Chez...

famille :-)

another one of those words that doesn't have a good translation~ To be "chez soi" is to be at home in terms of all of the intangibles in life.  Many a frenchman uses the phrase, "chez moi est chez toi" in the same way that we use "mi casa es tu casa" in the U.S., and yet to go to the doctor is to go "chez le médecin."  To say "what I like about her," the French use "ce que j'aime chez elle."  Thus, just as France is becoming more and more "chez moi" in more ways than one, it is fitting that I begin to visit French friends and to go forth more confidently than before, rediscovering the things that I love in life (in particular, cooking and baking) along the way.  This is how I came to organize a birthday party of sorts for my American friend, Julia, to spend the weekend "chez Estelle" with Katie (my American friend who is in many ways originally from Cameroon), and to have a crêpe party with French friends Mathilde, Flora, Paul, and Aurore, and an adorable Chilian/American couple (Pato and Hannah).

Julia, the birthday girl!

     Poor Julia had been entirely too stressed out the week before her birthday with a "commentaire composé," a long paper that essentially serves as a synthesis and analysis of several documents.  As simple as that may sound, like all assignments in France, there were many, many very particular requirements that thus put Julia completely out of her comfort zone of "write the way that you want to...within reason" (which I would say is more or less the dogma of American universities).  We thus cancelled the majority of our birthday plans, but we managed to hold on to the plan to eat dinner at a pizzeria, complete with sparklers in her dessert, a candle for her to blow out, and gifts.  I unfortunately had to leave early to meet up with my little sister, Alix and her mom and the cinema (yes, to watch Harry Potter...in French this time), but from what I hear, Julia left much happier than when she arrived.  My planning for Julia's birthday reminded me that it is not, in fact only the intangibles that help me feel "chez moi," but it is also my agency in any given situation.  What better way to show that one is at home than for him or her to welcome, give to, help another?  I therefore could not have been more thankful that Julia was born on November 26th.

la neige- "snow" outside the train window

macaroni and cheese..looney recipe!

Estelle et Katie à Vitré

     Saturday (the next day) began beautifully...with snow.  Apparently such a phenomenon is rare in November here (although it happened last year as well), but I have spent the last week attempting to explain that it is even rarer in South Carolina...as in it never happens.  Katie, who is from Chicago, laughed at and with my childlike exaltation at the beauty of it all.  The frosty French countryside flew by as we took the train from Rennes to Vitré, the small medieval town where Estelle lives.  There we played a bit in the snow, visited the castle and the market, Christmas shopped for Katie's family friends, and of course, went to Estelle's house.  Her house is the epitome of "chez soi."  The walls in the entryway are a warm golden yellow, and they immediately drew us into the beautiful living room, welcoming kitchen, and Estelle's simply pretty bedroom upstairs.  Her parents were equally welcoming, and we spent several hours eating a carefully prepared 3 course meal made by her mother, who then gave us the liberty to take over the kitchen for the afternoon.  One pumpkin pie and macaroni and cheese later, we snuggled up together to watch the movie, A Good Year (Une Bonne Année).  Chez Estelle, I found family in France in a way that is not possible with a host family where I am somewhere between the age of the daughters and the parents.  Beautiful.

Pumpkin pie...made with a real pumpkin!!!

crêpe party!

    Finally, the next weekend, I went Chez Mathilde to make crêpes; it was an evening filled with rich food and conversation... about cultural differences between France, the U.S., and Chili, about languages, and a few jokes here and there about pageants, since we had "Miss France" on in the background the entire time.  At the bittersweet end of the evening, I said my goodbyes, knowing that I likely would not see these friends again before I leave. We couldn't help but smile, however.  After all, Miss Bretagne won the pageant... Here, in all of its silly imperfection, is friendship.


Giving, baking, loving... reveling in the joy of time with family and friends, it is good to be able to say that in Rennes, I am legitimately "chez moi."

la reconnaissance

Thankfulness~ Yes, it was a bit strange to be away from the United States on the purely American holiday of Thanksgiving.  I couldn't believe that I had four classes that were not cancelled for the day and that there were no mashed potatoes at our Thanksgiving dinner (prepared by a French restaurant).  But it was also a moment to recognize all of the things that I am thankful for here in France (in no particular order)...

definitely not my family's thanksgiving dinner, but there are a lot of other things to be thankful for...

1) a beautiful language that I slowly but surely am beginning to master
2) a group of friends of many nationalities, including my church in Rennes, who support me and give me the opportunity to support them
3) snow...yes, it snowed a bit ON THANKSGIVING!!!
4) the directors of our program who answer at least two of my questions every day and who decorated their office for Thanksgiving, periodically provide us with Reese's cups that seem to materialize out of thin air, and are there if we need to laugh or cry or just say "bonjour" to someone familiar
5) my family who has helped me enormously before and during my time in France, has taken care of some of the important logistics in the U.S. regarding next semester in Africa, and who did the best they could to make me part of their festivities by showing me their mashed potatoes via skype
6) my host family, who has given me a roof, a taste of french food and family life, and the opportunity to read lots and lots of children's books

completed human body

7) the eccentric frenchman who sat next to me at our Thanksgiving dinner and contented himself by showing me pictures and business cards of everyone in his life, including his nephew (who I'm pretty sure he wants me to go on a date with)
8) chocolate...and French food in general
9) my human body magnets (collected from boxes of French cookies..and completed on Thanksgiving)
10) my salsa class..taught in French
11) the professors of CIREFE (the part of the university here for international students), who are ridiculously patient with our errors and sometimes feeble attempts to speak their native language
12) the familiarity of Thanksgiving day, even in a foreign country
13) the unknown

des moldus dans un monde magique

Muggles in a magical world~

WARNING: many Harry Potter references and possible movie spoilers in this entry…

Mais oui, I am in love with France and French.  However, please allow me a momentary digression (just as I allowed myself one) into the world of owls that deliver mail, broomsticks that fly, and a language that sounds a bit like my native tongue but that is at times more difficult to understand than French.  With that, we arrive at my weekend in London, specifically to see the newly released Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, more generally to experience the city.

Christmas already...

            First impression: London prepares early for Christmas, and the Tube is particularly difficult to navigate, especially compared to our two way, one track métro in Rennes.  Sometimes first impressions are correct. London already was decorated (this was the 19^th of November), Christmas lights illuminating the streets at night, and Christmas trees gracing nearly every restaurant and coffee shop with their presence.  Next to the Tower of London (quite the entertaining, if rather gruesome, site to visit with a beefeater as a guide), we found a man selling roasted nuts…and a Starbucks that was already offering its seasonal Christmas drinks.  The Tube, however was one of the more annoying yet funnier parts of the weekend.  The first morning, full of big ideas, we stepped onto a train with the best-laid plans.  Wondering why we stopped for so long at the first station we came to, we considered getting off but then decided that we were just used to the French metro, which must be more efficient.  Little did we know that London is doing construction on several lines, thus the rest of that particular one was closed.  You guessed it:  our train took us right back to where we started.  We were more careful from then on, but the closures meant the crowds were at times horrendous.  We waited through about 5 trains at Picadilly Circus (the theatre district) just to squeeze on one before going to the musical, Oliver (much better with a real British accent than an imitated one).  The last morning, full from the lovely breakfast of eggs, sausage, tomatoes, potatoes, tea, toast, jam, and cheese provided by our hotel, we took a turn around the London eye, regretfully viewing all of the sites that we had not had enough time to visit.  I have a feeling we will both make it back there someday.

HARRY POTTER!!!

            To conclude with that which governed our weekend, Katie (my fellow fan and trip companion) and I began our journey into Harry’s world on the airport shuttle, which was of course the Knight Bus taking us to Diagon Alley.  Arriving at a proper looking neighborhood with particularly well-manicured lawns still relatively far from London proper, we realized that we were “on Privet Drive,” and there kept an eye out for Harry around every corner.   We saw an illustration of a phoenix that bore a strong resemblance to Fawkes and finished with a stop at platform 9 ¾ .  We did all of that without forgetting to take an emotional ride through the first half of J.K. Rowling’s final novel.   It is now my favorite of the Harry Potter movies, being more authentic to the novel and the real world than the others and including the mature acting of the well-seasoned trio, Harry, Ron and Hermione.  However, after sobbing at the death of Moody, Ron’s abandonment of Harry and Hermione, and the death of Dobby, we were very ready for some Ben and Jerry’s ice cream, conveniently sold inside the theatre itself.

            At the end of the weekend, we were ready to be back “chez nous,” even though we only had had a taste of London.  Stepping off the airplane in Paris, we looked at each other and exclaimed: “Le français?!!!”  Back to the wonderful and magical world of immersion…

J'étais en train de grimper une montagne, et puis...

I was climbing a mountain and then...~ This quote comes not from the excursion yesterday but instead from lovely Katie and her time at Taizé.  However, it applies just as well to our short time with the steep rock on which rests the village and the abbey of Mont St. Michel.  

Not only is this monument on the border of Bretagne and Normandie a tourist attraction (welcoming over 3 million tourists per year), but it is also an invaluable piece of the religious, political, and criminal history of France.  Our guide, a former resident of the village, definitely had connections, so we were able to see parts of St. Michel that are generally not allowed for the public (including the original church and the prison).  She began, however, with its story...


The man who build the abbey apparently had a vision of St. Michel, who told him that God's will was to have an abbey in this place.  Thus began the abbey of men (thus monks only- no nuns) in a small circular structure bearing no resemblance to the castle-like edifice of today.  During the 8th and 9th centuries, the vikings invaded France and used the already established religious hierarchy to take power.  Thus, in the slightly larger version of Mont St. Michel (known today as "Notre Dame sous terre"- or Notre Dame underground), the vikings invaded.  They also began to build various fortifications to protect the church militarily instead of merely spiritually.  It was the fourth most popular place of pilgrimage for Catholics, then a center for study, then a prison, and finally a national monument.


Thus this abnormally large rock and its inhabitants have seen more than just the second largest ocean tide changes in the world; they have seen the tides of time--power struggles in France, the Hundred Years War, and waves of people continuously drawn by its unique magic.  We, the international students, had a lovely day despite (or perhaps because of) the rain and cold.  The tour was, of course, beyond interesting, but the view of the surrounding ocean was also breathtaking, as was the little village--touristy in one sense, but in another, very authentically French.  And of course, we finished the day with a warm half hour of gauffres, mint tea, and hot chocolate.


"Rien n'est trop beau pour Dieu."
"Nothing is too beautiful for God."

La langue...et Taizé...

Language...and Taizé~ After another long train ride and a 2 hour stint in a bus that replaced my 30 minute train that was supposed to take me to a bus station where I would take another bus to go to Taizé (an ecumenical Christian community known for its beauty, attraction for young people from all over the world, and efficient division of labor-everyone who stays there pitches in for two hours a day to cook, clean etc. and to generally keep things running), I finally arrived.  
     At the bus station, however, I had already begun to experience the amazing power of this community to bring people together.  The Christian "pilgrims" headed that way were pretty easy to find, with our casual clothes, backpacks, tents or sleeping bags, and expectant countenances.  This is how Tricia found me: "Est-ce que je peux acheter mon billet dans le bus?" (can I buy my ticket on the bus?) she asked me, with her American accent.  Hating that I was doing what I never want people to do to me, I responded "parles-tu anglais?" (do you speak English?) However she wasn't upset at all and, relieved, began to speak to me in in our native language.  And voilà I had found a friend who would teach me about life and love and God and France and prayer and the United States, listening constantly to my story during our short stay at Taizé.  And if all goes as it seems it will, in her, I have also found another pen-pal.

the church in the early morning at Taizé

    However, the connections did not stop there.  Our roommates-- from Germany and South Korea, spoke more English than French, so we had a lot of very interesting English conversations, but at the Bible study (where we had a relatively heated debate about the passage where Mary discovers that Jesus has risen from the dead) that I attended was entirely in French.  I made friends with a group of Belgian teenagers, was asked by some French teenagers who Jesus is to me (in French, of course... I must admit that my pride got the best of me when one of the teenagers said "putain"-rather profane for a Christian community, but entertaining nonetheless- "tu parles bien français!"- you speak French well- and then he got confused-"mais est-ce que tu parles anglais?"- but do you speak English?- one of the girls in the group said something like, "yeah, silly, she's american!"), and, upon attending a workshop on where Jesus is in the world today, realized that I was the most equipped of the group to translate from French to English.  Thus, yes, I had my first experience as a translator at Taizé.

Tricia!!!  at the train/bus station where we met

    I'm not sure if I believe that God reveals something to every single person who goes to Taizé, but I did very much get the sense that He reveals what is needed to those who need it.  There, in song, prayer, and silence, I did find a certain peace that I expected, but in conversation, I discovered that (in the words of Tricia) I really have begun to jump into this other soul that is French-speaking Shannon.   I cannot be more thankful for this discovery, and thus rejuvenated both spiritually and linguistically, I returned to Rennes, ready to carry peace and confidence with me into the last 6 weeks (QUOI?!!!) of my study abroad experience here.

Jeune Alsace

Young Alsace~ Yes, this is the same historic Alsace in the east of France that is neither German nor French and at the same time is both.  However, suddenly we find ourselves among its youth.  Sarah, my lovely French friend who is studying at my university in the states (USC) not only graciously invited me to stay with her parents in Mulhouse, but she also virtually introduced me (via facebook) to two of her good friends.  First of all, however, I met up with an old fellow USC student, Caroline, who lived in the "French House" (my apartment complex last year, a living and learning community for those of us interested in French language and culture) with me.  

Caroline and me, with our red coats.  :-)

She was a fantastic guide, showing me everything from:

the Porte Jeune and the Tram

1) the "Hôtel de Ville" (the courthouse of sorts) to 
2) the houses built in true Alsacian fashion (made of concrete and  then painted various colors) to 
3) the tram (built a few years ago and present in Mulhouse, Strasbourg, and some other medium sized cities in France) to 
4) the "Porte Jeune" ("the young door," the mall, constructed in a modern style that I found interesting but that Caroline does not like) to 

bouchée à la reine et spatzlés

5) a traditional restaurant where she introduced me to "la bouchée à la reine" and "spatzlés," a dish that consists of a meat pie with a rich cream/mushroom sauce and then the spatzlés which are a type of potato based pasta and that go quite well with the sauce.

la flammekeuche!

     The next day, I met Anne, Sarah's best friend who dreams of nothing more than to go to the United States and thus was all to happy to practice her English.  This was the first time I had spoken my native language for an entire day since my  arrival in France, but I was happy to find that the transition between the two languages is becoming easier and easier for me as my French improves.  Anne was not there to show me around Mulhouse but instead to accompany me to Strasbourg.  Not knowing the city too well herself either, she had printed plenty of google maps and had a to-do list for the day of "must sees."  Thus we began with the famous cathedral, with its astronomical clock and its tower from which one can see the city (unfortunately, we missed the tower, but it turned out that with only an afternoon in the city, we didn't have enough time).  Hungry from our time in the car and at the cathedral, we then found a restaurant with the shortened name, "Flam," which serves another regional specialty, the "flammekeuche."  Basically this consists of a thin layer of dough, covered by "crème fraiche" (like sour cream that is not sour) and then a variety of toppings... usually cheese, onions, mushrooms, and ham, but we also tried the specialty of the day, which was topped by four different cheeses.  We of course finished the meal with a dessert "flam," in my case, chocolate/banana, which was equally delicious.  
     We then hurried to the touristy boat tour that was nonetheless fantastic.  In a glass sided/topped boat, we travelled the river at the heart of Strasbourg through two locks past "la petite france" (little France- the oldest part of the town), the international council of human rights, the parliament for the E.U., and several churches, the university, etc.  Anne, thoroughly relieved that we had managed to see everything on her to-do list thanks to the tour, drove me back to Sarah's parents' apartment, where we shared an enormous couscous (Nadia: "eat now...diet later!!!") and finally began to speak French again.  

Strasbourg...this is where we had our boat tour

     Finally, the next morning, I met Natasha and Todd who are French and American, respectively.  Todd did his masters in French at USC, so he and I had quite the interesting conversation about professors we had had in common.  They make a lovely couple, and wandering around Mulhouse together, I saw through them what a true Franco/American romantic relationship looks like.  It was beautiful to see their easy transitions between French and English, to analyze with them cultural differences and similarities, and to recognize in them other students of culture, language, literature, and life. 
     I cannot finish without noting, however, the young and old are unanimous in that THE thing to do in Alsace is to go to the Christmas markets.  Apparently they start the first weekend of November, so I just missed them, but as Mulhouse was already decorated for Christmas, I could feel the stirrings of this amazing tradition.  Alsace in particular is known for its mulled wines, sale of local goods/decorations, and fantastic food sold out in the open during the Christmas season.  Maybe someday I will make it back for THE Alsace experience, but my time there was still satisfying, seen from older and younger local perspectives, and ultimately from my own.

Qu’est-ce que c’est que la France?

What is France?  Imagine spices, all the colors in the world, sunshine, seaside markets, and vineyards.  Voici my friend’s parents who became my own for a few days, Nadia of Morocco and Etienne of Alsace (eastern France).  With their help, I tasted my first “boeuf bourgignon,” discovered the history and art of their town, Mulhouse (yes, Christmas decorations are already up—in preparation for the much anticipated December markets) visited the castle of Haut Koenigsbourg and spoke lots and lots of French.  Above all, they taught me what it is like to be a French daughter, not so different from being an American daughter in the end.  J

Nadia et Etienne

            Nadia is certainly a mind of her own, possibly one of the most interesting people I have ever met.  The quotidienne Nadia is best explained by anecdote:  upon my arrival, she immediately began ravishing me with comments such as “ma petite puce,” “ma pauvre fille,” (my little flea, my pour daughter), pampering and practically cooing because I had had a few transportation problems that afternoon.  Showing me to her daughter’s room, she gave me a bag of cookies and dark chocolate for “just in case I get hungry during the night,” and then she proceeded to make the largest omelette I had ever seen (along with a salad, cheese, and the staple—bread) to feed me, her, and her husband.  Breakfast the next day?  Cake and/or chocolate croissant, juice, and hot chocolate, followed by boeuf bourgignon for lunch, a gauffre for an afternoon snack, and any number of fruits or yogurts offered in between.  She is seemingly determined that I have never eaten before in my life and that she will do everything in her power to remedy that.  I must admit that it was nice being fussed over again momentarily.  It is easy to see that all of this feeding comes from her maternal, loving, giving heart.

            The first morning after my arrival, we stumbled upon an intriguing conversation.  What does Nadia believe?  God exists, He is good, we were all made to be the way we are…religions are just organizations that take people’s money for themselves instead of giving it to the poor.  Wow.  Momentarily taken aback, I knew that later this would incite my most fervent prayer at Taizé—that the world’s religions may change to honestly earn the trust of full, giving, believing hearts like Nadia’s, that in their strength as communities of believers, they may give more to the poor than any one person ever could. 

            Etienne, on the other hand, (who has quite the knack with clocks and toy trains) was more worried about the fact that I am going to Mali next semester.  Quick to offer me an article about terrorist activity in northern Mali, he asked me again in a little café after our visit to the castle, “you are really going there next semester?  But what attracts you to Mali?”  Nadia may be partially right; her argument is that all I listen to is my heart.  But I was quick to correct her in saying that I spend a lot of time reflecting on my decisions, even if it may not seem that way.  Logically speaking, it does not make sense to leave the sick and poor of Mali alone because their government has not yet decided to help them, even if the risks might be larger and the exquisite sites/encounters with educated people rarer than in, say, Morocco, Tunisia, or Kenya.  Although some of their reactions were surprising to me, I have nothing against this amazing couple that brings to the table as much knowledge of the world as they lack in technological common sense.  Above all, they took me in and cared for me better than almost anyone else in France has to this day. 

            If anything else, they led me to reflect on my decisions to be 1) Christian 2) a study abroad student in Mali 3) a doctor in the developing world 4) a student of France—of which the definition is turning out to be increasingly complex.  If this couple is France, as is my host family in Bretagne and the university students of Troyes, I am beginning to think that the only uniting principles are…bread…cheese...and…the language?  We shall see…

Les amitiés

Friendships~ Smahen and Rachida smiled at me from across the table at a Troyan creperie.  There we were, speaking French easily together nearly two years after the exchange between my French class at USC and their English class at l’UTT.  The night before, Smahen and I had had a long discussion about healthcare and education systems (of course, over raclettes—cheese that you literally melt and then pour onto boiled potatoes or meat—and “briques”—folded pockets of tuna and tomato sauce)… I forgot the English word “Democrat,” but Smahen provided it for me, and every single one of my amazing French buddies asserted that I have not changed much—except linguistically.  

Reunited!!!

            Our “franco-american weekend” in Troyes was well spent.  Not only did we assert by our reunion that we had formed real relationships that cross oceans and time, but we also practiced our language skills and caught up on the many new developments in the lives of each other and our mutual friends (all over the world).  Yet again, we all laughed with Anthony (who likes to play the part of the clown).   Kirsten, another USC student from my freshman year French class who (due to unfortunate circumstances) could not accompany us to Troyes the first time, also came from her current residence of Paris to finally meet her “keypal,” Elvira.  With their beautiful hospitality that I hope to reciprocate when they go back to the United States, these lovely people reminded me that learning about a culture—the apprenticeship of a language itself, in fact—is indivisible from its people.  It is thanks to them that my French skills began to improve from my first day of college on, and in more ways than one, what I said to myself over and over again this past weekend is very true: “it is thanks to them that I am where I am today.”  May the adventure go on!

Les yeux

Eyes~ Consider the amazing nature of the human eye.  It can see, look, cry, smile, sparkle, love, and ornament many a beautiful face.  Still exploring the theme of "beauty" in my literature class, I memorized a piece of prose that focuses on the lack of depth in the eyes of a lover who loves no more...

"Je ne pourrais pas écrire que je la regardais au fond des yeux car ces yeux-là n'avaient pas de fond.  Ils n'étaient qu'une surface noire, désespérément opaque, des yeux inhumains, de rapace ou de lynx, d'une dureté de marbre ou de météorite, qui me regardaient me ne me voyaient pas, qui ne m'aimaient pas, qui ne me m'aimeraient jamais, qui n'aimaient ni n'aimeraient jamais personne, des yeux d'un autre monde."

"I could not write that I was looking into the depth of her eyes because these eyes had no depth.  They were nothing but a black surface, hopelessly opaque, inhuman eyes, of a wildcat or a lynx, with the lifespan of marble or of a meteorite, that looked at me but didn't see me, that didn't love me, that would never love me, that never loved and would never love anyone, otherworldly eyes."

Yes, the eye holds a power that fascinates poets and scientists alike, the power to bend light and recognize colors, shapes, dark and light, but also the power to import and export the emotions of the world around us and the emotions (or lack thereof) of our souls.  Every study abroad student has many opportunities to exercise his or her sight- and to discover the lenses through which the rest of the world sees him or her, his or her country, and the country where he or she resides at present.

Maria...during the "journée du patrimoine"

Thus we come to one of the most beautiful experiences of my study abroad experience: Maria's monologue.  Maria of Colombia is "la classe," sunshine, art, tranquillity, love, wisdom, sadness, and above all, an artist.  The monologue was an assignment for our oral expression class: to speak for five minutes about our first impressions of France, initial (or continual) difficulties, and how this experience so far had developed and deepened our knowledge of the culture.  Knowing her love for this country despite her current frustrations, I expected from Maria a carefully crafted and thoughtful presentation regarding France and only France, likely filled with metaphors and descriptions, and accompanied by the beautiful spanish accent en français.  She began as expected but quickly veered slightly off the subject and left me nearly in tears as she explained that the thing that most surprised her during this semester in France was how much she appreciates Americans now.  She hated the United States when she went there- the system, the mode of living, the food... looking in the direction of the small group of Americans in the room, she said, "the United States has some very good people.  I see now that what I expected to find in all Americans is perhaps more present in young French people."  Although I have been struggling with all of the things that I don't like about the United States, this was a beautiful affirmation that we have gleaned some good from our very American backgrounds.  Through the eyes of Maria, I momentarily saw my own country in a very different- and more positive- light than I have for most of my experience here, and my tears nearly escaped.  Honored and filled with appreciation for my friend and the beautiful culture from which she came, all I could do was give some "bises" and say goodbye for fall break.  There is much to see- new people and places of course, but now of all times I will not forget to continually look- and see anew- that which is or was my "norm"-beliefs, experiences, people.

reconductable

able to be rerouted... or redone~ Katie shared this perfectly pertinent word with me today, explaining that it often describes anything and everything related to the movement of the moment in France: strikes, blockages, manifestations, etc., in that the people will continue (in whatever manner necessary) to fight for what they believe until the government listens.  What is reconductable in my vie quotidienne?

1) Given that another "blocage" began in mid-afternoon, the president evacuated the university... completely confused, my literature professor (who I adore...and who is very French) said, "but what am I going to do about the test today?"  I suggested she e-mail us her instructions, and she may actually do it- quelle surprise!  I am still getting used to the fact that there is a 99% chance my professors will NOT respond when I send an e-mail.

2) Given the train strike and fuel shortage, one out of two trains are running normally.  That should be interesting for the upcoming fall break...

3) Periodically the buses stop running without warning- thus my little adventure the other night after Bible study; Julia (another American student) and I found ourselves stuck in the centre ville (city center) with no buses, thus we took the metro back to the university and had some of the kind French students from our Bible study drive us home.

French red coat...adventuring in Cornuaille (the very "breton" part of Bretagne) before the strikes began in full!!!

Yes, the movement against retirement reform is going strong- in years past apparently the blockages went on for months, and the part of the university for international students relocated to cafés, bedrooms, and parks.  We shall see, but I find myself moving a bit deeper into French culture every day, wandering around in a French red coat and my first ever boots, speaking (half the time to myself) the language, going to the post office, pushing my little host sister in her stroller to the grocery store, studying literature and feeling tentatively eloquent, laughing, loving, living- discovering all the parts of language that are common to us all.  Above all, I find it encouraging that my fellow students, their parents, their grandparents- everyone, really, takes an interest in the political climate of their country.  Apathy is certainly not my first impression or my more refined conception now of this country.  Are the protesters right?  According to my host father, no- the government is going to run out of retirement money in three years if the retirement age stays the same.  But I am (again) tentatively fascinated by the intense interest in the issue that surrounds me every day.  First and foremost a student, however, I can't help but prefer that the strikes stay outside the university.  I can walk if I have to...

les français

the french~ We, the students of Rennes II (foreign and French alike) were greeted at 8:15 this morning by locked doors and rigged up fences; yes, I experienced my first "blocage."  A small group of students voted yesterday that they would block all of the university entrances today, and given the resulting safety risks, the president closed the university.  We shall see if this causes a response from the government (the students are protesting a law that would change the retirement age), but at the very least, I had zero hours of class instead of six.  As nice as it was, I hope this movement does not grow much larger, because it could cause some serious academic disturbances, especially for us foreign students.
     An unexpected day off always passes too quickly, and before long, we were comfortably seated in the Théâtre National du Bretagne (National Theatre of Britanny), watching quite the European show.  A combination of dance, film, lighting, and music, we experienced the humanity of emotions at their rawest: love (above all), fear, sexual tension, death, superficiality disguising more animalistic tendencies, flexibility, and some rather talented tongues, in a show called, "Octopus."  It's a bit as if France smacked us Americans in the face today to say, "bonjour!  I'm special and different and you better acknowledge it."  I think I am falling in love, and at the same time, I want more than just about anything else a spoonful of peanut butter.  I'll settle for filling my mind and mouth with a language that tastes almost as good.

La vie quotidienne

daily life~ As a blogger, it is easy to fall into the routine of writing about that which is spectacular or, more precisely, that which can stand on its own as  two or three paragraphs and select photos.  But the rhythms of life in Rennes from day to day and week to week perhaps paint a truer portrait of my experience, or at least a fuller one.  These rhythms are what I am afraid to forget, the life of a French university student, daughter, sister, woman, friend...

my "emploi de temps"- schedule

     The alarm rings: 7 A.M.- matinale (morning person) that I am sometimes, I jump out of bed, throw on some clothes, and go for a run.  Some of the boulangeries are already open, and I can smell the morning pastries and the day's supply of bread wafting out of the open doors.  Parents walk their children, often bundled up in raincoats or carrying miniature umbrellas, to school, and the morning traffic has already begun.  The park de Bréquiny, about 2.5 km from "chez ma famille d'acceuil" (my host family's house) awaits.  There I will find a playground, a garden, and a lovely dirt track, still hidden in a bit of morning fog, and perfect for amateur and serious runners alike.  Back at the house, I eat my morning bowl of "Fitness," my new favorite cereal (a combination of flakes and dried fruit- yes, this habit is very American) and prepare for my own commute, a 20 minute walk to the metro, which then takes me directly to the university.  The compartment at the back of the metro is the best; there, when it exists from underground, one can see the city flying away and, on the 8h15 class days, the sunrise in all its glory.                

Friday morning

     Classes are very different from day to day, with most of them meeting only once a week.  Some days, I audit a "Sociology of Integration" or "Sociology of Health" class at the university.  Monday night is Salsa class and "latin training" (reminiscent of zumba) time, Wednesday, "dance rock n' roll" followed by dinner and Bible study with the wonderful people from my church (an American missionary married to a Frenchman and lots and lots of French students!).  Fridays I have no class, but there is always something to do- lunch with friends, a movie to watch, a museum to visit, homework to do- and just to keep myself going, I'm signed up for a tennis class with the university Friday morning.
     It is hard to find a balance between being too American (staring around with an awed smile on my face and wanting to look people in the eye to share my joy) and making sure that I set aside time to take it all in.  For life is quite busy at this point; in my attempts to try to do everything, I could just start running around like a crazy person, looking at no one and nothing until December comes around way too quickly for my liking.  The space that I try to make for reflection is where the French rhythm of life comes in.  Lingering at the table with friends or family, I can smile and think, "oui, je suis toujours en France!" (yes, I am still in France!)  Professors are often late for class, and the moments of waiting are perfect for little pieces of reflection.  These are the times when I discover that despite my love for nutella, I miss peanut butter, I want to stay in touch with my international friends and my new American friends from this experience, the word "amour" (love), when pronounced correctly literally puckers one's mouth as if for a kiss, I very much dislike the fact that so many people smoke here, and- oh!- I meant to look up that word in the dictionary...let me do that now...voilà!  I have augmented my vocabulary...

FOOTBALL!!!

     Life is punctuated by interesting tangents; this past week, I went to a "football" game, where Rennes won 3-1 against Toulouse!  We of course ate sausage galettes (basically crèpes made with wheat flour), a Bretagne football tradition, and we found seats under the covered area to watch the game among a sea of excited French people.  One Friday, I went to the Musée de Beux Arts (Museum of Fine Arts) with a friend from church and an American friend, where I discovered not only the very French expression for "to cry a lot," "pleurer comme une madeleine," but also the fact that Mary Magdalene's name in French is "Marie Madeleine."  Another day, I attended a meeting of "SOS Racisme," the main organisation in France that works against racism (perhaps a bit too militant/political for my liking, but interesting nonetheless), and a couple of times, I have gone "au cinéma" to watch the beautiful film, "ces amours-là," a love story and world war II tragedy, and the award winning film "les hommes et les dieux," the true story of a group of devout priests engaged in mission work, embraced by their community of Christians and Muslims, and killed by terrorists in the end.  Yet another Friday, I sought out the closest thing I could find to American bacon (la poitrine fumée) and made pancakes, bacon and scrambled eggs for my host family.  An evening visit to the "Rue de la Soif" ("road of thirst"- known for its many bars) is always a possibility, but I am finding that I am more of an aperatif, mixed drink, champagne, or wine with meals during the day or in the early evening kind of girl.  Late night binge drinking is not something I ever want to try, much less in France, where every moment is too precious to forget.
     And I look forward.  I know that this rhythm is entirely different from that which will surround and live in me next semester.  My fellow pre-med friend in my program, Katie, shared a book entitled, Monique and the Mango Rains with me that I practically devoured.  It is filled with all kinds of cultural and linguistic tidbits, and as it is the story of a peace corps volunteer in Mali who first learned French from a semester abroad in France, it is of particular interest to me.  The international community of Rennes is also very helpful in my preparations.  I am learning from Maria of Colombia to take nothing for granted, from Ali of Iran the heart of Islam, and from Katie, the American who is at heart from Cameroon, how to cross the street daringly, fully appreciate fruit and sunlight, and love "football" more than just about anything else.  This is my life in France, and it is good.

les légendes

legends~I thought that King Arthur and his knights had all of their adventures in Great Britain, that Vivian's lake was somewhere near London and that the only reason that one of the most famous accounts of the legends is titled La Mort D'Arthur was that France is only a narrow body of water away from the where Arthur was killed.  Little did I know how rich my own "Small Britain" (yes this region of France used to be called Petite Bretagne, as opposed to Grande Bretagne, or Great Britain) would be in the genre of Arthurian legends. 

King Arthur and his knights... and Jesus and his disciples...

Then, with a very international group of students and an enthousiastic guide, I visited Brocéliande, a magical forest if there ever was one.  We began with the lake that serves as the watery home of the fairy, Vivianne, Arthur's training ground, where one can see a glass castle under the wavy surface when looking very carefully. The abbey next to the lake introduced us to one of the themes of the day, the coupling of belief in legends of magic, knights, and fairies with religious beliefs.  This came, in part, from the fact that the church tried to stamp out the "paganism" of magic but more so, it originates from the true duality in belief systems of Bretagne: Arthur had a magic sword and was raised by the combined efforts of a fairy and a wizard, but all of this happened under the watchful eye of God.  Our role was to open our minds, to set aside our personal beliefs (momentarily), and to exist fully in this world of magic.  We stared at the lake expecting to see a castle, walked paths turned red by iron traces-no- by the blood of lovers (fairy and human, killed by fairies who could not stand to see their sister show herself to a man), and expected to see the lady in white (buried alive by robbers- her ghost lives on) around every corner.

the forest...and the location of our quest!

 Our quest of the day was to find a fountain that boils, known for its healing powers, and, if perturbed, its ability to incite storms.  Our amazing guide warned that with how much rain we had already had in the preceding days, we would have a downright tempest if we tried this.  I for one, was not ready to have lightning strike all around us and therefore watched the boiling water in awe, without even touching it.  But how did we find this fountain?  We had to traverse every obstacle, following the holly that indicated where Merlin (born to pious mother and devil father) had pounded his cane to make the devil leave his life and his heart.  With a particularly forceful pound of his cane, the fountain sprang to life.  Of course, we found plenty of mushrooms along the way, home to the "korrigands," the Breton cousins of Ireland's leprechaun.

Do you see the korrigands?

And we could not forget Merlin's tomb (ironic- as he has eternal life), the dual stone formation representing trapped lovers, and the fountain of youth.  I still don't quite understand how we all came out of the "vallée sans retour"- the valley of no return- unscathed.  This forest, these tales and beliefs, are part of the multicolored and rich fabric of the region I am growing to love, a fabric that adorns the already beautiful garment that is "la France."  And I, too, can feel the magic...changing me just a little bit every day, not that of fairies or wizards but that of understanding, language, love, laughter, comfort, enjoyment, and self assurance that will propel me into the new adventure of next semester.  In Mali, I believe that I will encounter a very different kind of belief system in magic... we shall see.

La tristesse

Sadness~ I have not encountered this emotion very much in my daily life in Rennes so far.  Invigorated by being involved again with student activities, sports, classes, and French speaking (as a necessity rather than a hobby), I am still living on a rush of love for this place and its people.  Of course, there are moments of frustration- when people mock my accent, when I just want the professor to be ON TIME for once, when I want to help in a stressful familial situation, but can't speak quickly enough or well enough to suggest my input, when I see the homeless of Rennes, when I want to stay at a concert but cannot stand the smoke... Frustration is natural when one is surrounded by a different culture, and I have learned to combat it with laughter and with grounding myself in what I know (thus the reason for my quickly growing adoration for my weekly Bible study), but sadness, for me, even in a language that expresses "malheur" (discontentment) almost as well as it expresses love, is hard to come by.  I never imagined that one of my little weekend trips would bring everything momentarily crashing down.

          We were all excited about the adventure of the weekend to come- the first excursion with our (american) program, another night in a hostel with people our own age, a glimpse of another part of France.  Yes, we could not wait to go to Normandy.  And we did find lightness and laughter in momentary language "malentendus" (misunderstandings), love stories, and the movie, "8 Femmes," which we borrowed from the hostel's mini library.  However, from the sombre war museum to the multitudinous graves at Omaha Beach to the craters left by bombs at "Point Hoc," a German outpost that the Allies took on "J-Jour" (D-Day), we also rediscovered the weight of history, experiencing anger, confusion, pride/patriotism, and ultimate sadness at the presence of evil that is capable of killing more people than one can count because of their race, mental condition, beliefs, or willingness to fight for people and/or principles they love.  Wandering the cemetery, home to the bodies of so many soldiers who were my age or younger, I could not help but think of the excerpt of the Baudelaire poem, Hymne à la Beauté (Hymn of Beauty), that I had memorized for the next day:

"De Satan ou de Dieu qu'importe? Ange ou Sirène,
Qu'importe, si tu rends- fée aux yeux de velours
Rythme, Parfum, Lueur, ô mon unique reine!-
L'univers moins hideux, et les instants moins lourds?"

"From Satan or from God, what does it matter?  Angel or Siren,
What does it matter, if you render- fairy with velvet eyes-
Rhythm, Perfume, Light, oh my unique queen!-
The universe less hideous, and moments less heavy?"

     These historical sites have become places of their own brand of beauty, above all the cemetery, with its well tended grass, imposing pristine monuments, and endless rows of white crosses (and stars of david for the Jewish soldiers).  The beauty of the idea for which these soldiers fought, mirrored in the place where they lie is the only thing that keeps us all from going insane.  But I found myself wary of the beauty, with her lilting songs, fighting her spell that nearly blinds us to the horrors of war with the light of glory.  Coming out of the weekend, not only were we all more grounded in the moment, but very well may be more grounded for life.  Talking about D-Day is one thing, but seeing its scars on the land and its lives is something else entirely.  à bientôt (sooner this time, I promise...next topic: legends)!

le patrimoine

Parliament...

patrimony/inheritance~ It is perhaps a bit bizarre to begin an entry about cultural patrimony with talk of internationalism, but on the other hand, a country's people-- all of them-- define the cultural baggage that the society as a whole will carry. In fact, the life of an international student is "hyper-cool."  I have learned more about China, Colombia, Japan, Mexico, and Russia here in France than I ever have in the United States.  Yes, classes have begun in full, supplemented by a bit of Rock 'n Roll dance with a Chinese friend here, a tennis class with a Polish friend there, and some Salsa with the typical slightly strange but very fun personalities that attend beginner latin dance classes.  Sometimes I begin again my classic vendetta to fend off "foreigners" and meet only "real French people," and then I realize that I'm being quite the stereotypical American, but instead of believing the United States is the center of the universe, my center is France.  The cultural enrichment in Rennes, which turns out to be quite the international city, is at my fingertips, and I can learn much more than French language in my classes and outside of them.

Mali exhibit in Rennes..my cultural patrimony indeed!

      My weekend was a perfect example of the balance I am working to find- it was the "weekend du patrimoine," two days when, throughout France, museum entry is free, and buildings that are usually closed to the public open their doors.  Of course, I discovered the wonders of Rennes's history and culture with my classy new Colombian friend, Maria, and her German friend who was visiting for the day.  From the Prefecture (an old welcoming building for government officials), to l'opera (for a concert by the Brittany orchestra), to les champs libres (a people's museum, currently hosting an exhibit on women in Mali), the day could not have been more perfect.  And Maria, who is one of the most perceptive people I have ever met--and quite the artist--shared with me that our "Statue of Liberty" is not actually a commonly accepted symbol of liberty in France and that September 11th was already in the history books regarding U.S./Chile relations long before "9/11."  Our day progressed from architecture to photography to music, which, as the woman who gave the introduction at l'Opera gently reminded us, is a sign that "patrimony" is not purely static and historical.  This tidbit propelled us to search out some culinary patrimony afterwards.
     People say that the pizza in Italy is the best in the world, but I have trouble believing that anything could be better than the "four seasons" pizza from Saturday, symbolic of the weather every day in Rennes, and infused with the flavors of real cheese, artichoke, ham, olives, and tomatoes.  A bit of red wine, an aperitif, mozzarella and tomato salad, and "fondant au chocolat" finished off our masterpiece of a day.

Perfection

     But again I am forever seeking balance here in this foreign and beautiful world, and I found it Sunday morning and afternoon, at my new countryside church, filled to the brim with French students and families.  Worship in this language of love is possibly my favorite experience so far, and I happily remarked that French provides a better understanding of the accessibility to God that one finds in Christianity; in prayer, the French "tutoyer" Jesus, which is to say, they use the familiar "you" form when they speak to Him.  Here I thought that I would be catholic for a few months, but instead this group, as different from presbyterians as catholics in some ways, found me.  Katie, a new American friend who grew up in Africa, recently shared with me her insights about the "language of the heart," and the importance of translating the Bible into the languages that penetrate the very core of a people.  I honestly believe that I may be in the process of finding my own heart language, somewhere between French and English, where I can "tutoyer" Jesus but still find all of the words I need.
     The story of this internationalism that is quickly becoming my patrimony would be terribly incomplete without Ali.  He found me while I was miserably lost in search of my tennis classroom Friday morning, helped me find it, happily failed at tennis until the professor told him it was not possible for him to stay in that level of class, met my American friends, told us that it had always been his dream to eat dinner with Americans, took us to a restaurant run by Iranians, and had one deep conversation with me in which he stated that I am a better Muslim than he because his faith places a strong emphasis on a spirit for helping others.  This quickly became a discussion about the similarities and differences of the world's great religions.  Indeed, here in France, there are worlds of information to discover, and France's inheritance is everything and nothing in my apprentissage.
~À bientôt!

la magie

magic~ If thought that neither Harry Potter nor French could ever be better, I was wrong.  Like galettes and cheese, these two superbly amazing inventions are best together.  I am on chapter 4 and Harry just discovered he will spend the next year at "Poudlard"...a school of witchcraft and wizardry.  And today, like Harry, I stepped into a magical world, reminiscent of a time when people believed fervently in God and faeries, Jesus and dragons, the devil and amulets.  

In this place, the poor literally ate the plates of the rich; since there were no plates, the sauce soaked bread on which the rich ate their main courses was given to the less fortunate at the end of each meal.  Knights dueled, people labored, and everyone celebrated religious holidays together.  Here I was, with Katie (KAH-tee), Katie (KAY-tee), Anna, Julia, and Claire, my new American but French-speaking friends, in Dinan.

Anna and Katies with the castle!

          In order to "profit from" (I'm in love with this French expression) our Saturday sans homework before classes start at the university, we took the bus from Rennes to Dinan, an entirely medieval city about an hour and fifteen minutes away.  The castle, right next to the office of tourism, was the first stop.  Here we discovered not only a fellow student of Rennes II (masters student of history- working the desk) but also quite the interesting exhibit on the culture of the medieval city, a rather sombre dungeon filled with sculptures of important people, an excellent view, and of course our fair share of uneven spiral staircases.  As much as it was a stereotypical castle experience, it was invaluable to the richness of our visit.

craquantes!!!

          Then it was time for our picnic; our host families had the entire spectrum covered in terms of culinary choice.  A couple of the girls just bought sandwiches at a boulangerie, while Claire's host mom had packed her everything she could ever need to make a sandwich, and my parents (since they are in Spain until next Wednesday), left me a croque monsieur kit, with which I made this traditional grilled ham and cheese sandwich in the morning to bring along.  It is just as good cold as it is warm!  For dessert, we shared a bag of "craquantes," a traditional Breton dessert made from flour, sugar, egg whites, butter, and almonds- reminiscent of caramel corn.  Dinan is in an area of Bretagne that is even prouder of its heritage (independent from France) than Rennes, and from the food to the "Breton pride" signs to the black and white flags on every other building, we could tell.


         Finally, we adventured out of the city and toward the fabled village with its beautiful abbey.  A French couple at the castle told us that this is a "must see," and all you have to do to find it is follow the river east.  We did just this and stumbled upon a rock face that one can climb, a house for sale, a couple of accordian players, and a very French-ish old woman originally from the United States.  Finally we found the charming petite medieval town.  

"a small city with character"...Bretagne

la glace!!!

We also found the abbey, where there just so happened to be a marriage.  All of the guests wore interesting hats and/or ornaments; I have yet to determine if this is a Breton tradition or if it is shared by all those who consider themselves "old French," but either way, the wedding guests were the most colorful I had ever seen.  And of course there was a fortified castle, for as my high school French teacher once told me, nearly every village in France has a castle and a church.  We finished the trek back to the city with a stop at a fantastic "glacerie" (ice cream shop), where I discovered/rediscovered the joys of nutella, salted caramel (everything is salted in Bretagne..especially the butter), and gavotte (a hardened crèpe covered in chocolate and made in Dinan) ice cream.  The ice cream of the day to taste-test was...rose.
         The weather was perfect (no rain), we successfully went and returned on the bus, and we found a lovely balance of city and country, present and past.  In Bretagne, if merely because of the lack of rain, I believe this hints at magic...or at least serendipity.  But for now, kenavo!