In love with Adaptation

Bonfire Night

2009-11-08T23:21:00.002Z

Bonfires and fireworks

To celebrate Guy Fawkes Day

The fireworks had an 'alien invasion' theme

They played Duel of the Fates and the Transformers song

It was riveting

My feet froze

Until Next Time, Remember, remember, the 5th of November

La vie en rose, revisited

2009-10-03T23:23:00.000+01:00

Behind Notre Dame

Place des Halles

In the hand of a giant

Paris, from above

Inside the pyramid of the Louvre

The shadow people

Musee d'Orsay

Happy

Until Next Time, J'ai deux amours.

"Here on these cliffs of Dover, so high you can't see over..."

2009-09-15T14:56:00.000+01:00

Dover Castle, as seen from Dover

Dover Castle

Dover, as seen from the cliffs

The White Cliffs

We stood on them! They did not crumble!

We climbed them! They were steep!

We made it all the way down to the black rock beach.

It was far. The water was cold.

But they were encouraging.

Until Next Time,

"And while the seagulls are crying

We fall but our souls are flying

And oh, my love, my love,

We both go down together."

"First we see, then we do."

2007-04-08T20:20:00.000+01:00

Disclaimer: This is a long entry. Something on my blog is malfunctioning, it flushes all the text Bold even though I've closed all the tags... Anyway, I apologize. I appreciate your reading as much as you can muster.

This is Cambodia. Hello, from Cambodia.

I've been staying in Phnom Pehn with my friend Lynn. We met during Segment 1 of my travels in Vietnam with Thich Nhat Hanh. She and her husband have been living in Cambodia for almost 3 years now. They have a beautiful tiled apartment, set back from a quiet street, a big sitting room with lots of windows, surrounded by trees and birds that sing in the morning. It's really an amazing place to be.

Lynn and I!

They moved here after all 3 of their children had graduated from college, intending to use the new freedom as an opportunity to help those in need. Currently, Tom is helping to orchestrate a team of Cambodia physicians in the AIDS/HIV arena. Lynn spends her time volunteering -- teaching english at two prisons just outside of PP, caring for severely disabled children at a government orphanage, and aiding a French-Catholic NGO which distributes information on safe-sex, healthy relationships, and HIV prevention to young Cambodians.

Something, huh?

My original idea in coming here was to follow Lynn's husband day and night for a week or two, just to get a feel for the life of an AIDS doctor in the developing world. I mean, here he is, doing the work I've been dreaming of (carelessly) for years. The opportunity seemed to good to be true.

And you know, it probably was. Real life is a million times better.

As it happened. the dates of my travel to Cambodia and time in Phnom Pehn almost perfectly coincided with Tom's departure for the good ole' US of A. He's still there, and I am here. I haven't been in touch with his world at all. I have, however, had one of the most amazing weeks of my life.

Being humanitarian and wonderful, Lynn happened to have a number of contacts lying around in the AIDS/HIV treatment world of Cambodia. One in particular jumped to mind when I mentioned my particular interest in AIDS orphans and infected children. She made a quick call, and set up a meeting with her eccentric, Catholic friend John for the next afternoon. John has founded an NGO in Phnom Pehn which has, in a matter of three or four years, single-handly blown open the door on care for HIV+ children in Cambodia. There were absolutely no resources for them before he came along. His organization, New Hope for Cambodian Children, now cares for more than 500 children in the southern regions of Cambodia. He is just in the process of building a village outside of town which will house more than 200 orphans, a village where they can not only receive treatment for their condition, but also learn vocational skills, live in a familial environment, go to school, laugh and play together. The designs are just amazing. And the first set of houses are complete! Children are moving in next week! It's just in time. Each of his 4 group homes in PP city are completely overcrowded.

The thing is, though. The thing is. His organization is different. It's different than the schools and orphanages I saw in Vietnam, different than the other places Lynn brought me to here in Phnom Pehn. The children he's caring for have a terminal illness. They are completely abhorred by society at large. Most were abandoned, even abused, by the families that bore them. Terribly tragic truths. But, in the centers we visited (one for infants and toddlers, one for elementary-aged youths) there was real joy. There was love and happiness and excitement. They call him Papa John, and when he comes to call, the cheer and run and shout and joke. These children are the happiest children I've seen in Cambodia. They have the most beautiful faces. I fell in love.

The kids, playing with Papa John

They kept calling him chubby (in Khmer)
He'd say Noooo, skinny!
While puffing out his belly
His organization is different, because it is based on true love and a deep desire to stop the suffering of others. It understands that suffering comes from isolation, neglect, and rejection. It understands the basic emotional and spiritual needs of humanity. John and his wife saw a need, and they filled it. They worked hard, they wouldn't take no for an answer, and they loved everyone, every step of the way. "I haven't turned away a kid yet," John says. "Not even the girl ones."

I could go on about NHCC for just about my whole life, but I won't. I want to come back next summer to be a live-in volunteer at the blossoming village. I'm also learning how to fund-raise, so that I can do so at Columbia during the year, for his organization and others. Gotta get the resources, man. Gotta get the resources.

Sokai and Lynn

The dancing fiend! He's ten years old.
Lynn and I also went to the orphanage and spent time with ten severely disabled Cambodian children. I was worried that the experience would be too difficult or too consuming, as people at home had warned, but it was simply wonderful. Though the children's bodies were under-developed, they smiled and loved and received love in just the same way as all the other children I've had in my life. They were in a clean, simple space, with toys and books. They lay together on a mat and absorbed our presence with such alert energy! One boy gave the most jubilant smiles whenever one of us would muster a goofy dance to the screechy radio muzak. Another radiated silent joy for simple peek-a-boo games. Pure and light and living, as much as possible. They squirmed when they diapers were wet, they fought against naptime, they exuded innocence and love. I feel so blessed to have met them. They gave me such a gift.

The slum, home to Aziza Schoolhouse

There's another American here, Drew, who came a little over a year ago as a tourist, saw and experienced the poverty and the need, went home, and came straight back. He infiltrated a really impoverished slum area just a block from Lynn's apartment, and started a free school for the children who live there. He just burst in, threw some things together, and opened up shop. He offers scholarships for medical and dental care to each of the kids, passes out toothbrushes and new sandals, pays Cambodian teachers and wrangles the odd volunteer, like Lynn, to provide guest lessons on English, visual art, karate, or leadership. It's a beautiful thing he has, but his mind is all over the place! His funding comes primarily from his friends, only $1000/month for the whole school which serves something like 90 children, 8 hours/day, 6 days/week. On Friday afternoon, Lynn showed the kids how to fold their own simple books from a single sheet of paper (actually, she taught me, too. It's a really cool trick!) and gave each of them the tools to write their own "Little English Books." It was great! 30something kids, in varying states of dress, huddled over folded computer paper and colored pencils, biting their tongues while copying Latin script, letter by letter, curve by curve.

A dedicated student

Those are the service projects we've visited. She's described at least a dozen more. The need is so great here. Cambodia was so devastated by the wars and the genocide. The government is still hideously corrupt. The rural areas are without jobs, without aid, without anything.

This is really difficult. There's so much to talk about.

If you couldn't tell, I've sort of ingested Cambodia and turned it over and over within me. Combining centuries of culture, architechture, and leadership with the recent years of devastation and suffering, Phnom Pehn is truly unique. Because of it, I feel a new awareness, a new existence. With everything I've learned being here, as hot and as buggy as it is, all I can think is I can't wait to come back. I can't wait to go home, learn more, and come back. It's beautiful and sad and so many things, it's terrifying.

I can't wait to come back.

Maybe I'll re-organize my thoughts and edit this post a little more cohesively. I think it's a bit allovertheplace, but then again SO AM I. I'll blame it on the fact that it's very late and the day has been long. Visiting Tuol Sleng genocide museum, getting lost, watching Pan's Labyrinth, packing for the next leg of my voyage. Withstanding the heat. But I am envigorated by the challenge and the promise of what's to come. Of what there is to be done!

I invite any and all of you to join me. Fo reals. Everyone. Really.

Also, this has lead me to great curiosity. If you've read this far, my friends, or if you've skipped to this paragraph: what issues are important to you? What cause draws you in? Is there something really pressing you into action? I see us as a pretty mobile and socially-aware bunch, my generation. My peers. My friends. My human family. Is there some suffering in the world or in your backyard that you feel a personal drive to alleviate? If yes, what is it? If yes, how do you intend to do so? What skills do you rely on? What skills do you hope to gain?

Until Next Time, "In our time, the struggle between old and new will reach its crescendo. It's not over yet, and we carry scars of this struggle in our hearts. Questions raised by contemporary philosophers makes us feel lost and anxious. Confused minds suggest that existence is meaningless, even absurd, and this adds another coat of black to our darkened hearts. "Existence is foul. Humans are loathsome. No one can hope to be good. There is no way to beautify life." Even while adopting such mindsets, people cling to the illusion that we are free to be who we want. Yet most of the time we are merely reacting to the wounds engraved in our hearts. Almost no one listens to his or her true self. But when we are not ourselves, any freedom we think we have is illusory. Sometimes we reject freedom because we fear it. Our true selves are buried beneath layers of moss and brick. We have to break through those layers in order to be liberated, but we are afraid it may break us, also. We have to remind ourselves over and over again that the layers of moss and brick are not our true selves."
- Thich Nhat Hanh, Fragrant Palm Leaves: Journals 1962-1966

Brown birds on barbed wire, listen to them sing

2007-04-08T18:03:00.001+01:00

Assorted pictures from Phnom Pehn, Cambodia -- shared for the sake of sharing.

Phnom Pehn, adorned and abandoned

Brown bird on barbed wire

Tuol Sleng genocide museum
Bocce Ball

Tuol Sleng genocide museum
Statues, Wat Ounalom

Sex, monkey?

On a wire!
Fat, monkey?

Snuggle, monkey?

Until Next Time, silly monkey.

Craters in the earth

2007-04-04T17:24:00.000+01:00

I'm in Cambodia! Arrived safe and happy without dangerous gangsta action or harrowing traffic close-calls. My AC Bus left Saigon at 9am with 6 people on it, one of whom was a 20-something Canadian woman just finishing up a few months of solo travel, so there were nice chats. Of course, I slept on and off -- buses make me tired! -- and so maybe missed the best of the countryside, but such is life. I nevertheless have a profound respect and awe for the Cambodian countryside, just based on the few glimpses I had.

Monument to honor nothern Vietnamese women and children

Seen from across the Ben Hai river, dividing line between N and S VN
I've been heavily pre-occupied by the events of the war over the past few days. The literature I had finished, the countryside, a tour of the heavy-fighting and mining areas, interaction with American Vet sentiments and Communist framing of the war. The DMZ tour was a 12-hour day in a non-AC Bus; we drove for hours with the front door open, past stilt houses and old military bases. Light clay roads and resurgant vegetation. Good lord, it was hot. So hot. Damn hot. I don't mean to be crude, but I've never sweat so much in my life. Ever. More sweat than skin. And the monuments, the museums, the war relics and battlefields. It was a hazy, dehydtrated, sun-spotted excursion, to say the very least. And the peace of these places. They're so calm now. You're told about the brutality and the combat. But what's left is heat and dust and profoundly-worded monuments. There was a 'guestbook' at one of the museums on Khe Sanh Marine Base, a pretty gruesome place if I understand correctly. And the guestbook was full of diverse remarks, in language and subject matter and feeling. But a number of American soldiers wrote things like "I can't believe I'm back. This is not the place I remember," or "This was a Hell, and now it's a museum. Thank you." It was so shocking and so simple. I have never lived in war. I have never experienced that terror, and I probably never will. Reading books, hearing stories, seeing pictures and feeling sorry, I will never know war. I will never know what war does to people, I will never touch their experiences. I empathize, I conceptualize, I feel. I work towards an understanding of my freedom as the freedom of others. I work to see more deeply, to really comprehend. But I do not know war. These reminders are not war. They are reminders of war.

I do not think that is enough.

The mountains of the DMZ

We went into the tunnels at Vinh Moc. Entire villages lived underground for five years. Sleeping, peeing, praying, giving birth. Seventeen babies were born in the Vinh Moc tunnels. They are all alive today. Our tour group, of which my friend Kate and I were the only Americans, went 60 feet underground in these tunnels. The system as a whole is hundreds of kilometers long, three different depths, spanning the whole DMZ, linked by trenches. Pictures of the land at that time are terribly beautiful -- the Earth was so full of craters, it looked like the surface of the moon. The dirt came off the walls on our hands and shoulders, bent over and shuffling in the brown darkness. They had oil lamps, they had bandages. They had guns. And not much else.

Scratched graffiti on a tunnel wall

We visited Peace Trees the next day, an organization which de-mines and plants trees all throughout Quang Tri province, which is home to the DMZ and the most brutal battles and traps of the war. The visit was like candy, it was so sweet. Tragic, yes, as the mines that were left behind ended up claiming almost exclusively the lives and limbs of local children. But Quang Le, a beautiful man with a powerful story, has been working there for almost 12 years now, after decades of work in the US and at refugee camps in Thailand. He got out just after the war, but his wife and children were held by the Communist regime for years after. He says he did his work just to "keep his mind busy." Now, he's instrumental to the cause of "reversing the legacy of war." Building schools, educating de-miners, and children who live in mined areas. Giving scholarships, planting trees. He was a true boddhisatva, he really took care of my friends and I when we visited.

Peace Trees!

This land was barren just 11 years ago
Thank you, for being here. More on Cambodia tomorrow or the day after. And my impromtu Vietnamese homestay last night! It's a brand new world, and there's so much to learn.

Until Next Time, "Medical statistics will be our standard of measurement: we will weigh life for life and see where the dead lie thicker, among the workers or among the privileged."
- Rudolf Virchow, 1848

Pictures from a day in rural, central Vietnam

2007-03-31T05:40:00.000+01:00

Visiting local schools, supported by Plum Village.
Looking in

Heavily bombed area, next to the "Highway of Great Danger"

Vietnamese landscape (yes, rice paddies) -- Green!

Monk on a colorful swing

Thich Nhat Hanh's father

from his ancestral temple, outside of Hue
Today is my last day with the delegation. I hardly know what to say.

Touring the DMZ tomorrow, Peace Trees on Monday, back to Saigon on Tuesday, Phnom Penh (Cambodia) on Wednesday.

Until Next Time: Hello, Deepening Roots of the Heart.

For peace, please

2007-03-26T10:40:00.001+01:00

I'm in Hue! The ancient capitol of Vietnam, Hue is HUMID. The air is saturated, I'm sweating all the time. I've never lived in a climate like this. Of course, the pollution is so much less than in Saigon, I'm not close to complaining about a little wet heat, but WOW. The middle of the jungle baby.

Jungle and tombs under rain, Tu Hieu Temple

Hue is the closest city to the DMZ (De-militarized Zone), which remains the most heavily bombed piece of earth on this planet. I've been told that more bombs were dropped over Hue than in all of WWII, but that that with a grain of salt. I have not verified its validity myself.

Currently, I'm in the middle of reading 3 books -- Thich Nhat Hanh's Old Path White Cloud, an epic and simple re-telling of the Buddha's lifetime (they're making it into a movie!); Sr. Chan Khong's Learning True Love: How I learned and Practiced Social Change in Vietnam, a beautiful and tragic account of the events of the war anf of Thay's life during that period; and Tim O'Brien's The Things They Carried, for the second time. With regard to the last two, and a visit to the War Remnant's Museum (or, A Showcase of the Atrocities Laid Upon the Vietnamese People by US Imerialists), I am slowly formulating a sense for the real devestation of this war, and all wars. It's horrific, this kind of violence, and the inhumanity it instills. I can't believe the destruction. I never understood. Agent Orange is still wrecking havoc on this nation, babies are being born still today with terrible deformities due to exposure. Many of its older victims are begging here on the streets of Hue and in the temples where we go to practice. I won't describe them, but I'm completely humbled before it. The suffering here is enormous and all-encompassing and continual.

The response that keeps re-surfacing is Thank god for Thich Nhat Hanh. A leader, a visionary. He has it, you know? He's fighting the beauocracy, he's fighting with peace and love and compassion and understanding. Without resentment or cynacism or demand. He is fighting, and he will win. It may take many more generations, but his message is true. LOVE ALL BEINGS. PREVENT ALL POSSIBLE SUFFERING. ACT WITH COMPASSION. DO NOT KILL. DO NOT DISCRIMINATE. It's simple, it's true, it's the most basic sort of honest. I am grateful for him, the man, but I am most grateful for the message he is unafraid to spread. The communist officials here are breathing down his neck, they repressed him and killed his supporters for 30 years, but he's here and he won't stop fighting, with love and grace and dedication. It's amazing.

Tombs of old Masters at Tu Hieu temple

Hue is home to Tu Hieu, which is Thay's root temple. It's in the middle of the jungle, wet and crumbling and beautiful. He was here 64 years ago as a novice monk, he was 16 and he embarked on his path from this very place. I love it, I really do. He leads walking meditation and tea cermonies with unfettered joy here, you can see how much he loves being home. Still, the conservative sides of Buddhist tradition in Vietnam, the ones that abandoned Thich Nhat Hanh and his message when it became too radical and too dangerous to their hierarchy, they are very strong in this region. Everyone is feeling a little on edge about it, even thought this is Thay's true home. A nun friend told me that every one of the monastics is focusing their energy on slowly transforming their elders trough example and practice. Such a complex system for such a simple message.

Thay and his children, pure joy

I am in great spirits right now. I was having a lot of trouble feeling settled in Saigon -- the pollution, the stares, the anger -- but Hue is much clearer. My roommate and I were also at odds, but I actually found the power in myself in confront her about it and we talked and she really listened to my difficulties, and we were able to come to a real understanding. I'm sorry if I'm gushing about something very small, but this is a really incredible moment for me. I've never had such clear and open communication over anger and misunderstanding. I'm actually growing. And I feel lighter, I feel more capable. I feel love.

Monk feeding dogs

Also, there's a french boy, Unai, here with his parents, and he made friends with a Vietnamese orphan at Tu Hieu. They've been spending all their time together even though they don't even come close to speaking the same language, and it's really wonderful to see. Taking turns on the french boy's gameboy. Whacking a basketball back and forth with huge sticks of bamboo. Playing with stray dogs. Like a corny movie, I can't help but Awwwwww all over the place.

Unai and his friend

And otherwise, I'm still enjoying fruit, long walks through the city, cheap-everything, and the prospect of travel to come. I'll be done with this part of my trip (following Thich Nhat Hanh, that is) by the end of the week, and heading to Thailand, Singapore, and Cambodia not long after. Friends and friends of friends to visit, volunteer work, back-packing, sight-seeing! Ah, my happiness is abound. I'm free.

Mosaic dragon

I love you all, hope you and yours are absolutely terrifically happy.

Until Next Time, "Those eight days (the Tet offensive) were a turning experience for me. Seeing so much death and despair, I learned that we must resist war at any price. Once a war gets started, it has a momentum and intensity that are very hard to stop."
- Sr. Chan Khong, Learning True Love (READ THIS BOOK!)

Return to Saigon: the great requiem ceremonies

2007-03-19T09:08:00.000Z

This photo was taken on the down low...

Cigarette-smoking monk

So I'm back in Saigon! We returned on the 14th, had the 15th for rest (and some crazy Asian ass-kicking massage!), and jumped straight into the Great Requiem Ceremonies on the 16th. A few of my friends from Segment 1 left on the 15th, I've been very sad to see them go. It's been like starting all over again. But it's also quite the practice. Helping me to focus on my meditation and personal awareness.

Chanting and crowd

Anyway, the ceremonies! BIG, long, hot, intense. Some crazy Vietnamese chanting and prayer. Thay's dharma talks were really powerful, though. Really deeply delving into impermanence and transformation. The dead never leave us, they only change form, they are not manifested physically but they are still with us. It was a beautiful 3-day theme. I still have so much trouble swallowing my cynicism when it comes to those other-worldly theories, but I'm starting to see that they're really much less other-worldly than I originally thought.

Bridge to the Dead at nightfall

The ceremonies were meant to call the dead, the hungry ghosts who have not found peace since the war, to this place and allow them to find peace. We directed them with the lotus-light candles, and encouraged their re-birth in peaceful states through chanting and food offerings.

Candle-lotus vigil

We released these candles into the very fragrant Saigon River
7,000 candle-lit lotuses, floating
I was really worried the whole river would ignite.
(The pollution is palpable)
The most powerful thing was the sheer volume of Vietnamese people in attendance. Thousands of people, chanting and praying and grieving. I still have grasped the enormity of it.

Food offerings to the Buddha and a monastic procession

I don't have too much to say, I guess. Catch-up day, rested all morning, heading into town for shopping and dinner in a few minutes.

Saigon feels like...

This city is crazy.

Fo reals.

Until Next Time, "We know that hell exists everywhere in the world. We vow to practice in order to not create more hells."

Alms Round

2007-03-12T12:04:00.000Z

Right now I'm on a website called Jetstar. I'm finding too many SEAsian flights under US$50. It's too hard. How on earth is a person supposed to continue functionning when they can go EVERYWHERE for so CHEAPLY? How can a person concentrate? How can a person breathe? (Then again, "The airline does not guarantee that it will be able to carry you and your Baggage in accordance with the date and time of the flights specified. Schedules may change and flights may be delayed or cancelled for a range of reasons including but not limited to bad weather, air traffic control delays, strikes, technical disruptions, network changes and late inbound aircraft (refer to section 8.1 of the Conditions of Carriage for more information)." HAH! Accident waiting to happen. I'm in.)

The following is a bit that I wrote yesterday (March 11) but didn't get to post at that time.

Today was the Alms Round in Bao Loc. Anyone need back story? In the time of the Buddha, all monks and nuns had one meal per day, and it was food gathered by begging local villagers for donations. A few Buddhist traditions still operate this way. However, it is customary to have a celebratory Alms Round every so often, where the monks and nuns carry their bowls around town collecting food in great abundance, later giving most of it to poor and needy families in the area.

Line of nuns

The Alms round today, led by Thay in a black highlander (The Buddha-mobile), was just crazy! 2,000 monks and nuns, walking the streets in a line being mobbed by old women, children, and families with toothpaste, medicine, sweet treats, yoghurt, fruit, the traditional 'rice wrapped in a banana leaf with seasame salt.' It was so powerful and jubilant!

The throng of people, the monks inside

The Western lay delegation stood on the sidelines with the Vietnamese locals, we helped to collect the unbelievable excess of food from the monks and nuns who passed and stuff it in army sacks for later donations.

The crowd

We also played with small children and had our pictures taken by the locals. They love taking our picture. My friends Brant and Ray are both 6'4'' -- they're GIANTS here in Asia. People are always running up to them and measuring themselves. They wave their palms over their heads and match them up with the middle of Brant's forearm. It's pretty hilarious, how novel they become.

Big Brant, little baby.

Baby monks on parade, little tiny children giving donations in order to "collect merit." Fantastic.

Hello, baby monk.

At the end of the day, we met at Ao Quang temple to eat together, the monastics, the Western lay delegation, and a delegation of monks and nuns from Korea!! They're passing through to say "Hey" to Thay! He spoke to them in Korean! I'm sorry, the little Korean in me just died.

Thay!

-- End yesterday, re-commence real time --

We've had lots of free time at home/the hotel because of monastic-only events at the monastery. HOT, sleepy, lots of ice cream and fruit, chocolate, a wonderful book, card games, fortune telling, goofy stories. It's been really lovely, lots of time with people (relatively) close to my own age and happy to be here. However, most of them are leaving on Wednesday or Thursday. And then I start all over, making friends. It's really a downer.

But I have made friends! And we will find each other on the path, someday.

Anyway, it's dinner time, I gotta get a move on. Making travel plans! Info to come.

Until Next Time, smile.

This is it, real life

2007-03-07T01:00:00.000Z

Monks watching monks playing soccer!

The 5-day lay retreat was a wonderful gift. I hardly expected such intense practice! And so many people! Upwards of 7,000 Vietnamese retreatants from all around this area. You'd think it would be chaos, right? 7,000 people on a few green acres? How on earth could a couple hundred monks and nuns keep 7,000 people meditative and quiet for five days in 90 degree heat? Good questions, all. But it was incredible. These people are truly devoted. 3,000 people could cram into the meditation hall for Thay's dharma talks, and the rest would sprawl on the steps and the lawn outside. He was so inspiring, so down to earth. He brought the practice of mindfulness and compassion to a real world audience, to people who are very far from him and who need peace more than most. He was very direct. Of course, it was wonderful just to be there with them, experiencing his presence for the first time. We did a lot of communication work, loving speech and deep listening. It's amazing how simple happiness can be. It brought me much deeper in my own awareness, closer to something solid and ready. I don't know if that can be explained, but it's really extraordinary.

Eating Mangos!

Of course, there were other very good and very bad things about the retreat. To start, 7,000 people in close quarters pass colds like wildfire. I was moderately ill with local bacteria/intestinal issues, which are common and unpleasant for westerners arriving in SEAsia, and I battled a cold for a few days. Coughing, sneezing, runny nose, general exhaustion. The days are long! Up at 5:30, maybe a nap after lunch, not home to bed until 8:30 or 9pm. But I've rested since then, today in particular, so no harm done. I got to sleep until 7:30 today! What a gift! ;-)

Me in my hammock

Good things? My hammock! The Western lay delegation received army surplus hammocks as a gift from the monastics, they're incredible! I love it! Cool, comfortable, portable. Took a little while to learn how to set them up, but I'm a pro now, baby! And the scenery couldn't be better. On a particularly tired day, I bought a mango and a loaf of bread, and had lunch in my hammock next to the waterfall before falling asleep for a few hours. I swear, it's paradise.

Joy!

Also, for dharma discussion groups, I was lucky enough to be included in a bi-lingual, multi-cultural, youth exchange extravaganza! A large group of monks, nuns, Vietnamese, and westerners under 30 (or so), discussing our experiences and challenges. It was really interesting. The Vietnamese young people were really slow to share at first, really hesitant. They said that "sharing" is not a part of their culture, it's not something they're used to. But after just a few minutes on the first day they were really in it. Allowing us to share their suffering and be a part of their journey. Plus, we played fun energy games and goofy challenges. Stuff I haven't done since summer camp or before, but everyone could shout and laugh, Vietnamese or english. Whoo!

Wheelbarrow monks!

But yesterday!! I can't even begin to describe the joy from yesterday's adventure! Hah! Okay, the plan for the day was: visit schools. Plum Village has funded the construction, staffing, and supplying of 1,000+ schools in the whole of Vietnam. That's a million dollar charity organization. Yesterday, we visited nine of them. These are real schools, with real kids and real teachers. Just single room, no-frills buildings. Some have desks, some have chalkboards. No books, no toys. But they're clean, and they're built! The kids get one fully rounded, nutritious meal per day. They're cared for. Our first stop was a tribal village where most of the inhabitants weren't even speaking Vietnamese. Something else entirely. But we got to interact a little, I ended up playing tag with 40+ six- and seven-year-olds. you should've seen the smiles! It made me so happy, just interacting so closely with them. Not something I got to do for the rest of the day really. It felt like I was playing with my brothers. Completely natural.

The kids! (I’m on the left)

We continued to visit small, relatively local schools by bus until lunch when we had to switch to smaller vans. The group shrank a little, but we were off into the bush! Really bumpy dirt road, red and dusty. It was HOT, mid-afternoon, and the drive was long. We saw a few really beautiful pre-schools along the way, such children!

Pre-school, 18 months to 3 years

But the real adventure began in the jungle. No more plumbing, no more pavement, no more cars of any kind! Of course, as we’re driving, a nun turns to me and says, “You know, this road gets completely unsurpassable when it rains. Turns into nothing but mud. The tires can’t move at all. Hey, look it’s raining in the distance!” And you should’ve seen the clouds overhead. So, naturally, it rained. Cats and dogs. Torrential, tropical, southeast-asian rain, for about 35 minutes. We were completely frozen in a muddy river the whole time, tucked in our little monastic van. People passed around boiled peanuts and rice cakes and purified water. It was a beautiful storm, and it felt like a fever breaking, the heat and humidity just dropped. As soon as the rain slowed, Sister Chan Khong (the one and only! I mentioned her before. This woman has LIVED!) said “Alright, let’s go, the kids are waiting for us!” Our poor driver got us as far as he could, which was about a kilometer farther than the original location. We left the other two vans behind (poor guys, they waited for us there for two hours! I happened to be on the bus with Sister Chan Khong, luck of the draw…). Sister said, “Can’t drive any further, we walk!” And jumped out the fan. Crazy lady. There were about 12 of us in the van with her, all told. The sky had cleared by this point, and all the dusty vegetation had been rinsed clean and was almost glowing with color. Muddy red earth, big gray sky. It was so beautiful.

Landscape

So we were off! The walk was long and sticky. I almost lot a shoe at one point, so ended up going barefoot in the red mud. It was cool and fresh. Rain smells like rain everywhere! Local kids in blue and red uniforms were whizzing by us on motorbikes. After a little while, a man on a motorbike came by and asked us if we needed a hand. Sister Chan Khong was all about it! This 80 year old Vietnamese rock star just tucked up her robes and was off. It was FANTASTIC.

Sister Chan Khong on a motor bike!

The rest of us walked up and down muddy hills, through the Vietnamese brush. It felt like The Things They Carried, In Pharoah’s Army, I’m not kidding. Coffee plants taller than men. Little kids were walking with us by this point, the middle-school aged ones in uniform, and they’d peel off on little tiny paths every so often, presumably to their homes, hidden among the plantlife and mist.

Rural Vietnam and bikers

The school was much like the others. It was beautiful though, the people were so grateful to have us there, that we’d come all the wayfrom town. Most of them had never in their lives gone that far. It was the most wonderful group of people. We couldn’t bring the gifts for the children all the way out, they were still in one of the other vans. But a few people had crackers, someone had a brick of cheese, and they were all dumped into one of the cone hats and passed around to the children, who ate with joy. It was really beautiful. One of the poorest areas that Plum Village supports, but these people were happy, functioning people. They don’t need plumbing or cars to live. Not at all. Not even close.

Baby monks on bikes

That’s what I’ve learned. The third world is not suffering because it lacks for anything. These populations, tribal cillages, rural communities, are suffering when modern civilizations build gross production factories and pay their staff nothing. When they invade for land and agricultural resources. When they force these peoples to evolve and change, but don’t give them the time or the materials to do so. That’s what causes unhappiness, strife, extinction. It’s terrible, what our world can do. We’re all just people, living differently. I’m learning, anyway.

Fat Happy Buddha

And today I’ve been thinking back, relaxing, writing postcards. I’ve got enough energy to sustain me, I need a lot less sleep than I did at home. I haven’t figured out why yet, but I think it’s because I’m not dragging myself down with negativity so much anymore. I’m opening up, I’m finding apologies and forgivenesses, I’m breathing deeply.

I do, I love it here.

Until Next Time, "Anger is a mental formation. It is an energy. Mindfulness is also an energy. Think of your anger as a baby that is crying. First, you must hold that baby to calm it down, just take care of its pain. Then, you can look deeply into its source. Your anger is a child. Your mindfulness is its mother

The crowded hours

2007-02-28T10:20:00.000Z

Thuy Nghiem! My friend from Vermont. At Prajna Monastery.

So it's been a few days. I've passed through Bao Loc for a stop at the Prajna Monastery, which is absolutely beautiful. I may be able to come back for a week at least near the end of my voyage. We stopped for a day and passed through to Dalat, an old French resort town in the mountains.

The Crowd at Thieu Co temple in Saigon

Of course, we've been following Thay from temple to temple. The people here, they love him so much. On our last night in Saigon over 10,000 people came to hear him give a dharma talk! It was insane! He's a rock star here, I'm not kidding. But it's so incredible to see the looks on people's faces when we pass. Some are crying, some laugh and smile. Old women who lived through the horrors of the war, bowing to us with tears in their eyes. They love him, and they love us for loving him, too. It's so powerful.

Children in a fountain at Prajna

The drive to the mountains from Saigon was about six hours, and it was very interesting. The soil is so red and rich. It covers everything with a dusty film, I can't describe it. The world feels gritty, worn. Of course, the evidence of Vietnam's third world status was revealed. Families of 8 living in lean-to's the size of a single-car garage. Young women burning their garbage on the side of the road, faces black. Poverty and need. A woman on the trip has said that poverty in Asia is much more disturbing than poverty in Africa. In Africa, she said, the people around you, even if they have no house or no shirt, they know that their life is worth everything. They hold themselves above you, they have pride. But here, people are broken. They are tired, they're over-wrought.

Buddha

Thay is here to do that work, I think. Not to fix their difficulties, but to give them pride and hope. I feel truly blessed to be here.

This baby visited me during one of Thay's talks

Funny story? A lot of people have been getting sick from the raw vegetables or unfiltered water. You just can't eat those things here. One guy, Paul, was having some trouble but slowly starting to recover -- he hadn't eaten for days. For lunch, we were eating at a temple in DaLat, and we were told not to eat the green salad or the fresh strawberries because both had been washed and soaked in unfiltered water (which I'm told has a bacteria level equivalent to that of American sewage). A little later, Paul's roommate asked him if he'd eaten anything. Paul said, "No, I didn't really feel up to it. Nothing much appeals to me. But I had three buckets of those strawberries! They were so good!" He hasn't been seen in the three days since...

Thay

Another? We had just arrived to our first temple visit in DaLat, one at which Thay had spent a lot of time about 55 years ago. We were lining up in ordination order to enter, and waiting for the final preparations to be made, when Thay appeared with his little group of bodyguard monks, and started to mingle with us. He wandered a little, and ended up right next to me and my friend Fiona. My knees gave out a little. You can be a memeber of this practice for years and years and still never speak to Thay. He looked over and said with a goofy smile, "I have already arrived here, I am now just pretending." We then talked for a bit about how DaLat had changed in the 55 years he'd been away. Only one monk had survived at this temple from his time, and he was now 91 years old. After he felt the conversation had finished, he slowly walked away. Fiona and I basically melted. It was a rare moment.

Avolokiteshvra riding a dragon

What else? Vegetarian dinner at a 5-star restaurant our last night in a Dalat, a special gift from the sisters.

A beautiful flower stolen from the tourist trap/historical embroidery village where we were held hostage yesterday.

Lots of laughter. Good stories from all over the world. Meditation and mindfulness. Can you read this sign?

(It says VARIETY CREATURE STRANGE. We didn't investigate, unfortunately.)
So that's it! We're back in Bao Loc for a 5-day layperson retreat, followed by a week of monastic retreat and ordination ceremonies. We'll head back to Saigon on March 14.

Until Next Time, "One crowded hour of glorious life is worth an age with no name."
- Ancient Buddhist proverb
Thay has been teaching a lot about taking advantage of the time you have. After an old Vietnamese woman pleaded with him to find some peace for her because she has cancer and her health is rapidly deteriorating: losing hair and teeth, able to move less and less, Thay said, "I had a friend in Canada who took tea with me and a few companions one afternoon. He sat next to me, and slowly the others revealed that our friend had been diagnosed with a very serious disease and only had a few months left to live. This man had two very young sons and a loving wife. I turned to him and I said 'You have four months left! That is marvelous! You can live four months in paradise!' And I showed him how to take his tea in mindfulness, how to enjoy the beautiful moment at hand. And he followed me back to Plum Village with his family, and practiced with our Sangha. And he lived for 11 more years."

ps: Article about this trip on CNN can be found here.

Today.

2007-02-28T02:30:00.000Z

I can't post any pictures and I have very limited time, but I'm in Da Lat. It's an old french resort town. I've been laughing a lot, meditating, practicing, enjoy the sheer presence of Thich Nhat Hanh. It's been BEAUTIFUL.

Sorry, soon!

Until Next Time, "One crowded hour of glorisou living is worth an age with no name."

I'm finally in a place where Blogger works!

2007-02-28T02:18:00.000Z

So I'm posting lots at once.

Love from Vietnam.

Thich Nhat Hanh and Babies on bikes

2007-02-24T02:27:00.000Z

So! A few days have passed and I can hardly keep it all in my head!

I'll start with a quick recap, I guess.

Wednesday was the first official day for Thich Nhat Hanh (whom I will refer to as Thay from here on out), so we went to pay our respects at Phap Van Temple. All the monks and nuns who came with Thay from France and America are staying there. However, Thay and the delegation quickly up and left in order to purchase gifts for the Buddhist society here, so the lay delegation listened to an older monk talk alternately in English and French about her experiences during the Vietnam war. It was moving and terribly sad. Many of her friends were killed by people on both sides of the conflict, friends who subscribed to Thay's School of Youth for Social Service. In otherwards, Nonviolent Buddhists. She had trouble sticking to the "Man is not my enemy. Cruelty and misunderstanding are my enemies" when so many were killed for no reason. Her friends. But a killer said "I'm sorry, I am forced to kill you," before shooting a few of the monks near the river, and she was able to revolutionize her practice. The people who are killing are threatened by those who work above them! They can be killed if they do not kill. It is the idea of killing that we must continue to fight!

Sister, speaking over a grave at Phap Van Temple

Then there was good food and I saw Thai Nghiem and Trung Nghiem! They're the sisters that I made friends with during my stay in Vermont. I was so happy to see them, I cried. Honest tears of joy. I was not preparing myself for the raw emotional experience of a Buddhist pilgrimage. It's intense. I was so happy! We hugged and cried.

Boy and fountain at Phap Van Temple

That night, dinner and a Sangha be-in. Essentially, we shared and discussed for two and a half hours! Buddhists sure can talk. It's like the UN here! We had a few small things to decide as a group, and it has to be done by concensus, but MAN! SLOW GOING. I breathe, I am at peace. You really have to use this practice to be in this practice, you know? ;-)

Monastics entering the temple Ao Quang

Thursday, we followed Thay to two different Buddhist temples in the city for welcome ceremonies. I'll be honest, it was a little boring. Lots of Vietnamese formalities. But being with Thay and the monks and nuns is really powerful. They carry an energy with them, it's hard to describe. Nourishing, somehow.

Baby on a motorbike!

And that night returned to Phap Van for a Dharma talk/teaching from Thay. It was pretty basic, I guess, about sitting meditation and being in our breathing and how this is Buddha nature, but there were so many people! Thousands! He's a fucking rock star! And I understand why, but it was really astounding, how many people came to hear him speak. He just sat in lotus on stage in front of thousands of people and talked quietly about the being peace. But something he said really touched me. We practice to be at peace and living joy in the here and now. We can be prefectly at peace every second, every moment. We don't think of being peace for the future or finding a solution later. We are peace now.

Monastics bowing to Thay

Today was a longevity ceremony, to wish Thay many years of teaching. Very beautiful ceremony, though mostly in Vietnamese. He's so funny! He was sitting on stage with 10 old, old Venerables, everyone was very somber and ceremonial, and Thay reaches out to one of the vases and extracts a single tulip. The noise it made over the microphone was like velcro ripping. He smiled, smelled the flower, and passed it to the ancient on his right. People laughed some, especially when the old monk sort of balked and set the flower down in front of him.

Thay
And that brings us up to speed I guess, event-wise.

Sarah and I, in our robes

What else! About Vietnam: hot. Tiring. A little scary (man on a motorbike tried to snatch my bag off my shoulder just a few minutes ago). But I was prepared for all that. I'm a little homesick, but I'm loving the newness and the practice. Also, people here are wonderful. French, American, Polish, Thai. You know, un peu de tout. Speaking lots of french. Eating fruits I can't even name! Some green milky thing with large seeds encased in jello. Beautiful dragonfruits, sweet and white and tender, full of tiny black seeds. Crazy, convoluted pears. Watermelon and oranges galore.

Crazy cables!

I think we leave for the monastery in Bao Loc tomorrow, and I don't know what internet access will be like there. I may be out of contact for two weeks or so, hopefully not.

Peace!

I have so many more pictures but not much more time! Love for now, talk to you later?

:-) Thanks for reading, guys. I appreciate it.

Until Next Time, more information on Thich Nhat Hanh's reason for being here.

Another arrival.

2007-02-21T02:26:00.000Z

I'm listening to some beautiful recorder or flute music that's playing somewhere in the hotel. I don't know where, but I'm so glad to hear it.

Thich Nhat Hanh arrrived today. The whole delegation went to meet him at the airport. It was really intense and emotional. He's a really diferent sort of person, I can't describe it. He glows, he exudes. The crowds just ate him alive, it was actually a little scary.

We'll celebrate Tet with him tomorrow at Phap Van temple. My monastic friends from Vermont are here! I'm so excited!

I'm sorry I don't have more pictures at the moment.

I got my robe today! I'm in!

What else. My new roommate is French, so I'm reviving the language skills. Walked around in Q11 on my own today. So hot outside. And sticky.

Little monks at the airport. 7 or 8 years old, maybe younger. Tiny faces with their heads partially shaved. It's a novice thing, I think. I don't know why yet, I'll find out.

Until Next Time, eyes open!

A lot of luck to go around.

2007-02-19T02:21:00.000Z

So here I am! Landed and happy and full of... sleepiness, I guess. For the moment at least. Flights were good. I was upgraded to business class on the Hong Kong-Saigon leg, which was heavenly. I've never flown above economy! It's a whole different experience.

Slept on and off during the travel and last night, but managed to go all day today without a nap! Triumph! My room is air-conditioned, plain, without a trace of hot water, but a dream to return to after the chaos of city center. I love my own space, I do I do.

Things I forgot to pack: a watch, a knife. I woke up in the middle of the night hearing noises, unable to sort myself out, completely lost without the time. I missed both at that moment.

The Tet celebrations have been incredible. The dragons above and below have made the day STUNNING really. Young men, dancing all morning through the hotel. Bringing Luck to all of us.

The parades! The decorations! The celebration is chaotic and beautiful here. Artistry, history, touristy ;-)

Pinwheels

Town was slow and nice until around 5pm when the day cooled down and the crowds thickened like pudding. It was palpable. I spent the day with Anna and Flora, two kind-hearted British retirees. We had lunch and dinner, walking through flowered streets and a sea of motorbikes. We were flattened on a ferry ride across what we assumed was the Mekong river. We bought postcards. We laughed.

I have to say, I love my shaven head. It's the most liberated I've ever felt. Freedom from convention and comparison, in a strange but logical way. I understand the religious side of it, now that I'm here. It draws smiles, I think.

Now I'm exhausted. I can't remember when Thich Nhat Hanh arrives. Tomorrow, Tuesday? I've lived through Sunday. I think.

Until Next Time, Miss Saigon!

ps: Videos I shot of dragon dances here.

A Crash Course in Traveling on No Budget

2006-10-06T20:27:00.000+01:00

Here are the resources I have used thus far in my planning stages...

AIR TRAVEL

Links:

Student Universe (for students; not always the best bet, but definitely worth checking at least. If you find a good one, it's REALLY good)
Kayak (find your cheapest possibility. Also has very helpful forums)
Farecast (still in beta and only good for American in-house flights, but very helpful in its own way)
RyanAir (Europe. Discount air, flying out of London to most of the big cities in Europe)
SpiceJet (India. Round trip flights as cheap as 30 USD)
AirAsia (SWAsia. Offering FREE seats! Flying out of Bangkok, Thailand or Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia)

Tips for booking the cheapest flight:

Look at maps first -- figure out which big cities/airports your destination is relatively close to. Same for your starting airport. Often cheaper to fly from New York/Boston/Chicago/LA than, say, Cleveland (though not always). Try multiple flight arrangements to and from any of these cities.
Always fly on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. Strange early morning/late night hours.
Don't fly during the holiday seasons! Know when the holiday season occurs for your destination.
Sign up for DealAlerts and mailing lists with airlines. Really. It helps.
Research 'Standby' policies. They differ from airline to airline, or sometimes don't exist at all. They can be a hastle, but if you've got the stamina and the flexibility, they are a thousand times more cost effective.
If you have an obscure flight pattern which involves one or more layovers at a commonly used airport [ie, Paris, New York, Atlanta, LAX, Kuala Lumpur, Singapore, Hong Kong, etc.), try one-ended flights to and from. For example, you want to fly from Saigon, VN to Chennai, India but the flights are $1200 and up, roundtrip. You notice your flights all layover in KL, Malaysia. Check roundtrip flights from Saigon to KL and from KL to Chennai. Simple math. You've just saved $400.
Don't stop checking. Over and over and over. Don't buy until you're sure, but buy as early as you possibly can. If you miss the cheapest window (I've been told it closes about a month before your intended departure), fly standby. Fo' sho'.

LODGINGS:

Links:

HostelWorld (For everywhere)
CouchSurfing (Reccomended with caution: as an 18-year-old American girl travelling alone, I will not be using this service... The nature of the beast is questionable. However, with the right connections, it's the perfect way to go.)
StudentUniverseHostels

PROGRAMS:

Links:

TEWOAF (The East-West Overseas Aid Foundation. Austrailian organization that sets up children's homes/relief centers in SW India where a person can board for free in exchange for tutoring/administrative assistance)
IICD Michigan or IICD Mass (The Institute for International Cooperation and Development. 12-month or 18-month programs, starting in the US, ending in Africa. Train teachers, fight AIDS, build schools, clean water -- whatever you want to do. They'll train you to do it, teach you the language, and send you where you're needed. Very low overhead)
Idealist.org (ENORMOUS volunteering database. You have to create an account, but there are thousands upon thousands of international opportunities available)

This is a work in progress.

Huh.

2006-02-22T21:01:00.000Z

Wow. Almost a year.

Maybe I'll jump on the bandwagon.

At work.

Happy Easter!

2005-03-31T07:49:00.000+01:00

Took a weekend trip with the host family and my wonderful friend Carrie.

LOOK AT THE PICTURES!

We're a STAR!

Me and the host family

Claire, Pierre, me, Carrie, Phillipe... but CHECK OUT THE COAST

Carrie and I

me, Carrie, Pierre, Claire... but look at the spray behind us. That was a wave hitting the rocks a good 15 or 20 feet below.

Again, me and Carrie. ICE WATER, my friends. Ice water.

But look at how it sparkles!

AND ALSO, earlier that day...

Pierre

Claire

Me

... all victorious.

So there.

It was a great weekend. The coast was so beautiful, as you can see, and I just... it was good to be where I was, bonding with the family again, and Carrie too. Everything is going wonderfully for me, right now. I'm very... content. It's genuienely GOOD.

Still miss you though. Don't ever think I don't.

Until Next Time,
"The Visible, The Untrue"
by Hart Crane

Yes, I being
the terrible puppet of my dreams, shall
lavish this on you—
the dense mine of the orchid, split in two.
And the fingernails that cinch such
environs?
And what about the staunch neighbor tabulations,
with all their zest for doom?

I'm wearing badges
that cancel all your kindness. Forthright
I watch the silver Zeppelin
destroy the sky. To
stir your confidence?
To rouse what sanctions—?

The silver strophe... the canto
bright with myth ... Such
distances leap landward without
evil smile. And, as for me....

The window weight throbs in its blind
partition. To extinguish what I have of faith.
Yes, light. And it is always
always, always the eternal rainbow
And it is always the day, the farewell day unkind.

COUNTDOWN to return: 61 days!!!

Remember me?

2005-03-01T19:40:00.000Z

So WHOA it has been a while since the last time I wrote in this guy. Isn’t that odd? I can hardly believe it. So much has happened since Christmas. I’m sorry that I let this one go, but it isn’t because I don’t love you. It’s jut because I’m lazy. Can’t say it any other way.

So, in the time that I was gone, I took a ten day trip to Rome and Venice with Abraham, which was practically perfect in every way. Cold and wet in Rome, lots of fountains, historically significant monuments, the origin of Western civilization, the center or Western religion… quite the city. And Venice: perfectly clear blue skies, incredible sights, lots of birds, beautiful water, gondolas, pizza, Dali artwork. Pretty goddamn fantastic. We were stranded there for a few extra days, as fate would have it, and that was fine. I think Venice is my favorite city in the entire world. I fell in love with it, though I could never live there. It is, in all honesty, a few islands of tourist traps. But the tiny streets and the maps and no-car atmosphere is just about as good as the world gets, I think. At least, the world I’ve seen.

And then, back in Rennes to turn seventeen (exclamation points) and work on my French. I can’t think of any particular anecdotes, but we read King Lear and L’Etranger, talked a lot about the European Union and the entrance of Turkey, enjoyed a few days of both snow and hail, and ate incredible amounts of chocolate and cheese. Joy.

And half-way through the month of February, school lets itself go, and most of my class heads off the Paris for the week, to putz around museums and partake in the general merriment of the city of lights. I, however, went the Alps with my host family, to ski. Now. That. Was. Interesting. I’d only ever been skiing twice in my life, before this week: once for two days at Peak and Peak in New York with school in seventh grade (who remembers the fake British accents and crazy scary story night?), and then in freshman year for a week with the wonderful Adelstein family at Montremblant in Canada. And while I am fairly agile and have always thoroughly enjoyed the act of skiing, let’s not kid ourselves and say that I was any good at it. I managed the parallel skiing and the virage thing, but if no one was looking, I’d just pie-wedge my way through the steep parts. Cuz skiing is scary, man! But so let’s first discuss the difference in slope difficulty between Peak ‘n Peak and Les Arcs, our station in the French Alps. I’d say that the highest hill at Peak ‘n Peak is, what, 800 meters? The highest slope at Les Arcs is 3,214 meters. That is a full 3 kilometers above sea level. Now, remember, from a height like that, you can see for miles in every direction, and your fingers tingle and your muscles clench because it is just so beautiful. One of the days, the clouds had settles at about 600 meters, so there was a cottony blanket over all of creation, and all one could see were the mountains rising out of the endlessness. It was like being on the other side of heaven. The snow sparkled as it fell, when it fell. Just absolutely astounding. But, of course, the slopes from that height are all reds and blacks, and my family, who skies for a week every winter and has for at least the past decade, knows no fear. They’re incredible, really, their ease on skies is basically unparalleled in life. But for the poor American reject, such a thing is not so simple. Again with the pie wedging down slopes, and taking years each time The family was slightly frustrated with me (and when I say frustrated, I mean frustrated), but I made improvements, and could handle just about any slope by the end of the week. So there’s that. But no one can ever say that the French lack intensity. All you need to do is hit the slopes with a few thousand of them, and you’ll see. There isn’t a bad skier in this country. Even the five year olds are rockin the black, mogul-y slopes. It’s really a cult.

And then, the next week, this past week, I was in London with my friend Evie. Now, I don’t know what I’m supposed to say in order to reveal this week for the truly life-altering trip that it was, but there’s just something magic about being with a very good friend alone in a European city for a week. We saw the museums and went to plays (Macbeth done by the Royal Shakespeare Company. That part was played by Ian McKellen back in the day. And Dame Judy Dench! Hands down the best thing I have ever seen. And The Complete Works of Shakespeare (Abridged) which was hysterical. I highly recommend it) and wandered the open air market at Notting Hill and felt like we were a real part of history. Honestly, that is the most significant thing I can say about Europe. You’re always in a place where someone important did something important. You’re always touching eons of writing and war and politics and trade. Evie is a big history buff, and took European History AP last year (got a 5, by the way), so she was always spouting the names of dead white men and what they had done in the very places we were walking or sitting or eating or peeing. I fed birds in the park where Duke Harry the Grizzled declared war on the Albanians. WOO HOO. And speaking of Albanians, touring Europe means you meet more people of more nationalities than you are capable of comprehending. Albanians and Swedes and Poles and Spaniards and Italians and Yugoslavs and Macedonians and Dutch and Argentineans and Germans and New Zealanders and Scots, each one with a funny little story or very bizarre quirk. I won’t bore you with the endless details, but our hostel was what I like to call a human zoo. Of all kinds, I suppose.

And now I’m back in Rennes, counting down the weeks (it’s seven, by the way) to the next vacation, and then the few after that until I come home. Things have again hit s rough patch with the host family, but it’s alright. Evie and I have become a lot closer, and we’re sort of in the same situation, so all in all, we understand one another. Everything works out. It’s spring! There’s sun! It’s still freezing here, but when I biked to school this morning, it was light out. I could hardly believe it. Things are looking up.

So, I’ll leave you with the poem that my dear friend Gwen sent to me, which I think you all might enjoy, and basically sums up how I think of this year, and the glorious summer I foresee, and am eagerly anticipating.

I miss you so very much, and you have all my love.

Until Next Time,

Now, when the waters are pressing mightily
on the walls of the dams,
now, when the white storks, returning,
are transformed in the middle of the firmament
into fleets of jet planes,
we will feel again how strong are the ribs
and how vigorous is the warm air in the lungs
and how much daring is needed to love on the exposed plain,
when the great dangers are arched above,
and how much love is required
to fill all the empty vessels
and the watches that stopped telling time,
and how much breath,
a whirlwind of breath,
to sing the small song of spring.
-- Yehuda Amichai (translated from Hebrew by Leon Wiseltier)

Countdown to RETURN: 93 days (exclamationpoints)

Have Yourself...

2004-12-25T04:45:00.000Z

A MERRY LITTLE CHRISTMAS.

I love you all and I am thinking of you constantly.

It's true. I can't help it.

Warm tidings and a few bisous,

your Madeline

Berlin

2004-12-21T22:12:00.000Z

So, WHOA.

Hello, my dears.

I know, I've been lacking. It has been a while, hasn't it?

Shame on me.

But the problem is, I have no IDEA how I can put into words just how crazy this trip to Berlin really turned out to be. It changed a lot of things. It changed everything.

Shall I make a list?

THANKS TO Americans for Informed Democracy:
- I understand the connection between the Cold War and the War on Terror, and why that means Europe will never respect us again. (Also: [fall of the berlin wall: 11-9] / [WTC bombings: 9-11]. It's weird.)
- I understand that there is a large portion of the United States that thinks of the war in Iraq as a war on religion, a war on Islam, and they support that.
- I understand that we are more divided within ourselves than we realize.
- I understand the connection between Neo-Conservatism in the US and pre-enlightened, 17th century Europe.
- I understand that many European countries, including both France and Germany, are actually spreading propaganda against the United States.
- I see that China is on her way to overtaking both us and Europe, economically speaking, and we better be ready for it.
- I understand that the AIDS epidemic will soon take to us, too.
- I understand that the US is trying to be both a great country (a world power, an empire) and a good country (a humanitarian nation, a model of morality), but is succeeding at neither.

I understand all of these things. They make sense to me. They must make sense to you, too. And I'd explain them more, because they're important, and because they frighten me, but that's not the point. The point is that even though all of these little details prove a point, they don't change anything. They just are. They're just the depressingly looming facts of our existence. And I'm sorry that I learned them. I'm sorry that someone made them clear, I'm sorry that all they do is make me feel more insignificant, I'm sorry that everything we do to change them basically collapses at our feet.

But, here is how it changed my life.

Through the influence of a few BRILLIANT college students and their pricy, well-earned college educations, I was taught that it will all work out. In the end, people become educated, people come around, people talk, people see. People come together. It's inevitable. The only variable, the only unknown in this whole mess is how long it will take, and therefore, what we will have to endure in the meantime.

All of this mess, it's just a matter a patience.

And, well, we all know patience is not one of my strong points.

But in the mean time, I'll amuse myself in France.

Christmas is just around the corner, and with it, Italy.

Since when did I become the luckiest girl in the world? Anyone? Anyone?

Berlin, otherwise, was great. I befriended lots of college kids studying abroad, and became really close with a girl at my own school. Cara Beth Rogers. She's in London right now, with family. We spent one of the nights together wandering the city. We snuck onto the roof of a Westin hotel, their private Christmas garden. It was just about the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. Berlin is magical, it was casting winter spells.

It showed me that I will do something with my life. I will. I will DO SOMETHING. SOMETHING that makes a difference. I am determined now, you see. I am adamant.

We're all free, traveling, resting. Thank god for break. I haven't left the house in 4 days. AH I'm so gross, BUT I LOVE IT.

At the moment, everything makes me happy.

Especially you all. Thank you.

I'll be around. Merry Christmas, if I don't talk to you before then. And have Happy New Year.

Until Next Time,

"They are a nocturne
in argent and gold, and they burn

with the ferocity
of dying (which is to say, the luminosity

of what's living hardest.)"
:: Mark Doty, "Four Cut Sunflowers, One Upside Down"

COUNTDOWN to Christmas/Italy: 4 days
COUNTDOWN to my birthday (hey, why not??): 23 days
COUNTDOWN to return: 162 days

One vast conjugation of the verb TO SHINE

2004-12-08T18:23:00.000Z

So, tomorrow I leave for BERLIN.

Right now I have more work that is humanly possible.

I have emailed Mark Doty. (my idol. Google him.)

I'm suspended in a state of anticipation so fierce, it is rivaled only by the last few days before my flight to France.

Is it snowing where you are?

It might never snow here.

Hopefully, I see some in Berlin.

The whole city is decorated for Christmas. Lights over every street, the big departments stores have beautiful, extravagent windows. It's festive.

Last night, Pierre and Claire and I decorated the Christmas Tree. It's really beautiful. Lights and tinsel and little santas and a Nativity scene. It's a perfect tree. I couldn't sleep last night, and so I came downstairs and turned on the garland and sat in the dark on the couch next to the tree and watched it glitter against the glass. Watching a christmas tree sparkle is almost like being home.

Almost.

Joyeuses Fetes, everyone.

Until Next Time,
the rainbowed school
and it's acres of brilliant classrooms,
in which no verb is singular,

or every one is. How happy they seem
even on ice, to be together, selfless
which is the price of gleaming.
- Mark Doty, "A Display of Mackerel"

COUNTDOWN to Berlin: 1 day

COUNTDOWN to Christmas (/Italy): 17 days

COUNTDOWN to return: 175 days

Le Coup de Main

2004-12-02T12:43:00.000Z

I am weary of posting this in a public place, but I figure I can wipe the page from the history of this computer, and be done with it.

I am a part of this SECRET SOCIETY at my school which I happen to think is the coolest thing ever. Honestly. I wish it had been my idea, because then I would be cool. It's just awesome.

We call ourselves "Le Coup De Main" which is french for "A Helping Hand" (and, as there are five of us, it works out well...) and when any of the five of us (one from each class plus the founding member) see someone who's having a bad day, we report back, and then we all work together to get a little something organized to anonymously brighten that person's day. It is QUITE POSSIBLY the best thing in the whole world to see the look on someone's face when they read the note or wear the scarf or eat the candy and really SMILE.

Now, however many of you there are at Hawken, or at your own schools, reading this, I want you to email me if you could be at all interested in participating in a group like this so I can give guidelines or guidance or something for starting one. BECAUSE IT IS THE BEST THING EVER. And I know it sounds strange, in some form, but it's easy, and I know you will love it.

We just made our first pass this morning, and I shall post pictures some other day. God, warm fuzzy feelings should be used as money.

In other news:

I love you and I miss you and I'm just so happy.

Until Next Time, "Let there be light."

COUNTDOWN to return: ??? days

Happy Turkey Day

2004-11-26T00:12:00.000Z

Have any of you seen Addam's Family Values? Wednesday and Pugsly get sent to a WASP overnight camp somewhere in Vermont for a month or two over the summer so an evil woman can marry and murder their dear Uncle Fester. And the theatrical production of the summer is a musical interpretation of The First Thanksgiving, in which Wednesday plays Pocohantas, and Pugsly is the turkey. And they dance around and pretend to be truly involved for the first five minutes or so, until they set the set on fire, and wreak general havoc.

It's a true American classic.

But right now I have the image in my head of that silly little boy in a turkey costume, dancing around all these lighted buildings, and it's making me laugh.

I'd set fire to something if I could.

Except that I hate fire.

But you know what I mean.

At the moment, I would kill for some quality mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce. What is the country thinking? Who on earth doesn't want to celebrate the settlement of America? What are they DOING over here???

I have elected not to imitate the holiday for my family, because making turkey all alone seems so sad. And it wouldn't be the same. And I suddenly know why everyone hates to be away around the holidays.

But, still, it's a beautiful day today. Honestly, it's crisp and sunny and clear, the kind that makes your cheeks rosy and your ears cold and the sun gleams, a true glow, the kind people write sonnets about, metaphors for someone's toothy smile or the birhgtness of the future. Today is an inspiring day.

And last night I watched Love Actually, and that movie is so good. It's just so good.

And the night before that I watched Shakespeare in Love. Which is even better.

But right now, I hope that you are warm and well-fed and happy and home, safe, tucked in tight under the covers, and sipping hot chocolate as the first chirstmas decorations are drawn from the closets, dusty and musty, and ready for a new year.

I'm ready for a new year.

I miss you.

Until Next Time,
- Into the night we shine
Lighting the way we glide by
Catch me if I get too high
When I come down
I'll be coming home next year

I'm in the sky tonight
There I can keep by your side
Watching the whole world wind around and round
I'll be coming home next year -
:: Foo Fighters

COUNTDOWN to return: 188 days

GIP: Paris

2004-11-21T21:58:00.000Z

Enfin. The Pictures from Paris.

Where are we? Oh right, PARIS!

Claire, Pierre, Phillipe, and I in front of the Eiffel Tower

And later, at night, while the tower was scintillating...

Mounting Montmartre to Sacre Coeur

The view from the steps of Sacre Coeur

The family (Pierre, Annie, Me, Phillipe) from Sacre Coeur

Yes, that WOULD be Moulin Rouge

And look at that. L'Arc de Triomphe.

And the Louvre!

And the Musee D'Orsay! (I love the shadows behind the glass. I wrote about them. Something I might post later.)

The Baths of Apollo at Versailles, my favorite thing.

So, that was Paris.

I hope you enjoyed yourself.

I miss you.

Until Next Time, "When the wind finds you, it fights you. It will wrestle its way into your eyes, your guts, your bones; it wants to freeze you into a delicate shell, to shatter, and scatter, to the city of lights, impervious below."

COUNTDOWN to return: 192 days

BERLIN, BABY!

2004-11-17T21:09:00.000Z

So, let's talk about the COOLEST part of recent developments:

I.G.T.B.

- or -

*pause for dramatic effect*

I'm Going To Berlin!!!!

AAAAAAHHHHHHHH.

So, a full detailed description? Yes. The conference in Berlin is being held by Americans for Informed Democracy (http://www.aidemocracy.org), which is the cool little place where the Ohio-an Republicans are being tortured and malnourished for their crimes against the state.

I jest.

But they hold two "summits" every year for college students studying in Europe, and have started inviting SYA students to apply, cuz we're cool, and so basically half of my school applied, and I got in, but here's the thing... I'm going. There it is. There's the thing. Five other girls from school are going too, we're all flying together and what not. And they're all really cool and nice and human and I like them all and so AWESOME. And Berlin. And seeing more of Europe. And LEARNING HOW TO FIX AMERICA.

So all that's basically gotten me PUMPED.

I think I'm the luckiest girl alive. If I believed in God, I'd thank him. But since I'm still shaky on that, I'll thank the real people who made this possible. Thank you, you are wonderful, this is amazing. I can't believe it's really happening.

Now, onto other things that require fewer exclamation points.

The cat of the house, Mina, is a very fat, black and white, indoor/outdoor kitty who has sharp claws and does not like to be touched anywhere near her tail. She enjoys sitting on the armchair in front of the fireplace, and becoming blissfully toasty, while staring intently into the flames. The cat has an obsession with this chair, and this ritual. This morning, around 7h30, she was sitting there, watching the people eat their breakfast, waiting for one of them to allume the feu. Sadly enough, she had to wait a few more hours. But this cat is something of a mystery to me. What does she see in this fire? What could possibly draw her so close? Today, Annie moved the hard orange armchair to the oter corner of the room. So Mina curled up on the stone of the fireplace to stare as the embers fizzled out and gave up. Claire said we'd have to drag in a cushion for her, since the chair was MIA. Phillipe said the cushion would catch on fire.

I said nothing, as speaking french is not my strong point.

But the point of the story is that this cat has more appreciation for basic and neccessary convience than I ever had or over will. The cat is happy to be warm, and entertained by dangerous, orange burning. Is it a sign of intelligence that this isn't enough for us? That I can't stare into that big stone hole in the wall for more than thirty seconds without my mind wandering? That I'm afraid of being even half as close as Mina gets on her cooler days?

Sadly, I think it is something along the lines of counter-evolution that has led me away from the fire and into my sweatshirt to keep warm.

We're going back to fur, people.

Completely different topic, I'm reading David Sedaris' Me Talk Pretty One Day, and feeling silly for not having known earlier that A) he's homosexual and B) he lived for over a year in Paris with his parner, struggling to learn French. If anyone has read the book, the title anecdote, and a few others that follow it -- "Jesus Shaves" "The Tapeworm Is In" "Make That A Double" -- are EXACTLY what this year is like. He takes a french class while in France with a bunch of other aging foreigners, and I have everyone one of those characters he describes in my class right now. He's a good man, that David Sedaris. I'd like to meet him one day.

Alright, I hope you're as giddy as I am right now.

I miss you all, very very much.

Until Next Time, "There are, I have noticed, two basic types of French spoken by Americans staying in Paris: the Hard Kind and the Easy Kind. The Hard Kind involves the conjugation of wily verbs and the science of placing them alongside various other words in order to form sentences such as "I go him good afternoon," and "He, one, we, it going to later see." The second, less complicated form of French amounts to screaming English at the top of your lungs, much the same way you're shout at a deaf person or a dog you thought you could train to stay off the sofa. Doubt and hesitation are completely unneccessary, as Easy French is rooted in the premise that, if properly packed, the rest of the world could fit within the confines of Reno, Nevada."
-- David Sedaris, "Make That A Double"

COUNTDOWN to return: 196 days

Chestnust Roasting...

2004-11-14T21:04:00.000Z

Tonight was one of those crazy nights.

No.

Today was one of those crazy days.

Right now, it’s a little after midnight on Saturday and I’m slouched in my bed with my laptop on my lap, guessing blindly at the keys and wishing desperately for someone to keep me company.

So today. I got up around ten and ate breakfast, took a shower, avoided my homework, wrote some emails, watched some Sex and the City, avoided my homework some more. You know the drill.

Then I went to the Piscine St. Georges with my host mother and sister, Annie and Claire. Now, seeing this pool in the middle of downtown was like finding a quarter buried in the sand. It’s this beautiful occurrence of nothing, a glimmer in the sunlight. The pool is indoors, and it’s well heated, well kept. It’s in a good neighborhood, there aren’t any small children, the showers are clean. And the pool is a mosaic. The floor and the walls are tiled by these tiny ceramic squares of blues and reds and yellows. The best part is, you can’t tell if you’re standing on the edge. Then the surface blurs the swirls and stars into nothing, the pool is nothing special when you’re not in it. But once you’re submerged, you see these intricacies in every direction, they’re all around you. And there are a few foiled in silver or copper or gold, and they scintillate as you glide through the water, different from every angle. Since I didn’t have my glasses on, when I was farther away, I’d only see blurry halos of light framed by reds and blues coming to meet me head on as I swam. It was an out of body experience, and I felt like summer again. I wish you could see it, it’s amazing.

Then we showered up and came home, clean and refreshed, having bought a few goodies from the open-air market (momma, you would LOVE the marche). And we got home and I sat around some more and then I TALKED TO CARLY ON THE PHONE FOR THREE HOURS. In caps because it was fantastic to be able to squeeze that much contact into my day, I think it was sorely needed. I really do just need to wake myself up every now and then, remember that I’m not completely incapable of understanding, or of being understood. And it seems there’s always something, always a reason to get off the phone, never enough time to make sure everything is said. And of course, even with three hours, that was still true. But it was relaxing and familiar, and it brought me back to myself.

But I was stupid. It was a stupid thing. I heard the other line beeping, and I tried everything, but I could NOT figure out how to switch over. And of course, that was sort of alarming, but I was a little out of body, and I didn’t really pay attention to what time it was, and I figured they could call back. Plus, everyone has a cell phone. What could I be missing? Ai, I should’ve seen it coming. The phone always gets me in trouble. Annie came upstairs a half an hour after I get off and was very angry about everything. She yelled some, about me not paying attention and monopolizing the line, and I nodded along and apologized, and that was that.

So after the fight, all I wanted to do was talk some more (vicious cycle), but it was dinner time. And Annie’s parents are here. And we had five different seafood – oysters and mussels and shrimp, and some weird snail-type thing and some other clam-guy neither of which I can name in English. And sea food is not my favorite thing. No matter how it tastes, it’s still chewy and slimy and usually has eyes or guts or is still living when you put it in the pot. Or it gives off a strange odor. Or it isn’t cooked at all. All of these are characteristic of the craziness I ate tonight. It was a learning experience, really.

Then, we had chestnuts. Which had been roasted on an open fire. Yes, I sang the song. Yes, they gave me crazy looks. And yes, I’m going to need you to send me some Bing and some Peter Paul and Mary and some Roaches and some Harry Connick. Yes, all of those things are true.

And now I’m in bed, tired and tired, wishing I could be with you.

This is for baby Charlotte:

YOU’RE THE MOST WONDERFUL SISTER EVER, AND I’M GONNA LOVE YOU SO HARD IT’LL KNOCK YOUR LITTLE BABY SOCKS OFF, KAY?

K, cool.

I miss you.

Until Next Time,
A: Love is a chaotic crack in the armor.
B: Through the cracks we breathe.
- uncomfortable silence -
B: I surprise myself sometimes.

COUNTDOWN to return: 200 days [milestone, people, milestone!]

ps: Momma, can you call me tonight?

City Fiend

2004-11-11T00:01:00.000Z

So, Paris.

Here’s the thing. I’ve been reflecting, and I don’t really want to tell the whole story, as I’ve done before and will do again. It isn’t because I don’t want you to know the whole story, or because it’s not worth telling. It is simply because there is so much to relay that I just want to tell you what’s important. It would mean a lot to me if I could have you know the basic truth, and know it well, so that’s what I’m going to go for.

First of all, just to get this out there, we did everything you’re supposed to do in Paris. We saw the Champs d’Elysee, l’Arc du Triomphe, Notre Dame, Sacre Coeur and Montmartre, the Moulin Rouge, Versailles, the Musee D’Orsay, the Louvre, and of course, the Eiffel Tower. We saw it all, and it was an out of body experience. The sights and the sounds and the walking and the shopping and the eating and the living. This is the city of cities, everyone who travels to Europe passes through Charles de Gaulle, it has four different train stations, and combined that’s more train traffic than any other city on the planet, it’s been around for thousands of years, it gets more tourists in a month than Cleveland has seen in its lifetime. It’s just one of those places that you have to breathe to believe.

And it’s dirty and smelly and overwhelming and unreal and it’s all made for tourists and no one who goes there is actually interested in speaking French and you can basically drown in the homeless population. But it’s Paris. Come on.

I love the Metro. Everyone takes the Metro. It’s fast and easy, and it goes everywhere you could ever want to be. It’s the easiest way to see people. I did a lot of writing during the trip, I finished another section of my notebook, and almost all of it took place on or concerned the subway. These people speak all of the languages you’ve ever heard and are looking at each other in such mind-blowingly original ways that you will never, ever get enough. It nice, to be surrounded by people you don’t know, when there’s no pressure to meet them. I take comfort in the fact that they only see, they do not care. It’s pretty individual. And the thing is, it doesn’t work that way anywhere else. The Metro and the buses in Rennes, nothing like that. It’s a different atmosphere, and different reality. Paris is one of a kind.

I would go back just for the Metro.

Except that the real reason I’m going back is for the Baths of Apollo at Versailles. God, I wish I could get to the pictures right now. So, Versailles is this enormous chateau about half an hour outside of Paris that was constructed by Louis XIV to get the aristocrats away from the true affairs of the government. So it’s designed to make you want to stay, to get you away from real life. And, just FYI, it does that very well. The chateau is absolutely astounding. Unbelievable. And then the gardens, which are almost four times as large as the chateau itself. Just beautiful, even in the off-season. And we were wandering around in the woods, and there’s clearing, with a pond. And behind the pond is a rock face. And there are three caves carved into the rock, with Greek columns embedded into the walls. And then there are three beautiful, white marble statues, one in each cave, of beautiful naked women and Apollo’s chariot, and Apollo himself. I’m not kidding in the slightest, it was the most magical place I have ever seen. Dusk was settling, and the moon was casting its reflection into the pond, and I would not have been surprised if Oberon and Titania had materialized in the shadowed grotto. In fact, I’m sort of surprised that they didn’t. Sean! Chelsea! What happened there?

Otherwise, good stuff. Had my portrait drawn on the streets of Montmartre, by a man who spoke perfect English, and told me I was beautiful, and then gave it to me for free. And we went to a wax museum. Dude! I have a picture of myself chilling with J.P. Sartre! And I saw Paris at night from the top of the Eiffel Tower, and would’ve been happy with dying right then. And I wandered with my family down the street of the Moulin Rouge at midnight on a Saturday, I don’t know exactly why, and witnessed the slow opening of all the strip clubs and X-Rated movie theaters in France, and had Annie drag us into the Museum of Eroticism. I’m not kidding. I thought Pierre was going to cry he was so uncomfortable. I, on the other hand, could not stop laughing, which only drew unsettling attention from the surrounding unsavory public. That neighborhood is not a smart place to be. Philippe went into macho man mode. I laughed some more. All in all, I could not have had a crazier trip.

To be truthful, it was one of the hardest weeks of my life. Things with my sister reached an all time low, the apartment was one room, and we all slept in it on the floor, together. IE Too much togetherness. It was lonely, it’s a lonely city if you are not there for love. It will always be that way.

But still, thank you Paris. I’ll see you again soon.

So, everything else? A quick re-cap:

I HAVE A NEW BABY SISTER.

Tonight, Grace and I are cooking fajitas and guacamole and cheesecake for our families.

I might get to go to a conference in Berlin for a weekend in early December for students studying abroad who want "Bring the World Home." It's on the rocks...

Yesterday was Philippe’s birthday. Friday is Annie’s. Combined, their presents cost me 43 euros. I bought a paperback book and some little doodad guys. WHAT IS THIS COUNTRY TRYING TO DO TO ME?

We have to read Candide in French for Lit by the beginning of December. I wish I had been in Stacy.

The top group AP lit class is reading L’Etranger. Oh, the irony.

I’ve gotten two packages and two amazing letters in the past few days. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

I saw a concert with the Portuguese version of Dispatch. It was awesome, by the way.

Grades come out on Friday.

I don’t have school tomorrow. Armistice Day.

I’ve watched Notting Hill five times since Saturday.

It hit me today that I won’t be baking Dangerfield Christmas cookies.

I can’t believe we’re already in the DOUBLE DIGITS of NOVEMBER! It’s too fast and it isn’t fast enough.

I still can’t speak French.

Alright, adieu for now.

I love you all.

Until Next Time, “And if I’m flying solo, at least I’m flying free.”

COUNTDOWN to return: 203 days

ps: Pictures on the way. I promise.

pps: SOMEONE KICK GEORGE W. BUSH FOR ME, kay, thanks.

ppps: If someone could ask an English teacher at Hawken when the deadline is for the McCreery submissions, I’d be much obliged.

Don't Read This; GO VOTE!

2004-11-02T13:16:00.000Z

You there! Hello again!

Did you have a happy Halloween?

Did you see Midsummer Night’s Dream?

Did you vote?

WAS IT FOR KERRY?

Oh la la, I’m sure everyone is happy to see the end of the election madness. I like being here, because the articles are basic and straightforward. I’ve read like twenty different opinions in the French newspapers. They all mock Bush. And I love them.

I read a quote from his speech in Columbus on Friday with good ol’ Arnie Schwarzenegger, and it said Bushie made a funny: “The governor Schwarzenegger and I have two things in common: We’re both bad at speaking English. And we with have massive biceps!” All I can say is, this man is not allowed to be our President. Again.

Alright, shall I pick up where I left off? This could take a while.

So, after Villandry, we went to the hotel and got our room assignments. I ended up in a double with a girl Mari, who is in group rouge avec moi. It was fine, we’re not very close, so we barely spent any time together, but it was easy to talk to her, and neither of us make much noise or have terrible body odor (that I’m personally aware of), so it worked out fine.

The night passed with lots of wandering around the halls and finding friends in random rooms and basically just popping in and out of everywhere for a few hours before scuttling back to our rooms just before check in and passing out on top of the covers with one shoe on.

No, that didn’t happen. But it almost did. I was tired.

The next day, our first chateau was Chenonceau. And alright, I don’t know if you know anything about castles or their construction, but this castle is just a freaking Frankenstein of castles. There’s a section from the middle ages, a section from the first Renaissance, and a section from the second. And none of the architects even tried to blend their style to the pre-existing sections. It’s just a line of buildings, which happen to be connected. Silly castle. Still, it was beautiful. It had great gardens and full-on wooded areas, which basically only make the fairy tale more plausible. And on the top floor, there was this huge exhibition of modern art by a one-named man, Tremoins. And it was astounding. He had these larger-than-life sculptures of people faisant l’amour, three separate ones, and it was ridiculously realistic. Especially their feet. He did feet really well.

I wish I could show some to you. Hopefully one of my friends took pictures. I don’t think he has a website. I have a brochure, but that won’t be any good until June. So be interested then.

Then between Chenonceau and Chambord, the next chateau, we stopped in a little tiny town called Amboise, and were given 7 Euros to eat on our own. So Evie, Leah, Bianca and I were wandering around looking for a creperie that wasn’t massively crowded, and we stumbled upon this little tiny Chinese restaurant. It was amazing. Unbelievable. I hadn’t seen Chinese food since August. I’m not kidding, we sprinted our way to the door, practically drooling, end ended up blowing all our money and then some on this funnily expensive, not-that-great but-still-amazing French Chinese food. I got lemon chicken. Dear me, I miss it even now.

So then we hopped back on the bus, and traveled to Chambord. Does anyone know the story of Chambord? It’s this great big castle that was built at the beginning of the second Renaissance. And it made all of these great architectural leaps. And it’s enormous. It’s ridiculous. It’s extravagant and calculated and completely unbelievable. My friend Hadas and I wandered around together for the full two hours, being quieter than normal. We were supposed to travel with an adult, but all the groups got separated, so the guards were picking us of in large, loud groups and kicking us out of the castle. Hadas and I managed to avoid any confrontation. We were two of maybe ten who actually spent the whole visit inside the castle.

It was really beautiful, though. Honestly, the grounds and the art and the view. They had all these imitation pieces on display, copies of the Mona Lisa and Madonna on the Rocks and all those famous pieces that you can only see after waiting in line for seven hours at the Louvre (which I didn’t do, by the way). So that was cool. I don’t know how to describe this castle. This was the one where you could stand on a balcony and lean over the railing, and think about what must’ve been going on three hundred years ago in that exact spot. The glory and the power and the riches and the fame that must’ve crossed that courtyard to this field. It just doesn’t exist anywhere else.

So that was Chambord. Then we went back to the hotel and ate dinner and found Life as a House on tv in French. Let’s put it out there right now that Hayden Christiansen is just as terrible in French as he is in English, but that doesn’t change the fact that he is ungodly attractive. But it was awesome to see the movie in French, and without any commercials or anything. God, it’s such a good movie. GO WATCH IT RIGHT NOW.

Finally, our final Loire chateau: Breze (pronounced bray-zay). I’ve never hated anything so much in my entire life. Ever. Ever. EVER. It was a guided visit through this small, ugly old house that lasted three hours and was completely in French, and no one was paying attention, and THREE HOURS. It was excruciating. I don’t remember anything about it. There was nothing special about this chateau. It only opened to the public a year or two ago, and they’re gonna have to shut it down again because no one has been going, so it costs too much money. It was absolutely pointless. Everyone basically died. My friend Evie, who’s a filmmaker, had her video camera, and she made a movie of us all being tortured by the sickness of this man’s monotone. That part was actually a lot of fun.

So then we came home. I got a big huge game of Psychiatrist going on the bus. That was cool. And I listened to Transatlanticism on repeat, also cool. And I read The Dream of Scipio for the millionth time. Have I told you yet that you have to read this book? Read this book. Please. I’m begging you. Please. It’s so good. It’s so GOOD. Read it, please, read it. You have to. It's cool.

So that was the Loire Valley. Whooo, I’m tired.

Paris will be just as long and involved, I’m afraid, so I’ll leave it at that for now, and get you another update within a few days time.

I hope that’s alright.

Just so you know, it was amazing and impossible and incredible all at once.

So, there we are.

Long live John Kerry.

I miss you.

Until Next Time, “Watching a coast as it slips by a ship is like thinking about an enigma. There it is before you – smiling, frowning, inviting, grand, mean, insipid, or savage, and always mute with and air of whispering. Come and find out.”
-- Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness

COUNTDOWN to return: 212 days

Medieval Eden

2004-10-27T03:48:00.000+01:00

So, a long recap of a long weekend, shall we?

Friday, I went out with my friend Grace and my friend Evie, and we saw a 22h15 show of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind in V.O (voix originale, ie IN ENGLISH). Let me paint you this picture: The three of us, exhausted from a week of hell, me almost straight from gymnastics, Evie out of a fight with her French parents, Grace as perky as ever, and we go to a theater in the center of town, absolutely crawling with people at ten o’clock at night, and we sit down close to the front because Evie doesn’t have her glasses, and are assaulted by a wave of body odor so viral that there are absolutely no words to describe it. I will let my silence create an image for you… So, on the verge of violent nausea, the movie starts. And, very quickly, I am dumbstruck by the brilliance that is this movie. For the two hours I sat with my neck craned to the screen and my hand over my nose, I was completely absorbed. It was amazing, without question. Just so good.

So I go home, and am in bed by one or onethirty, and just pass out. And I have my alarm set, but the next morning, it doesn’t wake me up. At all. I sleep right through it. It turns off on its own after one minute of ringing, so the rest of the family assumes I am now conscious, because it takes talent to ignore a bell like that one, and I end up sleeping for another hour and fifteen minutes, right until 8 am, and I’m supposed to be at school to meet the convoy at 8h15. And it takes 20 minutes to get there. And we’re picking up two other Americans on our way. So, basically, hell on earth. In any case, we made it by 8h30, everything was fine, we didn’t die. But let’s just say, stressful morning.

Followed by an amazing day. I slept the whole bus ride, which is about three hours long, and we take our first stop at the chateau d’Angers. It’s the least involved of the castles on our list for the weekend, from the late middle ages, very standard military. I could astound you with my knowledge of the evolution of chateaus through the early seventeenth century, but I will leave that for another day. So anyway, this is an old war castle, which was built for one of the Henry’s, and was later converted into a prison. The craziest part was crossing down into the dungeons, where the prisoners were kept. They carved things into the stone of the walls, with bits of metal or their fingernails. It was ridiculous, we could actually read these messages from 500 years ago. They were written in poor French, angled and misspelled, but simple and straightforward. It said things like “C’est pour nous punir que nous sommes ici” and “Je suis le dernier condmane” And I can’t impart to you just how creepy it is to read these ancient phrases in a musty tower with a dying flashlight, thinking of these tortured men, unsure if you can ever really understand what they were trying to say. But otherwise, the castle was very old, and straightforward. No delicately decorated rooms or interesting symbolism. Just protection against medieval warfare. But it was cool going to the top of the donjon, the tallest tower, and staring out across the town. The sky was perfect, and you could honestly see forever, past the ends of the city in all directions. It’s so strange because this great stone chateau is in the center of this thriving metropolis. It’s a ridiculous contrast. But anyway, my friend Susannah and I sat on the railing of this tower and looked over the edge, and watched little bits of rock get chipped off of the edge and spiral ten stories to the perfectly cultured gardens below. It was really wonderful.

Then we ate our picnic lunches in the gardens and hopped back on the bus for a schlep over to the Chateau de Villandry. Now, there is nothing absolutely extravagant about the building itself. It was interesting, and exquisite, but only average in the lines of buildings to come. However, the gardens. Dear lord, the gardens. Does anyone remember that random plantation we visited in Williamsburg in sixth grade? How amazing they were? Yeah, nothing compared to this. They stretched on for a mile at least, and there were flowers and mazes and fountains and pretty pictures and beautiful paths. It was like the garden of Eden, and I’m sure they did that on purpose. There can’t be anything like it anywhere else on earth.

The other cool thing about Villandry was the random donkey pen in one corner of the garden, with donkeys that walked right up to me and started nuzzling my neck. That was freaking awesome, by the way.

Ok, there are three more chateaus to describe, and two more days of events to recount, but I only have a few more minutes at the computer, and tomorrow we’re leaving for PARIS for a week or so. SO I’m gonna have to put all of this on hold, and hope what you have so far can tide you over for a little while.

Pictures ASAP as well.

I love you all, and I’m thinking of you.

Until Next Time, I’LL BE IN PARIS.

COUNTDOWN to return: 218 days

Cambodian Birthday

2004-10-19T10:35:00.000+01:00

Quickly...

This week is ridiculous.

I have a test or a paper every day.

But after that, VAY-CAY.

Chateaus in the Loire Valley, and then either Paris or Venice.

Paris. or. Venice.

By the way.

OH MY GOD.

And in other news, Pierre has a stomach virus.

I'm looking forward to having that.

Because, inevitably, I will.

And this weekend, I went to a Cambodian birthday party with my family, where everyone spoke Cambodian or French, and I held a one year old for the first time since I've been here, and almost cried because I miss Jackson so much.

I miss my family. I miss my babies. I didn't think about the withdrawl.

I have to go, but after all my tests are done this week, I'll write again.

I love you.

Until Next Time, I am what I know?

COUNTDOWN to return: 225 days

Num-Squat!

2004-10-13T10:17:00.000+01:00

So today I took the PSATs, and this thoroughly complexed my French family, because why the hell would I take a test to prepare for another test that has nothing to do with this crazy year that I’m spending abroad.

And since universities in France are free, the whole scholarship thing took a little more explaining.

But, you know something, WHY DID I TAKE THE PSATs???

All they did was make my French a little worse that it would be at this very second.

My cough has progressed from a catch in my chest to a full-on mucus-full embarrassment that attacks every time I laugh, or breathe deeply.

Which makes me French a little worse that it would be.

SO YAY.

In other news, I have gymnastics tonight, it’s raining like crazy right now, and tomorrow in Art History, we’re having a crazy quiz where we have to identify the artists of fifteen paintings that we’ve never seen before based on the characteristics of their previous work.

HOW COOL IS THAT??

Also, reading the best book ever from the Franco-American library here, which has ENGLISH BOOKS. It’s called The Private Life of Helen of Troy by John Erskine, and I think that it has stolen my heart. I think in return, I shall steal it from the Franco-American institute and bring it back to the States in May as a souvenir.

Hey! Souvenir! That’s like the French verb souvenir, which is to remember.

Sad that I never thought about that before.

And, I got my first package from my mommy and it was the best thing in the entire world EVER. Peanut butter and the AffNo and Mark Doty and face wash and my blue-suede flats (Mommy, where did you find them???). It was amazing. Thank you, mommy and ga-ga. It’s perfect.

Okay, so that was just a random update of what’s going on right this very moment, here in Rennes.

Hope it sounds CRAZY, cuz that’s what it is, and that’s what I am.

I miss you.

Until Next Time, Helen: “One ought to make one’s child happy. But not one’s lover; I deny any obligation there. If we only knew beforehand, and accepter the implications, that happiness is the last thing to ask of love! A divine realization of life, yes, and awakening to the world outside and the soul within – but not happiness. A man or a woman loved is simply the occasion of a dream. The stronger the love, as we say, the clearer and more life-like seems the vision. To make your lover altogether happy would be a contradiction of terms; if he’s really your lover he will see in you far more than you are, but if you prove less than he sees, he will be unhappy. I am peculiar case – every one is who has known love – but we have to build up the illusion before we can be disappointed.”

COUNTDOWN to return: 231 days

Class Breakdown and Drunk Hostels

2004-10-12T20:35:00.000+01:00

So this weekend was quite the French weekend.

Friday night, I saw a movie. It was called “Old Boy.” It is a Korean movie, it is in Korean, it is the definition of Korean. And it was subtitled in French.

Let’s talk about how crazy that was.

The movie was violent and surreal and personally assaulting, but it was fantastic. In the way that Fight Club is fantastic. It was so good. It was SO good. But wow. Korean/French/bloody… just all around overwhelming.

Then on Saturday we drove out to a hostel in the-middle-of-nowhere, Bretagne, and slept in a hostel that had the most amazing chocolate cake on the planet. Ever. I almost passed out it was so good. But of course I spent the night following some little French nine-year-old girls around, practically begging them to throw me a bone, but I was perky about it, so I don’t think it was that demeaning. It was just blending. But the best part was seeing all of the adults who were part of the weekend get drunk, and then proceed to break out a CD player and start dancing to YMCA and Mambo #5. By the way, the YMCA arm choreography never made it to Europe. They just sort of jump around and shout out muddled versions of the letters. Which is the best thing ever.

But on to bigger and bright things. Let’s talk shop:

European Art History
This class never ceases to make me smile. I’m not kidding. My teacher, Jean Philippe Lemay, is quite possibly the funniest man ever, in the most unassuming way imaginable. Really, truly fantastic. He’s in his late forties, healthy, slightly balding, glasses, pale skin. He’s basically the most average teacher ever. He’s in love with his slide projector, and he carries one of those little pens that converts into a pointer. And he’s hysterical. He’s always cracking small jokes and leaving little hints to how brilliant he is. I wish I could recount a specific incident, but it’s practically impossible to do him justice. Just remember, he’s awesome. And the class should be great. We’ve split it into two halves, painting and architecture, and we alternate every class, so it’s never boring, and looking at paintings is basically a intense search for religious and psychological symbolism, so I’ve found that I LOVE IT. Which is always fun.

French Civilization
This class is basically a crash course in French social history, and it’s fine. Pascal Monteville, le professeur, is always fun times, and it’s my best as far as grades are concerned. So there you go. It’ll be useful and all that. Plus, he’s the theater director, and he’s married, and he’s metrosexual.

So basically, I’m all for it.

French Literature
Wow, French Lit. Scary, to say the least. There are three requirements:
ONE Do the reading
TWO Understand the reading
THREE Discuss the reading
Now, let’s address the fact that discussing anything in French is a challenge, and trying to use words suited for poetry and manuscripts from the 16th century is, well, it’s a joke. Plus, I can conjugate verbs notatallever. Silly, really, trying at all. And that feeling really comes to a head during this class. But of course, we role with the punches, and it’s interesting, and the teacher, though intimidating, is just the kind of teacher I really respect: demanding, intelligent, and impatient. She won’t cut us any slack, but if we work as she expects us to work, we won’t need any. One problem: We’re three weeks into the school year and I do not know her name.

French Language
This class is, well, it should be perfect. We’re starting at the beginning, but we’re moving fast, so all the basics that I’ve forgotten or never really learned or missed completely are getting engrained. Whish is another thing I’m definitely all about. It’s one of those classes that you don’t think anything of because it is what it is and it is what you need, but on those days when you’re tired and frustrated, it’s the perfect class, because it’s always the same, and the homework is standard, and it just makes you feel like you have something to rely on. Does anyone else ever feel that way?

But yes, good teacher, good pace, good material. Five stars.

English Lit
Let’s see. While my teacher is fantastic, and I love writing, and the stuff we’re studying this year kicks all the ass there is to kick, the people I have in this class make me want to bang my head against a wall. I do not exaggerate. They never listen to each other, their opinions are naïve and offensive more often than not, they’re constantly competing for time to speak, they never support each other. It is one of the most frustrating classes I’ve ever been in. And it’s a paradox. I don’t particularly want to fight tooth and nail for the time to get my thoughts heard, but almost just as aggravating are the few kids who sit there and scowl because they think they’re better than everyone. There is no happy medium, and there are only a few people in the class who I respect enough to appreciate, and I’m thinking I’ll just imitate them. Where do these people come from? Today, we were talking about “Lost in Translation” which we just finished watching as a class at the end of last week, and the subject of the stereotyping the Japanese people was brought up, and someone said that they were just like that, short and loud and hysterically eager to please, all of them, all the time. It was depressing, to hear someone think that out loud.

I don’t know, am I being completely petulant and judgmental?

Regardless, I love Ms. Stephens, so that’s what counts as far as English B is concerned.

Advanced Pre-Calculus
First, let’s discuss Algebra II Honors, from last year, with good ol’ Mad Dog Davis. One of the most productive classes of my life. It was torturous and intimidating and I hated it half the time, but the other half I knew that I loved it, learning that way from him, and that it was worth all the blood, sweat, and tears. The man rocked my math world, and I miss it.

This year, math is the bane of my existence. My teacher is a bumbling, awkward old man who is ridiculously similar to Mr. McCrackin, only not in that crazy fun endearing way. It’s in a sad, unintelligent way. We go by the book, he never teaches us anything, and half of the class is taught by the students.

Which is SO AGGRAVATING.

TPL
I don’t actually know what this stands for, but this is the class I have once a week for pronunciation. And it is worth its weight in gold. Although the teacher is tough and crazy, and although she reads our grades out loud to the rest of the class, and although it’s really early Wednesday morning, I have to say that any class that helps me to speak French better is basically the only class I want to take.

So that’s that.

In other news, I’m SICK. Ugh, being sick just makes everything thirty times harder to understand.

On the upside, my wonderful laptop can play older DVDs! I just learned! It can’t handle the new ones with their crazy menus and loaded special features and jazzy moving colors, but my friend Grace lent me First Wives’ Club, which is coming up on its 9th year on disc, and it’s awesome! Now, you can’t watch with more than one person because there is no real sound system, so it’s really just like the moving pictures are whispering at you, but in headphones and snuggled into bed, it keeps me company when I need it.

Plus, the movie is HI-larious. I’ve watched it three times in the past two days.

I needed comfort.

Anyway, that’s a fairly sufficient montage of French life, don’t you think?

I really miss you guys. There's no cure. None whatsoever.

Until Next Time,
“This weather has me wanting love more tangible Something I can hold cause it’s getting cold Let's hold up our fists to the flame in the sky To block out the light that's reaching for our eyes Cause it, cause it would blind us Yeah it will blind us. But, all I have for the moment is a song to pass the time And a melody to keep me from worrying Some simple progression to keep my fingers busyAnd words that are sure to come back to me And they'll be laughing”
- Bright Eyes: “A Song To Pass the Time”

COUNTDOWN to return: 232 days

PS: Today is my ONE MONTH anniversary in France. One month. I can't believe it. I can't.

One down, eight to go.

GIP!

2004-10-07T22:06:00.000+01:00

A.K.A., Gratuitous Image Post.

Who wants to see France?

So, chronological order…

Samedi le 25 septembre 2004

Here you have Lorient,

A tiny town,

The beginning of the sunset in Trinite sur Mer

The end of the sunset, from the road

And the beautiful church of Carnac

Dimanche le 26 september 2004

The cliffs on L’Ille de Groix (can you see the glass churning?)

Me, overlooking.

And overlooking yet again.

And the cliffs, from across the way.

Vendredi le 01 octobre 2004

The view from the window

Samedi le 02 octobre 2004

The Mehnirs of Carnac

Again, in color.

SYA France 2004

So, that’s what I have to share. I wish that I had A SINGLE PICTURE of my family, but it wasn’t my camera, so I’m just scavenging from others, and they don’t find those to be quite as interesting.

But, that’s what I’ve got. I hope you see it as I did.

Until Next Time,
"(i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens;

only something in me understands

the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)

nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands"

- e.e. cummings, "somewhere i have never traveled"

COUNTDOWN to return: 238 days

Carnac

2004-10-05T06:12:00.000+01:00

So, we went on our trip to the coast. To the very essence of the middle of nowhere. To the very essence of Bretagne. Intriguing, non?

When I said in my last entry that I was going to the northern coast, that was a blatant lie. I was purposefully deceiving you. We went in the exact opposite direction, plus pres de L’Isle de Groix where I had been last weekend. In fact, we passed through the same small towns. It felt very ironic.

So we went to the Gulf of Morbihan, which is about two hours south of Rennes. It was quite the trip.

We started at this crazy chateau in the middle of all of these adorable French cottages and farmlands. It’s the craziest (MUSIC: *is madcap*) chateau I’ve ever been to. It’s centuries old, I think it dates back to the sixteenth century, but it has been beautifully restored, and on its property (which is enormous) it houses 22 outdoor pieces of modern art. They’re in the woods and the river and the lawns, and one had to take a map as a guide. It’s really funny to appreciate all of this newly envisioned art on this truly antique property. But my art history teacher, Jean Philippe (who is the funniest man alive), thought it was fantastically interactive, it was adorable to see him get all excited about the greenhouse of empty flowerpots that had been painted bright red and arranged meticulously into rows of 67, or the giant silver fence surrounding half of a tree trunk on its side and a cardboard tractor.

I didn’t get it either. But JP found it fascinating.

And I have decided that when I grow older and make my fortune, I’m going to come back to this chateau and build an enormous birdcage on the middle of the front lawn, and have its door fixed open. That is my art. What do you think? Do you get it?

I’m going to name it “Pandora.”

And then I’ll put you all inside it, and lock you here in France with me. That’s right.

Also, there was an American artist in residence at thechateau while we were there, he gave a lecture. He is one of the coolest men walking the face of this earth (parallel to Mark Doty and Mr. Harris and whoever played Jamie in the Last 5 Years when we saw it at Dobama. Scott Plate.). He made this video of a gallery in Houston where he had fourteen different groups of people from all over the city like a 90-woamn barbershop choir and a yoga class and a special education class and a garage band and a crazy dance troupe come into this gallery and hold a normal meeting in the space while he recorded them, and then he edited all 14 together into this hilarious 30 minute piece that he projected life-size onto the gallery walls, and had people come in to see it. This way, he got all of these people and their friends and relatives involved with the gallery and interested in each other, plus it was the funniest video ever. He does stuff like this all over the world; he interacts with people and facilitates all this amazing personal exposure. It’s brilliantly done. He made another video of these men who work at a gas station/auto garage reading excerpts from Ulysses by James Joyce off of cue cards. It was unreal. And it was the randomest thing to experience here, of all places. In France. In a chateau. But I think we’re going to go back at the end of the year to see what he accomplishes. Everyone thought he was fantastic. His name’s Harrell Fletcher, I think he has a website (www.harrellfletcher.com) that I haven’t seen yet, but if he has any of his videos up for public enjoyment, take part. You won’t regret it.

After the chateau, we went to this tiny island to sleep. We stayed in a hostel of some kind, with dorm rooms and what not. And they roomed us! As in, they selected our roommates for us. The whole 3 days we were in Boston, it was completely up to us, but for that one night, they had us randomly arranged. It was slightly aggravating, but we spent very little time in our rooms, so no big deal, of course. The island was too small and bland to house any stories worth telling.

The next day, we went to Carnac, and saw the mehnirs. Does anyone know what a mehnir is? The one that everyone knows is in Great Britain, Stonehenge. Great formations of standing rocks, constructed by humans. Well, a menhir is one of the individual rocks that contributes to the overall structure. While this was no Stonehenge, it is still basically unbelievable. Carnac has over three thousand rocks and they’re over six thousand years old. I couldn’t think that largely. In the US, we have amazing sights, but they’re Niagara Falls and the Grand Canyon and things, and we just happen to have gotten lucky in the geographic lottery. This stuff was made by human beings, it was planned and constructed and left standing over millennia. And the carvings, in the stone. I kept tracing my fingers in the ridges, wondering how many people must have felt the same thing for five thousand years. It’s so alien. The rocks are arranged into lines, and they stretch for miles. People have been trying to understand the method behind the madness of the way they are arranged, but no one seems to have an answer yet. They’re some kind of sacred collective, most likely associated with the sun. But can you imagine how hard these peoples must have worked, and for how long? The way they stretch, I can imagine them never really finishing, just adding another couple of stones every season, letting the time pass. But I hope they felt successful, I hope it brought them renown. Is it only wonderful because it has been standing for six thousand years?

So I was basically just overall astounded by these big rocks. I mean, how could you not be? Seriously, this is not a rhetorical question. How could you not be astounded? You’ve seen it all before? You think all ancient civilizations were just being silly messing around with their rocks? You don’t believe in rocks at all? You have no brain and no soul and are merely a body that manages to move and speak and wear expensive clothes?

Ugh. I’m sorry. But the people here, they are disappointing. First of all, they are not nice. Many of them will not hesitate to exclude you to for no reason. While it hasn’t happened to be personally, thank god, I sit in the common room sometimes and it kills me a little inside every time I see this girl turn her back to that one, or that girl walk right by this one when she was waving hello. It’s almost savage. I thought I was going to come here and meet all of these brilliant, motivated, life-changing people who were seeking to expand their horizons and learn about themselves and feel at home in the world. But really, I feel like I’m surrounded by a large group of well endowed young boys and girls who wanted to add some spark to their college apps. Which I should’ve expected. But since I didn’t, it’s extra disappointing. And I’m sure that with time, I’ll get to know each and every one of them, and realize the intricate things about them that are being masked by the meaner defense mechanisms. Or that they are harboring some golden creative spirit. But until then, the comparison of these to those who I’ve left behind is just silly. It makes me miss you all so much.

I don’t want to make this sound like there’s no one here. It’s not that way at all. There are a few people, a good number of people that I have gotten close to and whom I appreciate honestly and sincerely. I hope I know them for the rest of my life. And there are even more who I’m hoping to get to know. But still, there are those people who looked at the menhirs and said, “Huh. Well. I’m tired.”

And that just… It made me die a little inside.

But through all of this, I know that I am growing. I can be independent, I can explore on my own, I know that no matter what, I have myself, and that’s good enough. And honestly, I’m finding that to be one of the most crucial things I’ve learned so far, even more than how to ask where the bathroom is, and it has only been three weeks. So there is a wonderful silver lining.

And, again, for my iPod donors, you are the smartest and best friends ever, and I can’t tell you how this wonderful little guy is getting me through my days.

It’s amazing.

I now have 1800 songs on it, and I don’t think I’ve used half the memory yet.

I have it with me every second.

We’ll be married as soon as it’s legal (happily, this issue is not being written into the constitution as of yet, but we’re trying to lay low and keep off of Bushie’s radar screen. Who knows who’s next once he’s done with those evil same-sex couples…).

No kidding.

Next entry, a full description of all my classes, because they do play such an enormous role in my life, and I feel this journal is somewhat lacking as far as their influence is concerned.

I miss you all.

Until Next Time,
"To come on all courageous
And offer you my hand
To pull you up on to dry land
When all I got is sinking sand
The trick ain't worth the time it buys
I'm sick of hearing my own lies
And love's a raven when it flies"
David Gray: “The Other Side”

(The other night, I fell asleep with his CD “White Ladder” on repeat, and I realized just how wonderful he is. I suggest you all get out there and live it too.)

COUNTDOWN to return: 241 days

Once you are Real

2004-10-01T06:32:00.000+01:00

Hello my dears, my faraway loved ones.

I assume that all is arriving, and passing well.

As is true of me.

But the end of this week has been a hard one. I will tell you plainly, it is not easy as of late. It becomes harder to excuse my numerous grammatical errors within my adjustment period. I don’t feel like I’m improving at the speed they expect us to be. By December, all of the teachers will stop writing on the board, and expect us to take notes from lectures alone. I know I’m not even three weeks in yet, and that’s a good three months away, but there are so many words I do not know. I learn at least ten every day, and then promptly forget them.

But worse than this is the fact that it is easy not to speak French. In classes, of course, it’s necessary. And during dinner, or when I’m having a conversation with my host mother. But at school, we all speak English with each other. And whenever we go out, it is always together. This past weekend, since my friend Grace came with her family, she and I spent most of the time together, speaking English. At lunch, in between classes, after school, on the phone. We all speak English. And how can that be right? When I’m not interacting with my family or doing my French homework, I’m writing or reading or listening to music, usually a combination of all three, and that is of course in English. It’s all in English!

When I first got here, it seemed like French was everywhere. Now, I realize how easy it is to avoid it. And it’s crazy, because half the time my head is pounding as I’m trying to materialize the foreign words from the empty space that was once my brain, and the other half of the time, I can barely believe that I need the language at all. It’s a paradox, one that never ceases to leave me exhausted, and frustrated, and lonely. It’s like I don’t belong in any language right now.

So, in order to accelerate my growth, I spent most of the evening in front of the television, and avoided all of the channels with American music (there are two, one of which is MTV, and that’s all stuff from the USA. They have a show called “Top Ten USA.” Would we ever watch “Top Ten Europe” or “Top Ten Australia” or “Top Ten Borneo” at home? I don’t think so… Why do they have all this stuff? It’s all in English!) and English movies, and managed to get in an episode of French friends (which is butchered but still comforting, by the way), and then I watched a French-dubbed version of Forrest Gump.

I love Forrest Gump, and I knew it well enough that I could understand almost every line. It was like an out of body experience.

So that was my evening, and I feel like it was at least immersive, right?

What else is there? Bah oui, things have been hard lately. I get homesick at the worst times, like during classes or in the cafeteria or during dinner. It’s crazy, not knowing where it’s safe to let yourself go. Here, I’m always on guard, trying to be on my best behavior, or something like that. You can’t show your cracks, this far from home.

And I don’t think my sister likes me very much. She doesn’t like the attention her family has to give to me. So we don’t really talk anymore.

But classes are good, I’ve been doing well on tests and things.

And I like biking everywhere.

And my friend Evie and I are planning a bike trip, for the end of February, or March. A real bike trip, with hostel stops and everything. It’s a long way off, and there are a million things to get approved, but a lot of students travel this way, when they’re here. I think we want to go to Rouen. It should be amazing.

And tomorrow, instead of school, we’re going on a trip to the Northern Coast, and staying overnight. It’s a bonding thing. I don’t know what it’s going to entail, but I’m always up for travel in France.

I’m sorry this was not a happy entry.

But I miss you and I love you and I’m sure there will be beautiful things to say about La Manche.

Until Next Time, "It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."- Margery Williams, The Velveteen Rabbit

(I miss that book so much.)

PS: If anyone wants to fill me in on the debates and how the election is going, feel free.

COUNTDOWN to return: 244 days

L'Isle de Groix

2004-09-28T21:21:00.000+01:00

Here’s what it is:

Being in France is like drowning. That’s what it is. It’s like my brain is drowning, and French is the water, but English is air. So basically, I have to turn my brain into a fish. Complete with scales and gills and googly eyes and a tail.

The next time you see me, I shall have fins.

If I’m lucky.

Now, on to other things.

This weekend, I went with my family and my friend Grace and her family (they’re friends with my family; we’re neighbors) to the lower west coast of Bretegne. It was quite the trip, we fit in an unbelievable amount of sights into Saturday afternoon and Sunday. But here’s the rundown:

We started on Saturday in this tiny fishing village just on the coast. It was quaint and lovely, really lovely. At least one hundred years older than anything I’ve ever seen in the States. We just walked around and saw the classically Breton things there were to see. So that was nice. Everything was cobblestone or wood and crumbling in the authentically tired way that makes you feel like years and years of different people have seen this little part of town in varied states of being. It was very cool.

Then we went to the Trinite sur Mer, and stopped in a little bar for tea and cookies, and looked at the boats on the water as the sun started setting. It was really calming and small, an intimate sort of tourism. Great cookies, too. They were bought cheap in bulk from the crazy patisserie/marche next door, but they were unbelievable. Buttery and crumbly and thick. I had four without thinking. Ah, so good.

Then we drove a little to the little tiny plot of land that the Houssel family owns just outside of the Trinite. They just use it to store old bikes and grow squash and tomatoes and peaches and radishes. It was one of the randomest things I’ve ever seen. But that was fine too.

The real amazing part of Saturday was the drive to Annie’s parent’s house in Lorient. The sun was making its final descent, and the sky was partly cloudy, and the colors were starkly contrasted and really one of the most purely beautiful things I have ever seen. The clouds were black and then in the gaps there was a yellow light, which changed to a deep orange, and then a thick pink, until it was purple, and then faded right into navyblack night. It was ridiculous, seeing these colors over the Atlantic, and then over the countryside, and out across cityscapes. They painted everything; it was like sitting in the middle of a postcard. I’ve never been so astounded by the sheer force of color, its depth and its brilliance. Grace took pictures, so I should hopefully be able to post them here once she emails them to me, but it’s something I don’t think you can capture. It was magnificent.

Then we passed through this little tiny town with one of the most beautiful church entryways I’ve ever seen, and the picture we have of this is fantastic, so that I think will be shown unabashedly and without pretense. It’s really awesome.

Then we got to Annie’s parents house, and ate, and slept.

And then the next morning, we work up at seven, and drove out to the coast, where we got on this massive, smelly boat, and sat there for an hour out to this dinky little island called the Isle de Groix. I did not have high expectations for this day, and to be quite honest, it was one of the most high-and-low days I’ve ever had, but that’s hard to explain.

So we get to this island, and as we’re getting off the boat, I slip down a flight of stairs.

And then we rent bikes. All eight of us. They’re great bikes, but the brakes are a little sketchy, and the gear shift is really hard to maneuver. So, alright, they’re not great bikes. The Bikes are just fine.

And we proceed to bike around this little island for seven hours. And let me tell you, this is no simple task.

First of all, it’s a small island, so that from wherever you are standing, in most cases, unless there is a big tree or building next to you, you can see the ocean. So that’s really cool. But the vegetation on this island is pretty much untouched, so the bugs are very eager and come in big groups to feast on any exposed skin you may have, and the paths are very overgrown and scary and bumpy with potholes and roots and other craziness. So it’s a hardcore bike trip. But in between the extreme riding, we stop on the different rocky coasts and beached of the isle. And these are astounding.

On the cliffs, the drop is steep. They said about 150 m, average. And it falls to these rocky cauldrons where the water looks like churning glass. It rises and falls in patterns you wouldn’t think possible, like it’s defying the laws of nature, when really you’re seeing the laws of nature at their finest. The colors were steely and opaque and cool; the sky was overcast and gray. And the wind was whipping and fierce, the kind of wind that blows during the scariest scenes in Disney movies, the kind that foretells bad, bad things. But it was so beautiful. You’d see someone on another cliff a few meters away, and their hair would be flying everywhere and they’d be crouched over the edge of the drop, staring at the sea, and you’d think immediately of some movie scene where the leading lady runs to ocean with her skirt tangled and flapping and her hair falling out of its bun and crying like there is absolutely nothing else she can do. That’s the kind of coasts they have, that’s what belongs there. You have to come see it.

And the beaches always have waves and most interesting sand and there isn’t as much to say, but they’re breathtaking. There’s a beach here that is concave instead of convex (meaning that the sand actually goes further out in the center than it does at the sides) and it’s the only one in all of Europe that’s like that. We didn’t get to swim, it was way too cold, but they were definitely cool.

But all of it, all of the beautiful stuff, just made me wish that I could see it with all of the people I love. I’ve never seen a world like that, and not being able to marvel in it vocally with someone who knows just why I love it so much, or someone who appreciates it the same way I do was just terrifying. I tried to describe the churning glass to my French mother in French, and that was just silly. It not only made me sound stupid, but I felt completely adrift. She didn’t even really want to know, so I was mostly struggling pointlessly. All of these beautiful things and no passionate appreciation. It was frustrating! I kept feeling like I was on the verge of tears. That was frustrating, too. I hate the cheek kissing. I want a hug, I want someone to hold my hand, I want everything to be comforting and warm and close.

This place is the loneliest place I’ve ever been.

But it’s also the most beautiful.

So wherein lies the answer?

That’s about all, I think. Oh, except! I saw dolphins in the Atlantic Ocean!!! There were two of them, they were really dark, and we were on boat back to Lorient. They swam right up to the wake and were jumping and diving along side us for like twenty minutes, and they came all the way into the harbor. It was incredible. I’ve never seen anything like that in my life. They were a lot darker skinned than I thought they would be. Not at all that crazy silver-blue color that I drew all over all of my school supplies in elementary school, which was something of a let down. But you know, it was still amazing.

So everything has a happy dolphin ending.

And now, homework.

I wish you were here.

Until Next Time, “That’s when I miss you, that’s when I miss you, You who are my home.” (please go listen to that song, right now.)

COUNTDOWN to return: 247 days

Avenir Rennes

2004-09-23T22:25:00.000+01:00

So, let's pause and reflect.

Hmmm.

Where do I start?

Two days ago, I was walking down rue Duchesse Anne, which is perpendicular tothe allee (the little street that my school is on), and a little girl was standing on the sidewalk in front of me. She was no taller than a foot and a half, she had straight sandy blonde hair and little blueandwhite striped railroad man overalls, and I couldn't see her face. She had her back to me, and was perfectly still. Walking up to her, I couldn't tell if she was a child or a doll. Every part of her was proportionally ideal, impecably positioned. It was almost creepy. But then her mother came out of the door just to her right, annd they took hands, and she started walking/skipping/frolicing down the street. It was amazingly perfect. I swear to god, it came from a storybook. And here's the thing. Something about this little, tiny doll of a child was so alluring, I was speeding up to catch a glimpse of her face. But I couldn't. I didn't reach her in time, and so I actually have no idea what she looks like. But I've been thinking about it ever since. A captivating little french girl in blue overalls, making the world go round.

Yesterday, on my way to my second gymnastics place, I passed a butcher who had all these cartoon pictures of the three little pigs and the wolf, and the boy who cried wolf and all those sheep, and cartoon cows and Bambi and Peter Rabbit in his shop window. I laughed out loud of the irony, and then I felt like I was a sick, sad, strange young woman, and that I should be shot, and then someone should draw a cartoon of it to put on display at my funeral.

Now that was a terrible string of images, but that's what ran through my head.

The french have a very strange sense of humor.

Oh yes, I started a second gymnastics class, to test it out. Avenir Rennes. It was a million times better than the last one, I actually enjoyed myself, even though I was the WORST one in the room, and I was the only new person, so the isolation was unreal, but I felt like I was working again, and I know that I can make my body remember some things. So it meets Wednesdays and Fridays, and if tonight isn't fun, that's what I'm doing.

BUT TONIGHT, I have Trampoline and Tumbling.

And let me tell you, I am BEYOND excited.

So yay.

Except, pain.

So sore, biked to school today, there's a big hill, so sore.

I wish I was writing more. For myself I mean. I haven't worked on anything worthwhile since before I left.

I'm crap.

Today is a strange day.

I slept poorly last night, I had twisted dreams.

I miss home, a lot, today, especially today.

But of course, that's normal, right?

Of course it is.

I'm sorry that I'm behind on my emails. I promise, I'm doing my best.

I love you guys.

Until Next Time, "The Atlantic was born today..."

COUNTDOWN to return: 253 days

PS: I can get on AIM express at school! So if anyone is around the computers between like 8 and 10 am, I'll be doing what I can to catch you LIVE.

French Gymnasts

2004-09-21T10:35:00.000+01:00

So let's examine the facts:

1 Two days ago, I fell into a river.

2 I've biked more in the past three days than I ever have in my life

3 I walk more in France than I ever have in my life

4 I did gymnastics yesterday for the first time in YEARS.

Add them all together, and what do you get? Madeline is:

10 times as sore as she thought humanly possibly in every place on her body.

So yeah, that's cool.

The gymnastics was fine, not exactly crazy amounts of fun, but it was familliar. Though it's messed up to translate moves like those into French in your head, and then try and remember them with your body. Let's just say, I can't do the things I could when I was 11.

I'm gonna try a dance class, and a trampoline class this week. We'll see which one works out.

So there you go.

Today, school, and homework, and I'm TIRED. Just moving takes wayyy more effort than normal.

UGH, and you can't take long showers in this country.

But there is lots of tea.

Anyways, I love you all.

Stay tuned.

Until Next Time, soursaulte!

COUNTDOWN to return: 255 days (thanks Bo)

PS: KatieMary, you're amazing! xoxoxo Kiss the babies for me, and keep updating!!!

La Chute

2004-09-20T06:31:00.000+01:00

So.

Will, you’ll be happy to know that lately, I bike everywhere. Europe is the most amazing place in the world for people who like to bike, there are special bike lanes marked in green on almost every main road, and one Wednesday per month they encourage everyone to travel by bus or by foot or by velo if they possibly can (which is code for “they egg your car”). So tomorrow, and the day after, when the weather is supposed to work in my favor, I will be biking to school. It’s not too close, not too far, the hills are hard, but it’s gratifying. Basically, it kicks ass. I love biking.

But not all experiences that happen on bikes. Oh my. Let’s see. I’m going to give this to you flat out:

My bike and I, we fell into a river today. A deep canal. In the middle of the day. Not on purpose.

And then I got lost.

How about that?

You want some back-story? There is a dirt road here, in Rennes, which runs along a river called La Villaine. The road (it’s more of a strip) is called le Quai d’Auchel. It’s mostly used by pedestrians, but it’s nice for biking during hours when the traffic is a little heavier, or if you’re in the mood for a simpler trip. And it’s less confusing, so my host mother thought it would be better than the main roads, at least in the beginning. For the most part, this little strip of dirt is fine. Not too bumpy, not too thin, mostly flat, easy to follow. But it runs right next to and a few meters below the level of a main road, called le Quai de la Prevalave. Every now and then there’s a staircase leading from the Prevalave to the dirt path, and it’s then that the strip thins out, and there’s maybe a foot and a half of passable space for twenty meters or so. There are three of four of these sections along the trail, which is probably a mile and a half, all in all. The last set of stairs caught me slightly unawares. My host mother was riding in front of me, and she was fine, and she called out, over her shoulder, “Ne tombe pas dans l’eau!” as something of a joke, and I was looking up at her after she said it because I hadn’t really heard, and then my front wheel hit a rock, so the bike veered to the left, and then right away hit the wall, and so it bounced back to the right, and of course to the right is a foot of dirt and then, La Villaine. So there I went, right over the edge, bike and all.

It was sweet.

The bike dropped right to the bottom, thank god I wasn’t tangled in it. The fall itself was rather graceful, if I do say so myself. But the bottom was like 13 feet away. So there was no hope for the bike, as far as I was concerned. My mother ran to lift me out right away, everything was fine. I was only in the water for maybe 20 seconds. But I came out sopping wet, and covered in weird canal crap, and completely unable to remember French. At all. Three guys were walking in our direction when it happened, and after they saw that I was okay, we were all laughing hysterically at my little mishap. Real, hysteric laughter. It was unbelievable. I FELL IN A RIVER ON A BIKE.

So then Annie said that she would call Philippe and the fire department about the bike, but that I should take her bike and ride home to shower and change. But of course, I shouldn’t follow the river again.

So I did, I left her there, and took the Prevalave towards Cleunay, our little district. And I got completely lost.

So here I am, dripping wet and covered in river crap, freezing to death and unable to speak French because my brain, and all of our plans for the day, decided to stay in the river with the bike, and I don’t recognize anything. All the bus stops I’m passing have unfamiliar numbers, I can’t remember the nave of the street off of which I live, and ever car that drives by feels like the wind of death. Of course, I practically gave myself a heart attack worry about whether I could actually ride a bike. And this time I would fall into the street, if I lost control.

So all in all, I was a mess.

A mess.

But it all turned out alright, of course. I am stronger than I thought, and after I stopped for a few minutes to reflect on what a dumbass I am, I pulled myself together and remembered that I do know some French, and found out that my neighborhood was just a stone’s throw from where I was wandering aimlessly. Covered in river crap.

And that’s the story.

But all in all, it was sort of… interesting.

I learned to watch out for stones. And I could feel it in my bones that no matter what, it could always become worse.

Alright, I’m exhausted, and tomorrow, I bike to school.

Goodnight all, and watch out for big rocks and tight spaces.

I missed you especially today.

Until Next Time, if at first you don’t succeed, try try again.

COUNTDOWN to return: 267 days

PS: I think tomorrow, after school, I try gymnastics. Think flexible thoughts.

PPS: I didn't realize I had the posting comments stuff all messed up. It's enabled for anonymous comments now. Sorry about that, guys. And for you who made blogs, you rock my world, and I hope you update them so I can check in!!!!

Deux pour la prix d'une:

2004-09-18T21:14:00.000+01:00

le 16 sept.:

This is the year of all things unexpectedly wonderful.

Alright, no. The year itself is unexpectedly wonderful. Everything in it that is wonderful, I guess that is expected.

Except my wonderful English class. Who would’ve thought I could get an amazing English class in France? Pas moi. But I did!! I’ll show you what we’re going to study this year. It’s unbelievable:

Lost in Translation (the movie)
Daisy Miller by Henry James
Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad
Apocalypse Now (the movie)
Notes From the Underground by Fyodor Dostoevsky
Othello by Willie Shakes
O (the movie)
King Lear also by Willie Shakes
A Thousand Acres by Jane Smiley (won the Pulitzer, btw)
Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf
The Hours by Michael Cunningham
The Hours (the movie)
White Noise by Don DeLillo

Additionally, we’ll be reading short stories and poems along the way to supplement our knowledge of each piece.

Now, who can tell me that this course doesn’t kick all kinds of ass?

Plus, it’s not technically an AP, but it was designed to prepare us for the AP literature exam. So, how about that?

Today was my first full day of classes, and it was just fine. Nothing particularly exciting to relay, besides the fact that they are all in French, which is still a novelty that I don’t expect to last long. But right now, it kick things up a notch.

What else? The days pass so quickly. I have four periods before lunch, and five after, but they’re 45 minutes long, and lunch is 75. Plus, in a day, I usually have maybe 6 or 7 out of the 9 periods, which translates into at least like an hour and a half of free time. This feels sweet because it’s during the school day, but if you think about it, since I don’t get out of school most of the week until like 5 pm, it’s not that different than getting out at 315. Except that on Wednesday, I have school until 1 and that’s all. And, that day, I have 5 periods and 3 of them are free. Which is amazing. Except that they are the first and the last of the day. But who can complain about that?

So basically, I have work and it’s really hard, but the classes themselves are practically painless, and when I’m not in class, I can walk around town. Which is the most independence I’ve ever had, and it honestly feels like college. I just wish I could do it with you guys.

Oh, god, at dinner tonight, Pierre (mon frere francais) said that he had learned a bad word in la classe d’Anglais today. And then he said it. “Goatshit,” said my sweet little fench brother, who seems like the nicest boy in the world, very wholesome and well-kempt. Saying things like goatshit to his father. I started laughing so hard, I felt like I would never stop. It was a great moment. And then they translated it into French. So I can say goatshit in French, as of this moment. Crotte de biques. That’s right. Apparently, it’s not as taboo in France to say crotte de biques in front of adults as its English counterpart would be. Interesting.

Anyway, I have homework, so I’ll wrap up now and maybe add some more when I post this tomorrow.

Until Next Time, I’m blue dabadedabadie (They just remixed that song here. My French sister listens to it all the time.)

- - -

So here is the supplemental part of this entry that spans two days. Since I left my disc at home yesterday before school, I didn’t feel like redoing the whole things from memory, so I’m sorry if you didn’t get the full benefit of my daily excursions. Kidding, kidding, but I hope you’ll bear with me on the massive entry I’m in the process of constructing.

Let’s see, yesterday was nice. I didn’t have a first class, so I got to wake up an hour later. It’s only a Friday thing, but it was nice, for sure. All of my classes were fine; I’m really enjoying my English class. So much. Our teacher, Allison Stephens, has decided that if she’s in this country, she might as well learn French, so she’s sitting in on my Rouge group AP language class. It’s awesome, I think she’s the coolest woman ever. We have inside jokes… haha. I’m such a dork.

And yesterday, in the middle of the day, one class after lunch but three bands before the end of the day, Hayley, Evie, and I took a bus into the center of town and used our 100 minutes of free time to walk around and sit in a café and drink tea surrounded by French people (and one French couple who was speaking English, which was hilarious) and look at possible gifts for all of you at home. It was funny, actually, we all kept saying “Oh this would be perfect for soandso,” and then we’d have to stop and explain who soandso was and give a little backstory on our relationship to them and their impact on our lives up to present. It takes a lot more effort than one might think. After a while, I just stopped saying them out loud. But then we went into this little place called Salsa, and they had this awesome jewelry and beautiful scarves for cheaper than I’d ever seen anywhere else, and I practically hurt myself thinking of whom would like what. I love it here.

Ah, I bought a scarf for myself for 2.5 euros. It was the same price as my tea. I’ve decided my café days are over, if I can replace them with scarves.

So that was my day, and then I went to a dance class to try it out and I did not like it. I mean, the dancing part was fun, but the warm up was something like 3 times as long and it was boring. So it’s not for me. But hopefully, I’ll like the gymnastics. I think my trial classis on Monday.

And then Pierre and Grace (friend from school who lives around the corner) and Milena (her French sister) and I met a friend and her sister in the center of town and just walked around for an hour and a half, speaking half in English and half in French and basically laughing about the fact that whenever a French person attempts to say the word ‘winner’ they always end up with ‘wiener’ instead, which is just funny. There’s no way around it.

And then I slept and here I am. I took a shower this morning and fell. I mean, a hard fall. It hurt. I’ve never done that before. I didn’t hit my head or anything, I was fine, but the impact itself was shockingly intense. Not that that story really has any relevance at all, except to warn you to watch your feet. They can surprise you, you know.

Anything else? I love crepes but not as much as I love you guys.

It hurts to be away.

But otherwise, smile for me!

Until Next Time, “I am the wiener!”

COUNTDOWN to return: 268 days

PS: If you’re reading this and you have time, leave me a comment. I’m having a hard time keep up with some of my email.

St. Malo

2004-09-16T12:12:00.000+01:00

Right now I’m listening to them talk about the American election on the French radio. Quite an experience let me tell you. I can only capture every other word or so (the vocabulary on the radio is astounding), but I can tell you that they’re about a heartbeat away from making “I LUV John Kerry” tee-shirts. Or, no, how about “Mrs. Kerry." I think they'd sell.

We went to St. Malo today. It’s a little fishing town about an hour north of Rennes. During the Second World War, it was completely leveled by bombs and napalm (it was the first place in the world that they used it), but they re-built it just as it was before to preserve the historic significance. So it’s al little trippy to think that everything around you is ancient and beautifully resilient, when in reality it’s just an imitation of what once was.

I don’t know if it makes me nostalgic or angry. Peut-etre, les deux.

Ah, a break pour le diner, et je suis retournee. I had mussels, guys! And fish!!! I’m a big girl now, trying new things and what not. Who knew I could handle a whole piece of mackerel. But it was perfect. The whole time, I had Doty’s “A Display of Mackerel” in my head “…it is the price of gleaming…” and that made it all somehow worthwhile. Go read Mark Doty, right now! En francais, si tu peux. Mais non. But yes, I ate fish, an dit wasn't good, but if you don't look a tit while you take the bites, it sort of blends into the background. Plus, there was cheese.

Well, that’s all. I won’t publish this until tomorrow, because I’ll have to wait until I can take my disc to school, but until then, I love you and goodnight.

I’m tired.

Until Next Time, il faut que je fasse.

COUNTDOWN to return: 260 days

LATER: So I've been looking into stuff with AP lit. Things are looking up.

And everything here smells funny.

But yay for the first real day of classes. I'm learning french!

I love you!

Rouge

2004-09-15T17:56:00.000+01:00

So, here's the lowdown:

Yesterday, we took our placement tests for Math and French. Not fun. Not fun at all. They went quickly, and they were both what I expected, only harder than I'd guessed, but still, just NOT FUN. And as it turned out, not very successful, either. Well, no, Math was fine. I ended up in the equivalent of AMH, which is where I'd be if I were still at Hawken. But the french landed me out of AP french lit. Which SUCKS. a lot. I know that if I tested for the slot that I'm in, this is where I should be, but I wanted that class so bad, I'm not quite sure why. So basically, I'll be petition to take the class anyway, but it's going to take a few weeks, and a lot of re-working, and teacher conferences and blah blah blah. Basically, it's a long shot. But I'm not taking French history, since we covered it last year, so I can opt out, and this way my schedule is much more free for the extra work that it may entail. Be that as it may, I'm still aggravated. It's a stress I bring down upon myself. It turns out that I can't just cross the Atlantic to get away from it.

After morning classes, we're going to St. Malo, which is maybe an hour away by bus, it's supposed to be beautiful. And rainy. But we all brought bathing suits. Who knows what'll happen.

So that's the news. Family is good, Rennes is good. I went walking around on my own yesterday, just hopped on a bus and went to the center of town. It's amazing here, the independance we all have. I bought The Giver by Lois Lowry en francais.

Everything here costs too much money.

But it's beautiful.

Ugh, I'm lonely and emo. I'm no fun at all.

Miss you.

Until Next Time, at least red's my favorite color.

COUNTDOWN to return: 260 days

Le Jardin de Thabor

2004-09-14T20:23:00.000+01:00

Salut! *bis, bis*

Comment ca-va? Est-ce que tu as passe une bonne journee?

Bon. Moi aussi.

So there you go.

Last night, I bought school supplies. All the binders in france have 4 clasps instead of 3, all the paper if graph paper, and they actually sell paper called les doubles that are two sheets connect at the wholes for larger assignments. Apparently, it's essential. Apparently, it's not alright just to us 2 single sheets. Apparently, our culture is a little behind on the full potential of school supplies.

And I got to watch my sister chat sur MSN. It was CRAZY! Talk about culture shock. Not only is all her chat in french (duh) but it's slang, internet french, so instead of "j'ai" it's "g" and for all the "qu" they us "k"... par example, "g un stylo aujourd'hui ke je l'aime bien." There were more, but I don't know them. mpdr is the substitute for lol. they like american swear words A LOT. And, they fait les bis to say goodbye.

Why don't we do stuff comme ca?

But I can't download AIM here. It's too complicated. BUT if any of you reading this want to create an MSN account, I can chat with you there. Email me if you have time to do so. I can get on the computer at home.

Took my french examen this morning for placement. It was a joke. We shall see. Whatever happens, I'll learn, right?

And we took a walking tour of Rennes today, not very far. Mais en faites, le Jardin de Thabor is SO BEAUTIFUL. It's in the very center of town just 2 blocks from school, and there are roses everywhere and paved walkways and stone benches, and I've never seen anything so green. The walls are high enough that you can't see the city at all, so you honestly feel like you're in a completely different world. It's one of the most tranquil places I've ever been. I wish all of you could come visit it with me. It's hard to see surrounded by people you only barely know. But they do have interesting views on things. One of my friends, Max, said something while we were there that reminded me so violently of someone at home that I had to stop walking and pull myself together. It was surreal. Everything here is surreal. And lonely, and brilliant, and perfectly wonderful.

I miss you all.

Until Next Time, the easiest question on my french test was about Babar. So Babar, this one's for you.

COUNTDOWN to return: 261 days

I'm Here!

2004-09-13T09:37:00.000+01:00

So it's REAL.

I'm here.

And I'm just gonna give the facts, to speed up my time on this computer. I have limited time.

The town is beautiful. Everything is smaller and older and a little more exotic, just because there is nothing but french. But the buildings are older, and there is more stone, and more metal, all very old and intricate.

The school is small and sweet, it's only the neccessities, and everyone in it seems wonderfully accomidating. We start classes on Thursday, and orientation everyday until then.

My house is perfect. It's in a cute neighborhood, and one of the family's close friends has a girl staying with them, her name is Grace, and she was one of the four students not to be trapped in Boston for 3 days. She's so sweet, and I'll be doing all of my traveling with her. I'm really happy about it. It's making the transition a lot smoother. And I have my room, I made it homey and personal, there are pictures all over the place, it makes me sad, but I love it.

AND the family! Annie, the mother, is the one who interacts with me the most, and she's hilarious. Everyone is patient with me, they laugh when I make mistakes, they correct me when I'm wrong. The father, Philipe, is very eager to teach, and Pierre doesn't say much, but he's really sweet. Claire is ADORABLE, and we get a long really well. We actually bonded a little, in french, last night.

I'm going to be happy here. I really am.

I miss you.

Until Next Time, the french is coming.

COUNTDOWN to return: 262 days

Stuck in Limbo

2004-09-10T19:40:00.000+01:00

SO.... long story.

I'm gonna make it shorter.

I'm still in Boston. Our plane, which was delayed an hour in the first place, got severely messed up, and we ended up sitting in it on the runway for FOUR HOURS before they told us to high tail it to the nearest hotel, cuz WE WEREN'T GOING ANYWHERE.

Then we sat in the Logan airport for another two hours, schelping our MASSIVELY OVERWEIGHT SUITCASES here there and everywhere.

We stayed in an Embassy Suites last night, near Logan, and it's all fine. I've made friends, everyone is sweet and outgoing, for the most part. When I have more time, you'll get more information.

We have a flight to Paris tonight at 9 pm.

Hopefully, it'll get there.

So, cross your fingers for me.

Missing you.

Until Next Time, I'm in the waiting line.

COUNTDOWN to departure (again): 9 hours and 20 minutes

COUNTDOWN to return: 265 days

This Is It.

2004-09-09T05:21:00.000+01:00

This is it. We have hit the big time, the real deal, the deep end.

And I'm jumping. With my eyes closed, and my hands tied.

I'm packed. I have everything. I have more than everything.

I can't even tell you how apprehensive I am. It feels like the whole world is spinning faster than I can, but I'm struggling to catch up, when really all I want to do is let it move around me so I can be still and take time and think. And in the end, that is just selfish, I need to learn to live through everything as it happens the first time around, instead of in my head or in my notebook a few hours later.

The pros weight out the cons in this adventure, I know they do, we've all weighed them out in our minds. But I can't feel that right now. I'm scared and sad, and I'm just hoping that once the excitement comes (which it will, it has to) it will never leave. I hope that it will keep me afloat.

I love you, you who has decided that reading this is worth your time, and I hope that you will stick with me long enough to see the anxiety fade into exhilaration.

But my aunt Colleen is waiting to meet me in Boston, I have my iPod and my new clothes and my notebook to keep me company, and it's always healthy to cry.

The next time you hear from me, I will be in FRANCE.

SO...

Until Next Time, "I wish the whole world were flat like the old days, and I could travel just by folding a map. No more airplanes or speed trains or freeways, there'd be no distance that could hold us back." - Death Cab for Cutie

COUNTDOWN to departure: 9 hours, 40 minutes

COUNTDOWN to return: 266 days

The Great iPod Escape

2004-09-05T09:48:00.000+01:00

My friends are truly amazing people. I've never been so touched by a group of people, I've never felt so loved or connected or integral to someone or something. Something being our group, our little circle of love. I love you guys so much.

On Friday night, my friends threw me a suprise going away party. There were roses and ice cream cake and bathing suits and a bunch of independantly wonderful people coming together in a pool house at 830 in the dark on the left side of the room to bid me farewell. They were all smiling and laughing and I was surrounded by some of the most kindhearted people the world has to offer. It was one of the best nights of my life.

And the coup de gras? THEY BOUGHT ME AN iPOD!!! An iPod. A fucking 20GB, massively amazing iPod which holds all of my music and more and is exactly what I needed and thought I would wait for and never needs batteries and has all of the most comforting songs in the world on it as of this night that I have spent slaving in front of iTunes. They all chipped in to Molly's idea, and apparently they were at the store in Legacy Village buying it while I was there with my grandparents for dinner, and they saw me sitting on a bench. It's like a plot thickening moment. Gah, iPOD.

I'm gonna miss this place, dear me.

What else? We've done more shopping, and I'm even closer to being fully prepared for departure. How scary is that?

I am pressing one of my roses. It shall last forever.

Until Next Time, "I'll be thad."

COUNTDOWN TO DEPARTURE: 4 days

COUNTDOWN TO RETURN: 270 days

Here We Go

2004-09-03T19:28:00.000+01:00

So all that I know is, it is beginning.

This will be my basic way of communitcating with large amounts of people, States-side. I am a horrible correspondant, and if I miss emails or forget to call, this will be where you should be able to find everything out. It may be slightly censored, if only for my own sanity and privacy, but it should be all that is important to assure you that I am safe and happy and flourishing the FRENCH way.

Hopefully, I will be able to update often.

Hopefully, you'll enjoy it.

Hopefully, it will be worth your time.

Until Next Time, hang on tight.

COUNTDOWN to departure: 6 days

COUNTDOWN to return: 272 days