thank goodness it's not oysters & chips. I love Scotland.

Hi, Hello

Merry Christmas Eve, Christmas, Chanukah, Boxing Day, Birthday, New Years, St Someone Day…

Over here, I guess “secular” is pretty loosely defined. It seems pretty Christmas-y to me. The French are into not repressing anyone which is fine but I’ve yet to see any reference to anything else.

Mireille just treated me to a French Traditional Christmas meal. I hope I didn’t come across as rude when I asked if the second course was already dead. The first wasn’t. Inquiring minds wanted to know.
So we started with oysters. Freshly pried open with some tool, design circa no later than the early Middle Ages. And henceforth was marred my perfect record of eating everything she put in front of me. I soldiered through 2 but…Oy. I’m a texture girl and these, jsdfhadsjhfldskjhvdjfgfhdfd. "No you take the rest, I insist. "
Next was escargot. Already deceased. Check. Can pretend they’re clams. Check. Drowned in butter and garlic. I can pop a few down. At least I didn’t have to suck it right out of the shell like the oysters. I don’t even like shots of things that are normal to shoot. Chasing with bread and butter. First, and hopefully, last time I will utter that phrase.
When she was done laughing with/at me, we exchanged presents. She gave me a little stuffed animal, because she saw that I hadn’t brought one, and some traditional French Christmas chocolates which are positively delightful. I gave her a potted orchid, so it would last, and then an enormous stem of some enormous flowers which are gorgeous and whose name I don’t know. She is a huge flower person. Her living room is well on its way to forest classification.


Meanwhile in a more innocent, pre-oyster era…
In order to get some homey-ness in my life prior to the festivities, I jetsetted off to sunny, delightful Scotland in December. Kirsty’s (Scottish friend/roommate/enforcer of sanity in this madness of 9A Chemin des Petites Roches) direct quote was “Wow, this is even bleaker than I remembered” referring to the Glasgow skyline.
We, like a large fraction of the civilized world, decided to flee France the last Saturday before Thanksgiving. Despite the shrieking, cranky children in the eternal security line who were obviously asexually reproducing (there were not that many of them 20 minutes ago) it wasn’t so bad. Security remains an eternal mystery to me; “put liquids in sealable plastic” what? “sorry, sir, that white powder on my bag is laundry detergent” who?
We arrived and mentally passed out for the rest of the day which was amazing. It was a house. And we could sprawl on the couches and watch TV (in English!) and make tea without bound! It was a little weird reverse culture shock. There were a lot of awkwardly started sentences in French and there was a little “mais” and “donc” where there should have been a little “but” and “so.” It was just so amazing to be in a place where we could sit around the table and talk and say nearly intelligent things in nearly proper sentence structure. And then in town, ah the calm and the glory of being able to understand and respond without the “sorry, what?”s and the considerably less witty than desired response. Ok. So maybe I’m glorifying it a little because some of those accents were from the mud hovel right off the highland. I would have given plenty of people my large, shiny, and worthless 2 pence pieces to take the 40 marbles out of their mouth.
We can’t all be American.

The next day was a wander about in Glasgow day, which was fun for me and stressful for Kirsty because she was still pursuing Christmas gifts (one family can receive only so much mustard). I followed and observed and after careful study, yes, there really are more redheads in Scotland. It’s like the headquarters. Even adults. Maybe this means I’ll have red hair when I grow up, too. Shucks, that’d be awesome. Later that night, she took me on a walking tour of Glasgow and we ended up at Glasgow Uni which is amazingly beautiful and all stone and columned and stainglassed and every other requisite for old school British things. It was dark and gorgeous and we were the only ones there just walking around have a look-see and, get this, a bag piper was dressed in the full garb and just walking around playing. You can’t even plan shiz like that. And then we were walking around and all “oh, hey were does this archway lead to” and we went out and there was this amazing panorama of Glasgow and enormous lights that lit up the entire face of the Uni on that side.

The next day was the Edinburgh day. The sun was practically shining so the view from Edinburgh castle was impressive. We started to descend down the Royal Mile, the mile in between Edinburgh Castle and Hollywood Palace (which I struggle at taking seriously), one of the Queens many obscene mansion houses, I guess. Then we kept descending to have a walk through the Christmas market and down to the Scotland National Gallery. But more importantly, after that we ate a scone. Then we were [still] completely wiped so we jumped on the train home. And that night we went out for some drinks. Who thought that was a good idea? We just needed some serious non-Dijon pub action in our life. Where a drink doesn’t cost 7 euros and the two social groups available are the Italian student rager set or the 60 year old French man throwing down a pint set.

The next day was another morning of a hearty bowl of porridge and off to the carnival. Where I felt old, went on my first upside down ride ever, persevered through a few more, became ill, and handed my remaining tickets to a small child who was not yet green with unhappiness. We then returned to the homestead, slightly off-colored, ate dinner and then played scrabble where I inched out narrow victory with the suspicion-ridden word of “abet” which I promptly tacked an “S” on the end of to get the double word score. Yesssss. Love that conjugating. The green light was also given to both English and American spellings. Good game, that.

The next morning, we got up far too early/it remained dark until 8:30am. Horrible. And I got the car to the bus to the train to the plane to the metro to the train to the bus to arrive back in my cozy little room in Dijon, France. It’s way weird traveling between two countries, neither one to which you belong. Although it was amusing on the plane where I was sitting amongst a group of younger Muslim Scottish guys who were talking about how excited they were to go to EuroDisney. Glad to see they take advantage of their JudeoChristian-centric holidays.

Well this post has occurred over about 3 days. More has happened. There have been pancakes eaten as Christmas dinner all the while improving American-Candian relations.
My mother is now en route.
My sister sends positive reports about dad's reaction to the Dijon baseball hat.
Miss the family dinners. Oysters do not replace the annual surf and turf. Sorry, France.

Merry Christmas xoxo

"bagels!?" "bagels?" "bagels!!"

It’s been a long time. And the longer I wait, the more happens.
[This is the point where my spelling, vocabulary, and English construction is really going to hell sorry in advance]

Last weekend we went to Lyon for the Fetes des Lumieres. The basic translation would be “there are now lights flashing and skimming all over buildings all over town. If you’re a local, get out now to avoid the chaos of touristic pilgrimage and chance of epileptic seizures while sitting in your living room.”

The rumor is it’s the best in France, all the lights in Lyon. There were a few sights where it was just obscene (in a good way). Complete faces of churches were lit up with every detail of architecture being a different color. Although it was terribly well done, so, there’s really nothing sacrilegious about all that? God’s Rainbow House. Interesting concept.
The more cultural experience may have happened in Kassie and my hotel room however. Apparently, here they’re real into saving the environment, great, good for them, however, in their enthusiasm, they forget to tell the stupid, earth killing Americans how to turn on the lights.

This was a swanky hotel and it had key cards to get into the room. So, Kassie and I go in and there is not switch to be found that actually illuminates the lights. We couldn’t figure out what was going on so we were on our way back down to the front desk. Fortunately, for our own self-respect, we met some other girls in the group on their way up and they gave us the memo that, in order to turn on the lights, one has to leave the key in that mysterious slot on the wall that previously seemed to serve no purpose. We headed back up to our room. We put the key in the slot. Let there be light! How happy we were. So we took the key and put it on our bedside table where we wouldn’t forget it. 3 minutes. Lights out. A little mysterious but whatever, Kassie just went and put it in again. Took it out and threw it on the table. 2 minutes. Black. At this point we were laughing hysterically and calling “not it” for inserting the key every 30 seconds for the next 2 days. Its took us 2 more insertion and removals accompanied by some rolling on the floor laughing to realize that one has to leave the key in the slot. Wowwwwww.

That night we went out to pound the pavement of Lyon, which was better because the weather was mercifully warm. The lights were pretty, blah blah, in other news we found BAGELS! and cream cheese!! And coffee that’s bigger than a shot – not much but a little!! (I couldn’t even finish it. The coffee consumption part of my brain is no longer accustomed to such luxury). We’re not the Americans in France who head to the first McDonalds. But bagels!? Take advantage. Later, we got stuck in such a mass of humanity it was unreal. We were looking for the entrance to this courtyard which was supposed to be amazing and we were among thousands of people and still looking when suddenly the crowd started to move all in the same direction - well I guess we found the entrance. We were literally carried in the direction. And then halfway up a flight of stairs, it stopped. If one had been able to physically reverse their position, turning around would have given the view of just how many effing people were in not enough space.

The distant "don't walk" signal is a direct indication of our current state at that time.

Back in good ole Dijon, I met the baseball and softball teams the other night and got a hat for my dad for Christmas. It’s. awesome. It’s good that the phone wasn’t working because I was going to call immediately and leave a message about its awesomeness.
Although yesterday when I sent my presents in the mail, customs demands that you write on a sticker (that is promptly stuck right on the face of the package) the contents. Maybe the French will throw them off a little. But un CD? Wow. Yeah that’s really cryptic.
Also, one can become well educated on Dijon by wrapping presents in Le Bien Public (daily paper). Bet you didn’t know that the Dijon Cheerleading squad (les pom-pom girls – yeah, anglicisms) just won the French National Title.
Hooray for almost Xmas break. Although it’s sad because a lot of people are leaving who were here only for the first semester. Kassie is going to be alone for a while between when Julie leaves and the new student (Helga from Norway?) comes in February. Oh Julie, how we will miss thee.
This week is also the final part of the project that I’m doing with the English students. It’s going to be a Maine filled (I knew I brought my flag for some reason. 5x7 feet of culture), Yankee bashing extravaganza. Good times.

To later.

The reason your lights will flicker at noon for the next 26 days.

Happy Belated Thanksgiving. Amanda Burgess, happy freaking 21st.
Things probably happened before last Thursday but their importance is just not great. So starting November 27th –
First, Kassie and I (and probably lots of other Americans) were being all stoic and saying “psh – holidays? Whatever. We’re are being so culturally enriched we won’t even notice that it’s happening.” Then we all woke up Thursday morning and cried a little. We all remedied in our select ways. Kassie went to some fancy-schmancy dinner at some fancy-schmancy restaurant with the Colby kids and all their host families for some designer Thanksgiving dinner with a French twist (minimal bitterness but, yes, I’m judging you a little because…)
Back in real people world – we did it home grown style. Sarah and I got together and planned an epic meal to share with Mireille and Kirsty to give them their first Thanksgiving experience. Sadly, French shopping center world missed the memo.
Sweet potatoes – denied.
Tools for green bean casserole – denied
Cranberries – denied
Pecan pie – Denied (but that’s a low blow. What were we really expecting?)
So the final menu –
Small intact bird – already cooked – Sarah and I both felt entirely lackluster about the need but decided it’s a little bit of a keystone.
Green beans – fresh – to be cooked with lemon and almonds (thanks, mom)
Stuffing. Home Made. - no turkey. No problem.
Bread product – this is France after all.
Wine – this is France after all
Blueberry pie – already assembled – where I come from that’s bad news but time and equipment restraints you understand.
All in all. Eh. When a call came from State side where all were about to sit down after an epic meal to then eat unparalleled pies contributed by both my aunt and sister. Ehhh. I want that, please.

Just took a long break, unnoticeable in cyber space, to eat with Mireille and her daughter and boyfriend (tres serieux – and his name is Pierre just for the extra cultural touch) who happened to be here to play with his new iphone or “quoi” (what) which is what these people add at the end of every single sentence ever. But I actually followed and might have even been able to actively contribute to their conversation if they hadn’t been talking all nerdy about cheese.

In other less immediate news: this past weekend, the latest CIEF excursion was to some Christmas markets or Marches de Noel as it goes here. Real cultural, real lit up, real cold. Kassie and Liz preferred greatly le vin chaud (hot, spiced wine) which Liz declared is hereby the official drink of their Worcester apartment next year. Now that’s a party I could get behind.
Admittedly, the lights were very pretty but this country needs to get a hold on themselves. Just because they haven’t had a significant holiday since July 14th or something. You know those pictures that are taken of Earth from space and they show how lit up or not each region of the world is? I would fund a space mission in order that there is one of those only of France between December 1st and 26th.


What else? My professor who told me I had a horrible accent, was incapable of life and that I should go home complimented me today and said I’m getting better. Thanks. I think. And I didn’t fail my grammar test.
Currently no idea what is going on in life leading up to and on the day of Noel.
A lot of the kiddies at the CIEF are getting all geared up to go home. Wow. That’s crazy talk. Go home? Who does that?
As much as I want to go into my room and ship myself home on a daily basis from time to time, if I was going home now it would be frustrating. Disclaimer: I’m saying this in English from the safety of my room as I sit in my PJs. Ask me tomorrow morning at 10:30 in the heat of class with one. certain. professor. (baring my teeth. Just in case you couldn’t notice) and I’d sell my soul for an oar and a large rubber bin. Isn’t life funny.

Also check this - observe this cultural experience if you will. And you will.
le cours – studies
la cour – courtyard, area in front of a house
le cour – (don’t know. Didn’t write it down.)
la cour – court of justice
la course – a trail (ex running)
les courses – shopping (or le shopping in French.)
court – not long.
Closely followed by
Vers - toward
Un verre – a glass
Vert ­- green
Un vers ­- a verse
Un ver – a worm

That’s all. Boooooooring. Bye for now.

" " she said yarkingly

Sitting in the library trying to do some translating. Two problems:
1. “she made a low yarking sound.” Roughly five sixths of that is great. “yarking”: form of “yerk.” Well why didn’t you just say so??
2. My computer (which graciously helps me uncover mysterious like the above mentioned) will redirect me 1,804,260 seconds. That’s 20.8826388888888 days.

Just had the equivalent of mid terms. Lots of tests in fewer days. No longer have any idea how to gage grading outcomes in this country since I did better on my Version translation that my Theme translation. Guess I just knew the correct 1/2000th of the French language and how to perfectly form it. That definitely went better than the grammar test today. Yikes. Hopefully it went ok although I have to admit, I was unable to memorize his 36 pages of select French verbs and the prepositions that come (or don’t) after them in order to determine their meaning. A fair amount of the time ( the naïve French student noted optimistically) it seems like one can just do the horrible Anglicism habit and say “think of”? why that must just be the prepostion 'de'. However...yeah. But no.

So the newest cultural adventure(Side note – How long until I can stop considering it a cultural adventure and start pretending that I actually know what’s going on? End note.)is being in a video for some girls’ English class project. They had to find an Anglophone and interview them and find someone interesting that would lend itself to a 10 minute video (but 15 minutes of recording in order to be edited. Intense. Wait for the outtakes). They’re very nice and pretty hilarious and some with which I should make a painfully blatant effort to become friends. Their level of English is not very high because they’re science nerds and are basically ordered to do that by the European Union or something (the learning English – not the video- also we shall debate the complete injustness of this at a later date). We were thinking about things to do and I said I liked sports so they went off that and then they asked if there were any “hooligans” in sports in the US. I said “why yes, why yes there are.” So then we talked about sports rivalries and I said "have I got a rivalry for you" so they’re going to interview me about the Red Sox v. Yankees. When I told them the name it went like this– “quoi? Les chaussettes rouges?” Well when you say it like that it sounds silly. I’m going to wear my heinous, I mean awesome, American flag shirt that I bought for an occasion like this. And luckily I brought my Maine flag. This is going to be a most excellent cultural exchange.

Alright. Too much library. When did it get dark out?Love and Kisses.

bound to happen but [inspiring showtune of choice here]

Been one of those weeks. Those. And it wasn’t even 5 days long.
Monday: we got our first graded assignment for Theme back. It’s the translation from French to English class. So basically Anglophones should own it. I got an 11 out of 20. Eff that shiz. To explain the French grading system, essays, all assigments, life is graded between 0 and 20. But 20 is this elusive, unattainable goal. Some saying goes something like “20 is for God, 19 for the angels…etc etc. Real people start clocking in around 15 or 16. However, for those of us raised on 100% point scales, it’s hard to beat the “10/20 doesn’t equal 50%” out of us. On the bright side, the prof said (not in English) “you actually did pretty well. A lot of Anglophones don’t put any thought into it and just assume they’ll do well.” Huzzah for small victories. Although there were a number of translating discrepancies that a friend (also an Anglophone) and I became slightly miffed about. In response, our prof replied “well I asked my Anglophone friend about that…” Lady, can we ask your other 99 Anglophone friends please so we can receive 96 other, different responses?” People hate learning our language because there are so many ways to say things!! I certainly respect professors but being denied in my own language when we were being marked off for not speaking British English circa 1908 was kind of frustrating.

Then we had Tuesday off.

Wednesday, yesterday. Rumor on the street is the French government will give me a check for studying their language in their country. And by me, I mean my parents, of course. That’s good news so I went and got the paper and there was a little confusion because of Clark being the middle man in payment to my lodging etc but we got it all sorted I explained it all in French since we are in France and all. And it ended up being a little vague but the woman gave me the papers and said “Ok go home and just give this to your host residence, your French seems good enough, that should be a problem.” Reprise that Huzzah? “good enough” in this country means that the given person would be thrown a parade in any other land. Where’s my key to the city?
Later, I had to do more, far less, official things. But for Goodness Effing Sake. I could not put a sentence together, let alone understand what the girl was saying to me. I was trying to be a good sport and we just both acknowledged that our conversation/my verbal diarrhea was unfortunate for all involved. So, whatever, I’m thick skinned, but as soon as I left the office this other younger guy started laughing. For the benefit of the doubt, he was probably just laughing at the situation. Other the other hand, maybe he was just a prick.
The options were as follows: punch him in the face or go home and cry like a 3 year old and call my mother. Despite the longing for the former, it would have been unjust to take out 2 and a quarter months of frustration on this boy’s nose. Thank you to my mother and the Lewiston School System for allowing my 18 minutes of whine with that cheese.
Let’s just say this day didn’t light the cheerfulness tree on fire either.
So I guess this is the wall that one hits when your body and your brain and every sane sentiment in you says “get me the hell out of here.” But 73 days in is a pretty quality run. Besides, remember that other roughly 180 that need to pass?? Then the gods of French said “and they shall be the most excellent.”
Speaking of that, got to write God’s horoscope in class today (Work: Weigh well future decisions. You no longer have the leader of free world wrapped around your finger.) Great exercise in the imperative tense.

Sorry for the downer. Tomorrow, to be sure, I’ll go careening perilously over something or be impaled by a rogue baguette. And you’ll be the first to know…

get your optimism on.

Well Salut,
It’s been so long, real long.
But basically, so how about that election? Life in France for any American could probably be quantified by BE and AE (before election – does it need a capital E? – and after election). Before Election there were interviews (http://www.bienpublic.com/actu/infodujour/20081104.BPA1181.html) and prejudgments. After elections there were “you have a horrific non French accent! You must be American! Congratulations!!” That’s a first.
There was also a [shockingly brief] amount of time that one might call DE (during election). Live vicariously through this epic period in history with the Colby students….and Kassie? http://www.bienpublic.com/actu/infodujour/20081106.BPA1947.html
If you don’t read French, the pictures are enjoyable.

Meanwhile, despite that I would have been able to drop my dear Amanda Burgess’ name like a rock all over the place for a place to stay up all night and watch (“Colby? Democrats? Oh you might know la presidente. Amanda? Yeah, and she’s probably going to be Secretary or State or something) I declined. I decided to stay huddled under my blankets in my room clasping my computer in two hands close to my chest and spending the night with MSNBC.com live coverage. And my sister - via google chat. When Obama GAVE HIS VICTORY SPEECH (that’s as partisan as it’s going to get up in here) we watched with baited breath and then promptly got distracted by how obscenely gorgeous his family is.
Wow. It’s a crazy world.

In other news, after something like that, there just isn’t other news.
Happy Armistice Day.

guilt and shame and chocolate and swear words

Happy Halloween !

So this week has been a melange of painful activities cleverly disguised as cultural immersion. Although somehow I feel like I could have gotten the crap beat out of me in basketball in the US too. For the first time, I went to play some intramural basketball earlier this week. Tuesday was fine – all girls, quality, but no one in phenomenal shape. There also wasn’t much of a language barrier since “shoot” has been pretty solidified into the French language. Although, the man who runs it told me I should come back the next day to play with the “mixte” (boys and girls). Having given a significant portion of my life to playing and watching basketball – I should have known that returning was a very poor decision. The first guy who showed up was a solid 6’6. The gym echoed with the sounds of dunking all night. Everyone else had fairly equal advantage. But they were all very nice. I also found that I will be able to judge the progress of my language when my sports and reactive exclamations (read: swear words) are no longer in English.

Speaking of vulgar words, the other day we went “adolescent with a horrible vocabulary” fishing in Place de la Liberte. We chose well. Six young men between the ages of 16 and 18. Needless to say, they were a little suspicious at our request but, together, they rose to the occasion quite beautifully. They started out a little weak. They offered “con”, which is basically idiot or jerk. We had to give them a little nudge as in “wow. We know you know something worse than that.” By the end we had quite a list accompanied by lots of “wait, are you sure you want this one?? This one is really bad.” Lay it on me. Just cut down a significant gap of vocabulary. They bus is a whole new world…

Unfortunately, I was not able to utilise my new wealth of knowledge for the interview that I did for the campus radio on how it is living in Dijon/France as a foreign student. I think it went pretty well, I didn’t sound too stupid, but it’s going to be aired Monday. Don’t know if I want to hear it. For those of the braver sort, yesterday, the tv channel France 3 came to the CIEF to interview Americans about the upcoming elections. I sat that one out. Liz did it and she indicated to me outside so the news people would ask me but Janine, a friendly (and very tall) German, was kind enough to hide me. We are having awesome luck with Germans in this country.

In other news, I recently managed to carve out my place in chocolate hell. See as follows: Last night we got talking about chocolate at the dinner table because there is this chocolatier in the center of town that is, apparently, epic. I just asked her if it was as good as everyone says (which in retrospect was silly since Liz bought something there a few weeks ago that was laced with gold). Mireille said “yes” and I asked her if she was a big chocolate fan and had preferences. She said she liked more of the milk chocolate variety. It had just so happened that my mother had sent me a little Halloween care package with Hershey’s chocolate. I gave Mireille a piece saying that a lot of people feel strongly about it not being good chocolate etc etc. For the record I did not give any indication that this was especially quality chocolate!! So a little while later when she offered me some chocolate from this chocolatier… I could not accept it in good faith and justice but I could not explain to her that the two were not equal!! I had only given it to her because she indicated that she and I shared similar taste in chocolate! I know that a lot of people knock hersheys but it’s not my fault that I like my chocolate like I like the depiction of women in American history: weak and second class.

The guy in front of me in wearing a Yankees hat. What the hell.

166 things that can't be captured in photos.

Salut tous,

It was an excursion weekend CIEF style with a Euro-tastic 1/20 prof student ratio. Destination: Strasbourg. (5 hours by bus) but luckily we made some pit stops on the way there in Colmar and another town whose name is a 14 letter bastardization of lots of Germanic and Romance languages.
Saturday: highlights began early and often. Up at 5 for the bus at 6. Before I got on the bus, I made some friends who were stumbling home from the night prior. Nice boys. Probably won’t be best friends forever.

11:00am. First pit stop in a small town called Colmar. It’s was Bartholdi’s hangout at some point so there are odes to the Statue of liberty rivaling only those within a 15 mile radius of the real thing. The museum held some pretty amusing rejects. There were a couple of sighs of relief from the resident Americans (“whoa, thank goodness that didn’t make the cut”).
That was followed by a brief trip to Little Venice. First consumption of pretzels went down and there was a brief crisis in deciding between eating crepes and fresh apples. Further investigation led to crepes with apple sauce inside. Crisis averted.
Also stumbled across an ode to the Confederacy – that would be our former confederacy. Not really sure who is the key demographic for their banner’s reading “American by birth. Southern by the Grace of God”…

Having purged us of a fraction of our ADHD, Sebastiano (prof chaperone. Singular.) gathered us back onto the bus.

1:30pm. Arrived in Riquewihr. The poor souls got cursed with the title of “most charming village in France.” Thus, the size of the village was equaled only by the size of the parking lot for tourist buses. As cynical as I am about tourism, wine country is real pretty.
We were there for an hour or so and had time to circle the place about 4385 times. Although, what I found most amusing, was the parking lot. Seriously. “Massive” doesn’t really express the size of these buses. After a raucous and chaotic corralling – we were off again.

5:00pm. Strasbourg. Arrived at the hotel which was shockingly American and spatious, not to mention trustworthy. Windows the open? Kassie, I’m scared.
We had time to breath and then we set off so that Sebastiano could at least lead us into the center of town. HOLY TOURISM! Kassie and I had agreed to check our touristic insecurities (read: traveling in groups of 20 students, 6 nationalities, and 40 cameras) but it was hard.
As soon as Sebastiano was done giving us a brief rundown of something to which we were partially listening, we fled. But oh. My. Goodness. MOST AMAZING CATHERDRAL I HAVE EVER SEEN!!
I rarely stop and backtrack to collect my jaw off the ground. But Wow. Wow, man.
After recollecting the use of crucial body functions, we briefly tried to capture it in photos. That was silly. In my opinion, at least the outside, put Notre Dame de Paris to shame. Although, as stain glass goes, Paris still takes the cake (the baguette?).

As all other attractions fell horribly short after that, we parked it by the biggest keg known to mankind, in order to decide the following actions. Arguably poor idea since this random guy came up to us. I’m all about hanging with the locals but “awkward” is universal. Buddy, there is no way you are on your way to meet your friends at the bar. We just know these things. Although he tended to sing whenever there was an awkward silence, a practice that I generally support.
Although I believe as he approached we were howling from laughter so I would have wanted in on that too. It was sleep deprived hilarity – something about if we didn’t have anything to do thank goodness we could go back to the 24 hour bar at the hotel to get this epic looking chocolate mousse. Only to remember that the time went back that day so there were 25 hours that day. Dude. Worst luck ever.
At amazing regional food, although flat bread by any other name is really still flat bread. But delightful all the same. Went for a drink. Stumbled (in fatigue) back to the hotel and promptly passed out.

Sunday.
Can’t really give a time mark on this since there was a little confusion. Having new Europhones, we weren’t sure if they were going to change. Also, I didn’t know if my $5 watch had it in it so I turned it back before I went to bed. Between my phone not changing and my watch changing (I owe it an apology), we stepped out into a very dark, quiet hall at a (surprise! not) 8:30. We were a little suspicious when we got down to the dining room and the average age was definitely not us. A pretty solid indication that it’s early. Curses.
Many cups of coffee later, we were again herded back to the bus trying to make it to a boat ride down the river through Strasbourg. We were later. Shocking. And got the next one.
One perk was the common language communication between me and this completely technologically illiterate German woman as I tried to help her with her headphones for the commentary on the ride. Although after a while it became clear that there was not enough language in this world to make that woman understand changing the stations.

An hour later, and lots of gory details about hurling people, minus necessary body parts, off big things, we were given free reign of Strasbourg until we were to head off in a few hours. Lots of walking, a few enormous, and unprecedentedly large sausage product ensued.

Although, all in all, with "singing forbidden in public" I feel like it's just not the place for me.

Have to keep looking.

"pardonnez-moi - I'd like to say 'your mother is a dirty whore’’

Today had to talk computers and electronics in French to about 48953 different people. Finally have what I need. The guy who works in the computer lab is my hero for life.
The events have determined that my first tat is swiftly approaching and will go on my forehead. It’s going to say “I’m not eloquent in English either.”
After that, we went to the CIEF welcome social where they force regional specialties on you. Wine. Bread and wine. Cheese and Wine. Cheese on/in/through/under/[prepositions galore] bread and wine.

Tomorrow’s adventure is this -
That excerpt I have to write for written expression [reference last entry] which must be as vulgar as possible is going to be solved by the following: Kassie, Madeline (new friend, Canadian, good times), and myself are going to go park surfing and awkwardly, yet smoothly, sidle up to unsuspecting groups of adolescents who look like they have an inappropriate vocabulary.
Have to admit that the prospects seem to be altogether exciting.

Bon soir

zut, a long way from my bed.

Well, hello there, you, right now I’m going, to use extraneous, expendable, and superfluous, commas because we just had grammar where, we learned how to, use them, correctly. This is subconsciously saying “wow, you are really awful at this.”

In other news, went to Paris again with Kassie two weeks ago now. (Was that sentence supposed to have any commas?? I’m a nervous wreck.) It was a long time ago so can’t really remember what happened. But we did fractionally less touristy stuff including Montmartre, Place Pigalle (the Moulin Rouge i.e. real, real red light district.) and then we metro-ed off to the Latin Quarter without real goals. But it was all delightful all the same. We spoke French most of the day. We started slipping at one point but got a little shot of motivation that requires a special shout out to that colossality of a group of Southern touristers whose accents could have come from no location north of Mobile. Maybe Birmingham. Maybe.

Another long day but worth it. (I know there’s supposed to be a comma in there somewhere. Efffff)

In other news, Version (translating from English to French) is still hard. I’ve been scared all these weeks that people are going to think I’m really stupid when the truth is that, in a fight, my vocabulary could get seriously mauled by theirs. However, the other week, the teacher asked me to read the excerpt out loud. Money. So that motivated me a little more to participate in class except the typical response thus far has been along the lines of “well your words are ok but everything else is incomprehensible.” I guess that’s an exaggeration but you get the point.

Although I do have to find a homework buddy in that class since one of my current assignments is to write this simple excerpt in the most vulgar style I can muster. My currently lacklustre vocab isn’t going to make much out of that. Maybe if I can read it in a senior citizens’ home I can just run around yelling “merde!” and “zut!”

Last night I went to SUAPS for the first time which is the uni sports programs. I tried to go to basketball but for some inexplicable reason it was cancelled.

Although, mini mildly good story; I was standing outside in the dark in the rain with this other girl while waiting and we started talking and her accent was a little not French and it’s pretty evident that mine is not either and so we awkwardly eyed each other and finally she said “you’re not French” to which I replied “you’re not either;” We both gave a sigh of relief and she said “oh thank goodness, I’ve been wanting to ask but if you were that would have been so embarrassing.” She’s German and later when other girls came and could tell right off they asked us where we were from and she said right away, I just sort of nodded. I found that it’s much faster than saying and then trying to describe where Maine is and finally just settling on “yes, close to New York.” At least that’s better than San Diego “mm, no not really near California”

Instead, I ended up going to Yoga. It was good but just too gosh darn late to be that relaxed that far from one’s bed.

This weekend there is an outing to Strasbourg (Frenchgermanland). I can already taste the pretzels.

Also, although this can’t possibly compare to my hurtling through mid air story [see last entry], today I stood up from a table underestimating the complete unconsciousness of my left foot. Thank goodness there was a bookshelf. And thank goodness this bookshelf was against a wall.

Let your imaginations run like the wind.

People say stuff in America is big, but this afternoon I have to return to this epic Home Depot on uber ‘roids called Leroy Merlin’s to return a converter that died 16 hours following purchase. Kassie’s did the same. I don’t trust it. Although it is the €15 standing in between all my plug-in appliances here and a firey ball of death so it sounds like a reasonable dedication of time.

Happy Wednesday.

Upon which Mary discovers her ego is tougher than her knees

hello lovlies,
it's been so long.
in the computer lab again/still. computer diagnosis: bit the big one. but the hard drive is salvageable so thank goodnessss. large official package in the mail pending. it should be arriving with the other requests of my lovely, appeasing mother: sweaters. our class rooms are a small fairly inconsiquential step away from being straight up outside. sorry our friend julie from new mexico. but you're starting college at Colby in the middle of January. Others would be so lucky to have this training.

Highlights, neutral lights and lowlights as follow:

Last Friday - we got the results from our tests back on Friday morning after a long strenuous week of spontaneous vacation.
Am in level 5 now (first semester the CIEF has 5 levels and second semester they add a 6th). Guess that's good although we are doing intensely big kid grammar of which I/every other American present have no knowledge. That is without a doubt the most difficult class.
We also have two classes at the university called Thème and Vérsion which teach translation from French to English and English to French, respectively. The first is so much easier. (Sidenote: at least I'm told by Kassie and Liz. I'm yet to be in attendance which is a huge problem since it means I missed the first session of all the possible choices. Not my fault - I showed up today and no one was there. All the uni kids heard that it was canceled indefinitely. Those of us lowly foreign kids missed that memo.) But Vérsion. my gracious. the degree of development through which my language will go in the next semester has no bounds. At least our section is only translating more modern excerpts - right now The Da Vinci Code. Liz and Kassie have to translate Agatha Christie from English to French. That sucks. These people also learn and speak British English. 40 year old British English to French translation is the devil. Most of our homework time was listening to them say "psh, whaa?? what the hell?? you can't even use that word like that." Subpar for international relations for all countries involved.

Classes are ok once they are all sorted but that's one hell of a goal in itself. Today was one of the most stressful days since getting here - aided greatly by the inexistence of a crucial class - and there were seriously multiple verges of tears until - brace yourself -

So here's how it happened. Had just missed my (nonexistent) Thème class which meant there was none other that fit in my schedule and I would have to rearrange things and talk to people and be that annoying American etc etc etc.
In la Maison de l'Etudiante (commons type, study area) I was walking up to Kassie who was sitting at this table responsibly and quietly working. I was walking pretty fast - it's how I do - and I was carrying stuff. I turned this corner too fast and didn't realize there was a solid wood bench sticking (perilously) out just waiting for me. There is probably no word except "hurtling" to describe my state at that moment. Hurtling. Through the air. Limbs, bags, objects liberated. Run free, little ones! Landed on my stomach. People staring. Polite ones coughing aggressively into their hands, the others (myself and friends included) outrightly looking, laughing, gesturing, no limit to the possibilities. I conversed with Kassie from the floor for a while. "If you do anything with enough confidence, people will buy into it" can be applied to this situation. "Oh tables? You sit at them?? I just use them as a means to get to the floor faster."

It was, as my sister expertly classified it,a "who brought this awkward American?" moment.

Oh man. Good times. Needed a laugh real bad. Thank you, gods of potentially horrible situations.

It's been real. Talk to you all later.
xoxox

past X days - notable:

Halllooo all,
another quick post. computer lab.
in recent news:
Louisa left to return to Germany. How selfish. Our last night was mildly family friendly all at her request which was quite surprising.
The next day, in honor, i went out to the lake where she stayed for the month. Also helped that there was a giant fair for every association in Dijon. Found the Dijon baseball team in order to inquire about a hat for my father. They only have adjustable hats, however, and for a true fan (as i know he will soon become) a fitted hat is the only way to go. Speaking of baseball - Dodgers are number 1 in NL west. From 4 games up to 2 but there's plenty of season left. And boston in 2nd place?? That will never do. So in other words it will be good if they beat LA in the AL West who is up by 21 games!!!??? how does that even happen.

In more frenchy news, I shipped off my computer yesterday but I had to find a box. Mireille didn't have one and told me to buy one. Buy a box??? Who buys a box??? So I walked down the street and went into every store until someone had one that I could have. They were all very nice. Good vocab practice.
The same day, I also carried a older (ok, legit old but really - not like our parents sort of middle age still climbing mountains and biking across europe age) woman's grocery bag for her because she had clearly decided to buy her entire wine, cheese, and rock supply for the next 8 years. She was nice and appreciative and we talked about Canada after she figured out that I was clearly not from her motherland.

Other than that, this week we don't have classes (surprise!! no, seriously) so we are all desperately looking for things to do. The other day Liz and I got on a different bus line and rode to the end. No great inspiration.
Today we are seeking out an orchard also accesible (supposedly) by bus. The key prerequisite. Also because we bought our year bus passes yesterday and that was a serious pile of cash to hand over in one go so I may or may not buy a tent and live accordingly. If Mireille is looking for me, I'm starting on the 1 line and increasing numerically.

blue sky poking out. Out of here.

halllooo
quickest ever. on Kassie's computer (mine died. mon dieu) and have a date for a petite pique-nique at the lake for Louisa's last day. Very sad.
Necessary highlights until next computer access:

Yesterday:
Went to a movie (Le premier jour du reste de ta vie) it was good, sad, but more importantly I knew what was going on. I followed, dare I say understood??, it.
Before that, was walking down the street and some guy who was playing his guitar on the corner. He started talking to me and so we talked about guitars. He said "oh, you play? play something" So I did. And earned 2 whole euro!! Yeah, moneyyyy. Although I gave it to the guy. Chances are he needs it more than me. So that's good for in a pinch. Although there seem to be some serious turf wars. Don't know if I want to get pulled into the twisted violen underworld of Dijon street musicians.

Alright, so we're taking our wine and our cheese and our baguette (whole wheat. how I've missed thee) and our fruit to the lake. It's very pretty out today. Delight.

C'est tout.
Must catch the bus.

Paris - 17 hours of ubereuroprydzzz. then bed.

Joyeux Patrimoine!

Not entirely sure what the means either. But it’s patriotic and it means lots of things are freee.
Today Louisa and I walked all over Dijon finding said things and in the process learned more about our great city in the form of finding the Musee de Bourgogne. After that museum, we went to another museum (that usually costs) and looked at lots of impressive paintings in a special exhibit of Charles Meynier.
I have to admit, when I go to museums, I am very easily distracted. This museum happens to be surrounded by apartments (the highest floors of almost every old building) and so it was probably a fifty fifty ratio of looking at priceless art and looking at the windows of the flats next door wondering what it would be like to be able to wake up every morning and look into an art museum. Priceless, indeed.
Although Dijon fascinates me to no end,
Paris just sort of trumps life.
Went yesterday with Kassie, Liz, and Louisa. We left at 6 in the morning because there is a day trip pass for 15 euro. Can’t beat it. The train leaves Paris at 7 for the 3 hour ride back.
I slept at Kassies in centre ville because the buses didn’t run early enough to get me there. Luckily we are both morning people and heavily solar powered so we were not bad about getting up at 5 for a predictable BEAUTIFUL day in Paris (although the sun didn’t rise for another 12 HOURS! So we really took a gamble on that one.) We met Liz on the corner to walk to the train but Louisa walked from her house through some Sketchtasmeville so we were very glad to see her bright shiny unscathed face.
We got to Paris and the sun was up and the haze even had the good humor to lift. We eeny-meeny-miney-moed a metro stop and decided on the Louvre. We got there and it was still intensely cold in our bodies but a little sun majestically shining through an internationally recognized glass pyramid can really warm a soul.
We didn’t go in because, frankly, it was way too overwhelming. But we figured we could find a little something else to keep us occupied for the next 12 hours.
Our rule became “if you can see it, why the hell not.”

This led to the following sites whose order of attendance through superubertourism is marked by numbers –
From the Louvre (1)
one can see the Champs de l’Eysee (2).
That leads to the grand Obelisque (3 -Egypt who? Looks better in Paris anyway).
At the end of this comes the Arc de Triomphe (4) with some real big, real Europride flags.
We decided since we just happened to be able to see the Eiffel Tower, we’d probably head but first we got a little lost so stopped at a large impressive market (5) which barely dead animals for sale for consumption. Time to move on. Next stop: the Tokyo palace (6) to pose seductively next to indecent statues. From there we could finally see that big river (7) the runs through town so we crossed it. And, hey how about that, there was that big tower that they forget to take down after the World’s Fair roughly 100 years ago (maybe we can email the mayor?). Bored. Over it. Kept walking towards the big impressive building but really found the “French Federation of Adapted Sports” (8) a little more fun. The creation of an American chapter would decrease American obesity by 36% within 5 years. I’ll call Barack. We hung a left and walked to Les Invalides (9) which is an enormous gold gilded building commissioned by Napoleon when he came back from Russia, got jealous, and said “I want one.” Next stop was Notre Dame, which was not close at all so we just happened to take a gander through la Musee D’Orsay (10). By this time, we had put in some serious miles so we referenced our two guide books. (Annie, I lovelove your book but have to noticed the scale on the maps is in meters? L’Ile de la Cite was either 9 or .9km. We seriously debated that last decimal point. Determined the latter. Thank. Goodness.) Notre Dame was on the island about ½ a mile away so we kept trekking by foot. All sites between there and Notre Dame were generally unrecognizable to me. They shall not be repeated lest I make any past French teaches cringe and promptly retire.
Yeah, made it to Notre Dame (11). Not positively sure why but it’s probably the amazing bells, or the stunning windows, or the statue of my girl Jeanne d’Arc in the corner.
The three appeased me and then we moved on (move=shuffle barely. And found a metro) to some epic shopping area (12 number of people only equaled by number of sex shops). No one bought anything and it was a maddening mass of humanity so we called it quits after a while and headed back to the metro to find our way back.
Upon safe reentry to Gare to Lyon, we reflected in our guide books on the course of the day.
HOLY INEFFICIENCY, BATMAN!! Anyway reading this who knows Paris, is probably just finishing convulsing in laughter at our day. If our course resembled a letter, it would probably be a Chinese character. Probably one of the more intricate, archaic ones.

The trip back was shrouded in exhaustion and helpless peals of laughter until we started dying around ETA Dijon 20 minutes. Being Sunday night, there was no ambiguity on the faces of those who passed as to the fact they believed us to be completely trashed out of our minds.

“Grime and grit and pretty city lights”
Liza Minnelli sure had it right.

then
Bed. Bed. Bed. Bed. Bed.

churches and thigh highs

Beautiful day number 4! I put my sun glasses away last night because I thought it was absolutely impossible that this could happen. Maybe it’s because the Pope is around. Thank God for organized religion.

On Sunday, we traversed to Louisa’s turf. Two buses and some confusion later, Kassie and I arrived near the lake where Louisa met us.

So this is where the nature has been hiding itself. Although it’s amusingly easy to tell that this is the only water in Dijon. The abundance of “beach! Camping!” signs and “nautical club” on this lake (cough pond cough) are slightly crammed. And lest we forget we are in France, they were selling crepes on the beach.

We also had our first game of Frisbee, oh how I’ve missed thee. Lots of running, throwing, and semi catching ensued. We also saw so many runners. For anyone who runs, you know that sense of guilt that can surface when you see one/a million people running when you haven’t in a while? That’s the worst. My writhing from guilt became a full-fledged dance when I walked past a sign reading (demanding?) “courir” (run). The running gods punished me by giving me the hiccups but Louisa taught me how to say “I have the hiccups” in German (strictly phonetically speaking “Ich haabe einen schloooookawf) so everybody wins

We scrambled up and up and up the mountain cleverly labeled a “hill” (see photos) to Louisa’s house and it was completely worth it. She lives in a semi crazy house with a semi crazy woman but we sat on a patio to end all patios (more photos!). It was a little tragic to go back to centre ville because it was Sunday so life had shut down. Although, we have found that one creperie that is open on Sunday. YES. Never again shall I be such a cranky pants towards an impending end of week!

Yesterday, Monday, classes. Language classes. Eh, over it.

Afternoon real kid class. If I could only find the words to explain. If you ever thought I was exaggerating about my professors clothes…I would have sold my soul to the devil for a camera phone in those 64 minutes.

From the waist up: Socially acceptable.

From the waist down: bright red shorts. Thigh high black boots.

There was a lot of silence between the three of us when we left class. There were complete minutes and blocks walked between departure from class and channeling out emotions into words.

After that, ran to the post office to track down a rogue package that has not yet arrived. Have to call an official number. [Update: called the number this morning. Got some random old woman. Shockingly, she knows neither my mother nor the location of my package.]

Returned quickly because Kirsty (Scottish girl also here for the year) arrived and was sitting on the stoop. I was so stressed to go let her in because I have this concept that to get to France, one absolutely must travel for no fewer than 24 hours and then will be dirty and tired and unable to form real words. She had left that morning.

Wednesday –

This morning I had to go to find someone to give me some civil responsibility insurance in case I am very irresponsible sometime in the next 8 months and destroy her gold woven basket or brick collection.

As always, in between classes I wandered in centre ville. We three dispersed so I made my own fun. In Dijon, this equals walking for extensive periods of time but I’m all into that. Found about 8 more churches, two of which are literally right night to each other. They have so many churches around here that they’ve started changing them into theatres. I’m no expert, but Leviticus sure says a lot of things. Is there anything in there about making houses of God into temples of sin and intrigue? Maybe if the Bible were a musical…I could get behind that.

Other than that, think that I’m becoming a cathedral snob. Enormous ornately stained glass windows with impeccable arches, an organ the size of my house and an 11^th century vault?? The guy down the corner has an 8^th century. Just saying…You could do better.

In other news, last night we ate a meat product which I was unable to identify. Never been as thankful for an inadequate vocabulary just in case she did slip the name into conversation somewhere. I have some guesses but we’re just going to let this one slide. Also have some old bananas which are just waiting to be made into banana bread. Mireille doesn’t really understand this concept and it took some intense google imaging until Kirsty got behind it. She’s a trooper I can already tell.

Tomorrow is another day. Stay tuned.

Byeeeeexoxo

Bread product and alcohol. Universal.

Hellllo

Happy Birthday, elder sister!!! You will be receiving tokens of my affection probs around the start of next week. Got a little behind. But we respect that. Xoxo

Yesterday. A Beaune Jour.

3 points for excessive word play. The city is Beaune so –

1) A good day in Beaune

2) A good (bon) day (jour)

3) And sounds like “bonjour”

I am so crafty. Me and half the names of the shops in the city. Although it was suitable since about 80% of the people seen there were tourists.

Beaune is this mecca of wine in Bourgogne (the region around Dijon) so everything talks about to at least mentions wine. Liz, Alex, and Kassie went for some of the 453784 choices of places to taste wine in the town (20,000 people) but Louisa and I explored since we’re not huge into that. Although Alex returned with such a glowing smile on his precious little scruffy Anglo face (and a purchase of the least inexpensive option) that I may before I leave…

Louisa and I found lots of interesting things to look at though. Not an afternoon to be wasted although the weather (as always, but not today!!!) was rainy and mildly eghhh. We found this amazing church where there was a wedding going on and watched as some poor friend struggled to get the cans tied to the bumper of their car. We found another church that was physically less impressive but they bells were ringing. Seriously – they were ringing. They actually moved!!

This was possibly the most exciting event of the day for me. Church bells never really ring anymore it seems (in my extensive knowledge). They have some little machine that bangs them from the inside and the bells themselves don’t swing. We could see the bells swinging. Amazing. Awesome.

One of the best things about old towns like this, and lots of France in general, is that it’s so easy to visualize how it was 100 years ago or even 500 years ago. The skylines are amazing (took a lot of pictures). When looking down an alley, it’s not like looking down a street and it goes forever with nothing interesting, it always stops or turns and at the end it seems the there is, inevitably, an amazing church spire. This is at least the case in all the centre villes (centers of town) because they were the original town and then they exploded outwards.

Meanwhile…

As they exploded outwards. They built things like Carrefour. The enormous supermarkets where Kassie, Louisa, and I ventured to find the ingredients for American pancakes. That was a challenge in itself since if it’s thicker than a crepe they don’t want it! (the unofficial tagline of the country). Also, Carrefour is so damn large that some of the employees wear roller blades. Thought that we were going to pass out from laughing internally. Tried to subtly take a picture. The first time I missed completely and the second time I forgot to turn off the flash. Curses!! Luckily my camera has a superman zoom lens so they were unable to locate the stupid American from 50 paces.

We found things and then promptly returned to my abode to make a huge mess which was all craftily erased by Mireille’s return. We hung out for a long time. Had a little sing a long. Good times.

Today we’re going to the lake near to where Louisa is staying. It’s a little cold but we’re pretty desperate for nature. And it’s finally sunny!! Get our of your pjs, Jean-Pierre, we’re going to the lake!!

Pictures and highlights to follow.

Bonne journeeeeeee

if I had the word would I use it?

10:

Number of days it took for me to finally drop a reference to the cliché “lost in translation.”

Mireille is going out on Friday night for a dinner and a chat with friends so I get the apartment to myself. She said I could do what I wanted so I’m going to have Kassie (Clarkie) and Louisa (our lovely German) over for a thoroughly American meal. (read: pancakes probably with peanut butter– applicable at any hour of the day). And wine, just because.

This country doesn’t know of the thing called “bisquick,” a petite tragedie, and does not lend itself well to description.

Later in this same profound conversation, when she said I could do what I wanted I laughed. My mom tends to say the same thing but follows it up by adding “don’t have a rager.” Have you ever tried to explain “rager” to an older French woman without an American college experience?

Later, during the same eventful dinner, she gave me a new baguette to dig into. This one was real long. I told her that sometimes at home when a baguette goes too hard my mother and/or I will pick it up and promptly begin to hit things in order to confirm it’s general state. Or we’ll feign baseball with any other poor small compact object in our kitchen that dared stray past its day of acceptable use.

I just don’t think she gets our people.

And by our people I mean the residents of chez moi, Maine.

Other highlights:

We started a new non-language course yesterday. The prof came to class wearing her [ must have been 13 year old daughter’s] shirt that said “parfaite ou Presque” (perfect or almost”) in sparkly script. Lady, there aren’t enough interesting things in any language that you can say in this world to make me not distracted by that shirt.

Monsieur Sparkly trousers set a pretty solid precedent but I’m feeling good about this.

A bientot.

faire du writing

It’s a good thing I didn’t have access to a computer yesterday between the hours of 11am and roughly 4.

I would have written something similar to the following;

GET ME THE EFF EFF EFF EFF OUT OF HERE. THIS IS NOT FUN!

If words could describe it, of course.

First wall. Ok. Over it.

Kassie and I were talking about it though because we’re having some of the same issues and it’s not that we’ve been getting worse (as it seems inside our heads) but that our standards are going up. We need to be able to do and say and understand more and right now we can’t. And since I’m known for my patience this should be great………….

I’m stepping my game up now. I borrowed a bunch of Mireille’s dictionaries and conjugation books etc etc. I also sat around in an enormous book store on the main street yesterday. Good times, good practice, cheap books. It seems rare over here that anyone publishes anything in a quality higher than those inexpensive classic type books. Excellent feature, France.

After classes yesterday, we had some fancy pants reception with the CIEF kids and the president of the university. Big stuff. She seemed nice but since I will never see her again in my life she could have been a huge jerk and I wouldn’t have really thought twice about it.

There was good food and good wine.

Today Kassie and I finally get to meet with the woman who sent us the email last week asking us if we were here. She’s giving us 15 minutes of her time to figure out the next 9 months. That would bother me more if I didn’t have 5 euros to my name and an ATM card that doesn’t work. (Mom, I’ll call). Thank goodness for credit cards and cheap bastardlyness.

On a completely different note, I think I had a dream about running last night. I haven’t run a lot here because I walk about 3 miles a day and because I don’t have that much time until after school. I also don’t dare to leave at 6:30am without telling Mireille. She would probably get very confused.

Also, have a slight mental block due to the “faire du jogging” title. Yes, now I’m going to go do some jogging. Nothing gets an athlete fired up quite like that blow to the ego. Did Paul Pierce’s host mother say “oh, Paul, are going to the Garden tonight to do some baskets?” (and we are such comparable athletes...)

There has got to be some seriously rearrangement to athletic vocabulary in this country.

Morning. Have to run (should I say jog?)

A bientot

Sunday - the guaranteed weekly cultural experience.

Lots of events. Not really that normal but these people get seriously excited about “la rentrée” or “going back to school time.” Friday night (took some pictures) there was an enormous concert in one of the who knows how many town squares with lots of fun, more people, and even more young children carrying open containers.

The main guy was Yves Jamait – no idea who he was but the girls behind us and plenty of others were very enthusiastic and knew all the words. It was very fun, catchy, and contemporary and the 4397854 confirmation that the accordion has firmly and permanently implanted itself in this culture.

Another highlight – Mireille has a small garden plot about a mile away from the apartment so we went there to pick stuff. My weight in tomatoes and lots of beans but delightful all the same. We ran into this crazy old man who has a plot next to hers (“the biggest!” he declared proudly. Declared other things – more later) and made me eat lots of cherry tomatoes without pesticides or other garden steroids (“comme les bijoux” – like jewels. Cute.). Apparently he also said some other things to me (“[I’m not going to tell her that]” – Mireille). But my hands smelled like dirt and tomatoes. Good times. Childhood memories.

More interaction with the locals the next day when Kassie, Louisa, and I discovered a big market in la place Wilson. As in our President Wilson – a bit of a mystery. We have a little research to do as to why Wilson got a large circle of ground and a fountain dedicated to him in the middle of Dijon, France. Curse Ms. Peters for retiring. My wealth of information.

Talked to a lot of people while I was there ( so much better than class!!!) and got asked a lot if I was voting for Obama or McCain. If only I could express well that I think Palin would do so much to help me and my 6 young children. No?

Did a lot of random adventuring which I don’t think Louisa is into so much (Germans are just so darn goal oriented). It was wet and cold so we went into Monoprix (Target of France maybe?) with Alex (English boy who lives with Liz) and Liz for more wandering. Louisa was long gone at this point. She was a little over it. Decided that we have a hot date to kill a 3 euro bottle of wine (let me do a little layman conversion. $5??). We’re going to do it sometime at Liz and Alex’s when their host is out. We’re convinced she’s a high class prostitute but seriously, people, the hours? The outfits?

Now it’s Sunday. France = closed. Kassie and I are going to get on the bus and ride the line until it ceases to be. Supposed to be some big commercial place. In the great American tradition they don’t have time to close. Good. Done.

Now if Kassie would just get out of bed.

Tomorrow there is a cocktail party at 4 in the afternoon for the international kids. Hmmmm. Should be notable.

A tourister in foodville. with photos.

Yesterday : A sort of eghhhhhh day.

Woke up. Rain = winter in Dijon. Barely fall? Get used to it.

Walked to school. Was asked to respond to the only homework question that I got wrong. Good thing I didn’t buy a lottery ticket.

I think I have just learned to leave in fear of academic French classes.

There is a huge mental difference between an academic French class and a class that is taught in French. We had our Approaches to French Society again. Other than it being 6 people (there’s no obligation to be there so no one goes, clearly), it was much better than the language classes. It was too bad that so few people went because the professor is really nice and, although he knows we’re not French speakers, he doesn’t speak to us as such. It’s as if as soon as someone doesn’t know, there’s so much less stress. I participated in that class alone 34873% more than all the other language classes together. Enough smart thinking. He also wears tight gold glittery pants. It was dress down thursday.

After class, Kassie, Louisa, and I traversed (slash – caught the bus) to centre ville for the second time that day. J'aime le public transport! Kassie and I try to speak French as much as possible and Louisa is a lovely nerdette to add to our little group. We’re still in mourning that she is only staying the month.

Special Section: Food highlights of the day –

Morning- yogurt here is more of less equal to very milky cheese. Yet when added over cereal (which she had to buy special for me) can be found to be quite delightful.

Convinced Mireille to try her first ever peanut butter (imported special by me. Would have left my winter coat at the gate but was in no way leaving my peanut butter) and jelly. “le buerre de cacahuetes avec la confiture?” “oui, Mireille [it’s a national treasure].” Not so over the moon for the peanut butter itself – “[it’s better with jelly]” with that sort of look on her face.

Lunch – a sandwich the length of my forearm. Excessive cheese. Randomly picked up on the street. As is done. Although the real excitement lies in the selection. The American. French fries with some deep friend semi animal product. Between a baguette. Need it. Love it. Will consume it.

A long sought after apple. Literally. Had to take a special walk for it.

Post school – something by any other name is still essentially an enormous piece of shortbread with strawberries in it. Still working on that one.

Haven’t had dinner yet. It’s 8:30. so food post school is an act of necessity.

May be going out on the town tonight for the first time. Liz, the third girl from Clark, is determined to give those Colby frosh who are missing their first semester, the real college experience. Hm, yeah, I’ll think about it.

[Meanwhile! - Amanda, guess who is in my effing class!!! Your certain former roommate Cindy!!! Hahaha. Love it.
She walked in and I knew I recognized her but there was a little bit of a displacement issue with my brain. As soon as she said “Cindy…” Can’t plan stuff like that.]

[18 hours later]

Made semi good decisions and went out on the town as it is. It was thursday and the real french kids aren't really back yet so we went to one little bar called "Freestyle". A lot of interesting punctuated by a little cheering in the corner by this random group of kids. Happy 15th birthday from us, monsieur. No, really.

yeah, weekend.

xox

legit

writing twice in one day you ask?
yes, but there are notable things I reply.

Exciting things:
-today kassie and Julie (another student at her house. from Colby. shocking.) went to school an hour early because classes started at 10 not 9 but Kassie found it all the way to my house from school. How exciting. And I discovered a trundle bed under mine. slumber party, asap.
-after classes, we went to la centre ville. We = Kassie, me, and then two other people: Louisa and Christian. Both German. Both delightful. Went intentionally with Louisa. Found Christian at the post office. He's in my class so I knew him vaguely. We asked him along. Good choice, kids.
- We walked around town and when it started pouring we found a little cafe on the square and I took a few shots of expresso (adrenaline rush = fini) for the afternoon class which was two hours. I know everyone who has ever gone to high school is laughing in my face - but two hours of France's approaches to society while heavily jet lagged?
- Class wasn't so bad! Still long as eff but I managed to pay attention pretty well for almost all of each section (they split it in hour slots) and even raised my hand. Talking. In the Big kid class. Even though it's unmercifully long, it's better than our academic French class, my personal opinion.
- Hung out and talked with Liz a little more (she's the third Clarkie - real good at French. got accepted at the Sorbonne and Clark couldn't find a way for it to work out academically for her. WOW, CLARK, REALLY?). Fun times. planning dates and fun.

Not stellar
-Our stipend checks (=money for food!) just arrived today. That's fine but the woman who is supposed to give them to us is a French woman who works at the University here. Yesterday we got an email from her. Let me paraphrase it . [email was in English] "Hi Girls, Are you here yet??" actually, no. that's all you need to know. UM YES WE ARRIVED. remember that time YOUR school started two days ago? wow. ok. give me my monies.
I'm sure she's a very nice person.

but overall, she was heavily outweighed. . c'est tout. byeee

my brain = sdfghdsvjbshj,gdfg

Empty brain. no space, no words. Maybe this is some part of the great psychological and mental transition from one culture or language to another. Yes, we’ll choose that option.

Yesterday was the first real day of classes. We went up to the office to see where the test had placed us for levels. I was in 3B (each has an A and B it seems), whatever that means. I think it goes up to 4 and then there are the kids who speak wicked good at the top. Anyway, Kassie and I are in a different level right now but, honestly, we were talking and they don’t seem to mean a lot right now. There’s a clear difference between some letters and some numbers it seems but beyond that…there are people in my group that seem to be both noticeably higher and lower than me. I guess we get tested again at the end of the month and that will be our real level.

Classes – not that crazy about them yet. Although first days tend to be awkward, chaotic city as a general rule. We learned people’s name and where they’re from. Almost every single American (a lot of us) is from New England (“pres de Boston” – close to Boston and Connecticut). The others are mostly from Asia with a very few Europeans thrown in.

On a side note – Colby is an army. They are big and they are young and they a lot of them have indicated they don’t want to be here. 20 of the 25 are first years and so that’s understandable since first semester freshman year is a fairly crucial to your developmental college childhood. They are here for a semester and have a prof here from Colby who holds their hand the entire time I guess.

Sorry, Kassie and I are clearly just a little bitter since we clearly don’t have that network of friends/people who met when they showed up in Boston and grown ups who go do everything for us. We are the grown up. The Colby kids found that absolutely astonishing. (Ok Amanda, that’s the end of my Colby semi-rant. Love you, miss you. Really just stems from confusion.)

The first two classes were two hours each and completely academically oriented which is good since a lot of rules tend to be forgotten but also frustrating since Kassie and I would much rather be walking around on the street. But these things must be done. In the afternoon we had a one hour class (thought it was two!! Best surprise ever!!) about social approaches to French culture which would have been great but, man, third day jet lag is an effin’ killer. I’ll pay better attention in class next time, mom, I promise!

That was all for academia. Ate in the cafeteria for the first time. Wow. The food was impeccable. Have to sneak in a camera. Seriously, y’all. We’re talking some serious chocolate aesthetic flair. (and we Counterpoints – Clark’s only all female a cappella - know our flair…)

Day was over. Kassie and I resolved to do something and then just went home and sat down and couldn’t move.

Maybe tomorrow.

I had to write a semi, short autobiography for my first homework.

Finally talked to my dad. Skype to landline (2 cents a minute!). Even he, as the last great technology hold outs (no, seriously. No cell phone, no email. I bookmarked Dodgers.com and he’s good to go) was truly amazed at the simplicity, clarity, and cheapness of Skype.

So technically I am away, but the fact that I can talk to my sister almost whenever I sign on email seems to be cheating. Not that she isn’t/you aren’t the light of my life elder sister. You are.

Oh, and Mireille dug out her guitar so I can play it. Niiiiiiiice. Classical. Nylon strings ‘cause I’m delicate like a flower obviously. Going to lose my calluses.

Here it’s 9am. Have language class at 10-12 on Wednesdays then 3:30 to 5:30 of the more intensive real kid classes.

Today’s task –

Make friends with the small children. Frisbee? Any 10 year old will do.

A bientot (later)