I don't know if anyone other than Justin paid attention to my post about art. Hopefully that is the case. I am fairly convinced that while sometimes art might offend, that is certainly not the most important criteria in deciding if something is art. I just thought I should post this because I have been thinking further on the subject and I am fairly convinced that the definition was simply my mouth speaking before my brain was functioning.

Aux Etats-Unis

I am starting to wonder if the best way to understand your own culture and heritage isn't just to leave it. Or, ask someone who is visiting from another.
I just read the Kite Runner which is a book about a boy's life who lived a large part of it in Afghanistan and also America. It is filled with anecdotes, customs, and the language of another culture from my own. I was fascinated. It was unlike anything I knew in America. It was also a really interesting story. (I do recommend it, but with a warning that it is difficult because it is an emotionally heavy book).
Having finished a novel set in Afghanistan and an Afghani community in America, I decided to take up a couple of novels by Americans about Americans. I reread A River Runs Through It and without reservation recommend it to anybody and everybody. I am also just about a third of the way into a book by Wendell Berry called Jayber Crow.
As I was just getting up from reading Jayber Crow, my thoughts turned back to Kite Runner. I was thinking about how fascinated I was because it was a culture unlike my own and because I was just so curious about this complete other life style I was living. I could pick out instantly what was novel and interesting. They seemed to have such a fascinating culture of proverbs, religion, heritage, music and general way of life. It was destroyed even within the course of the novel, but it was unique. I started to wonder if people from places like Afghanistan read books about America and are fascinated about it the same way I am about their cultures (by the way I love novels about cultures that are not strictly Western. I don't always like their philosophies but I love a good story). Oddly enough, my first thought was, "of course they don't think like that. There is nothing unique about your culture. Your culture is just an amalgam of other cultures. There is nothing distinctly American. America is not a heritage or an ethnicity." This is how I have always felt about being American to be honest. I jokingly allow myself to be called Jewish, but sometimes I like it because it identifies me with a long tradition and culture. Its roots go so much further back than anything I could latch onto tightly from America. My family is like most Midwestern American families. We have lots of Western European heritage and a little Native American. But, nothing as strong as say being Jewish.
I am not exactly how to define American culture and heritage. I do know that reading a book like Jayber Crow just feels like a novel, not something distinctly American. I realized how hard it is to define something that is commonplace to you. Something you have grown up seeing and knowing your whole life can't seem unique. Its what you know. Its all you know for a long time. It becomes necessary to compare what you know to other cultures to really get a sense of what is distinctly yours. It is much easier for me to find what I am not than what I am. I can look around me and point out stuff that isn't American, Midwestern, Missourian, or St. Louisan. I do it everyday. Yet, it is really difficult for me to say that is American and that is special and unique (except for McDonalds and Walmart. That is originally American but even it seems less American as it is so commonplace everywhere now.)
I guess people just like to have something to call their roots. Some greater story or family line to be a part of, at least I do. I want to know where I came from and what part I can play in where that is headed.

Art that offends

I am in living in Paris, France. Home of the Louvre, Musée D'Orsay, Centre Pompidou etc. So, I guess its only natural that I should do at least one post on art.
There are 3 main sources of this reflection.
1) I went to an exhibit of the art of Chaim Soutine
2) The idea of kitsch has been on my mind a lot after I read a book called The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera and he has an interesting section on kitsch
3) Without really thinking about it, I told someone today that "art can't be called art unless it offends someone"

Soutine was known for his part in expressionist art in Paris. He was a Jewish immigrant from Russia. He had many influences but one of the most noted at this exhibit was Rembrandt. A lot of his early expressionist pieces seem to draw some inspiration from Van Gogh. The expressionist followed after the impressionist, so it is only natural. Soutine's art it recognized because he was Jewish and crazy. Also, because it is often called grotesque (that also happens to be a title to one of his pieces). He is one of the hardest painters of the 20th centuray to understand because he suffered from depression and what he painted was often called offensive and ugly. Yet, this is what makes him so influential. This is why there is special exhibit in Paris soley dedicated to his work. Everyone who looks at it has to decide whether they think it is art, ugly, beautiful, good, bad or otherwise. (If any of you are in Paris before the end of January you need to go see it. Also, if you are in Paris and don't somehow look me up, just don't tell me).

I wonder if kitsch is simply art that isn't offensive. Dictionary.com says, "something of tawdry design, appearance, or content created to appeal to popular or undiscriminating taste." Milan Kundera says kitsch is "a categorical agreement with being." Basically, kitsch is anything simplistic and agreeable. Kitsch is art with blinders on. It cannot show you the full spectrum of life or emotion because it ignores that which is difficult or maybe "offensive." I know I have links to my photos on here and I think they might have to go under the category of kitsch. I like them and my mom likes them but basically because they capture something beautiful that I didn't create, but simply captured on film. My photography is just a catalogue of where I have been and the beautiful things I have seen. It might be nice, but no one will study it in years to come. No one will react against it or probably find anything meaningful to say about it except, "oh that's nice." This doesn't mean I will stop doing photography or posting it on this blog, but I am under no false notion that it will stir you to thought or reaction; It is not in the least "offensive." It seems that all great movements of art is a reaction against something and is received with somewhat miwed reactions. Michelangelo painted nudes. That was offensive to some. The whole Renaissance strayed from purely Christian iconography and that was offensive to some. Van Gogh didn't paint realistically, and therefore it was considered ugly and not true art. Manet painted a nude prostitute on the lawn. It was offensive because it was not only a nude but a prostitute. All these are considered great artists now, but none were received without question and without offense to some.

Andreas Serrano put a crucifix in a jar and took a picture of it and called it art. It was certainly offensive. Was my quick definition of art as anything that is offensive to quick? Probably, but why? If you have any thoughts, please I would like to hear them.

Listening

I had one of the most interesting classes today than I have had probably since I have been here. Maybe it was the most interesting for me because I made the students speak the whole time, and I kept my mouth shut and listened. (It probably also made it one of the most interesting classes for them as well.)
Usually, my classes consist of giving the students either an article from a newspaper or an advertisement from a magazine and then talking about it with them. Most of the students, for their exams, have to speak, in English, for 10 minutes about an image or a document. Then, they have to respond to questions from the examiner. So, my classes mostly consist of replicating this kind of experience, except there is a lot more time and they don't have to speak for 10 minutes in class. Usually, the kids can barely speak for 3 minutes by themselves without me asking them questions, or them asking me how to translate a word (this is good for me though because I have learned a lot French this way. Actually, its more rare for me not to know a word then for me to have to look it up. That isn't to say I understand what everybody says perfectly, but at a snails pace, I am picking it up).
So, this particular class, the document was an image of 7 students standing in front of a wall all. All the students were different races, heights, etc. There was a line at the bottom that said, "embrace diversity." There was also a quote at the bottom from Jimmy Carter that said, "America is not a melting pot, it is a beautiful mosaic..." The quote went on, but I can't remember the rest and that was the gist of it. I had the kids to the requisite description of the image, its title, and stuff like that. Then, the interesting part came. I asked them how France was different from America in terms of its racism. Most of the students agreed that France was more racist then America. Also, without even asking them, they all told me that America has a greater culture than in anywhere in Europe, because it is more culturally diverse then Europe. (I should also note that there were 6 black girls, and 1 white boy). The white boy said almost nothing the whole class. All the girls basically adored American culture and wanted to go to America. I have found, being at a school in the suburbs and more predominately black, that blacks teenagers from France, love America the most. All the students watch American television and listen to American music, but the black students are especially enthralled with America, in its totality. One of the girls pointed out that in America, people like Jimmy Carter encourage diversity and celebrate differences, whereas this is not a social objective in France. I asked the class why this was and in return I received a fascinating testimony. The testimony was from a girl who family had immigrated from Mali in North Africa. She said that she was a French citizen but in her "head" she was still from Mali. She said that most black North African immigrants to France feel this way. In America, she said that most black people talk about America like it is their home country. For her, she doesn't feel like France is her home country, so she doesn't care as much about what happens to her while she is here.
As I reflected on this, I was thinking about a lot of things. For one, I don't think that this girl has any intentions on moving back to Mali. She said she has been there but she is a French citizen. She lives in the best place in France to get a job and receiving a good education (I mean come on she has me for a teacher!) Yet, she admires American black people because they fight against racism and are outspoken about its effects. In France, this is not common because of the indifference of the people. I wondered why, if she praised this so much in American culture, why she didn't make a stand against racism in her own country? She idolizes life in America without realizing that racism still exists there. And, without realizing that it wouldn't be her home either. If I could encourage her to do anything, it would be to make a stand where she is against racism, and make it her country. Why don't these people from other cultures who live in France permanently make it their home? Or, at least, expect to be treated like what they are, French citizens? If you are not going back to Mali, and you are going to live in France, why not take a stand? I can understand wanting to keep the culture of your roots, but still France is now part of your own personal citizenship as well.
One girl pointed out that oftentimes racism exists out of fear from white people, or people of a different culture. This is almost cliche, but it instantly I recognized it in myself. It is much easier for me to resort to fear because I don't understand the culture. I made some effort growing up to get to know people from other cultures, but it is quite difficult to do so in West St. Louis County. Moreover, it is much easier to just stay put where I am comfortable than to venture out and see what exists in other areas of St. Louis and the world. This is something I would like to change in my future existence in America, or where ever it is that I live. I want to continue to seek out people who are different because there is so much that I can learn from them about the vast differences of God's creation and even about myself.
I realize this was a long one but, as selfish as this sounds, this one was important for me.

The Riots

I was glad to see that Jimmy asked me a question because, to be honest, I knew I had to write something, but I wasn't sure what. That's not say nothing has happened in the last week, but certainly nothing as thought provoking as the events of last weekend.
However, I was a little hesitant to write on the subject of the riots because I am sure it is something that my mom doesn't want to think or hear about. So, it is probably a good thing that she doesn't read the blog very often. But, she does watch the news, so I am sure that she is aware that there are riots in Paris.
To start, all the information that I have comes from sources like cnn.com, bbcnews.com and lefigaro.fr. I don't have a television that works in my room, so I don't ever watch TV. Morever, this is not a topic that many teachers talk about either.
I live south and a little bit west of Paris. The riots have been occuring in the North of Paris. So, as far as distance is concerned, I am on the complete opposite side of the city from the riots. (There was some sabotage on the TGV during the transportation strikes, but I am assuming that Jimmy was talking about the more recent Riots).
My suburb is extremely quiet and nothing happens here. That is both a good thing and a bad thing. It can be kind of boring, but it is safe. The closest we get to excitement is when I yell out angrily at the fact that I have stepped in dog poo on the sidewalks. We also have a lot of gypsies who gather at my train station, but they are not violent, just poor. Actually, they are pretty interesting because they all gather at my train station in the morning just after rush hour and plan where they will beg and just sort of have a commitee meeting about the state of begging in Paris. The kids run around, the dads smoke cigarettes, and the women talk about how difficult life in the big city is. Everybody is in good spirits, then as if struck by instant depression, they put their heads down and hold out their hands and walk quietly and dejectedly onto the trains. It is quite the unique sight to behold. I am quite convinced that gypsy begging in Paris is a form of performance arts. The women and children have it perfected. The men not so much. If you are a man between the ages of 16 and 40 you are going to have to rely on someone else to beg for you because you are not getting a dime on the train! Watching these people is one of my favorite things about waiting for the train in Massy. Enough of this digression.
This is from BBC World news and their assesment of the problem, "In the out-of-town high-rise neighbourhoods there remains a large population of young men who thanks to unemployment, poor education, destabilised family structures and racial discrimination have very little stake in French society. Some of these are happy to resort to violence against symbols of the state, and many more lend tacit support." So, a bunch of teenagers let there passions take control of them and overcome with anger and the lusts of youth, they decided to tear apart their own suburb. This was the best way in their immature, irrational, and inflammed minds to get peoples attention. It is true that they received attention, but I would venture to guess that most of the message was lost in the flames and molotov cocktails. Two of their own ended up dead, and as far as I could find, they were the only 2 who were killed.
The BBCNEWS also went on to say that they think the worst of the striking is over.

I appreciate those comments I have received already from Karen, Mr. Graham and others. I have just made it easier to leave comments by not requiring you to sign up for blogger.com in order to leave a comment. I would really like to know if you are reading my blog, what you think, and if you have any suggestions on things to blog about in the future, or any questions about my time here. And, for those past teachers, or friends that are now editors (I hope you are reading this JD) if they would like to comment on my grammar or something that would be great too. I was really excited when I saw that Mr. Graham had commented, but being a past English professor I was self-conscious about my potentially bad grammar. I actually went back to correct some grammar mistakes on a few posts. I had to my sure my blog looked a little more professional since it was gaining a wider and more erudite audience!
Oh and you can now email posts to friends if you want to spread the word about the blog! Just click on the little envelope icon below the post et voila!

I am grateful.

Early this morning, while drinking an espresso and eating a pain au chocolat, still in the spirit of gratitude, I thought about the joy I had in the life I was able to experience. I was taking my espresso at an extremely touristy café at St. Michel on a Sunday morning. This is the kind of thing every true Parisian avoids like the plague. However, I needed an espresso, so I took a seat. I noticed that the only people around me were from everywhere but France. There is no doubt, had I been on vacation, I would have been sat right there as well, and in fact have sat in places like that all of Europe, and the Americas. And, so often, I was just a tourist peering just over breakfast trying to catch a glimpse of what life was like living in a totally different culture. This is the curse of the tourist. They get to see a place and they in most cases (especially Paris for me) they get just enough to know that they want more. They want to know more than just what Mona Lisa looks like in person. They want to know what it is like to walk past the Louvre and around a corner to that little place off the main street that has the best baguettes in the city. They want to know what it is like to be a fixture at the café on the corner that may not even be the best coffee in the world, or the best food in the world, but it is there that they are a regular. It is there they do some of their best thinking and maybe even their truest loneliness. But, it is a place that they go day in and day out no matter what life has thrown their way, because it is their café and it is there that they are comfortable. They know when it is open and when it is closed (this is actually quite a difficult task in France, and quite frustrating for a foreigner). Although I was sat in a touristy cafe and this was not my regular café, I was beginning to learn after several months what it was like to actually live out these dreams and begin to answer the question, "what would it be like if I lived there?"
I was quite thankful this morning in that moment because God has given me the opportunity to begin to answer that question. He has given me the protection and strength to walk through the toughest parts fo the answer of that question. He has given me hope in the loneliest hours that this too shall pass. He has filled me with wonder and awe at the seemingly simplest things, but the simplest things that you only get to experience when you actually live in a foreign country where they don't speak your language or follow your customs. You realize that not only is your house not the center of the world, but neither is your city, your state, your country or even your own language. You are in a place where you have to work to be understood and heard. It does not come easily or naturally but with time and patience it can come. With strength and hope from God your Creator you can begin to speak and, even more love in a way you never thought possible because you have become less and God has become more. I know this may not be the experience of all expatriates, but it has certainly been mine. Its not that I even asked God to show me these things but he has done because he is good and he does love. The hardest part that I have with even writing that last sentence is that I can only begin to understand what these things truly mean. It is greater than my small short-sided egocentric versions of them. It is for all these things and many more that I am truly thankful for this Thanksgiving.

The Expatriate Thanksiving in Paris

As you may have guessed, my actual post dates don't necessarily correspond to the dates the events described actually occur. That is why I will have to posts today centered on the topic of Thanksgiving, but the events they described happened on two different days. The first post about Thanksgiving happened on the day. What I will describe in this post happened last night and into this morning.
As you already know (my egocentricity dominates my writings in this blog... I automatically assume that you have read the previous post), I spent this Thanksgiving away from home. I was extremely grateful for the French families invitation to dinner, but it was still Thanksgiving and I hadn't any turkey. So, when my buddy Brendan texted me to tell me that a bunch of American assistants were getting together to celebrate Thanksgiving on Saturday night, I told him I was definitely in.
The apartment that we had this feast in was about 2 hours from Paris, nearly the farthest you could be from Paris and still be considered "Ile de France." (basically Paris and its suburbs). That being the case, this was a sleepover Thanksgiving. At 4:30pm we left Paris on our way to the apartment. We didn't arrive at our destination until about 7:15 and we still had to do grocery shopping. We didn't start cooking until about 9. The actual meal didn't take place until 12:30 AM. I had my turkey this Thanksgiving, at 12:30AM with 14 other Americans, who under any other circumstances would never have met or spoken to each other in their whole lives. But, this is what makes the expatriate experience so unique. Although at home probably none of us would have never known each other, both due to distance and personality disparity, we shared this most intimate of holidays with perfect strangers. At times this was a rather trying experience both due to the tardiness of the dinner and the drunkness of the other males at the party. Yet, when it was time to eat, we ate happily and with much Thanksgiving because, dispite the vast difference of the culture we lived in, we were able to continue our American traditions. I am not sure I would ever want to do it like this again, but considering the circumstances, it was still something resembling Thanksgiving.

Joyeux Thanksiving de France!

I have just spent my first Thanksgiving away from my family. The first time in my 23 years, that I was unable to get home for this most American of holidays. I thought it would be a lot more difficult to be honest. That is not to say that I didn't miss my family tremendously, but I was certainly looked after and cared for in ways I never imagined.
I tutor in English two high school freshman every Thursday afternoon. We work at the boy's house usually, and I was teaching them about what was happening in America on Thursday. The boy knew a little about Thanksgiving, but the girl knew very little. As I was explaining it to them, the boy left for a minute came back with his Father and they told me in English, that they didn't want me to eat alone on this family holiday in America. So, they invited me for dinner. I was extremely happy and jumped at the oppurtunity because I knew what was awaiting me at my apartment, frowen lasagna. Now, I have become quite used to frozen foods over the last several months but I was not looking forward to eating another on this holiday centered around family and good food. Instead of a Turkey on this Thanksgiving, I ate speghetti carbonara at an Italian restaurant for this Thanksgiving. I was also able to practice French as much as I had in a long time with the family over dinner, as I told them about my family and American Thanksgiving traditions. It was an incredibly kind gesture and I wish that this kind of French genoristy could be known throughout the US. As most of you who read this can attest, the French don't have the best reputation in America, but since I have been here, the French have been nothing short of overly hospitable to me. We didn't get back from dinner until late, so I said a quick hello to my family as they were just finishing their Thanksgiving dinner and then I went to sleep. All in all, I was extremely grateful this Thanksgiving for a French family as welcoming as they were, at a time when, I needed them most.

Life, with a car?

I have done some posts out of chronological order. This post should have gone before the one about the football match, but I will just leave it after, since that is the order I posted it in.
Part of the delay in any recent posts, was the visit from my mom and my uncle. They arrived in Paris just after I got back from Ireland. In the midst of my recent return and their visit, I was unable to write for a while.
My mom decided to rent a car because we were going to go to Mount St. Michel and because there fears of a strike. She had a GPS and several maps, but because the hotel in Massy was so obscure it took her nearly 3 hours to get from the airport to her hotel in Massy. In fear of the potential strike, we decided to do everything we could in Paris before the strike was supposed to start on Tuesday. Thus, we cancelled the trip to Massy and spent the weekend and early week in Paris. We went to the flea market twice, took in the Louvre (rather quickly), and attended a beautiful service at the American Cathedral. I also finally got a Harris Tweed jacket at the flea market! I look like a 1950's British man.
Although my sister said it wasn't worth it, we had Sunday afternoon free and a car, so we drove to Giverny to see Chez Monet and his gardens. It had closed about a week before we got there. Yet, with a little detective work, we were able to climb a fence and see the pond (although the lily pads were already gone). Not being a lover of Monet myself, I could have gone either way, but it was quite a pleasant drive into the country and Giverny was a wonderful little town. It was readily apparent why Monet was inspired to paint as much as he did.
It was a unique experience being in France, and in particular Massy with a car. I have never had a car here, so I was not very much help in navigating. However, it did expand my knowledge of the town of Massy. We saw sections of Massy I didn't even know existed. It was quite a unique experience when one day, we were driving down a street heading back towards my lycee, I realized, to my amazement, that we were on the street I lived. Somewhat puzzled, I told my mom, "hey this is where I live." Incredibly, you can live in a place for 2 months, and on a street for 2 months and not knowing what exists on the other side of that very same street, in this case, it was a McDonalds. It reminded me of learning about how the Age of Discovery and the Age of Reason coincided in the Middle Ages. The spirit of the time was a general awakening with Columbus sailing to America and just general exploration around the globe. The world seemed so much larger. This then translated to an expansion of the mind. If the world is larger and there is more to be known about the physical landscape of the world, this then leads people to think that there is more knowledge that can be gained. This then expands your mind (not in a 1960's way) or expands what you are willing to consider as possibilities.
There is so much going on around me, but because I cannot see it, it might as well be dark to me. With the advent of a car here, I was able to see so much more around me, what was once darkness became as a light. (This might not make any sense but it did to me so I wrote it down. If it doesn't make sense just ignore it and wait for the next post). Living without a car has been quite a unique experience (that probably could have been sufficient and I wouldn't have had to write all the rest but all that other stuff went through my head as I was walking to that very McDonalds the other day in search of Wi-Fi. They didn't have it but I had a good walk).
My mom and uncle also got to me several of the teachers at the school who have been very helpful in getting me settled here. We all went out for dinner at a Japanese restaurant. I think it went pretty well. It was a good thing they had a car or it would have been quite costly and difficult to get to the airport without one! I was sad to see them go, but my mom and the rest of my family will be here in about a month for Christmas!

Allez Les Bleus!

Last night was the first football (soccer) match I have attended on European soil. It was an incredible match. Part of the experience of this particular match, was the experience of getting to the stadium. In order to further flex their muscle, the transportation union continued the strike into the weekend in order to create chaos for people trying to get to the match. This is (I use the present tense as the strike is still in effect and could be possibly for up to month as some are predicting) the 2nd strike in as many months as the transportation workers are trying to fight Sarkozy's plan to increase the amount of time required to work before retirement. The transportation workers have to work the least amount of any government workers before retirement. Yet, this small percent of the population has the ability to bring the whole city to its knees. There were riot police all throughout the subway system. The walk ways were so packed with people you did not walk by your own will, but by the will of the person behind you or next to you. Once you started down the corridor, there was no turning back. It was impossible. I had to change trains 4 times in order to get to the stadium. It is normally a straight route from Massy to La Stade de France. It took me nearly 2 and a half hours to make a trip that normally takes about 45 minutes. If it were not for my desire to see this match, there is no way I could have braved this trip on public transportation.
Yet, the match was well worth the journey. You could hear the supporters as we approached the stadium. We turned a block in order to see swarms of people of people covered in red gathered around huge drums lit in this darkest of nights by the glowing of the red flares in the center of the circle. The only color noticeable other than the red, was the green star on many of their backs. This is not a symbol of France. It is a symbol of Morocco, the visitors of tonight's match against the French National Squad in a qualifying match for Euro 08 this summer. Although Morocco was the visiting squad, the preponderance of fans showed up to support them. I am not sure why this is other than the fact that there are many North African immigrants in France and most French supporters only care about matches that really matter.
I was there to support the French, as this is my current country of residence. Wanting to be like the football supporters I had seen on TV, my first purchase was a French national scarf to go with my jersey and blue shoes. Much to my chagrin, I was unable to bring my camera into the Stadium because it looked "to professional." The match included 4 goals and a tie between the two teams. The match was electric as the crowd. In order to keep warm on this coldest of Parisian November nights, we were constantly participating in waves and other full body movements like jumping up and down at the excitement of each of the many goals, slide tackles, or great saves. It was a good thing the match was full of these. I would have liked to see a French win but it was a great match. It took me longer to get home because I had to wait for the night bus that goes back to my town and I was ready by 1:30 AM to sleep after a evening that started nearly 9 hours earlier. Total travel time, 4 hours and 45 minutes. Total football time 94 minutes. It was well worth it.

Simplicity

This process of moving to Europe will no doubt change me in many ways. However, there has been one aspect of my life which I didn't expect to be affected which has been. It should have been obvious but I wasn't prepared for it. I am not even exactly sure how to best describe it. Basically, it is my dealings with time and the passage of time. I expected to be so busy and constantly traveling that I wouldn't have time to be, well, bored. It is an embarrasing thing to be bored for me. I love my family and friends. I love to read. I love to travel. I love to play sports. I like to watch movies and some TV shows. Yet, it is amazing how much time is consumed at home with TV shows, and video games though. TV and video games are not bad things in and of themselves it just how I used them that became a distraction. I know this now, because for one, I don't have video games. I spend so much of my life playing video games because I am terrified of what might happen if I don't have something to distract me from silence, and the mere contemplation of the passage of time.
I don't have TV in my room or a fully functioning internet. I spend my time either reading, writing or talking to my family, and occasionally my friends (it is quite expensive and my parents don't pay for me to talk to them). I only spend 12 hours a week in the classroom. I feel downright guilty to think that there are days when I can't wait for 9:30PM to come around so I can go to sleep and be ignorant of the passing of time while I sleep. I am living in Europe!
This is not to say I haven't done a lot while being here, but it is amazing with all I have done how much time is left. I have been reading on average about 2 books a week. I love it that I get that much time to read, but even reading, I can't believe I am about to say this, gets boring. I have no one to discuss the books with. To fully process what I am reading, I need to talk about it with someone.
I am not complaining either. It is good for me. I speak a lot less which when I do find someone to talk to, has to be good for them. I know I can't talk too much as it is. I am rather long winded on certain subjects, i.e. this one. Plus, I am learning a lot as I do read. One writer who has challenged me the most on this very subject, is Henry David Thoreau. I read about his time at Walden Pond and how he would sometimes spend his entire mornings sitting or lying in the entry way to his house. He only really describes one book he brought to the woods with him, along with some pen and paper. Yet, it is within this book that he writes his famous quote that he wants "to live deliberately and to suck all the marrow out of life." Lying in the entry way to your house seems nothing like what it might mean to "suck the marrow out of life." At least at first glance. But, as you continue to read, I began to go with him on the journey and recognize how much of my life was spent trying to ignore its passing. I lived in virtual worlds of video games and voyeuristic worlds of reality television shows because my life was so boring i couldn't stand to come to terms with it and so I sought distractions. If I did not come here to Europe, I would not have had the opportunity to forsake those things and learn as best I can how to truly life in such a way as to "suck the marrow out of life." I may not live in the woods and so seek to live exactly like Thoreau (I am not convinced he was as consistent as he wanted to be anyway) but I can seek to learn how to live without those distractions. Spend time in the woods when I have the oppurtunity, but most certainly I can learn to live purposefully, which to me is the real wisdom of Thoreau. Live on purpose.

Failte Eire

For more than a week now I have been in Ireland. I arrived to an appropriately foggy and rainy Dublin. The taxi driver got me pretty close to my friend's apartment and I walked from there. On my walk, I was watching this van taxi fly around this winding side street and I was impressed by how fast he could drive and still make these turns. I was looking ahead of where the van was going and I noticed there was a very dark figure crossing the street. Before my mind could make the connection THUD! The van hit the dark figure crossing the street that happened to be a middle aged woman. I was quite impressed by the fact that after being hit by a van going 30 kilometres an hour, she got up relatively easy and just kept walking. That's an Irish woman for ya! The taxi driver looked around for a minute said he was sorry and then just kept driving. With that, I knew I was in Ireland.
For my first couple of days, I was in Dublin. I saw Iron and Wine saturday night and they left a little to be desired. It was perfect weather so I was able to read and enjoy St. Stephen's green in the afternoon. I saw the National Gallery of Ireland and was able to learn a lot about Irish painting and Polish as well. There was a fascinating exhibit on Polish art for the last 100 years (I think i need to make a visit to Poland. I have heard Krakow is cool).
Anyway, the main part of my trip was going to be my drive through the country. My initial desire was to see the whole country but I realized quickly that I would have to settle for the middle and south.
My first day was spent in Glendalaugh and the Wicklow National Park. St. Kevin's 6th century monastery is nestled in the middle of the Wicklow Mountain range and two lakes. It is a beautiful area called the Garden of Ireland. (I took tons of pictures and will have those on a link to your right). I did a nice hike to get a good view of the lakes and hike one of the ridges of the moutains as well. That evening was my first experience with a hostel and it was thankfully uneventful. (This is going to be a long entry so bear with me).
The next day, I drove to Cork. I decided to go to Cork to be near the south where I would hike one of the peninsulas jutting into the Atlantic. Cork was a dirty city. Around every turn, I thought I was going to be jumped by a knacker (not sure how to spell that but it is a young person who wears a track suit tucked into his socks and will beat up anyone in their way, kind of gangster type but not exactly the same). While I was in the hostel there, the owner had to throw out a belligerent drunk who was locked in the bathroom for quite a while with a girl. Other than that little episode, I slept alright. At least he wasn't in my room.
HIking the Sheap's Head peninsula was absolutely beatiful and peaceful. Wicklow was nice but quite crowded. I only saw two other people on the trail in Sheap's Head. I climbed a few couple hundred meter peaks and took lots of pictures (links on the left). That evening, I drove to Killarney.
Killarney had the nicest hostel I stayed in but by that point I was quite sick and my whole body ached and I was having trouble sleeping because hostels are no place for a good nights rest. I called a B & B in Galway and made a reservation so I didn't have to stay in a hostel another night. I have been reading Thoreau's Walden and have been thinking a lot about how much I need to be comfortable. I am a long way from Walden Pond. Either way, I needed a private bed and a locked door in Galway. I biked the Gap of Dunloe with a girl called Audrey from Quebec. We had a good bike ride and a boat ride to finish.
Late that night, I finally made it to the last stop on my trip, Galway. I had a better night's sleep in Galway. The lady who ran the B & B was truly Irish. She met me in the middle of Galway and let me follow her in to where her B & B was located cause she was afraid I might get lost. Her breakfast was wonderful that morning and with a full stomach I set out for Connemara National Park. It happened to be closed but it was a nice drive. I spent the rest of the afternoon in Galway. I stumbled upon a special demonstration by the Irish Army in a Cathedral that was to honor those who were lost in the Great War. Hearing the bagpipes in an Irish Catholic Cathedral could not have given me a truer sense of Irish Culture.
By the last day, I was finally getting used to going 100 kilometers an hour on the wrong side of a one lane road that winds more than Missouri roads and is in worse condition, thats not including the small roads. I think it is a miracle I made it back to Dublin alive. I have a few more days here, but they will be spent a bit more relaxed than the last few. I am going to see an Irish folk artist tonight and I am pretty excited. If any of you made it to the bottom, well, I am impressed.

An addition to the last post

I was thinking more about what took place in the conversation between the German assistant, myself and the other teachers. And, it was fascinating to me because it seemed that was really going on was family stories intersecting in unique way and revoloving around a famous historical event. One of the teachers was Jewish. She said that it was always difficult for her to look at older German people because she was always asking heself, "what were they doing when the Nazi's killed off my people and my family?" She said this to the German assistant, which I was quite surprised, but the German assistant responded well and told the story she did about how it was that her family was involved with the Nazis. She didn't deny that there was involvement but she gave a fuller picture of her grand father's family's perspective. It was not denial or ignoring, but telling the full story. Although I was not able to share this with the other teachers, due to lack of time, but even my family intersected here as well. My grandfather served in WWII and went to the Normandy beaches. He helped set France free from German rule. The other French teachers could understand how important of an event that certainly was. It was curious that there were 4 of us standing there telling our family's stories and each one had a different familial involvement with one monumental historical event. That sort of interaction doesn't happen everyday, and it was a special moment for me and the rest of us.

Parler en Francais avec autre etrangers?

I have to say that the easiest time I have had in speaking French has been with foreigners. I think it is because I am not worried that they are going to correct my French or be insulted if I speak it well. Today, for instance, I spoke with a Chinese person and a Mexican person in French and I actually think I was gettin my point across.
Last night, Myriam, my responsable from the school, threw a party for me after classes were let out. There ended up being about 20 or so teachers and 2 other assistants at the party. It took a little bit to get going, but once people started showing up it became quite interesting. By the end, I was amused at the fact that when language teachers get together after hours, they are not much different then students. We are trying to figure out how to swear in every language represented, French, English, Spanish, Portugese and German.
The most interesting point in the night for me, was meeting the German assistant at my school. She speaks French pretty well and English pretty well, so we conversed in both. Yet, for about 20 minutes she talked to me and two other teachers about growing up in Eastern Germany and trying to learn to deal with the fact that her grand fathers were in the German military. She talked about how one left the Nazi party very young, but the other was required to fight because he was a young person living in Germany. It was amazing to watch as she told this tale and talked about how her grandfather had a picture of him laughing with his buddies, and she tried to understand how this was possible. In the end, it seemed to me a powerful picture of the humanity of even the German soldiers who were doing strictly what they were forced to do but to take their minds off of what was around them they sometimes had a good time. Her grandfather never shot anyone either. He was part of the military but spent a significant portion of the war in German prison camp. It was just fascinating to listen to her tell her tale and although she repeatedly said she hated talking about, she was willing to. And, I think it was quite effective in relating to those around her, that she is obviously not a Nazi and her family although German, were real flesh and blood humans. They were not simply some vague notion of evil Nazi killers. It is these kind of experiences why I love being in Europe.
Also, I got my recipisse and I am on my way to being official in France!

Bureaucracy

I knew that life in France would not just be all trips to the Louvre, evening dinner parties, wine and baguettes. Yet, that is really all you can think about when getting ready for the experience. You just look forward to those great experiences. You don't lay in bed at night and think about the the headaches of the French bureaucracy or how to call, in French, and ask to change appointments that are necessary to ensure your stay in France. I wasn't just hoping that I would have to go to several banks before I found one that take me on as a client.
These things are, as you might imagine, becoming a reality. Real life in France is setting in. And, my nervous and anxious tendencies had begun to take over. I was having trouble sleeping knowing all the places and papers I needed to have ready to make my stay official in France. Plus, I also had to cancel a tutoring session because I had forgotten that one of my coworkers had planned a party for me that evening. On top of all that, I was really excited that I was going to be able to go to Ireland at the end of week. A trip to Ireland is more than just a vacation. It is the first time that I will be leaving my new home in France to travel to another country. I am going to be there for 10 days, which is great, but I have to plan 10 days worth of things to do. Plus, like my most of my time here, I will be spending it alone. This is wonderful for day hikes in the mountains and being to act on your every whim but of course there are drawbacks to it to.
To make matters worse, I have a recurring mold problem on the back wall of my room. I don't have proper ventilation for my shower, so my room is extremely humid. In order to relieve some of that, I have to open a window. Not only are the highs here only 50 degrees, but I have lady bugs all over my windows so when I open them I get about 20 lady bugs buzzing around my room. It is a choice now, lady bugs or mold. I think I have a handle on the problem as of today because I cleaned my entire room with bleach and a magic eraser. Plus, I bought a dehumidifier. My mom should also be bringing me something for my ladybug problem.
All that to say, reality is setting in and holidays are over. This is a wonderful opportunity and I am glad I am taking it. I know these hardships are worth the experience but that only slightly makes them easier to work through. Plus, I have a lesson tomorrow for the first time with the smartest kids in school, I think I am prepared but how should I know I have never been a teacher!

Il est un fou!

I could not have possibly felt more like a teacher than I did this afternoon. I was standing in the front of the room, with words written all over the chalk board in my terrible penmenship. I was beginning to erase the board so there was chalk dust all over me, the board and the air around me. I was trying to explain what the verb cement meant in English to a bunch of native French speakers. In order to not make recourse to French, when I explain words I just list off synonyms. As I was listing off synonyms, I started laughing. The students started looking at me. I thought one even in said in French that I was crazy. I was thinking in my head that I was going to be a walking thesaurus by the time I am finished here. Then, I started laughing because I realized they wouldn't know what a thesaurus was and then I started lauhing even more because I thought of how funny it was that I was going to try and think of synonyms for thesaurus to explain to them what it was and then from there try to explain why I was laughing. All of these layers were just cracking me up and all the while I was getting chalk all over my face trying to cover it from laughing. Then the students just started chuckling to themselves about how strange it was watching this 23 year old American guy covered in chalk laughing at nothing they could possibly understand and not able to explain it them.

Rouen, Normandy

Saturday, I made my first trek outside of the Ile-de-France (basically Paris and its suburbs). I went to Rouen. It is in the province of Normandy. Although every region has its distinctness and its own character Normandy's was particularly charming and fascinating for me. The mark of Norman architecture is extensive use of wood (as well as stone). But, the use of wood as a primary piece of the composition in homes and other structures is unique in France. The rest of the culture follows suit in its charming uniqueness. This was the launching point of the Norman conquest of England in the middle of the 11th Century. And, until the end of the 100 years war, it would be disputed territory between the English and the French. Normandy's beaches are also, of course, famous as the site of the reconquest of France from Germany in WWII.
Rouen is home to many Churches, including the Notre Dame Cathedral, the Eglise St-Maclou and the Abbatiale St. Ouen. The Notre Dame de Rouen is most famous as the subject of many paintings by the impressionist Claude Monet. The Abby St. Ouen is famous as the spot where Joan of Arc was condemned as a heretic. However, realizing what a tragic mistake the Church had made, a Chapel was eventually made in Notre Dame Cathedral in remembrance of this most courageous of French Heroines. Oddly enough, King Richard I (Coeur de Lion) is also buried in the Notre Dame.
All this history is well preserved in this beautifully idyllic capital of Normandy. Even in the markets the people dress up in clothes from another era. Not being a usual attraction for visitors to France, in conjunction with joy seen on the booth owners faces, it would seem that the people dress up out of pure enjoyment and tradition. They sell the wares of their province--cider, sausages, canard, and caramel--with pride. One of my favorite scenes was a group of men ranging in age from 20 to 60 playing the French equivalent of Bocce ball in the garden next to the Abbey St. Ouen.
As you could probably tell, I was absolutely enthralled by this city. Most of the described above can be viewed in picture form by clicking the Rouen link on the right side of the blog.

Merci!

I am glad that people other than my mom and dad are reading this. I would probably do it anyway but I am glad that it serves more of a purpose than just helping me remember what I did. I didn't really quite know who to respond to Carl's comment so I just thought I would do it like this: Thanks for your comment Carl! Feel free to live vicariously through me as much as you like. I would love to have a pint of Fuller's London Pride with you. I really enjoy their Extra Special Bitter. I heard that it was the official beer of the Royal Navy. To answer your question, I have not gathered up any assistants to travel with me but I am going to Ireland at the end of the month for about 10 days so I am excited about that. I have a discount train card for France, Belgium, Switzerland and the Netherlands. So, I plan on making good use of it, even if it is just by myself! Well, I will probably put up a post about my trip Rouen tomorrow. It was amazing. Oh and I have a links section now on the right. You can live vicariously through me through pictures now too! You don't have to be a member of Facebook to view them but they are hosted there. Well that's it for now. A Bientot!

PERSONAL SPACE!

Random rant: There is no sense of personal space here. I had a family of 4, surround me in a 4 seat section in the train. There were places all over the train for the 4 of them to sit but they chose to trap in between them. 3 of them sat down and they moved the stroller across the isle so I couldn't get out even if I wanted to. It is that sort of thing that drives me nuts! I don't even have room to freaking leave if I wanted to! I would have had to climb all over them if I wanted out. Lucky for me they got off the train before I did so we didn't have to go through that hassle.
Also, when people beg here, they don't beg politely like in America. In America, bums just have a sign and sit on the ground and wait for money. Nobody comes up to you in your face shoves their hand into your chest and gives you this long drawn out sob story. The worst is when they shove their crying baby at you. Little do they know that crying babies are not the way to get to my heart!!
And, last but not least, at the Sacre Coeur, there are lines of black men blocking the entrances to the steps that lead up to the church. You must cross them to get to where you want to go. And when you do, they let you through but not without first literally grabbing your arm and trying to force some stupid string on your finger so they can make a dumb bracelet for you. When the guy grabbed me by the arm today, I almost turned to hit him. Then I thought better of it because he was about a 6 foot black man with a team of friends around him. But, seriously, what makes you think it is ok to freaking touch me! DON'T TOUCH ME IF I DON'T FREAKING KNOW YOU!! I am sick of it.

I need to learn french faster!

Today began a dreary and overcast. I also went to the Prefecture thinking I was going to start the process of getting my carte de sejour. As I walked up to the door, I noticed a sign saying that the only day it was closed was Wednesday. I had misunderstood the recording over the phone thinking that it said the only day it was open to get a carte de sejour was Wednesday. So, I had made a 30 minute trek in vain. Not wanting to waste the day, I decided to head to Paris to go in the Sacre Coeur and maybe another church. I was walked up to the base of the Sacre Coeur r, took out my camera, turned it on, and the error message came on saying that I didn't have my memory card. I had left it in my computer. Rather then go in the Sacre Coeur without my camera I just decided that I would look around the shops in Montmarte. It was not a totally useless trip as I did buy a sweater and a scarf. I also had a pretty good pizza in a little Italian place. As much as I love France and its cuisine, I still think my favorite country to visit for the food has been Italy. I returned to Massy and stopped at the fruit stand by the train station.
The last time I went to the fruit stand, I had a different guy from usual. The peaches the other guy picked out were terrible. Today, I went to the guy I usually go to, and I got much better peaches. He actually checks to make sure they are good peaches before he bags them up. Plus, I love it that he asks me how my days is and shakes my hand when I walk up. It is amazing how much I love the social niceities during the day. Then, I went to the boulangerie which I think has the best baguettes and order my baguette from this nice old lady, who also really friendly. Another guy in the store helped me as well with my pronunciation of baguette, in the most friendliest of ways. It is these types of things that really go along way during a day when things haven't really gone the best for you. Finally, on the bus, I was struck by the fact that I have already been in France for almost a month. As I looked outside and watched the sun go down, I noticed that I have been here long enough to really start to see summer turn into fall. All this combined to really make me feel in a small way like a part of this little village outside Paris that will be my home until May. It is that sort of an experience that I had never been able to have just traveling for a week or maybe two at a time in a place.

Mon Travail Commence

My work has begun. I sat in on several classes on Monday and Tuesday. In general, the topics of conversation between the classes and I centered on where I was from and who I was.
Digression: it is curious that the thought "where I was from" came first to my mind before "who I was". This is curious because these two topics seemed to be what I learned personally the most while being in the classroom with these French high schoolers. After reflecting on the second day with my mom on the phone, I realized that a change in mindset for me had happened at about lunch time but only became conscious while talking about it with my mother.
The story: I was walking out the front gates to go get an espresso and lunch, when two students who I had been in class with earlier asked if I wanted to go with them to the boulangerie. I said yes. These students where technically finished with high school and were sort of freshmen in college. As we were talking over our sandwich, the girl stated that she never wanted to go to America and hated all the people from there, except curiously me. I listened as she stated the obvious things that people hate about America. At one point she said, "if I do ever go, I will never go to Texas." Strangely enough for me, this is the point where I stopped her and said, "really why not Texas?" And, she said a few obvious things about cowboys and Bush etc. I then stopped her and told her that she would be considered normal in Austin, the capitol of Texas. She looked confused. I told her that some of the most interesting liberal, nonconformist people live in Austin. She was befuddled. I don't like Texas. But, I found myself defending it and America in a situation where I might normally have gladly agreed with her and would only added fuel to her fire. But, I have found myself in this position. I am a product of where I am from. I am American. I can hate America all I want but I am an American. I could have stood up in front of those classes and bashed America along with all the rest of the students. But, I decided (albeit somewhat unconciously at first) that the best option for me in this position was to show my lycee that not all Americans are the same and even though there are things that Americans do and say that I don't like, I am an American just the same. I can try to ignore it, but it will never leave me. Rather than be ashamed of America the rest of my life, I might as well do my part in changing the image of Americans in Europe and where ever I travel in the world.
That was my revelation. (Its weird that the most important things you learn in life, and sometimes the most important changes in mindsets happen almost without any volition. They are almost purely accidental. I am sounding a bit like Thomas Reed at this point and normally I am quite at odds with his philosophies. I am now ending this digression)

Dimanche

I visited one of the English speaking churches in Paris today, Emmanuel International Church. This is the church that Dan Morrow used to work at when he lived in Paris, so I thought I would give it a go. It took me a little over an hour and 30 minutes to get to Reuil-Malmaison, the suburb the church is in. The service started at 11:30 and lucky for me, I left well before it. I arrived just after it started to here about what I would expect at a Baptist Church. It was quasi contemporary worship with a woman leading the worship with overly dramatic hand gestures towards heaven, acting as if she could single handedly work the congregation into the most euphoric sense of worship they had ever felt. The congregation acted like a typical Baptist one, they watched. The pastor delivered a good message on Acts and it was over. I met the pastor who knew Dan and it was oddly comforting to be talking to someone who knew someone I knew. I usually scoff at these stupid social pleasantries, but I was actually quite glad to be talking to someone about a mutual friend. The pastor introduced me to another person about my age who asked me to go to lunch and then told me to wait for him. I stood out front of the church for almost 15 minutes waiting before I decided that was enough and took off for Massy.
Tonight, I tried my hand at cooking fish on a hot plate. I have never felt more like a single young adult male. I forgot the olive oil, and since everything is closed in Massy on Sunday, was forced to try something else. I tried wine. That was not a good idea. I poured nearly a half a bottle onto the skillet trying to keep the fish from sticking to the pan. The fish never even got close to cooking. I finally decided to call it quits and stick a premade dinner in the microwave. I was, however, able to steam some green beans.

Le Marche

Friday was a rather lazy day. I did some grocery shopping, setup the blog, and finished my application to Princeton. I did go to a gathering of teachers at someone's flat. However, this time, it included mostly older teachers. That being the case, the music in the background was light classical music and the highlight of the evening was probably quiche with "shevre" which it turns out is just the word for goat but is also a culinary term for goat cheese. The teachers and I sat around and talked about, well, nothing. So, I was relieved when Myriam said she was tired and we left.
Saturday, I got up early and went to what is said to be the largest flea market in the world. Mostly it is clothes and shoes but certain streets had some of the most amazing antiques I had ever seen. While wandering down one of the many sprawling side streets of booths, I saw what I thought was the perfect leather bag that I had been looking for. I asked the vendor (in French) what the cost was and he said 160 euros. I scoffed at the price although for a hand sewn leather bag that is probably a good deal to begin with. He showed me a couple of others but he could tell I was only interested in the first one. He asked me to name my price and I said 120 euros. He said absolutely not. Then, I started to walk off. He came back with 130 and said that was still too much. After several minutes of back and forth on prices, he asked me what I had in my wallet. I said 100 euro. Then, he started packaging it to give it to me and I got scared. I looked at him and he held out his hand for the money. I was so nervous because I wasn't ready to spend even that much money, I literally turned and ran down the street. I can't stand being pressured into buying something. Yet, this is how that sort of thing goes in a flea market and I know, but I just have a hard time dropping that much money for a bag I had only just seen. I know I will probably never see that bag again but there is another market next weekend where I can look again.
That evening, I went to dinner with Genevieve, her daughter and son in law, and another teacher. It was a nice dinner but I was a bit over dressed. Genevieve told me we were going to a restaurant which I thought implied my needing to wear a blazer. So, I got dressed up. I had my leather boots, my Juicy Couture blazer and this awesome button down shirt I bought a Nordstrom before I left. When I got to the restaurant, the waiter was in jeans and a tee shirt. The party I was with was only slightly more dressed than that. I looked pretty good, but felt pretty strange.

Autre Assistants

I was pleased the today to receive some emails from the other assistants in the Ile-de-France. They had decided to meet at the fountain at St. Michel. Little did I realize, they had actually meant Thursday and not Wednesday. However, I went to the fountain anyway, and was pleased to meet another assistant who just as confused as I was. Her name is Elizabeth. We waited in the rain for about 30 minutes waiting for other assistants who of course never came. So, we went and had a coffee. We both had a fair amount in common growing up in Christian homes, attending small Christian liberal arts colleges and both loving France! We had some good conversation over coffee, and then decided we were both hungry so we went looking for a place to eat.
We found this warm cozy Irish pub on a little side street. It was rainy and cold and we were looking for something warm. So, in the spirit of finding something warm, I ordered this delicious Irish stew and washed it down with an extremely smooth and well poured Guinness. I couldn't have been more content. A nice girl sitting a cross from me and my belly full of stew and Guinness. (At some point in our conversation she dropped a hint that she had a boyfriend, but I was ignoring that for the time being because the situation was all too perfect except for that little tidbit).
We both decided that we were going to go to church together, so I am glad to find someone to go with, even if she is already taken.
Last night, the actual night everybody was supposed to meet up, Elizabeth and I finally met some other assistants. There were about 20 of us who met at the fountain and then went to another Irish Pub and then a Sangria bar after that. It was nice to meet the other assistants, but I am not sure how many of them I would hang out with on a regular basis. None of the guys were all that interesting and mostly they were just bragging about this and that or the other. A couple of guys and I talked about classical literature and the state of our government, but I wouldn't really hang out with them for fun. I do enjoy Elizabeth's company, so I imagine that we have the possibility of being friends.

Paris, Seulement

The last several days I have spent mostly alone, with the occasional call from my mutha. I really started to feel like an expatriate in a foreign country because some of the newness had worn off and because all the teachers had gone back to work. So, I was left to fend for myself. Basically, everyday, I would go into Paris, walk around for a while and get lost. I went to book stores, clothing stores, cafes and even got lost in the red light district. It was during period when even the slightest fleeting conversation from anyone was quite welcomed.
Every other day or so, I go to this fruit stand that is outside my train station. The guy who serves me is in his late 20's, so not much older than me. He was quite friendly the first day I bought some peaches and bananas from him. When I am came by the second day he said a friendly hello and how are you (in french of course) but I was so elated that I recognized someone and they recognized me! This was the first time in days I had seen anyone that I knew in even the remotest of ways.

Une Soiree a Chez Alex

I was able to spend the next several nights with some other teachers from the Lycee. The first night we went to the pub to watch the World Cup of Rugby, specifically a match between Ireland and France. I have never watched rugby so most of what was going was lost on me. I did have a good pint of an Extra Special Bitter and some good conversation. It was funny as I was watching the match because people around me could tell that I was confused. And, if they didn't know me, they would try to explain to me in all different languages what was going on. Some thought I was French, English and Spanish. I guess that is a good thing because I didn't look obviously American, which is of course every American's dream in Europe, not too look American.
The next night I was invited to a "soiree" at one of the teachers apartment. I walked to the old part of the village I live so I could get something to bring to the party. Upon entering the boulangerie, I asked, in French, the lady behind the counter what I should bring to this little party I was going to. After a couple of questions she brought out this nice gateau and I was on my way. The night of the soiree was a beautiful night and we were eating and drinking outside in this beautiful little courtyard. This town they live in used to be a farm town and they acutally live in an apartment that used to be part of the original farm house. There was a table setup on the cobble stone courtyard with candles lit, red wine flowing and little Diana Krall drifting down from the window above. When you looked up, just over the building you could just see the steeple of the little church in the village. It was absolutely perfect.

First Blog

Well, after a little more than 18 hours of traveling, I finally arrived in Massy, France. My new home town. One of the teachers from the school was kind enough to pick me up from the train station (of which there are two in my town!). Upon meeting up with her, I found out that my room was not ready at the lycee. At first this was a little unsettling, but she said that I could stay at her place for the next couple of nights until my room is ready. I spent most of the day with another English teacher at the school because she is younger and is going to be my main contact. Her name is Myriam. She is technically Canadien. She speaks English fluently as she did a program like I am doing in England. I am not sure how old she is, probably 25 or 26. She is extremely friendly and quite attractive as well (and she is single!)
We went to the Boulangerie/Patisserie that she says is the best in our town. We got some pastries for tea. We had tea with her long time friend Emily. Emily greeted me with a bisou or kiss (my first from a real French woman!). After tea, Myriam wanted me to meet her father, so they took me out to dinner. They were both extremely friendly and during our dinner we covered everything from John Lennon to religion and finished with a discussion of politics. Several things we are taught not to talk about in an American family, but that are quite common in French conversation. I was happy to talk about anything of these topics with them and share my opinions (as anyone knows me can attest). It was a great time and by the end I was ready for bed because I had not slept for nearly 15 hours or so. Today, I think I am going to open a bank account and do a couple of those sort of things with Myriam. That's all for now.