Oh to be walking the Quai D'Orsay along the Seine with the Musee Des Invalides on my left the Grand Palais and the Pont Alexandre on my right, and the Eiffel Tower peering above the city street buildings in front of me. My destination, that antiquing green spire of one of the newest churches in Paris, but still over a hundred years old.
Paris et American Church in Paris, tu me manque.

J'ai de Français dans ma tete!

I had an experience today that I have never really had in America. I was walking down the street to my boulangerie. As I was headed towards the bakery, I heard someone calling "Charles, Charles, come here" (In French). He asked me if I would like a beer and would like to see his house. His house is a beautiful 60 year old farm house. He told me about how they used to raise pigs there and what it was like before he renovated it. After the beer, he asked me if I liked fish and salad and would like to stay for dinner. I said of course. Before I knew it, we had some fish, some cheese, some coffee, and a dessert alcohol. I spoke in French the whole night. I realized how much I will miss the challenge of speaking in French. When I arrived, I was terrified of speaking in French because I knew my French wasn't very good and I was afraid to sound too much like an American. So, I spent a lot of my time in France speaking in English with the other teachers and my Americans. And, I needed that because I am the type of person who needs a deeper conversation then the basic conversations I can have in French. However, its difficult to learn the language and to get over that hump of really simple conversatoins without trying. For the first time tonight, the words were coming to my mind in French. It is a great feeling. My professeur wanted to practice his English but once the conversatoin was flowing in French he just found it easier to speak in French. It was the same way at the bank the other day. I went to talk about closing my account and the lady said she could speak in English but my French was better than her English so we just spoke in French. I don't say that to sound arrogant but when I came I always tried to get them to speak in English because it was so much easier for me. But, now, I can converse well enough in French that I feel just as comfortable using my basic knowledge of French instead of contending wiht their basic knowledge of English. Also, a couple of my studnets found out I could speak in French during the week. They kept asking me if I could speak French and if I would show them, so because it was the last week I did. It was funny because their mouths dropped. They were kind of mad because they thought they could have been speaking French the whole time, but of course that would not have helped their English. Anyway, it was a great meal and one of those great things about living in France that I will certainly miss.

Il a fait beau... mais, il neige maintenant... c'est le même weekend?!

So, it has been a rather interesting weekend here in Paris. On Friday, I went to Bois de Boulogne (pictures to come later). It was abosolutely beautiful, 60 degrees and sunny. The leaves are coming back on the trees some of the early flowers are blooming. I had a tee shirt on and just took pictures, rode Vélib, and read.
For those who don't know, Vélib is the public bike service that was started last summer in Paris and is now my favorite mode of travel. I got a one day pass and ended up riding around all night with my friend Chris, after I left the park. For some reason my French bank card never worked at the Vélib station until yesterday and I was quite glad it finally started working. Chris and I just rode from station for probably two hours. We rode around the Arc de Triomphe, down the Champs-Elysée, around the Place de Conorde, along the Seine, through the Ile de la Cité and around Bastille and République as well. It was great. I think it is the best way to see the city. The weather was nice, there was a beautiful sunset. It was terribly romantic. Any time I am wandering the streets and seeing the sights of Paris, I am just reminded of how romantic the city really is. It is too bad I have never been able to share it with a girl I am in love with, but I guess Chris will just have to do. I was actually thinking about how different St. Louis is. You aren't exactly overwhemed with romanticism when you walk along the muddy Mississippi watching the barges trudge through the half solid Mississippi. It is just a wee bit different then walking along the Seine.
Today, at 20:30 it started snowing. It is the 6th day of April and it is snowing in Paris, for only like the second time this year. It is a crazy world.

Check my new pictures too. And, leave a comment.

Scotland

About 10 years ago, I saw a movie that would partly shape who I was all throughout high school and even some in college. It was the first rated "R" movie I ever saw. If I remember correctly, it was a random day off school and a friend of mine was sleeping over. I got permission from my mom to watch this film and I was inspired. The film, as many who know me can probably guess, was Braveheart. It is, as most people know, the story of a Scottish hero called William Wallace. He fought for the freedom of the Scottish people, and all the he personally did not win a lasting Scottish independence, he started a movement which shortly after his life did win the country of Scotland independence from the rule of the English. But, I was not so enamored by the plight of the Scottish people under English rule, as I was with the idea that a man like William Wallace would do all this for the idea of Freedom. As in his famous last scene, the king asks him if he would like to ask for mercy and give up his ideal of freedom for himself and for his people, Mel Gibson (William Wallace) yells FREEEEEDOM! A man that would give up his life for his ideals and for love of his people is a person worth admiring. So, I bought a kilt. And, did further research on the man. I came to realize that the real William Wallace was not as pure of a hero as the movie claimed but many of the things it portrayed did happen. I am not here to write an historical analysis of the man, but just to say that I was absolutely inspired by the story, the man, and of course his country.
So, this Easter weekend, my dad and my brother met me in Edinburgh. (I have an amazing job, I only work on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays, so I just left on a Thursday night and we were back by monday night). I was only able to spend 5 days but they were an enchanting 5 days. My dad brother and I went out our first night for dinner at an old inn and restaurant that had been in business for over 250 years. I had a delicious fish and chips with a pint of McEwans 80 shilling and it was maybe the best beer I have ever had (I used to be partial to a Scottish ale called Belhaven, but I think the McEwans 80 shilling tops it, at least on draught in a 250 year old inn with fish and chips in front of me).
The first day we spent in Edinburgh. I have pictures to add as well, because I will hardly be able to write well enough to describe how picturesque this city truly is. It just has a medieval feel to it. Everything is done in stone. It has a crisp sea breeze always blowing in on it. The weather is constantly changing from sun, to rain, to snow, and to clouds. It was home to the Scottish Reformation and the great reformation preacher John Knox. We were able to see his house and the church St. Giles were delivered his fiery sermons that condemned many of the practices of the Catholic Church and stirred a devotion to Scripture and Reformed theology that eventually led to the establishment of the Presbyterian church being the official church of the Scottish people. Its no wonder I love Scotland. Fiery, Biblical, Reformed preaching and a national hero who gave his life for his ideals, could there be a greater combination?
My dad may differ from me on the Presbyterian point, but one of the most influential writers on economics was also from Edinburgh and is buried here, Adam Smith. So, there was a little history for everybody in our group here in Scotland.
After Edinburgh, we set out for the Highlands. The weather conditions were to hostile to attempt a climb of Ben Nevis without technical ice climbing gear so we decided to hike at a slightly lower elevation and around a few lochs. It was cold and windy, and snowy at times, but it wasn't brutal for Scottish Highland conditions. In fact, it felt pretty perfect to me. We climbed through sheep pastures, heather, and wooded forests. We climbed a ben, walked along a loch and gazed across a beautiful green glen (I think that covers all the Scottish geological terms).
On Sunday, Easter, we attended St. Giles Kirk (the High and First Kirk of Scotland). It was a short service that mostly focused around their long way of doing communion, and the preaching was especially short. The pastor spoke for about 3 minutes and delivered a well worded short little sermon about the picture of Jesus throughout the ages. I wasn't expecting a reincarnation of John Knox, but a slightly longer more challenging sermon would have been nice. (I don't think John Knox would be too proud of the current state of preaching in his Kirk).
The afternoon, we visited Stirling and were able to see where the battle of Stirling Bridge took place when William Wallace defeated the English in 1297. We toured the Castle which dates back to the period not long after Robert the Bruce's grandson was in power in the 1500s. The city and Castle of Stirling are both extremely important strategic points in the country of Scotland for their position in between the Lowlands and the Highlands. So, when Wallace defeated the English there, he in effect, had taken back control of the country even though the independence of the nation would not be recognized until about 20 years later when Robert the Bruce would defeat the English at Bannockburn.
The whole country seemed to be built for me. If they could place baseball there, and I could move all my family and my friends there (and change their accents to Scottish accents) I think I would be in heaven.

Trains and stuff

(Disclaimer - these thoughts I didn't all have on the 27th of March. It is sort of a catch all of several different thoughts I have had over the last several weeks in which I didn't really write because well I will just let you read it.)


I have not written in this blog for quite some time. I find it quite ironic that I was talking in one of my last entries about more people finding out about my blog and then suddenly I just completely stop writing in it. As soon as I have readers, I lost the will to write. Maybe its some deep seeded fear that my writing really isn't any good and I don't really have anything worthwhile to say. Or, maybe, as I thought the other day, it is because I have been in France for over 6 months now, and I am just not as inspired to write as much as I was at the beginning. I write for myself still, but as to the specific mission and project of this blog, I haven't had as much to say. I have grown accustomed to this life in France that I have. It has become the norm for me, and as such, the experiences aren't new anymore. That being said, I am still having a great time. But, it is just not as novel. I am more comfortable. I feel more comfortable speaking French then I ever have been. This is certainly not to say that I am fluent or should stop working on my French, but when asked questions in French, I can usually utter some response back in French. Also, I have made many friends at the school and at the American Church in Paris. I have two communities that I am a part of. I still love riding the train in and out of the city, but the excitement and intrigue of that has somewhat given way to the hassle of riding the train an hour to hang out with my friends in the city. I am not complaining, but I think these are sentiments of someone who is now more familiar with life in a city as large as Paris.
I still love trains, especially subways and commuter trains. When my friend JD was here, I started calling the transport network, the suburban trains (RER) and the subway the Metro, the Great Equalizer. We were talking about all the different types of people who ride the train and even what their different purposes are. There are students who ride the trains to school and back home. There are business people who ride the trains back and forth to work. There are gypsies who walk up and down isles begging for money every single day. There are other homeless (Sans Domicile Fixe) people who ride the trains to sleep and find a warm resting place. There are mothers and fathers who cart their kids around to do their shopping and errands. Each type of person not only looks and acts different, but they smell different. No matter who you are (unless you don't have an olfactory sense) you smell EVERYONE. It doesn't matter what you reason for being on the train, your socio-economic background, or your age, you cannot avoid the stench of that homeless gypsy who hasn't showered in weeks. Every person makes different noises. From the guy who never gets off his phone to your left, to the stupid French teenager who plays his obnoxious American rap music as loud as he can on his phone without any idea what the lyrics of the music he is playing are, to that mother who can't control her crying baby and the shrieks and moans from that child echo down the car, so it doesn't matter where you are sitting in that giant car you can still hear it crying. You can try to mask these sounds with headphones, but even still the sounds seeps in. Sometimes you find the strangest things on those seats as well, some sticky substance that you don't even want to know what it is, left over vomit from a drunken night before, or a gift from a homeless guy who has used the gap in the two seats as a toilet (and I don't mean number 1).
Yet, EVERYONE uses these trains. And, EVERYONE should at some point in their lives. This is where the world is. No one can escape the trains and subways. They are a necessary part of Parisian and big city life. Humanity exists in the tunnels (or rat's maze as my mom likes to call it) and on the trains. You see the good and bad of all forms of life. The prettiest Parisian model and the crazy old homeless French man yelling about the government's new policy. No matter how special you think you are, you smell all the smells, you hear all the sounds, you see all the sights, you feel all the substances, and taste the staleness in the air. You come face to face with every type of person living on this giant planet and you cannot ignore the grandeur that the rich live in, or the poverty that the rest live in. You cannot avoid it and you should not avoid it.

Multumesc

Thursday, I flew into Bucharest, Romania from Paris, France. I brought my snowboard in hopes that we might be able to snowboard when I arrived in Baia Mare. The only problem with taking a snowboard to Romania, was trying to get the snowboard from my room in my Lycee all the way to Charles de Gaulle Airport. I had to carry my pack of clothes and my huge snowboard bag quite some distance without my own vehicle. Once I arrived at the airport, my troubles were only just beginning. I was in the farthest terminal from the train station and it took me almost an hour to find my ticket that happened to be a paper ticket, instead of the now normally issued electronic ticket. After having gone to 5 different counters, I finally went to the last and only place it could possibly. The worker there from Tarom Air, told me that he did not have my ticket either and that he didn't know what I should. I thought my trip was over before it started. However, after taking another look around, he found it sitting on his desk where he had looked once before, but just overlooked. So, I had my ticket, but my plane was leaving in 30 minutes and I still had to check my bag. Luckily, everything went smoothly from here on out. On the flight from Paris to Bucharest, I played with a little French kid for probably an hour and a half. He came and sat beside and decided that I would be his playmate for the flight. He was probably 5 years old and spoke only French. I fooled him for about 15 minutes by merely responding, "oui," "non," and "C'est vrai," to his questions in French. Then, he realized that I didn't speak French fluently. But, we had fun together for a while.
After we unloaded into the Bucharest airport, I began to realize that I couldn't have been a stranger sight to the Romania people then had I been Chinese. They had no idea why an American coming from Paris would want to go to Baia Mare. The lady at customs hardly believed that my final destination was actually Baia Mare. Baia Mare is a small town in the north of Romania. Spirit of St. Louis airport seemed gigantic compared to the little airport in Baia Mare, but more of that later. The lady who inspected me at the security gate was quite a curious lady. As I approached her, she looked me up and down without the least bit of sheepishness. She was a tall thin woman with long black hair. She looked like she was maybe in her early thirties. While I was taking my computer out of my backpack, my two books fell out of the front of my back. Quickly, she picked them up. She looked at the first one like a child inspecting a foreign food they had never seen. She read the title out loud to herself, "The Memory of Old Jack." Following the title, she said, "yes very old." Setting that book down, she picked up the other. It is an entirely blank red book, so she searched the first few pages trying to find the title, "Northanger Abbey and Pers... Ok. Go through." She couldn't pronounce persuasion, so I guess that was sufficient for her.
The plane was about the size of a regional jet we might have in the United States only a little bit older. I wasn't the least bit afraid because it was full, and I figured, if that many people trusted the plane, I would be willing to trust the plane. I walked from the tarmac into the airport and saw a bunch of people waiting. I was praying that Dorin and Aurelia hadn't forgot about me and I would be in Baia Mare, Romania without a backup plan or a mode of escape. After waiting around for a few minutes, a tall man who had recognized from time here approached through the front doors. Without hesitation, I called out, "Dorin!" I walked up to him, and almost without thinking, just gave him a big hug. Never in my life had I been I felt so relieved to have found someone I had only met one other time in my life.

Vacation

Having a friend come and stay is a bit like going on vacation. I take the train out to the airport. I check the screens for the arrival time, mostly just to make sure I am not too late and he is running around in one of the largest airports in the world frantically trying to find his friend who isn't there. I find my way to the baggage claim and wait just beyond the doors for him to come. Unlike real vacations, this one begins with a hug that encompasses more than just a welcome, more than just time apart, more than just oceans apart, it brings you back from where you came and calls you forth into the time that is too come. And, then we get on the train and the vacation begins.
I am pretty sure I didn't stop talking for the first hour JD was here. It had been almost two months since my family had left. I had been through some of my most homesick times, but was beginning to make more friends and find something of a home at the church.
JD was leaving his fair share of hard times and we were just glad to be together. I realized Sunday, the day after he arrived, I hadn't laughed as much as I did with him in those first 12 hours then I did in the last 5 months here in France.
Saturday night we met some friends of mine from St. Louis for a coffee and dinner. Then, we went to a pub and had a beer. Wanting to preserve money on the first day of the trip, we decided against drinking any longer and headed down to the center of Paris to walk along the Seine. It was perfect for me, I had one of my best friends, and two pretty girls on either side. It was the first time that I had walked the Seine and I wasn't alone or with another guy. It was all the sentimental and romantic things you would expect walking along the River Seine with Eiffel Tower sparkling off in the distance. As we were walking down to the tip of the Ile de la Cite discussing the literature of Victor Hugo with Notre Dame at our backs, several boats started to pass us on either side. They were the really posh dinner boats that float the Seine at night, resplendent in the all the French romanticism that the people of the West have grown up believing in. Yet, as our eyes followed to the end of island, I saw my first bare French ass. It was being slapped on either side by two other young drunk French guys. They were laughing hysterically as they displayed their asses for everybody on the dinner cruises to see. Totally distracted by this rare sight, approaching us without our notice was another young drunk French person, but a girl this time. She stumbled towards and held our camera for us to take a picture of her and all her friends. I was happy to oblige. Afterwards, she danced and stumbled around us holding the beer in high in the air toasting the moon and a good night in Paris, all without spilling a drop. I would say that this totally ruined the moment, but for us it didn't. It absolutely made the moment. The night had its sentimental qualities but none of the four of us were interested in each other romantically. We were just four young Americans looking to have some fun in Paris. We had just encountered our young French counterparts. Ours was not going to be the same drunken fun, but it made the moment for all of us to be there in one of the most romantic spots in all the world laughing and having a good time, not worrying about anything.
This was the first night of a good week. Mostly, we visited all the tourist sites. He stayed in Massy the days that I worked and did work that he had to do. It is quite a different experience to share all of my daily moments with a friend. It was the same when my family was here, but it had been months since I had been able to share my thoughts and jokes that with someone. I usually just internalize all that and leave a few up on this blog. That is also why I haven't written in a while, because JD has been here. Also, sometimes I am kind of lazy. The hardest part of his visit was the train ride back to the airport. He was talking about his brother waiting for him at the airport when he returned. I was taking the train back to a McDonald's looking forward to the open arms of the girl behind the counter as I order my crap coffee so I could use the free WiFi. My dad and brother should becoming at the end of the month. I am really just short of two months until I too will be returning to the open arms of my home.

It all ends up on the internet

More people then I ever thought are reading this blog. When I first started writing this blog, my dad suggested that I do it in order to remember the stories and memories I had as I lived in France. I looked at it as my internet memory. So, for a while, I was just posting assuming maybe a few friends and my parents would be reading. But, more than anything, it would be something that I would be able to refer back to in 10 or 20 years and say, "oh yeah I forgot I did that." Over time, as my became more familiar with life here and wasn't traveling very much, I started to write about feelings, emotions and thoughts I was having at the time. I do tend to spend a good deal of time in my head, so I guess it was a natural progression to go from stories of events to fleshing out of thoughts in words. In so doing, my blog became more personal. I began to reveal more personal things, my thoughts and emotions. Almost simultaneously, I started getting more readers. My dad said he had been sharing the link with some of his friends, a few of my high school teachers got the address, and then I made the big move of putting my posts up on Facebook. I didn't realize the magnitude of the effect of Facebook, but suddenly I started having a lot more readers and from different sources then before. Of course, I am sure that the readers from this new source, if they are reading it, know what I am talking about. For those of you who are reading this and don't know, other teachers at my lycee started to read the blog as well. Suddenly, I was almost frightened by the personal nature of what I had begun to reveal in my blog and how many people had access to it, and when I had originally written those blogs, I didn't think certain people would ever find it. I didn't write anything to incriminating, but Alixe and I did have a good laugh because I referred to Myriam as "attractive and maybe 24 or 25." (Alixe and Myriam are two teachers I work with).
I was just reflecting though on how strange it is to have people reading things that you have written and then discussing it with him. On a superficial level, it is quite flattering. And, to continue revealing more personal emotions, it also makes me a bit insecure. I tend to be a fairly critical person, and most often, I am critical of myself. As soon as I realized how many people had access to my writing and my thoughts, all I could think of was how well I had written the story, or did I communicate my point effectively, how bad was my French grammar on the few occasions I used, etc. I am most certainly to blame for people reading it because I did post it on Facebook and the internet, but the insecure side of me always thought, "well sure, you could put it on Facebook, you could put it on the front page of the New York Times, but people still won't really read it."
In the end though, I am quite proud that my blog is gaining a wider audience. Not because I feel I have anything particularly brilliant or insightful to relate, but it does give me a different medium for communication and one that I can reflect on longer before I put it out into the world. I am also thankful that it only picked up a wider audience much further down the road. I had time to work on my writing some, get used to the format and regularity of writing before a broader audience could read it. Those who started reading later could see a progression (hopefully, if nothing else just by pure practice) of my writing and ability to express myself. And, I always appreciate the comments because I do like to know who is reading this and I don't care if you feel like a stalker because I didn't personally tell you about the blog, I wouldn't have put it on my facebook if I didn't want people to read it and respond to it!

To all my high school teachers...

I don't know if Mr. Graham or any of my other high school teachers still read this (I know Mr. Graham did, but I realize its hard to keep up), but I thought a lot about my time in high school today. In particular, I had to think like a teacher. And, put myself in my teacher's shoes (to use a cliched expression). Which, also happened to be part of the focus of the lecture I gave this morning.
But, to back up for a minute, I just changed classes this week. I am teaching with all teachers I know now, which is good and bad. Its good because I am familiar and it is easier to work with people you know. But, they also know that I am not afraid of talking about more intellectual things. So, my friend Alixe asked me to read a book that she was teaching to her english literature class and then help her lecture on it. Well, at first it sounded like fun because I wouldn't have to talk about robots and lie detectors and have simple conversations about technological things that I couldn't care less about. After I read the book a couple of weeks ago, I didn't realize how much work it was to prepare lectures for a class about literature. As most of you know, I was a philosophy major with almost a double major in psychology. This kind of makes accessing literature a little more difficult. So, I had to harken back to the days of old when I had English classes with the likes of Mr. Graham and Dr. Holley. I wanted to do the class more like we did with Mr. Graham and just go through the text sort of line by line and talk about the importance and certain literary techniques. But, Alixe wanted me to lecture on a theme or topic, so I chose the differing perspectives and their import in post-colonial, post-modern literature. The book we read was Wide Sargasso Sea. I haven't read Jane Eyre and I hadn't studied either. Thus, I was a little behind as far as my ability to really dig into the text, but I wasn't going to let that stop me. I did all the preparation I could last night (I thought I was going to listen to the first lecture this week and start next week until yesterday). I prepared for several hours. I had made pages of notes and page references. I had big introduction, lots of questions, two long expositions of the two main characters and then a big quote for the end that would tie up the loose ends and allow me to pontificate on my distaste (or let's be honest) down right hatred for the use of the term post-modern and even more what it often represents. I was scared, but ready.
Alixe gave me my introduction to the class, and we jumped right in. No one exactly slept through my class, but pretty close. These are students who speak French natively but understand English well and speak it pretty well. Yet, there barely responded to anything I said. I explained the devastation of being rejected by your mother in your most vulnerable point, replete with body movements and flowerly language and the like but I got no response. When I asked them how they would feel, the only thing I got was "sad," not even a complete sentence!
This was when I realized that I never completely understood the work that goes into teaching a class. Its hard for a teenager to escape there egocentrism, especially for someone as egocentric as I was in high school. I never really realized how hard it is to be a teacher and pour out your soul in front of them and get no reaction. I had a much greater respect for what my teachers had done in high school. I think it is particularly hard for high school teachers because the students have to be in the classroom. In college, it is difficult sure, but there it is more voluntary then high school. The good thing now though, as a teacher, is I know exactly what it is like to be a student. I don't want to be too hard on them because it is difficult in a foreign language at 8 in the morning on a Thursday to be really excited about difficult literature like Wide Sargasso Sea. But, like I taught my students today, I have a much better understanding of what teachers have to go through.
The strange thing was, I love every minute of it. By choice, I stayed and taught the second hour as well. I didn't get through but much more than a quarter of what I wanted to, but I loved it. The few times that they did respond and understand were all the more meaningful. I don't know if they will remember all that much about Wide Sargasso Sea, but hopefully, like me, they will someday appreciate even more how important our teachers are. And, for Mr. Graham, if you make it this far, A River Runs Through It is still one of my favorite books. I have it here with me in France actually. I still remember you teaching it in my Junior year and am still able to enjoy the beauty of the language that Maclean employs in that wonderful text.
I don't know if in my future I will be teaching literary texts, probably not, but I hope that I continue to get the opportunity to teach things that I am passionate about like theology, philosophy and good literature.

The last week or so...

I have begun to be a bit busier now that I am back in the full swing of school. I start with new classes tomorrow, so I am excited about that little change in my life. I will still only be teaching 12 hours a week, but starting tomorrow, those 12 hours will be concentrated in three straight days from Tuesday to Thursday. Life's tough.
I haven't made a post in a while, I guess because I didn't have a significant adventure to relate, or anything really that was on my mind that was all that profound (I don't want to assume that I what I usually say is profound, but usually I want to write after something has been on my mind for a while). Basically, neither of those things have happened.
Last Friday though, I went to my first Jazz show in Paris. Oh wait, no it was a "boogie woogie" show. I was invited by a somewhat older professor here at the Lycée to go to a Jazz show with her and a couple of her friends. She said it was a "be-bop" show and she knew that I liked jazz so she really hoped I would come along with her. Not having anything else to do on this particular Friday night, I thought what the hell, I can hang out with a couple 55 year old French teachers for a night, as long as I am in for some good Jazz music. Well, as we arrive at the concert hall, the other teacher tells me, she forgot that it is not going to be a jazz show but a "boogie woogie" show. Well, I am here now, so I have to go. I walk in the double doors to this concert hall in the suburbs of Paris, and there before me, is every person in the 91 department (that is my collection of suburbs) who is over the age of 50. I was the youngest person in the concert hall by 25 years. Well, I felt a little awkward but I thought I cant change my circumstances now, and I cant leave because she brought me here by car. The music wasn't all that bad, but I did feel quite awkward in the midst of all these people who were just a wee bit older than I was. I imagine had it been a jazz show, it would have been the same demographic, but still, at least I like jazz music.
Which, actually, brings me to another interesting story from the other day in class. I was super excited because I had prepared this lesson on Billie Holiday and her performance of the poem put to music called "Strange Fruit." It was a whole lesson on the importance of music, and the possibility of change in goodness in people's hearts even in the worst of circumstance. It had to do with America's ability to try and resolve issues between peoples of different backgrounds and ethnicities, and working towards a common goal of freedom for everyone. I was super excited and I explained the context of the song. I handed out lyrics to every kid in the class, oh and this is a "terminalé" class which means they are like 16 or 17. I play the song for them, and I ask, "what do you think? did it move you? can you see how the powerful lyrics and the emotion of the singers voice was able to cause people to reflect on how poorly they had treated each other based on meaningless criteria like race and the color of their skin?" Then one kid looked up and said, "Is this a man or a woman?" and then the next kid, "do you know Michael Jackson?" "What about 50cent?" "What about the game?" And, I quickly realized that the lesson I had created was probably only meaningful to me and a small select group of people and not 16 to 17 year old French kids.

Sunset

Yesterday, for the first time in a long time, the sun came out in Paris. Wintertime in Paris can be quite drab. The weather is just cold enough not to snow, but cold enough to be uncomfortable. It rains nearly everyday. I think I said this in another post, but it has been a strange experience to be in a foreign place long enough to watch the seasons change. It is an aspect of being in a foreign country I have never been able to experience. There are many things that I am experiencing for the first time in a foreign country, but one I have enjoyed is watching the seasons change. I also have a fair amount of time on my hands, so I can sit and take notice of what is happening around me. I came at the end of summer. It was mild, breezy and sunny often. As summer turned into fall, the leaves became hues of orange, red and yellow resplendent with beauty. It became colder. Maybe the perfect cold weather. Cold enough to wear a scarf and a nice jacket. The sun shone some but not as often as the summer. And, it started to rain a little bit more. Right now, it is winter. The sun doesn't rise here until 8:30 or 9:00. I rarely watched the sunrise when I lived in the states. Only while backpacking was I ever up early enough to actually see the sun rise. Here, I am up early enough to watch it rise often. Yet, it never rises brilliantly. The sky is to mulled for the the colors of the sunrise to actually shine through. By 5:30 or 6, the sun is already going down. Again, this going down is just simply the change from light gray to black.
Yesterday evening, the sun set. And, it was soothing. The day began as usual. The black changed to gray in the morning. But, by noon, the sun came out. You could individuate the white clouds from the deep blue. The sun actually warmed me as I read in the park in front of the Musee de Moyen Age. I left Paris at about 5 o clock in the evening. The RER B from Paris to Massy is above ground after you leave the Paris city limits. As the train emerged from the covered station of Cite Universitaire, I got a glimpse of the blue changing to orange in the Western sky of the Ile-de-France. I watched out of the window of my car with anticipation. As we passed by building after building, occasionally I would get another glimpse. This time it looked pink. We arrived at Gentilly, another covered station. I watched out the window eagerly because I knew once we emerged, there wouldn't be any other covered stations, just an open view of the sun setting without being masked by the gray of the clouds.
Watching the sunset in Paris, I felt a continuity of experience that has been uncommon since I have been here. It is rare to find things living in a foreign country that strongly connect you to your past life in another country. However, this experience is not unique to moving countries. It happened with me when I moved to Oklahoma. It happened when I moved to Yellowstone. It happened when I lived in Colorado. Those places are more like my home in St. Louis, but not being in St. Louis, I still felt somewhat alien. Watching the sunset is something I loved to do even in St. Louis. Usually, it was nothing more than taking notice of the sun setting as I drove on Highway 40 over highway 141, or the good view of Chesterfield Valley as you exit highway 40 and wait to turn left on the Parkway. When I watch the sunset anywhere in the world, it is something that reminds of home. However, each time I watch it in a different place, it is also unique. Watching the sunset over the southern suburbs of Paris is different than watching the sunset over the Lower Geyser Basin in Yellowstone. Both of these are different than watching the sunset over the West County Suburbs of St. Louis, but there is something of a continuity. Being able to watch the sunset yesterday evening was a tremendous comfort. For that train ride home, I didn't feel quite as far away from home. Even if it was just for a short train ride home.

Le Region Rhone-Alps

So, after my last post, you might think that I did not end up going to the French Alps to go skiing. My first attempt was a failure, but I did end up going. My first attempt was a failure because I woke up a half hour late, so I was running late trying to catch my train in Paris. I got half way to Paris and realized I had forgotten two essential documents that I needed to get on the train. I quickly went back to Massy and got the documents, but just to be sure, I checked to see where my reservations were. It was a good thing I did because for some reason I had overlooked exactly where my hotel was in Chamonix and realized that I was staying in a place only accesible by car. By this point, I had missed my train and decided I wasn't going to go. Later that evening, after conferring with my father, I decided to call and cancel my hotel and try and find another one. This time, I called the place I wanted to stay and asked them how I could get there without a car. I ended up finding a place half as much and walking distance from at least one mountain resort.
After all that, my trip has been very good. My hotel was nice and cheap. Snowboarding in the Alps is quite different from the States but a lot of fun. The focus here is on what they call "off-piste." This is sort of like backcountry skiing in the States or doing tree runs in the States. They have four different colored levels but there is hardly much difference. And, there aren't that many of them. Most of the runs are very large and open. It would be quite difficult to learn here, but a lot of fun for advanced riders. The mountain got more icy during the several days that I was here. They haven't had snow in a while and that is making the conditions a little less than optimal. It was also overcast most of the time and I didn't get a lot of pictures. I will put up what pictures I did take later.
I snowboarded by myself for the first and last day. For the second day, I got to snowboard with a couple from Israel. Actually, I snowboarded mostly with the husband and the wife did her own thing. He basically showed me around one mountain that he had ridden for several days. He showed me all of the off piste runs and areas he liked. It was cool because I was a little hesitant to go off piste by myself. He was a pretty good snowboarder and I just let him lead for a day so I didn't have to make any decisions.
After my first day, I felt like I was suddenly much older than I remembered. I am always tired after I snowboard, but I have never ached as much as I did after my first day of snowboarding while I was here. That is probably because I haven't snowboarded in a couple of years and I am really out of shape. But, it was just a weird feeling to be in that much pain after just one day of snowboarding.
This trip was good for me because if I had stayed in Paris, I am sure I would have just been extremely lonely and missing my family who had just left after Christmas. I had one difficult night here, as traveling alone and living alone has slowly but surely been taking its toll on me. I have never been one to make lots of friends, but I have always depended on those I have greatly. It is difficult being here in a foreign country without anyone to lean on that can be here with me physically. I have my phone and the internet but that doesn't take the place of having someone you love right there with you.
I ended up on a sadder note, but all in all, it was a wonderful trip. Chamonix-Mont Blanc is situated right on the corner of France, Switzerland and Italy. The Alps resemble the Rockies more than the Appalachain Mts., but seem to rise quicker and have more jagged peaks. At least, the ski areas in the Rockies versus the skiing areas of the Alps. That's all for now.

Joyeux Noel et Bonne Année

Well it has been quite sometime since I have written on this blog.
I have probably lost most of my readers. I probably will still have to remind even my parents that I still have a blog. Which actually brings me to what I was thinking about that prompted me to write.
My whole family came in town for Christmas. My sister came a week before the rest on the 17th. It was so good to have her with me. I hadn't seen her in months. We decided to take a trip to Belgium because neither of us had ever been before. I booked a hotel in Brussels (at least what I thought was Brussels) and we left from Paris Gare du Nord. It is only a little over an hour and half to Brussels from Paris on the bullet train. When we arrived, we got in a cab and asked the driver to take us to the Ibis I had booked online. 60 euros later we arrived in Leuven about 20 kilometers outside of Brussels. Little did I know while booking the reservation that the Ibis website directed me here because all the hotels in Brussels were booked. Had I paid a little more attention I would have realized that. Regardless, we were in Belgium. The next day we took a 4 euro train ride back to Brussels. We celebrated that night in Leuven my acceptance into Princeton Seminary. It was a nice trip and I was quite excited about my acceptance.
Jamie and I returned to Paris after a couple of days in Belgium and waited the arrival of the rest of the family. Our entourage as a family is growing. My sister's boyfriend came and my brother's girlfriend also came. Its about time I find a girl to take to family events.
We stayed in a nice 4 room apartment in Paris. It was tight, for 7, but it was nice to be in close quarters with my family for the first time in months. It was just nice, it was an oasis. I have learned so much living the solitary life that I do here. Being in all of there presence was so much sweeter for the time we spent apart. There departure was almost as bitter as the sweetness of their stay. This isn't to say that everything went smoothly, but for a Kim trip I would say it went really smoothly.
As I grow older, I want to be with my family so much more, especially after having lived in a foreign country for several months. It has been a tough couple of days since they have been gone. That is all it has been too. Just two days since they have left but its been difficult. I tried to go to the south of France to snowboard today, but my first attempt proved futile. I am trying again tomorrow.
I feel so much more comfortable when I am with my family traveling. I can rely on my mom and dad to make decisions. Or, at the very least, I just have to give my opinion. I don't make the final decisions. Living alone, you make all the decisions. Good bad or otherwise, you are the final authority. There is no consultation. You have to make the decision and encourage yourself that you made the right decision. At least, as of yet, I don't have to worry about anyone else. I am learning to do it by myself without having to worry about how it will effect others. It just effects me. Thoughts of having my own family come and go. Sometimes, I am certain that I don't want kids or a family. I like my life by myself. But, when it comes down to it, I hope someday, I will be making decisions with my wife and we will both bear the responsibility of how it effects our children. I am learning to do it on my own. In time, once I have learned to do it on my own, I will be more confident in leading a family because I have made the mistakes already and will know either how to respond to those mistakes or just not make them in the first place. Maybe that is not what God has in store for me, but I have faith that either way, God knows what He is doing. The best I can do is respond and live the life that is under me.