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)!