Sunday, May 10, 2009
Saturday, May 9, 2009
they don't make postcards for this
With fewer than two months before reentry to our fine republic, the internal debate over the extent to which I miss America, or not, pops up in the most unlikely of places.
Take for example:
Today I was walking through a park in Dijon on my way home at around 1:30pm. France seems to have a problem with both homeless people and grossly (in many definitions) aggressive men. When the two overlap, it sucks. There were some men sitting on a bench, enormous (presumably nearly empty) beers in hand. One of them came up to me and started telling me how beautiful I was. No good ever comes of this. Wait for it………and, voila, he asked me something wildly inappropriate.
Semi cultural problems with this situation:
My friends and I have had long discussions about how to respond to guys who clearly have no mother, sister, aunt, daughter, etc etc. Unfortunately, the one thing that stands in the way of something that hardly counts as retaliation is the possibility that we misunderstood them, that one of the words doesn’t mean what you thinks it means, etc. So that word the guy used today for example (which won’t be added to my vocabulary) always raises that tiny doubt of what he’s really saying. Call it naivety. Call it “I need to grow a pair”. But that .02% chance that I misunderstood this drunk, nasty guy all up in my face kept me from giving him the finger and saying “have a nice day” or just pushing him in the fountain.
In America, I would have had the linguistic assurance to do both of the above and still be pissed that his big splash got my canvas shoes wet. Those things take ages to dry.
40 days.
And, Mom, Happy Mothers’ Day. You’re wonderful. Hope I haven’t brought shame on the family.
Take for example:
Today I was walking through a park in Dijon on my way home at around 1:30pm. France seems to have a problem with both homeless people and grossly (in many definitions) aggressive men. When the two overlap, it sucks. There were some men sitting on a bench, enormous (presumably nearly empty) beers in hand. One of them came up to me and started telling me how beautiful I was. No good ever comes of this. Wait for it………and, voila, he asked me something wildly inappropriate.
Semi cultural problems with this situation:
My friends and I have had long discussions about how to respond to guys who clearly have no mother, sister, aunt, daughter, etc etc. Unfortunately, the one thing that stands in the way of something that hardly counts as retaliation is the possibility that we misunderstood them, that one of the words doesn’t mean what you thinks it means, etc. So that word the guy used today for example (which won’t be added to my vocabulary) always raises that tiny doubt of what he’s really saying. Call it naivety. Call it “I need to grow a pair”. But that .02% chance that I misunderstood this drunk, nasty guy all up in my face kept me from giving him the finger and saying “have a nice day” or just pushing him in the fountain.
In America, I would have had the linguistic assurance to do both of the above and still be pissed that his big splash got my canvas shoes wet. Those things take ages to dry.
40 days.
And, Mom, Happy Mothers’ Day. You’re wonderful. Hope I haven’t brought shame on the family.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Cultural fun times. that's sarcastic. you should keep reading.
Hi hello,
It’s early in the morning and I should leave for class soon but exciting things have finally been se derouling as these people would say.
So, as some of you might have seen around the news since the proportions are now reaching an epic level – seriously -, the university strike in France is stillllllllllllllll going on. This makes since the beginning of this semester. Some university students are yet to have classes in their second semester. Needless to say, if I were that kid who was supposed to be taking exams to determine my life long position in society, I’d be peeing my pants a little. In France, students have to take a test that laughs in the SATs face, both in importance and depth of knowledge. Not to knock the SATs, but they happen at the end of high school – period - and if you do poorly, for the most part, it doesn’t bring shame on the family or determine if you deserve to be educated further. There is far more to the French system about which we have received hours and hours and hours of lecture so let us skip to the more interesting stuff.
Historically, French education is completely independent of government. Hypothetically, there is to be no political discussion on campus, political groups, and the government doesn’t interfere in the goings on. This is roughly a millennial old system. 900 years give or take or give and give. Now Sarkozy is a little over that. Instead of equal state funding across the board, in the area of research and professor/researchers, the output of data and results will determine levels of funding. This will then lead to universities linking to private companies for economic reasons, and this will create a hierarchy, and some prof/researchers will clearly have more resources time/less stress to pump out results than others. Also, many fields of science take time to complete (social sciences etc) so people can’t just pump out solid results. Oh. And education isn’t going to be FREE anymore.
All hell has kind of broken loose. The strike of students and prof/researchers has elevated from crankyness and refusal to go to class to a stealing of all chairs in the buildings to constructing all those chairs in front of every single entrance. (My host, a secretary at the uni, whose work doesn’t strike, enters via windows. No BS.)
Another thousand year old separation of education and government sets the campus as a sanctuary. Basically if you’re looking for your friendly neighborhood drug dealer or your illegal immigrants, check out your local campus because the police presence isn’t allowed without permission from the president of the school. So recently, the president has announced that there will be police intervention to put an end of the blockage. This is big. Real real big.
Alright – have to get going. To be continued. Just a cultural fun fact. And by fun I mean I may be digging out my tear gas mask.
By for nowwwwww
It’s early in the morning and I should leave for class soon but exciting things have finally been se derouling as these people would say.
So, as some of you might have seen around the news since the proportions are now reaching an epic level – seriously -, the university strike in France is stillllllllllllllll going on. This makes since the beginning of this semester. Some university students are yet to have classes in their second semester. Needless to say, if I were that kid who was supposed to be taking exams to determine my life long position in society, I’d be peeing my pants a little. In France, students have to take a test that laughs in the SATs face, both in importance and depth of knowledge. Not to knock the SATs, but they happen at the end of high school – period - and if you do poorly, for the most part, it doesn’t bring shame on the family or determine if you deserve to be educated further. There is far more to the French system about which we have received hours and hours and hours of lecture so let us skip to the more interesting stuff.
Historically, French education is completely independent of government. Hypothetically, there is to be no political discussion on campus, political groups, and the government doesn’t interfere in the goings on. This is roughly a millennial old system. 900 years give or take or give and give. Now Sarkozy is a little over that. Instead of equal state funding across the board, in the area of research and professor/researchers, the output of data and results will determine levels of funding. This will then lead to universities linking to private companies for economic reasons, and this will create a hierarchy, and some prof/researchers will clearly have more resources time/less stress to pump out results than others. Also, many fields of science take time to complete (social sciences etc) so people can’t just pump out solid results. Oh. And education isn’t going to be FREE anymore.
All hell has kind of broken loose. The strike of students and prof/researchers has elevated from crankyness and refusal to go to class to a stealing of all chairs in the buildings to constructing all those chairs in front of every single entrance. (My host, a secretary at the uni, whose work doesn’t strike, enters via windows. No BS.)
Another thousand year old separation of education and government sets the campus as a sanctuary. Basically if you’re looking for your friendly neighborhood drug dealer or your illegal immigrants, check out your local campus because the police presence isn’t allowed without permission from the president of the school. So recently, the president has announced that there will be police intervention to put an end of the blockage. This is big. Real real big.
Alright – have to get going. To be continued. Just a cultural fun fact. And by fun I mean I may be digging out my tear gas mask.
By for nowwwwww
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
I hope we can still be friends!
hello.thanks for coming back
since i am
HORRIBLE AT UPDATING AND IT HAS BEEN AN ETERNITY.
this is a desperate call for bullet points -
as follows
- still doing baseball! but I am in the midst of three weekends away so, since they practice on weekends, they will (also?) think that I've fallen off the planet. It's too bad too because it's just getting nice enough to play outside. today it only a balmy 40 degrees (feels like 33. you don't have to rub it in, weather.com) but in the past it has been almost 55 or 60 here in dijon. and oh did I mention SUNNY!? (the lack of updating is going to lead to gratuitous capslock to catch up on the absence of excitement) Without fail, the sun dictates my mood. And it's much much appreciated.
-Speaking of warm weather and amazing things, I went to the Nice in the south of France for the first time 3 weeks ago to meet my SIIIIISTER.
it was a joyous reunion of course with much rowdy, boisterous redheadedness in the cutest gosh, darn little apartment ever that Annie and Andrea (a delightful, and regretably - sorry Andrea - second billed part of this post) had found. Andrea was an excellent melange of good times and hilarity and was also responsible for our foodie choices. She didn't let us down. We also found that it's the smallest world in the world and her boyfriend is a Brown Derby - wicked good a cappella from Brown - who came to be a part of Counterpoints fall concert two years ago.So when we were done relaxing and drinking wine for five minutes, we decided we should leave the apartment and a demanding schedule of one euro bus trips to unreal places ensued. Honestly, I can't very much remember the names because I just got back from the trip this weekend with the CIEF to Provence. It was very close, and similar but there was an unfortunate lack of sibling.
But for amusing stories - our attempt to run one morning. It was basically a photo session so Annie could capture the image of running off the side of the world into the Mediterranean. Also - going up and town this epic stair case up a mountain for the AMAZING view. TWICE.
a lot of the hilarity came from Andrea's fairly perfected soccer mom walk. I respect that. She tried to teach Annie but, as a student, I really think she could have done better.
In addition, I also managed to get the world (read: my sister and almost Andrea who had good instincts to stay in bed) up at the pre-crack of dawn on the day that was NOT daylight saving spring back. aweeeeeeesome. this marks the second time change in France that I have messed up. Seeing as there is the real spring back approaching in a week or so, this will give me the ability to redeem myself to hereby declare my time change incompetence.
There was also that time that Annie did a little something like this.
This is us in Monaco (in which we had fun times making a general mockery of their existence. There cannons are also broken and slightly outdated. should we tell them?) where my sister unknowingly stood befind the one sided sign that clearly stated "PELOUSE INTERDITE!" aka stay off the grass. I turned around, saw her and it was a "wait! man, you can't plan this...But on the bright side, my time change management mishaps led to us getting an extra hour on the day. It was also amusing (to me?) because we totally went with the supposed time change for a few hours and slowly we started to see more and more official clocks that "hadn't changed yet" until finally I entered into some butcher shop and asked this incredulous old French man what time it was. Annie said I should have asked him the year too and played a general amnesia card.
Then they left. And it was sad.
- Two weeks of beautiful weather but really really over school. Staying motivated. She said optimistically.
- Then two weeks later, I completely forgot that we were going to the south again with the CIEF so got to stick my feet in the [mothereffing cold] Mediterranean again. there were also these winds called the Mistrales - that we were told literally render people insane - that were so strong it was out of control. We were at the to
p of this enormous ancient roman amphitheatre and I was literally holding on. To the left is one attempt to capture wind in a physical sense. That's hard to do. The weather was beautiful all three days, a redeeming result of the wind, but we had a marathon of four towns to see on Saturday so we spent most of the time laying in the sun to both relax and lay as close to the ground as possible to get out of the wind. All this was perfectly fine on all counts and so warm and gorgeous.There are also many other things done that I could not very well describe so "voila" as millions of french once said.
the big coliseum below is just that. a big coliseum. the Romans built it and it's impressive and attractively lit at night times.
The enormous bridge is also the Romans' fault but also an aquaduct, the Pont-du-Gard. Enormous and impresive. Also wonderfully blue river flows underneath it which isn't seen in the picture. Being a tourist here was amazing because you can basically run anywhere through the woods until you come out in a wonderful clearing like this. That wouldn't fly in America. The chair and stainglass picture just makes more testement to my addiction to colored glass and the way it sure can spruce up a boring old church. Just kidding. Churches are not boring. In fact, sometimes I have church envy. As in people who go. Because it's pretty and a great way of life (in theory). The last picture is a cat who was so into us. We stopped to ooh and ahh and it wouldn't leave us alone. A-dorable.
Well until next time. There will be pictures and tales from Ireland, where I am spending 5 days and 4 nights in Dublin (and wherever the cheapest train tickets will take us!) with Beth, Carin, and Kristin!!!!! Yeah Auburn homies!
Carin also just let us know that the final night of our hostel stay has been upgraded to the pent house. Awesomeeeee. I have no idea what a pent house in a hostel entails but if you tune in next week when I will not have disappeared again, you will surely find out!!
good times and sunshine.
thanks for reading.
byee
Thursday, January 29, 2009
lack of witty title in a non-ironic way
It’s been about 28 days and this journal won’t write itself no matter how long I wait so here we are. Happy Strike. (not to be confused with the rampant baseball references/visual) Today started one of the big national ones. Sometimes there will just be smaller more focused strikes but this is for all the marbles although I admittedly still don’t know what the marbles are. When the declining mustard companies, education systems, transportation network etc all strike at the same time it’s hard to figure the goal out. It happens one day at a time so it’s France’s equivalent of a snow day. Wake up and listen to the radio, kids. This morning I was supposed to have a class and, in my naivety, showed up. Well, guess I needed the exercise… 
(Clever transition) So, very happy that I joined baseball. A way to meet people, take up the time, get some exercise… The
pressure (all self imposed without a doubt) was a little intense when I
started because of the American stereotypes which equaled me
(obviously) being awesome at the sport. If I had been wheeled in as a torso with a US passport strapped to my chest I might have still been told to hit the mound. This past weekend, I was happy to go with them to Lyon to chaperone two younger girls, 11 or 12. They are two among about 6 or 7 boys. They had an indoor tournament and it was so crazy to watch. The age range of these teams was fairly ambiguous so some kids could have sat in their gloves and others could have eaten these young unfortunates for breakfast.
(Clever transition) So, very happy that I joined baseball. A way to meet people, take up the time, get some exercise… Thepressure (all self imposed without a doubt) was a little intense when I
started because of the American stereotypes which equaled me
(obviously) being awesome at the sport. If I had been wheeled in as a torso with a US passport strapped to my chest I might have still been told to hit the mound. This past weekend, I was happy to go with them to Lyon to chaperone two younger girls, 11 or 12. They are two among about 6 or 7 boys. They had an indoor tournament and it was so crazy to watch. The age range of these teams was fairly ambiguous so some kids could have sat in their gloves and others could have eaten these young unfortunates for breakfast.
There was this one “big kid” team that all the other teams were terrified of. They were 
impeccably dressed and looked real hardcore. My expert analysis: This perceived evil empire could have been trounced by any decent American freshman team. I’m not trying to be all judge-y. If I picked up a cricket bat for the first time at 14, I’d probably end up hitting myself in the face or something. The
other highlight was sitting in the hall playing poker with the
coaches/dads making sure all the kiddies stayed in their room. They were nice. But in more important news, I ejected three of them by going “all in”. Hey, if I wasn’t going to drink the beer, I had to prove my worthiness somehow. They
very generously invited me to their Superbowl party which is happening
the Tuesday after the game because it airs live here at midnight and
they have to work the next day. It was officially be my first Superbowl Tuesday. My ticket of entry is a cheesecake. This
could be difficult since I am living in a kitchen equipped with one
measuring utensil and a spoon in a country where cream cheese doesn’t
really exist. I’ll let you know how that works out.
impeccably dressed and looked real hardcore. My expert analysis: This perceived evil empire could have been trounced by any decent American freshman team. I’m not trying to be all judge-y. If I picked up a cricket bat for the first time at 14, I’d probably end up hitting myself in the face or something. Theother highlight was sitting in the hall playing poker with the
coaches/dads making sure all the kiddies stayed in their room. They were nice. But in more important news, I ejected three of them by going “all in”. Hey, if I wasn’t going to drink the beer, I had to prove my worthiness somehow. They
very generously invited me to their Superbowl party which is happening
the Tuesday after the game because it airs live here at midnight and
they have to work the next day. It was officially be my first Superbowl Tuesday. My ticket of entry is a cheesecake. This
could be difficult since I am living in a kitchen equipped with one
measuring utensil and a spoon in a country where cream cheese doesn’t
really exist. I’ll let you know how that works out.
Shortly before that, one certain president elect seems to have been sworn in. I was recruited by the TV channel France 3 to be on a panel of Americans to talk about it. Irony of ironies, I missed the inauguration because I was doing this. Was
a little annoyed about that but France 3 is pretty big kid stuff
(national, big elaborate stage set up, etc etc) so it’s cultural. The C word. Although
I looked completely foolish because I was the first to speak in the
panel of 3 and didn’t realize I had one opportunity to speak. So I said stupid, inconsequential things and then the two remaining talked for 15 minutes on significant subjects. Oops. One of the guys doing it was an older American guy who has been living in France for the past 30 years. This summer, he is holding a France/American festival in Dijon. He
knows all these amazing people (including the White House’s pastry chef
who was entirely over making peanut butter cookies for Bush) so I’m
disappointed to be missing it. Other than that, just bought tickets to go visit the esteeeemed elder sister down in Nice in March! Fun effing times. Cannot wait. Also, the other Clarkies arrived (two) with our director and a Clark French prof. They took us to a super classy French restaurant. It
was the height of finals so it was nice to have a distraction away from
grammar, which had been aggressively over studied at that point. It was bizarre to see a little slice of the Woo (glorious Worcester, MA). I can’t get it through my head that it’s second semester, which makes sense since I still forget I’m in France from time to time, but we graduated from the first semester. We moved onto level 6 – the highest before they say “ok, you learned French. Stop being a wuss and go learn with the big kids.” Unfortunately,
we still have the exact same teachers for the exact same courses in the
exact same classroom with the exact same people. Sorry. Was that overkill? Hey there, Debbie Downer. But
can’t you leave you on that – can’t currently think of any stories that
exemplify my foolishness but that means tomorrow I will obviously fall
in a fountain or something. Maybe some angry mustard man will push me. Hey, buddy, I’m with you. As a ketchup connoisseur, you supply a very important half of my culinary delights. Ketchup with mustard. Can’t beat it.
a little annoyed about that but France 3 is pretty big kid stuff
(national, big elaborate stage set up, etc etc) so it’s cultural. The C word. Although
I looked completely foolish because I was the first to speak in the
panel of 3 and didn’t realize I had one opportunity to speak. So I said stupid, inconsequential things and then the two remaining talked for 15 minutes on significant subjects. Oops. One of the guys doing it was an older American guy who has been living in France for the past 30 years. This summer, he is holding a France/American festival in Dijon. He
knows all these amazing people (including the White House’s pastry chef
who was entirely over making peanut butter cookies for Bush) so I’m
disappointed to be missing it. Other than that, just bought tickets to go visit the esteeeemed elder sister down in Nice in March! Fun effing times. Cannot wait. Also, the other Clarkies arrived (two) with our director and a Clark French prof. They took us to a super classy French restaurant. It
was the height of finals so it was nice to have a distraction away from
grammar, which had been aggressively over studied at that point. It was bizarre to see a little slice of the Woo (glorious Worcester, MA). I can’t get it through my head that it’s second semester, which makes sense since I still forget I’m in France from time to time, but we graduated from the first semester. We moved onto level 6 – the highest before they say “ok, you learned French. Stop being a wuss and go learn with the big kids.” Unfortunately,
we still have the exact same teachers for the exact same courses in the
exact same classroom with the exact same people. Sorry. Was that overkill? Hey there, Debbie Downer. But
can’t you leave you on that – can’t currently think of any stories that
exemplify my foolishness but that means tomorrow I will obviously fall
in a fountain or something. Maybe some angry mustard man will push me. Hey, buddy, I’m with you. As a ketchup connoisseur, you supply a very important half of my culinary delights. Ketchup with mustard. Can’t beat it.
Friday, January 2, 2009
"It's New Years Eve. They couldn't just find something to blow up?" guest starring my mother
Hello and welcome to your [insert time frame] visit to the recountings of the generally indirectly self inflicted events of my life. This week, we have with us a special guest: my mother, all the way from Maine giving quality time and leaving the precious slopes to visit her youngest offspring.
Dec 26th-27th
Paris: So. effing. Cold. After trying to be clever, it took us an hour and a half to find our way out of the train station. Don’t worry about giving us any benefit of the doubt. There’s one front door. And that’s the one we wanted. A distance away, we proceeded to find our little rented apartment after a mishap which landed us at the absolute end of a bus route on which we had intended to go in the exact opposite direction. Hello, taxi. The driver dropped us off at the “end of the road” that we were looking for. Therefore, it only took us 45 minutes before we actually set foot across the threshold. Think we maybe went out later but, not being unparalleled party animals, didn’t see any time after about 9:00pm.
Woke up the next morning. Coffee! that was made. And the coffee fountain sprung from the kitchen as we pranced and sang and the little American coffee cherubs played their small, gently tinkling instruments. Conclusion: we didn’t have to buy 14 shots/40 euros of French coffee each morning. “Dependent” you say? “I tried to cut down but life just wasn’t a good time” I say.
After I waited for my mother to don every skiing layer that she had thrown in as an afterthought, we went to some big impressive church. This was far from our neighborhood in which we tried not to disturb the calls to prayer and learned that the going rate for a prayer mat is 9-19 euros. Notre Dame gave us our particular calling this morning. Still pretty. But, altogether, “moving on” said the young anti-tourist cynically, thinking of the benefits of learning to speak a Spanish dialect (preferably southern) as the cold slapped her up one side and down the other.
Dec 28th-29th
Dijon. We arrive. Conditions: still cold but we're good. Took a walking tour (read: Sunday. No bus for 45 minutes) back to my abode. Mom met Mireille and I proceeded to try to facilitate a very semi bilingual discussion. I think it’s time to go now. We headed to the Dijon Museum of Fine Art. A little embarrassed to say it was basically my first time. (I had done the self guided ADHD tour some months ago.) It was fine and artistic.
We returned to the flat for a meal that Mireille had prepared for us and some friends of hers who spoke English. It was good. They were nice. She only mentioned twice that I sit in my room and am not part of the Franco/English Club. Memo: meeting Anglophones has not been a problem. Whatever. Over it.
The next day was a very biased tour of Dijon. Highlights. The Chouette carved into the side of Notre Dame which is supposed to be rubbed for good luck. It’s supposed to be rubbed with a certain hand but I think I told my mom the wrong hand. Sorry. There were only 3 days left in the year anyway. Then off to The Unicorn for the best crepes in town. Having suddenly become an avid Nutella fan, my mother began a quest for a container. And by quest I mean we went to Monoprix, your all basic needs semi department store. Also stocked up on some “regional products.” There are now multiple jars of cassis (red syrupy stuff of a berry whose name I can never remember which is very famous here) in my mother’s luggage. If any of them break, there is no way she’s going to make it across the border save handcuffed to a seat. Hope she rubbed that chouette with the correct hand.
Dec 29th-31st
We headed back to Paris. Ended up in the apartment where we played a rowdy game of Phase 10 Dice and then passed out. Vacation is awesome. (serious)
Woke up. Drank coffee. Went to the Louvre which was closed that day of the week. Moved on to something else I forget. At some point we did the Place de la Concorde up the Champs de l’Elysees and then the Arc de Triumphe and then over to the Eiffel Tower. It was raining, harder at some times than others. Life became considerably less pleasant so we headed over to this shopping place to hunt down some French requests for those on the homeland. Couldn’t find anything and my really trendy canvas shoes were soaked and my improvised babushka head wrap was soggy. Yeah, we were about over that day. Headed home. More fun and games and tea.
The next morning, we woke up early to beat the crowds (HAHAHA) to the Louvre. Good try though.
We saw, from 50 paces, the Mona Lisa while standing next to another American girl whose direct quote was “it’s small and ugly. Can we go?” While I’ve heard more eloquent things in my life, the girl had a point. I wonder what purpose plays the piece on the opposite wall of the gallery. It’s about 50 feet wide and 30 tall and has the most unbelievable range of people, color and action. Interesting choice of contrast. 
Dec 26th-27th
Paris: So. effing. Cold. After trying to be clever, it took us an hour and a half to find our way out of the train station. Don’t worry about giving us any benefit of the doubt. There’s one front door. And that’s the one we wanted. A distance away, we proceeded to find our little rented apartment after a mishap which landed us at the absolute end of a bus route on which we had intended to go in the exact opposite direction. Hello, taxi. The driver dropped us off at the “end of the road” that we were looking for. Therefore, it only took us 45 minutes before we actually set foot across the threshold. Think we maybe went out later but, not being unparalleled party animals, didn’t see any time after about 9:00pm.
Woke up the next morning. Coffee! that was made. And the coffee fountain sprung from the kitchen as we pranced and sang and the little American coffee cherubs played their small, gently tinkling instruments. Conclusion: we didn’t have to buy 14 shots/40 euros of French coffee each morning. “Dependent” you say? “I tried to cut down but life just wasn’t a good time” I say.
After I waited for my mother to don every skiing layer that she had thrown in as an afterthought, we went to some big impressive church. This was far from our neighborhood in which we tried not to disturb the calls to prayer and learned that the going rate for a prayer mat is 9-19 euros. Notre Dame gave us our particular calling this morning. Still pretty. But, altogether, “moving on” said the young anti-tourist cynically, thinking of the benefits of learning to speak a Spanish dialect (preferably southern) as the cold slapped her up one side and down the other.
Dec 28th-29th
Dijon. We arrive. Conditions: still cold but we're good. Took a walking tour (read: Sunday. No bus for 45 minutes) back to my abode. Mom met Mireille and I proceeded to try to facilitate a very semi bilingual discussion. I think it’s time to go now. We headed to the Dijon Museum of Fine Art. A little embarrassed to say it was basically my first time. (I had done the self guided ADHD tour some months ago.) It was fine and artistic.
We returned to the flat for a meal that Mireille had prepared for us and some friends of hers who spoke English. It was good. They were nice. She only mentioned twice that I sit in my room and am not part of the Franco/English Club. Memo: meeting Anglophones has not been a problem. Whatever. Over it.
The next day was a very biased tour of Dijon. Highlights. The Chouette carved into the side of Notre Dame which is supposed to be rubbed for good luck. It’s supposed to be rubbed with a certain hand but I think I told my mom the wrong hand. Sorry. There were only 3 days left in the year anyway. Then off to The Unicorn for the best crepes in town. Having suddenly become an avid Nutella fan, my mother began a quest for a container. And by quest I mean we went to Monoprix, your all basic needs semi department store. Also stocked up on some “regional products.” There are now multiple jars of cassis (red syrupy stuff of a berry whose name I can never remember which is very famous here) in my mother’s luggage. If any of them break, there is no way she’s going to make it across the border save handcuffed to a seat. Hope she rubbed that chouette with the correct hand.
Dec 29th-31st
We headed back to Paris. Ended up in the apartment where we played a rowdy game of Phase 10 Dice and then passed out. Vacation is awesome. (serious)
Woke up. Drank coffee. Went to the Louvre which was closed that day of the week. Moved on to something else I forget. At some point we did the Place de la Concorde up the Champs de l’Elysees and then the Arc de Triumphe and then over to the Eiffel Tower. It was raining, harder at some times than others. Life became considerably less pleasant so we headed over to this shopping place to hunt down some French requests for those on the homeland. Couldn’t find anything and my really trendy canvas shoes were soaked and my improvised babushka head wrap was soggy. Yeah, we were about over that day. Headed home. More fun and games and tea.
The next morning, we woke up early to beat the crowds (HAHAHA) to the Louvre. Good try though.
We saw, from 50 paces, the Mona Lisa while standing next to another American girl whose direct quote was “it’s small and ugly. Can we go?” While I’ve heard more eloquent things in my life, the girl had a point. I wonder what purpose plays the piece on the opposite wall of the gallery. It’s about 50 feet wide and 30 tall and has the most unbelievable range of people, color and action. Interesting choice of contrast. 
Later when we got sick of the 18 Jesus galleries, we ran through a little Egyptian and then to the bookstore just for kicks. If you’re asked, the going rate for a life size reproduction of Venus by Michelangelo is 6,500 euros.
It was mercifully warm so we headed up to Montmartre and Sacre Coeur and did some walk about, 5/6 of which was stairs up to the church. Sadly, they’ve shut off the Amelie bits but you can still see them. We walked around Montmartre for a little and bought my sister an awesomely tacky French shopping bag. (You’ll use it and you’ll love it!).
We went back to the apartment to gather our spirits and our wits to mentally prepare for what we thought was going to be an epic ringing in of the New Years in Paris, France. Frankly, I think that we were misled by the cops on the streets. They were already dressed in full riot gear and had clearly gotten the inspiration of their armor from the larger of the shelled dinosaurs. We ate dinner and then headed onto more walk from the Louvre up the Champs de l’Elysees to the Arc de Triumphe to the Eiffel Tour.
It was mercifully warm so we headed up to Montmartre and Sacre Coeur and did some walk about, 5/6 of which was stairs up to the church. Sadly, they’ve shut off the Amelie bits but you can still see them. We walked around Montmartre for a little and bought my sister an awesomely tacky French shopping bag. (You’ll use it and you’ll love it!).
We went back to the apartment to gather our spirits and our wits to mentally prepare for what we thought was going to be an epic ringing in of the New Years in Paris, France. Frankly, I think that we were misled by the cops on the streets. They were already dressed in full riot gear and had clearly gotten the inspiration of their armor from the larger of the shelled dinosaurs. We ate dinner and then headed onto more walk from the Louvre up the Champs de l’Elysees to the Arc de Triumphe to the Eiffel Tour.
When we got there, there were throngs of those preparing, we took far too many pictures of the Eiffel Tower, and then we decided to escape from that mass to the next. To make an already long story a little longer, we walked about 5 more miles before midnight, we requested the usage of the bathroom in a café at the Louvre in which we were promptly sneered at. Just because they couldn’t see their reflection in my gritty chucks and the enormous yarn pom pom on my hat didn’t match their gold gilded upholstery…Ok, but really, who thought that was a good idea? Our final resting place for the unfolding of events was Place de la Concorde. 
Hate to make it terribly anticlimactic but at one point around midnight the Eiffel Tower starting sparkling. So does that mean it’s almost midnight? Or exactly? Or the new year? You can’t muster up one or two state supported, legal fireworks to specify such news? So I guess that makes me jaded, cynical and/or just a huge snob but congratulations, Auburn, Maine, your fireworks currently stand ahead of the Parisian New Years fireworks display (which I guess technically doesn’t exist but it should so we’re going throw it in the competition.) Forgot to make a resolution but had already lit a candle for world peace and rubbed the chouette so, whatevs.
January 1st, 2009.
Got up. Drank coffee. Found that our baggage was now significantly fuller. Bid a kind and gentle adieu to our fine little apartment. And then a kind adieu to each other and proceeded to arrive back into the arms of my beloved Dijon. (have no idea with what sentiments that phrase is typed. Ask me again in May).
It was fun, Mom. Glad that you came.
(And she said explicitly that I mut tell any of my home friends that they must go visit her if they are in town. If you see her in the streets after not heeding this advice - you've been warned.
Hope you had a good New Years. Thanks for reading.
January 1st, 2009.
Got up. Drank coffee. Found that our baggage was now significantly fuller. Bid a kind and gentle adieu to our fine little apartment. And then a kind adieu to each other and proceeded to arrive back into the arms of my beloved Dijon. (have no idea with what sentiments that phrase is typed. Ask me again in May).
It was fun, Mom. Glad that you came.
(And she said explicitly that I mut tell any of my home friends that they must go visit her if they are in town. If you see her in the streets after not heeding this advice - you've been warned.
Hope you had a good New Years. Thanks for reading.
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