Soundtrack d

The hooker windup

Went to Paris this weekend to meet Giang who had just flown in for his spring break. We did all the touristy stuff, you know, rode to the top of the Eiffel Tower, went to gardens and museums, got hit in the head by a French hooker, watched br..... Wait, what? Rewind; French hooker?

Yup. Standing in the Gare de Lyon before our train came, what we assumed to be a French hooker walked up to the mirror next to me, completely decked out in far too much silver eyeshadow and fake eyelashes, short-shorts and knee-high socks. She turned around, wound up and swung, straight-armed. I ducked my head at the last minute but her forearm still hit my head. I was in too much shock to react - what was that for? So as she walked away and glared back at me, I just looked at her confusedly and almost laughingly. I wasn't hurt, I wasn't even upset or mad, just completely baffled. All I could think of was, Deja vu from South Korea? Maybe you can recall: Seoul, SK, I was minding my own business, talking with some friends at a street-food vendor, when a most likely drunk/racist old man came up behind me and hit me over the head. And, once again, everyone around me just stared to see how I would react and I just said "....Really?...really?"

I'm pretty sure both times racism and substance abuse were behind it. The hooker was black and maybe high, and probably assumed she was getting a bad vibe from a white girl. Sure, I had glanced at her from afar, but my instincts told me to keep my eyes averted in order to stay out of trouble, so I did. Either way, as Giang put it, at least now I know what a hooker-windup looks like so I can avoid being hit next time. Maybe whip out some kung fu and suprise 'em.

The funniest part is that when I left the US for France, half the people I said goodbye to jokingly warned me to watch out for swinging strangers due to my last experience. Little did we know.

Tastebud Overload

My stomach and taste buds have had the ride of their life this last week. . The program I'm here with has been really good about giving us opportunities to experience different elements of French culture and apparently this week's theme was cuisine. Everyone knows of the French reputation for delicious food, and I've been able to dabble in it, but until this week the full effect of it had not hit me.

One of the adventures planned by the program was a tour of the local chocolate factory, Puyricard. In the top five things people should know about Julie is that I am addicted to chocolate so needless to say, I was drooling the entire time. We got a brief introduction to the process of turning cocoa beans into chocolate and the family business, and then went through a tour of the factory where we were sporadically given different chocolates to taste. At the end of the tour, an entire plate of chocolates was set out for us to indulge - - it really wasn't that unfortunate that half our tour group didn't show up after all; more chocolate for us! My favorite was one with a chocolate alcool mousse in the middle, and the tour guide mistook my pleasantly surprised reaction, slowly savoring every bite, as dislike, offering me a bucket to spit it out in. I did not have the words in French to explain that there was definitely no need for that but she eventually gave up.

That evening I was invited Chez Christine, an older woman who lives alone and enjoys cooking and conversing with foreign students. Once a week, about seven or eight students are invited over for a full dinner, four to five courses, and wine. It was excellent. She's a really quirky woman who laughs a lot and I hope that I can go back a few more times because she was so funny. The first course was a tarte au tomate, a thin, quiche-like slice of crust, egg, mustard and tomato on top. The main dish of chicken in a tomato and olive sauce was served next with a cheese-topped fennel dish and a zucchini souffle. As if this wasn't enough, a plate of cheese was brought out, as it usually is at a vrai French meal, Roquefort and another, to eat with our bread. Finally, we had a dessert of a sort of pear custard, the perfect consistency and browned just enough on top. The whole dinner took a little over 2.5 hours, enough to let each course settle while we conversed with Christine. Still I was so full I could barely walk home.

Another day our program set up a wine tasting. A German woman gave us two types each of white, rose and red wines with palette-cleansing bread in between and explained to us the processes and tasting techniques of each wine. I feel like knowing wine is a lifetime endeavor - every grape, every blend, every bottle is different, and its really a job that doesn't have to (and probably shouldn't) be limited to between 9:00 and 5:00. I may just take it up!

One afternoon, we were invited to half a glass of wine and taste several cheeses with the leaders of our program as a light lunch. Turns out, a lot of cheese and bread isn't so light. And its impossible to say which was my favorite; every new bite tasted the best.

Fortunately for our figures ( :P ) we ended the week with a hike up Saint Victoire, the nearby mountain. That has to be the reason that the French stay so thin - the beautiful landscape and fresh air enticing them to work off the dormant energy from all the cheese and bread of the week. Because not once have I heard any of the francais here mention self-control in the same conversation as French cuisine.

Paris, Barcelona, Lisbon

I've been too busy having fun to post much, but I'll try and make up for it now since I'm on my death bed. I caught a 24hr flu bug yesterday; feeling a bit better today and hopefully I can return to class tomorrow.

As you may have deduced from the photos I posted, a few friends and I made the 3 hour train trek to Paris a few weekends ago. We decided to title the trip "Paris - 3, Kevin - 0" because Paris pretty much kicked our butts, specifically Kevin's. Kevin is the type of guy who is always on the go, always up for a good time, leaves little time for sleep and therefore, the lack of sleep caused brain lapses from time to time, so we blamed all our bad luck on him. (At least he can blame his brain lapses on something - but me? I'm just a flake.) Luckily, we had a positive group with a sense of humor, so we laughed off our mishaps from beginning to end.

Our troubles started before we had even left Aix: we went to the wrong train station. We got our tickets changed with no extra charge for an hour later and took a bus to the correct station. Little did we know, our train was late and so we got on the wrong one, but fortunately it was going basically the same direction and so we just had to make a transfer after getting a kind laugh from the ticket checkers and a few passengers. We made it to Paris only about 2 hours later than expected.

The rest of the weekend was fun but rainy and cold, and I was certainly not dressed for the rain (never trust French weathermen). We saw L'Eglise Saint-Paul-Saint-Louis, Notre Dame Cathedrale, Sacre Coeur, Arc de Triomphe and ended Saturday night popping open a bottle of champagne at midnight when the Tour Eiffel begins to sparkle. The second day we went to the Musee D'Orsay where I had the long-awaited experience (in person) of "Berthe Morisot," the painting that I did a study after in high school.
Later we went back to Montemartre to see the Moulin Rouge. Of course the entire weekend was littered with delicious food (too much; I learned there how to save money on meals and just cook in the hostel instead.) I'm glad that I will be going back to Paris a few times... there was far too much to see and I'm sure I will love it more in the sunshine. Our weekend ended with the lovely FIVE hour train ride back to Aix, being that the conductors felt it necessary to stop for 2 hours mid-trip. For lunch? Coffee and conversation? Fixing the train? Who knows - they didn't apologize or offer any explanation.

Our "winter break" was last week and so a few friends and I bussed down to Barcelona, Spain. Again, the European winter rain followed us and we were soaked pretty much the entire time we were there. Still, we had an awesome experience- the people were so helpful (the first guy we met off the bus walked us the full 40 minutes to our hostel in the rain even though it wasn't in his direction at all!), and the tapas ("snacks") were sooooo good. The Sangrada Familia, Parc Guell, and La Pedreda, all architecture by Gaudi, were our main attractions for the week and we revisited them several times... there was just SO much to look at in each building and garden. We ended each night with a drink out on the town... maybe a delicious sangria and my first mojito... new favorite drink :) .

On Wednesday, we flew down to Lisbon, Portugal for the rest of the week. I think I got a better impression of Lisbon than Spain because the weather was mostly sunny and dry, but the people were just as friendly. Our hostel was amazing (and provided free breakfast! anything "gratuit" these days is exciting!) and pointed us to the best spots: the old castle of Sao Jorge, the beautiful coast of Cascais, best shopping and the most active nightlife spots for students. There was a cheap porte-tasting restaurant that we went to after dinner one night... we were completely full and totally out of place in the classy atmosphere, but the dessert wine sounded too good to pass up, and it was. 3 glasses for 3 euro!

We learned a lot from that trip... 1) How to travel with people who have different traveling styles. We got tired at different times, hungry at different times, craved different things... it was just important to compromise. 2) How to save money. One night we cooked dinner for five of us at the hostel which we payed 6 euro TOTAL... whereas a dinner out might cost 10 euro EACH at the very least! And buy apples, oranges and cheese for snacks to hold you out until the next meal, otherwise it got really pricey. 3) Seriously, do as the Romans do. Or as the Spanish, or as the Portuguese. Thats not a joke. Even if its not what you're used to, LOSE YOUR EXPECTATIONS, you could end up liking it a lot and then having a much better time. (Yes, those words are directed at a certain member of our traveling group. :) ) and finally 4) Wear shoes that actually have soles and that don't soak up 8 liters of water every time you stand in the rain for more than 3 minutes.

Mot du jour: Gratuit = free

Pictures... finally

A few friends and I hit up Montmartre and we had to stop at the Moulin Rouge :)












Sacre Coeur














This Fontaine de la Rotunde is about a 2 minute walk away from my apartment, and it always looks just as beautiful.


At Gordes, France during one of the many excursions our program has set up for us.

If I got paid a centime...

...for every time I passed a man in a beret playing the accordion in the streets, I would officially have a centime. (It doesnt have the same ring as a nickel...) But how cool is that? I think that if my stay in Provence had to be over today, I would go home feeling fulfilled just because I got to experience that. Only in la belle France :)

Faux pas

Neither my mind nor my body has gotten used to the fact that we're in another time zone so I'm still waking up at odd hours and I'm rarely tired when I should be. Lucky for me, both kinds of cafes are easy to find, so caffeine has held me through class the last few days. True to form, I got placed in a class with mostly asiens. How I managed that, I'm not really sure... but the level actually turned out to be trop facile for the other Americans and me, so I might not be hangin' with the Asians much longer after all.

Another aspect of life in France that I've been getting used to... the "French protocol." Whereas Americans tend to encourage an individualist attitude, a "whatever works" approach to getting things done and continuing relationships, the French rarely deviate from their ways. Let me give you some examples:

=>One of the Ten French Commandments is to NEVER CUT LETTUCE. That means not in preparation for the meal and not during it. Instead, one is expected to fold (with fork, knife and/or a chunk of bread) the full leaves of lettuce into flat, bite-size origami that can slide cleanly between your lips without stretching them behind your teeth. This, I might add, is much more difficult than it sounds. I have yet to do this correctly, and out of frustration I just left it on my plate uneaten.
=>Another faux pas, and one that I commit daily, is laughing or smiling at great amounts in public. Smiling a lot is presumably fake, manipulative or mental and therefore is kept between friends... Americans, especially, are considered a little kooky for the random smiles to passers-by without an evident reason. It is also disruptive to laugh loudly in a restaurant, etc. and that's why Americans here are known to be obnoxious; because we generally have a good time at a louder volume than the French do.
=>At the cafe the other day, my friends and I were sitting down for coffee. It was almost lunchtime, the French's favorite part of the day, when a few of them decided to order a creme brulee since we weren't hungry enough to eat a meal. The waiter raised a sardonic eyebrow, asking, "Pour vous?" According to him, we weren't allowed to order a dessert unless we had eaten a meal. A few moments later, he kicked our group out because we weren't eating lunch with them. Paying just frustrated them further since the waiter refused to change a 5 euro bill and because venders expect payment in exact change. So thats at least 3 gaffes in one visit. Apparently, this type of service is hit or miss because the cafe across the street gave quite a friendly welcome (and even a little jig) for our other classmates.

This is actually my favorite part about traveling, the DIFFERENCES. To find out the whys and hows of all the "French ways," I'll have to observe and experience this place longer, and then I can go more in depth on the subject. Its easy to attribute these elements of their lifestyle to the arrogance that is often ascribed to the French but I'm convinced that there is something even beyond that. Every culture comes to be what they are through experience and finding out what works for them, and I'm ever-curious to understand exactly what those experiences are.

My biggest mistake is also the funniest, being that I've made fun of others for doing the same thing back in the states. I ordered the plat du jour with a few friends of mine and the waitress gave us two options for it: veal or duck. Duck in French is pronounced "cah-nahrd." The equivalent of "asshole" or "schmuck" in French is pronounced "coh-nahrd." Guess which one I ordered? I had even been practicing it over and over in my head but at the very moment it came out of my mouth, my mind was elsewhere. The waitress gave me a double-take and waited for my correction... luckily, she nicely accepted it as a foreigner's blunder and did not serve me an "asshole" out of spite. (Excuse my French.)

I had been warned about most of these cultural nuances and potential errors before experiencing them firsthand, so its comical that we still had problems. So far, however, it has been nothing we can't later laugh off obnoxiously in the streets while the quiet French just shake their heads.

rêve

After flying 4,000+ miles over l'Ocean Atlantique Nord, crying through three movies (500 Days of Summer, Love Happens, & My Sister's Keeper - either I chose the three saddest films on the list or I was extra emotional from lack of sleep) and feeling pretty much every emotion possible, I finally arrived in Europe yesterday morning. Europe, however, was not yet tangible until today, as I could only stare at it through the plane, bus, and Amsterdam-Schiphol airport windows. The descent into Amsterdam felt like just another film, with a panning longshot of a morning urban landscape and a running narration from the 5 year old sitting a few rows behind me: "Three... two... one... touchdown." (He was about four seconds off, by the way.) But now I'm here, in France, and I love it.

I don't know what I was expecting... maybe Korea all over again except with more people who are my height? But everything here so far has exceeded what I thought Provence could be. I think its because I've always thought of France as a dream or a fairytale. As cheesy as it sounds, I really feel like I'm living in a fairytale, its so unreal to me. Melody, you would love it, it would inspire your art SO much. The little specialty shops literally everywhere, the cobblestone streets and sidewalks, the mossy fountains marking the roundabouts. I am continually taken aback by the cheek kissing that happens during a greeting or a goodbye, even though I was thoroughly aware of this habit before I came. I knew France is well known for the markets but I get a shiver from the seeming surreality when I walk past a square full of bread stands and fruit carts I'm embarrassed to say that even the people around me speaking entirely in French surprises me hourly, which reinforces the idea that this place really only occurred to my subconscious as a fairytale.

Everything about my homestay seems perfect: personable hostmom and sister, my own adorable room, meals five days a week, independence if I desire it and more interaction if I don't. The only issue that struck me as odd was that they are English, a fact I learned a few days before I left. I signed up for a homestay for more language and culture immersion, and I get une famille anglaise? I was peeved for about a half hour and then decided it wasn't worth it, so I'm over it. And really, there is too many upsides to my situation to dwell on that small fact. They do speak French well, something I need to be sure to take advantage of. Madame Vivien is a single mother with an 18-year old daughter, Georgina, and they've been living here for about six years (I think). They're extremely sweet and very accommodating.

Believe it or not, I haven't gotten lost yet. Not only is this surprising being that I am Julie Finelli, the Julie Finelli who still gets lost on her way to Mpls, but also because the roads are small and at first glance, all look alike. The area that I will spend most of my time has very little rhyme or reason to the city plan but, lucky for me, there is a key to finding your way no matter where you are: if the road slants downward, it leads to the Cours Mirabeau. And the Cours Mirabeau is only a few blocks from my apartment. (For those of you unfamiliar with it, le Cours Mirabeau is the second most beautiful street in France, it divides the city into two parts and is an often-written about and busy part of town.) So I figure I've got it made as long as I know which side of the CM I need to be on.

Ok so I have never really been one to coo over every baby or toddler that comes within reach but seriously, les enfants speaking French is probably one of the cutest things I have ever experienced. They have better grammar than I have, but they speak slower and slur their words together, makes me want to pinch their cheeks and tawk like dish. I wish I could go back to my toddler days just so my abominable francais could be considered cute and not ignorant.

Speaking of bad French. Buying a cell phone today was my first experience with a French salesman and therefore, extremely terrifying. I knew my French was rusty but the newly-lodged heart in my throat made it quite difficult to think clearly. I'm sure that for the first few weeks, that fear of misspeaking of misunderstanding will appear promptly at any interaction with the locals.

The great thing about this place is the history that is evident in every nook and cranny. We live, learn, eat and shop in the same buildings as the historic figures like Paul Cezanne and Emile Zola inhabited and went to school. My homestay apartment is actually in the center of town in what was once a very luxurious housing estate for the bourgeois and parliament in that time. Cezanne studied in the building right across the street, which is now, I think, a middle school. The shops on the Cours Mirabeau are underneath old homes of notable people whose names I can't remember (oops). The Cathedrale a block away from my school has sectioned samples of Gothic, Romanesque and Baroque architecture, surely degraded but still holding significant impact in the decorated walls and artwork. This is what we lack living in the young and continually changing United States - centuries-old tradition and history at our doorstep. Literally.

Mot du jour (Word of the Day): un reve = dream