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!

J'aime la plage!

I like the beach!~It's raining today.  Finally the expected Rennes weather has come to pass, and I plan to wear my raincoat more often than not.  Yesterday was, however, (according to my host family), one of the last beautiful days of the summer, so it was necessary that we "profiter du soleil-" profit from/take advantage of the sunlight.  Thus we went au bord de la mer (to the ocean), to the well known and relatively tourist-ridden town of St. Malo and to the nearby, smaller, and more residential town of Dinard.  

the beach at St. Malo

     St. Malo hosts not only its many visitors but also some interesting history, its own flag, and a statue of Jacques Cartier, Canada's explorer who originally came from Bretagne.  The beach there is a perfect place to have a family picnic: "les sandwiches américaines," chips, and cheese, of course.  The American sandwich in France generally consists of ham, cheese, lettuce, and tomato on a baguette (in our case with a little bit of avocado as well).  My burgeoning question since Paris has been "why is this particular sandwich so American?"  Merely the fact that it is served on a baguette baked only the way the French do gives this specialty the air of a French sandwich rather than an American one.  My host father hypothesizes that it is because it contains more stuff in general than do most French sandwiches, and that is the best I have heard so far.  We are known for eating a lot in general, and especially lots of sandwiches.  Thus it was no surprise that I was given the task of sandwich making for our picnic.  Once at the beach, we ate and then contemplated a swim.  The water temperature at St. Malo rests somewhere between that of the Pacific and that of the Atlantic in the United States.  I ended up braving the cold to play with my little sisters, who see no problem with changing into and out of their bathing suits in the middle of the beach in plain sight.  I love how every day holds a new realization of cultural differences to be integrated into my growing realistic perspective of France.

the sand...

     Post St. Malo, we found our way to the smaller town of Dinard, about 15 minutes away by car.  There to greet us were about 20 relatives and friends, including many little French children, at the house of a family friend.  From then on, the day was entirely a blur for me; the linguistic challenge was nearly insurmountable, but I had a few moments where people lent an ear to the stuttering American, and I allowed myself some time to take in it all- the fast and overlapping conversations, the family interactions, and of course, the time near the water, for here, too, we marched down the tiny personal path from the house to the beach and spent some time just being.  I examined the sunny sky, the sand (which is grainier than I've seen in the states), the fortified islands nearby, and the rocky shore.
This part of my day was reminiscent of a song I learned in French I...

La mer bleue (the blue sea)

Le sable chaud (the warm sand)

Et les bateaux, qui flottent sur l'eau (and the boats, that float on the water)

C'est beau!  J'aime la plage! (It's pretty!  I like the beach!)

looking UP!!!

     Although the song itself is nothing extraordinary, it's amazing to think that I already had the language tools to express my happiness on the beach of Dinard six years before this moment came to pass.  Other than its linguistic difficulties, my Sunday was an ideal illustration of the French/European concept of true repose.  It was a time to be together with "proches," (people who lie close to the heart), to laugh, talk, and eat with each other in a beautiful place to reflect those sentiments.  Now I am ready to sign up for my courses, hoping against hope that there will be more "hard rest" coupling the hard work to come.

L'apprentisage

My "sisters" off to school tomorrow!  Sixtine (left) and Brune (right)

Learning (or "apprenticeship")~ Today I learned how to write an essay.   I also learned how a teacher interacts with his or her students, how grading works, and how to sign up for classes.  My time right now is a bizarre mix of first grade, seventh grade, and freshman year of college.  But such turmoil can be a beautiful aid in reuniting with one's childlike curiosity.  Instead of telling me I am Hermoine here, my friends say I am Shirley Temple.  Although I wouldn't say that either character is a perfect allegory, the contrast in metaphor is striking.  Each day is an adventure, each new word like a spoonful of chocolate mousse, and in language and action, I mimic my environment like my "little sister," Brune (3 years old).  Clandestinely watching a group of French girls about my age, I alter my scarf slightly; I order at a boulangerie (bakery) using the same phrase as the woman in front of me; and I stare at my teacher in awe, hoping that someday I will master the lilting, songlike, perfect beauty of this language I love.
      The French education system is, of course, relatively different from that in the United States.  It is (more so historically, but currently as well) based on the concept articulated by a professor at Rennes II (my university): "On ne valorise pas la réussite- on stygmatise l'échec."  Essentially, "a teacher does not value success but instead devalues errors."  It is a system of elimination, meant to reward the persistent ones, the bright ones, the ambitious ones, with merely a degree at the end.  A university degree is rarer than one would think given that university here is almost entirely free.  Those who do not have the persistence, the intellect, or the ambition of their university-bound classmates can obtain an earlier degree resembling a technical degree in the united states, but offered in high school.  As such, teachers in France are essentially "professors."  They are not there to encourage their students but to correct them.  They "profess" their knowledge (obviously much greater than the students') in the classroom, and we, France's students, listen.  We are "apprentices," if you may, to whatever intellectual realm a professor may represent.  I find the system intriguing, and I am working on my "apprentisage" in every day life as well here in Rennes.

My other "sister," (the oldest) Alix!

     The rentrée (first day of school, work, etc...but not for the university) is tomorrow!  My three "younger sisters" are going to pre-kindergarden (l'école maternelle) and elementary school (l'école elementaire), and they to will begin their apprenticeship for the year.  The rentrée should be another sunny day, which is unusual for Rennes, but with my small sample of days, I would find it common.  I am impatient to begin university classes, but our pre-program is an apprenticeship itself, reviewing language and learning cultural necessities that will render us more like pre-teens than five-year-olds when we are tossed to the wind of French university life.   

study spot...

Ratatouille and pasta...from the cafeteria     

     Our little tastes of this life, though, have been lovely:  a run at the university track, four course meals at the R.U. (Restaurant Universitaire), and a bit of study time at the "parc du thambor," the largest and most beautiful park in the city.  I think I might just love this apprenticeship- that of words, whims, and where to find pure pleasure in oneself.  À bientôt!