Sunday evening. Dinner, you have been had. I know some people who (with reason) mock other people who talk about what they had to eat that day. But the following can't be helped; I am, with out shame, a passionate food lover. And nothing comes between my words and my passions.
See, I am not a cook. And not elaborate. But when I eat my spinach salad with strawberry slices sprinkled with freshly squeezed (Why does squozen sound right to me? Apparently squoze is not even a word, let alone squozen. Maybe its all so confusing because squeeze is one of the weirdest words in the English language. In fact I just looked up the etymology of the word and its origin is unknown. It is supposed that it was some alteration of a word in Obsolete English. No wonder.) I have to start that sentence over again. Note to self: do not put a whole paragraph in parentheses. Dickens can pull it off without the use of parentheses but he does not go obtusely off topic. So don't even try it.
Let's try this again: But when I eat my spinach salad with strawberry slices sprinkled with freshly squeezed lemon juice, I feel like a queen. You can't imagine how posh I imagine myself as I then eat a desert of plain yogurt with slices of banana and strawberries. Oh the bitterness. Oh the sweetness. Oh the bittersweet. I may be alone alone (twice for emphasis; and irony) in my love of my many, weird, as many have told me "disgusting" , "healthy" concoctions, but I am happy. Because it is all worth it when afterward I reward myself with half a bar of chocolate and a bowl of French ice cream and have absolutely no guilt. Yes, I get two desserts because I am a big girl.
Now I'll tell you what this has to do with my French travels, since this "is" a travel blog after all. Five years and 4 months ago in Rennes I met a boy. His name was Romain. Romain was obsessed with English, United States, England. Yes. But he never denounced his origins and was a frenchie, through and through. One day while chilling in his apartment I found myself complaining to him about my weight gain there in France despite walking everywhere and eating vegetables for like the first time in my life. He was obviously a true friend because he let me complain. And listened. And then offered wise French counsel/explanation: "it's because you don't love your food," he says. I then persist in telling him that that was exactly my problem-I loved my food far too much. He continued "No, you're an American, you do not love your food; because after you eat you feel guilty. You cannot truly love while you are suppressing guilt." Profound, no? A life lesson on love from food. Only in France. And it is true, we Americans are a guilty species. According to a comparative studies book entitled "Francais Americain" I read back in college, this is due to our nation's birth in the context of strong religious traditions. And with that underlying quaker mentality, ensuing guilt.
As a side note, Romain, my long lost food and love connoiseur is going to be coming to Marseilles mid-August. Hurray for old and long lost friends.
Thus began, at the ripe age of 19, a love for food and a dismissal of guilt in that arena of my life thanks to a little trick called self justification. I encourage you all to therefore do as the French and love your food. Chew slowly, savor the texture, the taste. Swallow, then repeat. Do not eat with the tv on. Do not eat standing up. Set the table with the same kind of excitement as you would when putting Christmas decorations.
On my mission I started a new tradition by adding a little foreplay into the whole love affair with food: singing to it. Telling it how delicious it was going to be. How juicy. How sweet. How fresh. How crispy and full of "greesy goodness" (a term reserved for my infamous quesadillas). And no, I would not use a gollum voice. My companions got a kick out of that, my impromptu lyrics usually put to the tunes of Christmas or primary songs. Of course, I don't eat much meat (remember, I don't cook and meat involves too many ways to mess up) and so singing to my food is a perfectly humane thing to do. It's not like I would dream of singing the following to a hamburger (to the tune of O Christmas Tree), "Oh hamburger, oh hamburger , I am so glad you died for me. You were a cow, and now you're not. You were cold (in the freezer), and now you're hot. I'm grilling you, I'm grilling you, you love my spices, yes you do". Loving your food is a subtle art. You have to know when you're crossing the line.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Monday, July 20, 2009
I held so many people in my suitcase heart
So. Several people here and at home have recently shown interest in reading my blog. This has created the need to do some back-editing and may (read, most certainly will) affect future entries. I’ve kind of spared nothing up to this point; discretion amongst my close relations never really was my forte. Given that, you would think I would love to write in my journal. Au contraire my friends, au contraire. I have a really hard time of it, writing to my future self or my kids I don’t yet have or complete strangers who might come across my words “one day”. A concrete audience is what I require; you know, the kind that breathes and feels. In the present. So maybe I’ll have to create another more journalistic blog with a limited audience composed of people that my candidness won’t take by surprise. But for the rest of you, this is goodbye to my blog “a la journal”.
But the beginning of something wonderful, nonetheless.
My dear friend Winston, known to some of you as Elder McCarthy, inspired the theme of much of what I will write in this next blog. See, he posts a link to his blog on his facebook and probably got more than he was betting for when I decided to check it out. His original intention in writing a blog was to write “just a journal, nothing more”. So yes, I essentially stumbled onto his journal. (I will add as a side note that this also kind of made me realize the need for discretion in my postings. Not that big W wrote anything indiscreet or anything; he limits himself to toe stubbing incidents and one, two paragraphs max. Rather the reality that anyone can access my blog was what I gleaned from my readings.) He remarked that a general authority, I don’t know who, had recommended that in your daily journal writings you include something you are grateful for from that day. Impressed, yes I was.
So I don’t mean to disappoint here or anything, but I’m not going to outline every hour of the past two weeks here. I’m going to have some photos, some descriptions, preceded by a lot of gratitude. My English teachers of yesteryear would be so proud of me and my introductory paragraph complete with topic sentence. I blame them for my inability to relay information like a normal human being. I have taken my revenge however by starting sentences with 'so', 'and', and 'but' as a rule of thumb and writing incomplete sentences altogether. So wrong. And yet so right.
Yeah, I know. Only a huge nerd considers violation of the mechanics of writing as a sort of rebellion.
With discretion will come a lack in context in some cases. You will pardon me this, of course. (I thank you for your magnanimity). In order to avoid jealousy between my subject matter, I leave you by way of an update of these last two weeks, in no particular order, what I have recently found myself grateful for:
1) American customer service. Not only the fact that in the good old US of A the consumer is recognized as the means of keeping businesses running but also the general patience towards customers. And, because I am impatient I have to add that I’m grateful for respect of the customer’s time. Example: I spent 30 minutes in line at the local grocery one morning to buy 2 croissants and a pack of laughing cow cheese. And I had a tram, then a metro to catch. Starvation seemed a better alternative than being in the claustrophobia inducing lines but as my hypoglycemia makes my starvation a miserable experience for those around me generally, I remained standing there. And I didn’t move for another 6 minutes. My stomach tightened at every six minute interval I was able to take a step. I never thought I would more appreciate the fast lane, or, even better, the self check lane in grocery stores.
2) By the same token, I’m grateful-even though I don’t like it-to learn a very important life lesson that my head phrases something like this: get over yourself, you are not as patient as you think you are and even at that you knew you had a ways to go.
3) Good luck. Call it what you like, a little prayer never hurt anyone. Like that time I lost my newly purchased tram ticket (12.60 with 10 euros, that’s $14, remaining). This was actually the same morning as the waiting in line incident and as I was in a hurry I figured I had put the pass some ridiculous place in my room thinking I would remember and decided to just worry about finding it later and buy a one day pass. I was walking to the tram and worrying about it. I said a little prayer in my head, crossed the street and decided to listen to my music to de-stress. I turn my bag around to the front. I start to dig around for my itouch. Inevitably, my eyes grace the pavement. And there I see a tram pass. I pick it up and give it a good look. It has 12.60 punched on it and that’s when it hits me: the night before when walking home my hands full of bags of books and clothes I had decided to listen to my ipod at that exact same spot. I had swung my bag around front and doing so had dislodged the tram ticket from my back pocket. If you had asked me earlier if I had lost it on the way home I would have said it was a possibility and that it probably fell out on the tram, while I was sitting down. Only hindsight made me realize how I had lost the thing in the first place. Who says independent women don’t manage without a little help from lady luck and the man upstairs?
4) Growing up with a limited television privileges and lots of chores (even though in hindsight lots may be an exaggeration here). The former because I learned early that I was capable of entertaining myself and the latter because I learned early that I was capable of contributing, responsibility, and hard work. To a degree, we'll say. Respect for time and property came with that too, I think. A weird and unrelated and possibly cultural and therefore egocentrical anecdote: Bastille Day, July 14th, is the French equivalent to the 4th of July. I spent the day at the ward, barbequing followed by fireworks at the beach until 12:30. Am. While the fireworks weren’t all that great and we arrived late, it was an experience, the whole beach bit. On the 25 minute drive home we passed 2 burning cars and 1 burning motorcycle. Fireworks, you might ask? No. Just people-not necessarily teenagers either- who were bored and derive joy vandalizing other peoples things. Vandalism is quite a problem here. As is littering. I’m not trying to get to the root of the problem here or anything, because obviously taking away the television and heaping on the chores does not ensure responsible citizens. But let’s just say I am grateful to be an American raised in an educated, hard working home. And by that I imply more that I can possibly explain right now. And I also don't mean to sound self congratulating, or snobbish. I really am just grateful. Thanks Mom and Dad.
5) Homeopathic doctors and remedies. Because despite a gluten allergy I am able to counter the effects of all the pastries and french baked goodness with a couple of pills. I think it's catching up with me, and I still feel like my muscles are weaker than they should be but it sure beats having a constant stomach ache.
6) French chocolate. That pretty much says it all.
7) Bookstores. Especially French ones. Facebook may have informed some of you that I just dispensed of over 100 euro (yes, that is $140) at the local and then used "librarie" (bookstore). Thanks to the hours I had to explore I found a couple of good (read, interesting/cheap) finds. One of them I started last week, it's called "Demain la Lune" (Tomorrow the Moon). I bought it because it sounded like a coming of age story. A big fan of adolescent literature I seized the chance to expose myself to the French adolescent experience. True, it takes place in the 70's but it is a story of a boy who is from a town 20 minutes outside of Rennes (where I studied abroad) who has to spend his summer vacation with his newly divorced father in Provence (where I am now). I seem to have unbelievable luck here; everything coincides perfectly. Where this kind of luck is in Utah, the real world, I would really like to know. I should add here that this is my 5th book I'm working my way through now. I just finished a Marie Antoinette biography and now I'm itching to spend more time in Paris. I'd be very grateful for that, but I may be getting ahead of myself since finances are tight. Here's a picture for you of my purchases :)
8) SISTERS. And Dave. Seeing the workings of a household with an only child has made me shudder at what life would have been like-and would be like-without them. Seriously, I see this shadow, a phantom, of the child I might have been. She's kind of monsterous in thick, pink rimmed glasses. I'll spare you the sociopathic vision.
9) My friendies. Amis. Amigos. Because for some reason this 2 month excursion of mine has me missing hanging out with you more than a mission or study abroad (various theories to explain this phenomenon will likely follow) and because you've been so awesome at indulging me and keeping in touch. And again, talk about luck, I'm glad to be one of 4 Americans here in the ward. Not only does it make for more of a party but I can hide the fact-by degrees-that I'm a shameless tag along.
K, 10 would be a nice round number to end on but I have to stop this sappiness before I CTRL A and delete this on a whim. And now ladies and gentlemen, for some pictures. Possibly some videos if I can tap into the tech-savy mastermind within.
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I came bearing gifts. This is the night of my arrival in Marseille with Chrystèle and William.
Plume the cat likes to sleep in my drawer. Hmm, reminds me of a little black monster I know back home.
This is the cereal I hold fully responsible for my weight gain in Rennes, five years back. 2 bowls a morning of this stuff and fatty french milk will do that to you. I've found a new and improved version. At 2.50 a box and gluten free, I pretty much have to eat the stuff. I have no other choice but to eat spoonful after spoonful of oat granola swimming with shavings of dark chocolate. It's a matter of health. No choice whatsoever.
Florence countryside by car. Yes, those are grape vines.
My freezing my tail after getting out of the water at plage d'estagnol. We went two Wednesdays ago.
Joel taking a picture of me taking a picture of plage d'estagnol. This place could compete with Hawaii in my book. Awesome.
Plage d'estagnol cont....
...inued.
Aix-en-Provence. Cezanne and I, we're tight. Drew and Mathias (les Americains) and Slyvia, a girl from their program, bussed it out here last Saturday to be given a guided tour by Marie and Elodie, natives to France but not the region.
Provencial streets. Yes, I am still obsessed with windows.
Aix marketplace. I took pictures of the flowers instead of buying anything. Had to save my mula for gelato, breton (think Rennes) crepes, and renown pasteries. OOh. La. La.
Marketplace continued.
Friends and family, please take note. This is how the French decorate the cars of newlyweds: ribbons and flowers. Classy inside and out. When my big day comes, I want (read: have to have) this. I have other pictures, should you need further inspiration.
Notre Dame de....Aix?
No window? No door? Don't worry, they'll grafiti one in for you.
Fountain I-have-all-ready-forgotten-your-name. Aix.
Sylvia, Polish, bears a frightning resemblence to Dr. Brennen in Bones. She thought it was hilarious to sneak up behind me when I was taking pictures. I have 3 other similar shots and in all 3 she refuses to take off her sunglasses. Which is a shame because you can't see the resemblence really here.
Drew, the Narrator. He takes videos and narrates them. Inspirational, really. I regret not having
more videos from my mission. So now I'm following Drew's trend, minus the narration.
Sylvia, Mathias, and I. Aix. Drew is the photographer and all the group photos we had other people take of us are on his camera and I'll get them later.
Chrystèle bought me this recipe book of regional delights.
Notre Dame de la Garde. Google images took this picture for me. We visited on Bastille day, July 14th. It's one of the most known icons of the city. You can see her lady from almost anywhere in Marseille and from out on the ocean too (I've been told).
On the inside of the cathedral of Notre Dame de la Garde. Because she is both a landmark and religious icon of a city built on a port, there are a lot of themes about water and boats in the decor. There were boats hanging from the ceiling all over. I now want to decorate a room in my house like that. This is one of the most colorful cathedrals I'd ever seen.
Notre Dame de la Garde.
Marseille minstral (wind) meets Sunny at Notre Dame de la Garde.
View from Notre Dame tower.
Here I am in front of the entrance to the catherdal wearing my hope and peace shirt on Bastille day. It's as patriotic as I get here.
Last Saturday Joel drove us out to the Calanques. That's a french term for cliffs meeting ocean in a particular fashion I can't quite describe. We weren't able to visit the Calanques we wanted to, nor do the hiking we planned on doing there due to the heat and winds which resulted in fire risks apparently. Mathias and I were dumbfounded at the alarm the heat and wind caused because seriously, all the coastline was closed off. We ended up in Cassis, about 20 minutes out of Marseille. It was absolutely pictoresque. Fellow travelers were Mathias (obviously), Louise, and Jonathan, from the ward.
Jonathan and I in deep conversation.
Mathias and Louise. Mathias had that towel wrapped around his head at one point to avoid sunburn. Classic. Louise got sunburned for like the 2nd time in her life. She's got a great tan line from her cast to prove it too.
Voila, the Calanques meet the port.
The brave and sunburned travellers.
The Cigales (Cicadas) are infamous here in Provence. Like crickets in the mountain, they set the tone for summer. Jonathan made friends with one here. Gross.
Sunday we picnicked and then headed downtown to visit the Palais Longchamps. This is the view of the palace from the back, you can see me there walking on the right.
Chrystèle and I at the Palais.
Palais arches.
Coming down around the side of the Palais.
"I was a statuette". (See previous photo)
View from the Palais.
Almost down to the street.
In contemplation.
So, I've discovered how to post a video. Now I just need to learn how to edit them. The new iphone can do that but apparently my computer can't; go figure. If you go about 25 seconds into the film you'll see me standing at the edge of the rocks, preparing to get in the ice and I mean freezing cold water. I was nearly ready for it but this wave came and I lost my balance and well, you'll see. Make sure you have the volume up so you can hear me screaming. I didn't last long in that water and it wore me out, I'll tell you. That's the most interesting thing about the video though, in case you want to keep watching.
And voila, the adventures end. I've been keeping myself more busy, as you see. I feel real lazy, a lot of the time and know I will have a hard time coming home to the pace of the real world but I'm not letting that interfere with my here and now. I'm in France and la vie est belle.
But the beginning of something wonderful, nonetheless.
My dear friend Winston, known to some of you as Elder McCarthy, inspired the theme of much of what I will write in this next blog. See, he posts a link to his blog on his facebook and probably got more than he was betting for when I decided to check it out. His original intention in writing a blog was to write “just a journal, nothing more”. So yes, I essentially stumbled onto his journal. (I will add as a side note that this also kind of made me realize the need for discretion in my postings. Not that big W wrote anything indiscreet or anything; he limits himself to toe stubbing incidents and one, two paragraphs max. Rather the reality that anyone can access my blog was what I gleaned from my readings.) He remarked that a general authority, I don’t know who, had recommended that in your daily journal writings you include something you are grateful for from that day. Impressed, yes I was.
So I don’t mean to disappoint here or anything, but I’m not going to outline every hour of the past two weeks here. I’m going to have some photos, some descriptions, preceded by a lot of gratitude. My English teachers of yesteryear would be so proud of me and my introductory paragraph complete with topic sentence. I blame them for my inability to relay information like a normal human being. I have taken my revenge however by starting sentences with 'so', 'and', and 'but' as a rule of thumb and writing incomplete sentences altogether. So wrong. And yet so right.
Yeah, I know. Only a huge nerd considers violation of the mechanics of writing as a sort of rebellion.
With discretion will come a lack in context in some cases. You will pardon me this, of course. (I thank you for your magnanimity). In order to avoid jealousy between my subject matter, I leave you by way of an update of these last two weeks, in no particular order, what I have recently found myself grateful for:
1) American customer service. Not only the fact that in the good old US of A the consumer is recognized as the means of keeping businesses running but also the general patience towards customers. And, because I am impatient I have to add that I’m grateful for respect of the customer’s time. Example: I spent 30 minutes in line at the local grocery one morning to buy 2 croissants and a pack of laughing cow cheese. And I had a tram, then a metro to catch. Starvation seemed a better alternative than being in the claustrophobia inducing lines but as my hypoglycemia makes my starvation a miserable experience for those around me generally, I remained standing there. And I didn’t move for another 6 minutes. My stomach tightened at every six minute interval I was able to take a step. I never thought I would more appreciate the fast lane, or, even better, the self check lane in grocery stores.
2) By the same token, I’m grateful-even though I don’t like it-to learn a very important life lesson that my head phrases something like this: get over yourself, you are not as patient as you think you are and even at that you knew you had a ways to go.
3) Good luck. Call it what you like, a little prayer never hurt anyone. Like that time I lost my newly purchased tram ticket (12.60 with 10 euros, that’s $14, remaining). This was actually the same morning as the waiting in line incident and as I was in a hurry I figured I had put the pass some ridiculous place in my room thinking I would remember and decided to just worry about finding it later and buy a one day pass. I was walking to the tram and worrying about it. I said a little prayer in my head, crossed the street and decided to listen to my music to de-stress. I turn my bag around to the front. I start to dig around for my itouch. Inevitably, my eyes grace the pavement. And there I see a tram pass. I pick it up and give it a good look. It has 12.60 punched on it and that’s when it hits me: the night before when walking home my hands full of bags of books and clothes I had decided to listen to my ipod at that exact same spot. I had swung my bag around front and doing so had dislodged the tram ticket from my back pocket. If you had asked me earlier if I had lost it on the way home I would have said it was a possibility and that it probably fell out on the tram, while I was sitting down. Only hindsight made me realize how I had lost the thing in the first place. Who says independent women don’t manage without a little help from lady luck and the man upstairs?
4) Growing up with a limited television privileges and lots of chores (even though in hindsight lots may be an exaggeration here). The former because I learned early that I was capable of entertaining myself and the latter because I learned early that I was capable of contributing, responsibility, and hard work. To a degree, we'll say. Respect for time and property came with that too, I think. A weird and unrelated and possibly cultural and therefore egocentrical anecdote: Bastille Day, July 14th, is the French equivalent to the 4th of July. I spent the day at the ward, barbequing followed by fireworks at the beach until 12:30. Am. While the fireworks weren’t all that great and we arrived late, it was an experience, the whole beach bit. On the 25 minute drive home we passed 2 burning cars and 1 burning motorcycle. Fireworks, you might ask? No. Just people-not necessarily teenagers either- who were bored and derive joy vandalizing other peoples things. Vandalism is quite a problem here. As is littering. I’m not trying to get to the root of the problem here or anything, because obviously taking away the television and heaping on the chores does not ensure responsible citizens. But let’s just say I am grateful to be an American raised in an educated, hard working home. And by that I imply more that I can possibly explain right now. And I also don't mean to sound self congratulating, or snobbish. I really am just grateful. Thanks Mom and Dad.
5) Homeopathic doctors and remedies. Because despite a gluten allergy I am able to counter the effects of all the pastries and french baked goodness with a couple of pills. I think it's catching up with me, and I still feel like my muscles are weaker than they should be but it sure beats having a constant stomach ache.
6) French chocolate. That pretty much says it all.
7) Bookstores. Especially French ones. Facebook may have informed some of you that I just dispensed of over 100 euro (yes, that is $140) at the local and then used "librarie" (bookstore). Thanks to the hours I had to explore I found a couple of good (read, interesting/cheap) finds. One of them I started last week, it's called "Demain la Lune" (Tomorrow the Moon). I bought it because it sounded like a coming of age story. A big fan of adolescent literature I seized the chance to expose myself to the French adolescent experience. True, it takes place in the 70's but it is a story of a boy who is from a town 20 minutes outside of Rennes (where I studied abroad) who has to spend his summer vacation with his newly divorced father in Provence (where I am now). I seem to have unbelievable luck here; everything coincides perfectly. Where this kind of luck is in Utah, the real world, I would really like to know. I should add here that this is my 5th book I'm working my way through now. I just finished a Marie Antoinette biography and now I'm itching to spend more time in Paris. I'd be very grateful for that, but I may be getting ahead of myself since finances are tight. Here's a picture for you of my purchases :)
8) SISTERS. And Dave. Seeing the workings of a household with an only child has made me shudder at what life would have been like-and would be like-without them. Seriously, I see this shadow, a phantom, of the child I might have been. She's kind of monsterous in thick, pink rimmed glasses. I'll spare you the sociopathic vision.
9) My friendies. Amis. Amigos. Because for some reason this 2 month excursion of mine has me missing hanging out with you more than a mission or study abroad (various theories to explain this phenomenon will likely follow) and because you've been so awesome at indulging me and keeping in touch. And again, talk about luck, I'm glad to be one of 4 Americans here in the ward. Not only does it make for more of a party but I can hide the fact-by degrees-that I'm a shameless tag along.
K, 10 would be a nice round number to end on but I have to stop this sappiness before I CTRL A and delete this on a whim. And now ladies and gentlemen, for some pictures. Possibly some videos if I can tap into the tech-savy mastermind within.
*************************************************************************************************
I came bearing gifts. This is the night of my arrival in Marseille with Chrystèle and William.
Plume the cat likes to sleep in my drawer. Hmm, reminds me of a little black monster I know back home.
This is the cereal I hold fully responsible for my weight gain in Rennes, five years back. 2 bowls a morning of this stuff and fatty french milk will do that to you. I've found a new and improved version. At 2.50 a box and gluten free, I pretty much have to eat the stuff. I have no other choice but to eat spoonful after spoonful of oat granola swimming with shavings of dark chocolate. It's a matter of health. No choice whatsoever.
Florence countryside by car. Yes, those are grape vines.
My freezing my tail after getting out of the water at plage d'estagnol. We went two Wednesdays ago.
Joel taking a picture of me taking a picture of plage d'estagnol. This place could compete with Hawaii in my book. Awesome.
Plage d'estagnol cont....
...inued.
Aix-en-Provence. Cezanne and I, we're tight. Drew and Mathias (les Americains) and Slyvia, a girl from their program, bussed it out here last Saturday to be given a guided tour by Marie and Elodie, natives to France but not the region.
Provencial streets. Yes, I am still obsessed with windows.
Aix marketplace. I took pictures of the flowers instead of buying anything. Had to save my mula for gelato, breton (think Rennes) crepes, and renown pasteries. OOh. La. La.
Marketplace continued.
Friends and family, please take note. This is how the French decorate the cars of newlyweds: ribbons and flowers. Classy inside and out. When my big day comes, I want (read: have to have) this. I have other pictures, should you need further inspiration.
Notre Dame de....Aix?
No window? No door? Don't worry, they'll grafiti one in for you.
Fountain I-have-all-ready-forgotten-your-name. Aix.
Sylvia, Polish, bears a frightning resemblence to Dr. Brennen in Bones. She thought it was hilarious to sneak up behind me when I was taking pictures. I have 3 other similar shots and in all 3 she refuses to take off her sunglasses. Which is a shame because you can't see the resemblence really here.
Drew, the Narrator. He takes videos and narrates them. Inspirational, really. I regret not having
more videos from my mission. So now I'm following Drew's trend, minus the narration.
Sylvia, Mathias, and I. Aix. Drew is the photographer and all the group photos we had other people take of us are on his camera and I'll get them later.
Chrystèle bought me this recipe book of regional delights.
Notre Dame de la Garde. Google images took this picture for me. We visited on Bastille day, July 14th. It's one of the most known icons of the city. You can see her lady from almost anywhere in Marseille and from out on the ocean too (I've been told).
On the inside of the cathedral of Notre Dame de la Garde. Because she is both a landmark and religious icon of a city built on a port, there are a lot of themes about water and boats in the decor. There were boats hanging from the ceiling all over. I now want to decorate a room in my house like that. This is one of the most colorful cathedrals I'd ever seen.
Notre Dame de la Garde.
Marseille minstral (wind) meets Sunny at Notre Dame de la Garde.
View from Notre Dame tower.
Here I am in front of the entrance to the catherdal wearing my hope and peace shirt on Bastille day. It's as patriotic as I get here.
Last Saturday Joel drove us out to the Calanques. That's a french term for cliffs meeting ocean in a particular fashion I can't quite describe. We weren't able to visit the Calanques we wanted to, nor do the hiking we planned on doing there due to the heat and winds which resulted in fire risks apparently. Mathias and I were dumbfounded at the alarm the heat and wind caused because seriously, all the coastline was closed off. We ended up in Cassis, about 20 minutes out of Marseille. It was absolutely pictoresque. Fellow travelers were Mathias (obviously), Louise, and Jonathan, from the ward.
Jonathan and I in deep conversation.
Mathias and Louise. Mathias had that towel wrapped around his head at one point to avoid sunburn. Classic. Louise got sunburned for like the 2nd time in her life. She's got a great tan line from her cast to prove it too.
Voila, the Calanques meet the port.
The brave and sunburned travellers.
The Cigales (Cicadas) are infamous here in Provence. Like crickets in the mountain, they set the tone for summer. Jonathan made friends with one here. Gross.
Sunday we picnicked and then headed downtown to visit the Palais Longchamps. This is the view of the palace from the back, you can see me there walking on the right.
Chrystèle and I at the Palais.
Palais arches.
Coming down around the side of the Palais.
"I was a statuette". (See previous photo)
View from the Palais.
Almost down to the street.
In contemplation.
So, I've discovered how to post a video. Now I just need to learn how to edit them. The new iphone can do that but apparently my computer can't; go figure. If you go about 25 seconds into the film you'll see me standing at the edge of the rocks, preparing to get in the ice and I mean freezing cold water. I was nearly ready for it but this wave came and I lost my balance and well, you'll see. Make sure you have the volume up so you can hear me screaming. I didn't last long in that water and it wore me out, I'll tell you. That's the most interesting thing about the video though, in case you want to keep watching.
And voila, the adventures end. I've been keeping myself more busy, as you see. I feel real lazy, a lot of the time and know I will have a hard time coming home to the pace of the real world but I'm not letting that interfere with my here and now. I'm in France and la vie est belle.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
I am a visitor here , I am not permanent. And the only thing keeping me dry is (where I am)
You know you have a problem when someone has to "dedicate an entire day to reading your blog". Yes, that is a direct quote. Not that I hold it against you, Lisa. You exaggerate, in general. Which is not a Hendry characteristic, at all. But all the same, it brings the hard truth home to me that I am a bit excessive.
So, as is so typical of me, I am going to reason and excuse away my excessive tendencies instead of dealing with them. I should at this time share with you the fact that were it not for the auto check of this singular program, I would have already misspelled 4 words. French is corrupting my spelling of English, it's really unfair. Anyway, as to the reasoning. Imagine you are someone, for one reason or another, for whom living in the moment is simply not enough. Or rather, that you are unable to fully live what you are unable to express. You'd have a lot to say too, no doubt. Now imagine that you spend your days with a family-people who only a week ago were strangers, and that everyone else you pass on the streets-while beings strangers-are what the french call "étrangers", a word meaning both 'stranger' in its strict sense but also' foreigner'. You may be in their country, after all, but foreigners they remain.
And while this fact is precisely what makes the whole affair of living abroad wonderful and all that, the fact is that should you decide to speak to them or should they decide to speak to you, you lack conversational intuition. It's amazing how small talk differs when it comes to another language. You laugh at something they say and then realize that maybe it wasn't meant to be funny at all. Your jokes are a complete bust. You lack that essential expression in its natural-and therefore English-form, and, what's more, you lack people to talk to and things to talk about. Common ground, they call it. Is it any wonder then, that you should happen to be brimming with words; that they should come hurriedly and haphazardly when it comes to people that really know you, people that you want to bring "with" you, for all your so called claims of "independence"?
No. Not really. Glad we understand each other.
That all said, I probably don't have to mention the fact that I didn't socialize too much this week. I found a somewhat normal sleeping pattern on Monday or Tuesday. This normal sleeping pattern involves a nap virtually every afternoon, and it's a familial event I might add. It's this heat. The world would be a more efficient place if we didn't have to worry about the weather. Coats and boots in the winter, naps in the summer. The time these things consume! Oh air conditioning, how I love thee. And heat in the winter but no, not now, please not now. I don't know why they don't just buy fans here to at least circulate the air here. I'm really tempted to just buy one myself. So for a brief summary of the week (with random and more detailed observations to follow):
Monday I cleaned ironed for like 3 hrs because they also don't have a dryer so everything gets super wrinkled. Read. Napped. Then we had family night, I gave the lesson. Dinner. Ate dessert, had seconds. Watched a movie. Read.
Tuesday was much the same thing, minus the ironing and family night. I did go running though, as promised.
On Wednesday we went into town at long last. Shopped all morning and afternoon long and then spent the evening at the beach. Returned to the house exhausted, ate at the usual late hour of 9 pm and then went to bed. Did not clean at all.
Thursday we were supposed to spend the day at the beach but William (son) stepped on some broken glass in the morning and after a visit to the hospital was told he needed to wait out the weekend before going to the beach. The family still had some shopping to do so I stayed at home, cleaned, did pilates, took a long shower, read and then spend hours looking over maps of the town and trying to figure out how to get around. I made an extensive list of places to see and researched hours and costs and tried to map out the rest of my time here and how both my time and money would be spent. I reviewed my finances: France has so far cost me (plane ticket aside) $400.19. I realized that exchange rate had gone up 10 cents since I first started planning my trip in April and beginning of May, which accounted for me being more poor than expected. I literally spent hours doing this and the really sick thing is, I had a lot of fun doing it. You don't even want me near a university course catalog right now. Then I spent several other hours, given that I now had a clear idea of what my remaining budget was, researching small towns worth visiting in France, preferably in the region. I looked up train prices, hotel prices and decided on a 1 1/2 day visit to Carcassonne, a medieval town 3 hours by train from here. All for the all inclusive price of $75! You can find out about Carcassonne here and join me in getting pumped for my trip. Now I just have to pick the dates. Thursday was intense. I will provide no further details, you got them all here.
I had planned to go exploring myself Friday in town however given Will's injury I felt bad for him so I proposed we go to a movie. It was also really hot that day so I figured it would be better in a cool theater in the afternoon than anywhere else. So we saw Ice Age 3 in French. Sid's french dubbed voice is brilliant and nothing was lost in the translation.
Saturday we did some more shopping and then went to the library. Again, details to be provided later. Then my family had a bbq prepared for me for dinner in honor of the 4th of July American tradition.
So you see, nothing too exciting, really. If you want to know what I ate I could break down each day into three meals per days, what medications I took, what snacks I had and their quantities, how much water I drank and the frequency of my trips to the bathroom ;) The point of all this monotony is to build up to the climax of the week; today, Sunday. I'll have you know that while things have been mundane, it's true, I have enjoyed pretty much every minute of it. I've been smiling more or less incessantly since Friday morning. True, I have my music and I have devoured a bar of French chocolate but all the same. I'm in France, that mere fact does amazing things for me.
First of all, I was tearing my hair to pieces in anticipation of seeing the Americans again to make specific plans now that I had an idea of my week. I was ready to get to business. There was that and the fact that I was excited about going out with the sister missionaries. You would have thought it was the first day back to school, the way I was acting. In case you had any doubts, the first day back to school, specifically the sleepless night before, is one of my favorite and more vivid childhood memories (the smell of "a bundle of newly sharpened pencils", need I say more?)
Little did I know, a much bigger surprise was awaiting me. I rode to church with the intention of asking the missionaries how often the mission president (Carter, see last post) and his wife attended church at that building. I found myself in the first meeting sitting several rows behind someone who very greatly resembled Sister Carter and when the meeting was over and everyone was up and leaving I realized that it was INDEED her. Unfortunately, from what I gathered from her body language and a few glimpse phrases, she was taking someone home, or giving directions and left before I could catch her. A few minutes later however, the Elders come chasing after me to tell me that both she and President were down the hall to talk to me. Oh Elders, ever so thorough. I had a good few minutes in between classes to talk to them both and then they opened fast and testimony meeting by speaking and bearing testimony. It was like being back in Longueuil again. I really had to hold back the tears I was so happy to see them and to be reminded of those wonderful six months I spent there. The mission, it's pure magic and it keeps working on me despite the lapse in time. As it turns out, the Carters, who I saw for the last time July 8th, 2007, have been in Marseille for 1 yr as President. The mission home however is in Toulouse and in that year today was the first time they had ever attended that particular ward where I just happen to be. Magic. I had a chance to talk to them after my meetings, just before they left. I gave Sister Carter probably 3 huge hugs. I think I am going to write them a note and have the missionaries deliver it to them so they know how wonderful I think they are and to thank them again for all their help in Longueuil. I'm a real failure at that when it comes to expressing these things in person. At least I've embraced the hug as a means of communicating that; to a degree. I'm still not really a fluent hugger, as you probably know.
Drew comes up to me today and one of the first things he says to "I was thinking this week, wondering what you were up to, and I realized that you must have a lot of free time on your hands". All too well put my friend, all too well put. I knew then that I was going to be saved from having to beg to tag along. He pulled out a makeshift calendar on the spot and showed me all the stuff he had planned for the coming week. Beach on Tuesday, pizza on Thursday, Aix-en-Provence on Friday and Saturday. It was a nice reminder of how passive I had been being and how I needed to step it up. The independant woman is out of her element here, that's for sure. But independent and assertive are two different things though, right? I'll settle right now for managing independence and handle assertive later. Anyway, Drew then went around informing all the youth at church of his plans so now it's a big party, all week. With Frenchies!
I had my first metro experience this afternoon on my way to meet with the sisters. Of course, everything went wrong, there were unexpected (and legitimately unusual, as I came to find out later) delays, and I was late. This must be a terrible shock to you all, I know. The Tramway here, which I use to get to the metros, is about as slow as trax is downtown. The lesson went well, the sisters forgave my tardiness, especially since the man we were teaching was on the same tramway as I was. I have to say though, after a day with the Carters and then with the missionaries, teaching with them was a wonderful but especially a nostalgic experience. I miss that feeling of going into a strangers home and having them tell you all sorts of odd things and companions, who finish your sentences while you turn to the page that they are about to introduce before a word has even been said. Magic and miracles, that's the life of a missionary and it was good to be on the other side as much as I missed it. In any case, I realized (far too late) that I was way too hard on myself as a missionary. I apologize for all the missionary stuff, but it was just that kind of day.
Well, I know I said I was going to fill you in on certain other things throughout the week. Really I was going to describe what I'd finally seen of Marseille. But seeing as how I took no pictures and as how I am going to take pictures next week and see much more all the same, well I decided to spare you the thousand words a picture would be worth and save them for next time.
I will just say that in my hours of research this week I ran across a few chatrooms and stuff as far as travel advice goes. And I read several places that Marseille is a great place, but that you need a guide here as it's not geared toward tourists as Paris and not only that but it is bigger than Paris. There are also sketchy areas to be avoided. So I feel better about not getting out more and lucky that I have a family to "guide" my stay.
Unlike most metropolitan centers which consist of the wealthiest in the center and the poorer on the outskirts, Marseille has the blessing of being a port and so receiving immigrants who come in by boat. Old port being the "center" of the town, they don't make it much further before they find a place and settle down. So the city has that distinction, which makes for others. The city is a huge expanse and the closer you get downtown the more chances you have of running into dazzling buildings, museums, bridges, arches, and apartments. But they are scattered, here and there mostly from what I can tell. I almost like it better that way.
I got used to seeing the expanse of apartment building after apartment building, and two days into my stay I stopped expecting much from this city other that cramped buildings and cramped streets and a strange accent. And then I'll catch a glimpse, or the cramped streets will open their arms to me and I will see and be embrace in what is, to my foreign eyes, France. I take it in and I will go on walking, and the noise of traffic and motors, the smell of the filthy streets and the dirt will weigh down my feet until I forget that there is anything else. It's always at those moments that I catch another glimpse and my breath catches in my chest and I remember again where I am. See, the sad thing about living somewhere foreign or different is that you get used to things so quickly. My little bedroom had me feeling claustrophobic the first day or so. I wondered how anyone could possibly live like that permanently. Yet I stopped noticing its size after 3 days. I always underestimate our ability to adapt. It still takes me by surprise, you know. And I mean a huge surprise. This ability to adapt is a lucky thing, most of the time. Except that you get used to all the good things too and instead of being special they become everyday, a backdrop. Marseille, like a pair of old jeans whose pockets you find the occasion 5 dollar bill in, will probably illude fading into a backdrop before my two months here are up.
So, as is so typical of me, I am going to reason and excuse away my excessive tendencies instead of dealing with them. I should at this time share with you the fact that were it not for the auto check of this singular program, I would have already misspelled 4 words. French is corrupting my spelling of English, it's really unfair. Anyway, as to the reasoning. Imagine you are someone, for one reason or another, for whom living in the moment is simply not enough. Or rather, that you are unable to fully live what you are unable to express. You'd have a lot to say too, no doubt. Now imagine that you spend your days with a family-people who only a week ago were strangers, and that everyone else you pass on the streets-while beings strangers-are what the french call "étrangers", a word meaning both 'stranger' in its strict sense but also' foreigner'. You may be in their country, after all, but foreigners they remain.
And while this fact is precisely what makes the whole affair of living abroad wonderful and all that, the fact is that should you decide to speak to them or should they decide to speak to you, you lack conversational intuition. It's amazing how small talk differs when it comes to another language. You laugh at something they say and then realize that maybe it wasn't meant to be funny at all. Your jokes are a complete bust. You lack that essential expression in its natural-and therefore English-form, and, what's more, you lack people to talk to and things to talk about. Common ground, they call it. Is it any wonder then, that you should happen to be brimming with words; that they should come hurriedly and haphazardly when it comes to people that really know you, people that you want to bring "with" you, for all your so called claims of "independence"?
No. Not really. Glad we understand each other.
That all said, I probably don't have to mention the fact that I didn't socialize too much this week. I found a somewhat normal sleeping pattern on Monday or Tuesday. This normal sleeping pattern involves a nap virtually every afternoon, and it's a familial event I might add. It's this heat. The world would be a more efficient place if we didn't have to worry about the weather. Coats and boots in the winter, naps in the summer. The time these things consume! Oh air conditioning, how I love thee. And heat in the winter but no, not now, please not now. I don't know why they don't just buy fans here to at least circulate the air here. I'm really tempted to just buy one myself. So for a brief summary of the week (with random and more detailed observations to follow):
Monday I cleaned ironed for like 3 hrs because they also don't have a dryer so everything gets super wrinkled. Read. Napped. Then we had family night, I gave the lesson. Dinner. Ate dessert, had seconds. Watched a movie. Read.
Tuesday was much the same thing, minus the ironing and family night. I did go running though, as promised.
On Wednesday we went into town at long last. Shopped all morning and afternoon long and then spent the evening at the beach. Returned to the house exhausted, ate at the usual late hour of 9 pm and then went to bed. Did not clean at all.
Thursday we were supposed to spend the day at the beach but William (son) stepped on some broken glass in the morning and after a visit to the hospital was told he needed to wait out the weekend before going to the beach. The family still had some shopping to do so I stayed at home, cleaned, did pilates, took a long shower, read and then spend hours looking over maps of the town and trying to figure out how to get around. I made an extensive list of places to see and researched hours and costs and tried to map out the rest of my time here and how both my time and money would be spent. I reviewed my finances: France has so far cost me (plane ticket aside) $400.19. I realized that exchange rate had gone up 10 cents since I first started planning my trip in April and beginning of May, which accounted for me being more poor than expected. I literally spent hours doing this and the really sick thing is, I had a lot of fun doing it. You don't even want me near a university course catalog right now. Then I spent several other hours, given that I now had a clear idea of what my remaining budget was, researching small towns worth visiting in France, preferably in the region. I looked up train prices, hotel prices and decided on a 1 1/2 day visit to Carcassonne, a medieval town 3 hours by train from here. All for the all inclusive price of $75! You can find out about Carcassonne here and join me in getting pumped for my trip. Now I just have to pick the dates. Thursday was intense. I will provide no further details, you got them all here.
I had planned to go exploring myself Friday in town however given Will's injury I felt bad for him so I proposed we go to a movie. It was also really hot that day so I figured it would be better in a cool theater in the afternoon than anywhere else. So we saw Ice Age 3 in French. Sid's french dubbed voice is brilliant and nothing was lost in the translation.
Saturday we did some more shopping and then went to the library. Again, details to be provided later. Then my family had a bbq prepared for me for dinner in honor of the 4th of July American tradition.
So you see, nothing too exciting, really. If you want to know what I ate I could break down each day into three meals per days, what medications I took, what snacks I had and their quantities, how much water I drank and the frequency of my trips to the bathroom ;) The point of all this monotony is to build up to the climax of the week; today, Sunday. I'll have you know that while things have been mundane, it's true, I have enjoyed pretty much every minute of it. I've been smiling more or less incessantly since Friday morning. True, I have my music and I have devoured a bar of French chocolate but all the same. I'm in France, that mere fact does amazing things for me.
First of all, I was tearing my hair to pieces in anticipation of seeing the Americans again to make specific plans now that I had an idea of my week. I was ready to get to business. There was that and the fact that I was excited about going out with the sister missionaries. You would have thought it was the first day back to school, the way I was acting. In case you had any doubts, the first day back to school, specifically the sleepless night before, is one of my favorite and more vivid childhood memories (the smell of "a bundle of newly sharpened pencils", need I say more?)
Little did I know, a much bigger surprise was awaiting me. I rode to church with the intention of asking the missionaries how often the mission president (Carter, see last post) and his wife attended church at that building. I found myself in the first meeting sitting several rows behind someone who very greatly resembled Sister Carter and when the meeting was over and everyone was up and leaving I realized that it was INDEED her. Unfortunately, from what I gathered from her body language and a few glimpse phrases, she was taking someone home, or giving directions and left before I could catch her. A few minutes later however, the Elders come chasing after me to tell me that both she and President were down the hall to talk to me. Oh Elders, ever so thorough. I had a good few minutes in between classes to talk to them both and then they opened fast and testimony meeting by speaking and bearing testimony. It was like being back in Longueuil again. I really had to hold back the tears I was so happy to see them and to be reminded of those wonderful six months I spent there. The mission, it's pure magic and it keeps working on me despite the lapse in time. As it turns out, the Carters, who I saw for the last time July 8th, 2007, have been in Marseille for 1 yr as President. The mission home however is in Toulouse and in that year today was the first time they had ever attended that particular ward where I just happen to be. Magic. I had a chance to talk to them after my meetings, just before they left. I gave Sister Carter probably 3 huge hugs. I think I am going to write them a note and have the missionaries deliver it to them so they know how wonderful I think they are and to thank them again for all their help in Longueuil. I'm a real failure at that when it comes to expressing these things in person. At least I've embraced the hug as a means of communicating that; to a degree. I'm still not really a fluent hugger, as you probably know.
Drew comes up to me today and one of the first things he says to "I was thinking this week, wondering what you were up to, and I realized that you must have a lot of free time on your hands". All too well put my friend, all too well put. I knew then that I was going to be saved from having to beg to tag along. He pulled out a makeshift calendar on the spot and showed me all the stuff he had planned for the coming week. Beach on Tuesday, pizza on Thursday, Aix-en-Provence on Friday and Saturday. It was a nice reminder of how passive I had been being and how I needed to step it up. The independant woman is out of her element here, that's for sure. But independent and assertive are two different things though, right? I'll settle right now for managing independence and handle assertive later. Anyway, Drew then went around informing all the youth at church of his plans so now it's a big party, all week. With Frenchies!
I had my first metro experience this afternoon on my way to meet with the sisters. Of course, everything went wrong, there were unexpected (and legitimately unusual, as I came to find out later) delays, and I was late. This must be a terrible shock to you all, I know. The Tramway here, which I use to get to the metros, is about as slow as trax is downtown. The lesson went well, the sisters forgave my tardiness, especially since the man we were teaching was on the same tramway as I was. I have to say though, after a day with the Carters and then with the missionaries, teaching with them was a wonderful but especially a nostalgic experience. I miss that feeling of going into a strangers home and having them tell you all sorts of odd things and companions, who finish your sentences while you turn to the page that they are about to introduce before a word has even been said. Magic and miracles, that's the life of a missionary and it was good to be on the other side as much as I missed it. In any case, I realized (far too late) that I was way too hard on myself as a missionary. I apologize for all the missionary stuff, but it was just that kind of day.
Well, I know I said I was going to fill you in on certain other things throughout the week. Really I was going to describe what I'd finally seen of Marseille. But seeing as how I took no pictures and as how I am going to take pictures next week and see much more all the same, well I decided to spare you the thousand words a picture would be worth and save them for next time.
I will just say that in my hours of research this week I ran across a few chatrooms and stuff as far as travel advice goes. And I read several places that Marseille is a great place, but that you need a guide here as it's not geared toward tourists as Paris and not only that but it is bigger than Paris. There are also sketchy areas to be avoided. So I feel better about not getting out more and lucky that I have a family to "guide" my stay.
Unlike most metropolitan centers which consist of the wealthiest in the center and the poorer on the outskirts, Marseille has the blessing of being a port and so receiving immigrants who come in by boat. Old port being the "center" of the town, they don't make it much further before they find a place and settle down. So the city has that distinction, which makes for others. The city is a huge expanse and the closer you get downtown the more chances you have of running into dazzling buildings, museums, bridges, arches, and apartments. But they are scattered, here and there mostly from what I can tell. I almost like it better that way.
I got used to seeing the expanse of apartment building after apartment building, and two days into my stay I stopped expecting much from this city other that cramped buildings and cramped streets and a strange accent. And then I'll catch a glimpse, or the cramped streets will open their arms to me and I will see and be embrace in what is, to my foreign eyes, France. I take it in and I will go on walking, and the noise of traffic and motors, the smell of the filthy streets and the dirt will weigh down my feet until I forget that there is anything else. It's always at those moments that I catch another glimpse and my breath catches in my chest and I remember again where I am. See, the sad thing about living somewhere foreign or different is that you get used to things so quickly. My little bedroom had me feeling claustrophobic the first day or so. I wondered how anyone could possibly live like that permanently. Yet I stopped noticing its size after 3 days. I always underestimate our ability to adapt. It still takes me by surprise, you know. And I mean a huge surprise. This ability to adapt is a lucky thing, most of the time. Except that you get used to all the good things too and instead of being special they become everyday, a backdrop. Marseille, like a pair of old jeans whose pockets you find the occasion 5 dollar bill in, will probably illude fading into a backdrop before my two months here are up.