Oakland
I'm home earlier than I had planned. My mom was diagnosed with colon cancer. I actually found out while Cass and I were in Amsterdam. For a while she was still planning on coming to visit me in March, but at a certain point she realized that wasn't possible right now. I got home monday night. I haven't unpacked yet, or even spent any time in our dusty apartment. I'm not really available to be social, but I'm here.
Ellen's spirits are great and today is her birthday.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Mother Tongue
Cassidy is back home and I am currently in London visiting Rebecca Noon.
London is enormous compared to these other European cities I have visited. London is like the anally-retentive housemate who leaves notes all over about how they would like things to be kept clean, but is too passive aggressive to say anything. I'm not being very touristy. I'm going to see shows put on by the students of the amazing Lecoq school at which Reba is studying and doing things with the other students, most of whom are not from England. I saw some amazing work by the second-year students. It was satisfying after my somewhat disappointing experience at L'Ecole Philippe Gaulier.
Yesterday on Portabello Road I was delighted to hear Cockney voices hawking their wares. That was worth the train ride.
Cockney slang replaces common nouns and verbs with rhyming phrases, whereby WIFE becomes TROUBLE AND STRIFE and so on. With familiarity, the actual rhyming word gets dropped, so just TROUBLE means wife; CHINA (plate) means mate; SYRUP (of fig) means wig; LOAF (of bread) means head; and a BUTCHER'S (hook) is a look.
apples and pears = stairs
bag/tin of fruit = suit
boat race = face
mince pies = eyes
mutt and jeff = deaf
tea leaf = thief
Mae West = best
radio rental = mental
ginger beer = queer
However, if you see PORTION OF EELS on a menu in a cockney diner, it means a portion of eels.
Cassidy and I are in Amsterdam.
It's a great place to be a tourist. It's beautiful and they have a museum for everything. The colors are different here. The buildings are darker and brick. They range in tone from dark red to almost black, giving one the sense of being in an old sepia-tone photo. Canals are everywhere. Dark buildings reflected in water at night are especially magical.
We walk around and make fun of the Dutch language. It's kind of like English, but it doesn't make sense. Some words are the same, others seem like one of the code languages with extra jumbled syllables that junior-high kids use. And then there are many words that sound exactly the same but the Dutch spell them how they are truly said. example: 'EN' means 'AND' and 'AD' means 'AT' .
here is a theatre poster:
100% Gegarandeerd Feest!
de musical
THE WIZ
"Feel Good- Voorstelling van het Jaar"
A Brand New Day
ad
Beatrix Theater Utrecht
Crossing the street is dangerous. They have seperate lanes for pedestrians (sidewalks), for the many, many bicycles (these often look like sidewalks), and for trams and cars (these often look like sidewalks). Crossing the street is like playing frogger.Yesterday was yucky and rainy, so we stayed an extra day and had a beautiful sunny bike ride south of the city, passing windmills, a cheese farm and a statue of Rembrandt. We went to the Van Gough (the Kirk Cobain of late 19th century painters) Museum. It was wonderful.
Tonight we rode an 80-year-old boat through the canals.
Sunday night on the metro someone shared his extra cups of chocolate mousse with us.
Yesterday on the metro an Orthodox Jew got on next to a girl with one and a half foot-long mohawk spikes.
This morning snow was falling on rooftops of outside our little studio (formerly Picasso's kitchen). This afternoon a nun walked passed a free-standing toilet in Montmartre.
un après-midi à Angelina
Monday, February 05, 2007
Des Spectacles
Des Spectacles
It's been a month since I last posted to my blog. I am now finished with my month-long buffoon workshop. I don't know what I learned. It will take a few years to integrate it. hopefully, i will integrate it. Philippe Gaulier is a character. Everything he says is hilarious, shocking and far from politically correct. It's a long way from Winnarainbow. (Although Philippe is not entirely unlike Wavy Gravy.)
I had to get used to the pedagogy. The first day interaction between Philippe and Ed, a student after he'd done an exercise on stage:
PG: "That wasn't totally bad. What happened?"
Ed: "I'm a bit sick."
PG: "I thought you were a Catholic."
Ed: "No, just a cold, actually."
On that first day after I had done an exercise on stage and the teacher asked the room full of students if they wanted to kill me, I was a bit surprised, but I soon got used to it. Sort of. He was trying to teach us to be mean. In a clever way. To parody. To be beautiful and to have pleasure in saying bad things about people.Buffoons are different than clowns. How?Clowns are inherently innocent. Buffoons are not at all. They are oppressed people who cleverly parody the bastards and hypocrites in power. They take great pleasure in blaspheming.
There is so much to say about Philippe Gaulier, that I am not going to even begin.
I met some great people. My French has been put on hold, since the course was taught in English and Cassidy is here with me now.
Whoopee!
We are in a cute apartment in Montmartre with a gorgeous view of Paris. The studio we are in was once Picasso's kitchen. It was in the first of three apartments he lived in in Paris. (My dad wanted to sell me George Washington bridge when I told him.) The owners places a copy of one of Picasso's paintings next to the window because they have a theory that he painted it there. It's an abstract landscape that could be the view from that particular window.
The other night Cass and I went out to dinner with Lou, Anna (German housemate chez Isabelle) and Toni (her American girlfriend whose been living in Germany and has a German accent when she speaks English) at a delicious hole-in-the-wall Vietnamese restaurant in Belleville. When we took the metro home, we got on a packed car, with two guys playing break-beats on a big amp. When he saw me dancing and smiling, the DJ pumped it up. Incidentally there was also a knight in full medieval armor standing in the train. He made no gesture, said nothing. He got applause and warm farewells when he exited the train.
Yesterday Cass and I went to the circus with a group of students from Ecole Philippe Gaulier. Our movement teacher was the clown at this particular circus. It was old-school! It was 45 minutes outside of Paris. It was a real circus in a small town in Europe, where the performers lived in the trailers and everyone had at least four jobs. There were old sign boards going back I don't know how long and funny mirrors that didn't work because you just could see anything. There were a number of tents, one was a tiny museum of old coin-operated attractions and creepy mechanical dolls. The merry-go-round creaked. The show was not impressive to a seasoned San Francisco circus watcher, but the kids loved it! And there actually were lots of kids in the audience! And there were actual animals in the circus- a dog and a horse act.
Recently, before Cass got here, I saw the current show being done by Theatre du Soliel. It was amazing! (I just included that for those people who are wondering if I have seen the latest Theatre du Soliel show.)
Monday, January 08, 2007
Mal à propos
Mal à propos
I am full of malapropisms. Constantly, every day.
Recent ones that come to mind:
Thinking I was offering my roommate a special metro card, I offered her a shuttle van.
Trying to say that something was everywhere, I said it was especially.
When wanting a waffle, I asked for a spanking.
Also:
While many nouns have masculine and feminine forms, one must be careful with "le chat" et "le chien". A friend taking classes at the Sorbonne accidentally told her class that her mother had a crazy pussy. Her teacher later thanked her for the best laugh she had had in a long time.
Friday, January 05, 2007
Je suis rentrée à Paris
Je suis rentrée à Paris
Ahhh! I'm back in Paris. Did I mention that I love Paris?
More lunches and dinners followed in Rome. Marie-Christine, the daughter of Katherine Dunham, came over for luch on the last day. She's very close with Rachel. I got to hear about the drama at the foundation since Miss Dunham passed.
I played with my cousin, Juliette (12-year-old sister of Isabelle), a lot during the last few days. She refuses to learn English, so she and I spoke in French. She was a good teacher. One conversation was all about discusting things we'd seen on Ripley's Believe It Or Not and other similiar shows.
I must get back into french classes ASAP. I think it's crucial right now. For those who asked, here's a sort-of time-line. It's not particularly interesting:
-I start a month-long buffon workshop at Ecole Philippe Gaulier on Monday.
-I start a month-long buffon workshop at Ecole Philippe Gaulier on Monday.
-Cass arrives in Paris on 27 January. We are thinking about renting an apartment in Paris for two weeks.
-I will finish the workshop and then we will travel in France and near-by French-speeking places.
-On 20 Feb he reterns to the states and I go to London for a few days because my visa will expire. I hope to hang out with Rebebcca Noon, but she is very busy with her Lecoq and work.
-I'll travel in Spain with my mom sometime in March. Barcelona and Seville are on the agenda.
-I return to the US at the end of April, in time for Rahimah (Aaliyah, if you're not hip to the name-change) and Kele's wedding.
Friday, December 29, 2006
Roma
Well I've been in Rome for a week and a half.
but before that...
I moved to the apartment of my cousin Isabelle and her girlfriend, Meiwenn. We did some major cleaning and rearranged the furniture. I'm staying there with Lou and Anna, a young woman from Germany. It's so nice to be in a comfortable environment! We share groceries and cook all the time. I sleep late. A friend from my program, Yolanda, was staying with us, too, before she went back to the US. It seemed huge after sharing one room with two girls for three months. Compared to Roman apartments, it's tiny.
Anyway, here I am in Rome.
I'm staying with Rachel, the first cousin of my father. She's turning 87 in a few months and she's quite young. She has friends of all ages and from all countries, and literally has a cousin in every major world city. She loves to dance and complain. She's one of those special people who helps keep a family together. Rachel has two daughters: Chantal and Jocelyne, who both currently live in Rome. Jocelyne has tree kids, the oldest of which is Isabelle.
The light is beautiful in Rome. The colors are different than the colors of Paris. More Mediterranean. The streets are cobblestone. The women wear fur. Old men wear stylish jeans. The dogs bark here. (Dogs don't seem to bark in Paris unless something is really wrong.) The sky is clearer. They speak Italian, which I don't understand at all. When I go back to Paris, it's going to be great to sort of understand things! The view of Roman rooftops from the window gets me every time. I also love how there are little alters on the corners of buildings, on small streets, in little covered passageways...
I learned that the baby Jesus doesn't arrive in the manger scene till christmas, and that people actually pray in front of manger scenes!
I had Christmas with the family at Jocelyne's apartment. I've also been to a dinner at a rich person's apartment with lots of Italian characters and lunch at Rachel's dear friend's apartment. Aster is an Ethiopian married to an Irish Jew, with a son who speaks more languages than I can count and a formitable match on the dance floor.
Another thing about how beautiful Paris is:
As I was flying away after dark in the airplane, it was breathtaking- the most beautiful city I've ever seen from the air. Seriously!
Yesterday It was cold and clear. A taste of winter. I am seeing progress in my French speaking. (La vie est belle!) En fait, one of the students in my class said he thought I made the most progress during our semester. Louise, the woman with whom I have a conversation exchange, and I are becoming friends. Incidentally, she has 52 cousins. She has the look of a typical Parisienne. Basically, that means she's beautiful and wears boots.
Last night, Lou (not the same person as Louise) and I had dinner in the little India of Paris.
A bit on Lou: She is my closest friend here. To me, she looks like Paris in various eras. When outdoors in the cold, she wears a black men's hat, a long black wool coat and a brilliant red scarf, reminding me of the paintings of Aristide Bruant by Toulouse-Lautrec. When she removes the outer garments, she looks a bit like a flapper, unless she's wearing her black turtleneck which, along with her square glasses, transforms her into a beatnik in Shakespeare and Co.
Before I came to Paris, I was in love with the bohemian lifestyles and aesthetics of those three eras. I knew I would be arriving in Paris of 2006.
Get over it!
But I feel like I have found something similar. Esthetically, things haven't changed that much. The buildings and such are old now, just as they were old then.
Many other things... In Paris, you walk. You conserve resources. You live in small, thin-walled, old quarters, with or without an elevator, occasionally with only a common toilet down the hall. You hang your laundry to dry. You always say hello and goodbye when entering and exiting shops. You walk home with a baguette in hand. You admire the light. I live in a cheap, under the grid way and have a band of comrades; some are artists, some are intellectual, some other things.
Lou has been asking the universe for the last week for a scooter. Specifically, she's been asking for the keys of a scooter to be left on the seat of a scooter on the street. Well, last night I accompanied her home. [Tangent] She lives with her parents just East of Paris in Saint-Mandé, where you will find the Château de Vincennes, a favorite occasional residence of one the Henrys who liked to hunt in the Bois de Vincennes (the woods. still there). There you will also find an old zoo which, during the 1890's, included exibitions of native people from France's colonized regions. And right now, you will find one of the 3 or 4 circuses currently in Paris with adjoining carnival tents and trailers. [End tangent] Outside on Lou's house was a scooter that she had never seen before with the keys sitting on it and nothing inside except a helmet. (Parents can choose to stop reading.) We borrowed a second helmet from her brother (if parents are still reading, they should take note that safety precautions were observed) and stole the scooter. Well, borrowed it. We rode around the closed-up circus tents and then decides to ride to the Eiffel Tour on the other side of Paris. When we got there my legs had frozen in a bent position, and it took me 10 minutes to be able to jog normally. After she took me home, she returned the scooter with a note.
Today was my final exam. Now I clean, pack and leave for a few days in Chartres.
Malheureausement, perhaps ironically, my cell phone was stolen yesterday. It was the one form of communication that I was carrying over into the next chapter. I will post the new number when I get it.
Monday, December 04, 2006
Nous sommes decembre
I took my written exam at the Sorbonne on Saturday. In french I would say I "passed" my exam, and if I pass it, I will "achieve" it. It was not bad. The oral is on Tuesday and then the City College exit exams.
If anyone would like to see an excellent depiction of where I live or for anyone out there who misses Paris, there's a film to see called Paris, je t'aime. It came out last year in France. I don't know what its status is in the US, but there are a number of American actors in it, so it should show up if it hasn't already. It's a number of short pieces by different directors, each taking place in a different neighborhood of Paris. All the little things about being here, things I might not notice anymore, are present in the movie!
Dominique Pinon, the little guy with the squishy face from the Jean-Pierre Jeunet films (Amalie, City of Lost Children, etc), sat next to me on the metro on Saturday.
I'm almost outta here. The Accent program and my current housing situation. That means this land line and address are only good till the 8th. A new chapter will start soon.
I'm excited.
In the Jardin des Plants, there is a persimmon tree full of fruit. The branches and the crows sitting in it are black. There are no leaves. Against the automn sky, it's a black and white picture with bright orange dabs.
I love my grammar teacher at the Sorbonne so much. She's the oldest teacher in the program, very relaxed, great sense of humor. After the test, which she was not present for, about six of us from my class were hanging around downstairs discussing plans for the evening. We'd been down there at least half an hour, in no hurry, most other students had left the building, when Mme. Berthier appeared. As soon as we saw her, we as a group sur- rounded her, ("Mme. Berthier, où étiez-vous?", "Mme. Berthier, Vous nous monquiez!", "Mme., est-ce que vous serez là mardi?") and like her little lambs, we followed her up the stairs. I would like to point out that no other teachers had students following them.
I found a dance teacher I really like! It's Afro-Carribean Modern. Some days are more Brazillian, some days Cuban or Haitian. She uses Dunham technique.
Each day I learn a new word or concept. Lately (this will be more interesting for the French speakers) I've been thinking about all the different usages of "arriver", the use of "en fait" and "bordel".
I walk through le Jardin des Plantes to go from my house school. The trees are flamboyant. There is a ménagerie (a small zoo) and a natural sciences museum in the garden. The crows are cold these days. Their strut is a little less confident, their chests more fluffed out. Yesterday one was dexterously handling a large to-go cup from MacDonald's. There is always a couple snuggling somewhere.
Tuesday night Isabelle, Meiwenn, Gioia (Italian friend) and I went to see a solo performance by a Haitian man about the death of his mother. I was a riot! I'm kidding, but it was excellent. And, most importantly, he spoke slowly and clearly. I'd say I understood 50% of it. Pas mal.
I notice that my moods in Paris have been completely related to whether or not I feel I'm learning french. It makes sense. French is the purpose of my existence en ce moment. When I have been sad, it has been because I felt like I wasn't learning, or wasn't going to. When I see progress, or feel okay about not seeing progress, I'm happy.
I continue to love Paris!
Monday, November 20, 2006
En faisant un spectacle
Saturday evening we performed in the street, but strangely, there were very few people in the street this weekend.
I was with a cool group of women, about 7 of us, looking for the right location to faire notre spectacle. It took a long time to gather us all and one of the members of our group was in a bad mood by the time we were all together.
A surreal moment on the steps of a church- I played my concertina while two friends, one in a bowler the other in those stupid disco-ball antennae argued in French.
We did our show in front of Centre Pompidou and made enough money to pay for the fuel for Maïwenn's torches. It was fun and it broke the ice for me and the street. I was dancing and contact juggling. I will go again alone. The cold weather makes contact juggling harder but...
Yesterday I took a one-day clown workshop with a different teacher. The things he focused on were completely different. It was incredibly useful. I liked him. He worked on things that Jean-Baptiste gave us notes about but didn't actually work on- energy, raising the stakes, etc. I was able to use the things I learned from Jean-Baptiste- precision, focus, connection with the public, attention to the "accidents" in the work I did. It also made me aware of how much I learned from J-B.
I'm 33, now.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Avoir la pêche
Cass is posting to my blog for me, when the french computers pretend like they don't speak american.
From Tuesday morning:
After a few days of doing nothing and getting bogged down by inertia, a swing band woke me up.
Sunday night I went to hear a fabulous swing band for free. They play once a week. Sadly there's no room for dancing in this venue. I'm going back for my birthday this coming Sunday.
I met and hung out with this couple: the woman is Swedish and the man is French. We went to a tiny place afterwards that only serves sangria. The man was hilarious. He speaks English well enough to play with words, which is clearly one of his joys. He was speaking in philosophical riddles all night, saying things like, "Either you take life by the hand, or it takes you." After a while his formula (either you verb the noun, or the noun verbs you, or sometimes the noun would just verb) became clear and I was finishing his sentences for him.
Yesterday Judy (Shotgun) and I hung out. We went to Sacre Coeur for the view of Paris. We walked around in Montmartre looking for the Dali museum. Montmartre is full of bustle, bargain stores, fabric stores, Middle-Eastern markets, night clubs, sex shops, ets. We walked up stairs (it's steep like North Beach) and ended up in a quaint, dreamy little square, where men were painting on easels, and where the waiters wore Parisian costumes (Judy said "pajama bottoms with cumberbuns") and served over-weight Brits. We ate mussels. We went to, but not inside, the Dali museum. I had to get to class.
Last night back to Montmartre for a concert. I was very late meeting Yuri (a friend of Rebecca Noon) because I spaced out on the train and ended up in the suburbs. We talked with a drunk, off-duty drag queen (in french: "travestie") who loves Hillary Clinton for an hour before going in the club. It's not bad talking in french with drunk people because they have patience for me and I have patience for them. After the show, I made some new friends who also had patience for my French. They hang out at this cafe on the corner of Clichy and rue des Martyrs. They were 4 working-class guys of various ages and ethnic backgrounds. They always hang out at this cafe after work. They are very funny and very smart and they enjoy life. I will go back. Maybe tonight after my conversation exchange in the same neighborhood.
Isabelle, Meiwenn and I are putting on a show (un spectacle) on Saturday night. We will rehearse on friday.
The clown workshop is over.
The teacher was really good. Six days is a tiny taste of this work, but I can honestly say that I learned things. I can count a bunch of thing I learned. And there are probably still more that I haven't realized that I've learned.
I was an imbicile. I was very shy because of the language thing. I understood a lot of what he was saying (more on this in a minute), but it was hard to express that I understood because when I opened my mouth to speak, I couldn't form a sentence. It's even harder to attempt to speak French when a group of people is listening. I am so afraid to make mistakes. Intellectually, I'm not at all.
No lectures please about how useful mistakes are in learning something. I know. I also know that no one's judging me and that I don't judge non-native English speakers attempting to speak English.
There's something in me that is really afraid of doing something wrong, or looking stupid.
This is a bit of a problem for learning French AND studying clown.
It was a strange internal battle.
Are they laughing because "I look stupid" or because I look stupid?It was fastinating!
Back to understanding the teacher:
He spoke slowly and theatrically, so it was pretty easy to understand him. Also there was a woman who would translate things for me some of the time. Often I would get the jist of what he was talking about, but Because of his manner, I couln't tell if I did something he liked, or if I should never do it again.Also, some excercises were a bit surreal, for example:
Two volunteers had to stand on stage with their eyes closed and explore/discover their own body starting with the feet and working up as if there were a truck or a tractor, while saying out-loud what each part was. Then when they were done, they were supposed to open their eyes and see their nose (now they are a clown, not a tracter) and then see the other clown across from them.
There are a couple problems with this:
1, too many intructions. Like an ADHD child, I can only process one instruction in French at a time.
2, if I had unterstood everything he said, how would I know?
Only 4 weeks left of classes. I'd better learn French fast!
I can't say I've had that much practice speaking. My comprehension has definately improved. I know a lot more written grammer. I'm hoping for a breakthrough!
Last night I went to see the Ballet at Le Palais Garnier. This is the opera house that Phantom of the Opera was based on. The building was amazing! Yes, the chandallier was massive. The ceiling was painted by Chagall, which was a tinie bit jarring against baroque splendor, but i dug it.
Afterwards I ran through the streets with a French friend (Lou) and stayed up too late in an old Parisian apartment. Faint sounds of Jacques Brel through an open window, and then quite a bit later through the same window, the smell of baking chocolate from a boulangerie.
I am meeting with a woman once a week to have a little conversation exchange, and I just met another potential French friend on the steps of the opera house last night.
I will start a six-day intensive clown workshop (in french) on Monday. It will be from 9:30am to 4:30pm each day. Then I rush off to my French class. It's going to be an exciting week!!!
Sunday, October 22, 2006
I just came back from the ridiculously lavish Versailles.
My favorite part was Le Petit Trianon, where Marie Antoinette would escape the rigors of palace life and dress up and play shepherdess.
I was sick all last week. I'm taking it easy so I can fully recover and be invincibe again.
I've had friends in town.
Timmy and I went to see 'Quartet', a German-expressionist extravaganza combining the talents of his favorite director in the world (literally), Robert Wilson, and hie favorite playwright, Heiner Muller (he wrote Hamlet Machine, if that means anything to you). It was abstract, hard and precise, with Strong images, amazing use of lighting and music.
Timmy and I also went to the catacombs. In the 19th century, Paris cemeteries were getting out of hand and a decision was made to close them and put millions of bodies-worth of bones under the city in the catacombs. Remember Lincoln logs? femurs stack well. Sculls are thrown in to make cute patterns in the bone walls. You can pick them up and play with them as long as the workers aren't watching. If you go, know that they will search your bag at the exit.
Karen and Cecily were in town. The three of us went to tea at the house of a woman who lives part of the time in Oakland and part in Paris. Most of the folks there were black American ex-pats, who have lived in Paris for 30 years or so. Fun and inspirational! Then we ended up exploring one of the bad parts of town (my fault)!
I've really just been studying this week.
I still don't know how I'm going to learn french. If I don't learn it this time around, I will view this as the beginning of a longer relationship with this country and language.
My grammer class at the Sorbonne has gotten exponentially harder.
I have some friends.
I have much love for the Bay, but I don't yet miss it.
Friday, October 13, 2006
Quel Beau Week-end!
The following post is from over a week ago. The French computers and Blogspot are having cultural differences.
I went on an organized trip with my program to Normandy and Brittanylast weekend.
Sadly, we didn't get nearly enough time at the Peace museum in Caen. It is an impressive amount of information and artifacts. I felt rushed as it was, but it sucked to have to leave before I got to "Hope." I got as far as the gas chambers.
Then to the American cemitary at Omaha Beach, which now is so beautiful and peaceful. I got to overhear a vet describing his experience during the siege to a friend.
We stayed in San Malo for two nights. This is a Mideval walled town on the sea. Yep, it was georgous. The colors of the sky and water and old stone... The water level drops 40 feet at low tide, making it possible to walk over to a couple little islands. I picked blackberries on one of them for about an hour. I had great seafood and the local speciality: galettes, buckwheat crepes. As many San Franciscans know, thanks to Ti Couz, crepes are the tradidional food of Brittany.
There were boats arriving for an annual race to Martinique taking place this month. Ships have been making that trip in one way or another for hundreds of years. Pirates!
We took a day trip to Dinan, an even more picturesque Medieval town.
We also went to Mont Saint Michael, which was too congested withtourists. It is an abbey and surrounding village on a very pointy tinymountain, surrounded by quicksand and occasionally water. This was a major pilgrimage site. The merchants in the town have been selling souvenirs since the Middle-ages!
When I came home- IT WAS PARIS!
In other news: Order has been restored.
Let me start by saying I have a regular fruitman at the open air market near my house. This is France after all. Hewould throw in extra figs, etc. The week before, I went to the market on Wednesday, when it was twice the size (wednesdays are funny here.) I was a bit lost and I did a huge amount of shopping at other stalls. The truth is I couldn't find my guy and, because it looked so different and the streets aren't on a grid, I wasn't even sure I was at the same market! When I was finding my way back home I saw him. We said Bonjour and he looked at all the bags I was carrying. Then I didn't go shopping for over a week. He probably thought I was shopping at other stalls. Yesterday I finally went back to him. No hard feelings. He gave me some delicious little plums to try. I'm goingback today to get more.
Saturday is La Nuit Blanche. Basically Paris will be staying up and open all night. Cheers.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Il pleut
The rain is wonderful. I've promised myself I'm not going to be one of the many Parisians each year who slip in dog-shit in the rain. So far so good.
It's warm. I haven't needed a jacket yet. (umbrella: yes.)
I found a dance studio in my neighborhood, and I'm going to go to an African class tomorrow night. I can't find Haitian dance classes. I've found classes representing a large part of the the African Diaspora, but as my cousin Isabelle says, they like to pretend that Haiti never existed.
I have free access to all the museums in Paris through my program! I pop into the Louve for an hour here or there. When I feel tired, I leave! I can run through it, which is an activity I really enjoy. I can go in and just hit one little area, knowing I can always come back the next time I'm in the hood. Today I went to the Picasso Museum, which is fabulous. His stuff from the 1930's looks like the Monty Python animation.
I continue to love it here.
There's a lot of kissing in the street and snuggling on park benches. There's very little litter and many many poubelles (garbage recepticals). I have to say the smoke dosen't bother me at all. But I hear that there's less smoking than there used to be. Because they have socialized medicine, it's in the government's financial interest to keep people healthy (yes, take a moment to appreciate that concept, Americans) and so there are non-smoking campagns.
I don't know how I'm going to learn French! It's so easy to live here without speaking it. Three months of classes seems like nothing. My residence is an all American building. sigh... (I recognize this as a stage in the process of learning French or anything.)
I wish I could post pictures, but my camera is too old for the computers to recognize.
Here is a picture for you:
I walk through the Jardin du Luxembourg (Luxemboug Gardens) every day to go from Phonetics class to Grammer. The leaves on the trees are beginning to turn. The edges of the leaves have changes to gold. They are large and close together, and the light shine through them beautifully. Yesterday there was a long line of children and parents waiting to buy tickets at the puppet theatre. (Children don't have school on Wednesdays.) The day before there was a steel band from Trinadad and Tobago playing on a bandstand. In the center of the garden (also at Le Jardin des Tuileries) there is a pond with a fountain in the middle of it. There are many toy boats floating around. Around the edge of the pond you see children with sticks pushing the boats that float to them. If you squint, they might be dressed in pinafors, tunics and short pants. I imagine one of the boys is my Grandpere.
Last Saturday I went to Chartres, a Mideaval town with a grand Gothic cathedral dedicated to St Mary. Out of time.
Friday, September 15, 2006
Mon portable est mort
My classes end at 7pm each day. After class last night I ran into Danny Columbo, a friend from the Bay, on some steps near the Pantheon (a block or so away from my class) and very near an almost empty bottle of wine and two girls from Georgia. We hung out for a few hours and then he caught his train to Madrid which, coincidentally, was leaving from the station right by my house. Then I was caught in a downpour and everything attached to me was soaked. My cell phone is dead. A short life. We didn't even get acquainted...
Thursday, September 14, 2006
A beautiful City
It truly is.
For those of you who are not already familiar with it:
The river runs through the middle of it. They didn't ignore it as they planned the city. All the buildings along the Seine face it. Paris is not a grid. The streets go all different directions, forming triangles and asterisks. (They are named after writers, philosophers, artists, politicians, never letters or numbers). One time in the 70's, someone decided to build a modern high-rise, and then they decided that was a terrible idea and didn't build any more in the city. There are modern buildings of the edge of the city, but I rarely see them. It looks like the major metropolis it was over a hundred years ago. The city is divided into 20 districts (arrondissements) which, once again, are not in a grid. The spiral out from the center like a sea shell: une coquile. The garbage is picked up every day. YES, the dogs take dumps on the street, but not as much as people say. They pee on the street here- as much or possibly more than SF! You can see women pulling down the pants of small children and holding over them over the gutter while they pee. There's pee everywhere!
I love my classes. 3 out of 4 are taught completely in French: Grammer, Phonetics and Conversation. The forth class I have is French Civilasation. It's 2 days a week. One day of lecture in the classroom and one day at various sites around the city.
Time for class.
Much love to the Bay!
I don't mean language.
I'm having difficulties with the things that are supposed to make our lives easier. I've tried to post blog entries, but I've been denied. Internet use is often unsuccessful. The phone in my room works sometimes. I bought a cell phone, but can't figure out how to use it. Phone cards are faulty. You get the idea.
My full class schedule starts today. We're all very happy about that. I've never heard the statement, "I can't wait for classes to start" as often as I have in the last week. I've now been here one week!
I went to mass at Notre Dame yesterday. (Notre Dame is the epidemy of Gothic architecture.) It was grand and dark and, well, scary. It was Gothic. The music sounded like the soundtrack of a horror movie. No, really. At one point I thought I heard thunder. The joy of life was nowhere to be found. Beautifully morbid. No wonder the Catholic Church is having membership problems.
That's all for now. Time for class.
I'm here. I feel like I'm falling. Not surprising. My body was just hurling through space for the better part of a day.
This morning flying at sunrise was beautiful- all pink and fire. The plane was flying between two layers of clouds.I've unpacked, had orientation 1 and 2 (More to come!), eaten real food, had the first of many cafe au laits, met one of my roommates (a quivering stress-ball), walked around my neighborhood and gotten my Carte Orange (Metro month pass). I have to keep moving today to fight thhe jetleg.
Here rules can be observed or not. Favorite image while sitting at a cafe table: A man driving a large motercycle on the sidewalk holding a candybar in his mouth.
Monday, August 28, 2006
6 days left...
I don't know if I will stick with this. I don't know what kind of access I will have to computers. We will see.The theme of this week's 'This American Life' was Americans in Paris. David Sedaris gave Ira Glass a tour of Paris and his experiences in it. David's geography of the city was based on where people treated him the least horribly.
I'm excited. I wonder how much French I will actually learn.
I can't wait.
I look forward to the unknown.
I have to train myself not to smile at strangers.
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