the king's speech

I lost my voice. This is the second time this has happened to me since I've been here. And no, I haven't taken up smoking like a frenchman, although I do sound it. Now, losing my voice at the end of a cold is pretty routine for me, nothing to worry about. But I'm writing about these specific cases because in this condition I find it even more difficult to force the nasal vowels through my nose or hack up enough spit to properly pronounce an 'R'. So French people understand me even less, and I'm forced to listen even more. Throughout my stay, I've learned a lot from listening (hopefully). I listen when in groups of French people, like at Bible Study. You see, I'm what they call an 'E' for 'extrovert' in the Myers Briggs Personality Indicator. And probably a bit of a know-it-all. So, when following conversations and discussions everything inside of me wants terribly to share each thought and anecdote that comes to mind with the group. My heart picks up the pace a little and I get all squirmy in my seat.  However, speaking out is rarely a possibility with my delayed expression time and feeble voice to boot. So I listen. Still not my favorite thing to do but I'm learning to appreciate it.
Last time my voice left it got so bad that one Saturday evening I really couldn't make most sounds necessary for either French or English. So, not trusting myself to allow my voice to rest in a social setting, I want to the movies alone. I saw The King's Speech in English with French subtitles. And wow, did I empathize with King George IV (ie Colin Firth) in his inability to speak freely. Thankfully, my voice came back and is on it's way back this time.  And maybe one of these days my language level will no longer be an impediment, either.

************

 Et voila! Laura Ann Miller paid a visit to my overseas reality. What a joy. Our friendship dates back to third grade and has deep roots in the 4300 and 4400 blocks of northeast Shorewood, Wi.  I collected her from the Gare du Nord last Friday morning and she sojourned for a full ten days, just leaving yesterday.  Laura's been to Paris twice before, so she could skip some of the historical attractions and spend more time on Paris 2011: spring poetry, meeting friends, theater and hours of conversing the way you only can when nobody around you can understand your slang/fake brooklyn accents. She also lived in the South of France last year for six months and thus could get around by herself when I was busy, as long as she had the Paris practique (map) with her.  We did so much I'm convinced she must have actually been here for a month.

In front of Ernest Hemingway's main stakeout during the 1920's La Closerie des Lilas  café in Montparnasse.

A Sunday antique fair after church

Kids on a field trip playing tag in front of Castle Chantilly, where Laura and I went for the day.  We visited Chantilly together on our high school French exchange and it were determined to revisit the wonderful town/birthplace of whipped cream. 

Castle library.

Recitation of T. S. Eliot on the castle grounds

Metro. 

Back in Paris, we found the bubbler that produces sparkling water. Seriously! It's amazing. In the Jardin Reuilly. 

A boy chasing bubbles on a bridge (pont des artes) over the Seine while his Dad and brother look on. 

Tuileries. Proof! I also have one in front of the Eiffel Tour, but that's cliché. 

It doesn't get much better than génial.

i went on a trip!

itinerary:
Madrid, Spain: 3 nights
Barcelona, Spain (Catalonia): 2 nights
Montpellier, France: 5 nights

 It was a grand trip. Full of a some beautiful things in museums and a lot of beautiful things in plain air. Sometimes, I like to bring a really random book with me on trips (I brought For Whom The Bell Tolls with me to Cairo a few summers ago) just to kind of keep things real. You know, remind me of the vastness of history and the world so I don't get swept away by my surroundings. So I brought Maya Angelou's autobiographical novel, I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings with me to Iberia. I had a lot of great moments with Maya: crying in the Madrid airport, contemplating American racism from Antoni Gaudí's Parc Güell overlooking Barcelona and picnicking under a windmill in Collioure (small Mediterranean town in France). Certainly the type of book that hurts when it's over because you have to realize that you don't actually know the characters. Anyway, visions of Stamps, Arkansas are forever entangled in my memories from last week's voyage.  Here are some pictures to narrate what I actually saw and did.

I went to Madrid with two friends from my program, Emily (left) and Emma (not pictured). This is a photo in La Parc de Retiro in Madrid of Emily and Arnaud, a friend we met at the hostel in Madrid. Turns out that Arnaud, who's from Paris, lives around the corner from my host apartment so we can be friends in France, as well:)

El Tigre, a tapas bar in Madrid (recommendation from Lizzyfizz). At this restaurant, all you have to do is buy a beverage and they bring out plates and plates of tapas for free!  Most of the tapas varieties feature some form of sausage, which is plentiful in Madrid as you can see in the background of this photo. 

La Sagrada Familia, Antoni Gaudí's unfinished cathedral in Barcelona. The most awe-inspiring cathedral I've seen yet. It doesn't really translate in this photo, but Gaudí architecture is porbably the basis of the CANDYLAND board game. 

Fruit stand in the Boqueria market in Barcelona. So fresh! So cheap! 

The above photo is of Manue et Manu (short for Emmanuelle). Manu (right) hosted me in Montpellier, France, for five nights and did an outstanding job showing me around the region. I met her while working at Cedar Campus on crew the summer after my freshman year of college.  Her friend Manue, who stayed with us for three of the nights, was in the south to visit different GBU (French Intervarsity) chapters because she's going on staff in the fall. It was fun, although exhausting, to speak with them in french, especially about our 'sister' campus ministries. Another highlight was eating lunch at her parents house in nearby Béziers, where we drank aperitifs from their vineyard, watched her foster sister's hip-hop infused ballet routine to a Justin Beiber song and I answered questions about what the Tea Party really is.

An old Roman arène (arena) in Nîmes, a city in the south of France established by them (the Romans).

Parc de la Fountaine in the same town, Nîmes, which has plenty of beautiful old Roman things.

Courtyard of an old church in Bézier, France. 

A late winter landscape. 

The medieval city, Carcassonne. Yes, like the board game. There's a moat and everything! And people still live in there. 

Gargoyle. In Carcassonne. 

Collioure, France. A hop, skip and a jump away from Spain.  Part of Catalonia, actually. 

The sea in Collioure. It was an incredibly picturesque town and incredibly windy along the water. 

The Collioure gare.

An exhibit on Polonia and immigration to France at the National Museum of Immigration (back in Paris). The second painting from the right is one of my host mom's father's, himself a Polish immigrant. My mom invited me to the tour for people involved in the exhibit.

Sneak attack photo by Aldona. 

It was a great ten days. The following week I ran in the Paris semi-marathon (last Sunday). Quite memorable and fun, but at the time pretty difficult. We ran in the Bois de Vincennes on the east of Paris, left toward Place Daumensil, Place de la Bastille, along the Seine and around Hôtel de Ville and back the the bois (it was a race du bois, if you will **Kayla Dubois**). A few interesting differences between this race and the one's I've seen in the US stood out to me. Like the fact that only less than one quarter of the runners were female, whereas usually it's fifty/fifty in the States. Also, there were little hired orchestras and bands of many sorts lining the course to encourage the runners. And is was quite encouraging. As a runner, it was standard to applaud the bands if they finished a piece as you were running past. My friend, Maggie, has a post-race picture I'll post soon. In the meantime, here's a mini course map:

Is there a picture-to-word ratio limit for blog's? If so, this entry probably exceeds it. My apologies. But photos are more interesting. 

la ville cosmopolite

"i came that they may have life, and have it to the full"(jesus of nazareth)

So, two weeks ago my wallet was stolen. Crap, yes. But, my dad cancelled my bank card from the computer (time difference working in our favor) while I looked for my keys, so nothing was purchased with it. And the next morning I got my keys and driver license back because the thief dropped 'em on the ground. I hate to be such a shameless optimist, but this event brought about several mini wonderful things: 1)Getting to hang out and listen to lots of Jackson family songs with Emma, a girl in my program whose camera was also stolen and who stayed with me at the club until seven 2)Bonding with my host mom who wasn't, in fact, angry with my like I thought she might be, but quite compassionate. She gave me a real american hug and made me tea and an endive salad after letting me in the next morning. 3) I now have a french bank account which means I can subscribe to the Paris bike rental program, velib, and pedal around the city instead being sous terre on the metro.

However, there were a few days where I was living life in Paris without any money. I had about a hundred euro in my room, which slipped away pretty quickly after recharging my NaviGO metro pass (60e/month), using some of it to put into the new bank account (20e) and buying minutes for my cell phone (20e/3 weeks). One Tuesday, I found myself with only 27 centième left. This was upsetting because I wanted to buy a baguette on the way home but the small ones are usually at least 50 centime. The thing is, I was never actually without money at all. Several students bought me food that week, my director and host mom offered to lend me money until my new bank card came through. I'd like to say it was interesting to experience life without money, but when it got down to it became obvious that I really had plenty of resources all along. In fact, on the 27c night I figured out how to take out cash with my dad's credit card.  Even as a 'poor' student, I'm very well provided for. It was a good reminder of the reality in which I live, and how much I really have as compared to most the world, including the many homeless and beggars I pass everyday.
Actually, that Tuesday was interesting in another way. After class I visited Ladurée, a fancy schmance boulangerie on the Champs-élysée that specializes in macarons. Apparently this is the maison that made all the macaroons for the Sofia Copola film, Marie Antionette. I spent the last of my money on expensive cookies (I know,  really wise and rational decision) and they were realllly good. Cassis, chocolat de Madagascar, caramel avec fleur du sel are some of the tops. 

those are indeed golden macaroons. 

my cassis mac

Later that evening I had my first session tutoring high schoolers in english on the north side of Paris. The north side of Paris is kind of rough. In fact, the difference between the Champs-élysée and Barbès was almost as pronounced as it was the day I spent the afternoon in the heart of Amsterdam and the evening in a garbage village in Cairo. Only instead of 5 hour flight, a twenty minute metro ride is all is takes to traverse these two worlds. Tutoring was wonderful, and I think I'm really going to enjoy my time there. It takes place in an Islam center, Club Barbès, which provides teens from 'difficile' areas with academic support.  We read and wrote and worked on english homework. And then, to celebrate one girl's birthday, we each got a little piece of homemade chocolate cake. And it was even tastier than the macarons.

la fac + le centre

I take half my courses at Paris Sorbonne VII: Diderot. It's actually quite 'campus-like' for a french university, which is nice. Located in the 13th arrondissement on the Seine, it has an old industrial feel from the flour trading days of this area. The two central buildings are an old flour mill (left: grandes moulins) and old flour exchange hall or something (right: halle aux farnies). Gotta love warehouse refurb. I have a few friends from church and GBU (french Intervarstiy) who go here, too, so sometimes we get lunch in the cafeteria or a cup of coffee.

Campus is on rue Thomas Mann. People love him here. And it always reminds me of Thomas Mahn :)

So far, two weeks into school, I've only had one class. This is because I wasn't yet registered the first week for one of my classes, and the other class the professor has not shown up either week. I don't really know what gives, but no one here seems very surprised about that situation. However, it did make for a pretty anticlimactic 'first day of class.'  Anticlimactic, but still full of french bureaucracy. Also, I pulled one of those moves where you open a classroom door to a room full of people in the middle of their class, who all turn and look at you at once. "Est-ce que ça 'La terre est bleu comme une orange'?" I asked ("Is this 'The world is blue like an orange'"-that's the title of the ecology course I'm taking). "Non, ce n'est pas 'La terre est bleu comme une orange', madame" replied the professor, with a you're-very-cute-and-dumb smile. It was a masters course in genetic biotechnology. "J'suis désolé," I muttered, closing the door behind me. Awesome.

So far, the university class is pretty difficult. What i'm most concerned about is the group presentation I have to give and the in class essay, each one-third of our grade. ehhhhh.

My other courses take place here, at the program center in the 2nd arrondissement. These courses are in French, but with American students. Much less intimidating.

This is the road of the Center- rue du Sentier. The center is down on the right. 

In other recent news, I went to a chinese new year celebration in chinatown yesterday after church. It was bright and aromatic and loud and fun.

bonne sante!

families watch the parade from an apartment building

too many firecrackers.

And here's that view from my hallway that I mentioned:

I live in the 20th arrondissement

Paris is a micromanaged city. On most fronts, this is a good thing:  it's very easy to identify where anything is located by stating its arrondissement, every area has a cute name which identifies it as unique and interesting and there is excellent public transportation-you're never more than about a 4 minute walk from a metro station. But, in some ways I think it's a little much. This city, which is only about 8 miles east to west, is divided into 20 administrative municipalities, called arrondissements. People speak of everything in terms of arrondissements, as if each is its own city. So, for a while I thought being that two arrondissements away from something indicated a pretty significant distance. Then I got lost with a friend walking around one day and landed four arrondissements away in about 20 minutes and realized the dense and intricate map is on a much smaller scale than I'm used to for american cities. Yet each arrondissement has its own EVERYTHING including a large, beautiful mairie building where the administration goes down.  Maybe micromanagement is why everyone has time for a 2 hour lunch in this city.

Paris by arrondissement. starts in the center and spirals out, like a snail's shell. 

Anyway, I live with my host family in the last arrondissement, the 20th. My metro stop is Gambetta, which is also the name of my quartier, or neighborhood. It's pretty great and fitting. Being further out, rent is less expensive and thus attractive to students, immigrants and artists. My elevator rides attest to this. This lends to there being a lot of art, dance, music studios and theaters around, often with diverse cultural offerings.  And lots of diverse eateries. Mmm. Right now I'm a little sore at the theater on my block because I got my keys stolen there this Saturday, but I can't deny that it's a pretty tight spot. Plus I got my keys back.
 Probably the most famous sight in the 20th is the Cimetiere du Père Lachaise. I have yet to spend much time there-I actually got chased out last time because I was running, oops- but I plan to hang out there more when the weather lightens up a bit. Some famous graves include Chopin, Balzac, Edith Piaf, Jim Morrison, Richard Wright. Oh, here's a wikipedia list if you want to read more of the names: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Père_Lachaise_Cemetery. There's a lot in there.

I also spend a lot of time in the 19th in the the Parc des Buttes chaumont, cause it's the nearest park that is good for running. Wrapped around a hill (butte),  the park was designed in the anglo-saxon, as opposed to traditional french, style which may be why it reminds of New York City. Aldona told me that.  Here are some photos of the area:

The Mairie of the 20th arrondissement. At Place de Gambetta, my metro  stop. I saw a motorcycle accident there this afternoon. Eek.

Rue de Ménilemontant, which goes right past my house.

A pedestrian road. 

A local fromagerie (ie cheese shop). 

Me in Parc des Buttes chaumont.

Arrival!

Bonjour! I've been in Paris almost two week nows, so I feel equipped and stable enough to give a good balanced report on my situation. Actually, I meant to update this earlier, but you know how the time slips away.  I think I'll talk around large topics: host family, school, church and life (la vie parisienne).

HOST FAMILY:
I live in a jolie chambre lumineuse (as described on the half sheet of paper I received with the address and a phone number) in the home of AJ. No, I have never said that name out loud. It's an apartment on the top (5th) floor of an building in the 20th arrondissement on the east side of Paris-même (it's an awesome neighborhood, I'll write more about it later). AJ, my french mom, looks like Meryl Streep, especially when she smiles. Really warm eyes. Once a documentary filmmaker, she now mostly manages and deals her father's artwork, who is a painter. Here's a painting of his:

Her daughter, Leila, 26, also lives in the apartment. She is an actress, but also holds a day job for steady income. Like her mother, Leila is beautiful. She's in Poland right now visiting her painter-grandfather, because if you didn't notice the last name, they have heritage in Poland. However Aldona was born and raised here in Paris. Being artists and all, they always know the cool things going on in our quarter and Paris in general. Jackpot. Here's a photo of the two ladies:

The other night, we celebrated the Epiphany by eating galette du roi. This galette is meant to be eaten on the 6th of January, but the French continue buying and eating it for the first three weeks of January. Patisseries are full of them. Not unlike King's Cake at  Mardi Gras, each cake contains a little fève (a fava bean, historically; ours had a mini red porcelain boot) baked into the center. Here's me looking awkward after I spit out the fève, crowned as roi (reine, actually). Family dinners are the best.

I don't spend an awful lot of time here at the apartment, but not for lack of comfort. There are two levels, and I have my own room and shower (salle de bain-different from a bathroom...no toilet). It often smells of incense and pachouli.  And, on the rare occasion that I find myself alone in the apartment, I teach myself songs from Amelie on the piano in the living room. It's no Haussmann flat on the Champs-élysées,  but you can see the Eiffel tour from the hallway window. And I'm tickled to call it home for four more months.

Dublin

After Belfast, I caught a bus down to Dublin with another old friend from the Ulster Project, Andrew Mullan. He is in his last year at Trinity College, and offered to host and show me around during the tail end of his winter break.  Andrew is one of those people who never cuts corners-it would have been generous if he had offered a room and a map or brought me to one or two sights. But, in above-and-beyond fashion, we hit Dublin running and only stopped a few times so I could go to the toilets.  Among the highlights of the 40 hours were into the future Prime Minister of Ireland twice in one day (on the street and in a pub), stopping at everything named for a famous writer (statues, cafés, parks: Yeats, Joyce, Wilde), and the book of Kells (from which the intricate patterns on millions of irish dance costumes are apparently taken). And as the reality of of the duration of my trip began to set in, it was encouraging to hear about his study abroad experience and be assured that mine would be great, too. 
Photos:

Guinness factory! Puts Miller brewery to shame, really. Luckily I made a fool of myself in Belfast in regards to how to drink a Guinness so at the factory I looked like a pro. 

Fish and chips! The only food that can really fill Moolan, ie the mark of an Irishman. Served with baby food style peas. Mmm. 

This arch is in the movie Once! Where Glen Hansard chases the man who stole his guitar case. 

W. B. Yeats exhibit at the National Library. Brilliant. 

This is the back of the future Prime Minister of Ireland (left), according to a fourth year law student. Also dull as dishwater, apparently. We'll see how he fairs in the election. Except that I don't remember his name.    

A pub with a bookshelf nook. Cheers. 

So now I've been to Ireland, North and South! I'll have to call my grandma Carol and chat about our long removed country of descent.