Saturday morning came and I couldn't sleep in, because the family invited me to another amazing concert directed by their friend. It was held at Notre-Dame-de-la-Gloriette encore et it was la même choir as before. The music was different, Spanish this time with the organ being the only instrument played avec les voix. Impeccable. It was slower than the Middle Age concert before. It made me imagine that I was in an abbaye full of monks.
Après ça, we talked with some friends and then began walking back to the car when, as is very common here, we ran into another friend and decided to make lunch at son appartement. This guy is a philosophy teacher at the local lycée and has the typical "young model" kind of French features.
He has dark hair, green eyes that are rather deep set (in the words of Erika regarding my sister-"sex eyes"), square jaw, very clean cut. He's one of those people at whom you catch yourself staring; not good for me, considering he talks quickly, so I get REALLY lost when he tries to ask me questions.
We bought a few foods and rounded a corner right in the middle of downtown, to find his apartment building. We ascended the five flights (Europeans and their steep stairs, sheesh) and entered the top floor. One word: charming. The roof was inconsistently shaped throughout the appartement with exposed beams and a loft for his room.
Typical European kitchen, which translates to: every space is filled with something useful. There were heaps of drying dishes, a number of appliances, and ripening fruits taking up the left wall of the appartement and then the wall to our right opened up into a little cove. I'm not sure what it was originally intend to be, a small dining area perhaps?
The building is very old, as in a few hundred years, if you haven't gathered that already. Proceeding into the salon, a dining room table piled with beaucoup de tas of books greeted us and the roof came slanting down with a window in the middle, letting in light much like the house on Sweeny Todd. The entire apparetment has very good light. I love old buildings!
Before electricity, people actually tried to make use of the sun's and wind's orientation. Upon entering, he made my host mom and me some tea and everyone went to work making food, while I scanned the mountains of books he had piled all over the place.
He made the salad, my host mom and I poached eggs and cooked bacon (when I say "I," I mean that I hovered and made comments). Two fun facts: 1.) French bacon is round instead of in strips 2.) if one adds a bit of vinegar to the simmering water, the eggs stick together better and there aren't as many little floating pieces of egg white left over.
While eating, host dad and their friend began discussing the differences between Fascism and Communism and the rise of Nazis and philosophies of all sorts concerning these subjects. I suddenly felt like a stupid American sitting there. I knew what they were saying, but reminiscing on what is "appropriate" dinner talk in the US seemed so infantile compared to this. I guess it's just from Old Southern manners that say business and politics should be left to the smoking room after dinner or something to that effect.
After lunch, they took to smoking out the window and we drank a few cups of coffee, while my host parents bragged to their friend that I am a big game hunter. He, who is quite extroverted usually, suddenly had no words at contemplating my excursions. I blushed, remarking that it is probably strange to hear of killing one's own game here, but my host dad said that it was not strange to hunt, it's strange that a woman hunts, but impressive none the less.
I giggled and asked why, and he remarked that women stay home to make confiture (jam or jelly that is left at room temperature). Smiling, I said that I wouldn't mind learning how to make that, but that hunting and faire la viande, (cleaning/skinning/gutting and all that that entails) is much more fun.
Again, my host friend was still quite stunned at my adventures and I asked if he would ever go with me, he remarked that, no he'd stay in the kitchen to make confiture. Hehe. After listening to some Patti Smith and talking about Guns N' Roses, we parted with our friend and visited a Turkish butcher and market on the way home. Interesting experience.
The butchery was fairly normal, they cut off hunks of meat from bigger hunks of meat and weighed and packaged it like in the US. The store though smelled like cat piss, but I think it was just the mixture of different scents. There was food imported from all over the world in this place. Pickled bamboo shoots, pickled squid legs, dried peppers, random hair extensions for weaves, and every Asian spice one can think of, we needed curry.
Arriving back at home, my host dad made choucroute and sausage from Alsace with potatoes and, of course, baguette. Choucroute is sauerkraut that has been fermented in white wine and salted. I usually HATE sauerkraut, but the way it was made was very tasty.
We had the director friend over for dinner and talked about the educational systems in the US and in France. They were blown away that one can change one's major in college and that one doesn't really have to decide what degree to work toward until around their sophomore year. (In France one has to decide which workforce one wants to join at 15 or 16.)
I slept like a rock Saturday night, waking around 10h after having some disturbing cauchemars. I fell back to sleep and had another strange, extremely vivid dream. At 11h30, I rolled out of bed and spent thirty minutes typing out my two dreams, and then I heard the front door open. Shit. I forgot we were having guests over, so I quickly dressed and emerged from my cave. I was tossed into a whirlwind of languages and new people and children running underfoot. One of the families spoke English, French, Catalan, and Spanish. Honestly, the Spanish I can hear better than French, but perhaps because I hear it everywhere in Texas.
After being caught in several awkward conversations, I wanted to shrink into the wallpaper, but alas, I stuck out a bit with my blonde hair and Victoria's Secret slippers. The woman who is actually Spanish was very vibrant, gracing us with a red overcoat that complimented her dark hair and beautiful skin perfectly. She is very extroverted and asked me several questions about my plans and the US. She gave me some inside info on how to possibly be an English teacher here, which would be an absolute dream. I'm trying to work up the nerve to talk to the English department at the university to weigh my options and learn which actions I would need to take.
We had an enormous meal of curry chicken, rice, Turkish bread, salad, cheese, dessert, coffee and tea. We also were able to watch one of my host dad's new documentaries that he just finished editing, so that was special. I love living with artists! They scootched out after the film and we all collapsed into chairs to do homework and relax, except for my host dad. He is like a tall worker bee, buzzing around being the cook and the perfect host and after everything, he whisks the dishes and everything else away, before anyone can help him. Watching him, I said that he must be exhausted from the day, and he just smiled and said no, it's his pleasure, because he enjoys having company and cooking so much.
My French brother scurried upstairs to bed after we had some fruit, because quite frankly we were all still stuffed! My French mom and I then had some tea and talked about movies and schools and the normal endless chatter that we conduct. Later, we went into the salon to ask my French dad if he wanted some tea as well, and he came across Gone with the Wind in English on the TV. French mom has always wanted to see it, so she and I watched from the point that it came on until the end. Half-way through, she asked why Rhett wants to marry Scarlett so badly. I said because she is beautiful and just a pill. "Pill?" I forget that even though we both speak English, little names and colloquial understandings are different between the different English variations.
By the end, it was nearly one in the morning and I showered and hit the sack. May I say that it is inhumane to wake up so early in France, borderline sinful. After listening to some presentations about l'Académie française, the evolution of tu and vous, and the stats of the French language, we were released. (My presentation over regional languages is next week, eek.) I was planning on going home, but was invited by a new friend from Wisconsin to go get a snack in centre-ville. On our way to the tram station I saw a college guy who looked like a legit Viking. We are talking long, light-blonde hair, very tall and thin, long face, small features, and that distinct porcelain skin color found in Northern Europe. I realize that I describe people's features on here all of the time, I'm really not obsessed with looks, I'm obsessed with genetics. The distribution and emergence of different features is fascinating to me and everyone over here looks much different than the the people in the US. We headed toward Paul's, but being Monday morning, and the French having a very different outlook on money and business outside of Paris, of course it wasn't open.
She suggested 101, which is a café that I have passed often, but had never ventured inside. It's gorgeous. Period. Modern type of gorgeous though with slick lines, black everything, large red flowers in the window and black and white leather furniture. Something else to put on my long list of French loves, when one orders tea, the waiter's question is not "sweet or unsweet." Here, they ask what kind and either provide a menu or their cache is so large, there is no need to ask for types. I ordered thé du jasmin et des ananas that were calling my name. She ordered a cappuccino and chocolate mousse. We mounted the stairs to the third story and chose a seat near the windows.
Presentation is everything here. Ordering tea, one can always expect a miniature teapot filled with near boiling water, a tea bag in or out of the pot, a small teacup, un petit quelque chose comme un biscuit, a cookie, or a chocolate, plus sugar packets, et une petite cuillère sized to fit the teacup. I'm a sucker for charming presentation, if you haven't noticed. Coffee (espresso) is served on a saucer with the same type of set up, and it's ALL cheaper than Starbucks.
Afterward I went home and had lunch with my French mom. We talked about politics and why she and her husband decided to live in France, because I am feeling very torn between countries and cultures right now. She said that they had planned to live in Australia, but after being there for a year, trying to find artist work for both of them was difficult (Australia is much like the US in terms of free enterprise and money's importance) as well as that she didn't feel at home there. She said the social sense of the government and people in France is something that she fell in love with, and had never felt in Australia, so they moved back and fly to see her family every so often.
We spoke a lot about the concept of hard work being the "only" thing that helps people be successful, the myth that poor people are poor because they're lazy or ignorant, and the views on money here as opposed to the views of money in the US or Australia. I've noticed that people do not often judge the homeless here or the people who ask for money on the street.
Almost every time I go out with my French dad, someone walks up to him asking for money and he always gives them at least something sans judgement, sans une nique, no condescension, often with a smile, and on we march. It really struck me the first time I saw him do this, and I commented about it to my French mom, she said that the mentality about people who are down on their luck is obviously different here.
Maybe it has to do with the system in which we live. The US is rather dog-eat-dog in the work force, one can be hired and fired in the same day at the boss's discretion and life events are not taken into consideration. We have a very laissez-faire system, which ironically is a French term. Their government, socialist it may be, taxes big corporation in order to fund things like daycare and health care. Granted it's on a small scale, France is roughly the geographical size of Texas, but as a student here, I don't pay near the tuition that I pay in the US, I can go to many museums, art shows, and concerts for free, get reduced train fare and transportation fare.
The public transportation is phenomenally convenient. It's a lot easier to be poor here is all. Taxes are based on how much one earns per year, with a service and goods tax of 19% which seems high, but it's already included. No getting to the counter and hoping that you have enough money to cover sales tax and avoid the humiliation of not having enough, therefore being obligated to put something back on the shelf.
I was also warned by several people that the French don't like Americans. I had a rather deep conversation about that with my French mom and with other friends of the family's. They love American music and films, they find our loud and expressive ways endearing, and our sense of pop culture is very appealing to them. Of course I don't speak for everyone, this is just my experience thus far, as are the observations on differing governmental and social styles. Like I said, torn. I love Texas and the US, don't get me wrong, but living in this culture is incredibly enlightening.
Anyway, I went to my medical visit, which went well. She asked questions about family history, took weight, height, etc. It was a physical pretty much. She listened to my heart and pushed on all of my lymph nodes, which tickled terribly and I burst into laughter, which was apparently contagious :)
I went to the last few minutes of class and got on the train. It was packed. I had to take the second train that came along, because they were all like that. I pushed my way on and my boobs were practically cupping the back of some woman's head, the person behind me was flat against my back and when the train swayed and braked, no one really moved from their place.
I began laughing so hard at the sight and the discomfort of popped bubbles. A few other people laughed too, which is something that I did not expect. People can be rather cold and closed off on the street or tram here. They often don't smile or wave and idle chatter to break an awkward silence usually doesn't happen either.
I finally arrived back at the house and have just found out that my doors in my room are being replaced tomorrow morning! YAY!
Après ça, we talked with some friends and then began walking back to the car when, as is very common here, we ran into another friend and decided to make lunch at son appartement. This guy is a philosophy teacher at the local lycée and has the typical "young model" kind of French features.
He has dark hair, green eyes that are rather deep set (in the words of Erika regarding my sister-"sex eyes"), square jaw, very clean cut. He's one of those people at whom you catch yourself staring; not good for me, considering he talks quickly, so I get REALLY lost when he tries to ask me questions.
We bought a few foods and rounded a corner right in the middle of downtown, to find his apartment building. We ascended the five flights (Europeans and their steep stairs, sheesh) and entered the top floor. One word: charming. The roof was inconsistently shaped throughout the appartement with exposed beams and a loft for his room.
Typical European kitchen, which translates to: every space is filled with something useful. There were heaps of drying dishes, a number of appliances, and ripening fruits taking up the left wall of the appartement and then the wall to our right opened up into a little cove. I'm not sure what it was originally intend to be, a small dining area perhaps?
The building is very old, as in a few hundred years, if you haven't gathered that already. Proceeding into the salon, a dining room table piled with beaucoup de tas of books greeted us and the roof came slanting down with a window in the middle, letting in light much like the house on Sweeny Todd. The entire apparetment has very good light. I love old buildings!
 |
| Crypt wall paintings under the Cathedral de Bayeux |
He made the salad, my host mom and I poached eggs and cooked bacon (when I say "I," I mean that I hovered and made comments). Two fun facts: 1.) French bacon is round instead of in strips 2.) if one adds a bit of vinegar to the simmering water, the eggs stick together better and there aren't as many little floating pieces of egg white left over.
 |
| Crypt ceiling painted in the 15th century |
After lunch, they took to smoking out the window and we drank a few cups of coffee, while my host parents bragged to their friend that I am a big game hunter. He, who is quite extroverted usually, suddenly had no words at contemplating my excursions. I blushed, remarking that it is probably strange to hear of killing one's own game here, but my host dad said that it was not strange to hunt, it's strange that a woman hunts, but impressive none the less.
I giggled and asked why, and he remarked that women stay home to make confiture (jam or jelly that is left at room temperature). Smiling, I said that I wouldn't mind learning how to make that, but that hunting and faire la viande, (cleaning/skinning/gutting and all that that entails) is much more fun.
Again, my host friend was still quite stunned at my adventures and I asked if he would ever go with me, he remarked that, no he'd stay in the kitchen to make confiture. Hehe. After listening to some Patti Smith and talking about Guns N' Roses, we parted with our friend and visited a Turkish butcher and market on the way home. Interesting experience.
The butchery was fairly normal, they cut off hunks of meat from bigger hunks of meat and weighed and packaged it like in the US. The store though smelled like cat piss, but I think it was just the mixture of different scents. There was food imported from all over the world in this place. Pickled bamboo shoots, pickled squid legs, dried peppers, random hair extensions for weaves, and every Asian spice one can think of, we needed curry.
Arriving back at home, my host dad made choucroute and sausage from Alsace with potatoes and, of course, baguette. Choucroute is sauerkraut that has been fermented in white wine and salted. I usually HATE sauerkraut, but the way it was made was very tasty.
We had the director friend over for dinner and talked about the educational systems in the US and in France. They were blown away that one can change one's major in college and that one doesn't really have to decide what degree to work toward until around their sophomore year. (In France one has to decide which workforce one wants to join at 15 or 16.)
I slept like a rock Saturday night, waking around 10h after having some disturbing cauchemars. I fell back to sleep and had another strange, extremely vivid dream. At 11h30, I rolled out of bed and spent thirty minutes typing out my two dreams, and then I heard the front door open. Shit. I forgot we were having guests over, so I quickly dressed and emerged from my cave. I was tossed into a whirlwind of languages and new people and children running underfoot. One of the families spoke English, French, Catalan, and Spanish. Honestly, the Spanish I can hear better than French, but perhaps because I hear it everywhere in Texas.
After being caught in several awkward conversations, I wanted to shrink into the wallpaper, but alas, I stuck out a bit with my blonde hair and Victoria's Secret slippers. The woman who is actually Spanish was very vibrant, gracing us with a red overcoat that complimented her dark hair and beautiful skin perfectly. She is very extroverted and asked me several questions about my plans and the US. She gave me some inside info on how to possibly be an English teacher here, which would be an absolute dream. I'm trying to work up the nerve to talk to the English department at the university to weigh my options and learn which actions I would need to take.
We had an enormous meal of curry chicken, rice, Turkish bread, salad, cheese, dessert, coffee and tea. We also were able to watch one of my host dad's new documentaries that he just finished editing, so that was special. I love living with artists! They scootched out after the film and we all collapsed into chairs to do homework and relax, except for my host dad. He is like a tall worker bee, buzzing around being the cook and the perfect host and after everything, he whisks the dishes and everything else away, before anyone can help him. Watching him, I said that he must be exhausted from the day, and he just smiled and said no, it's his pleasure, because he enjoys having company and cooking so much.
My French brother scurried upstairs to bed after we had some fruit, because quite frankly we were all still stuffed! My French mom and I then had some tea and talked about movies and schools and the normal endless chatter that we conduct. Later, we went into the salon to ask my French dad if he wanted some tea as well, and he came across Gone with the Wind in English on the TV. French mom has always wanted to see it, so she and I watched from the point that it came on until the end. Half-way through, she asked why Rhett wants to marry Scarlett so badly. I said because she is beautiful and just a pill. "Pill?" I forget that even though we both speak English, little names and colloquial understandings are different between the different English variations.
By the end, it was nearly one in the morning and I showered and hit the sack. May I say that it is inhumane to wake up so early in France, borderline sinful. After listening to some presentations about l'Académie française, the evolution of tu and vous, and the stats of the French language, we were released. (My presentation over regional languages is next week, eek.) I was planning on going home, but was invited by a new friend from Wisconsin to go get a snack in centre-ville. On our way to the tram station I saw a college guy who looked like a legit Viking. We are talking long, light-blonde hair, very tall and thin, long face, small features, and that distinct porcelain skin color found in Northern Europe. I realize that I describe people's features on here all of the time, I'm really not obsessed with looks, I'm obsessed with genetics. The distribution and emergence of different features is fascinating to me and everyone over here looks much different than the the people in the US. We headed toward Paul's, but being Monday morning, and the French having a very different outlook on money and business outside of Paris, of course it wasn't open.
She suggested 101, which is a café that I have passed often, but had never ventured inside. It's gorgeous. Period. Modern type of gorgeous though with slick lines, black everything, large red flowers in the window and black and white leather furniture. Something else to put on my long list of French loves, when one orders tea, the waiter's question is not "sweet or unsweet." Here, they ask what kind and either provide a menu or their cache is so large, there is no need to ask for types. I ordered thé du jasmin et des ananas that were calling my name. She ordered a cappuccino and chocolate mousse. We mounted the stairs to the third story and chose a seat near the windows.
Presentation is everything here. Ordering tea, one can always expect a miniature teapot filled with near boiling water, a tea bag in or out of the pot, a small teacup, un petit quelque chose comme un biscuit, a cookie, or a chocolate, plus sugar packets, et une petite cuillère sized to fit the teacup. I'm a sucker for charming presentation, if you haven't noticed. Coffee (espresso) is served on a saucer with the same type of set up, and it's ALL cheaper than Starbucks.
Afterward I went home and had lunch with my French mom. We talked about politics and why she and her husband decided to live in France, because I am feeling very torn between countries and cultures right now. She said that they had planned to live in Australia, but after being there for a year, trying to find artist work for both of them was difficult (Australia is much like the US in terms of free enterprise and money's importance) as well as that she didn't feel at home there. She said the social sense of the government and people in France is something that she fell in love with, and had never felt in Australia, so they moved back and fly to see her family every so often.
We spoke a lot about the concept of hard work being the "only" thing that helps people be successful, the myth that poor people are poor because they're lazy or ignorant, and the views on money here as opposed to the views of money in the US or Australia. I've noticed that people do not often judge the homeless here or the people who ask for money on the street.
Almost every time I go out with my French dad, someone walks up to him asking for money and he always gives them at least something sans judgement, sans une nique, no condescension, often with a smile, and on we march. It really struck me the first time I saw him do this, and I commented about it to my French mom, she said that the mentality about people who are down on their luck is obviously different here.
Maybe it has to do with the system in which we live. The US is rather dog-eat-dog in the work force, one can be hired and fired in the same day at the boss's discretion and life events are not taken into consideration. We have a very laissez-faire system, which ironically is a French term. Their government, socialist it may be, taxes big corporation in order to fund things like daycare and health care. Granted it's on a small scale, France is roughly the geographical size of Texas, but as a student here, I don't pay near the tuition that I pay in the US, I can go to many museums, art shows, and concerts for free, get reduced train fare and transportation fare.
The public transportation is phenomenally convenient. It's a lot easier to be poor here is all. Taxes are based on how much one earns per year, with a service and goods tax of 19% which seems high, but it's already included. No getting to the counter and hoping that you have enough money to cover sales tax and avoid the humiliation of not having enough, therefore being obligated to put something back on the shelf.
I was also warned by several people that the French don't like Americans. I had a rather deep conversation about that with my French mom and with other friends of the family's. They love American music and films, they find our loud and expressive ways endearing, and our sense of pop culture is very appealing to them. Of course I don't speak for everyone, this is just my experience thus far, as are the observations on differing governmental and social styles. Like I said, torn. I love Texas and the US, don't get me wrong, but living in this culture is incredibly enlightening.
Anyway, I went to my medical visit, which went well. She asked questions about family history, took weight, height, etc. It was a physical pretty much. She listened to my heart and pushed on all of my lymph nodes, which tickled terribly and I burst into laughter, which was apparently contagious :)
I went to the last few minutes of class and got on the train. It was packed. I had to take the second train that came along, because they were all like that. I pushed my way on and my boobs were practically cupping the back of some woman's head, the person behind me was flat against my back and when the train swayed and braked, no one really moved from their place.
I began laughing so hard at the sight and the discomfort of popped bubbles. A few other people laughed too, which is something that I did not expect. People can be rather cold and closed off on the street or tram here. They often don't smile or wave and idle chatter to break an awkward silence usually doesn't happen either.
I finally arrived back at the house and have just found out that my doors in my room are being replaced tomorrow morning! YAY!
FINALLY!!!! You've talked about those doors ever since you got there. I hope this fixes the temperature problem that you have in your room. The extra insulation may help you not feel so miserable, and you may be able to sleep in pajamas :). Oh yeah! I LOVE YOU!! I'm glad that we share the same intense obsession with genetics and cannot wait to see the changes of how people look in France compared to the US. Anyway, I had to read this even though I have three exams to study for on top of outside assignments such as a presentation and a lesson plan so I gotta cut this one short. I love you sweetie, and I can't wait to see you again!
ReplyDelete-hubby-to-be-
Ah, pardon-moi, Ashley. I have been reading a paragraph here and there since you posted and have only now been able to finish. Things are so busy here I haven't had the time.
ReplyDeleteI love how your blog is developing. I really do love the presentation of the food and beverages there. I am glad you are having so much fun and are enjoying yourself. I am fascinated by your descriptions of the people there. It is very different here. Americans don't particularly look like anything---including each other.
I wish I could leave a better remark, but I have to get ready for my class tonight. Je t'aime. Tu me manque. I can't wait until I can see you in person.