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
27 October 2004
19 October 2004
Cambodian Birthday
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
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
13 October 2004
Num-Squat!
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
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
12 October 2004
Class Breakdown and Drunk Hostels
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.
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.
07 October 2004
GIP!
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;
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
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
