11 February 2008

La cote de la France

On Saturday I woke up at 6h45 in order to shower and eat and leave my house by 7h40 in order to be at the metro entrance by the university by 8h20ish. Why all that? To go to St. Malo and Mont Saint Michel (yes, yes, I'm a saint. Please, don't clap so loudly). But I'm just going to say that at 8h30 in the morning, I loved France. Mostly it's because I'm pretty sure I'm insane. The other part is because at 8h30 in Rennes, you can walk up to a boulangerie and buy a hot pain au chocolat. Oh man. You see, this is how I know God loves me. The French put chocolate in their bread.

St. Malo was pretty cool. It used to be a pirate town. In some year a while ago (see how much attention I paid while taking pictures?) the city was destroyed. They decided to rebuild it, but in the fashion of how it was a hundred years before. So it has the monster stone walls surrounding everything, with little turrets and holes for people with guns. The sea was beautiful. It was really fun to see how excited my friend Jessica was. She lives on an island in Washington State, and she was seriously ecstatic to be able to see the ocean. I was glad it wasn't raining.

We took the hour bus ride to St. Malo and then Andrew set the group free on the mini city (really I should say town, it isn't large at all). Most groups headed for the ramparts, where you could walk around the entire city, looking on one side at the harbor and all the little boats, and on the other side at the ocean and islands. We walked around for a while and then sat down on above the water and pretended to push one another in. Apparently I'm not afraid of falling in the ocean. I am, however, still afraid of fish. Weird.

Jessica and Mark and I did have a little scare after we'd bought our picnic lunches and couldn't find the bus anywhere. Andrew had said that it was leaving at 11h45 sharp. They'd left people behind before. So when we couldn't find the bus by the port we thought it was going to be we were like, "Oh, poo." Well, I was. Then, after ten minutes of calling people and wondering what we were going to do for the rest of the day, we found Andrew, who also did not know where the bus was. After that it was ok. We got in the bus again and drove to Cancale, where we stopped (thank the Lord I had the worst headache-salut, dehydration) and ate.

Cancale was lovely. We were at low tide, and after I ate I walked down on the beach and Collin and I took pictures. After a while we walked back to the wall where people were sitting and yelled at them to come down. We had to yell for two reasons. 1. They were obviously dumb, since they were sitting on cement when they could be walking in the mud. and 2. They were sitting thirteen feet or so above our heads. I was done taking pictures so I looked for tiny seashells at the base of the wall. Prateik was having bitterness management sessions with himself. This means that the night before he had eaten shellfish and gotten sick, so at the wall he was picking up shells and throwing them at the wall. Some of them still had goo inside. That was pretty nasty. Funny though. You don't usually expect goo to come out of dry dead things.

After Cancale we drove for another hour or so to the famous Mont Saint Michel. It's an abbey whose first construction dates back to 708. It was built to honor Michael the archangel. Sadly, as Mackenzie tells me, there are no female Saint Michelles. Too bad I'm not Catholic. Or saintly. Anyway. During the Hundred Years War, the Mont was an "impregnable stronghold." From the 1790s til 1863 the abbey was a prison.

The reason the abbey is so phenomenal and part of the reason people inside it were so safe from attack is because the mont is in the middle of a bay on the northern coast of France. When it's high tide, the abbey is surrounded by water. There's no approaching it, nor leaving it. So in order to visit, you have to hit the tides just right. The inside of the abbey is pretty amazing, once you get past all the horridly overpriced French restaurants and crazy Chinese tourists. I'm pretty proud of myself, I listened to the audio tour in French. No, I don't really remember any of it. Except for now my French word of the week is "un cachot." Dungeon. Dum Dum Dum.

At 5pm we all met by the bus and loaded up and left. Five minutes into the ride my head reminded me that no, I had not downed any water during the day, nor the day before. It hurt. We got back about an hour later and I headed home almost immediately and drank almost 1.5 liters of water at dinner instead of wine. It was weird. And the only reason I know how much water I drank is because that's how big the water bottle was. People don't drink tap water here, unless it's to make tea or coffee. I don't know if it's a culture thing, or a sanitation thing. Not that they heat the water long enough to kill any badness... hm. Something to ponder.

On Sunday I went for a run. It was beautiful. I think it must have been at least 60*F by the canale. I was amazed that people were actually wearing jackets. I was in capris and a tshirt and was almost dying.

Then it was today. My second day of classes (no class Fridays). I only had one two hour class. I'll put that another way. One class which lasted two hours. Oi. French civilisation. Fun. In two weeks we're doing gastronomie. That means Breton food and drink. Which means galette and cidre. I love my life.

Today we also (we meaning me, Julia, Amanda, and Mark) bought our Carte 12-25 and our train tickets to Lyon. The 12-25 is a sort of reduction card that you can buy for 50 euros that gives you discounts on train tickets just for being between the ages of 12 and 25. The whole caboodle cost about 150 euros, which isn't too bad, considering that we're going to a city near the Alps at the same time the rest of France is going to be on vacation, and we're leaving on a Monday and coming back on a Sunday. So yeah. Yay spending money. I just figure, when else am I going to be able to take a train to Lyon and stay in a hostel with friends? Not every year, that's for sure. I'm going to do it while I can.

Now the hard part: planning.

06 February 2008

C'est la vie

I just polished off three squares of dark chocolate with almonds in them. I feel partially guilty, partially happy, and partially hopeful that I find something else to eat besides chocolate. There's a lot of it here. I would be fine if it were all still stuff like nesquik and old m&ms. But no. It has to be the good stuff. Man. So not fair. There are these chocolate covered mini crepes, too. Oh, man. I'm going to come home with brown skin. Actually, that might be a nice change...

Yesterday was Jessica's birthday. The day before that was the day that we did all of our class planning. It was pretty much like being in freshman year again. Andrew had presented the process to us in such a way that we all thought that we would look at the classes but make the final decisions and registration with him and Staci by our sides. Ha. That's all I have to say about that. Ha. Ha. Ha. We really need to realize that offers for help really just mean that they're going to be standing there ready to take the paperwork when we're done with it. But no, we keep on trusting the people that are leading us around everywhere. Silly us.

As a result, everyone was frustrated except for maybe six or seven people. Go figure that they were the introductory peeps. Not that idiots have less to think about. Oh, wait....No, no. I'm kidding. They're not ALL idiots. Kidding again. They are. No, they're not. They're nice. But ignorance really is bliss, especially when the ignorance is focused on not speaking French. I was one of the frustrated ones. I mean, I have friends/acquaintances everywhere. And I knew from the very beginning that I was going to be Seuil. But of course, I let myself think about maybe being Avance, and then I got annoyed and worrying that maybe my classes were going to be too easy. And then when we were in our classrooms I was with two friends and a bunch of Chinese. I'm still not really sure why this bothered me so much.

Maybe I'm racist at heart or something hilariously secret like that. That would be horrible. All I know is that they were all year students and were speaking pretty well (ah ha) and I felt like an idiot, understanding everything and being able to respond to almost nothing. What made it harder was that I was with Julia, who has a crap load of credit specifications to fulfill in order to get what she wants at her home university. And because she was frustrated, I got frustrated. Like, so frustrated that after registration I was talking to Mark and Jessica in the hall and I had tears in my eyes. I talked to Andrew about switching classes and he told me that no matter what, I had to wait out the week. If it was too easy then, I could say something, but not before. So I have to stay where I am for a week at least.

At first I was super angry that he said that, and even with the way he said it. It felt like he just kinda brushed the idea away. I know he must have dealt with that question from at least ten other people, but still. I'm selfish. I like to be catered to. But then we ate lunch and I talked to Jess for a while and then I just felt fine. I've pretty much focused on the fact that if my writing is what got me into Seuil in the first place, then I deserve to be in that level. A chain is only as strong as its weakest link (if that's not the cheesiest thing I've ever said, please notify me immediately so I can start saying that instead); so that means I need to fix up my writing before I even have the right to consider myself a French speaker.

Being able to order a sandwich and a pain au chocolat doesn't count as speaking French.

Since yesterday was Jess's birthday (also Mardi Gras) tonight we were all supposed to go out for pizza together. Yes, yes, very American. We planned it, told our families we were going to be gone and everything. Got to classes today and about three people said that they had forgotten/felt bad/didn't want to tell their families about the dinner plans. Collin and Mark and I had already been planning to go see No Country for Old Men right after classes, and then going to dinner with everyone after six. It was going to work great, before those people brought up their whole time thing.

After lunch the other girls (I being the only other one) decided that because of time issues we should eat at five. Collin and Mark and I agreed, ignoring the fact that all of us knew that the resto wouldn't be open until at least six thirty or seven. We went to our last classes (thank you God) and Collin and I met Mark outside afterward. We walked to the theater. We were five minutes late, not even joking. Did we decide to be assertive and just walk in? No. We stood there, trying to decide what to do. Everything that's easy in the states is apparently hard to do in France. I don't know anything about French movie theater etiquette. Do you? Didn't think so.

We "made" the decision to see the movie after dinner. We wandered and sat around and went to the Haricot Rouge. This cafe, I'm just going to come out and say, is the most beautiful establishment on the planet. Not only is it red and has booths on the premier etage, but it serves hot chocolate. Not just any hot chocolate, I mean. I mean you get this bowl that fits perfectly in your two hands, and a shotglass of water, and a piece of brownie, and then you lift the bowl to your lips and I swear it's like they melted a bar of chocolate and that's what you're drinking. Gorgeous. Only 2E60, too (that means 2 euros and 60 centimes....about $4). That's cheap for amazing hot chocolate.

At five we met people at the resto, and surprise surprise, it wasn't open. We walked back down to the theater, and surprise again, we'd missed the showing by twenty minutes this time. Hahaha.....this is the part where I just wish I were braver. And had a car.

We ended up going to the bookstore to look for kids' books that we could read. Luckily for me that's all I seem to read anyway, the only problem was finding the first volume of anything. Oi. We were there for a while and then Collin bought his books and said he was heading out. About ten minutes later Mark left too. I was determined to actually not go home for dinner. Why? Because that's what I'd said I was going to do, gosh dangit! I felt like such an idiot calling my mere an hour before normal dinner time and saying I was actually coming home and could she make something for me please? Besides that she always buys the things for dinner that day. She's French. She doesn't do tons of food in the freezer.

So I stayed in the bookstore and tried to find the perfect book. I think I mostly succeeded, I bought "L'Histoire de Pi" (The Life of Pi). I'm hoping it goes well. When I left the bookstore I walked to the only French fast food place in Rennes, Brioche Doree, and got a sandwich and a pain au chocolat. Just so you know, whenever I say I got a sandwich, I don't mean sandwich like in the states.

Sandwiches here are a baguette, about a foot long, cut lengthwise and stuffed with a couple pieces of meat, and whatever else you want. They're so much better than sandwiches in the states. At least, I think so. You almost feel like you're eating a lot, but you're not. I ate my sandwich in a monster park and read my book and then guard-esque guy on a motorbike told me that I had to leave so they could close the park. I did, and went home, reciting in my head the entire time how I was going to tell my mere why I was home instead of eating with my friends.

She didn't even hear me come in, and I convinced myself that it would be super duper dumb to come home and not say anything, so I went to say bonsoir and get a drink. She asked me, of course, if I wanted something to eat. I told her no thanks, I had only eaten about an hour before. I grabbed my drink and went back here to my room and ate that chocolate and am now about to do some research.

Oh, so the research. I'm going to Lyon in two weeks for a week. Surprise! We have a winter break at the end of Fevrier, and I'm going with Julia and Mark. And maybe some other people, we're not really sure. But a ton of people are going to Barcelona, and I really wanted to not so much be in a herd, so I'm doing this. So if anyone has ideas for things to do in or around Lyon, please let me know really really really soon. Julia really wants to see the Alps, so we'll be doing that, not really heading down to the coast. Maybe go to Chamonix and/or Annecy....

That's all.

03 February 2008

Mon niveau

Forgot to say that we got our levels on Friday.

I'm in Seuil. That means I'm almost advanced. If you're not laughing you should be. Because right now all I'm hearing is "It's not special, it's adva-anced!" (Invader Zim)

The order of the levels is as follows, in case you're curious:

Introductif
-----------
Intermediare
Seuil
-----------
Avance
Autonomie
Maitrise

Seuil is the level for people who are pretty good except for one or two aspects of their talent, which are terrible. Mine is probably, oh, you know, talking out loud or something simple like that. Kidding...Technically I could probably talk to Andrew and get put into Avance, that's how close I was. I just don't know if I really want to, or if I need to. C'est kif-kif. Doesn't really matter to me. I'll have people I know in my classes no matter where I am, and I think that's what really mattered the most to me.

Now if only I could bring myself to get over not liking those dumb taxis....

Adventure #6.73

I think the subtitle of this post can most accurately be nominated "The night I almost had to sleep with the homeless French hippies." Don't get me wrong, I just *ahem* love the hippies. But being stranded in Rennes was not exactly how I wanted to make their acquaintance.

Saturday (yesterday) started out pretty well. I woke up and actually went running along the river next to our appartement. Now I'm sore, go figure. That's the last time I make a promise to myself to RUN the first 10 minutes without stopping. After getting ready I met Jessica and Sophia and Sarah and we wandered the shopping options in Rennes. I'll give you a hint, everything is super expensive. The problem is that everything is also on sale right now. And I would love to buy, for example, some boots and an umbrella that doesn't look like a dying bat. But I still just can't bring myself to spent 60 euros on something when I haven't had a chance to look at all the other options...

We had galette for lunch, yum. It's like a crepe, but made with wheat flour and usually has a sausage in the middle. Soooooo good. Standing in line made me feel really good because we were behind some Chinese students who were having major problems doing the French thing. It was even funnier because Sophia could understand their Chinese (her family lives in Singapore) and was laughing at them. After lunch and more walking Sophia and Jessica went home for lunch and Sarah and I met a group at the theatre to see Asterix. It's the third film, and has Gerard Depardieu as Obelix. Very French. I can say it was very French for two reasons. #1. Duh. French. #2. There were so many cultural references in there that I didn't laugh at that the rest of the room did. Then again....that's not really a huge change from home...

After the movie I hit up an Indian resto (comme ci, comme ca...I miss good curry big time now) and a wine bar with Mark, and then we met some more people at a bar. Around midnight I started to pull my stuff together to go, since the last bus up to St. Gregoire was going to be there at 00H33 ish. While I was getting up Mark decided that he didn't want to fall asleep in the bar, and Julia also wanted to go home.

A few days ago Julia had been out with Connor and Anna for Connor's birthday when a creepy dude approached them at the bus stop. The end of the story is that they tried to ignore him and Connor ended up getting a fist in his mouth. Understandably, Julia is still a little shaken and asked if we wouldn't mind walking her at least most of the way home. We did, and then turned back around to go to the monster bus stop, Republique. 00h30. We walk over to the bus shack and I look at the hours. Of course the hours on the shack don't match the more recent book's hours. I sat down and waited. After almost ten minutes I got up and reread a sign that was next to the hours, which I had skipped over a few minutes before.

"Uh...Mark? Read this..." It pretty much said, "Bus line 18 hates people who live in St. Gregoire. Go somewhere else after 22hoo for your stop. It's over there by a road and a post office." So we walked over there....and back....and then over to the left.....and the right. Pretty much all over the place. I started laughing. I tend to think that when not-so-great things happen to me, it's hilarious. I pulled out my phone and started to contemplate my options. Mark's night bus would be there in about twenty minutes.

"Ok...I could call my parents and feel like the worst American daughter in the world. I could text Julia and take her up on the extra bed offer and not get home until after 10 tomorrow. Or I could take a taxi...I'm afraid of taxis..."

Yeah, I don't understand that, either. Why be afraid of taxis? I have no idea. It's just this thing. I don't like them. I find them creepy. Plus they're not free. Creepy+not free=no thanks. So I stood there and punched my family's number into my phone. I held it so long without doing something that the screen went black. I wanted to light it up again so I hit a key; of course I hit the Call button, and before I knew it, the phone was connecting and I felt like the guiltiest girl in the world. And then no one answered. I laughed. We walked a little to find where Mark's bus would be, and then all of a sudden my phone was ringing, and I was talking to my mere, telling her that I missed the bus and was there maybe something they could do? Haha...so pathetic...

But then my pere was coming and Mark's bus was there. Mark left, I waited around for a few minutes under a monster light next to one of the stops. My pere came around the corner after about ten minutes. Or fifteen. I don't really remember. I, of course, apologized as profusely as I could in French (not much) and we drove home, talking a little. I think I got to bed around 1h45 or 2h00. And did I sleep in this morning?

Ha. No. Up at 9! Woot! Dumb internal clock....

01 February 2008

M et Mme MASSON

I've only been here a week, but since I've been gone for almost a month, it feels like I've been living in France for a month. It's a strange feeling. I'm alone in the apartment right now; my parents are at a friend's house having dinner. I'm actually kinda glad, because I'm still tired. I feel so American right now...I'm watching Cats Don't Dance, eating a mini pizza, and drinking pop. Although, my aperitif snack did consist of an apple and camembert cheese....

I'll talk now about my parents....I love them a lot, especially my pere. His name is Michel, too. It's kinda funny sometimes when Elisabeth is talking to us at dinner; sometimes I'm never really sure if she's talking to me or to my pere. Michel used to be a flight attendant for AirFrance. He's travelled the ENTIRE world and speaks English very well. This morning when I was going back to my room from the kitchen to put my shoes on, he came in from walking the dog. He was wearing a poncho dripping with water.

"Bonjour. Il pleut?" ("Hi. It's raining?") I said.
"Oui...
Bloody, bloody Friday!" He replied. Haha....I love him. He reminds me of my Uncle Phil Rudd. I don't know how many of you know Phil, but for those of you who do....Michel is always telling me something. The background of Bretagne, how California saved the French wine crops, the differences between galette and crepe bases... I love it. I love information. I can never guarentee that I'm going to remember it, but hey. The first few nights he pulled out maps for me to show me where we were and where everything else is. He loves maps. He always asks me if I even care about what he's talking about, that he'll stop any time, I just have to say so. Usually he says this when he's in the middle of explaining a news broadcast. I generally shake my head and just insist, "Non, vraiment, ca m'interesse beaucoup!" ("No, really, I think it's really interesting!")

Elisabeth is a little quieter, though when she does talk to me she talks about more personal things, like religion and how she raised her kids. She doesn't know something about everything like Michel seems to, but she's very opinionated and willing to try to understand everything. It's fun to eat dinner with the two of them (always in front of the TV, very French thing to do, apparently) and listen to the back-and-forth during the news. It's so refreshing to watch the news, then talk and argue about it. Not just walk away shaking my head. Michel actually complains that more could be said about things, even though I've noticed that the French media says a TON in comparison to the American counterpart.

Michel and Elisabeth have three sons. Philippe lives in San Fransisco with his wife (Lynette?). He's an engineer and his parents are super proud of him for leaving France. Apparently his education in France isn't enough for him to really make enough to live here. I think my pere said he could maybe make E1000 a month? Something like that? But in California, he's making the perfect amount. He's supposed to be coming in June or July with his wife, and I can tell that Elisabeth is really really excited.

Their second son, Francois, lives in Annemasse, right on the border of France and Switzerland in the Alps. I don't know what his wife's name is. I'm actually not positive right now if I don't have the two boys mixed up. It's possible. Francois is building a chalet-type house in the Alps right now. I think that's pretty sweet. The youngest son (he's 27) Pierre lives in Bretagne. His girlfriend's name is Lola. She talks really fast. Like, really really really really fast. Pierre is a kind of lawyer, but not quite. My pere told me that that's the closest description of his job that they can give me, since it doesn't really exist in the States. He's pretty cool, I guess. I don't technically expect all the friends and family of my parents to talk to me. He did ask me questions and stuff when he and Lola came for dinner. It's just that, unlike his parents, he doesn't slow down.

I don't think I ever really realized how slowly my French profs really were speaking to me and my classmates. I always knew that they toned it down at least a little, but now I know that truly it's a lot. Plus there's always the difference between understanding something and being able to hear what someone's saying. Sometimes I feel so dumb asking people to repeat things, not because I didn't or couldn't understand, but because they were speaking so softly. People here are used to confined spaces. Yelling to friends across corridors or the square is a strict no-no. There is no difference between your inside and outside voice.

The problem is that, in English, when someone says something that I didn't hear very well, or didn't catch all of, my brain is working on filling in the blanks while my mouth is asking for a repetition. In French, my brain can't really fill in the blanks yet. It tries. It tries really really hard to fill them all in. But it just can't. That's why I'm so tired. Take the wine tasting, for example. I loved the sommelier who came and spoke to us. You could just look at him tasting the wine and talking about the process and know that he was talking about one of the loves of his life. He had this way of holding the glass, taking a coup de nez (whif), and then closing his eyes as he told us about how the nose was working at that moment.

The glass was in his left hand, held just by the stem with a couple fingers. His right hand was strictly used for gesturing in tiny circles to emphasize whatever he was explaining. He was hilarious and so much fun to watch. My friend Collin and I were sitting next to one another during the entire thing, and we both were having a blast just watching the guy (especially after the first two hours, when our brains just went phpphhhhhtfffft).

I'm trying to think of what else I could say about Michel and Elisabeth....I guess I can talk a little about the apartment, actually. The Massons used to have a house in St. Gregoire, but they sold it recently because they're building a house on the coast of Bretagne, in Lorient. Michel has a string of photos patched together to show the view of the sea that they're going to have. It's pretty beautiful. So this apartment (can I just mention how hard it is to type "apartment" right now? because the French way is "appartement" and that's just so much easier for me, haha)

It's a typical French appartement. Um. By that I mean it's very simple. My mere doesn't like how all the walls are white, but that's ok since my pere is a painter. A pretty fantastic one at that. I'm in the middle of trying to upload pictures of the appart to the blog, but it's being dumb. Maybe I'll have to try again later. All the floors are this wonderful white tile that makes me think of Sims. I wear my moccasins almost every single moment I'm inside because otherwise my toes get frostbite and that's just awkward. It doesn't help that my walking shoes kinda rubbed on the back of my ankles, and now the skin there is a little raw. This happened because my socks were wet. Now I can't really wear my socks, or those shoes, because the ankle part of my socks is tight right on that one spot...and I don't know about you but I'd rather not be in pain all the time...

Anyway....yay some of the pictures are on now!

This is my living room, the one on the left is the futon. Sorry it's so dark....I took this a few days ago and didn't use a flash and really don't feel like re-doing it right now, haha.











If you look at the one on the right, you can see where I'm sitting right now. It's in the chair that's completely facing the camera. It's comfy. The dark doorway on the right is the kitchen.
I have a pic of the kitchen but I think I'll put it up later, it seriously took six minutes for the ones before, and I just don't have the patience right now.

I'll try to post some pics of my pere's paintings soon, too. I love them so much.