The rain here isn't like it is at home. Sure there are grey clouds covering the sky that cast shadows on murky puddles, and people bustle down the street with their rain jackets and umbrellas just the same. But I've noticed in Paris the rain just doesn't drip down on top of umbrellas and rooftops, it falls on the heads of a countless number of homeless people. We can all spot a homeless man on the street. They have the "typical look", long hair, a couple of missing or damaged teeth, and tattered layered clothing. There's usually a bottle in a paper bag sitting next to him on one side and either a cup for donations or a dog on his other. It's not a hard scene to find.
What I think a lot of people don't notice while they hurry along the street to their corner office buildings is that the rain only affects their life for a moment. Maybe ten minutes at the most. Between taking public transportation and wearing some kind of rain gear, they only get wet for a very short amount of time. I personally like walking in the rain, there's something refreshing about such a pure element falling on top of me I can't help but smile. I generally don't walk into a building after choosing to walk bare-headed in the rain complaining about the weather and how my hair is ruined. Hair never falls the same way twice so why would I expect it to stay the way I place it before leaving my room? It's not a feasible request.
But for someone who doesn't have a brush, access to a haircut, or maybe not even a secure cover from the rain, the homeless have a much bigger say in how the rain affects their lives. So, while people run down the street, newspaper in hand, racing to catch the bus that's about to leave, even though the next one will inevitably arrive in three minutes time, they cease to notice the suddenly greater number of homeless people wandering the street. They wander without shoes, sometimes with soaking wet socks, looking for a vendor who will allow them to rest on the stoop for a few minutes. Most of the restaurant and grocery store owners look them up and down and tell them to move on. The parks aren't dry enough to sit under a tree and all of the benches are exposed to the crying skies.
At the end of La Rue du Val de Grace, there is a homeless man I have seen every day since the day I arrived who sits on the bench all day long. Sometimes he stands up to stretch his legs, or is laying down taking a nap. But when he begins to greet someone, or lay his head down, something strange takes over his body. I'm not sure if it was from an accident, a disease, or what-- but his head cocks to the side and almost rotates his chin clear up to the sky. The first time I saw it, I was a little scared but then I took a closer look and realized he is smiling the whole time. I'm sure it's so he doesn't scare people walking by, but I see something more genuine about his smile. It could just be how I see the world in general, but the past few days I've felt bad because I know the cafe owner doesn't necessarily want him sitting on the bench next to his establishment, but it's clear this man isn't an insane drinker and has nowhere else to go. So this morning I saw him walking around while I ran by, his socks were soaked, and it was evident his coat had been rained on all night long. But he just paced the street, wearing a dry smile.
Walking back up the road to school I stopped in a Boulangerie and ordered a Croissant au beurre and a Croissant au chocolat. I paid the man 1.80 Euros and grabbed the paper bag. Stepping back out into the rain, I opened my umbrella to protect my iPod and felt the warmth of the bag in my hands. I started to smile a little as a Brett Dennen song started, "Aint No Reason". It's a very, very powerful song, and usually has the ability to bring tears to my eyes with just one line. But it's inspiring nonetheless. So I told myself it had to be a good sign the song came on shuffle as I was about to give this man some breakfast.
I turned the corner and touched his shoulder and said, "Bonjour Monsieur, c'est un croissant au beurre et un croissant au chocolat que j'ai achete pour vous." He started to grab the bag and asked me to repeat myself. So I did and he replied, "Ah, merci mademoiselle c'est gentil mais non je ne peux pas les accepter." My heart sank and I replied with "Non, ce sont les croissants pour vous. S'il vous plait, il pleut maintenant, je voudrais vous aider un peu." And it went on for a few more seconds until he placed the bag back in my hands and held them for a second as he thanked me again.
There aint no reason things are this way, it's how they always been and they intend to stay. So I held the bag of croissants and walked away from the man. My heart continued to drop and I felt tears well up. I understand he probably felt like a charity case, but it's those times when I feel the most helpless. Not that I'm helpless, but that I don't know what to do to make a difference. Maybe it's silly to think that I can change a person's life by buying them one meal for one day.
The wind blows wild and I may move, the politicians lie and I am not fooled. You don't need no reason or a three piece suit to argue the truth. It seems overwhelming at times to think that just one person can make a difference, can reach out and change something. Today feels like one of those days. The rain rolls down the window of my classroom, my apartment room-- my shelter. But what about those who aren't as fortunate as I am? The rain rolls down their damp clothing, their faces, and when it reaches the roots on their scalp it sends chills down their spine.
Two croissants don't change much in the eyes of a homeless man and maybe that was his reasoning for not accepting them. I'm a firm believer in Aesop's quote, "No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted." And maybe it's easier for someone who has belongings, a shelter to run to from the cold, and the ability to perform such small acts of kindness, to see how successful they can be. But in the eyes of someone who has nothing, and who wouldn't be able to return the favor, the croissants might taste bitter. It's like when Charlie opened the chocolate bar present and didn't find a golden ticket. It wasn't an answer to his problems, it was just a bar of chocolate. Bitter, and almost useless.
So the rain continues to fall, and the number in my head grows as I count more and more homeless people walking down the street, holding themselves closer to keep warm each time a cold drop hits their body. Hopefully the sun will come out, even if just for a few minutes to warm the heart and soul of those who need it the most.
I can't explain why we live this way, we do it every day.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Les Restaurants du Coeur
Setting: Rue Montparnasse around 9:15 pm. The sun still sits high in the sky, but a cool breeze runs through the streets as vendors leave their boutiques and grocery stores. The cafes are just starting to light up, while people chat quietly over wine and cheese plates. I cross the street diagonally when I see the ATM I desperately need to visit after four days of being without a single Euro. I see a few people standing in line, patiently clutching their debit cards like they would clutch a new born, casting sideways glances every few seconds at the homeless man sitting on the windowsill nearly five feet from the ATM.
He must be about 45 years old with long wirey hair that stands on end, mostly a dark grey color with some shades of salt and pepper. His beard is basically the same, long and wirey with a blend of darker grey shades. He's wearing old nikes that are starting to tear at the toes, a pair of ripped light blue jeans and a navy blue jacket you would most likely wear at the end of winter or early spring. Normally I would probably behave just as the others in front of me were behaving-- a little fearful that he would beg for money or approach me while at the machine, with no where to run. But tonight I notice something else. A group of people hopping out of a small mini-van and approaching the man. A tiny bumpersticker on the back of the van's window reads: Les Restaurants du Coeur.
I'm a little confused, so I take my time walking up to the ATM so I can try to watch the scene unfold. Were they intervening psychologists helping the homeless? Were they escorting people to a soup kitchen? Or were they just counselors? No, none of the above. They were just four or five people standing around the homeless man carrying on a conversation. They asked him about his life, if he had any family, and what he liked to do with his time. But then I noticed a plastic bag sitting next the man on the windowsill. The bag had a label identical to the bumpersticker on the van. My answer had arrived: the group was delivering food to the needy.
I should have realized when I saw the van park abruptly, turn on its hazards and the group hop out to greet him. But by this point I am so amazed that a group of people have stopped what they were doing to give this man a meal. All I can think about is driving around Miami with two extra pizzas from the SAAC Meeting, looking for a needy-person to give them to. And then I think about how touched the woman we found on US-1 was to receive such a big meal from a passing car. And even though we didn't even stop to chat, I remember seeing her eyes lit up and a smile beginning to form as she thanked us and yelled "God Bless You!".
I was moved to see that an organization exists in France doing just what I've always wanted to do, change the world one heart at a time. Maybe the man receiving the food was used to such a service by now, or maybe it really did touch him that someone was reaching out to a man who was just down on his luck.
When I returned to the apartment, still wearing a grin the size of Texas, I plopped down on my bed and opened up my two best online friends, Google & Wikipedia. I found out the organization began in 1985 by a comedian by the name of Coluche and it now consists of one national organization and over 100 other specialized departments. Everyone is a volunteer and the organization accepts donations for buying food and delivering it to the needy. The volunteers are not only trained for interactions with the people, but they are trained to welcome people who may or may not be ready for help, performing culturally productive activties to reintroduce people into the community, and even managing one of the travelling restaurants. The donors, both big and small, are also given a tax break. Currently the service project has spread to Belgium and Germany where it has been growing for a few years.
Two hours later I am still amazed at how giving some people can be. For me, I would rather give someone a sandwich or a cup of hot soup, than to just drop my cold pennies into their cup. I know money rules the world, but you don't invite friends over to give them money to go to McDonalds for a snack wrap. You invite them over to give them something more, some kind of nourishment. And its not just a physical nourishment, it's an act of consciously giving to someone and in my eyes that is much more meaningful.
So no, I don't drop pennies into beggars' hats. I cross the street, buy a few croissants for the same amount of change I would've dropped in a cup, and dodge traffic once again. Then I squat down or do whatever I need to do to be at their eye level, and let them know I'm there for human interaction. To let them know they don't need to bow their heads in shame because they live on a street while I live in a house, and drive a car. For that one moment in time I set aside from my own personal agenda, when I'm giving them something they truly need, I want them to know it comes from a human being who empathizes with their situation. My wish is that they see they're not alone on this planet. There is such thing as a human being who truly cares.
And that's why I was so inspired by the company's purpose and how the volunteers interacted so generously with the man. Whether or not he realizes their compassion, I do. And I only hope to be as inspiring for someone else one day.
He must be about 45 years old with long wirey hair that stands on end, mostly a dark grey color with some shades of salt and pepper. His beard is basically the same, long and wirey with a blend of darker grey shades. He's wearing old nikes that are starting to tear at the toes, a pair of ripped light blue jeans and a navy blue jacket you would most likely wear at the end of winter or early spring. Normally I would probably behave just as the others in front of me were behaving-- a little fearful that he would beg for money or approach me while at the machine, with no where to run. But tonight I notice something else. A group of people hopping out of a small mini-van and approaching the man. A tiny bumpersticker on the back of the van's window reads: Les Restaurants du Coeur.
I'm a little confused, so I take my time walking up to the ATM so I can try to watch the scene unfold. Were they intervening psychologists helping the homeless? Were they escorting people to a soup kitchen? Or were they just counselors? No, none of the above. They were just four or five people standing around the homeless man carrying on a conversation. They asked him about his life, if he had any family, and what he liked to do with his time. But then I noticed a plastic bag sitting next the man on the windowsill. The bag had a label identical to the bumpersticker on the van. My answer had arrived: the group was delivering food to the needy.
I should have realized when I saw the van park abruptly, turn on its hazards and the group hop out to greet him. But by this point I am so amazed that a group of people have stopped what they were doing to give this man a meal. All I can think about is driving around Miami with two extra pizzas from the SAAC Meeting, looking for a needy-person to give them to. And then I think about how touched the woman we found on US-1 was to receive such a big meal from a passing car. And even though we didn't even stop to chat, I remember seeing her eyes lit up and a smile beginning to form as she thanked us and yelled "God Bless You!".
I was moved to see that an organization exists in France doing just what I've always wanted to do, change the world one heart at a time. Maybe the man receiving the food was used to such a service by now, or maybe it really did touch him that someone was reaching out to a man who was just down on his luck.
When I returned to the apartment, still wearing a grin the size of Texas, I plopped down on my bed and opened up my two best online friends, Google & Wikipedia. I found out the organization began in 1985 by a comedian by the name of Coluche and it now consists of one national organization and over 100 other specialized departments. Everyone is a volunteer and the organization accepts donations for buying food and delivering it to the needy. The volunteers are not only trained for interactions with the people, but they are trained to welcome people who may or may not be ready for help, performing culturally productive activties to reintroduce people into the community, and even managing one of the travelling restaurants. The donors, both big and small, are also given a tax break. Currently the service project has spread to Belgium and Germany where it has been growing for a few years.
Two hours later I am still amazed at how giving some people can be. For me, I would rather give someone a sandwich or a cup of hot soup, than to just drop my cold pennies into their cup. I know money rules the world, but you don't invite friends over to give them money to go to McDonalds for a snack wrap. You invite them over to give them something more, some kind of nourishment. And its not just a physical nourishment, it's an act of consciously giving to someone and in my eyes that is much more meaningful.
So no, I don't drop pennies into beggars' hats. I cross the street, buy a few croissants for the same amount of change I would've dropped in a cup, and dodge traffic once again. Then I squat down or do whatever I need to do to be at their eye level, and let them know I'm there for human interaction. To let them know they don't need to bow their heads in shame because they live on a street while I live in a house, and drive a car. For that one moment in time I set aside from my own personal agenda, when I'm giving them something they truly need, I want them to know it comes from a human being who empathizes with their situation. My wish is that they see they're not alone on this planet. There is such thing as a human being who truly cares.
And that's why I was so inspired by the company's purpose and how the volunteers interacted so generously with the man. Whether or not he realizes their compassion, I do. And I only hope to be as inspiring for someone else one day.
Monday, June 7, 2010
La vie est belle, non?
Premier jour des cours! I was brutally awakened by a Charlie horse in the middle of the night so my plans to go for a nice morning run were temporarily put on hold and I opted to sleep a little longer. So I woke up around 9, jumped in the shower and joined Elisa for some breakfast. I wasn't very hungry after last night's late night excursion with the group to the Louvre where 9 people shared 3 bottles of wine, always a good choice. So instead I had some hot black and orange tea and a little apple juice and got to know Madame Dru's 26 year old actress of a daughter. She has very dark hair and usually pins it back in very intricate ways. Today it was almost french braided but twisted into these loops and bobby pinned down. She had on a V-Neck polka dot shirt and some southern style pants that had a nice crocheted material on the hips and flowed down to her ankles where they tied into a bow. She speaks a little English with a heavy accent but her French is beautfiul and she knew to speak a little more slowly for me as she explained her weekend adventure. She was in the premier of this ironic play that acted out over the top advertisements with a dark twist, and between each of these advertisements there was almost an intermission where the actors shared a story and you found out their relations. It sounded interesting enough and she seemed pleased with how the audience reacted. After breakfast I bid Elisa and Madame Dru "Tchao!" and found my way to the Sweet Briar Office.
For me, it is easiest to walk to class because the metro is a little to the side and won't take me any closer, so I walked along a main road called Rue de Saint Michel and took in the morning sounds of Paris. There were people strolling along the street with a mug of caffe in their hands, people resting on benches reading the newspaper. And of course a few librairies and boutiques were just opening their doors. Kind of ressembled Miami with how few people seemed to be at work, but there is much less traffic and a slower pace of walking. I cut through the Parc de Luxembourg and walked down La Rue Fleurus to find building 34 and got there around 10:50 for orientation at 11. We sat down in one of the classrooms and were handed a new itinerary, a European cell phone, so petit and adorable. All the girls were given a shiny purple phone and the boys a much sleeker black one. Then they handed out a short book, and told us this Friday we would be seeing an Absurb Play in the Latin Quarter and should read the play before attending so we can follow along. It's only one act and should be a quick read, plus I find the Absurb rather amusing so I'll dive in a little bit this evening and continue throughout the week. The directors are all very nice, speak wonderful French of course and are only strict about us speaking French while in the Sweet Briar school and on their excursions.
After orientation the group left for a pique-nique dans le parc de Luxembourg. I pulled out Evan's camera and took a few pictures of the park-goers, sans shoes, pieds aux chaises, just living a relaxed life over a baguette and a good novel. The sky was bright and blue, with a few white clouds but it was lovely in the shade. A nice breeze flows through the park along the paths. So we ate lunch for a little while, joked about a few things that happened last night and along the way to Paris, and a few people mentioned their plans for after Sweet Briar. Since we had our first Expression Francaise class at 2, everyone dispersed around 1 to explore a little bit and then head back to Sweet Briar. Joseph and I went to a little cafe so he could get something else to eat and we had a glass of wine.
Alors, Aventure avec Joseph #2:
--Never walk inside of a cafe (the restaurant part of the cafe) during lunchtime and try to only order a glass of wine.
We didn't realize the waiter would be upset if I just sipped a little wine so I quickly ordered a slice of peach tart and apologized for the confusion. We talked about classes and cafes we had noticed along the way and our desperate need to go to a good Pharmacie for shampoo and facial products.
--Do not wear your sunglasses indoors in Paris. It draws attention to you and the French hate extra attention
I had to explain to Joseph that he stuck out like a sore thumb when he wore his sunglasses inside so he quickly removed them and we continued our meal. But hey, at least we're figuring these unwritten/unspoken rules out sooner than later, no?
After our adventure at the cafe, we had a few extra minutes to step inside some pharamacies to browse around and collect ideas for the kinds of things we wanted. For example, I conditioned my hair with a jasmine and eucalyptus oil mixture, which I would never see in the US for less than 40 dollars a bottle, if at all.
Then we made our way back to the 7th floor of the building for class. Madame Mellado arrived at exactly 2 pm and when she walked in we were greeted by a woman with deep reddish hair, a little wirey but wavy to her shoulders, wearing bright red liptick accompanied by a green jacket and rose colored shirt underneath. Her pointed toed shoes matched her shirt and her accessories dangled from her neck, ears and wrists. Probably around 50 years old she came in excited as can be, asking us our names and how our picnic went earlier in the day. Wasting no time we started talking about how the class would go for the next four weeks. She wants to cover idiomatic phrases in French with us because that is really how we will improve our writing and sound convincing. Secondly she wanted to fix small grammatical problems along the way without taking the conventional grammar route. And thirdly she wants to rid us all of our horrific anglaicismes! So hopefully by the end of these four weeks I will have mastered a few useful French idioms and abolished a few bad habits.
The first thing we learned was how to properly say at the same time in French. Bon, easy enough right? She gave us all a sentence to write first in English, and then we would translate into the French. Par exemple, We arrived at the same time --> Nous sommes arrives en meme temps. And we went around and read our sentences and then discussed what was right and what was wrong and why. She kept saying she would throw us out the window and when we were all wrong she slammed her fist on the desk and yelled, "Niecht!" of course she was joking and said it was normal for us to not know the idioms right away. We talked about how to say "The more I....the more I..." in French, saying "As a..." and how there is no neutral pronoun in French so you have to resort to the masculine form when you are referring to an unidentified object. Example, when you say nobody, or something, or someone, etc. And finally we talked about how to figuratively say "I can't wait!" because in English you don't say it in a proper way, it's figuratively. So naturally we just translate into French and say "Je ne peux pas attendre." but that's too physical of a phrase. So now we say "J'ai hate que..." which is in a sense, I made haste to... So that was our first class. She is wonderful, eclectic and free spirited. Plus her French accent when she speaks English is just incredible. So enunciated and flows smoothly.
Apres class we met up with the other students and took a small tour with one of the directors. We walked around la 6eme arrondissement and then turned and found ourselves in the midst of la 5eme arrondissement. We walked around the boutiques, learned about different Cathedrals and saw how afternoon city life functions. We stopped at a fountain and I found myself once again, turned away from the pretty monument all the tourists were taking photos of, snapping away at a street performing musical group. A saxophone violin and I believe guitar were all playing wonderfully together. And that's not always a combination you would expect to work. So I took a few photos and realized I was centered in more than just a few tourists' photos of the Saint Michel fountain, probably appearing to be taking a picture of them. But ah non, ce n'est pas vrai because I was taking pictures of three beautiful lives in motion. La vie est belle, non?
Joseph, Martin, Nico, Alex, Caitlin, Joyce, Sarah and I stopped at Cafe Saint Serverin for a 5 o'clock drink because all day long while we were in class and the few who weren't decided that it was five o'clock somewhere and had divulged in a bottle of wine for 2 Euros. So we split a bottle of Moet Chandon Imperial Rose Champagne and had a very nice bottle service at 5 pm at this little cafe while ancient Cathedrals towered over us, blanketing us with their great history.
"Les fautes sonts toutes anonymes dans ma classe...commes des alcooliques." --Madame Mellado
After we paid our 91 Euro tab we parted our separate ways around 6 pm and Joseph and I decided to try out the 27 line bus to get home. The metro is about 15 minutes from my house, which I don't mind walking but I had already walked so much and the heat was starting to make the champagne bubbles in my stomach settle harshly. So we hopped on the bus, swiped our cards and talked about coming back to this fabulous street to go shopping for shoes and jackets.
When I got home I made myself a little cheese sandwich and laid down until about 8:45 to greet Madame Dru when she came home from work. Adrien was preparing dinner and I went into the living room to meet his friend Gabriel, who is taller than Adrien but has the same scruffy beard and struggling artist look. I'm really starting to enjoy it, and loving this family more everyday. He wore grey pants, covered in paint just as Adrien's and was very pleased to meet me. So we waited for Madame Dru to arrive and then settled into the living room for a green salad, some bread and wine. The conversation was great, we talked about where we were on September 11th and how it affected our lives and the world. And then I got to talk about old President Bushy for a while and knew they share the exact same opinions with me. They really seem to like President Obama over here, which is surprising as times because I know how bourgeoise it can be around here and that tends to be a little more conservative. So it's nice to hear that the American stigma is slowly changing because of our President.
The second course came out, with another glass of wine and Elisa joined us after her nap. We had rice with cooked ground beef and some green beans. Everyone was free to add their own sauce so I added a little soy, Adrien some lemon and curry, Madame Dru un peu de salt and Gabriel and Elisa, nothing. So we continued to talk about latest news, politics, and the topic of fake IDs came up and Adrien thought it was so silly that they ask for ID in the United States for drinking, even when you are with your parents at a restaurant. Ah, la vie est belle, non?
Next came the Camembert cheese with bread. So much food, so many courses! But so much good food. A very, very, very....very smelly cheese. But spread on bread and followed by a little sip of red wine, the cheese is sweet and light. It blends into the bread and the top layer just soaks in the flavor, giving you a longer taste as you chew. I just had a little bit since I ate around 6:45 and this had already been such a big meal. A great meal though, lots of laughs and Adrien as very kind to translate for me when Gabriel and Elisa went off on tangents, though I only needed a few words every once in a while to stay on track. He was very kind to cook dinner, serve to everyone and help me with conversation. And of course Madame Dru was so polite when she corrected my grammar, and I made little notes in my head to write down when I came back into my room.
For dessert we had chocolate and vanilla ice cream, with a few nectarine slices and a shot of Russian vodka poured on top. I was a little hesitant to have pure vodka on my ice cream without much flavor but very quickly I realized the nectarine flavors kind of spilled out over the ice cream and made a Nectarine Vodka syrup. It was wonderful. Such a nice meal, and I didn't even realize we were sitting there for nearly two hours until Gabriel said it was quite late and he should return home to rest for tomorrow's day of work.
So now I retire to my room to read an Absurd play we are seeing Friday night and to write a paragraph with all of our new phrases. Tomorrow I'm hoping to run before class at noon and then go to Expression class and after my first Art History class with Monsieur Pralong-Gourvennec.
Bon soir et bonnes reves!
For me, it is easiest to walk to class because the metro is a little to the side and won't take me any closer, so I walked along a main road called Rue de Saint Michel and took in the morning sounds of Paris. There were people strolling along the street with a mug of caffe in their hands, people resting on benches reading the newspaper. And of course a few librairies and boutiques were just opening their doors. Kind of ressembled Miami with how few people seemed to be at work, but there is much less traffic and a slower pace of walking. I cut through the Parc de Luxembourg and walked down La Rue Fleurus to find building 34 and got there around 10:50 for orientation at 11. We sat down in one of the classrooms and were handed a new itinerary, a European cell phone, so petit and adorable. All the girls were given a shiny purple phone and the boys a much sleeker black one. Then they handed out a short book, and told us this Friday we would be seeing an Absurb Play in the Latin Quarter and should read the play before attending so we can follow along. It's only one act and should be a quick read, plus I find the Absurb rather amusing so I'll dive in a little bit this evening and continue throughout the week. The directors are all very nice, speak wonderful French of course and are only strict about us speaking French while in the Sweet Briar school and on their excursions.
After orientation the group left for a pique-nique dans le parc de Luxembourg. I pulled out Evan's camera and took a few pictures of the park-goers, sans shoes, pieds aux chaises, just living a relaxed life over a baguette and a good novel. The sky was bright and blue, with a few white clouds but it was lovely in the shade. A nice breeze flows through the park along the paths. So we ate lunch for a little while, joked about a few things that happened last night and along the way to Paris, and a few people mentioned their plans for after Sweet Briar. Since we had our first Expression Francaise class at 2, everyone dispersed around 1 to explore a little bit and then head back to Sweet Briar. Joseph and I went to a little cafe so he could get something else to eat and we had a glass of wine.
Alors, Aventure avec Joseph #2:
--Never walk inside of a cafe (the restaurant part of the cafe) during lunchtime and try to only order a glass of wine.
We didn't realize the waiter would be upset if I just sipped a little wine so I quickly ordered a slice of peach tart and apologized for the confusion. We talked about classes and cafes we had noticed along the way and our desperate need to go to a good Pharmacie for shampoo and facial products.
--Do not wear your sunglasses indoors in Paris. It draws attention to you and the French hate extra attention
I had to explain to Joseph that he stuck out like a sore thumb when he wore his sunglasses inside so he quickly removed them and we continued our meal. But hey, at least we're figuring these unwritten/unspoken rules out sooner than later, no?
After our adventure at the cafe, we had a few extra minutes to step inside some pharamacies to browse around and collect ideas for the kinds of things we wanted. For example, I conditioned my hair with a jasmine and eucalyptus oil mixture, which I would never see in the US for less than 40 dollars a bottle, if at all.
Then we made our way back to the 7th floor of the building for class. Madame Mellado arrived at exactly 2 pm and when she walked in we were greeted by a woman with deep reddish hair, a little wirey but wavy to her shoulders, wearing bright red liptick accompanied by a green jacket and rose colored shirt underneath. Her pointed toed shoes matched her shirt and her accessories dangled from her neck, ears and wrists. Probably around 50 years old she came in excited as can be, asking us our names and how our picnic went earlier in the day. Wasting no time we started talking about how the class would go for the next four weeks. She wants to cover idiomatic phrases in French with us because that is really how we will improve our writing and sound convincing. Secondly she wanted to fix small grammatical problems along the way without taking the conventional grammar route. And thirdly she wants to rid us all of our horrific anglaicismes! So hopefully by the end of these four weeks I will have mastered a few useful French idioms and abolished a few bad habits.
The first thing we learned was how to properly say at the same time in French. Bon, easy enough right? She gave us all a sentence to write first in English, and then we would translate into the French. Par exemple, We arrived at the same time --> Nous sommes arrives en meme temps. And we went around and read our sentences and then discussed what was right and what was wrong and why. She kept saying she would throw us out the window and when we were all wrong she slammed her fist on the desk and yelled, "Niecht!" of course she was joking and said it was normal for us to not know the idioms right away. We talked about how to say "The more I....the more I..." in French, saying "As a..." and how there is no neutral pronoun in French so you have to resort to the masculine form when you are referring to an unidentified object. Example, when you say nobody, or something, or someone, etc. And finally we talked about how to figuratively say "I can't wait!" because in English you don't say it in a proper way, it's figuratively. So naturally we just translate into French and say "Je ne peux pas attendre." but that's too physical of a phrase. So now we say "J'ai hate que..." which is in a sense, I made haste to... So that was our first class. She is wonderful, eclectic and free spirited. Plus her French accent when she speaks English is just incredible. So enunciated and flows smoothly.
Apres class we met up with the other students and took a small tour with one of the directors. We walked around la 6eme arrondissement and then turned and found ourselves in the midst of la 5eme arrondissement. We walked around the boutiques, learned about different Cathedrals and saw how afternoon city life functions. We stopped at a fountain and I found myself once again, turned away from the pretty monument all the tourists were taking photos of, snapping away at a street performing musical group. A saxophone violin and I believe guitar were all playing wonderfully together. And that's not always a combination you would expect to work. So I took a few photos and realized I was centered in more than just a few tourists' photos of the Saint Michel fountain, probably appearing to be taking a picture of them. But ah non, ce n'est pas vrai because I was taking pictures of three beautiful lives in motion. La vie est belle, non?
Joseph, Martin, Nico, Alex, Caitlin, Joyce, Sarah and I stopped at Cafe Saint Serverin for a 5 o'clock drink because all day long while we were in class and the few who weren't decided that it was five o'clock somewhere and had divulged in a bottle of wine for 2 Euros. So we split a bottle of Moet Chandon Imperial Rose Champagne and had a very nice bottle service at 5 pm at this little cafe while ancient Cathedrals towered over us, blanketing us with their great history.
"Les fautes sonts toutes anonymes dans ma classe...commes des alcooliques." --Madame Mellado
After we paid our 91 Euro tab we parted our separate ways around 6 pm and Joseph and I decided to try out the 27 line bus to get home. The metro is about 15 minutes from my house, which I don't mind walking but I had already walked so much and the heat was starting to make the champagne bubbles in my stomach settle harshly. So we hopped on the bus, swiped our cards and talked about coming back to this fabulous street to go shopping for shoes and jackets.
When I got home I made myself a little cheese sandwich and laid down until about 8:45 to greet Madame Dru when she came home from work. Adrien was preparing dinner and I went into the living room to meet his friend Gabriel, who is taller than Adrien but has the same scruffy beard and struggling artist look. I'm really starting to enjoy it, and loving this family more everyday. He wore grey pants, covered in paint just as Adrien's and was very pleased to meet me. So we waited for Madame Dru to arrive and then settled into the living room for a green salad, some bread and wine. The conversation was great, we talked about where we were on September 11th and how it affected our lives and the world. And then I got to talk about old President Bushy for a while and knew they share the exact same opinions with me. They really seem to like President Obama over here, which is surprising as times because I know how bourgeoise it can be around here and that tends to be a little more conservative. So it's nice to hear that the American stigma is slowly changing because of our President.
The second course came out, with another glass of wine and Elisa joined us after her nap. We had rice with cooked ground beef and some green beans. Everyone was free to add their own sauce so I added a little soy, Adrien some lemon and curry, Madame Dru un peu de salt and Gabriel and Elisa, nothing. So we continued to talk about latest news, politics, and the topic of fake IDs came up and Adrien thought it was so silly that they ask for ID in the United States for drinking, even when you are with your parents at a restaurant. Ah, la vie est belle, non?
Next came the Camembert cheese with bread. So much food, so many courses! But so much good food. A very, very, very....very smelly cheese. But spread on bread and followed by a little sip of red wine, the cheese is sweet and light. It blends into the bread and the top layer just soaks in the flavor, giving you a longer taste as you chew. I just had a little bit since I ate around 6:45 and this had already been such a big meal. A great meal though, lots of laughs and Adrien as very kind to translate for me when Gabriel and Elisa went off on tangents, though I only needed a few words every once in a while to stay on track. He was very kind to cook dinner, serve to everyone and help me with conversation. And of course Madame Dru was so polite when she corrected my grammar, and I made little notes in my head to write down when I came back into my room.
For dessert we had chocolate and vanilla ice cream, with a few nectarine slices and a shot of Russian vodka poured on top. I was a little hesitant to have pure vodka on my ice cream without much flavor but very quickly I realized the nectarine flavors kind of spilled out over the ice cream and made a Nectarine Vodka syrup. It was wonderful. Such a nice meal, and I didn't even realize we were sitting there for nearly two hours until Gabriel said it was quite late and he should return home to rest for tomorrow's day of work.
So now I retire to my room to read an Absurd play we are seeing Friday night and to write a paragraph with all of our new phrases. Tomorrow I'm hoping to run before class at noon and then go to Expression class and after my first Art History class with Monsieur Pralong-Gourvennec.
Bon soir et bonnes reves!
Sunday, June 6, 2010
God Bless the French Bars.
Joseph and I decided to go out and celebrate our first real night in Paris. So at about 10 pm he strolled by my gated garden and picked me up to head to Marais (the 4th district) to check out the Gay Bars and general bar scene. I normally walk swiftly. Even in 4 inch stiletto heels. But Joseph? ...walks at the speed of light. Mind you, we are walking in perfect day light at 10:15 pm trying to find the metro. Going up and down on the uneven curbs, all cobblestone pavements. So I kept up and soldiered on through the cobblestone until we found the metro at about 10:30. We found a seat and waited until we got to Chatelet, a major hub for other metro stations. Because I live in a smaller part of Paris I have to connect to a lot of different metros to get across the river. So we got to Chatelet in the middle of a conversation about our host-families and jumped on the next metro. Stepping out of the metro station and into the twilight, we realized the sun was finally setting around 10:45 pm. But the bright lights of the clubs and cafes had long since been illuminated when the dinner and happy hours begun around 8 pm.
Stopping at a little cafe to catch up about our summer adventures, we sat at a small table outside and ordered a bottle of Vin Rose and a couple of waters. The conversation sped up, diving into current and past relationships, family situations, and plans for next year. I think the ladies next to us were a little mortified with how much the two of us were talking. There wasn't a moment of silence and when the bottle was about half way gone there was no stopping us. Joseph ordered an espresso to wake him up a little, after arriving Friday afternoon he was still a little jet-lagged. Then we walked back down the main road to see what kinds of clubs were opening. It was so nice to be able to make eye contact with all the men in tight tank tops and beautifully crafted leather shoes and not worry about being hit on or made to feel uncomfortable by comments.
We found our first club and realized there was no cover charge to get in (which is unlike anything I've ever seen in the US) and we stepped inside to find blue lights streaking over a small dance floor and a glowing bar to the right which had a lovely oiled up man dancing on top of it wearing a silver motorcycle helmet and no shirt. Ecstatic about not having to pay a cover, Joseph ordered us each a glass of champagne to toast the beginning of our adventures in Paris. "A la votre!" we yelled as our glasses clinked and we took a sip. Ah, sweet champagne in Paris.
We danced for a few minutes to get a feel for if this was a popular club and we noticed a lot of lesbians and a few older men. One in particular was doing some kind of Tai Chi while dancing so I said what the hell and when Joseph excused himself for a cigarette, I started to dance with the man too. He grabbed my face, kissed both cheeks lightly and said, "Tu es tres belle ma jolie, et si j'aime les femmes tu peux etre ma preferee." Then he held my hands and said "Merci pour la danse." And shook them. So weird. Yet, kind of cute at the same time. We decided the club was a success and moved on to the next one.
The first club we saw on the street had a lot of people standing outside so thinking it was a line to get in we decided to stand in it to get some fresh air. What we realized after was it was just people enjoying their drinks outside. So we stepped inside, and noticed there were maybe five people. I looked up at the ceiling and saw fishing nets and life rings and a lot of beach equipment that oddly resembled Boardwalk in Miami. Not quite the setting I expected after seeing a very chic orange siding outside with a crisp font centering the club's name, Le Cox. (How inventive.) Still confused as to why there was no one inside, we headed to the bar to order another champagne. Then we realized. No champagne. And the bar tenders were not cute. C'etait incroyable! So instead we opted for the classiest of all American drinks, the Red Bull-Vodka. We stepped back outside and by this point we have four dialects being used between us. (1) French, (2) English, (3) French with an American accent and (4) English with a French accent. There was no particular reason for the dialects, but we used them pretty freely and interchangeably.
All of the sudden our ears perked up like a lost puppy in the woods and we both said, "I hear American!" We found a group of guys speaking English and decided to see where they were from. One, who is in Paris for business, is from D.C. and the other was from Chicago (Sox fan, so I said we could be friends.) And then the Chicago man had a British friend visiting and that British man had a British friend too. So we made small talk, asking about school, careers, vacation plans, etc. Then the conversation took a different turn. One that involved a certain horrible policy called "Don't Ask, Don't Tell". I know it's a sensitive topic but to hear first stand stories of men whose partners and boyfriends have been discharged from the military and had their entire life affected really hit me hard. I've never agreed with the policy, I think it's insanely cruel and I pray for the day when Obama has finally done away with it. Which I feel will be soon. It was a pleasant conversation nonetheless, to hear a different perspective. But after we finished our drinks we said Tchao and looked for the next place.
We ordered another round of champagne at a swankier club that had electric light blue lights streaming throughout the bar and the table areas. The house music was of course all the same, fun and upbeat with repetitive lyrics that inevitably stayed in my head the whole night. I went downstairs to find the bathroom and was mortified by what I saw so we made a quick U-Turn to head back upstairs when a blonde-haired, probably blue eyed boy approached us. A boy I had first noticed when we entered the club but Joseph had missed seeing. He joined us for a drink and we found out his name is Mikko, he's from Finland and attends the University of England but has been studying in France for a year. I let him and Joseph talk for a while about their interests and plans for the future, all the while listening closely to see if this would be a winner for Joseph. So far he seemed like a very nice guy. We decided to leave the club to walk for a bit and realized the metro was closed down and wouldn't open again until 5:30 am. But that meant the bars were closing soon too. Luckily, Mikko had the chance to do his night-life homework for the past 8 months and took us to a club that stayed open all night. Too bad this one didn't allow females in the club. So coming to my defense, Joseph and Mikko cursed the bouncer for being discriminative and we marched further on to another place.
Here I found the most straight men I had seen all night. Another round of champagne and a few Lady GaGa songs later, I found myself standing next to a windowed room where a man in a firefighter's outfit was taking a shower and brushing his teeth. I thought these things only happened in movies? I stepped outside into the "fresh" air of Paris to catch my breath and talk to the bouncer. We talked about Miami and Italy a little bit. Then a man came up to me and asked about my tattoos. Ten minutes later I was in a deep and extremely "important" conversation about Fate and at this point my French was parfait and any nerves I usually have about speaking were fading far into the distance. The man asked where I was from and I said America, and he didn't believe it. He said, "Non c'est impossibe, tu parles bien francais." Coming from a Frenchman that is one of the best compliments I have received. Then we talked about tattoos and piercings in general, a very strange conversation but alarmingly entertaining at the time when Joseph and Mikko found me and said they were ready to leave and would pay for the cab ride back. So at about 4:30 am I made my way back to Madame Dru's, took my stilettos off to walk up the twisted staircase and managed to unlock the door in complete darkness. I don't suppose the French like interior lighting much, so I used the indiglo light on my watch to find the keyhole. Very peculiar, these French are.
I put my aching, blistered feet up and read a few emails, enjoyed a bowl of cold spinach pasta and drifted off to sleep. This morning it burned to shower, the wounds on my feet still tender to the touch. God Bless the French Women and their ability to walk 4 miles in heels without blistering. I'll get back to that point soon enough, track and field had me out of practice from wearing running shoes all the time. I met the rest of the group today over drinks at a cafe. There is a wide variety of students and I talked with one girl from Doylestown, PA a lot this afternoon. I think she and I will have a lot of fun together too, especially because she is living in the 6th district, very close to me.
I gave Madame Dru her Saint Louis gifts tonight over a piece of quiche and salade verte. They came from a very nice shop at Chesterfield Mall, where much of the materials used are recycled and the artists are local. She thought the bookmark was beautiful but maybe too heavy to use in a book, or too fragile. So she decided to put it on her wall of memories as the time she shared with "Her Lauren" Bon! I am now officially on Madame Dru's Wall of Utter Awesomeness!!! And she loved the tea light candle holder, she thought it looked like a Lily flower and when she put a candle inside it glowed so nicely on the tabletop. You could see little bits of the flame flicking with the breeze entering the kitchen window.
The Sweet Briar gang made plans to meet tonight in front of the Louvre to walk around and get to know each other a little bit. I don't think it will turn out to be as eventful of an evening as last night with Joseph, but then again one can only hope for such a thing when you're in a city as fabulous as Paree.
Stopping at a little cafe to catch up about our summer adventures, we sat at a small table outside and ordered a bottle of Vin Rose and a couple of waters. The conversation sped up, diving into current and past relationships, family situations, and plans for next year. I think the ladies next to us were a little mortified with how much the two of us were talking. There wasn't a moment of silence and when the bottle was about half way gone there was no stopping us. Joseph ordered an espresso to wake him up a little, after arriving Friday afternoon he was still a little jet-lagged. Then we walked back down the main road to see what kinds of clubs were opening. It was so nice to be able to make eye contact with all the men in tight tank tops and beautifully crafted leather shoes and not worry about being hit on or made to feel uncomfortable by comments.
We found our first club and realized there was no cover charge to get in (which is unlike anything I've ever seen in the US) and we stepped inside to find blue lights streaking over a small dance floor and a glowing bar to the right which had a lovely oiled up man dancing on top of it wearing a silver motorcycle helmet and no shirt. Ecstatic about not having to pay a cover, Joseph ordered us each a glass of champagne to toast the beginning of our adventures in Paris. "A la votre!" we yelled as our glasses clinked and we took a sip. Ah, sweet champagne in Paris.
We danced for a few minutes to get a feel for if this was a popular club and we noticed a lot of lesbians and a few older men. One in particular was doing some kind of Tai Chi while dancing so I said what the hell and when Joseph excused himself for a cigarette, I started to dance with the man too. He grabbed my face, kissed both cheeks lightly and said, "Tu es tres belle ma jolie, et si j'aime les femmes tu peux etre ma preferee." Then he held my hands and said "Merci pour la danse." And shook them. So weird. Yet, kind of cute at the same time. We decided the club was a success and moved on to the next one.
The first club we saw on the street had a lot of people standing outside so thinking it was a line to get in we decided to stand in it to get some fresh air. What we realized after was it was just people enjoying their drinks outside. So we stepped inside, and noticed there were maybe five people. I looked up at the ceiling and saw fishing nets and life rings and a lot of beach equipment that oddly resembled Boardwalk in Miami. Not quite the setting I expected after seeing a very chic orange siding outside with a crisp font centering the club's name, Le Cox. (How inventive.) Still confused as to why there was no one inside, we headed to the bar to order another champagne. Then we realized. No champagne. And the bar tenders were not cute. C'etait incroyable! So instead we opted for the classiest of all American drinks, the Red Bull-Vodka. We stepped back outside and by this point we have four dialects being used between us. (1) French, (2) English, (3) French with an American accent and (4) English with a French accent. There was no particular reason for the dialects, but we used them pretty freely and interchangeably.
All of the sudden our ears perked up like a lost puppy in the woods and we both said, "I hear American!" We found a group of guys speaking English and decided to see where they were from. One, who is in Paris for business, is from D.C. and the other was from Chicago (Sox fan, so I said we could be friends.) And then the Chicago man had a British friend visiting and that British man had a British friend too. So we made small talk, asking about school, careers, vacation plans, etc. Then the conversation took a different turn. One that involved a certain horrible policy called "Don't Ask, Don't Tell". I know it's a sensitive topic but to hear first stand stories of men whose partners and boyfriends have been discharged from the military and had their entire life affected really hit me hard. I've never agreed with the policy, I think it's insanely cruel and I pray for the day when Obama has finally done away with it. Which I feel will be soon. It was a pleasant conversation nonetheless, to hear a different perspective. But after we finished our drinks we said Tchao and looked for the next place.
We ordered another round of champagne at a swankier club that had electric light blue lights streaming throughout the bar and the table areas. The house music was of course all the same, fun and upbeat with repetitive lyrics that inevitably stayed in my head the whole night. I went downstairs to find the bathroom and was mortified by what I saw so we made a quick U-Turn to head back upstairs when a blonde-haired, probably blue eyed boy approached us. A boy I had first noticed when we entered the club but Joseph had missed seeing. He joined us for a drink and we found out his name is Mikko, he's from Finland and attends the University of England but has been studying in France for a year. I let him and Joseph talk for a while about their interests and plans for the future, all the while listening closely to see if this would be a winner for Joseph. So far he seemed like a very nice guy. We decided to leave the club to walk for a bit and realized the metro was closed down and wouldn't open again until 5:30 am. But that meant the bars were closing soon too. Luckily, Mikko had the chance to do his night-life homework for the past 8 months and took us to a club that stayed open all night. Too bad this one didn't allow females in the club. So coming to my defense, Joseph and Mikko cursed the bouncer for being discriminative and we marched further on to another place.
Here I found the most straight men I had seen all night. Another round of champagne and a few Lady GaGa songs later, I found myself standing next to a windowed room where a man in a firefighter's outfit was taking a shower and brushing his teeth. I thought these things only happened in movies? I stepped outside into the "fresh" air of Paris to catch my breath and talk to the bouncer. We talked about Miami and Italy a little bit. Then a man came up to me and asked about my tattoos. Ten minutes later I was in a deep and extremely "important" conversation about Fate and at this point my French was parfait and any nerves I usually have about speaking were fading far into the distance. The man asked where I was from and I said America, and he didn't believe it. He said, "Non c'est impossibe, tu parles bien francais." Coming from a Frenchman that is one of the best compliments I have received. Then we talked about tattoos and piercings in general, a very strange conversation but alarmingly entertaining at the time when Joseph and Mikko found me and said they were ready to leave and would pay for the cab ride back. So at about 4:30 am I made my way back to Madame Dru's, took my stilettos off to walk up the twisted staircase and managed to unlock the door in complete darkness. I don't suppose the French like interior lighting much, so I used the indiglo light on my watch to find the keyhole. Very peculiar, these French are.
I put my aching, blistered feet up and read a few emails, enjoyed a bowl of cold spinach pasta and drifted off to sleep. This morning it burned to shower, the wounds on my feet still tender to the touch. God Bless the French Women and their ability to walk 4 miles in heels without blistering. I'll get back to that point soon enough, track and field had me out of practice from wearing running shoes all the time. I met the rest of the group today over drinks at a cafe. There is a wide variety of students and I talked with one girl from Doylestown, PA a lot this afternoon. I think she and I will have a lot of fun together too, especially because she is living in the 6th district, very close to me.
I gave Madame Dru her Saint Louis gifts tonight over a piece of quiche and salade verte. They came from a very nice shop at Chesterfield Mall, where much of the materials used are recycled and the artists are local. She thought the bookmark was beautiful but maybe too heavy to use in a book, or too fragile. So she decided to put it on her wall of memories as the time she shared with "Her Lauren" Bon! I am now officially on Madame Dru's Wall of Utter Awesomeness!!! And she loved the tea light candle holder, she thought it looked like a Lily flower and when she put a candle inside it glowed so nicely on the tabletop. You could see little bits of the flame flicking with the breeze entering the kitchen window.
The Sweet Briar gang made plans to meet tonight in front of the Louvre to walk around and get to know each other a little bit. I don't think it will turn out to be as eventful of an evening as last night with Joseph, but then again one can only hope for such a thing when you're in a city as fabulous as Paree.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
How do you call it en Anglais?
24 hours in Paris complete. After sitting in the Charles de Gaulle Aeroport for around let's say forty minutes, contemplating whether or not I had made the right decision to be on my own in Paris for a month, I hailed a taxi and soon found myself flying by the Parisian countryside, on my way to the centre de la ville.
Still nervous about speaking French to everyone I encountered, I curled up on the seat to enjoy the ride while brainstorming some common phrases I could bring up with the taxi driver. "Eh, Madamemoiselle, les chaussures sur la siège, mais qu'est-ce que vous faites??" Shit, already made a mistake. "Oh monsieur, je suis vraiment désolée, c'est un accident, je m'excuse." Apology not accepted. "Mais qu'est-ce que vous pensez?" Tears start to form. "Monsieur, je suis désolée, mais les chaussures sont nouveaux, la siège est parfaite, je vous promets." Still he shook his head and muttered under his breath. I started to cry thanks to my anxious nerves and honest mistake. I always feel bad when I upset someone, and since he clearly felt disrespected by this young American, I felt even worse. So I stared out the window, tears streaming down my face, not daring to move an inch out of fear of him getting angrier. But then we hit traffic. A lot of traffic. Friday afternoon-3 pm- 5 accident, traffic. So after 45 minutes or so, when my eyes were dry but puffy he started to ask about me. We talked about Miami, Paris, University, etc. And by the end, we were doing just fine and I had a good idea of where I was in the city. I sure as hell didn't tip him though. 80 Euros for a cab fare was far enough as is.
So I arrived at 7-9 rue du Val du Grace and stepped inside the first gate. There's a lovely little garden with walkways that lead to the different buildings. Since it was about 90 degrees and I was about an hour late as is, I decided to skip the garden exploration and head for building A to meet Madame Dru on the 5th floor. I rang the doorbell and was welcomed in by a woman a little shorter than I am, wearing black yoga pants, some bohemian sandals, an Eiffel tower tee-shirt and a lightweight black over shirt. Her hair was short, blonde and white in color, and I noticed she wore a pair of golden hoops in her ears, but one was noticeably smaller than the other. So I made a mental note to ask her what the significance was. I also noticed a giant ring on her right middle finger. Very bright green in color, almost egg shaped. Likes ones children can win in prizes from the 25 cent machines. And her green reading glasses hung around her neck on a petite chaine, ready to be placed on her nose at any point in time. Soft greenish bluish eyes popped out at me as she welcomed me into her home.
Her daughter Elisa, sat in the first room on the left, typing away on her Mac Book, smoking a cigarette and sipping some white wine. The hallway from the door is long and each of the rooms breaks off from this one hallway. The next door on the left is my room. Very bright white and clean. There are two desks for me to work at, a large white armoire with sheets and towels and drawers for my belongings. Sitting at the edge of the desk were a spare notebook, a vase of yellow roses and a few writing utensils. Ah, the small things in life. :)
The rest of the apartment is a photographer's dream. A bowl of rings just like the one she had on when I first arrived sitting on a shelf next to a rack of large bangles with a few bottles of Italian cologne d'eau. An entire wall is dedicated to Madame Dru's mementos from her lifetime. A few post-it notes left by her son, Adrien, after long nights out, asking his mother to wake him at certain times. A few photographs hang next to the notes, photos of people who resemble her late mother and father. Then she has odd cartes-postales and maps and drawings she has evidently collected over the years. The stories behind such treasures wait unveiling over the next 30 days. The kitchen door is across the hall from mine, and inside is a small two or three person table, with a fridge, small stove and a wonderful window where Madame Dru grows geraniums, daisies, etc. There are bowls of various fruits sitting next to the window. Again, a photographer's ideal setting, one that they attempt to recreate for their black and white shoots that end up in magazines. Adrien's paintings hang on the wall along with a few other notes and postcards, which surely all have special meanings. There is a toilet closet and a separate room for the shower and sink and washing machine. The apartment is small, but very homey. The eclectic style is just what I've always imagined my apartments (if I live in them) to be like. Books line the walls and where there aren't bookshelves there are places for jewelry or fun dishes or just walls covered in special photos.
My room overlooks a little street and I can see window gardens across from me. The window in the kitchen looks out to other houses and a little walkway or alleyway, I'm not quite sure. But since my window faces north I get a little view of the morning sun and it's just perfect for waking up to.
Adrien, Madame Dru's son, is an artist and lives in the country...most of the time. He's a little taller than I am, with a shaggy beard and walks around in his paint-covered jeans most of the time. He's helping me with my French along with Madame Dru, who both speak English very well. Her daughter, Elisa, is trying to finish up University but is pursuing some type of career/side career in theater and just left for the weekend to go north for a performance. She left the house wearing a black and white polka dot dress and bright white heart shaped sunglasses. Just to give a little visual of how artistic this family is. I adore every bit of it.
Dinner was light, a rice salad with cheese and tomatoes (apparently I eat tomatoes in France?)with some soy sauce and bread. Then we had a bit of chevre and Roquefort cheese. And we ended le diner with strawberries and vanilla ice cream. I was very tired by 9 pm so I retired to my room to read and write for the rest of the night. This morning we had yogurt, granola, toast, and tea for breakfast. I added a few almonds to my yogurt and then we headed out to the market so Madame Dru could show me around. We started off toward the Parc du Luxembourg, this great public park with a gravel trail around it where people jog and walk all day long. The interior of the track is lined with benches and divided shades of grass where people do Tai Chi and yoga. There are a few private tennis courts and a new volleyball court. Madame Dru and I talked about family interaction in places like this, her family, my family, and every kind of literature we liked to read. She showed me how to get to school in the morning, and hooray because it's within walking distance!! Then we went to this video store, one of only two in Paris which holds every kind of movie you can imagine. French films, German films, Japanese, English, etc. All organized by Director's last name. If it's been released, it's in there. So we walked around and talked about how it's not common knowledge for everyone in the U.S. to know director's names, maybe just the title of the film and the major actors starring in it. So hopefully by the end of this trip I'll know a few more than I did before. And there is a wonderful collection of postcards from the 50s, mostly black and white, of candid and planned shots of movie stars. I can't wait to go back and pick out a few to send out.
Then we walked over to la rue Mouffetard where there is a long street of small shops and les librairies (book stores, not a chain) that sell new books and les livres d'occasion (second hand) for pretty cheap. She showed me her favorite cafes and petits restaurants, and bakeries. I found out where she buys her scarves too :) a place called Diwali, not too expensive. But I was advised to wait until June 30 when the sales begin, because everything is very cheap then. But I didn't bring many clothes so I'll need to go shopping at some point! We went to a bakery and bought a couple of slices of Quiche Lorraine and Quiche Chevre Epignard (goat cheese and spinach)and some little sweet tasting rolls (almost as sweet as brioche dough) but are hollow inside and have sugar bits on top. We sliced them in half and filled them with chocolate and vanilla ice cream for lunch. We also bought a piece of flan, she loves cheese cake and flan....how French of her! So then we bought some rotisserie chicken legs and roasted potatoes for lunch and headed back to her apartment. She made a salad and I ate half of a tomato in it, and we talked about life and death and some things in between. Most of the time she speaks to me in English, or mixed French/English and I try speak to her in French, correcting myself in English along the way. I learned how to say pole vaulting :) (Sauter a la perche) And I am a perchiste, or a pole vaulter.
For now we are resting, going to eat dinner around 8 pm and at about 10 I'm going to walk over to le Censier Daubenton to meet Joseph, a boy from my classes in Miami and we're going to venture over to the 4eme arrondissement for the evening. Should be fun.
A bientot et grosses bises,
Lauren
Still nervous about speaking French to everyone I encountered, I curled up on the seat to enjoy the ride while brainstorming some common phrases I could bring up with the taxi driver. "Eh, Madamemoiselle, les chaussures sur la siège, mais qu'est-ce que vous faites??" Shit, already made a mistake. "Oh monsieur, je suis vraiment désolée, c'est un accident, je m'excuse." Apology not accepted. "Mais qu'est-ce que vous pensez?" Tears start to form. "Monsieur, je suis désolée, mais les chaussures sont nouveaux, la siège est parfaite, je vous promets." Still he shook his head and muttered under his breath. I started to cry thanks to my anxious nerves and honest mistake. I always feel bad when I upset someone, and since he clearly felt disrespected by this young American, I felt even worse. So I stared out the window, tears streaming down my face, not daring to move an inch out of fear of him getting angrier. But then we hit traffic. A lot of traffic. Friday afternoon-3 pm- 5 accident, traffic. So after 45 minutes or so, when my eyes were dry but puffy he started to ask about me. We talked about Miami, Paris, University, etc. And by the end, we were doing just fine and I had a good idea of where I was in the city. I sure as hell didn't tip him though. 80 Euros for a cab fare was far enough as is.
So I arrived at 7-9 rue du Val du Grace and stepped inside the first gate. There's a lovely little garden with walkways that lead to the different buildings. Since it was about 90 degrees and I was about an hour late as is, I decided to skip the garden exploration and head for building A to meet Madame Dru on the 5th floor. I rang the doorbell and was welcomed in by a woman a little shorter than I am, wearing black yoga pants, some bohemian sandals, an Eiffel tower tee-shirt and a lightweight black over shirt. Her hair was short, blonde and white in color, and I noticed she wore a pair of golden hoops in her ears, but one was noticeably smaller than the other. So I made a mental note to ask her what the significance was. I also noticed a giant ring on her right middle finger. Very bright green in color, almost egg shaped. Likes ones children can win in prizes from the 25 cent machines. And her green reading glasses hung around her neck on a petite chaine, ready to be placed on her nose at any point in time. Soft greenish bluish eyes popped out at me as she welcomed me into her home.
Her daughter Elisa, sat in the first room on the left, typing away on her Mac Book, smoking a cigarette and sipping some white wine. The hallway from the door is long and each of the rooms breaks off from this one hallway. The next door on the left is my room. Very bright white and clean. There are two desks for me to work at, a large white armoire with sheets and towels and drawers for my belongings. Sitting at the edge of the desk were a spare notebook, a vase of yellow roses and a few writing utensils. Ah, the small things in life. :)
The rest of the apartment is a photographer's dream. A bowl of rings just like the one she had on when I first arrived sitting on a shelf next to a rack of large bangles with a few bottles of Italian cologne d'eau. An entire wall is dedicated to Madame Dru's mementos from her lifetime. A few post-it notes left by her son, Adrien, after long nights out, asking his mother to wake him at certain times. A few photographs hang next to the notes, photos of people who resemble her late mother and father. Then she has odd cartes-postales and maps and drawings she has evidently collected over the years. The stories behind such treasures wait unveiling over the next 30 days. The kitchen door is across the hall from mine, and inside is a small two or three person table, with a fridge, small stove and a wonderful window where Madame Dru grows geraniums, daisies, etc. There are bowls of various fruits sitting next to the window. Again, a photographer's ideal setting, one that they attempt to recreate for their black and white shoots that end up in magazines. Adrien's paintings hang on the wall along with a few other notes and postcards, which surely all have special meanings. There is a toilet closet and a separate room for the shower and sink and washing machine. The apartment is small, but very homey. The eclectic style is just what I've always imagined my apartments (if I live in them) to be like. Books line the walls and where there aren't bookshelves there are places for jewelry or fun dishes or just walls covered in special photos.
My room overlooks a little street and I can see window gardens across from me. The window in the kitchen looks out to other houses and a little walkway or alleyway, I'm not quite sure. But since my window faces north I get a little view of the morning sun and it's just perfect for waking up to.
Adrien, Madame Dru's son, is an artist and lives in the country...most of the time. He's a little taller than I am, with a shaggy beard and walks around in his paint-covered jeans most of the time. He's helping me with my French along with Madame Dru, who both speak English very well. Her daughter, Elisa, is trying to finish up University but is pursuing some type of career/side career in theater and just left for the weekend to go north for a performance. She left the house wearing a black and white polka dot dress and bright white heart shaped sunglasses. Just to give a little visual of how artistic this family is. I adore every bit of it.
Dinner was light, a rice salad with cheese and tomatoes (apparently I eat tomatoes in France?)with some soy sauce and bread. Then we had a bit of chevre and Roquefort cheese. And we ended le diner with strawberries and vanilla ice cream. I was very tired by 9 pm so I retired to my room to read and write for the rest of the night. This morning we had yogurt, granola, toast, and tea for breakfast. I added a few almonds to my yogurt and then we headed out to the market so Madame Dru could show me around. We started off toward the Parc du Luxembourg, this great public park with a gravel trail around it where people jog and walk all day long. The interior of the track is lined with benches and divided shades of grass where people do Tai Chi and yoga. There are a few private tennis courts and a new volleyball court. Madame Dru and I talked about family interaction in places like this, her family, my family, and every kind of literature we liked to read. She showed me how to get to school in the morning, and hooray because it's within walking distance!! Then we went to this video store, one of only two in Paris which holds every kind of movie you can imagine. French films, German films, Japanese, English, etc. All organized by Director's last name. If it's been released, it's in there. So we walked around and talked about how it's not common knowledge for everyone in the U.S. to know director's names, maybe just the title of the film and the major actors starring in it. So hopefully by the end of this trip I'll know a few more than I did before. And there is a wonderful collection of postcards from the 50s, mostly black and white, of candid and planned shots of movie stars. I can't wait to go back and pick out a few to send out.
Then we walked over to la rue Mouffetard where there is a long street of small shops and les librairies (book stores, not a chain) that sell new books and les livres d'occasion (second hand) for pretty cheap. She showed me her favorite cafes and petits restaurants, and bakeries. I found out where she buys her scarves too :) a place called Diwali, not too expensive. But I was advised to wait until June 30 when the sales begin, because everything is very cheap then. But I didn't bring many clothes so I'll need to go shopping at some point! We went to a bakery and bought a couple of slices of Quiche Lorraine and Quiche Chevre Epignard (goat cheese and spinach)and some little sweet tasting rolls (almost as sweet as brioche dough) but are hollow inside and have sugar bits on top. We sliced them in half and filled them with chocolate and vanilla ice cream for lunch. We also bought a piece of flan, she loves cheese cake and flan....how French of her! So then we bought some rotisserie chicken legs and roasted potatoes for lunch and headed back to her apartment. She made a salad and I ate half of a tomato in it, and we talked about life and death and some things in between. Most of the time she speaks to me in English, or mixed French/English and I try speak to her in French, correcting myself in English along the way. I learned how to say pole vaulting :) (Sauter a la perche) And I am a perchiste, or a pole vaulter.
For now we are resting, going to eat dinner around 8 pm and at about 10 I'm going to walk over to le Censier Daubenton to meet Joseph, a boy from my classes in Miami and we're going to venture over to the 4eme arrondissement for the evening. Should be fun.
A bientot et grosses bises,
Lauren
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Daily Digest (Days 3&4)
:) sorry I stole this subject header from ya...kinda sorta. not really
Anyhow, welcome to the end of Day 4 in Vienna. The past two days have been excitingly exhausting. I don't know how Grandma can manage to do all this! We both eat the same amount and sleep the same amount...which speaks poorly of my energy levels I suppose! But hey, I'm a young growing woman right? Surely I need my rest too!
So yesterday was rainy-- very rainy. But beautiful. Almost like an October fall rain, where the clouds roll in just to cover the sun enough for a chilly afternoon, but the rays can still shine through. Streaks of grey clouds covered the sky and little droplets fell like powdered sugar on top of a dessert. Soft enough to not affect the day, but hard enough to leave a coating on everything it touched. So after breakfast, Grandma sent me on a great adventure to find the International Herald so we could set our agend for the next two days. Well, you can imagine that when rain comes, the newspaper deliverymen don't like to step out of their trucks to deliverit. So I went on a nice wild egg hunt to find this paper that we would be able to read. And along the way I found a nice tourist-like hoodie to stay warm.
When I returned we decided we'd take the morning off exploring and Grandma would finish her spy novel and read about the latest world disasters (Spain going under economically, strains between Israel & Egypt, etc.) and I would get to walk around town, try to find a few 12-letter street names that had hidden historical spots on them, and maybe do some shopping....guess how many of those street names I remembered and then consequently found? Zero. So instead I wandered around the giant Cathedral and turned at each available strasse or grasse (one-way or two-way streets) and just circled around until I found the Cathedral again and took the next turn. I stopped in many shops to get the feel for how expensive clothing is here and the kinds of fashion they wear everyday. I envy their free-spirited minds to mix and match seemingly mismatching outfits. In my eyes, they look fabulous but I know that if I were to walk around the US in a pleated skirt, plaid sweater, turquoise tights, brown boots and a blue zip up hoodie, everyone and their mothers would look at me sideways. Jus' sayin'.
So then I found this little Viennese tea and chocolate shop where the owner happened to make her own jewlery and I was able to taste a few of the chocolates and learn about the flavor varieties for the teas. The women were so helpful I just had to buy a bar of chocolate and a box of tea. How I'm going to get them home intact after 30 days in Paris I have no idea, but we shall see :)
Then I met Grandma promptly at 1 pm and we went to her little tea room where we had a light meal of chicken salad and jellied ham (she got that, meat and jello should never mix in my mind!) Then we headed to the U-Bahn and the street-car to venture up to the Belvedere, this old palace with a beautiful garden. Again, comparing things to my Parisian adventures, this garden looked like something you'd see at Versailles. The pattern of the garden was so clean cut and I'm sure there was a symbolic background, but my German ain't so good these days. (Getting better though! I can read the menu now!) and there are ponds on either side with beautiful statues in the center. Then in the middle of the garden, just as it starts to slope down you catch a sound of running water, where one of the fountains happens to waterfall into an even grander fountain at the bottom of the hill. And it just continues all the way down. There's a center path, and paths on either side of the gardens, decorated with benches and strolling couples, walking hand in hand whispering sweet nothings to each other as if the statues could hear their every word. It was beautiful. And the view of the city was perfect. The skyline was a little hazy, and patches of red rooftops stood out from the tops of the green towering Cathedrals. Of course, if you look for it, you can always see the great Cathedral by our hotel centered in the Graben.
So we went inside the Belvedere, which has been rebuilt into an art museum for 17th and 18th Century Austrian artwork. Grandma specifically wanted to show me Gustav Klimt's work. Much of his paintings were portraits of women with architectural backgrounds that sometimes made them look 3D. Of course the symbolism of his work went right over my head but maybe after a few weeks of training in Paris I'll be able to pick up such secrecies. His work is a little too out-there for my taste, I preferred the pointalism approach by other local artists and the work of another major artist, named Egon Schiele. His scenery paintings were much more realistic, while his portraits had less structure, and a greater grotesque feeling. The faces revealed every detail, every wrinkle and dark spot, showing their darker side. The colors were not as vibrant as the Klimt pieces, but the eroticism behind both artists' work must have been extremely controversial at the time. For Klimt, many of the ladies were either half or completely topless and for Shiele sometimes the scenes were nude altogether.
So after the Belvedere adventure we headed back to the room for some relaxation before dinner. And for dinner we went to the oldest inn in Vienna. It's called the Kupferdachl, and it was one of the more modern places we have ventured. I was a little surpised because so many of the places we have gone have lower ceilings, no central airing, and there is usually a faint smell of beer and cigars that hits us upon entering the doors. At any rate, we were seated immediately and I decided to try a wheat beer tonight since I never tried one in the states. Weizenbier, it was a little heavier but good. And I had gnocchi...not exactly Austrian or German but that's alright I suppose. And to top off my cultural evening I stopped for some Gelato on the way home :)
This morning was beautiful. The sunshine started pouring in our room around 6 o'clock and when we went to breakfast the clouds merely dotted the bright blue sky. After eating our meat and cheese breakfast, accompanied by some heiße schokolade, we started out for the U-Bahn station to head for the Viennese hills/mountain. We took the 38A bus to Corbenzl which has this nice little resort that sits on top of a hill that overlooks most of Vienna. The tree line hits just right so you can look out over everything. The busride continued into the park and up the hills into Kahlenberg where there's a Church and a private International University and a little souvenir shop with an ice cream freezer and a playful dog. Grandma then took the bus down to the Leopoldsberg stop where I would walk down the trail from Kahlenberg to meet her. The trail was paved for me and there were plenty of small flowers, mostly pink and yellow in color, for me to look at. I turned a corner or two and saw this big open field where I could imagine young children running around as their parents sat on a blanket drinking wine, enjoying the Sunday afternoon. The trail follows the road we took to get to the top and when I met up with Grandma at the bus stop, we turned a new way and followed this steep path up to the top of the mountain. There was this old German building that was closed up but had lookout points at every corner. I saw the Danube river, with it's locks and dams and how it crosses over into the Danube Channel as it enters the center city of Vienna. And then we walked a little further down the lookout and I saw in the distance the faint outline of the Czech Republic. I just thought it was amazing. I thought, here I am, 19 years old, helping my Grandma make her last hike up the Viennese hills and I am looking at, for the first time, the Czech Republic. And the sun was shining brightly upon us. Things like that just don't happen everyday. But I digress.
We went back down to the bus stop which had to take us back up to Kahlenberg where I stopped in the little souvenir shop to look at some old postcards and of course to pet the dog. The owner of the shop told me the cards were the last of his friend's collection from the 1970's. I could tell these were old photographs, mostly black and white, but that wasn't how I knew. The clothing and types of photographs were aged, a little outdated and the cardstock for the postcards was a different material, and starting to bend at the edges. I told him I was very interested in black and white photography so he told me all about his friend's old shop in Paris. His English was very good for being so far into the country where not many tourists probably go. So I bought four postcards and thanked him for the lovely conversation. I stepped back out into the sunshine just as "Hey Soul Sister" started playing on the radio, and I could hear the man whistling along as I rejoined my Grandmother on the bus. Great start to the day.
We had lunch at Grandma's coffee house again, I got a vegetable quich and Grandma had some soup. There were these two old ladies sitting in the corner of the shop, just having a wonderful time. There were probably into their eighties, and had most likely known each other for quite a long time. It was about 2 in the afternoon and both of them had suits on, blazers and skirts with some pumps. One was wearing her nicest set of pearls and the other a nice long golden chain. Sipping tea and a tall beer, the two were in non-stop conversation until their food arrived. Then they just dove right in, enjoying every bit of their nourishment. And as they finished, the conversation just picked right up until the waitress came back around. They ordered something, in German of course, and the waitress sped right off and came back with a water, a cafe au lait, and two chocolate desserts. The one woman picked hers right up and bit into it...it was a smaller dark chocolate piece, probably fully rich in flavor and the other kind of laughed at her as she delicately broke a piece of hers off with her fork. A few minutes later I noticed her give a small piece of hers to her friend, insisting she have some, probably cause it was far too much. I'm sure this all seems so drole, but watching them, the best of friends, was just refreshing to see. They have this nice little women's coffee house and bakery to go to and enjoy themselves over a drink, some lunch and a nice dessert. And not only that, but they were dressed to the nines for the occasion. If I live to be that old, I only hope to be so lucky to have a friend to share my afternoons with.
So, we finished up lunch with a strawberry streudel and headed back to the room for a nap before dinner. My legs felt good, but so drained of energy. So I rested and woke up just in time for dinner. We went back to the Gosserklinik where I had a plate of assorted sausages and roasted potatoes. I tried a Pilsner beer with dinner and Grandma had soup and we shared my sauerkraut since I'm not much of a fan. We talked about my five-year plan and where I see myself in the future, in the off-chance that she doesn't stick around to see it. A little sad, but understandable because she wants to make sure her granddaughter has a map for life. We also talked about a few more places I could come back and visit when I have the money. Freud's apartments, the art museum, etc. Many things to do, many things to see. I'd like to ride the U-Bahn around and just get off at each stop and run upstairs to just see where I ended up.
Now we're back in the hotel, packing up our belongings, ready to head our separate ways. Grandma's taxi leaves for the airport at 5 am and mine doesn't leave until 10 am. So after I see her off and dry my tears I will probably eat a little breakfast and walk around to burn some energy for my plane ride to Paris. I'll want to sleep so I can be refreshed to meet my house-mother tomorrow.
Looking forward to the next phase of my adventure,
Lauren
Anyhow, welcome to the end of Day 4 in Vienna. The past two days have been excitingly exhausting. I don't know how Grandma can manage to do all this! We both eat the same amount and sleep the same amount...which speaks poorly of my energy levels I suppose! But hey, I'm a young growing woman right? Surely I need my rest too!
So yesterday was rainy-- very rainy. But beautiful. Almost like an October fall rain, where the clouds roll in just to cover the sun enough for a chilly afternoon, but the rays can still shine through. Streaks of grey clouds covered the sky and little droplets fell like powdered sugar on top of a dessert. Soft enough to not affect the day, but hard enough to leave a coating on everything it touched. So after breakfast, Grandma sent me on a great adventure to find the International Herald so we could set our agend for the next two days. Well, you can imagine that when rain comes, the newspaper deliverymen don't like to step out of their trucks to deliverit. So I went on a nice wild egg hunt to find this paper that we would be able to read. And along the way I found a nice tourist-like hoodie to stay warm.
When I returned we decided we'd take the morning off exploring and Grandma would finish her spy novel and read about the latest world disasters (Spain going under economically, strains between Israel & Egypt, etc.) and I would get to walk around town, try to find a few 12-letter street names that had hidden historical spots on them, and maybe do some shopping....guess how many of those street names I remembered and then consequently found? Zero. So instead I wandered around the giant Cathedral and turned at each available strasse or grasse (one-way or two-way streets) and just circled around until I found the Cathedral again and took the next turn. I stopped in many shops to get the feel for how expensive clothing is here and the kinds of fashion they wear everyday. I envy their free-spirited minds to mix and match seemingly mismatching outfits. In my eyes, they look fabulous but I know that if I were to walk around the US in a pleated skirt, plaid sweater, turquoise tights, brown boots and a blue zip up hoodie, everyone and their mothers would look at me sideways. Jus' sayin'.
So then I found this little Viennese tea and chocolate shop where the owner happened to make her own jewlery and I was able to taste a few of the chocolates and learn about the flavor varieties for the teas. The women were so helpful I just had to buy a bar of chocolate and a box of tea. How I'm going to get them home intact after 30 days in Paris I have no idea, but we shall see :)
Then I met Grandma promptly at 1 pm and we went to her little tea room where we had a light meal of chicken salad and jellied ham (she got that, meat and jello should never mix in my mind!) Then we headed to the U-Bahn and the street-car to venture up to the Belvedere, this old palace with a beautiful garden. Again, comparing things to my Parisian adventures, this garden looked like something you'd see at Versailles. The pattern of the garden was so clean cut and I'm sure there was a symbolic background, but my German ain't so good these days. (Getting better though! I can read the menu now!) and there are ponds on either side with beautiful statues in the center. Then in the middle of the garden, just as it starts to slope down you catch a sound of running water, where one of the fountains happens to waterfall into an even grander fountain at the bottom of the hill. And it just continues all the way down. There's a center path, and paths on either side of the gardens, decorated with benches and strolling couples, walking hand in hand whispering sweet nothings to each other as if the statues could hear their every word. It was beautiful. And the view of the city was perfect. The skyline was a little hazy, and patches of red rooftops stood out from the tops of the green towering Cathedrals. Of course, if you look for it, you can always see the great Cathedral by our hotel centered in the Graben.
So we went inside the Belvedere, which has been rebuilt into an art museum for 17th and 18th Century Austrian artwork. Grandma specifically wanted to show me Gustav Klimt's work. Much of his paintings were portraits of women with architectural backgrounds that sometimes made them look 3D. Of course the symbolism of his work went right over my head but maybe after a few weeks of training in Paris I'll be able to pick up such secrecies. His work is a little too out-there for my taste, I preferred the pointalism approach by other local artists and the work of another major artist, named Egon Schiele. His scenery paintings were much more realistic, while his portraits had less structure, and a greater grotesque feeling. The faces revealed every detail, every wrinkle and dark spot, showing their darker side. The colors were not as vibrant as the Klimt pieces, but the eroticism behind both artists' work must have been extremely controversial at the time. For Klimt, many of the ladies were either half or completely topless and for Shiele sometimes the scenes were nude altogether.
So after the Belvedere adventure we headed back to the room for some relaxation before dinner. And for dinner we went to the oldest inn in Vienna. It's called the Kupferdachl, and it was one of the more modern places we have ventured. I was a little surpised because so many of the places we have gone have lower ceilings, no central airing, and there is usually a faint smell of beer and cigars that hits us upon entering the doors. At any rate, we were seated immediately and I decided to try a wheat beer tonight since I never tried one in the states. Weizenbier, it was a little heavier but good. And I had gnocchi...not exactly Austrian or German but that's alright I suppose. And to top off my cultural evening I stopped for some Gelato on the way home :)
This morning was beautiful. The sunshine started pouring in our room around 6 o'clock and when we went to breakfast the clouds merely dotted the bright blue sky. After eating our meat and cheese breakfast, accompanied by some heiße schokolade, we started out for the U-Bahn station to head for the Viennese hills/mountain. We took the 38A bus to Corbenzl which has this nice little resort that sits on top of a hill that overlooks most of Vienna. The tree line hits just right so you can look out over everything. The busride continued into the park and up the hills into Kahlenberg where there's a Church and a private International University and a little souvenir shop with an ice cream freezer and a playful dog. Grandma then took the bus down to the Leopoldsberg stop where I would walk down the trail from Kahlenberg to meet her. The trail was paved for me and there were plenty of small flowers, mostly pink and yellow in color, for me to look at. I turned a corner or two and saw this big open field where I could imagine young children running around as their parents sat on a blanket drinking wine, enjoying the Sunday afternoon. The trail follows the road we took to get to the top and when I met up with Grandma at the bus stop, we turned a new way and followed this steep path up to the top of the mountain. There was this old German building that was closed up but had lookout points at every corner. I saw the Danube river, with it's locks and dams and how it crosses over into the Danube Channel as it enters the center city of Vienna. And then we walked a little further down the lookout and I saw in the distance the faint outline of the Czech Republic. I just thought it was amazing. I thought, here I am, 19 years old, helping my Grandma make her last hike up the Viennese hills and I am looking at, for the first time, the Czech Republic. And the sun was shining brightly upon us. Things like that just don't happen everyday. But I digress.
We went back down to the bus stop which had to take us back up to Kahlenberg where I stopped in the little souvenir shop to look at some old postcards and of course to pet the dog. The owner of the shop told me the cards were the last of his friend's collection from the 1970's. I could tell these were old photographs, mostly black and white, but that wasn't how I knew. The clothing and types of photographs were aged, a little outdated and the cardstock for the postcards was a different material, and starting to bend at the edges. I told him I was very interested in black and white photography so he told me all about his friend's old shop in Paris. His English was very good for being so far into the country where not many tourists probably go. So I bought four postcards and thanked him for the lovely conversation. I stepped back out into the sunshine just as "Hey Soul Sister" started playing on the radio, and I could hear the man whistling along as I rejoined my Grandmother on the bus. Great start to the day.
We had lunch at Grandma's coffee house again, I got a vegetable quich and Grandma had some soup. There were these two old ladies sitting in the corner of the shop, just having a wonderful time. There were probably into their eighties, and had most likely known each other for quite a long time. It was about 2 in the afternoon and both of them had suits on, blazers and skirts with some pumps. One was wearing her nicest set of pearls and the other a nice long golden chain. Sipping tea and a tall beer, the two were in non-stop conversation until their food arrived. Then they just dove right in, enjoying every bit of their nourishment. And as they finished, the conversation just picked right up until the waitress came back around. They ordered something, in German of course, and the waitress sped right off and came back with a water, a cafe au lait, and two chocolate desserts. The one woman picked hers right up and bit into it...it was a smaller dark chocolate piece, probably fully rich in flavor and the other kind of laughed at her as she delicately broke a piece of hers off with her fork. A few minutes later I noticed her give a small piece of hers to her friend, insisting she have some, probably cause it was far too much. I'm sure this all seems so drole, but watching them, the best of friends, was just refreshing to see. They have this nice little women's coffee house and bakery to go to and enjoy themselves over a drink, some lunch and a nice dessert. And not only that, but they were dressed to the nines for the occasion. If I live to be that old, I only hope to be so lucky to have a friend to share my afternoons with.
So, we finished up lunch with a strawberry streudel and headed back to the room for a nap before dinner. My legs felt good, but so drained of energy. So I rested and woke up just in time for dinner. We went back to the Gosserklinik where I had a plate of assorted sausages and roasted potatoes. I tried a Pilsner beer with dinner and Grandma had soup and we shared my sauerkraut since I'm not much of a fan. We talked about my five-year plan and where I see myself in the future, in the off-chance that she doesn't stick around to see it. A little sad, but understandable because she wants to make sure her granddaughter has a map for life. We also talked about a few more places I could come back and visit when I have the money. Freud's apartments, the art museum, etc. Many things to do, many things to see. I'd like to ride the U-Bahn around and just get off at each stop and run upstairs to just see where I ended up.
Now we're back in the hotel, packing up our belongings, ready to head our separate ways. Grandma's taxi leaves for the airport at 5 am and mine doesn't leave until 10 am. So after I see her off and dry my tears I will probably eat a little breakfast and walk around to burn some energy for my plane ride to Paris. I'll want to sleep so I can be refreshed to meet my house-mother tomorrow.
Looking forward to the next phase of my adventure,
Lauren
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
If we're all so different...
Then I wonder how we're affected by events the same way. We all get sick the same way. Pathogens enter our body and our fighter cells either prevent the spreading of the bacteria, or they are in turn killed and our immune system is weakened and we get sick. No matter what part of the planet you are from, you will at some point get the flu, or a fever of some kind. We cough the same, we sneeze the same way, and most of the time we say Bless you just the same. The difference between being sick and being killed by a disease is the development of medicine and vaccinations. Diseases kill us all the same way.
And if we're all so different then how come we fall in the love the same way? Every girl grows up with some fairy tale story read to her at night, and she falls asleep dreaming of her handsome prince arriving to carry her away from a seemingly wretched life to this faraway richness. And every boy goes through some conversation about the birds and the bees upon entering high school. People world-wide are swooned the same, there's usually flowers, chocolates, creative notes, letters, or music involved. We kiss the same, hold hands the same, vow to be together the same way, and even have our hearts broken the same way. A broken heart is a broken heart. The sick to your stomach feeling is felt all around the world. And the heat that rises from your toes to your face after you've found out you've been cheated on rises just like the bile inches its way up your esophagus. Again, word-wide. And even the chemical composition of our tears is the same.
Our genetic make-up is the same, the only differences we see are how the chromosomes are turned on while our genes come together. Children around the world are still born with down-syndrome, or cheiloschisis and palatoschisis, and when we break our bones they are mended the same ways.
So if our mind and bodies function the same way, what's really different about us? The language we speak, the food we eat, and the way we dress? Sure our cultures may be different, but if we're all made up exactly the same, then why can't those cultures transcend one another? I don't care who you are or where you from, language does not have to be a barrier. With the potential capacities our minds have, there is no reason we should not be able to communicate with one another. And the food we eat still all comes from the same basic ingredients. The preparation is different, sure, but if you take it apart piece by piece you will find common ingredients. And who cares if we dress differently? The way you dress only matters regionally and that's based on climate and maybe religious traditions.
If we can somehow find a medium like I think I found today-- some kind of similarity between one nation and the smallest village on Earth, I think we can find an even higher common ground. And maybe one day we'll start to understand one another a little bit better. And then even further into the future (that is, if we don't blow each other up before this point) there will be no need for invasions of neighboring areas, or terrorist attacks between disputing countries, and maybe North Korea will begin relations with it's southern brother too.
Here's to wishful thinking.
And if we're all so different then how come we fall in the love the same way? Every girl grows up with some fairy tale story read to her at night, and she falls asleep dreaming of her handsome prince arriving to carry her away from a seemingly wretched life to this faraway richness. And every boy goes through some conversation about the birds and the bees upon entering high school. People world-wide are swooned the same, there's usually flowers, chocolates, creative notes, letters, or music involved. We kiss the same, hold hands the same, vow to be together the same way, and even have our hearts broken the same way. A broken heart is a broken heart. The sick to your stomach feeling is felt all around the world. And the heat that rises from your toes to your face after you've found out you've been cheated on rises just like the bile inches its way up your esophagus. Again, word-wide. And even the chemical composition of our tears is the same.
Our genetic make-up is the same, the only differences we see are how the chromosomes are turned on while our genes come together. Children around the world are still born with down-syndrome, or cheiloschisis and palatoschisis, and when we break our bones they are mended the same ways.
So if our mind and bodies function the same way, what's really different about us? The language we speak, the food we eat, and the way we dress? Sure our cultures may be different, but if we're all made up exactly the same, then why can't those cultures transcend one another? I don't care who you are or where you from, language does not have to be a barrier. With the potential capacities our minds have, there is no reason we should not be able to communicate with one another. And the food we eat still all comes from the same basic ingredients. The preparation is different, sure, but if you take it apart piece by piece you will find common ingredients. And who cares if we dress differently? The way you dress only matters regionally and that's based on climate and maybe religious traditions.
If we can somehow find a medium like I think I found today-- some kind of similarity between one nation and the smallest village on Earth, I think we can find an even higher common ground. And maybe one day we'll start to understand one another a little bit better. And then even further into the future (that is, if we don't blow each other up before this point) there will be no need for invasions of neighboring areas, or terrorist attacks between disputing countries, and maybe North Korea will begin relations with it's southern brother too.
Here's to wishful thinking.
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