J'ai de Français dans ma tete!

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

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

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

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

Scotland

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

Trains and stuff

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


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

Multumesc

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

Vacation

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

It all ends up on the internet

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