lundi, novembre 28, 2005




First Thanksgiving, attack on Rachelle (who was making the Thanksgiving pies), and Thanksgiving snow at Bocuse.

I have made my very first Thanksgiving meal on my own, and Real.French.People. ate it. So there. I also ate Thanksgiving at Bocuse. So there again.

lundi, novembre 14, 2005

Harry Potter taught me French and other thoughts

You never really realize how much you love and rely on public transportation until it’s, oh, cut off at 6pm. Come back TCL! I won’t throw bombs at you! Not that anyone did throw bombs, in case you were wondering. Thankyouverymuch American medias, for blowing the situation out of proportion. A special shout-out here to Fox News for comparing the suburbs of Paris to Baghdad. Because that’s true. Oh wait, it’s not.

I was recently an innocent victim of that ever-present “confusion about French national holidays, what we’re actually celebrating, and do I have to go to work?” Last week I discovered that I didn’t have to teach at Chevreul on Friday, due to some holiday that was explained to me but which I promptly forgot. A little confused, I asked Laurie if Lyon 2 was open that day, thinking that I would get a half-day from the lack of Chevreul and then drag myself to the Centre Oregon to pull my afternoon shift. She then kindly explained that no, Lyon 2 was not open because the 11th was a National Holiday. Wow, I thought- another National Holiday, and right after Toussaint too! This National Holiday was, in fact, the Armistace 1918, where we celebrate the end of World War I. (side note- when I was little I thought that you said “war war” and not “world war.” I thought that saying “war” twice implied the gravity of the war. It took me a long time to realize my mistake) This made me happy to be in France, as no way would we get this day off in the States. Or so I thought, until I realized that November 11th in the States is Veterans’ Day, which celebrates a pretty similar thing. Yet another occurrence of “countries that celebrate pretty much the same thing but call it by different names to confuse poor foreigners living abroad.”

I’m going to watch part of Pieces of April, and then come back and finish writing. It’s getting harder to write in English, not because I can’t speak English anymore, but because I keep wanting to put direct French translations of things, which would mean nothing in English. Sorry.

Ok, I’m back. I may be showing part of the movie in a class I’m teaching this week and next, since we’re probably going to be talking about Thanksgiving. They probably here about it from every English assistant, so I’m trying to find a new angle. Which may or may not include “let’s watch part of Gina’s favorite movie!”

Anyway, this holiday weekend turned out to be a winner. Friday I went to a friend’s birthday celebration at a bar that just happened to be on a boat. Besides the fact that Marc and I needed a long time to figure out how to actually get down to the quai since everything is under construction, it was lovely and I was happy to be the youngest at something. What a crazy group of internationals we were, and did I mention that we were on a boat? Saturday afternoon I had a humongous and wonderful lunch at Debeaux, the patisserie owned by one of my landlord’s brother. I was a good pretend-French girl and sat there for two and a half splendid hours, ending with a tour of the patisserie-making area. And yes, Sarah, we’re going back, I already told them that you’re coming. After shopping for Christmas decorations with my roommate proved futile- too many people!- a few friends showed up at my place to knit and make dinner and bake. (And yes, SHUT UP about the Christmas thing- there is no Thanksgiving here, so it’s already Christmas season. So there). Baking was provided by my new oven, which I love so much I want to send it a card. After the year and a half it took to cook what we deemed a metric-shit-ton of potatoes for the mashed potatoes we were ready for dinner. Good thing we had bought those butter cookies. And that wine. The evening didn’t so much disintegrate as get more and more interesting. At one point I was sitting on my kitchen floor, distressed, and trying to understand what seemed to be a text message in code, but turned out to be, well, phonetic? (And yes, after drinking a few glasses of wine I was almost yelling “oh my GOD- it’s in code!) Shouldn’t real French people know not to send me messages like this? Mandee contributed to the de-coding with her knowledge of “French words I learned from reading Harry Potter.” Normally this would be wonderful, but unfortunately this time it led to a misunderstanding where I thought that someone wanted to take revenge on me. After much distress, I finally looked up the expression in my dictionary and learned that it did not imply vengeance, but rather that said person just wanted to see me again. Crisis averted. It was at this point that Mandee and Maria suggested that I drop my entire current MA essay and write instead on the culture of text-messaging in France. Or how to write in code. I swear, I could totally be on Alias now. Not that I can ever see Alias. But I’d be such a great spy, and Jennifer Garner and I could be best friends.

Anyone who can explain to me why I just made MORE coffee wins a cookie (cookie to be provided by you). Perhaps it’s because of the new addition to my life, the best friend of the mini-four (oh baked goodness!), the just-like-I-had-in-the-States-regular-sized coffee pot. Don’t get me wrong, I was fine without one. As addicted as I am to coffee, (and not one of you can deny this fact, traceable back to my first study abroad and my days at the College Days) I have not been the girl screaming “Where the fuck is my grande extra-hot skinny latte?” I have been drinking my espresso like a good girl. Sometimes I’ve even added sugar, possibly due to the allure of the ever-present sugar cube (I swear, I am THE person that people market to. Just ask me about the Stella McCartney H&M experience). But when mom showed up and offered to add a coffee pot to my existence here, I wasn’t going to say no. Since then it’s been earning its keep, just as all of my former pots did, but this time filled with Carte Noir and drunk out of tea-cups because I.have.no.coffee.mugs. Actually, I own approximately a zillion, but they’re all in the States. Anyone want to send me my brand-new-never-been-used-since-I-bought-it-at-Anthropologie chocolate cupcake mug? Cause that would be great here. It’s green, in case anyone forgot.

Note to everyone- if you are one of those people who mentioned at one time or another that you might want to come and visit, please let me know when this potential visit would be. I’m looking at breaks and weekends and visits and trying to figure out who will be where when. And if there’s a fight for a certain week I’m totally refereeing it. I’ll even get a whistle.

I finally made it to the Middle Ages! or How I spent my Toussaint vacation

So, a bit ago I went on a trip. Remember? With my mom? I even showed you some pictures. But I never really told you what went down. Because really, if I wrote a huge, long, book-length version of the visit, would any of you even read it? I totally wouldn’t. So I thought you might like some highlights more. I promise to tell mostly the truth, and only include a few made-up events. Or none. You know, whichever.

*It only took two French degrees, but yes, mes amis, I have finally done it. I have visited Notre Dame de Paris. Twice, even. It’s so much more beautiful than I ever could have imagined, even after having read so much about it. It was also great to actually know a lot about the history of the cathedral and be able to share it with Mom, who even if she already knew it, pretended to be learning something from me.

*We ate some of the best food ever. Les Jumeaux, where Mom and I ate three years ago, is still marvelous, and I would gladly eat there every single day if it were a possibility. We also discovered the cafeteria at BHV, which pretty much rocks.

*Not only did we go to the Comédie Française, but we say Le Cid, which some of you may remember from a class I took freshman year of college and from my MA exams. What luck to not only be able to get tickets to see the company, but also to be able to see something I was familiar with. Mom was astonished at how different the story was from the original Cid, favorite of Spanish majors everywhere, but still enjoyed the show and seeing the chair Molière died in. No, really. I swear.

*Before said performance, we saw the Koppischs, friends of the family since before I was born. They happen to be living in Paris for a few months, and serendipitously had tickets for the exact same play as we did. I have really strong memories of growing up around them and it was great to catch up and to get to talk to them as an adult and not a little kid playing with their cat.

*I had coffee with Andrew Byrd-not-the-indie-rock-band, formerly of the Centre Oregon, now of an Urban Planning Masters in Paris. I also brought him his mail from Lyon. I should do this postgirl job more if it means that I get to go to Paris.

*Berthillon, where I have sent every single one of my friends and students who’ve studied abroad was CLOSED. I nearly had a nervous breakdown. Then we went to Amorino instead, which I had read about on Chocolate and Zucchini. First off, anyone who makes their gelato scoops into the shape of flowers wins my affection automatically. Second, wow. Once again, a place I would go every day if possible. But I’d have to walk a lot, because eating gelato every day probably wouldn’t be the best for my figure.

*We saw poor gnomes in jail.

*While we were in Lyon, Mom met several of my friends, including the posse. The funny part is that we ran into everyone on the street (except Mandee and Maria, who we ran into on an escalator in the train station). No plans were made, except to see Marc. Mom met her picture-taking match when it took several minutes to get a picture because I couldn’t stop laughing and neither Marc nor I would look at the camera.

*Mom made me go to the doctor. I then paid six euros for the visit, and seven for my antibiotics. The antibiotics price was without my insurance kicking in. I love socialist medicine.

*We had drinks with Dante and Steven, my landlords, who are the best.ever. Mom and Dante decided that my future-make-believe-wedding will take place at Debeaux, Dante’s brother’s patisserie. Too bad I don’t even have a boyfriend. Mom also met Lucie (known in these parts as Lulu), their cat, who sometimes wanders into my apartment through the skylight. It was determined that I could have a pet if Sylvain said it was ok (and he did).

*Mom successfully rented a car and used it to pick me up from work at Chevreul. Those one-way streets were killer, though. We then took said car (not a Mercedes this time) to Provence.

*In Vaison-le-Romain we stayed in an old belfray. From the MIDDLE AGES. I felt like we had gone back to the Middle Ages, actually, and was quite happy about it. If I had been more lucid I might have even recited some troubadour poetry. Unfortunately, I was concentrating on being able to breathe and swallow.

*More great food, and a restaurant that lets you take your bottle of wine with you if you don’t finish it. I almost had a meal where every course included ginger, but eventually changed my mind. But seriously, crème brûlée with fresh ginger? Should be eaten by everyone.

*I had decided to be “smart” and pack light, meaning that I brought one pair of jeans and no jacket. Of course it was cold and rainy. Luckily I was cool enough for TWO cardigans, one on top of the other.

*Small winding roads took us to visit my high school French teacher. No joke. How cool is it to see your old French teacher who has moved to France? She’s actually a friend of my mom’s too. Her and her husband have bought the most beautiful house in a hamlet a bit away from Buis-les-Baronnies. And I’m invited to visit whenever I want.

*After spending years looking in shops in the States that sell Provençal products it seemed almost unreal to see the real things. I had also just read A Year in Provence by Peter Mayle, which gave me a new take on things. I also thought that every wind that blew by was the mistral, but you know. It’s not like I’m ever prone to exaggeration.

Oh fuck, that was still long. If you’ve made it this far, you win some sort of prize. Ummm, when you come to visit I’ll buy you some wine? How does that sound?

mercredi, novembre 09, 2005

les riots?

Just so you all know, in case you've been watching the news, I'm ok here. Nothing big has gone down in Lyon proper, but there have been some instances in the suburbs- burnt out cars and the like. Not as bad as around Paris, but still something. Last night someone threw something at a metro and set a bus on fire (way out near the ends, though, nowhere near where I'd be), so they've just cut our public transportation at night. It now stops at 6pm, at least for a while. All of us here are wondering when this is going to end, or how. But really, I'm ok.

Cafe at Cojean, near the Grands Magasins. Yum. Posted by Picasa

We accidentally took these stairs instead of the scary elevator. And they went on forever. Mom got back at me by making us walk down the butte of Montmartre. Posted by Picasa

Scariest Elevator in the World Part 2 Posted by Picasa

Scariest Elevator in the World Part 1 Posted by Picasa

Metro Abesses. Posted by Picasa

Foie gras? Why thank you, I think I will. Posted by Picasa

Inside Notre Dame, once i figured out how to turn le flash off my camera. Posted by Picasa

The one, the only- Space Needle. Wait, I mean Notre Dame. Notre Dame! Posted by Picasa

Mom again, at Amorino, the best glace ever. Except for Berthillon, which is 2 blocks away and was CLOSED. CLOSED. But at Amorino, they take the gelato and make it into a flower. And there are whole hazelnuts in it. And I could eat a million. Posted by Picasa

Help! In case of drowning or accident call... Posted by Picasa

My lovely mommy, at the BHV cafeteria. Look at how appropriately dressed she was for Halloween! Posted by Picasa

Montaigne. He and I are working on our reconcilliation, after his essays nearly knocked me over. Posted by Picasa
Betcha thought I was dead, didn’t you? Didn’t you? Well I’m not. Quel est ton problème? and I just went on vacation, that’s all. Serves you right for jumping to conclusions. Wait, didn’t I tell you all that I was going away? No really, did I? I should check past entries and not just ask everyone, shouldn’t I? Well I have the right to be out of it. I was sick, after all. No, really. Très très malade. My mom even made me go to the doctor. I’m just finishing up the antibiotics. I haven’t been on antibiotics since I was, like, 10. Or maybe 12. But I digress…

Anyway, as I think I may have mentioned, my lovely mother recently flew on her luxury jet to Lyon, and me and my limousine picked her up in style at the airport. And by that I mean she flew over here on American, and then I made her take the airport shuttle and then made the 10-minute walk to Gare de Perrache to meet her. Same difference. I even let her sleep for a little before we tore off on a whirlwind tour of Lyon. Well, sort of. The next day we jet-setters took off on the TGV for Paris.

I would write more, but it's the end of the day, and I'm not feeling particularly clever. I'll post some pictures, how about that?