993_1228590393_30760614_2246149_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzy8OMAhpitDlDJr6busJsiAiNF-pEFAV2yet7G5WFEyl1GCK5aWRG6ksukxMOejz56zkM1XBXLV4Q19zvUrt8C6pUk4AbochXoHoEMTjdV16YQuXiiETLHDuCd46eavv7gtdzTGdNrqI/s400/15439_1211239920993_1228590393_30760614_2246149_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402905651847898962" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>He came back and got to see our apartments, and then after a while we headed to the Creperie Heb Ken where we continued to impress Jonathan with our knowledge of French cuisine, advising him as to which crepes were best to eat, what kind of cider to get, etc. We also took him to get the best gelato that exists in the world. Then we met up with Horace and headed to the L’Hurluberlu, our neighborhood bar, where we met up with Forest of Sewanee. Jonathan and Forest used to live across the hall from each other Freshman year. Anyway. Talked a bit. Shared a funny moment where Forest realized he’d stepped in dog crap (a frequent occurrence in France.) After an hour or so we parted ways, Jonathan going home with Horace who graciously offered him a place to stay.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>The next morning, we got up around 10. Hanna and I bought the boys some pain au chocolate, which we shared before heading to the train station for our 9 hour train ride to Avignon. This ride was a bit stressful, us having no reserved seats. We at times ended up sitting on the floor. All in all though it was pleasantly passed. It is so much more enjoyable to take a train with friends than to take a train alone.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>We got in Avignon a little late, checked in to our hotel, which was excellently located but a bit ridiculous (the walls were painted bright, bright bizarre colors and the beds were all CRAZY old and droopy and had cardboard underneath the mattresses in an attempt to add support. Also, Jonathan ended up getting bit by bed bugs, I’ve been informed.)</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>Then we walked around. Avignon was a little crazy, it being Holiday week, and there were lots of people wandering around drunk. So the first night we didn’t stay out too late.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdP-Qgh0DjTjw93X_mSfgKVZLhIJBOtib8dTVlDH_M3yn2fBJzu08CYI9HG8gl3O3hkKygTICTnFiRcunMgfTuIf8Us9dTBosqqfci-klSYhPaL9OFML5fjhtKwfDdYXziDYrr9Z0968g/s1600-h/DSCN6456.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdP-Qgh0DjTjw93X_mSfgKVZLhIJBOtib8dTVlDH_M3yn2fBJzu08CYI9HG8gl3O3hkKygTICTnFiRcunMgfTuIf8Us9dTBosqqfci-klSYhPaL9OFML5fjhtKwfDdYXziDYrr9Z0968g/s400/DSCN6456.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402905657551098002" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>Our first full day in Avignon, which was actually Halloween, we got up and headed to the Palais des Papes. It was very interesting, incredibly large. I loved best the rooms where they hadn’t added a history exhibit of any sort and it was easier to imagine what it would have looked like when lived in. I find it really amazing all of the different monuments humans have built over time. Then we headed to the Pont d’Avignon. I was so glad to be there – I’ve sung the song my whole life. I got to read all about St. Benezet <span style=""> </span>and how half of the bridge was swept away centuries ago in a large flood. We, of course, all danced on the bridge, finishing with a lovely Charlie Brown style dance. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6HvHz7zoGG9pasJQEtjYXpvTDga_9PAOm4s2bH_IoXtZ5koX1cuUzs1-vviRb3itc7U45_jU4qNZpmSgeq3C_3Q3cPs5aU8UhAYtY0-ksWS635msN1TBNj7aDj0yw3wZo5TJSYMbsFXU/s1600-h/15439_1211241361029_1228590393_30760650_1014715_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6HvHz7zoGG9pasJQEtjYXpvTDga_9PAOm4s2bH_IoXtZ5koX1cuUzs1-vviRb3itc7U45_jU4qNZpmSgeq3C_3Q3cPs5aU8UhAYtY0-ksWS635msN1TBNj7aDj0yw3wZo5TJSYMbsFXU/s400/15439_1211241361029_1228590393_30760650_1014715_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402905645495360626" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>That night we went to get kabobs for dinner and loaded The Nightmare Before Christmas and It’s The Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown, our only Halloween celebration consisted of watching those movies. I was a little homesick, it being the first year I’ve ever failed to dress up, carve a pumpkin, eat chili, and a number of other traditions. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>The next day, we spent almost all day at the Jardin des Domes, a garden that sits atop a green hill next to the Pope Palace. It was very beautiful, full of happy French families and swans and a friendly cat. We walked around, and stopped in a church for All Saint’s Day. I bought a candle to light on behalf of the holiday. It’s strange because I was sort of kind of raised Catholic, in my early early years, and I still feel a very strong attachment at times to all of the rituals. Especially when in Europe.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">We made sure to go back to the Jardin des Domes to watch the sunset. This is what it looked like:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGnzxuRy39yc8IOJ61owTLXYhesaWnjEFKfr7HY007xsUAa9WqKeLv9J3FqnXhbJscet41b54nXLcQZXcmcTPJNdJq7AIp9wiyiGDSx4Pmn7sTKkNtxZ2O8DSUglQQd77_X38KkkfMPpQ/s1600-h/DSCN6508.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGnzxuRy39yc8IOJ61owTLXYhesaWnjEFKfr7HY007xsUAa9WqKeLv9J3FqnXhbJscet41b54nXLcQZXcmcTPJNdJq7AIp9wiyiGDSx4Pmn7sTKkNtxZ2O8DSUglQQd77_X38KkkfMPpQ/s400/DSCN6508.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402906743021102530" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>That night, we had a more expensive meal at a nearby restaurant. It was more expensive but fairly mediocre. We also rode a carousel! Which was wonderful! And then we went to a nice bar called the Red Sky for drinks. Which was fun. Afterwards, we went back to the hotel room and stayed up for most of the night talking. About lots of serious things, like religion and relationships. It was very wonderful, and it felt so nice to have my two besties together. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>Then came the long train ride home, this time Hanna and I alone. One of our trains had a weird spazatack climbing up a mountain which was slightly alarming; I would have been more scared if Hanna and I weren’t in such a goofy mood. Anyway, this made us ten minutes late, which caused us to miss our next train, which caused us to have an hour and a half lay over, but as a result we got to take a double decker train the rest of the way to Nantes. Which I enjoyed a lot. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style=""> </span>And then.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">We were back in Nantes!</p>Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10751144897063885381noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1963496534013199522.post-88209832695881426072009-10-29T13:34:00.000-07:002009-11-03T14:54:48.474-08:00My Parents in Europe: Paris, Nantes, and Salamanca!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEry0UmXzPAu3MPRIrcOonGFtc747Ly_2iqcqFe9lCc6ZK-rFlfvND8A-T03Xdbg5NInuOZZOOhxmcYj3Kx13qujgg8qo27xrrC-VStL0YPeylwAa_3ZHGq8XXLFOR7ZnANUyqI2s1OWA/s1600-h/DSCN6054.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEry0UmXzPAu3MPRIrcOonGFtc747Ly_2iqcqFe9lCc6ZK-rFlfvND8A-T03Xdbg5NInuOZZOOhxmcYj3Kx13qujgg8qo27xrrC-VStL0YPeylwAa_3ZHGq8XXLFOR7ZnANUyqI2s1OWA/s400/DSCN6054.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400001717740508210" border="0" /></a><br />So Friday I took the morning train to Paris. It was a beautiful dusk ride; we passed so many foggy blue rivers and sleeping villages. In Paris, I took a Metro to the West Train Station and walked to our fine 1 star hotel: Hotel du Brabant. I spoke to the manager and told him I was waiting for my parents, sat down in an easy chair next to a giant wolf-hound named Joker, and commenced to reading Madame Chrysantheme by Pierre Loti, which is excellent and very enjoyable.<br /><br />I waited for around forty five minutes in the lobby, my heart skipping a beat every time I heard the sound of suitcase wheels rolling along the pavement outside (as there were many, many hotels on the street, which was named Rue des Petits-Hotels – Street of the Little Hotels.) Finally! the sound of the rolling suitcases belonged to my family – I jumped out of my chair and ran and jumped up into the arms of my brother, nearly knocking him over.<br /><br />It immediately felt so wonderful to be with them again and to feel a part of my own real family. What's more - they brought me lots of my comfy winter clothes I'd left behind, various American products I'd requested - and most importantly they brought me Bowlin' - the most beloved doll in the world and the doll most near to being human. Bowlin's favorite part of Paris was the Eiffel Tower.<br /><br />Paris was passed busily, with lots of Metros (a bit difficult for my father, who came with his foot in a boot as a result of an ankle spur) and lots of sights in only two days! My favorite part was probably visiting the Musee d’Orsay, which is considered to be the most beautiful museum in Europe, and was indeed extremely beautiful in its own right – it is a converted train station - and very, very full of beautiful paintings. I loved especially getting to see Monet’s Water Lilies and Van Gogh’s Starry Night.<br /><br />Other high lights included: walking the Champs-Elysees, taking the street car ride up to the top of Monte Montre, Sacre Coeur, which is truly my favorite building I’ve been in the entire time, and other less epic but no less wonderful moments, like my father singing “Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire” while we all ate over-priced Chestnuts we bought off a bum, walking with my mother through the Jardin des Tuileries, and just getting to be with my wonderful brother, who looks and acts like such a man! It’s crazy.<br /><br />Then we went through the ordeal of renting a car, which was actually wonderful in that we ended up with a super nice Fiat, and then drove to Nantes.<br /><br />In Nantes, immediately after checking my parents into their hotel, we walked the two blocks to my apartment to have dinner with my host family. It was a very funny and wonderful evening! My host family tried very hard to speak English, with Arnaud working the hardest and speaking the best. I had to translate quite a bit, but it wasn’t too terribly awkward, and Clotilde went all out preparing an amazing meal. It started with Kir in the living room, then we moved into the dining room for our entre, which was fried egg, salmon and caviar with a homemade sour-cream based sauce. For our “plat principal” Clotilde prepared a traditional Moroccan meal, as she spent part of her childhood growing up in Morocco. It consisted of a lamb curry stew that was divine and served over couscous. For desert, she made a white chocolate ice cream cheese cake with a brownie crust. It was seriously one of the best things I’ve ever tasted. My parents were rightly very impressed, as was I, and kept telling Clotilde and Arnaud how badly they’re going to spoil me. It is true that I do have it very, very good here.<br /><br />While in Nantes, we also went to a traditional Breton Creprie, went to a few bars with Hanna in tow, and while I was in class my parents visited the Cathedral and Chateau and Jules Verne museum and all that. In all, I think they discovered that Nantes is a truly wonderful town.<br /><br />And then Tuesday night, in the middle of rush hour traffic and a rain storm, we headed out of Nantes for Salamanca.<br /><br />It was an incredibly long and taxing drive, longer than I think we had all expected, but it felt very comforting in a way, to be on a road trip with my family – it is the time of the year for such drives – traditionally driving between Nashville and Knoxville or Nashville and Detroit – and it felt somehow suiting to me that we should have such a road trip now since there will be no such experience this Thanksgiving.<br /><br />On the way down the coast, we stopped in Biarritz for lunch and San Sebastian just to see it, and both towns were very lovely. In San Sebastian, the tide was coming in and was crashing in full waves over the ramparts, completely drenching pedestrians and cars. The power of nature is so incredible – even in civilized, ancient Europe.<br /><br />We arrived in Salamanca a bit later than anticipated as a result of rain, and so it was dark when we approached the city. It seemed to be surrounded by a vast empty space, devoid of lights, which we came to discover was in fact a desert. Gross. But.<br />Salamanca is beautiful. I would say that it is very much the Spanish equivalent to Nantes – not too large or too small, not too touristy. It does seem much cheaper than Nantes, which is certainly an advantage.<br /><br />Additionally, as mentioned previously, Spanish culture seems much more flamboyant than French culture and this was evident in everything: people are friendlier, architecture more intricate and less reserved, bars louder and more raucous, etc. Even the color of the earth – the warm brownish orange of the sand and stone that comprise the buildings – is much more welcoming than the straight lines and cool colors of the while limestone buildings of Nantes and northern France. It is quite amazing actually how different the two countries are despite the fact that they share a border.<br /><br />Jonathan was such an excellent host! He met us the first night in the town plaza, after which we checked into our hotel and then found a Kebab restaurant to eat at since we’d arrived so late most other restaurants were closed. The next morning we met him after his first class, had tortilla’s at a nearby bar, then visited the cathedral.<br /><br />It was seriously the grandest most beautiful building I’ve ever seen. It is so immense and decorated so intricately and vibrantly, with lots of gold and bright colors and stone carvings. It was also incredibly tall and large and light.<br /><br />Wonderful.<br /><br />We visited an ancient Roman bridge, various beautiful university buildings, an Art Deco museum, roof top gardens. Joey and I also went with Jonathan to his apartment to meet his Senora Maria. She seemed very funny and boisterous, and Jonathan’s house mate Matt was very friendly and sweet. I did find though, that the standard of living between Nantes and Salamanca is very different: Jonathan’s apartment was much smaller than the de Kermadec’s, much more modern and less attractive. He also explained how much more cautious he has to be about using lights and taking long showers, etc, as in Spain such things are very expensive for the average individual like Maria.<br /><br />In contrast, such things aren’t too terribly expensive in France, and the de Kermadec’s are decidedly wealthy. (I was cautious the first few days about using lights, etc, as in our Introduction material we were told that French people are very stingy with their electricity uses – however this only resulted in Arnaud coming in the room and asking me if I could see alright, acting like I might be a little crazy doing my homework in dim lighting, and then flipping on several lights for my benefit.)<br /><br />I met several of Jonathan’s friends and they all seemed really wonderful. Spanish foreign exchange students might be, surprise surprise, slightly less pretentious than French foreign exchange students.<br /><br />I hated leaving Jonathan. I cried, as usual. It was dumb.<br /><br />And then came the ride back towards Paris. We ended up spending the night Bayonne, where we had coffee the next morning. Then we drove up to Tours, where we had dinner and walked around a bit before heading to the train station where I said goodbye to my parents.<br /><br />It was incredibly hard on me, I love the three of them so much, and they have always, the three of them, been my closest and best friends. I feel so lucky to get to have such a great relationship with them, so blessed that my parents raised me to be close to them and also raised Joey to be someone who I truly feel will remain my best friend for the rest of my life, but all these factors contribute to making such separations truly, truly difficult. I cried so hard.<br /><br />The following things are a consolation:<br /><ul><li>that when I see them next, it will be glorious, heavenly Christmas time.</li><li>that when I see them next, plans will be underway for them to give me my very own little kitten named Pantoufles. </li><li>that despite the fact that I was incredibly sad in Tours, shortly after arriving in Nantes I went out with some friends and had a great night</li><li>that I am enjoying myself so much and have a great situation: good host family, good town, good classes</li><li>that I have a Hanna that I get to see every day</li><li>that I have a Jonathan that I get to see two to three times a month</li></ul><br />Mostly, I know that I wouldn't change anything about this experience. It has been such a blessing, such a challenge, but I feel that I have grown and continue to grow as a person because of it. I truly feel that it was neccessary for me to do this - it is something that I've talked of doing my whole academic career - and I am just sooo grateful that I have parents and friends and a university that all support me in such endeavors.<br /><br />And now I am off to Avignon with Hanna and Jonathan. Huzzah!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm3tzqnFYDvNAAJ-LibB105nlKT_ZHOX4NeL69ihDW-lSafUdCuNCsN6xZ_Ckk-Z8-e9g9XVoLCKQocBVnGzmlt7bIj0Cg-AXfbYI4v6iQK79LPaqFlV3hGY1kKYyquDhEh-eRO-PSVeg/s1600-h/DSCN6126.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm3tzqnFYDvNAAJ-LibB105nlKT_ZHOX4NeL69ihDW-lSafUdCuNCsN6xZ_Ckk-Z8-e9g9XVoLCKQocBVnGzmlt7bIj0Cg-AXfbYI4v6iQK79LPaqFlV3hGY1kKYyquDhEh-eRO-PSVeg/s400/DSCN6126.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400001705334125362" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijFQzhizzv1YX89DzyAbdJTS0LGgFbb_aNXA1whIw3-JZYwFGPRuvGKwABCgButvqhxJ0N6Cy_1AevwZ5ZLw2U9yK7fPtL9BpkpKLZ9f4OCoH4VwklM6DAbDRIb62IEOX-i02tmqs5RT4/s1600-h/DSCN6149.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijFQzhizzv1YX89DzyAbdJTS0LGgFbb_aNXA1whIw3-JZYwFGPRuvGKwABCgButvqhxJ0N6Cy_1AevwZ5ZLw2U9yK7fPtL9BpkpKLZ9f4OCoH4VwklM6DAbDRIb62IEOX-i02tmqs5RT4/s400/DSCN6149.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400001707390840962" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ4jzxjfcaIQLLjS2NSf-ixWW7IIPc76LSqxbv3A0t6CGKMR5uI_kUgg82FJ1njle1FrIpQSjO2nwxvzvSqexrccNYn5Xjdr7FD_e84Ih7Q5Q3SuAR1Ww17gAA3uM5wW0hohqHlRQEPpY/s1600-h/DSCN6225.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ4jzxjfcaIQLLjS2NSf-ixWW7IIPc76LSqxbv3A0t6CGKMR5uI_kUgg82FJ1njle1FrIpQSjO2nwxvzvSqexrccNYn5Xjdr7FD_e84Ih7Q5Q3SuAR1Ww17gAA3uM5wW0hohqHlRQEPpY/s400/DSCN6225.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400001713308450994" border="0" /></a>Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10751144897063885381noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1963496534013199522.post-76391922979224309822009-10-15T01:30:00.000-07:002009-10-15T02:40:25.893-07:00Catching up: San Sebastian, Life as a Vrai Nantaise, etc...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio_Gbg7iI37Gr-rMEBOt60QFNUGRwV9FImzSDfz855Q-02kgMOYD1F6R9f6MMie2lWBDGJ3W4j7pPi7hSlDP4uWDIq1cJWGr6lVQHZKKUEuOU_E8ftI4-zQcehyoOH5SlkEHIjJ2IRgw4/s1600-h/DSCN5848.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio_Gbg7iI37Gr-rMEBOt60QFNUGRwV9FImzSDfz855Q-02kgMOYD1F6R9f6MMie2lWBDGJ3W4j7pPi7hSlDP4uWDIq1cJWGr6lVQHZKKUEuOU_E8ftI4-zQcehyoOH5SlkEHIjJ2IRgw4/s400/DSCN5848.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392756194268066082" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Traveling is so exhausting, and frequently when I get home I'm too worn out to do much at all, and so I've been a bit remiss in updating my blog.<br /><br />Zut!<br /><br />Thursday, October 8, woke up incredibly early (5:30am - yuck!) with the help of three alarms and a phone call from my parents. Laughed to/at myself as I made my way to the tram station, for the following reason: It is abnormal for the French to be up so early, so whenever I passed someone walking, I eyed them suspiciously and thought, "They are so weird. What could they possibly be doing up this early?" and they in turn viewed me suspiciously, thinking, "What's this girl doing up so early? She must be a delinquent or crazy." It was very funny and very noticeable.<br /><br />I love trams and wish Nashville had them. They are crazy convenient.<br /><br />In the train station I continued to be overly cautious, as I always am, sitting sleepy and hunched over on a bench with my foot wrapped through the strap of my backpack to keep it from being stolen - despite the fact that Nantes does not really have a problem with such things. I'm sure I look stupid but I can't help being too careful: I'm my father's daughter.<br /><br />It took me FIVE trains to get to San Sebastian. Or it would have, if things had gone well, but I'm getting ahead of myself. I adored all my trains this go around. I sat and watched people, business commuters, sleepy and unamused or sometimes talking with their customary traveling companions, teenagers, nervous traveling by themselves, their mother's waving goodbye to them from outside the train, children being adorable, couples snuggling. Everyone rides trains.<br /><br />When I got to Hendaye, there was a 25 minute delay, which meant I missed my next train. I got my ticket refunded and attempted to buy another ticket while in France,where I spoke the language, but was informed at the desk that I should wait till getting in Irun.<br /><br />Boarded the train to Irun, only to find that it didn't actually go to Irun, but stopped instead in the town just before Irun. Everyone exited the train, following directions given in Spanish. I talked to a conductor who pointed to a bus - I got on the bus, not too sure I was doing what was correct but trying to verify as best I could.<br /><br />There had been a strike at some point, I believe in Bordeaux, and so we had to take a bus the rest of the way to Irun.<br /><br />The minute I got on the bus - I noticed a difference in the passengers. They were talking to one another, loudly, friendly, jovially. They were speaking French, but with a strange accent. I was thinking how odd it was to see French people being so chatty, which is when on cue all the women switched to Spanish, which was obviously their native tongue. So from the instant I arrived in Spain, I noted a marked difference between the Spanish and the French and that difference can be summed up by a general friendliness towards others, especially strangers, that the French seem to lack.<br /><br />In Irun, I still needed to buy a ticket to San Sebastian. No one in Irun, which is just over the French/Spanish boarder, spoke French. It was unbelievable. I finally sort of kind of got the feeling that I was supposed to buy a tram ticket that would take me to San Sebastian, confirmed this vague notion with an Australian family who said they were under the same impression, and bought the tram ticket to take me into San Sebastian.<br /><br />So that was my all day, 10 hour train journey adventure, completed mostly peacefully, and entirely by myself. I am proud.<br /><br />And then I was in San Sebastian! Which is currently my favorite city in the world!<br /><br />Jonathan had had a similar misadventure getting there, and he was set to arrive via bus an hour or so after I arrived. So. I walked around the city a bit by myself. It was so beautiful! Just stepping out of the train station the city presented itself so romantically and beautifully: the river, lined with a promenade and rows of trees, just starting to turn their autumnal gold. I was in heaven.<br /><br />When Jonathan got there, he called and I hurried my way back to the train station, just in time to catch him looking around for me, while an orchestral version of "A Whole New World" from Aladdin played and we greeted each other with a kiss while the music crescendoed. C'etait parfait.<br /><br />The next three days were passed so wonderfully - walking around casually, not trying to do or see too much, just trying to relax and enjoy getting to be together in the most beautiful city on earth. We walked along the beach and the ramparts and along the river, went to get tapas and beers, walked up one of the mountains to a castle and chapel on the top with a fantastic view of the city, took an old tram ride up to the top of the other mountain and walked down both, ate lots of gelatto, pastries, etc, went shopping for some clothes for Jonathan at H&M, went swimming!!! (and the water wasn't even too cold) ate lots of picnic lunches on benches with good views, etc. It was one of the best weekends of my life, spent perfectly, seeing neither too much nor too little.<br /><br />I love Spain. It feels very different from France - less reserved, a bit more like a party. The people all seem just a bit friendlier - even the architecture is more flamboyant than the reserved style of French buildings. So I'm excited to go back so soon!<br /><br />Heading home again, I cried at the train station, just like last time, and even stupider than last time because I'm driving down to visit Jonathan with my family in a week.<br /><br />Nantes is starting to feel more and more like home. Not as good as a real home, but I'm growing accustomed to everything. I walk around the city and feel like a true Nantaise, and that is a wonderful feeling. My French is improving, I believe - I now can understand almost everything my family or professors say, though of course sometimes I still get lost. I know where to get good coffee cheaply, good pain au chocolate, good gelatto, good pizza, and do so when I need a pick me up. I say things like, "Let's meet in the Place Royale," and then in the Place Royale, I wind up in lots of tourists' pictures, sitting on the fountain steps with Hanna eating a sandwich on a large baguette, our scarves thrown over our shoulders, and I'm sure those tourists think, "Oh! And we got these French girls in our picture. Look at how typically French!" But really its just two Americans getting really good at pretending.<br /><br />I am still having a very difficult time with school work. I anticipated spending all of my 15 hours or so in trains this past weekend studying, but in reality spent closer to 15 minutes. It is a real problem, but I think it is one most of the students here are experiencing. So hopefully it will be fine.<br /><br />It is difficult though because the French teachers here are trying to emulate the American University system but failing miserably. I feel it would be better for them to either just do things the French way, but trying to pretend that this is the way American schools work is stupid. For instance, Hanna has two mid-terms planned for one of her classes. So they obviously don't get what a midterm is. And we have a "Devoir" deadline, which is when our homework is due. But its just one assignment. They don't seem to grasp that homework is actually a recurring, three or four times a semester deal. Its mostly funny, but also confusing.<br /><br /><br />Mostly though, I have decided that this is the last Autumn and Winter I ever want to spend away from home. I love traveling, and I plan on doing it for the rest of my life, but in the future I plan on doing it between January and September. October-December seems so suited to being home, to being snuggly, walking around in long john pjs, or footy pajamas, sipping tea all hours of the day, etc. And it is just impossible to do these things living with a family you're not actually a part of, or living in hotels.<br /><br />So. Caitlin Gilliam better appreciate that I chose (and Hanna and Jonathan chose) to study abroad in the Fall almost specifically so that we could be there for her graduation in the Spring.<br /><br />In other news, my parents get here tomorrow! I'm taking an 8 o'clock train to meet them in Paris, where we will spend two nights. I am so excited! I have missed them so badly, and cannot wait to show off my European/French skills and hangouts.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWukSoEIElJPFrKRN24EFDi6AXX3CnfnNHWuVJZZQF8iNM2naU6qmzkMe7eWJAgSDGSN7JcQjQqIb7x2rmktQN27R4MnahA5O7kLXeY7wQ-gm7knSaaXIZMMsB9zajO5F3llXxHr7XIo4/s1600-h/DSCN5744.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWukSoEIElJPFrKRN24EFDi6AXX3CnfnNHWuVJZZQF8iNM2naU6qmzkMe7eWJAgSDGSN7JcQjQqIb7x2rmktQN27R4MnahA5O7kLXeY7wQ-gm7knSaaXIZMMsB9zajO5F3llXxHr7XIo4/s400/DSCN5744.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392755161631740226" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxZqNVdEfxDhuM1TZ4-fYKmZv9gJsrEzB2niOj4FmvoqDIaqltfzbooNCA6BKTv_ARmGLywf5NF1ui3LF4M-kBAyc5CzvuShHpBtKWNkOtdF2ymYcvsy2Ahwt55HSJVurp_FTGJRGnl4Y/s1600-h/DSCN5777.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxZqNVdEfxDhuM1TZ4-fYKmZv9gJsrEzB2niOj4FmvoqDIaqltfzbooNCA6BKTv_ARmGLywf5NF1ui3LF4M-kBAyc5CzvuShHpBtKWNkOtdF2ymYcvsy2Ahwt55HSJVurp_FTGJRGnl4Y/s400/DSCN5777.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392755155428362898" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcZ3ZMLzcqWOGSRrKieI8x6mUU296kBK2j0v2q7TfBaXl1lRUc44olAS4FkflgdxkUvyDS3vRsyDeT4DPZELxMNTYlg9ed-xtTtHvFo7ovODZzILdAoCkEzrQ6mJR9emYPIrPT3hIhEW4/s1600-h/DSCN5742.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcZ3ZMLzcqWOGSRrKieI8x6mUU296kBK2j0v2q7TfBaXl1lRUc44olAS4FkflgdxkUvyDS3vRsyDeT4DPZELxMNTYlg9ed-xtTtHvFo7ovODZzILdAoCkEzrQ6mJR9emYPIrPT3hIhEW4/s400/DSCN5742.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392755150374598882" border="0" /></a>Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10751144897063885381noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1963496534013199522.post-13494748551933758932009-10-05T09:38:00.000-07:002009-10-09T12:04:37.297-07:00And Jonathan too...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn4_pW7CgSRuwzCqrsJglKUBGOUpwLx_5AQ5nhunRoMOvcSQfXKGR44yCNICf8cvIdCy2oIq9yVZCkmVg8aYIT2vLulFQDxLnTm5ziHTvhklzWmnvoGabz-y-7MHcLVlY5pvMeCU94eRQ/s1600-h/DSCN6640.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn4_pW7CgSRuwzCqrsJglKUBGOUpwLx_5AQ5nhunRoMOvcSQfXKGR44yCNICf8cvIdCy2oIq9yVZCkmVg8aYIT2vLulFQDxLnTm5ziHTvhklzWmnvoGabz-y-7MHcLVlY5pvMeCU94eRQ/s400/DSCN6640.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390677579164085138" border="0" /></a><br />My first memory of Jonathan, straight up, is this:<br /><br />I had to sit next to him in our 5th grade social studies class, where the seats were alphabetically arranged (Moody -> Mooradian), and I recall that I thought he smelled funny, a mix between apples and b.o.<br /><br />I remember at some later point that first week of middle school that I gave a poem to my teacher for her to read, and she informed me that another student had also given her a poem and that we might should become friends, and that his name was Jonathan Moody.<br /><br />I recall from these days that he wore huge shirts, used to pick a word out of the dictionary each day (or week?) and use it as his exclamation - as in "Oh pumperknickle!"<br /><br />I remember he told me he wrote poetry and that he brought me an example one day - a very lengthy and illustrated poem about a dragon, and I think that was when I first got a crush on Jonathan Moody (although, truth be told, I was only ten and he was not the only boy I had a crush on, of course).<br /><br />I started calling him - never by myself - it was always three way calls with Mary Tek or Sally Wilson - and basically tried every annoying and typical preteen girl tactic under the sun to try and get his attention. I remember at the end of sixth grade during one such phone call I told him I thought he should stop jelling his hair, and that the next day, the last day of school, he came without jell and I wondered if maybe he DID care about me.<br /><br />But all of this was very silly.<br /><br />He encouraged me to start attending youth group more regularly - I had only been a casual attender previously - and I cannot imagine how much said encouragements have shaped my life and what sort of adolescence I would have had if Belmont youth hadn't been a part of it.<br /><br />Throughout seventh and eighth grade we became better friends as a result of this - talked more about things that actually mattered. I grew increasingly impressed with him: his straight A's, his sweet saxaphone skills and his jazz band, his musical taste. We realized we had a lot of the same values - values that maybe are a little outside of what is normal - that include a love of the land, and farming, and love for simplicity, a dislike of materialism, and an overall enthusiasm to know and see the world and better understand its beauty.<br /><br />We both had these sorts of things figured out at a very young age.<br /><br />And so the summer before my freshman year of high school, we went on a mission trip to Mexico, where we spent every day together, grew closer through sharing some intense experiences there, and on the last night in Mexico as the guys and girls were separating to go to bed, he hugged me very intensely and intimately - our first ever hug - and whispered softly in my ear, "I love you."<br /><br />It was one of the happiest moments of my life.<br /><br />And so today is his birthday, and he is twenty one, and he is not a little boy anymore, as he was when we met, but something more closely resembling a man.<br /><br />And I have never known a better man.<br /><br />He has striven for academic and moral perfection as long as I've known him, and has been able to achieve something close to it with relative ease. As he's grown older, he has grown more independent, and strives to determine solidly for himself what is right and what is wrong.<br /><br />Jonthan is adventurous. He has been to Mexico five times on mission trips, one of which lasted over a month in the very isolated town of Juxtlahuaca. And now he is in Spain, and where as I have had Hanna with me this whole time, he went without knowing a soul and has already made so many friends!<br /><br />His skills as a musician are and have always been amazing to me. He can decide to start playing an instrument and within a few months he's a master at it. I mean - he can play saxophone (although not lately), guitar, banjo, and recorders EXCELLENTLY. It is amazing to me how easy it comes to him, and he has -par none- my favorite singing voice.<br /><br />Other skills/hobbies include: moccasin making, crocheting, recorder making, unicycling, bicycling, hiking.<br /><br /><br /><br />Most importantly, Jonathan is one of the best and most tender people I've ever met - whenever one of our friends has a problem - large or small - he is sincerely concerned and always does his best to help the situation. Rare qualities in a lot of young men these days! He is far kinder than I am - honestly - and has always encouraged me to be better in all of my relationships. He is level headed, full of discernment, and always seeking God. He is a loyal, loyal friend and son and brother.<br /><br /><br />And Jonathan is an excellent boyfriend. The best I've ever heard tell of. He is always so attentive, so giving of his time, so complimentary. He has only ever made me happier, made my life less anxious and more rich, and this is the way all relationships should be. I feel so blessed to have gotten to have a relationship as good as this - it was nothing that we've had to work too hard at - and yet I can say that we've been passionately <span style="font-style: italic;">in love</span> for six years. And that is rare and magical.<br /><br />So when, as has happened, someone asks me if I've wearied of dating the same person for such a large portion of my life, the response is always an emphatic <span style="font-style: italic;">NO!</span> because Jonathan is one of the most interesting people the world over. In the past six years, his personality has remained endearingly the same, while his spirituality, his morality, his social conscience have matured and grown and his interests have bounced all over the place.<br /><br />I am so so happy and proud of the 21 year old he has become, love him so much, and cannot wait to see what the future holds for him!!!Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10751144897063885381noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1963496534013199522.post-75457050703645632032009-10-04T10:09:00.000-07:002009-10-03T19:29:30.634-07:00The One Where I Write About My Mother...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk11Hhc4nWLc-y5IqVRA2ffX19scqWx1x8LlpgH9n_7ugPqn-bzaISJ3Yv8dI7asEtW3Ft9fs2bNfj5BCJLfIqgDN3m9YRBWwB0x5czQG8B2opIKiXzDzqVo67ZPmCxjudlcSCK7JAXrU/s1600-h/9532_150482278112_754953112_2654167_823980_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk11Hhc4nWLc-y5IqVRA2ffX19scqWx1x8LlpgH9n_7ugPqn-bzaISJ3Yv8dI7asEtW3Ft9fs2bNfj5BCJLfIqgDN3m9YRBWwB0x5czQG8B2opIKiXzDzqVo67ZPmCxjudlcSCK7JAXrU/s400/9532_150482278112_754953112_2654167_823980_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388558333118002242" border="0" /></a><br />As it is my mother's birthday today:<br /><br />The earliest memories of my mother are only shadows now, barely visible through years of forgetting, but they start somewhere like, "Good morning, Mommy," and crawling in her bed, it still dark outside. She was always welcoming. Never once do I remember being turned away - mostly<span style="font-style: italic;"></span> I remember crawling in beside her, and how warm she always seemed in the morning. I remember I would put my small hand on her cheeks just to feel how smooth they were, and run my hands along her arms; she was my first vision of what it was to be a woman, to be feminine and soft, my first vision of what I would one day miraculously grow to be. And she was(is) so beautiful and perfect.<br /><br />I remember other things. That she used to, I haven't seen her do this in years, pour salt into the palm of her hand to dip her carrots in. My earliest earliest memory is of this: I remember being very young, with her on bed rest from being pregnant with Joey, and her asking me to go fetch the salt and carrots from the kitchen and me being delighted at the task and scampering through the house to complete it.<br /><br />I remember creek walks at my aunt's farm: both her and my aunt, my two mothers, teaching me the wonder of the world - the small minnows hiding out in the deeper waters underneath tree roots, the small snails clinging feebly to slimy rocks, and the water crest, that my mother taught me to eat, and which we did eat, the taste somewhat like a radish but so much better because there it was - a free salad perched in the middle of the stream.<br /><br />I remember water colors - silly drawings, sweet drawings, the millions of games that she created. Games that instructed and entertained. Some that merely terrified, like playing hide-and-seek in the house with all the lights out. (My favorite! Still!) I remember her playing guitar - my first real introduction to music - the beautiful song that she and my Uncle Donnie wrote "California" (or is it called "Gold Rush"?) being the first song I ever learned to play.<br /><br />There is the way she mothered Joey and I both; the support she and my father always showed us in all of our endeavors - paying for whatever lessons we wanted to take - never pressuring us - always complimenting us probably more than was merited. There is Joey's painting that hangs above the mantle piece, my book of poetry on the coffee table, the musical instruments and equipment Joey and I are both allowed to leave everywhere, the practices, loud and inescapable in the living room. There is the fact that we were always allowed and encouraged to talk to our parents about anything and everything - and the fact that we were almost never reprimanded for our confidences. These are the privileges of having exceptional parents that Joey and I have enjoyed our entire lives without much taking the time to consider how lucky we are. But I will say it now: no one has parents better than mine. (As good as, perhaps, but it would be impossible to surpass them).<br /><br />There is our perch, <span style="font-style: italic;">her</span> perch, in the living room on the love seat, and the bird feeders visible from either window- the little stone bird that sits on the coffee table laden with books about birds, and the binoculars to better watch their little world. There is the coffee always sitting just beside her - half&half and sweet&low and frothed milk. And the whole of her perch covered with the Tennessean all scattered about in the morning - the Sports and Business section laying dejected in the corner and my mother pouring over the Classifieds - hunting for sail boats and house boats and tear drop campers.<br /><br />There is cooking: tiramisu, baklava - my sixteenth birthday when we spent the whole afternoon preparing chocolates, <span style="font-style: italic;">divine</span> chocolates, that caused in us a jubilant euphoria we later read was from breathing in too much chocolate, inducing a marijuana-like high. There is the way she dances - wild and emotional - a true child of the seventies. And there is the way music moves her, and makes her cry - the way she feels it until it is a part of her.<br /><br />And then there is the wilderness that is my mother. There is Black Mountain and its views and hundreds of thousands of year old rocks. And Stillhouse Hollow Falls - the morning we met the photographer there at six in the morning, set up a sleeping bag and read and napped and passed one of the most peaceful mornings of my life. There is Devil Step Hollow, the holy place, where my mother crawled on her belly into the hollows of the earth. There is all the land that she has saved.<br /><br />There is poetry: Wendell Berry and Annie Dillard and Sam Keen and so many others. The poetry that gets to the soul of her, that inspires her religion and mine. And there is her writing - the articles she writes for her annual reports are beautiful vignettes and she has written some very beautiful poems and songs.<br /><br /><br />There are my grandparents - Nana and Pa Don - that both live in her. She is every bit my grandmother, who understands and marvels at the beauty of the world and understands in an inspired way the goodness of God, and though I never met him, I know that she is my grandfather too - mischievous and stubborn and confident and powerful. There are her siblings- her best friends and some of mine too - who she respects, confides in, adores, admires - and for all of them I know the feeling is mutual, despite their differences. There is the way that all five of them seem<span style="font-style: italic;"> absolutely determined</span> that they will not grow up - and I do believe that thus far they are still winning this battle. Despite their 50+ years.<br /><br />There is my father, and the way they are still in love, the way they are still at times <span style="font-style: italic;">too</span> much in love <span style="font-style: italic;">too </span>much in front of Joey and I or whoever else is around and kiss each other and make eyes and act like teenagers. My father, one of the sweetest men alive, one of the best father's alive, supports her in everything she does, and she in turn respects him for everything he is - for the excellent man he is. Their marriage is one to aspire to have.<br /><br /><br /><br />And in short, I cannot say how much I love her. How much I am grateful that I was raised by her and my father, grateful too that I am so like them both. It has been difficult for me, going this long without my family, but in two short weeks! they will be visiting me and traveling down to Spain to visit Jonathan.<br /><br />In short: I love you, Mama! No one's like you the whole world over, and I'm so glad its me who gets to be your very own favorite daughter! <span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">Happy Birthday!</span></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpk0t3I0eEODRxckAmOb9VFry0AG6qTg9NUPl6UDKCf8hkOnBQHBMzQQIbpPjRHZOkkqkkeIcjKt_nHzsgNCPM5CRpHxW0-DFx-faPlSV0qUOm4CxLBiG-4r2oNuph1ch1DpnRhYn1P2Q/s1600-h/n1508910319_30175785_5452.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 253px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpk0t3I0eEODRxckAmOb9VFry0AG6qTg9NUPl6UDKCf8hkOnBQHBMzQQIbpPjRHZOkkqkkeIcjKt_nHzsgNCPM5CRpHxW0-DFx-faPlSV0qUOm4CxLBiG-4r2oNuph1ch1DpnRhYn1P2Q/s400/n1508910319_30175785_5452.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388558344416247810" border="0" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgraTz8x1DZ6G2Dk0zyMAhpTQ888hdQq_DmIV3OdJ71wnPzyLoOlvpp5uA1WIAxI02pTTRpjx95FibLBZ8pmCUH-r1OOcvxImWxaiAKWvlBw8O-7ssRwoy2w4LdFveVG8f0M84OPq6OzrA/s1600-h/n1508910319_30175793_3536.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 280px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgraTz8x1DZ6G2Dk0zyMAhpTQ888hdQq_DmIV3OdJ71wnPzyLoOlvpp5uA1WIAxI02pTTRpjx95FibLBZ8pmCUH-r1OOcvxImWxaiAKWvlBw8O-7ssRwoy2w4LdFveVG8f0M84OPq6OzrA/s400/n1508910319_30175793_3536.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388558346152021170" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSeOti3RKFnpS6M2lmEP0xD_N3q62opaXTvK-wc5TR75kkEnQ_fCONeKgOuW-9VfiT7EzhjUN1_edGhbm3n2FqHYgI5yX5aQAgmdxGGTM8EK6A5aPovdCVYPkmv3nxnIOMLizPecQo4YE/s1600-h/n1508910319_30175780_3605.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 264px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSeOti3RKFnpS6M2lmEP0xD_N3q62opaXTvK-wc5TR75kkEnQ_fCONeKgOuW-9VfiT7EzhjUN1_edGhbm3n2FqHYgI5yX5aQAgmdxGGTM8EK6A5aPovdCVYPkmv3nxnIOMLizPecQo4YE/s400/n1508910319_30175780_3605.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388558350504913378" border="0" /></a></div>Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10751144897063885381noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1963496534013199522.post-90784935791619685712009-10-01T11:38:00.000-07:002009-10-01T14:57:44.598-07:00The Superiority of French Cuisine, How I Adore all of my Courses, and How I am Homesick None-the-less...First, I will assure you that despite being slightly homesick I am enjoying myself a ridiculous amount.<br /><br />I am constantly overwhelmed by my French dining experiences. Favorites:<br /><ol><li>It does not matter where or when you buy it, Pain au Chocolat is the best. The bread and chocolate seem to melt in a sweet heaven in your mouth. I have had Pain au Chocolate for 1euro that was less delicious than Pain au Chocolat for 2euro - regardless - even sub-par French Pain au Chocolate is better than just about any American desert had for the equivalent price. </li><li>Wine. With everything. And semi-locally grown. I have grown to <span style="font-style: italic;">love</span> wine while here - especially "rose" wine. I love that you can buy it anywhere - any restaurant - any cafe - sells really excellent wine for really cheap prices.</li><li>Coffee! I love it. In my house we have a machine. You insert a little pretty capsule in the top, press a button and PRESTO out comes delicious espresso. I even had some 50cent coffee out of a vending machine that was heavenly.<br /></li><li>Cream. In everything. BUT. Don't make the mistake of drinking the milk here plain. Its seriously disgusting because it is really more like half&half then real milk.<br /></li><li>Pizza with cream sauce. Pizza here is seriously superior to American pizza. Last week, Hanna and I bought a 2euro frozen pizza that was seriously some of the best pizza I've ever had, all because they use cream sauce instead of just tomato sauce.<br /></li><li>Yogurt. Vastly delicious. All sorts of varieties. My recent obsession is eating plain yogurt and then adding lots of sugar, like the rest of my homestay family does. It is seriously the best thing ever.<br /></li><li>I love cafes. They have such good ambiance: people to watch, lots of interesting menu items, cheap prices, and frequently very lovely presentation of the food.<br /></li><li>I love street vendors. Cheaper prices than cafes, really good sandwiches, really convenient locations.<br /></li><li>Lots of delicious and unusual dishes: plumb pie, squash curry soup, croque Bergers (croque monsieurs + goat cheese), cold red pepper soup with olive oil, and on and on and on....</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">Mostly</span> great that I can eat all of these things without gaining weight because I walk 5 miles a day (or more).<br /></li></ol>My schedule has finally been finalized, I have finally found all of my books (this was quite a chore, actually!) and finally started filling up my various cute French notebooks. I think that I am going to <span style="font-style: italic;">love</span> this semester academically, even if it will be hard to squeeze all my work into days that I'm not traveling.<br /><br />Classes include:<br /><ul><li>Poetry of the turn of the Century: My professor, M. Postel, is a very little, petite and enthusiastic French man. He talks very quickly, is a little too obsessed with caesuras and rhythm, in my opinion, but none-the-less is so enthusiastic that its contagious. I am loving Baudelaire, who we are currently studying, and want to adopt for life the concept of "les fleurs du mal," which is essentially that there is beauty even in the grotesque, tragic, and quotidian. </li><li>French Writers in Foreign Nations: So far this class has been a bit bizarre. We have been focusing on various French stories that describe trips taken to America. Out of the five stories we have read, only one could be said to have a favorable view of America. Most find it too ugly, too crowded, too materialistic, etc. The only story that depicted America in a way that I found accurate and in which the author actually <span style="font-style: italic;">liked</span> America? <i>L'Étudiant étranger</i> by Philippe Labro which takes place in the American South! Excellent!</li><li>Palestine: My professor, Mme de la Foye, is very funny, enthusiastic, and has written a very straightforward and informative book on the subject (which we were of course forced to purchase) called the United States and Islam. This class, like the French Author's class, is interesting because it talks about America frequently; I really am coming to feel that we are and have been on the wrong side of the Israel-Palestine crises, and it is difficult to hear all of the ways in which America has greatly messed up the situation. It is also a bit terrifying; the Muslim world really does hate America, with some cause, and the past and future ramifications of that hatred are terrifying to think on.<br /></li><li>Translation: This class is at the University. MY PROFESSOR'S NAME??? <span style="font-size:130%;">Michael Christian Faith. <span style="font-size:100%;">He made a joke about how he should probably have been a television evangelist instead of a professor. </span></span>He is very dorky, very sweaty, but very sweet too. So far the translations haven't been too difficult, I'm still a bit worried that our final, which consists of two translations without the use of a dictionary, counts for 50% of our grade.<br /></li><li>Literature of the Strange: Taught by a very young M. Claudel, this class is going to be so excellent! I find it very exciting, so far we've been exploring the definition of the word 'fantastic' and the origins of its birth in literature in the 19th century. It is very interesting, and I think it will be really inspirational in terms of my writing.<br /></li></ul>Despite the fact that I am loving everything, I am still a bit homesick. I suppose it comes from it being fall now; Tennessee is always so beautiful in the autumn. I find myself longing for Nashville in the fall: for Belmont Blvd and the way the leaves stain the sidewalk with their prints, my backyard, full of birds, and all my Halloweens, pumpkin carving with my family, stuffing a "scare crow" for the front porch, Aunt Linda's house and all its bustle. I find myself also longing for Sewanee: for hikes - last year around now didn't we do Cedar Hollow Lake? - and Mountain Top Ball, and all the glorious, glorious trees, and chai tea, and snuggling in the morning with Jonathan and the windows all covered in frost and the earth outside sleeping in fog. And what seems strange to me is that I miss them both: Nashville and Sewanee, and can only suppose that when I have left here it will be the same, to a lesser extent, with Nantes, tagged on to my list of homes that I long for when I am away from them. It is one of those sad, sad aspects of growing older that I do not too much like, and I will be glad, I think, years from now, when I am settled in a more permanent fashion one way or another again.<br /><br />And not to be dramatic, but it puts me in the mind of a terribly beautiful line from Kings of Convenience: "Homesick, cos I no longer know where home is."<br /><br />Only I know that my home is Nashville and Sewanee both and that it is difficult for me to miss them both simultaneously instead of one at a time.<br /><br />Not to mention my family and Jonathan and all my friends.Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10751144897063885381noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1963496534013199522.post-66996881749761460022009-09-29T09:47:00.001-07:002009-09-29T10:38:12.888-07:00Belle Bordeaux!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj03Lk0k4ZrRsmQgX1CtzKy1dvRw2eeQmeYNYHZA-jGPU6KYkSEftmdOe-KDQxlGGWwOUPYFefPe876PEhLk2xcHVYDlte44tUWdDa90A4RxCZL4FUDkpfBeV1UqKZcK3VGNB3xxlkgdIE/s1600-h/FSCN5550.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj03Lk0k4ZrRsmQgX1CtzKy1dvRw2eeQmeYNYHZA-jGPU6KYkSEftmdOe-KDQxlGGWwOUPYFefPe876PEhLk2xcHVYDlte44tUWdDa90A4RxCZL4FUDkpfBeV1UqKZcK3VGNB3xxlkgdIE/s400/FSCN5550.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386945035599813042" border="0" /></a><br />Friday morning, having passed a terribly exciting two days enjoying Hanna's apartment (her family was away), full of wine drinking, pasta cooking, dancing, walking around in pj's, watching HSM3 and doing everything else silly and feminine, I departed for Bordeaux to meet Jonathan!<br /><br />My train ride, which I'd actually been looking forward to, turned out to be a bit of a bust: the train was full, the seats were a bit cramped compared to other trains I've been on, and there was a very angry and exhausted mother in front of me with her twin three-year-old sons, who both screamed, kicked, whined, and jostled the entire four hours. I got to hear them being smacked more than once. It was not too pleasant.<br /><br />Then I arrived! Quite excited to see Jonathan - we figured out it had been a month since we'd last seen each other. Quelle horreur! But really what better place than Bordeaux to meet up with one's boyfriend?!<br /><br />Bordeaux was immediately impressive. It has a very pretty and large train station, complete with a tall glass ceiling and lots of pigeons flying around inside. Jonathan and I set about to finding our hotel; we ended up walking there, so we got to see some interesting parts of the city from the beginning, passing through the St. Michel neighborhood.<br /><br />Finally finding our hotel about two or three miles later, both carrying heavy back packs, we came to find the hotel reception closed until 5. Both tired from the walk, we waited at a near by cafe, where I had some good espresso and Jonathan tried his first ever Orangina!<br /><br />Walking back to the hotel at 5, we found it was still closed. The French! There was a phone number left on the front door to be used in case of an urgent situation, but I really didn't want to call it: speaking in French is hard enough, but speaking in French over the phone is next to impossible for me!<br /><br />Fortunately, a group of French women showed up to check in five minutes or so after we did (at around 5:20, now). They straight away called the manager on his cell phone, he biked over, checked us in, everything was fine.<br /><br />So.<br /><br />Jonathan and I explored. A few blocks from our hotel was the Monument des Girondins. It is truly magnificent - very beautiful and whimsical in a way - the horses have serpent tails rather than hind legs and conch shells for hooves. Wonderful.<br /><br />Then we walked along the river, saw the Pont Neuf, the Place de Palais, and finally found a nice neighborhood with lots of restauraunts where we found a good creperie. Jonathan ordered his first meal crepe: ham and cheese, and we split some cider. Afterwards, walked around the city a bit more, had some gelatto, split a bottle of pink, Bordeaux wine to celebrate his impending 21st birthday.<br /><br />Next day, continued to explore the city. Split a giant pain au chocolat for breakfast: delicious! Saw the Grand Theater of Bordeaux, stumbled upon a market day taking place in the shadow of the Basilica of St. Michel, found a very small church: L'eglise d'Eloi, tucked in between several buildings but very large and ornate and crooked on the inside. Saw the Hotel de Ville, <span style="font-style: italic;">tried</span> to go inside the Cathedral only to disappointedly learn that it was closed all weekend to visitors because it was a religious holiday, full of babtisms, special services and weddings.<br /><br />Found a Carrefour and bought supplies to make a wonderful lunch: salami, baguette, creme-brulee au caramel, and goutta cheese. Topped off with some Apricot juice. Very delicious.<br /><br />Then we continued our expedition!<br /><br />Saw a very, very beautiful church in la Place des Martyrs de la Revolution: L'eglise Saint Seurin. And stopped in another, L'eglise Saint Ferdinand, on our way to the Public Gardens.<br /><br />In the Public Gardens, we found lots of couples making out passionately everywhere and in everywhich way. On top of one another in the grass, straddling eachother on benches. Seriously, it was unbelievable.<br /><br />The gardens were very pretty, lots of flowers and greenery and ducks and geese and dogs and children playing. We stopped at the garden cafe, L'Orangerie, for some water and coffee.<br /><br />Wandered aimlessly a bit.<br /><br />Then headed out to find a good pizzaria. Found one, although the pizza Jonathan ordered was unfortunatley a little dry - shame, because typically French pizza is a thousand times bettter than American pizza. I had pasta though and it was excellent. Walked around a bit more, etc.<br /><br />Next morning, headed to the train station to purchase Jonathan's return ticket. Disaster! The train he had planned on taking at 8pm was full, and so he had to buy a ticket for the 4:30 instead. I really did cry a little, which was stupid, but I was sad to cut our weekend short! I found an earlier ticket, which was good and meant I wouldn't have to wait around alone three extra hours and would arrive in Nantes at a safe 9pm instead of a sketchy 11pm.<br /><br />That resolved, we headed out again. Bought a nice lunch; Jonathan had his first sandwich au jambon et beurre, along with some pain au chocolat and an orangina. I had my first ever croque-monsieur, and it was terrific. We ate it in small park that we found near by, accompanied by some adorable birds who ate our crumbs and the far off banter of homeless people.<br /><br />Walked towards the Basilica of St. Michel. Were accosted by homeless people, who tried to confront Jonathan for some reason or another. When he didn't respond, one yelled, "Hey asshole! Do you speak French or not?" with the implied answer being that Jonathan did speak French but refused to speak - funny becasue he doesn't speak French.<br /><br />Anyway.<br /><br />Visited the Basilica of St. Michel. Very beautiful.<br /><br />Headed to the train station. I cried a little, which is stupid because we're currently in the process of planning a trip to St. Sebastian, Spain in two weeks, which will be wonderful!<br /><br />The train ride home was a bit of an adventure: the man sitting across from me, who would not stop staring at me even if I cought him staring at me, only smile creepily, unbottuned his shirt the instant he sat down, revealing a tattooed chest that he continued to scratch for the duration of the four hours.He looked very, very, frightening. A bit alarming, but there was a very friendly looking couple in the compartment with me, I didn't feel too unsafe, just bothered, and I still got to look out the window at the French country side - which was very lovely.<br /><br />All in all, an blissful weekend! So crazy that I can take a weekend in Bordeaux! With my boyfriend! Love it!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNLCFpR9du8aEpz0wCqUskUWX10sW-zpLGDU2CsqcmWCCflfeBnq-RznWZe0AjHEgdk2oVfNwF39e2Z-XVsgbW5SX2tcfJQK-XneKcew8ktk4AlXVBoIODnWwfhApsXP9XZMUx8nqvISA/s1600-h/FSCN5512.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNLCFpR9du8aEpz0wCqUskUWX10sW-zpLGDU2CsqcmWCCflfeBnq-RznWZe0AjHEgdk2oVfNwF39e2Z-XVsgbW5SX2tcfJQK-XneKcew8ktk4AlXVBoIODnWwfhApsXP9XZMUx8nqvISA/s400/FSCN5512.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386943965982306274" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBy19q8xaN7CmCQysWS2eyg7mPKjBKrDrOV5dG-boFF1J1rd1F-Q4RTMo4dNmQ7ql-pzraRa9OdLuxIAzqH6C4EGBJvcD690JdaXUxql8D1ic_WQqRLf0bZIa07376K-8bhzOCyrdpws4/s1600-h/DSCN5538.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBy19q8xaN7CmCQysWS2eyg7mPKjBKrDrOV5dG-boFF1J1rd1F-Q4RTMo4dNmQ7ql-pzraRa9OdLuxIAzqH6C4EGBJvcD690JdaXUxql8D1ic_WQqRLf0bZIa07376K-8bhzOCyrdpws4/s400/DSCN5538.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386943977526809970" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizu-miLdtOEvrtzdYVuvSBI77dXELBREYTvFKDxS1qr3RBexuCn47v7qgJHlYQCmuZwVCjxOkA-vXrHYgXqdIr29HvcNCKcB0fBjonHjSkMfo3UlQP8le7TwpWhD8sbDfnSALa7HfE7UE/s1600-h/DSCN5657.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizu-miLdtOEvrtzdYVuvSBI77dXELBREYTvFKDxS1qr3RBexuCn47v7qgJHlYQCmuZwVCjxOkA-vXrHYgXqdIr29HvcNCKcB0fBjonHjSkMfo3UlQP8le7TwpWhD8sbDfnSALa7HfE7UE/s400/DSCN5657.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386943970793765602" border="0" /></a>Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10751144897063885381noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1963496534013199522.post-7356306153514224592009-09-23T05:17:00.000-07:002009-09-23T05:53:46.458-07:00Another day at the Faculté de Nantes...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdov6-d7YhyJF38Y6lDCkvmNx3HoeDLoj5C14eacaNRr5DwooWQLAV2Y2HJ6PTAN2U0ys8nkpk_IoBLWfHorfZv7WEIwkqKw34W0J91l8SjPImn9YDRRuRPqU7m1WxmCaWraJdJ7vU7kM/s1600-h/Nantes.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdov6-d7YhyJF38Y6lDCkvmNx3HoeDLoj5C14eacaNRr5DwooWQLAV2Y2HJ6PTAN2U0ys8nkpk_IoBLWfHorfZv7WEIwkqKw34W0J91l8SjPImn9YDRRuRPqU7m1WxmCaWraJdJ7vU7kM/s400/Nantes.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384644044466437410" border="0" /></a>I didn't take this picture, just found it online. It was already labled: 'Ugly Nantes' but really I think it is far more attractive than the University really is, if you can believe it.<br /><br />Today I went to the University for my class on Poe and other writers of strange literature. I am currently concerned that I might not get to take this class, despite the fact that it's perfect for me and my schedule, because there are currently 7 IES students in the class (the cap typically being no more than 5 per University class). I am trying not to worry about it, and plan on talking to my IES Registrar as soon as she is available.<br /><br />The class was very interesting today, and I think if I am allowed to continue taking it, it will prove wonderful.<br /><br />I still, however, cannot help getting frustrated everytime I go to the University. The American and French education systems could not be more different, and I have found no where a more blatant difference between French and American (or at least, Nantaise and Sewanee) mentalities than the University cafeteria.<br /><br />I will explain.<br /><br />My classroom was built to contain around 50 students. Because there are no registration limits at the University, we had around 56 or so, all of whom had to go find chairs elsewhere or sit on the floor. The professor spoke quietly and quickly, and while I could understand him<span style="font-style: italic;"> much </span>better than the previous class I took at the University, I was really surprised by how many students talked while he spoke. It was frustrating to the extreme, though he didn't seem too dismayed and spoke over them as best he could.<br /><br />I find the education system in France a bit bizarr: students pick a study upon entering their first year and take classes only within that discipline. So if I were a French student, I would have started at the university, chosen to study literature and then taken only literature courses for the remainder of the four years or so I attended. I would not, as was the case in reality, been able to take lots of fascinating classes outside my major (and how sad that would have been! three of my favorite classes at Sewanee have been Fairy Tales, a German class, and Geology and Biology - none of which apply to either of my majors!)<br /><br />Additionally, while the University is practically free for all students (around 300 dollars a year) and has a 100% acceptance and admittance rate, more than half of the students do not pass their first year! That's an absurd amount of students.<br /><br />BUT what I dislike the most is the cafeteria, where I ate lunch today. Granted, at Sewanee I'm accustomed to a cafeteria that more closesly resembles a cathedral it's so grand; still, I found today quite schocking. In order to get food, students swarm around the cafeteria in a fashion entirely befitting a mob. Hanna, Olivia and I waited in said hoard for around 15 minutes today, being pushed and prodded this way and that, with the crowd fifteen-thirty people thick to the left or right and extending thirty feet or so in front and behind. It was crazy! I've heard they don't make lines in France, but really? I started feeling extremely light headed and cloistrophobic, especially when I finally made it to the stairwell leading to the cafeteria which was jam packed and at a stand still and dark and too too cramped.<br /><br />Nothing could be farther from Sewanee.<br /><br />But, depite the fact that this entry feels a bit like a rant, I will say that the University is the only place I feel indignant or disapointed or anything, and that I am going to <span style="font-style: italic;">try</span> and divine the merits of this system as well.Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10751144897063885381noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1963496534013199522.post-68148861316751325902009-09-21T10:52:00.000-07:002009-09-21T14:40:20.281-07:00Brief thoughts before starting my homework... (A more introverted entry, désolée!)Today, somehow, feels like my first day of class. Perhaps because it was so exhausting, perhaps because I am just now coming to realize that, unfortunately, I will have to work and study in France, and not just get to explore and travel all of the time.<br /><br />I had my first class of Translation, which was at the University of Nantes. Still unaccustomed to being in large, rather ugly class rooms. However, I think I will <span style="font-style: italic;">love</span> my Translation class, and I think it will be an excellent supplement to the Grammar Class I am opting not to take, as it will require a high understanding of tenses and proper grammar. I think it will also be excellent for getting to meet French students; the class is about half French students and half American IES students; half of our translations will be from French into English (which will be easier for the Anglophones), and half will be from English into French (which will be easier for the Francophones). The professor said that this ought to encourage a lot of discussion between the two student groups about idiomatic expressions, colloquialisms, etc. So! I am excited about that!<br /><br />I did finally learn today that all of my grades will transfer and count towards my GPA. This comes as a bit of a surprise, as Sewanee does not usually accept grades from most study abroad programs, and I was hoping that IES would not be the exception.<br /><br />I have developed a real problem about caring too much about my GPA. It started my Junior or Senior year of high school, and in college it has only gotten worse. I presently become seriously, seriously upset if I get anything below what I consider my best.<br /><br />It is a very American problem I am told, as most students at French Universities are not as concerned with their grade and French professors are always shocked by how concerned American students are about the subject. Perhaps for this semester I could adopt a more European attitude on the subject? Relax a little and not concern myself with whether or not I receive a B+ rather than an A-??<br /><br />But I think I know myself too well to think that's really a possibility, and so today came the realization that for the next three months, I will, in fact, be spending many hours reading, many hours writing papers, and many hours studying. Dommage! But I know I will likely enjoy all of it, as I am extremely enthusiastic about school work and all things academic and truly enjoy learning.<br /><br />It's just that I am somewhat less enthusiastic about academics than I am about exploring Europe.Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10751144897063885381noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1963496534013199522.post-3096920987734131802009-09-20T03:34:00.000-07:002009-09-20T04:31:58.154-07:00Miscellaneous adventures: the suburbs, the Musee des Beaux Arts, continued enjoyment of the Bouffay Quarter, etc...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJMyelcqFfbZ-djdH1hIrOK6tLsMRkEmdPKdnUBWTVq77FRhXykREifh4SxTDS7zhVDy1lNrV9dkoC0ZEgvJ2U6fXznf08Mh03SQwUkIQS9A7RhrPfjyEJDN6N1gS0Nu4mSiOcTsNY9QI/s1600-h/FSCN5468.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJMyelcqFfbZ-djdH1hIrOK6tLsMRkEmdPKdnUBWTVq77FRhXykREifh4SxTDS7zhVDy1lNrV9dkoC0ZEgvJ2U6fXznf08Mh03SQwUkIQS9A7RhrPfjyEJDN6N1gS0Nu4mSiOcTsNY9QI/s400/FSCN5468.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383510325158528818" border="0" /></a><br /><br />It is amazing to me how jam-packed every day becomes here!<br /><br />Friday, after Hanna got out of class, we decided to go explore a shopping mall that is situated on the outskirts of Nantes. Now - before anyone accuses me of wasting a second of my precious time in France on a shopping mall - let it be known that we knew this would give us a chance to see more of the city, and these past few weeks I have been on a present hunt for Jonathan and my mother's birthdays and thought a European mall would be an interesting (though, as it turned out, fruitless) place to search.<br /><br />The mall is at the very end of tram line 1 so in getting there we traveled out of the beautiful and charming Centre Ville, where we live, into the shockingly stark aesthetics of the suburbs. They are full of mid-rise apartment buildings - plain windows, drab colors, clothes drying on the balconies. It was a bit of a shock, how near these apartments were to us, but how they seemed much more befitting a third world country than the suburbs of an extremely romantic and beautiful French town.<br /><br />The mall was not terribly different than an American mall, other than that the prices were higher and there were fewer bathrooms (this is a fact of Europe that I am gradually becoming accustomed to). In the mall, we found a store that was very similar to a Walmart: huge, expansive, encompasing all genres of products and cheap. This was good because I've been holding out on buying some essentials because I can't afford them in our neighborhood.<br /><br />The thing that I will probably remember first and foremost about this little materialistic excursion however is that I saw, for the first time in my life, a woman wearing a burka. It was in the Walmart-esque store in the arts and crafts aisle. There was a baby sitting in her buggy and her husband was standing next to her, dressed completely normally, while she wore black from head to foot with only a thin strip missing for her black eyes. Her husband was looking at her and smiling as he spoke in Arabic and tried to decide between two types of markers or something trivial like that. Hanna and I walked by, both dressed adorably, of course, and I with a slight slight midrift, and I couldn't help but wondering if she hated me, for my freedom, or if her husband hated me, for my impudence, or if she was at peace with her situation and pitied me for my lack of understanding. Mostly though, I know she probably is envious of young girls who don't have babies and mean husbands who make them prisoners in burkas. And it really gave me the chils, walking past her, and I teared up a bit as I did so.<br /><br />Anyway.<br /><br />Then we took the tram back home, met up with our friend Horace Hobbs of Austin, Texas, for some crepes. They were magnificent! And I had the best cider I've ever had ever. Afterwards we walked around in a kind of wandering manner: to St. Clement, and past the art museum, past the carnival that is next to the Chateau. Then we went back to the Bouffay district, where we had a few drinks: I tried a white martini and did <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> much care for it. But there was very lovely ambience in the square: two men played Gypsy guitars and it was so terribly European and wonderful.<br /><br />Then I had to use the restroom, couldn't find one because its France, finally found one in a McDonalds, and then <span style="font-size:130%;">GOT LOCKED IN THE BATHROOM AGAIN</span>. That makes two Fridays in a row. And before anyone thinks its because I was inebriated or just stupid, I can promise that both have been totally legitamate and not my fault. The second time though, there was an Asian man who came out of the men's side of the restroom who was also locked in there with me. He freaked out, but now that I'm becoming accustomed to it, I very cooly said that we would get out and not to panic and then eventually the door, which was electronically operated by code only, decided to cooperate and let us out. It wasn't half as bad as the other time.<br /><br />Saturday: Hanna and I walked to the Jardins des Plants and tried to take a tour of the Green House but we were there an hour before the first tour, so we opted instead to go to the Musee des Beaux Arts, which was right next door and had free admission. It is a very beautiful building, and had both an incredibly modern and intriguing exhibit by Ernesto Neto on the first floor (see below) and lots of old, beautiful and more traditioal permanent installments upstairs. So that was really wonderful.<br /><br />Then Hanna and I tried to go find lunch, but forgot, as we have many days previously, that lots of French restauraunts close at 2 o'clock. Hence, instead of having a meal of oysters, which we had wanted, we had cold sandwhiches and oranginas from a street vendor. This was still very satisfying.<br /><br />Then I went shopping for Jonathan's birthday present(s)!<br /><br />For dinner, Hanna and I went in search of Le Petit Broccoli - a restauraunt in the Bouffay that our Sewanee French Professor, George Poe, recommended and sent us 20 euros each to enjoy. Sadly, it had closed, so Hanna and I went in search for an equally nice restaurant and found La Mangeoire near by, where they offer three course dinners for 17 euros. It was delicious and interesting, and Hanna and I had enough left over to split a half bottle of pink wine from the Loire Valley which was thouroughly satisfying.<br /><br />Then we walked home and I spent the night in Hanna's room because my family is out of town for the weekend.<br /><br />Brief thoughts:<br />1. French waiters are either very friendly and understanding that we speak slow and strangely - or - as was the case last night - they are snippy.<br /><br />2. Despite the fact that I'm eating much richer food than I eat at home and am drinking far more alcohol (though I'm being VERY responsible and not at all excessive), I discovered yesterday that I have so far lost about two or three pounds. So Huzzah! I love how much I've been walking and I wish it was as easy to walk this much stateside.<br /><br />3. Though it might seem that I am not economising, I am. I recently figured out that for my lunches throughout the week I am spending a paltry 1.90 euros a day, which is an entire euro less than the cafeteria (which I was told falsely would be the best deal.) For this 1.90 lunch, Hanna and I make a delicious spread of: salami and bri sandwhich on baguette, French yougurt of some sort (French yougurt is far tastier than American yougurt!!), delicous juice of varying types - this week was Pineapple Mango - and an orange. Balanced and delicious! Hanna and I, I can assert confidently, are spending far less than the average IES student, and have a policy of scrimping and saving on weekdays so we can relax and eat and drink what we please on the weekends. So far, this seems to be a good policy.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPB_3lEnQHjqz2ea0spwekE68psbT4AOJyL-aY2KvCGsadDI9GMVBfQ2z8UWnnMj3dI2ffTZ1kh7Hqeyy0l_TmwClgWa81cmlohj9CgRYLfZHOEJnxa2Ct_RiQe3R1kJGJmfmPXGOE4S4/s1600-h/DSCN5459.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPB_3lEnQHjqz2ea0spwekE68psbT4AOJyL-aY2KvCGsadDI9GMVBfQ2z8UWnnMj3dI2ffTZ1kh7Hqeyy0l_TmwClgWa81cmlohj9CgRYLfZHOEJnxa2Ct_RiQe3R1kJGJmfmPXGOE4S4/s400/DSCN5459.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383510321100347618" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJQbFe_0W_70v5jT1GCCebuKDbWSci15wnuQrnp0ZSbDkfHuxJtmeDQQpLINnu_wqNgv9rhJvHxgzztPUBCpUZGZdEgcRivAwDbuJ-E5UI1Xn5siYe228dEUVKmgJNi2nom8F37qjrUF4/s1600-h/DSCN5474.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJQbFe_0W_70v5jT1GCCebuKDbWSci15wnuQrnp0ZSbDkfHuxJtmeDQQpLINnu_wqNgv9rhJvHxgzztPUBCpUZGZdEgcRivAwDbuJ-E5UI1Xn5siYe228dEUVKmgJNi2nom8F37qjrUF4/s400/DSCN5474.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383507150971274738" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD_bydOFDrs39cDcBx823mWUnCXGtRzvrQiWssBuAK2aeIx1gIfJ5pwqiz9fBvrDvyYj35KgRTne5JaqpgyDjlUu6eRxKZWE2_A5BM2BGJiww7BF3scZYiiqf0_jF8GscSv8e_5YlHpxU/s1600-h/DSCN5509.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD_bydOFDrs39cDcBx823mWUnCXGtRzvrQiWssBuAK2aeIx1gIfJ5pwqiz9fBvrDvyYj35KgRTne5JaqpgyDjlUu6eRxKZWE2_A5BM2BGJiww7BF3scZYiiqf0_jF8GscSv8e_5YlHpxU/s400/DSCN5509.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383510833336883282" border="0" /></a>Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10751144897063885381noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1963496534013199522.post-90741390051755733572009-09-17T12:02:00.000-07:002009-09-17T14:17:02.619-07:00Notes on Living with the de Kermadec'sIn the days leading up to my departure for France, the thing that terrified me the most was the thought of having to live with another family. I was worried about what my room would be like, how it would work sharing a bathroom with people I didn't know, and mostly how awkward I thought it would be to eat five nights a week with a family I'd never met before. I am easily stressed out by such things, even in America with people I know well, and so I feared I was going to have a relapse in chronic anxiety.<br /><br />On the contrary, it has been such a wonderful experience thus far. The de Kermadec's are six in total: Arnaud and Clotilde, the parents, Alix and Eleanore, the daughters who are both away at different universities, and Amaury and Erwan, the two sons who both still live at home.<br /><br />The boys are both extremely sweet. Erwan sings constantly; I told Clotilde that it made me feel more at home because my brother also sings constantly. I saw him naked running from the bathroom to his room within thirty minutes of being here the first day! (Though it has not happened since! What a funny way to begin, though.) Erwan is adorable in just about every way - he is ten years old but very, very polite and adult in many ways. His favorite thing to say to me is, "c'est comme tu veux" - "it's as you wish." He says this to me when his mother is offering me some really delicious food that he doesn't like (he's a picky eater) - "You're not obliged - it's entirely as you wish. You don't have to eat that!" but I always eat it and so far I have <span style="font-style: italic;">loved</span> all the meals here. Tonight, for instance, we had a carrot soup that was served cold. It was very delicious with cumin and coconut milk in it. Yum.<br /><br />Amaury is also very polite. He listens to loud rap music and occasionally tries to sing along which is terribly bad, funny, and endearing. He is very sweet to Erwan and his parents, and is always polite to me and invites me to hang out with him and his friends when they're here watching soccer games. (The boys both love soccer; when a match is on they scream for almost the entire game.)<br /><br />Arnaud works a lot of the time and sometimes misses dinner, but when I am around him, he too is very sweet. He talks very quickly, so sometimes I have a real problem understanding him, but he more than anyone else enjoys throwing in English words to test out his abilities in the language. So that makes it a little easier, some of the time.<br /><br />Clotilde is very sweet and worked hard to make me feel comfortable right from the beginning. She, like Erwan, is constantly tell me, "Comme tu veux." She insists on me eating breakfast in the morning, taking a snack with me if I'm going to be gone a long time, and she taught me how to use the world's coolest espresso machine which I am now slightly addicted to - though I, of course, politely restrain myself.<br /><br />The apartment is very old and very loud. A door here cannot be shut quietly; ere go doors slam at all ours of the day and night. My bedroom is next to the laundry/bath room, and both the washing machine and the toilette make a lot of noise when used. The boys joke and yell; the parents have tiffs. It is seldom quiet, but I don't mind. It's also a bit strange for me living in an apartment building; outside is the constant noise of other residents coming and going - above is the noise of people walking or mounting the stairs.<br /><br />Dinner always passes quickly. The French are very fast eaters, and we are normally finished with our entree and desert within a thirty minute period. Normally at dinner, there is quick banter between the family while I sit and try and figure out what they're saying. Sometimes they take the time to go back over everything that's being said; sometimes they get wrapped up in whatever they're discussing and become extremely animated and forget me; sometimes they direct the conversation my way and we all have to talk more slowly. I am constantly making grammatical mistakes, which Clotilde or, sometimes, Erwan(!) politely correct. I've grown more at ease about verifying as I speak, "'Je suis partie' ou 'j'ai parti?'" and they always seem so excited to help me learn.<br /><br />Regardless, I always look forward to the meal. And I see that as a sign that I'm growing up a bit, and growing a bit more comfortable in my own skin.Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10751144897063885381noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1963496534013199522.post-85659165355972773502009-09-16T01:39:00.000-07:002009-09-17T14:04:17.043-07:00Minor Blunders, a rainy day, etc.And so today I woke up at 6am for my 8am class. Knowing it required two long walks and a tram, I left the house at around 7 after a very small breakfast and a brief brief chat with my parents(!). It was dark when I left the apartment, and still seemed night. There were very few people on the roads, and it was very strange and a bit eerie for me to see the streets of Nantes so empty. Most of the people out were big burly men working garbage trucks or other maintenance vehicles. The rest were all toting back packs, and so I assume, students at the university. Bleary eyed, like me, from want of sleep. I made my way to the tram station, hopped the number 2, which was surprisingly full of people considering how deserted the streets had been, and got off 7 or 8 stops later at the University.<br /><br />The University of Nantes is attended by around 30,000 students. It is huge, ugly and modern. The buildings are all nearly identical, with graffiti all over the walls, ceilings, floors, desks, chairs, bathrooms, ATMs -- <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span></span></span></span>it is seriously <span style="font-style: italic;">everywhere.</span> I eventually found my classroom (Amphitheater 4) after going in one wrong building and asking directions from one student and one employee.<br /><br />My class room was huge. There were about fifteen long rows containing about thirty to forty-five chairs each in an arena type arrangement. I took my seat as close to an end as was possible but still felt claustrophobic. I chose Sewanee because I never wanted to be in classes like this - and yet here I was. The professor started speaking, and as I'd feared, I could hardly hear him at all because he was so far away and speaking a language I can only partially understand in the best conditions.<br /><br />The class was on Sociology of Contemporary French Society. The professor started talking about European geography and history. He started drawing diagrams up on the board - a time line, first - but then a strange graph with words I didn't know and symbols I'd never seen. I couldn't even copy them down to look up later because the board was so far away that even with my glasses on I couldn't make out the letters. He rattled off a list of books we were expected to purchase and read - I couldn't hear him well enough to write down the titles or the authors.<br /><br />Forty five minutes into class, I started jotting down my thoughts rather than notes. When at fifty five minutes into class we were given a five minute (smoke) break, I decided to cut my losses, grabbed my back pack and left the class - forever. In defense of my cowardice, one thing they always tell foreign exchange students is that if you cannot understand the professor, do not take the class. It typically does not get better, they say, or it takes so long for you to catch up that it does not matter.<br /><br />So! Outside, I quickly went through the course offerings - found a class that suited me better and that conveniently another IES student, Olivia, was planning on attending: Comparative Literature - The literature of the strange at the end of the 19th century. Works included Edger Alan Poe - if you aren't aware - French people are <span style="font-style: italic;">obsessed</span> with Poe, and I think that alone will make it an interesting class. Not to mention, literature classes are supposed to be easier for IES students to take, not to mention, the class will only have around 40 students instead of 400.<br /><br />The class met at 10 - which meant I had around thirty minutes of free time. I called a friend from Sewanee, Elisa, who I knew was headed to the University as well for a different literature class; she was on her way and we arranged where we would meet up. And as I was waiting for her, Olivia walked up and we started talking.<br /><br />Then we looked at the course offerings again, only to discover that all of the literature classes didn't start to next week. Bleh.<br /><br />Walking home, it started to rain. The rainy weather that Nantes is (in)famous for. The air is chilly here and starting to feel very much like autumn; the leaves have just started to turn and I cannot wait! Mostly, I am glad that this morning that I'd dreaded is over. I took a tram by myself, in the dark. I went by myself to a huge university, failed miserably in my first ever French class, and everything is still okay! My schedule, by trial and error, is going to be far better than I'd hoped.<br /><br />So, I am grateful.<br /><br />My schedule, almost definitely, will be as follows:<br /><br />Monday: 12:30-2:30 Translation (at the University) -- 3:00-4:15 French Poetry at the turn of the Century (at IES) -- 5:00-6:15 French Writers and Foreign Nations (IES)<br /><br />Tuesday: 12:15-1:30 French Poetry -- 3:00-5:30 The Palestinian Question from 1945 to today (IES)<br /><br />Wednesday: 10:00-12:00 Comparative Literature: Literature of the Strange (University) -- 5:30-6:45 French Writers (IES)<br /><br />Thursday-Sunday: relax, do homework, travel<br /><br />C'est parfait!!!Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10751144897063885381noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1963496534013199522.post-19938813868565052922009-09-14T11:36:00.001-07:002009-09-14T14:46:52.235-07:00Vachement Chouette (and other things that defy translation)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZA011jMWIt6SdfUwnTHh-VqWWzCzVhNRh4ULiByVYhEJLskrye7ltD-F26uVsGQT9XqZdZmEBntgM8PshqflEEwNZmOe7cgFoHe_VWiF75RxX07eMtV2JIxPINrB1FSkaccaMyofuzjI/s1600-h/8224_1178392179820_1228590393_30682221_7686337_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZA011jMWIt6SdfUwnTHh-VqWWzCzVhNRh4ULiByVYhEJLskrye7ltD-F26uVsGQT9XqZdZmEBntgM8PshqflEEwNZmOe7cgFoHe_VWiF75RxX07eMtV2JIxPINrB1FSkaccaMyofuzjI/s400/8224_1178392179820_1228590393_30682221_7686337_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381411839714004818" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;">'Vachement chouette' is a very prevalent French expression that when translated literally means "cool like a cow" or perhaps "cow cool." I suppose it is the French equivalent of "wicked sweet" or "sick" (as in when a tool says, "Listen to those sick beats" or something like that. I figured it is a fitting title to an entry on the many, many differences I've noticed (continued to notice) since I've been here.<br /><br />I will break this down into two sections: <span style="font-style: italic;">Things about America I like Better than France </span>and <span style="font-style: italic;">Things about France I like Better than America</span>.</span><br /></div><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" ><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-style: italic;">Things about America I like Better than France</span></span><br /></div>1. I truly miss being friendly to strangers. I guess I hadn't ever thought about it previously but it seems ever since I took to walking Belmont for hours on end when I was around 13 or so with Mary and later Savannah and Carina, I <span style="font-style: italic;">adore</span> smiling at people I meet and saying hello. It was one of the aspects I found so appealing about Sewanee - that they insisted that you greet passersby. It makes me feel that I am a part of a community that includes people I may not have ever met, and that there is an understanding between said people that we would help eachother out and love eachother if ever we got to know eachother well enough. Therefor, we treat eachother with civility (even friendliness!) wherever we go. At the grocery store, waiting in line at the movies, passing on the street, etc - Americans are friendly and kind to one another, at least generally speaking.<br /><br />Here, the attitude seems more to be: "I don't know you, I probably wouldn't like you if I did know you and/or you wouldn't like me if you knew me. We are <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> part of the same community or group of friends. You are likely the enemy." People go to great lengths to avoid eye contact on the street. If a car stops to let a pedestrian pass, there will be no smile of gratitude passed between them. If you bump into someone, they will not say pardon and they will not respond if you do - in fact, the reason they probably bumped into you is because they were avoiding eye contact to begin with and had no clue you existed.<br /><br />That being said, once you become acquainted with a French person, they are every bit as personable as Americans. But you have to meet them first.<br /><br />2. There is a lack of fidelity in French relationships. I know this only second-hand of course, but I came across a French article recently all about what entailed infidelity. It polled young men and asked them, "Is a single kiss an infidelity? If not, what constitutes an infidelity in your relationship?" Responses varied a great deal, but the consensus seemed to be that most physical infidelities weren't too terrible and that everything would likely be forgiven, short of having a long-term dedicated and loving relationship with someone other than one's spouse/partner. Gross.<br /><br />3. Men heckle women here. Men shout rude things to women, and women are supposed to ignore it entirely and look fierce and disdainful as they pass. It is not that this makes me feel unsafe - Nantes is a very safe town and everywhere I go I am typically in a mid to large group of students - however it is very rude and does make one feel super uncomfortable. I feel that the sisters, mothers and female friends of every young man should yell at them excessively about how stupid it is to do this. Until it stops getting to be so common. Double gross.<br /><br />4. Here, bathrooms and toilettes are separate. I don't understand this. The toilette that I use is located in the laundry room. The bathroom is just down the hall. It is rather inconvenient.<br /><br />5. I miss having a yard. A lot.<br /><br />6. No one picks up after their dogs when they poop in the middle of the side walk, so you have to watch your feet when you walk. <span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><br />7. In America, we disagree politely with one another. </span><span style="font-size:100%;">When someone does something wrong (faire une betise), people correct them politely and sweetly. Here - everyone is more frank. (! And now I'm wondering if that is where they word comes from. The Francs are franc!?)<br /><br /></span><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Things about France I like Better than America</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">1. I </span>love that families eat together every night. (I love that despite the fact that we're not European, my own dear sweet familys aux Etats-Unis has done this very well my entire life. It is something I will continue when I have a family of my own.)<br /><br />2. I love that the French eat meals that are rediculously delicious and intricate but in smaller portions. Everything here comes in a smaller size than in America, and it is one of two reasons why I think the French are skinnier. If you ask for a glass of coke, you are definitely not given more than 8 ounces of coke. Same thing with all beverages. It has the marvelous effect of making you really contemplate everything as you're drinking/eating: I only get 5 ounces of coffee - I better <span style="font-style: italic;">really </span>enjoy them.<br /><br />3. I love that everything is walkable here.<br /><br />4. I love how affectionate everyone is, especially noting how affectionate men are. At least once a day I see Amaury kiss his little brother Erwan all over his face for no reason in particular. It is very sweet and endearing, and I think it is wonderful. Again I must say though, I have been accustomed to this in my own family for forever. We have always been super affectionate, likely because of Mama. But I am so glad, and it is so refreshing to see an entire nation that embraces that sweetness. I think it is important, and I plan on instegating a lot more of that when I get home.<br /><br />5. I like to "faire la bise." It is so very bizarr and wonderful to meet someone and have them affectionately kiss your cheek the first time you meet them. I also plan on doing this occasionally in America, and Hanna has agreed so LOOK OUT.<br /><br />6. Art for art's sake and enjoyment for enjoyment's sake seem to both be more prominant here. I love all of the various festivals, art displays and street performances I have seen. It has to increase one's standard of living to be exposed to beautiful things and experiences wherever one goes. It has taught me already that it is NOT a lowly goal to be a writer or performer. Writing and performing music are both acts of beauty, if practiced correctly, and beauty is very important. I like that the Europeans embrace it - are American's too practical, too utilitarian for such ideals? I hope not.<br /><br />7. In keeping with this, Europeans work to live - American's live to work. This is something that my mother told me she had observed in Europe and it is sooo true. Europeans take as much time off as they can and I support them whole heartedly. Yesterday Hanna and I went out in a mistaken attempt to buy school supplies only to find that all the stores were closed because it was Sunday. Wonderful! I don't think I will ever mind being inconvenienced so that people can have time off from their jobs. I think we should expect fewer hours from stores and restaurants in America and let people have more vacation time. The fact that the French economy is not suffering as much as the American economy is should speak to complaints that the French system is somehow incorrect. I hope the 40 hour work week of America ends!<br /><br />8. In France, everything is more expensive, incuding utilities. Bon! I hate that in America we have a mistaken since that electricity is cheap merely because the electric companies are willing to sell it to us cheaply. Electricity takes a great toll on our environment, and the high cost of living here makes everyone live more within their means which equals more in keeping with the rate the earth can sustain us. Along these lines, I like that public transportation and walking are emphasized here.<br /><br />9. I like that the drinking age is 18.<br /><br />10. I like that couples are more affectionate publically. I plan on practicing this in two weeks!<br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">BEST OF ALL - I love that in making my own life I can pick and choose. I can be friendly to strangers, pick up after my dog when she poops in the middle of the sidewalk, walk everywhere I go, eat small portions, faire la bise, kiss all of my family members an excessive amount, instigate affection wherever I go, have a yard, have a bathroom that includes a toilette, and more!<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Vive l'indépendance! Je suis une citoyenne du monde! </div></div></div>Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10751144897063885381noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1963496534013199522.post-4018608810190423282009-09-12T15:10:00.000-07:002009-09-12T16:00:45.965-07:00In Nantes<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd2-JbZm7z4xjeryz4cD2Qzyaw3lqXW1PNbxT7dydxlsy_2buu0mw1hArS6G_9SNtokeEXSKbLR7DzJ_7h9GUHIOgPPqmcH2-ojnzlhU9JtFo-Nuxmb-Dtn86VGmvjBPMECkwo7k8Yxbo/s1600-h/8224_1178393139844_1228590393_30682244_3225640_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd2-JbZm7z4xjeryz4cD2Qzyaw3lqXW1PNbxT7dydxlsy_2buu0mw1hArS6G_9SNtokeEXSKbLR7DzJ_7h9GUHIOgPPqmcH2-ojnzlhU9JtFo-Nuxmb-Dtn86VGmvjBPMECkwo7k8Yxbo/s400/8224_1178393139844_1228590393_30682244_3225640_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380718808945000594" border="0" /></a><br />Today was incredible! Woke up around 9 and lounged around til 10 am or so. Hanna and I went on a massive excursion to acquaint ourselves with our new town. We had a few spots pre-planned: the Chateau of the Dukes of Brittany, the Cathedral of Nantes, but there were so many lucky mishaps along the way!<br /><br />We started off in the Centre Ville, which is where our apartments are located. We are right next to the world famous Cigale and a beautiful theater. It was a quick jaunt through the Place Graslin to the Place Royal, where there is a lovely fountain, lots of shops and interesting people. Here we purchased two pain au chocolates for breakfast.<br /><br />Then we continued on, making out way through the Bouffay district to the Chateau of the Dukes of Bretagne. It was very beautiful, with free admission, and we walked all along the ramparts for a good half hour or so. Thinking about all the many, many people who had also walked those walls in the five hundred years or more that they have existed. It was a blissful experience, and we both were happy nearly to the point of tears.<br /><br />Afterwards, we headed over to the Cathedral of Nantes. We toured the Cathedral only Thursday, and so had already been given good back ground information of its age, its history, and various symbols. Ere go, we were completely free to walk around and just soak in the feel and look of the place. It is very, very beautiful, with some of the highest walls of any French Cathedral. It has many beautiful and old statues and paintings and confessionals. Unfortunately, most of the stain glass is very ugly, having been added in the 20th century as a result of the French Revolution, a fire, and World War II. All in all though, it is impossible to walk into a Cathedral and not to feel moved. Men have constructed such elaborate monuments to honor God, and such dedication is so moving.<br /><br />Then we happened along another IES student, Avril from Hope College in Michigan, who walked with us to find a sandwhich for lunch. En route, we happened upon a festival of wine that was being held by a community group. It was a wonderful little parade, complete with people dressed in traditional garb and a marching band that was excellent. Sometimes I have to pinch myself to make sure it's real.<br /><br />Then we headed to the Passage Pommeraye. Just to stroll around. It is the oldest shopping mall in the world, so I'm told. Lots of beautiful window displays of candies! Avril departed, and Hanna and I tried to find L'Ile de Versailles. We ended up walking almost the exact wrong direction (this is not the norm though - we've actually been quite directionally savy). Fortunately though, today we got lost, and ended up at the Jardins des Plantes which was a lovely park, much in keeping with Hyde Park in San Francisco. There were doves and ducks, fountains and arbors and happy people everywhere of course. We explored quite happily for quite a while.<br /><br />Realizing, eventually, that we were not at all in the correct neigborhood, we retraced our footsteps, hopped the TAN (like a tram) and headed to L'Ile de Versailles. It consists of a Japanese garden that is very lovely - lots of coy ponds and Japanese cedars - though I think honestly Hanna and I both preferred the Jardin des Plantes and were so glad we'd lost our way.<br /><br />We decided to opt out of the TAN on our return, and walked along the Loire back towards le Centre Ville. We passed lovely house boats, restaurants on the rive, kayakers, and <span style="font-style: italic;">crazy</span> blue tree statues that have been cut to look like humans. I can't really describe them, but they were very fun to walk by.<br /><br />We returned to our apartments, rested, and then we went out again for an excellent dinner and wine at a restauraunt very near our house. Excellent! Then we met up with some friends in the Bouffay district, had some kir and chatted, went to another bar where I got locked in the bathroom for five minutes and had a minor panic attack, and then went home to rest.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSDlQa7Ku-ER0LyKdGwUvZw_bP1rNA2UDGWXDlGicMO4a1y1b_Kfu8CJvFsIXSBPvRQNjcSYlJ1lBSMadoIAxjD0Xsjna1MhCaeuh3VsNh-yB_tTk1-L0io9lKEkwoP3HSoHr8ZgVjtLs/s1600-h/DSCN5319.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 276px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSDlQa7Ku-ER0LyKdGwUvZw_bP1rNA2UDGWXDlGicMO4a1y1b_Kfu8CJvFsIXSBPvRQNjcSYlJ1lBSMadoIAxjD0Xsjna1MhCaeuh3VsNh-yB_tTk1-L0io9lKEkwoP3HSoHr8ZgVjtLs/s400/DSCN5319.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380718790648918098" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdhLgYc6-k11XZO-hsFOSVHmT6fQ3kXbZfW9rF8-EZS5IVT8cdXR4-qL2uROxi-F4JMjEwGdNesKiQK8i9MSZgZCgOYYRZe1JSCSXKjtmUb1EIqgPfEivZxi4vyCxZ7MtPHiL190slRac/s1600-h/DSCN5386.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdhLgYc6-k11XZO-hsFOSVHmT6fQ3kXbZfW9rF8-EZS5IVT8cdXR4-qL2uROxi-F4JMjEwGdNesKiQK8i9MSZgZCgOYYRZe1JSCSXKjtmUb1EIqgPfEivZxi4vyCxZ7MtPHiL190slRac/s400/DSCN5386.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380718805210942386" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLiErBsfCkbc9e3nxqav3lUElja1mH1PUbbNTuEIRiqbXqPhtLSCaRTgPESnD6RHhF0f61NZl8Jf4tpzHvmQsBAENTOYrWQ7qzY40-EYh-CMUitWSJ2nkT6OmgzYtVpyPrNnkGE5-8NEw/s1600-h/DSCN5439.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLiErBsfCkbc9e3nxqav3lUElja1mH1PUbbNTuEIRiqbXqPhtLSCaRTgPESnD6RHhF0f61NZl8Jf4tpzHvmQsBAENTOYrWQ7qzY40-EYh-CMUitWSJ2nkT6OmgzYtVpyPrNnkGE5-8NEw/s400/DSCN5439.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380719431934962274" border="0" /></a>Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10751144897063885381noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1963496534013199522.post-11188547217795123582009-09-06T10:17:00.000-07:002009-09-10T23:36:53.852-07:001 semaine + le Commencement = The Beginning<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh96an731JvqjL6042n5s2EXhAzS_I4Lv6k8hFIdI01pENDX3KTO4jqWHI1iLgNrYt5kEoTbRUrSqFigpwWmtI6o1sYaLJA5ZIlPZQYRO9tG_dFxW9FHEUrhZwcQaXtTr-tDMKGOX4Cej8/s1600-h/La+forteresse.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh96an731JvqjL6042n5s2EXhAzS_I4Lv6k8hFIdI01pENDX3KTO4jqWHI1iLgNrYt5kEoTbRUrSqFigpwWmtI6o1sYaLJA5ZIlPZQYRO9tG_dFxW9FHEUrhZwcQaXtTr-tDMKGOX4Cej8/s400/La+forteresse.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379962454918443714" border="0" /></a><br />I have now been in France one week, and I cannot believe that it has only been one week! The plane and train rides were a bit of an exhausting blur. I recall mainly that the plane was very small, the Paris airport was very frightening, and the train conductor on the 10:27 was very rude and a good deal too near the Parisian stereotype.<br /><br />Our first weekend was spent on a relaxing vacation to Bretagne that IES Nantes arranged to help us overcome le decalage (jetlag)! What a good idea! In Bretagne, we stayed in a hotel in Vannes, where every evening we were served three course meals that were, honestly, the best tasting meals of my life. Our days were spent in the following ways:<br /><ul><li>Le Chateau de Suscinio (XIIIth -XVth century) : The chateau was very beautiful and gloomy looking, situated next to an estuary of sorts that was teeming with birds. Unfortunately, the majority of the chateau had been remodeled and was currently being used as a museum of sorts, with an exposition featuring mediocre to above average but scarcely excellent photographs of birds that live around the chateau. I was not too excited by this exhibit. HOWEVER. There was a back end of the chateau that had not been remodeled and it was beautiful. It had a dilapidated tower that looked out onto the estuary and it was a gloomy sort of magical day and there was a very chilly breeze blowing and all this I <span style="font-style: italic;">loved</span>. </li><li>Port Blanc et (plus important) L'Ile aux Moines: We took a bus from Vannes to Port Blanc, a beautiful harbor full of lovely sail boats. We took a short ferry ride from Port Blanc to L'Ile aux Moines, where we were each given a picnic lunch and a bicycle and five hours to explore! It was heaven. The island was full of beautiful little cottages, some with thatched roofs, old churches and springs and ocean views and docks and abandoned ships and everything that is wonderful. The houses were painted lovely, bright colors, as is befitting an island haven. Magnificent! Hanna and I got lost early on, which was unfortunate because one of our friends had Hanna's sack lunch, but we made the most of it and explored for hours and went on two short strolls, both ending in the sea and one which passed by some very odd and eerie old spring houses with steps extending down into the spring - I don't know why! - but very wonderful looking.</li><li>Vannes itself: very lovely and full of medieval buildings, a large cathedral and lots of small shops. So far every town I've been in, I've thought, "Well, wouldn't this be a nice place to live!" but no worries I love home too much to betray it.</li><li>La Forteresse: an ancient chateau that hasn't been tackily remodeled in anyway. The chateau is quite a ways from the main road, so we had to walk through a forest that had more ferns than any forest I'd ever seen! The chateau was so beautiful and overgrown, with plants growing through all of the rock fronts; an old chapel had all but been removed by time, with only one wall left, the most beautiful stone window remained, through which grew trees and black berries. Additionally, there was a lovely lake left by the long gone moat, which was beautiful also and which Hanna and I hiked around. (I scuffed my new shoes though and was sad!)<br /></li><li>Keroyal de Plougoumelen: a wonderful creperie in the countryside with a wonderful view of a lake from the back window. We had a lunch crepe - jambon, des oeufs et du formage (ham, eggs and cheese) and a desert crepe which I think was butter and sugar and cream so of course - delicious.</li><li>Alignements de Kermario: the French equivalent of Stone Henge. Incredibly lovely and mystical. The rocks were aligned (hence the name) in long rows from shortest to tallest over the distance of a football field, at the front of the alignement, the rocks were placed closer together in a crescent and it is believed that this is where only the high priest could go. Its crazy how many similarities even dissimilar religions have! </li><li>Saint Goustan: a beautiful town that Ben Franklin himself frequented while in France! Our visit coincided with their annual festival d'huitres: festival of oysters! Wonderful! It was a truly bizarre celebration. There are knights of the oysters who take themselves very seriously and parade about playing bagpipes and carrying platters of oysters to display. The town was incredibly beautiful and I would have liked to spend more time there but, dommage, nous devions partir!</li><li>La Rochefort en Terre: yet another beautiful town. Lots of old, beautiful buildings, <span style="font-style: italic;">lots</span> of beautiful flowers everywhere. There were lots of art shops, there was a jazz band playing in the town square, there was a lovely old chateau.<br /></li></ul>Returning to Nantes, we met up with our familles d'acceuil (homestay families) again. My family consists of Clotilde, la mere, Arnaud, le pere, Amaury, le fils de 19 ans, et Erwan, le fils de 10 ans. I really like them! They're very sweet and funny, and though it has taken me way out of my comfort zone to live with another family, it has been a wonderful experience. Clotilde especially is very sweet; I believe she has participated in the program since her eldest daughter left for college in Paris, so I think she enjoys having another girl in the house to chat with. She is a really good cook, as are all of the French, and so far I've had no grave mishaps.<br /><br />This week I've been taking orientation classes: French language and grammar of course, but also, French Manners and How to Make French Friends.<br /><br />These are the most bizarre things I learned:<br /><ul><li>Never say Bonjour alone. Bonjour, Madame, Bonjour, Clotile, but never just Bonjour.</li><li>You only say Bonjour to each person once a day. If you said Bonjour to someone in the morning and then you see them again that afternoon, you cannot say Bonjour again without seeming weird.</li><li>Never put your bread on your plate; it goes on the table to the left of your plate. (I seriously am not joking about this.)</li><li>Your hands must always stay above the table, never in your lap.</li><li>Always finish eating your food. You must not leave anything on your plate.</li><li>If you call someone's house to speak to your friend and their housemother answers, if your friend is not at home you must end the conversation with, Sorry for displacing you, Madame, and thank you for your time.</li><li>Always arrive either exactly on time or up to 15 minutes late. NEVER arrive early.</li><li>Always use the formal VOUS to people you don't know, unless they are under 12 years old. Always.<br /></li><li>French families fight more than American families (though perhaps not more than <span style="font-style: italic;">my </span>American family did (because of me)) but if the family fights at the table NEVER say anything or act like anything is going on wrong. (I experienced that tonight. YIPES!)</li></ul>These are just a few.<br /><br />The most shocking things though<br /><br /><ol><li> Everyone kisses each other on the cheek. Everyone. Its not a myth.</li><li>No one ever says Hello or Good day to the people they pass on the street, unless they know them. It is considered rude and weird.</li><li>French people are SO SMALL AND THIN AND PRETTY</li></ol>Thus concludes the summation of my first week.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTYhDBT9Q6nPt4mtH3ESmFv-TTSWvSKKSglqHD2qS0otZNosUICR4mjzXEjnV7RblSvhBcaDRWy_A5YGs0h6UgoTWOyYNMyu1JGAdDjS_R86yEP_K9ZfsvNohvClUqqingKCj1JV5UDAQ/s1600-h/port+blanc.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTYhDBT9Q6nPt4mtH3ESmFv-TTSWvSKKSglqHD2qS0otZNosUICR4mjzXEjnV7RblSvhBcaDRWy_A5YGs0h6UgoTWOyYNMyu1JGAdDjS_R86yEP_K9ZfsvNohvClUqqingKCj1JV5UDAQ/s400/port+blanc.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379963137138337666" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUl7MR_ga9N-Bd_uwJbDxlefBeWyRDZX3cfWSlv3n14TQwKTmljThxQ3KAnjEoHwpiPnu-sXCRESL0m-d-LLRWaSulE4GaIBjajCgLw80e_4pzeusmNQSNc2SIgLIfTYukZOmr36RrxZI/s1600-h/la+forteresse1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUl7MR_ga9N-Bd_uwJbDxlefBeWyRDZX3cfWSlv3n14TQwKTmljThxQ3KAnjEoHwpiPnu-sXCRESL0m-d-LLRWaSulE4GaIBjajCgLw80e_4pzeusmNQSNc2SIgLIfTYukZOmr36RrxZI/s400/la+forteresse1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379963385064144370" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWCWtYxk29EeJWx9mZugprwwjnhyos7hRIJ-iK-eD0v2SiEIBGQOi0IAyABfP2vaB3hbygKWZr3FSU2xuliT7uyiUkZYaAocJ64a2XZnmtblWHYrZnhgz51gBotOrGa5onaU5FQB5PWcg/s1600-h/les+alignements.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWCWtYxk29EeJWx9mZugprwwjnhyos7hRIJ-iK-eD0v2SiEIBGQOi0IAyABfP2vaB3hbygKWZr3FSU2xuliT7uyiUkZYaAocJ64a2XZnmtblWHYrZnhgz51gBotOrGa5onaU5FQB5PWcg/s400/les+alignements.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379963526998590594" border="0" /></a>Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10751144897063885381noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1963496534013199522.post-65399201105091965432009-02-04T16:56:00.001-08:002009-09-10T15:00:08.390-07:00Application = Fini!Mon application pour Nantes est complie! C'est genial!<br /><br />Well it's been a long time, long time now<br />Since I've seen you smile<br />And I'll gamble away my fright<br />And I'll gamble away my time<br />And in a year, a year or so<br />This will slip into the sea<br />Well it's been a long time, long time now<br />Since I've seen you smile<br /><br />Nobody raise their voices<br />Just another night in Nantes<br />Nobody raise their voices<br />Just another night in Nantes<br /> -BeirutRebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10751144897063885381noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1963496534013199522.post-67283093999594874422008-12-09T19:33:00.000-08:002008-12-09T19:56:16.323-08:00InspirationsI recently went to the Aiken Taylor Lecture - John Haines was this year's recipiant. He read for almost an hour, and I was struck most by his poems about nature and his time passed (some twenty plus years, as I understand it) in the Alaskan wilderness. The following is one such poem:<br /><br />If the Owl Calls Again<br />at dusk<br />from the island in the river,<br />and it's not too cold,<br /><br />I'll wait for the moon<br />to rise,<br />then take wing and glide<br />to meet him.<br /><br />We will not speak,<br />but hooded against the frost<br />soar above<br />the alder flats, searching<br />with tawny eyes.<br /><br />And then we'll sit<br />in the shadowy spruce<br />and pick the bones<br />of careless mice,<br /><br />while the long moon drifts<br />toward Asia<br />and the river mutter<br />sin its icy bed.<br /><br />And when the morning climbs<br />the limbs<br />we'll part without a sound,<br /><br />fulfilled,<br />floating homeward as<br />the cold world awakens.<br /><br />-John Haines<br /><br />I was inspired too by the time dedicated to each poem. Few of his poems took less than a year to complete - some spanned decades. It is something I need to learn: that creative endeavors are seldom perfected instantaneously, and that there is no shame in taking one's time to complete even the shortest of works. In looking back, I cannot recall a poem that has taken me fewer than a couple of hours, and I often revise quickly, finishing my poems in less than a week. I'm resolved to move past that, to learn more completely how to perfect the use of diction, rhythm and rhyme.<br /><br />Haines's readings inspired me to write this poem, entitled<br /><br />"Haikus for Winter"<br /><br />we slept by the pond,<br />and watched the frail moon breathing,<br />sucking up the day<br /><br />till it burned orange,<br />and perched triumphant on the<br />tops of naked trees,<br /><br />and from some place near<br />came forth the deep throated cry<br />of a whip-poor-will,<br /><br />the voice of the woods,<br />low and mournful and dreaming,<br />bearing memories.<br /><br />we heard further down<br />the coyotes’ shrill voices<br />splinter in the cold,<br /><br />while high above us<br />glowed the cerulean sky,<br />seeming glass and sea.<br /><br />sometime between dreams,<br />I heard the lowing cattle-<br />the singing of birds,<br /><br />and then that old fog,<br />stealing sweetly from the east,<br />bore forth the new dawn.<br /><br />(but don't worry, I plan on revising)Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10751144897063885381noreply@blogger.com0