Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
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.
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.
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