IRELAND CALLS ME BACK! (aka. I am in love...)

How can I concentrate on french homework, on writing syntheses, on returning to daily life in the Strasbourg-fashion, when I’ve just been seduced by the smiling beauty, the emerald wonder, the dancing music that is Ireland? I can’t stop listening to all my celtic compilations (as well as my newly-acquired “The Best of Irish Pub Sing-alongs”)... I can’t stop my mind from planning a way to get back to this inviting land... I have fallen in love. Hard. And I can’t help but feel I need to go back... and soon. Part of me wants to ditch out on a month of travels this summer and just go back and live. Another part of me wishes I had more summers sandwiched between undergraduate years when steady work doesn’t matter quite as much, when a future career is as of yet unformed, when I’d drop all plans to hop a plane to Ireland for a summer of emersion in the music and dancing, of soaking up the culture, the accents, the smiles...

I had it all figured out (well, tentatively at least)... I had an idea that started to form when at Derek’s in Amsterdam about what I could do post undergrad (assuming I could get the grant money)... I had an empassioned notion about how I’d go about doing it... vague, but empassioned nonetheless. And I was going to come back and get online and research potential opportunities... and then Ireland turned everything on its head. Now my mind is spinning with all the different instruments I want to learn to play (celtic harp, guitar, drum... fiddle would be on the top of the list if I had faith and time on my side... accordian is also damn cool, if played well), all the dancing I want to learn, all the live pub sessions I want to attend (while taste-testing the selection of local brews, of course), all the hills I want to wander, wrapped up in the beauty of it all. I don’t think I’ve been so seduced by a place since my first visit to Sedona, seven or so years back... and even then I felt it was a place of empowerment, of beauty, a place to come back to... but not to live. Ireland, on the other hand, calls for roots.

In the airport on the way out of Cork, I bought a little hardback book on Irish History (as well as some duty-free Bailey’s.... mmmmm....), intent on learning more about my new seductrice. As it turns out, the book was less than five euro for a reason... it’s rife with typos and very poorly written. However, it does have accompanying photos to help flesh out the written accounts (welcome to my visiual dependency) and it outlines each major detail, figure, subject, etc. in a swallowable dose, so I’m at least getting an overview that perhaps I’ll bring myself to expand upon at a later point. In any case.... going back to the subject of roots, turns out a good deal of Ireland was taken over and settled by the Vikings (if this an extremely obvious historical piont, please bear with me... I never got a very good education in the historical realm... or at least my porous brain has a difficult time recalling what I did learn). Seeing as how I have some Viking in my heritage, perhaps I have a valid tie to this celtic-based land. I think Gretchen and I are going to make our way up to Norway this summer, so we’ll see if I find another love associated with potential heritage... not that I need an excuse to love the places I visit...

Okay... I’ve spent the last while gushing about my new-found love without really describing her (countries are usually considered female, right? Ah, genderization... the bane of my existence). I’ll get around to that within the next week... if only I didn’t have frickin’ homework to do or classes to go to, I’d be spending all my waking hours gushing about the trip... more to come!!

PICS TO COME AS WELL, NOT TO WORRY! (more pics than you’d ever want to see, that’s for sure... I promise to pair down the 1,000 + that were taken... promise...)

CULTURE & EVENTS EVERYWHERE!

Okay, I've been in Amsterdam for five days now and am leaving tonight for London... it's been fantastic and wonderful... but I'll be getting to updates from this trip after it's done. For now, here's an old post I hadn't yet put up about all the awesome events I'vee been to in STrasbourg. Oh, and I have a whole bunch of photos to post, but for some reason this computer is being mean and doesn't want to get the photo-part to work. So I'll post a scad of pictures upon my return, both of Strasbourg and the amazingness that is Amsterdam. Derek and I are both picture junkies, so we've taken a good 600 pix between the two of us these last five days. Yes, that's over 100/day. And Derek's decided to come join Ariana and I for half of our Ireland stay, so I'm sure we'll have another picture-taking fiesta come next week.

By the way... IT IS FRICKIN'AWESOME TO BE TRAVELLING IN EUROPE! more on this to come...

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Okay... so I haven’t really been able to update as I go along due to the difficult internet situation (not checking my email in three days seems blasphemous to the internet gods I used to worship daily, but I’m starting to get used to it). But I’ve done a whole number of things worthy of note, so I figured I’d lump them all into one post and try to breeze through in an interesting fashion...

#1... Clubbing at La Laiterie... my first European electronic music event, for Martina’s 20th birthday, way back during my second Friday here. At “La Laiterie,” an out-of-the way music venue a mere three or four blocks from my apartment, but into a rather shady part of town (wouldn’t really want to go to anything there alone... think “under the freeway” type of digs). Every Friday, beginning at midnight, is an all-night event known as “clubbing,” with two rooms of electronic music (though we only managed to find one when we were there) and various Djs, etc. A crazy amount of guys there, as electronic music seems to be a primarily male thing (Maura once sited its total “lack of emotion” as music goes... while I would disagree – repetitive, yes, emotionless, no – for some reason it made me wonder about the disproportionate number of males and females who appreciate the genre). In any case, it was an interesting night, lots of dancing to mediocre DJs (Protonradio.com has spoiled me), avoiding eye contact with guys seemingly excited by the appearance of the rare female, and watching Alex down beer after beer to bear the music... he hates electronic music and vows never to go back, though I think we can be proud we even got him to go in the first place. La Laiterie has all sorts of shows coming through, and there’s supposed to be some really good bands coming up later this semester (Belle and Sebastian, though sadly they’ll be here over our spring break). I’ll probably get over there at least a couple more times this semester...?

#2... Sunday morning service at the Cathedral... I may have mentioned this before, but I spend one Sunday morning sitting in the rather cold Cathedral (the huge famous one in the center of town... really amazing, both inside and out), witnessing my first Catholic service, and en français no less! It was pretty amazing to see the uniformity and ritual of the service, including the communion at the end of the service. The soloist sent chills through my spine, as she, aided by a microphone, pierced the grandeur of the cathedral with a very beautiful voice singing a liturgical phrase and then having the congregation repeat the chorus. I would have liked more music (that’s the main reason I enjoy checking out services), but that would have meant waking up for the 9 am service, and on a Sunday morning (on any morning, really), that’s not an easy task to achieve.

#3... Mozart’s Requiem at the Cathedral... I was looking forward to this for weeks, ever since we heard about it. Everything here is Mozart, since he’s one of the figureheads of Strasbourg and it’s his 250th birthday this year. And to hear his requiem in the largest cathedral in town, with those acoustics! Of course, what I didn’t realize is that large cathedrals come with two distinct problems: 1) they’re not heated and 2) large does not necessarily equal a large sound. In fact, the entire concert, from half the cathedral back, sounded like it was being played from behind a curtain. Beautiful nonetheless, but just out-of-reach, as if around the next bend in a subway station. So, while it could have been amazing were I sitting in the front row with a heater at my feet, it was instead kind of… well, not amazing. And our feet were simply frostbitten by the end of it. Funny image, however: Martina, Alex, and I got to the Cathedral a half hour before the concert was supposed to start and there was a swarming crowd amassed in front of the farther door, which hadn’t yet been opened. Joining the crowd and wondered if we’d ever get seats, but literally seconds later, we heard a noise and looked over… they were opening the OTHER doors. So, dressed in their Sunday best, a mass of old and young literally began running full-speed to be first into the cathedral, some celebrating their ability to make it in first when they’d actually been last in line, some older women swearing aloud b/c they couldn’t keep up… as unfair as it all was, it was quite humorous to witness and be a part of. Lemmings to the church…

#3... Ionesco’s “La Leçon” (The Lesson)... I was completely stoked when I saw that this play was being performed in town, as it was my initiation into the wonders of directing, during my junior year of high school as assistant director to Kevin Gamba. Seemingly so long ago, but when I saw the piece, it all came flooding back, with Mark as our student, Kirsten the professor (we switched the genders to mess things up a bit) and Carrie as the maid. I’d never read the play in the original french, so it was a very exciting opportunity to actually see it performed. It was a small production, a community group in a local community space, with a makeshift black-box-esque stage, attended by mostly young people (we think a local high school must have been reading the play and it was a recommended event). Martina and I went last thursday, as it was also very à propos to our class absurdist french theater, focused on another of Ionesco’s plays, “Rhinocéros.”

As a reflection on the production, the only thing I can really say is that we, as Americans (and high school students, at that), didn’t understand the notion of “absurd” when we attempted to put on the piece. The French understand absurd. Hence, a production of people sneaking around, pressing play on a cassette deck to hand over half their lines to a mechanized voice, the student ever-smiling and never questioning the omnipresent voice, math problems scribbled all over the walls, random dance parties in the middle of a language lesson, the maid and the professor switching off lines (a change from the original script, in which the maid has very few lines), crazy facial expressions, abrupt entrances and exits, and – the most “What the F**k??” moment of the production – the student being tied to her chair and then the professor and the maid re-entering with ski masks on, wielding menacing (and very real and buzzing) drills, all while still continuing on with the lesson, a lecture on some linguistic something or other... oh, and then a faux “penetration” bit as the professor finally kills the student at the end.
The thought of a sexual link at that point had never crossed my mind during our production (possibly also b/c we switched the male/female roles), and to see that at the very end really got my jaw to drop in astonishment. All in all... it was absurd. Just like it was supposed to be. And now, I’m set on going to see Ionesco’s “La Cantatrice Chauve” in Paris, where it’s been playing in the same theater, every night, since the 1950s(?), the longest running play in the world. Ionesco is definitely climbing the charts as one of my favorites...

#4... Le Musée d’Unterlinden, with Le Retable d’Issenheim... Situated in Colmar, south of Strasbourg, this museum was the first major stop on our first group excursion, which took place this last Friday and included the two LCers from Nancy, who road the train out to join us. An old Dominican convent turned museum post-Revolution, it is home to one of the best-preserved and most thrilling pieces of religious art of western art... Le Retable d’Issenheim, or the Isenheim Altarpiece, a collection of painted (and carved) panels by Mathias Grünewald (painter) and Nikolaus Haguenauer (carver)... and yes, I consulted the program for those names (no reliable memory here). In any case, we really didn’t know what to expect, except that we were warned to dress warmly, as part of the preservation process means that the painting has to be kept at a constantly cold temperature. Not hard this time of year, either, as it has been snowy and crazy cold these past couple weeks.

We got the museum, and while waiting for the tickets, we surveyed the vast collection of cards they were selling, all recreations of the various art pieces housed there. There were some really fantastic images, some grotesque, some very colorful, all incredibly eye-catching and, as Erica commented, it was hard to believe some of these things had been painted so long ago. After wandering the museum a bit on our own (and stumbling across some Picassos... very cool), we regrouped to get a tour of the famous altarpiece. Frankly, I was upset b/c I hadn’t scene any of the images I’d originally scene on the cards, and I wasn’t too thrilled to sit in the unheated chapel to get a lecture on religious art... but my discontentedness was soon assuaged when I realized that first of all, ALL of the images I’d been drawn to among the cards (including two of which I’d already bought) came from different segments of this masterpiece, and #2, it was simply fascinating and much more enriching to listen to someone knowledgeable explain each panel and point out all the little details I would have never noticed on my own.

I don’t think I’ve ever been as impressed with a piece of religious art as I was with this set of panels. The subject matter was altogether different from what you usually see... Jesus was not painted upon the cross as an idyllic figure... rather, he reflected the diseases of the time the painting was painted, with his pock-marked and green-tinted skin, his agonized expression, his taught fingers and blood-soaked feet... completely morbid. Within the portrait, his mother, blanched and fainting into the arms of one of the saints. On either side panel, patron saints. These were the first panels, the ones normally viewed. And, a noteworthy factor, this piece was done for an establishment in which the sick were cared for. It presented itself as a reflection piece, not covering up the terrors of agony, sickness, and death, but rather inviting the onlooker to prey, along side the patron saints.

The front panels could be opened to reveal another two sets of panels/painting beneath, depicting the resurrection, as well as the story of St. Antoine, to whom the paintings are dedicated. The style completely changes with each panel, in that it goes from somber and completely morbid, to a color-filled, almost new-agey resurrection scene (painted early 1500s, mind you), to completely creepy with monsters of greater imagination than many dreamt up by science fiction buffs of today (attacking St. Antoine...? sorry for my meager religious knowledge... I can’t keep the stories straight... Grechen, you’ll have to help me out on this one). And the final panels, a third layer, are the carved bits done by another artists and also quite impressive.

All and all, one of the few pieces of religious art that I would eagerly recommend one go out of their way to see. And I’m really not anything of a religious art buff, so that’s saying something. Make sure you get a guided-tour though... it makes all the difference.

#5... Le Musée des Eaux-de-Vie... The second museum of Friday’s expedition, we went from the religious to the sinful... though we did learn, amongst other things, that certain brands of eaux-de-via were only made in certain monasteries, their recipes well guarded by the monks that mastered the art. In any case, for those that don’t know what eaux-de-vie is... Water of Life? I.e. hard alcohol, of various kinds, with flavors distilled right into the alcohol rather than added later. In Alsace, Schnapps used to be the eaux-de-vie of choice, and though it’s now regulated by the state, certain locals of the older generations (like Céline’s grandfather) are allowed to make a given amount, to keep up their tradition.

So, a museum dedicated to hard liqueur, in a small out-of-the-way town HAS to be cool... and, man, was I in the land of eye-candy. Ever since childhood excavations of bottles in the girl scouting days of Camp Botheen (sp?), I’ve loved bottles of all shapes and sizes. And what better a spot to see bottles than an alcohol museum?! I think the guy who runs the place said he has now a collection of over 8,000 of the small shot-sized bottles... my favorites. And how interesting, to learn about all the different means of distilling the alcohol, of the different kinds of alcohol and their regional origins, of the various prohibitions and such that always come with such coveted life-water. We heard the history of Absinthe and its various bannings (from certain European countries but not others... hence a lot of smuggling). We also saw the process of adding sugar to the incredibly alcoholic (and hallucinogenic) concoction, via a hole-filled spoon that rests on top of the glass containing the alcohol and holds a sugar cube, over which water is drizzled. Supposedly it’s the only way to really get the sugar to dissolve properly into the absinthe.

And then, of course, we got to taste-test. I had a shot of the ginger-flavored eaux-de-vie (Whew! And yet, very refreshing, the ginger taste) and tried sips of other’s fruit-flavored shots. Alex got a glass of the absinthe and we tried that... very gentle, it seemed, as it was mixed with water and sugar. It’s not supposed to be the “real” stuff, ie. totally hallucinogenic, but I think it still has some of the properties, as the Bryn Mawr girls bought a bottle and had an evening of it, reporting back that it indeed felt more like being high than drunk. I guess all the big names in french philosophy and literature (as well as other writers, like Hemmingway) were rather big Absinthe fiends, which served to eventually drive some of the crazy, as the hallucinogen is a veritable poison distilled form wormwood and is just that – a poison – when ingested in excess.

#6... Le Chien Jaune de Mongolie, from Byambasuren Davaa, who also did L’histoire de chameau qui pleure (which I still haven’t seen!). So, this isn’t exactly Alsatian culture, but Saturday night Martina and I took advantage of our culture card discount to go to a film for a mere 4 euros, and this happened to be playing at one of the many local independent-film heavy movie places. Wow. Foreign film buffs? Anyone who appreciates amazing cinematography and beautiful landscape and colors? Those who love the sound of children’s laughter? Anyone interested in the isolate tradition of Mongolia? I would recommend this beautiful film to anyone blessed enough to appreciate it (may not recommend it to my host mom, who really doesn’t care much for local cinema because she’s too glued to the hollywood appeal of the latest french-dubbed American blockbusters... oy. Ah well, the grass is always greener...). Mom, dad... if you haven’t seen this one, I order you to go... now! ; )

#7... Robert Doisneau: A L’imparfait de L’objectif... There’s a monthly magazine that comes out for the Alsace area that has all the upcoming events, of every type of event possible. The night after I picked it up, I literally went through the entire thing, circling what I wanted to see (Martina and I are both rather obsessed with the piles of publications we pick up, the breadth of opportunities we want to take advantage... and she goes to about twice as much as I do!). Another one of those synchronicities, because, had I not stuck it out to the last page of this publication, I would not have noticed the small box publicizing a gallery showing of the photographs of one of my ABSOLUTE FAVORITE photographers of all time... Robert Doisneau, the famous french photographer known for his shots of Paris life circa 1950, though his careers spans into the early 90s. Anyone (okay... anyone in a western country) who has opened his or her eyes has seen a Robert Doisneau photograph, most unknowingly. He’s got calendars everyone (like on my wall at home and at school...), and his images of various Parisian kisses are world famous.

In any case, as soon as I saw there was an exhibit, I was determined to go, even after I noticed it wasn’t in Strasbourg itself. Luckily, it was only two small neighborhoods away, and Martina found a bus that left right outside her apartment that took us almost all the way there in a mere 10-15 minutes. Ariana joined us, and we spent over an hour in two small gallery rooms, taking in the eye-candy that is a Robert Doisneau photograph. His photographs are filled with incredible detail, each one telling a story, often of a sexual/lewd/humorous nature. He’s got a bit of the french irony and absurdism going in some of the pictures. And the titles nearly match the photographs in their simple ingenuity. I wonder how much of his work he staged... but really, the pictures, whether staged or not, are creative genius, in my opinion.

I couldn’t stop smiling throughout the exhibit. Here I was, in a small french village, on a Sunday*, looking at hilarious, pointed, reflective photographs from one of my favorite photographers... the lady at the front table was extremely nice, the exhibit was free to the public at the local Jewish museum, and I got a kick out of the fact that there were a handful of older french ladies that were laughing at the stylized pictures of the older french ladies of yesteryear... The day outside was gorgeous and of a positive degree (i.e. temperature wasn’t, for the first time in days, below zero) and I was simply thrilled. This excursion was after my morning movie jaunt to see Cache-Cache (explained in another post)... a sunny and smile-filled walk over to Martina’s, with other Sunday promeneurs out for a morning stroll... a lovely lunch that Martina cooked, ready upon my arrival to her place (I need to find a way to repay her for all the marvelous food her apartment has offered up)... the day was really quite perfect (in its imperfection, of course... thank you heather, for giving me a loophole to get beyond my disbelief in perfection). My only difficulty was that it’s always difficult to get together with Martina at the same time as anyone else from the LC group (besides Alex), because the LC group is prone to speak English, and I always speak French with Martina (and prefer it that way, b/c we’re more on the same level that way and always practicing)... thus, it always ends up being a mélange of them trying to speak french to Martina, then zipping of something in english to me, and me trying to respond in french and getting a quizzical look and then trying to switch to english without leaving Martina out (she speaks very good english, but I imagine the fast-paced, slang-heavy lilt of us Americans would pose just as big a problem as is the case understanding our french contemporaries). In any case, a small struggle amid a day of pure delight... not half bad, I’d say.

*SUNDAYS!... I know I’ve mentioned in previous posts that Sundays are pretty much dead here in Strasbourg... in all of Alsace, really. If you want to eat out of the house on a Sunday, you’re best bet is at one of the many Turkish Doner-Kababeries around town, unless you happen upon one of the few cafes/epiceries that decide to profit off the fact that no one else is open on a Sunday, while people – especially unknowing tourists – still want/need to eat. IN ANY CASE... I hadn’t remembered things being closed on Sundays last time I visited France (ie. everything minus museums and theaters... it’s literally like Christmas day in the US... even MacDonald’s is closed!), and it has been confirmed that it’s an Alsace thing. Why, you might ask? My feeling is that it has something to do with an interesting historical fact about Alsace and religion that sets it apart from the rest of France.

So... back in 1905, when France elected a socialist leader to head the country, the socialist leader/party decided to do away with whole Church and State mélange that Napoleon had solidified when he became the head of the church (as well as of the republic) and started paying clergy out of the state budget. The catch? When Napoleon started the whole paying clergy deal, Strasbourg and Alsace was most certainly a part of France. HOWEVER, when the 1905 split of Church and State came about, Alsace belonged to Germany and thus was not affected by the law. Somehow, when the region once again joined French ranks, some clause managed to keep it exempt from the countrywide law regarding separation of Church and State. Thus... THERE IS NO SEPARATION OF CHURCH AND STATE IN ALSACE!! The heads of churches (both Catholic and Protestant), as well as of the Jewish Synagogues, are STILL paid out of the state budget. Mosques, alas, haven’t been regarded the same status... according to Céline, Alsace, seat of the European Consulate and the International Institute of Human Rights, is still fairly rife with racism... perhaps not so much in Strasbourg major, but certainly among the more rural Alsatian populations, particularly older generations (true everywhere, it seems). So, with the church still playing a fairly enmeshed role in affairs here, it seems a propos that Sunday, here more than anywhere, is truly savored as a day of rest. Or frustration, for many of the foreign students who “get bored” on Sunday. My issue was never boredom... more frustration, due to a hungry belly and no place to buy a snack! Or today, when I asked the lady at the exhibit where the bathroom was, and she shook her head apologetically, saying they usually route people across the street to the library... but, its being Sunday, the library, and hence the bathrooms, were all locked up. Thank god for the Doner-Kabab, both for a snack and for a bathroom!

My final reflection on the whole religious deal here... number one, the history here – and my course on it, courtesy of one awesome professor – is rather amazing and incredibly interesting (i.e. it actually sticks!)... and number two, I really need to stop saying “Oh mon dieu” every two seconds; it’s much more likely to be taken as an insult here than in any of my haunts back home, and it’s so automatic I wasn’t even able to catch myself WHEN IN A CHURCH the other day. I think I got a disapproving look from an over-hearing elder. Oy. All this little “trucs” that I have to de-learn, some of the only parts of my french language the come so fast and so naturally. Go me.

#8…Opera Ballet: Modern Dance set to Mozart (of course)… Martina and I arrived half an hour late to this one, as we’d read our tickets wrong and thought it started at 8:30 instead of 8. But we still snuck in, to this lavish but smallish opera hall, where there were half-naked dancers prancing about the stage in odd configurations, half the time to Mozart, half the time to the sound of their own feet hitting the ground. The night was made up of three choreographer’s works, the first being the most abstract and the last being the most traditional. As is my habit, I liked the middle of the two, the mixture, the best. An old man in a trenchcoat running about the stage, rolling and hiding backed up by a stormy wind-sound and surrounded by beautiful yet oddly-emotionned females, dancing all about him. Frog-like at times, sexy at others, the dance was a mix of modern and ballet, abstract and traditional, and –what I really enjoy when watching dance performances—it seemd to tell a story. Bodies like water, flowing off of platforms, faces stoic or satirical… all in all, it was a wonderful thing to see. And to Mozart, no less! The final piece was also quite good, but I was rather distracted by one of the male dancers who, in rather shortened renaissance puff-pants, was the proud owner of THE SMALLEST butt I have ever seen. Truly. This guy must have been over six feet tall, but his backside was smaller than the size of his sinewy thighs! I couldn’t help but stare, and I’m afraid my face registered a truly confused, “how does that work?”” type of expression for a good ten minutes after he arrived on the stage. Alas. Those details that distract you from the larger picture. But man, going to the Opera Ballet for a mere 5 euro 50? It rocks to be under 25 here!

SMILING SILLY!!!

Sitting here in my usual internet place and checking my email for the first time in GASP! four days, I was overcome with smiles I just couldn't contain. It's simply awesome to hear from everyone, to hear about what everyone's been up to, to be overwhelmed with that god-i'm-so-lucky-to-have-these-amazing-people-in-my-life type of feeling! Sadly, with class starting in about 15 minutes, I'm not always able to respond to emails right away, but know that you're words are being savored and highly appreciated!! And thanks to all who have offered suggestions for my upcoming two week adventure... much to check out, I know i won't get to it all, but I'm excited for any dabbling (of the site-seeing kind, mind you) that I get to do!

So before rushing off to class I just wanted to send a HUGE virtual smile and hug to everyone, because you're all amazing and my life here would not be going as wonderfully as it is if I did not have faith in the strength of the links back home... so thank you!

In other news... I wrote a third huge update yesterday (i think i wrote the equivalent of 11 single-spaced pages last night... a bit overboard, but it'd been awhile) that I will post as soon as I have the means to post pics along side it. It's essentially a survey of all the various cultural stints I've been to thus far... many more to come, be forewarned!

Oh, and random aside... was asked out to coffee after my couples dancing class today by a very nice Iranian guy who I spent most of the dance class talking to. Alas, I had to give him a raincheck until after the vacation (i.e. three weeks from now...) because I simply have no time to spare with preparations and homework to be finished before friday and the ballet to go see tomorrow night with Martina. But I have to say, it was kind of exciting to just make a connection. Sadly, I've been warned time and time again that "guys here only have one thing on their mind" and while it may be true some of the time, I'm choosing not to believe it, because frankly, I'd love to go to coffee with this guy and talk to him some more, but it most certainly doesn't mean I'm going to then continue in the role of the "easy american"... some people don't believe girls and guys can truly be friends. I say it's because they're approaching the situation from the wrong angle. Whatever comes, I'm not going to pass up a chance to make a connection by passing judgment on every guy here... i'm not dumb, but when people say "don't meet people at such and such a place... they're going to be shady, for sure" my thinking is, well, I'M at such and such a place... and, though i guess the point could be argued otherwise, I don't consider myself a shady character, thus I can't automatically assume everyone else fits that stereotype.

anyhoo... nevermind the mini rant there. And no worries... not going hang out at the quai side at 2 am and try and make friends with any guys who pass... i do have some sense, mind you, I just don't like dismissing people based on generalities.

With that, off to my english/french translation class.

Did I mention i can't stop smiling today??

Love you all!

Melia’s Love Affair with Meat... (with a random aside on gender relations)

It was inevitable... the meat-factor. I was going to have to eat meat when in Strasbourg, and I was afraid. I imagined big honking blood sausages tumbling over slabs of fatty ham and beef. I imagined my stomach revolting in the worst of ways. I imagined a battle. Little did I know that, while I would run into all of those things, in small quantities, what I would also discover, in time, would be the beauty that is (or rather, can be) meat. Not all meat, mind you. I still can’t do bacon with little bits of grizzle hanging off. It’s just not my thing. HOWEVER... I’ve come to like ham??

Before I start in on any meat-loving praise, I must make a distinction between US meat and the meat you find here, often fresh from the various Boucheries around town (ie. the meat stores). I was having a discussion with Alex about how I really don’t like ham, and the first thing he asked is, “Have you tried the ham here? Because it’s really different... it’s really good.” I stayed skeptical and he promised to make me try it at some point, saying he would lie about what it was. In fact, I did taste his ham-filled crêpe two days later, knowing full well it was ham, expecting not to like it, and... hmmm... that’s actually pretty good! Last week, Mme. made endives wrapped in fresh slabs of ham and baked in a gruyère sauce... and I had seconds! She was very excited, as I don’t normally take seconds and she equates seconds with enjoyment of the meal, not necessarily that I happen to be hungrier that day... unfortunate, as I’ve exclaimed many a time that I truly enjoyed the meal, but that I’m quite satisfied with what I’ve eaten. Sadly, this doesn’t come across as meaningfully as does a second helping.

In any case, I’ve come to crave Spaghetti Bolognaise (even though I’ve only ever had it from one of the cheap school eateries), I willingly ordered a meat-filled crêpe, craving the sausage that was said to be in it (sadly, I didn’t yet know that “lardons” means chopped bacon – Martina mistakenly told me she thought it was a kind of vegetable... so far from the truth! So I got a crêpe with delicious sausage that was partially ruined by the presence of fatty bacon bits), and I’ve come to crave meat at least once a day. This may also be due to the fact that Mme, while continuing to cook meat, has lightened up on the really heavy stuff, so I’ve been immensely enjoying what she does cook (she IS a very good cook, like Beth told me she’d be) and I look forward to dinners here, which have become somewhat infrequent, comparatively, due to my erratic schedule (I’m technically set up for 7 dinners a week with her, but it ends up being more like 4).

In any case... now, of course, I’m going to come home with a penchant for meat and #1, not be able to find anything of the quality here at a decent price, and #2, have no clue as to how to cook the stuff. I can do chicken, and I definitely still love that dear fowl, but Mme. hasn’t done any chicken because she’s afraid of the avian flu. I had it at Martina’s last sunday, courtesy of an Alsatian recipe Céline, with Martina’s assistance, made especially for Alex and I to introduce us to a “real” french Alsatian meal. It was after that meal – which lasted a good four hours, with food all the way through – that I felt fuller than I think I ever thought possible. I truly didn’t think I could walk home, for the weight of my belly!

In other fowl news, I had pigmy hen and duck for the first time the other night, when our group went out to a fancy dinner in Munster, paid for by the trip budget. The duck was such a deep red that I thought it was bacon and avoided it like the plague until Meg told me otherwise. It was smoked and, along with fried Camembert (sooo good!) and fresh salad, it added a nice flavor. The pigmy hen wasn’t as impressive... kind of seemed like chicken with a lot less of my favorite part... that dear ol’ white meat. And I’ve tasted better and moister marinade back home (thanks mom and dad!), but I wasn’t about to complain about the seemingly free four course meal we were being served, equipped with between-course palette cleanser (a ball of mulled-wine flavored sorbet) and tons of wine that Alex, our token male*, got to taste and ok before the bottles were served to the rest of the group.

*a note on the token male thing... it’s been really interesting to notice, having only one guy in the group, the little ways in which he is treated differently than the others. Beth always offers him the leftovers, skinny as he is, because, you know, guys’ll finish up, right? And then the whole wine-tasting bit. And other little things too. I asked Alex if it weirded him out and he said a part of him actually really liked all the chivalry stuff, but he knew he couldn’t never admit to liking it back in Portland. Ah, the land of equality seeking and liberalism.

Here, while many things are much more liberal than back home and there are probably more women in prominent positions on TV than in the US (at least from what I’ve seen), the “truc” (thing) here is “Vive la différence!” Long live the difference! Men are men, women are women, and everyone appreciates the difference. They don’t seek inequality; it’s more like they want to excel within their differences. Not that this is everyone, not that this is totally prevalent, especially as fads from the US and elsewhere infiltrate French society. But the women definitely seem to live up a certain femininity that would be sooo foreign in good ol’ Portland. Then again, the men are less of what the US would call “manly.” The style here for a lot of guys –which I actually really like—is slightly bell-bottomed pants, the clean-cut look, man-purses (fanny packs slung across like a messenger bag... and they’re everywhere, it’s nothing new), etc. And guys’ll do the bise thing (double cheek kiss). Not all of them, but they’re definitely not as afraid of contact with other guys, it seems.

Frankly, everyone says beware of french guys, but from what I’ve seen (and given, I haven’t had many late-night bar encounters, so my judgment may not be as well-rounded as it could be), they’ve got more poise and respect than what I think of as the typical American early-20s guy (and by typical, I of course mean all those *other* American guys out there, not LC guys, not really the ones I’m friends with... hence, a generalization to the extreme).

Catching up... (from sunday, when i really should have been doing homework instead)

So I’ve had an on-going things-to-recount document open on my now rarely-used computer (what a concept) for at least two weeks now... and I’ve barely scratched the surface of all that I’ve wanted to say. Oy. Such is life. If you spend all your time talking about what you’ve been doing, you’ll have very little time to do anything more! (To quote the ever-wise Heather... “You spend 90% of the time talking about what you’re going to do, and only 10% actually doing it!” Perhaps this semester is a lesson in DOING... and I’ve certainly been doing a lot!

This week things have felt like they’re setting in, finding their place, learning to get by... it’s a day-to-day experience, living here. Each day is different, in both small and big ways. Each day I see something new of this gorgeous city. Each day I run into new moments of frustration. Each day new thoughts come to mind... new ponderings, new observations, new ways of looking at the same old. I still need to find myself a useful pocket journal to jot down daily observations and musings (Tim, I think I’ll take your advice on the moleskin brand... they seem durable!).

One thing that’s come to mind quite a lot as I’ve been adjusting to life here is how conducive Strasbourg (and perhaps the whole abroad experience) is to one’s personal explorations. I’ve been alone more often here than I’d ever have the chance to be at Lewis & Clark, and while I often miss the proximity of amazing friends and bouts of crazy laughter, I’m beginning to realize what good company a solitary walk can provide. Time not spent chatting while walking through the cobblestone streets or along the river’s edge is suddenly time open to notice all the little details blind to a hurried life. When our group took a boat tour through Strasbourg via the river/canal that surrounds the city center, I took some time apart from the conversations some of the girls were having to stare out the river and take in the view. Within a ten-minute span, I saw at least 10 things that made me smile to myself, even laugh-aloud, and then look around to realize no one else had noticed. The rat prancing along the water’s edge... the blown-up condom caught in the roots of a quai-side shrub... the spandexed runner crunching a path through a new layer of snow... the odd-looking water bird that looked different from anything else I’ve seen... the ginormous swan butt sticking straight up in the air as he/she fished for yummies beneath the water’s surface... and then the way the swan shook its rather substantial tail feathers upon coming up empty-mouthed... the little modern cottage collection just outside the European consulate with nice cars parked outside, where I imagine some of Europe’s diplomats might stay when they’re in session... the people who looked into the boat with just as much curiosity as those of us looking out...

This morning I even got up early to catch an 11 am movie by myself (supposedly only 2 euros, but I got charged 4.50 and didn’t argue due to the long line behind me). Back home, I very rarely go to movies on my own... perhaps partially because there’s no such thing as a four dollar movie with a culture card discount... or two dollar Sunday showings... but in any case, it was quite nice to catch a morning flick (“Cache-Cache”... a very cute, colorful, French eye-ful of a movie about a hermitic man who has lived in this deserted old chateau for years until a family moves in... and he keeps on living there, without them really knowing, save for the kids who talk about “the phantom” that returns their shoes when they throw them down the well where he sleeps at night).

Of course, the reason I could wake up so early on a Sunday morning was precisely because I turned in early on Saturday night, deciding to ditch out of the group bar scene to curl up in bed with Ionesco’s Rhinoceros, a french absurdist play I’m reading for one of the classes (and which is simply fantastic... I’m starting to appreciate absurdist humor more than ever, especially as I think it is best understood and enacted in the place it was first born... France!). So here’s my problem... I’m not good at living simultaneously social and solitary lives, simultaneously academic and fun-seeking lives... When I start something, I like to keep going with it (hence the length of my posts...??). I’m just not that great with fast changes. Thus, the first week, when I went out at least three or four nights, I was in the “going-out” mode and wasn’t much interested by nights alone in my room with my books and my homework. For a while there I was in the fun and event-seeking flow of things, and didn’t seem to realize I did indeed have some homework to do... so it didn’t really get it all done (and here it’s up to you to pace yourself in studies, homework etc. as you’re only graded on what you do turn in, but you’re expected to know everything by the end of the semester). And now, it seems I’m in the solitary, observatory, ready-to-learn/study frame of mind, which means come Friday and Saturday nights, I decided that early-to-bed, early-to-rise sounded like a better plan that partying up the night. The issue? Finding a balance that can interweave these different mindsets, such that I don’t feel inclined to spend an entire week doing only homework, followed by a week of only going out, etc.

Perhaps part of my new drive for solidarity has to do with the fact that the novelty of the group has worn off, and I’m really starting to feel how poorly I seem to fit in with the LC/Bryn Mawr crowd, whether it be by personal choice, personality difference, or the fact that I’ve never really been very good at getting by in large group settings. There are a lot of the people within the group that I really enjoy talking to, whether one-on-one or in smaller groups, but the large group, barhopping deal is seeming less and less appealing as time goes by. Besides the fact that almost everyone insists on speaking English ALL THE TIME (a mix, I can understand... but no french what-so-ever? I guess we’re all here for different reasons, after all...), I just feel like my desire to go out doesn’t necessarily match up with some of goals I here tossed around (I’d love to go out dancing, go out to talk and laugh, meet some new people... but in a very different context, perhaps. I’m not really up for snorting Aderol, getting shit-faced, and going out to flirt and fish for game. Which, you know, is fine, if that’s what you’re looking to do. But it’s just kind of awkward if I feel like that’s the goal of the night and I’m just totally off base).

Maybe I’m just the frickin’ goodie-two-shoes of the group, but I’ve got different reasons for being here. Not that I wouldn’t enjoy a good bump-and-grind all-night dance party (when I think going out, I think dancing, not just drinking), but that just hasn’t come to volition yet. The couple evenings I’ve spent at Martina’s, eating lengthy dinners over bottles of wine and awesome food, speaking french and discussing random subjects with her, Céline, and Alex have been some of my favorite nights spent here.

Before we left for France, Isabelle told us to write down some of our goals. I realize now that the goals are really an evolving phenomenon, as you never really know what you want to accomplish until you know what there is to accomplish. Looking back on my list, I realize I’m definitely fulfilling some of my hopes... I’m taking ample dance classes (Couples dancing again tomorrow... and Modern Jazz will soon be two days/three hours a week when I get back from vacation and add the Friday morning class, because it’s just that awesome!). I was going to do choir, but realized that with an increasing load of homework, an 8:30am-11pm Monday is not a good lead-in to accomplishing five classes on Tuesday. Ah well. I’m not doing the Human Rights Institute internship, but I will have the opportunity, starting this coming week, to offer my help as an English tutor to lower income kids (middle/high school), which I’m excited about. And I’m taking interesting electives outside the realm of psychology, I’m speaking french a whole lot, even if it’s far from fluent and filled with errors, and I’m taking advantage of the culture here (a play, two museums, a photo exhibit, and a ballet... all in one week?).

Every other day it seems, I have a moment of realization, of amazement, of appreciation... I’m on my junior semester abroad... I’m living in france... I’m learning the history... I’m speaking the language... I’m making connections. It’s not always good, not always easy, but it all hits me every once and a while as a sort of destiny. The way things have been working out, the issues I’ve been dealing with, the people I’ve been meeting and the happenstances that bring about such encounters... it all feels somewhat “meant to be.”

Now off to eat some dinner... have I mentioned that I’ve been falling in love with meat? For another post, to come...

Yawning happily... today was a productive day! (From yesterday, Wednesday 1 feburary 2006)

Sitting in bed, my eyes rather weighty, and it’s only 11 p.m.! Alas. Yesterday night I fell asleep before 10, after two very full days on very little sleep... and today proved to be quite productive! More sleep = higher productivity? Perhaps...

The day started with an 8:00 wake-up to finish up a few pages of grammer exercises (my god, i should be back in second year french with how much I’ve forgotten...) before heading out at the early hour of 9:15 to get to my 10:30 class. Why so early? One might wonder. Particularly since I usually race out of the apartment at about 10:10 for my 10:30 class, when it really takes a good half hour to get to campus, if I don’t just miss the tram (I’ve been late to my language block by about 15 minutes three times already... i guess i’m still getting the hang of this whole not-living-on-campus thing). So... back to the early departure time. Wednesdays, Anisa – one of the Bryn Mawr girls who lives about 10 minutes walk from me – and myself both have class at 10:30, so we decided it might be fun to walk together those mornings. Given, it’s still fricken cold supposed to be –10 Celsius tomorrow...oy) and it’s not every Tuesday night that I’ll get to bed before 10 pm, but the idea came to volition this morning, in any case.

We walked to school along the south quai (the center of the city is essentially an island, surrounded by canals), which i’d only ever seen from the university-side of the city. It was simply magical to walk alongside the water’s edge this morning, past floating swans and random quotes scribbled/chalked onto the quai walls. You know that part in Amelie with a quote chalked onto the side of the building? I thought that was just part of the whimsical nature of the film. Turns out its a reflection of reality. There are messages/quotes/random-nities chalked throughout the city! (of course, there’s a chance this habit was inspired by and after the film, but I kind of doubt it).

Class was two hours of grammar today, which went VERY slowly, though I did – as I always seem to do – learn some new and useful things, if only I were able to remember them when they arrise in context of daily life. After class, Meg (another of the Bryn Mawr girls, in my language class, and a very chill, fun personality), Martina, and I ate at one of the many Resto-Us, the cheap student eateries that get you a decent meal for 2.70 euros.

Upon bidding farewell to Martina and Meg, I began my first taks of the afternoon (Wednesdays = my one free weekday afternoon): Bibliothèque Nationale et Universitaire de Strasbourg (National/University Library of Strasbourg). A research library with tons of SILENT and studious folk scattered along the lengths of old wooden tables, the library has an almost sinister feel... you’d better be there to work, it seems to say. To get my card, I had to fill out a form and wait in line with a bunch of others doing the same. After a good 20 minutes I finally got up to the counter and everythings seemed to be going fine... until she asked me for the 1.50 euro payment. “But I thought it was free?” I mused, as a “temporary” card is advertised as such. It wasn’t as if I was adverse to paying a mere 1.50. The problem was, I simply didn’t HAVE 1.50 on me. Hard to imagine, I know. But I’d spent my last eurocents on a pain au chocolat and a coffee before class and the library was on the way to the bank, so I figured I’d stop in BEFORE replenishing my wallet. Trying to sacrifice the boy scout’s “Be Prepared” motto for what I thought was most practical. Instead I ended up trekking to another bank to get some money, trekking back to the library, and sheepishly approaching the counter for a second time to finish the transaction. In the US, you can use a card for just about anything. Here, things stick proudly to their old-school roots... and I haven’t quite adjusted.

Like the internet. I know I’ve gone off about the internet before, and how there doesn’t seem to be wireless in any public spaces, outside of internet cafes. But just to prove how much the “old school” method is prefered, let me give a couple examples.

The National/University Library, a prominent RESEARCH library, has about 9 computers dedicated to online research. Six of the nine are at “standing” stations. The computers are in a tiny room off to the side of the nice, beautiful wood-lined reading rooms, and they are old clunkers of PCs that you rarely see in the US anymore. Looking at the library map, I saw another room listed that said it was specifically for microfiche and those using portable computers. Great! I thought, A room specifically for portable computers! They must have wireless, or at least internet hook-ups. WRONG. Again, situated in a side room with the feel of a dank, industrial warehouse compared to the rest of the library, I soon realized the point of having a “room for portable computers” IS NOT to help those with portable computers connect to the internet or anything like that. It is because portable computers are NOT ALLOWED in the rest of the library. So instead, we tech-bound folk are delegated to the back dungeon to tap away at our keyboards without disturbing those who are really working hard, out in the well-lit, beautifully crafted reading rooms. Okay. I’m trying not to sound bitter. And I understand why they might want to separate us key-tapping types from the book-leafing others. But it’s just so counter intuitive for me who is so used to the beauty of the LC library’s wireless and the ability to combine “real book” research with anything computer related.

Second example of internet-noncompatibility... in the U.S., things are often cheaper online. Plane tickets, ink cartridges, you name it. More and more, we’re encouraged to glue our butts to our home office chairs and do our living through the screen, without ever having to even go out and get groceries.... they can be delivered to your door after you choose your produce with a click of the mouse! In France... pas de tout (not at all!). After searching online for a train ticket to Amsterdam, I found on the SNCF (France’s train network) site and looked up my desired ticket. 80 euros, one way. Oy. I think all my plane tickets for winter break cost less than that. Upon hearing my groan, Ariana advised me to actually go in to the train station or in-town kiosque. “It’s cheaper to get them there.” Really? Really. Going into an office downtown, talking to a representative in person, buying a real-live printed ticket... dropped about 20 euros from the price of my ticket. Amazing. Note-to-self: don’t buy on-line if the product is coming from France...

Other productivities of the day:
- I found the closest thing to energy bars I’ve come across yet... at Kate’s suggestion, I went to the cereal aisle and found some dirt cheap cereal bars that taste damn good for being .88 euros for a box of eight! Not stock full of protein, but I’m excited to have a quick snack for hurried mornings on my way to class!
- Visted the large Librairie Kleber in the center of town, the biggest bookstore around (though no where near the size of Portland’s beloved Powell’s...) and found a copy – in English – of James Joyce’s Portrait of a Young Man for less than 3 euros! This is to be my train/plane reading for winter break, in honor Ariana’s and my soon-to-come traipsings around Ireland!
- Finally got conditioner for my hair... which has not been behaving in the least since first coming into contact with the hard water prevalent throughout the city (my host mom, along with many others, only drinks bottled water as a result). Essentially night-time showers means going to bed with slightly damp hair, and when I wake up in the morning, the whole deal is a dry crimped mess that simply won’t be reshaped until the next night’s shower. Lots of haphazard ponytails as a result. I’m hoping to conditionner will do something to improve its suppleness...
- As the sales are still in full swing, with many stores on their second “demark” of prices, I managed to pick up a warm, somewhat french-style sweater for less than 10 euros today. Seems warm and a good addition to my daily attempt to do it the french way... to “faire l’onion.” Not sure if I’ve mentioned this expression before, but it translates as “To do the onion” and essentially means dressing in layers and peeling them off as you go. And it is completely a propos. My usual attire consists of a tanktop, a t-shirt, a long-sleeved shirt, sometimes a sweater, and a jacket on the top (yes, that’s five layers) and one or two pairs of tights plus pants and socks on the bottom. It can be a bitch to shed the layers upon entering any of the many overheated building and then put everything back on to transfer to the next overheated building, but it’s a load better than turning to ice during any trek longer than a few blocks.


Oh and just for the record...

WINTER BREAK PLANS – official two week break, Sat Feb 11 – Sun Feb 26

Fri, Feb 10 – ditch class to hop a 7:50 am train to Amsterdam, with a switch in Bruxelles. End up in Amsterdam mid-afternoon to meet up with Derek when he finishes classes... for those who don’t know, Derek is Anya’s long-time boyfriend who is currently studying in Amsterdam on a Fullbright. Lucky for me, he’s got his own apartment with an extra bed, so I get an amazing discount (i.e. free!) on my stay in Amsterdam, equipped with friend and tour guide at no extra cost! I’m totally stoked!

Wed, Feb 15 – leave Amsterdam on an EasyJet evening flight to London... meet up with Ariana somewhere in the airport (our flights arrive within fifteen minutes of each other) and find our way, late at night, to our hostel... Ace Hotel, as Anya recommended, in West Kensington. I think we'll probably get to meet up with Anya's cousin, Patrick, who lives in London and seems up for a get-together... yay for connections!

Sun, Feb 19 – leave London on a RyanAir morning flight to Dublin, Ireland. Potentially meet up with one of the Irish guys in Ariana’s PoliSci classes here in Strasbourg, to have a local show us around. Not sure where we’re staying yet.

Mon or Tues through Sat, Feb 25 – Make our way, via the long and sometimes unreliable but rather cheap bus system, down through various Irish towns, to Cork, in the South. Perhaps we’ll go straight to Cork and do day trips from there, or perhaps we’ll meander through a few other towns before then. Not sure yet. Ireland’s kind of blank slate at this point, with tons of recommendations of what to see but no coherent plan of how we’re going to do it...

Sat, Feb 25 – midday flight from Cork back to London (which cost a mere 12 euros, the cheapest of all the flights we snagged), for one more night, hopefully in a hostel close to the airport, because...

Sun, Feb 26 – 7:50 am RyanAir flight to Basel-Mulhouse, right on the France/German/Swiss border (officially in Swizterland?). This gives us a day to figure out how to take the hour-long train from Basel-Mulhouse back to Strasbourg, where we start up courses the next day.

Ambitious schedule? Yes indeed. But I think it’ll be good practice for the summer, though I think I’ll be doing more train travel come summer.

So if anyone has any final suggestions for what to see/do in Amsterdam, London, or around Ireland, leave a post! Given, we/I only have a matter of days in each place, but we’re planning to live it up as best we can!