L'Etranger de St. Louis

First Impressions

2010-06-08T09:10:00.000-07:00

So, I don't know who will be reading this, but I figured I would just continue the blog that I began while I was in France. This time, I will not be living in a foreign country but traveling for about a month or so. The plan is to go from Israel to Jordan to Egypt to Palestine to South Africa. Only a short while in Jordan and Egypt. I will let you know who things go.

Today was spent going from Newark to Tel Aviv via airplane and then Tel Aviv to Jerusalem via bus.
It was a strange sensation for me as I sat down in my seat on my first flight to the Middle East. I sat down and looked at a screen that showed my route from Newark to Tel Aviv. As we came closer, the map of Israel got larger and larger. It was a map that I have been familiar with since I was required to learn the locations of the Sea of Galilee, Jordan, the Dead Sea and Jerusalem at the age of about 10. I was both excited and nervous to enter this land that I had studied for all of my life, but had never really wondered much what it would be like to go. I always wanted to live in Europe, in Paris like my buddy Dan. But, having done that adventure, I am glad that my time has come to explore this region.
I am entering the land where Abraham was told by God to go to with Sarah, this Promised Canaan land. I am entering the land that was taken by the descendants of these pilgrims and then taken again from them over and over again. Ruled at various times by Babylonians, Greeks, Romans, Byzantines, Ottomans, Brits and now Jews once again. This land still bears the evidence of this continual struggle for control. On the bus from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem, Liz leaned over and pointed out to me “the Wall.” A large concrete wall that looks like something that lines highway 40 in St. Louis, except this one has barbed wire on top and in various places is patrolled by an Air Control Tower looking structure. We went through checkpoints with signs clearly marked in Hebrew, Arabic and English, “Israeli citizens and permit holders only.” I have yet to enter the old city, but I am anxiously awaiting that entrance.

2008-05-07T21:13:00.000-07:00

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!

2008-04-10T13:15:00.000-07:00

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?!

2008-04-06T12:21:00.000-07:00

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

2008-03-27T07:39:00.000-07:00

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

2008-03-27T07:38:00.000-07:00

(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

2008-03-05T05:01:00.000-08:00

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

2008-02-24T06:23:00.000-08:00

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

2008-02-04T08:34:00.000-08:00

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...

2008-01-24T01:27:00.000-08:00

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...

2008-01-21T11:04:00.000-08:00

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

2008-01-10T04:56:00.000-08:00

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

2008-01-05T06:18:00.000-08:00

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

2008-01-02T10:41:00.000-08:00

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.

2007-12-16T11:55:00.001-08:00

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

2007-12-12T08:50:00.000-08:00

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

2007-12-11T13:57:00.000-08:00

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

2007-12-07T04:39:00.001-08:00

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

2007-12-03T11:10:00.000-08:00

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.

2007-11-26T07:52:00.000-08:00

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.

2007-11-25T12:17:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-25T11:41:00.000-08:00

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!

2007-11-25T09:01:00.000-08:00

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?

2007-11-19T03:06:00.000-08:00

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!

2007-11-18T11:15:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-15T05:53:00.001-08:00

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

2007-11-03T05:23:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-27T09:18:00.000-07:00

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?

2007-10-26T07:20:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-26T07:19:00.000-07:00

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!

2007-10-19T07:14:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-15T09:37:00.000-07:00

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!

2007-10-14T06:55:00.000-07:00

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!

2007-10-10T08:47:00.001-07:00

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!

2007-10-10T08:46:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-05T01:16:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-01T07:19:00.001-07:00

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

2007-10-01T07:18:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-28T06:11:00.002-07:00

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

2007-09-28T06:11:00.001-07:00

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

2007-09-28T06:09:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-28T06:08:00.001-07:00

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.