Life is passing fast, that’s for sure.
It feels almost like every day, every week, I’m living a different, somehow new life. Each week brings different people, different scenery. Each week I learn something new, discover a new eatery, adopt a few new words.
Just last weekend was craziness, what with Friday’s St. Patrick’s Day festivals, sortir-ing with the Canadian girls and Martina/Leah and more. Saturday was the demonstration/rally against the CPE, a picnic with Martina and Leah, dinner with Ariana, the tears-you-apart-inside movie “Shooting Dogs” about the Rwandan massacre with Martina and Leah, the best yogurt in the world at L’Épicerie (Plum-Cinnamon, farm-made... needed something to calm my stomach after the film), and then, somehow, a late night of fun dancing at Sacrofage, the Egyptian-themed late-night bar with a little corner filled with French people dancing to French pop and American classics (including “It’s Raining Men”... I nearly died from excitement...).
Sunday offered another packed day, what with cooking an Alsatian-style meal for lunch (translation: Melia cutting veggies, Leah grating potatoes, and Martina doing all the “real” stove-top work), then the carnival, then more walking, a brief photo exhibit, back to Martina’s for a cup of tea and to catch our breath... and then an evening excursion to the free and awesome accordion/violin traditional music concert, followed by 50 minutes of getting lost at 11 pm in a kinda-suburb of Strasbourg because, lo-and-behold, there happened to be two “Rue des Pêcheurs” on the map in either direction... and I chose the wrong one (just when I thought I’d finally inherited Dad’s mapping skills).... and then finally the crazy encounter in the tram.
Monday morning found me sleeping in (instead of going to language class, where I knew we’d spend a good 2 hours correcting a mere 12 exercises of when and how to use “de”... I just couldn’t bring myself to disturb a good sleep for that). Monday afternoon = elective classes. Monday evening = stayed in. Tuesday morning = exhausting but good dance class, followed by my five hours of elective classes after saying good-bye to Leah (awesome girl, she is!). Tuesday evening = stayed in. Life here really seems to be this go-go-go followed by utter exhaustion and homing-ness for a good few days, and then go-go-go again. Ah well, such is my issue with pacing myself.
Wednesday night I had no good excuse to stay in because Martina texted me Tuesday night to say that she had a “surprise” for me and would tell me the next day, but that I better be available to go out. The next day I learned that her surprise was that, while eating at a good Lebanese restaurant in town (which I’ve been to once with Ariana... yummy stuff there!), a guy who was working there overheard her and Leah speaking in German and somehow came over to talk... and somehow the conversation lead to the fact that he knows a lot of Germans through a late-night bar’s weekly salsa night that he always goes to. When Martina showed interest, he proceeded to give her the name of the place and said he’d be there the next night, that she should come. What a grand surprise! Dance has kind of been a theme since coming here, as I’m doing more dance each week than I’ve ever done (may even sign up for a middle eastern dance class come next week... we’ll see about time management), but I hadn’t been salsa dancing here yet, so Martina’s “good-news surprise” turned out to be just that.
But first, wednesday afternoon... quite productive, over-all... I inscribed in the self-paced language lab of the university, where I’m going to try and start learning some German as well as filling up some of the holes that are becoming ever-more evident in my French (missing vocabulary, masculin/feminin mix ups, incorrect expressions, etc.)... I finally sent off the package to Derek containing what I owed him from Ireland plus Irish CDs and a surprise T-shirt Ariana and I got him from the world wrestling championships... I replenished my French bank account... recharged my cell phone with a week’s worth of text-messages... went through the email routine... and then returned with time enough to chill in bed with the ever-relaxing eye-bag and my iPod before being called to dinner.
Dinner proved rather hilarious, as Mme. decided (*finally* she exclaimed) to tell me that really, my hair is just a complete mess... where did the cut go that she’d given me? She was ever so disappointed... what must the people think when I go out, about the person who gave such a haircut? “It looks like nothing, Melia, it resembles nothing!” “What did you do to it? It was so nice when I cut it... now it’s all flat... it resembles nothing!” ... I couldn’t keep from smiling and almost laughing, saying really, for me, “Ca m’est égal” for the most part (“I don’t really care”). Rather than being offended, I was almost ready for the critique because, truly, I haven’t done much with my hair since she cut it and some days it really does look like nothing. But I nearly laughed aloud when she said that within the past week and a half I was maybe “bien-coiffée” twice, maybe three times. And that she was so disappointed...
The exchange was almost a laughing-banter, with each side expressing their opinion with a smile, so it was in no way mean. I kept telling her “I don’t know! I don’t know what I’ve done to it! It’s what I haven’t done, I guess... I don’t know how to make it have volume! Teach me, if you want to see it that way...!” Finally we decided it must be because I take my showers at night and then sleep on still-damp hair, thus flattening it more than usual. Her solution? “So take your showers in the morning! You have the time!” Of course, it was her that got me in the habit of the evening showers, as originally I wasn’t aloud morning showers, for fear they’d intervene with her and Marie’s morning routine. My response “But I kind of like evening showers!” “Oh, you... you just want to sleep in longer!” “*laughter* Probably...”
I finally told her I’d *try* a bit harder but that I couldn’t promise her she’d see a real difference. When I got out of the shower that night, I did attempt to dry my hair (with a towel... never been the hair-dryer type) without flattening it or anything... but when she asked “Did you succeed?” and then saw my not-yet-dry mess of hair, she directed me into the bathroom, had me sit down, plugged in her hairdryer and proceeded to make my hair larger than life with all her hair-dresser materials... I found the whole ordeal rather amusing. I appreciate the fact that we now have this gentle-banter relationship, so we can kind of make fun in a laughing sort of way without it being hurtful... if we didn’t have this relationship and she forced me into the bathroom for a “coiffing”, I don’t think I would have supported it!
In any case, I ended up with a pile of high-volume hair on top of my head (which frankly, though quite obviously “coiffed” didn’t seem to me necessarily better suited for my head... but alas) and Mme. said “Voilà! Now you’re ready to go out!”. And I needed to be, as Martina called 10 minutes later to say she was waiting down in front.
Bien-coiffed and all, I brought Martina back up to meet Mme. (first time I’ve every introduced her to anyone, first time anyone’s ever seen my room!) and then we headed over past the (kinda shady) train station in search of Le Camioneur, the bar/restaurant where salsa awaited our arrival.
Without going into all the details of the night, I will say that it was quite fun indeed... the “mec” (guy) that Martina had met at the restaurant showed up about 20 minutes after we did, and turned out to be quite a talkative and spirited companion for the night. His name’s Amed (the second Amed I’d met in a week!)... He’s Lebanese and grew up there, but left about five or six years ago to work in various European countries (Switzerland, Sweden, England, and France) and then, somewhere in there, do some university at La Sorbonne (in psychology, no less!), though I guess he didn’t “succeed” because he was also working a bunch and training... in boxing?? I realize that I am indeed missing certain key sets of vocabulary, sports being one of them, but from what I gathered, he’s been boxing for 12 years, but formerly just as a pastime. During the past year, however, he’s started competing in actual professional leagues... or something. Not too sure. But during his training he’ll be running or at the gym five hours a day. Oy. Somewhere in the last year, however, he learned how to dance salsa, and one of his favorite hobbies is to bring friends to the Camioneur to teach them. Martina and I ended up being much better than he originally assumed, but we had a fun time of dancing and talking...
We talked about differences Europe v. the US, France v. Germany in terms of unemployment, benefits, job opportunities, life-styles... he’s a gung-ho Francophile with an interesting, if somewhat skewed sense of all the amazing benefits France offers its residents... of course, he also compared France and Lebanon, mostly in terms of gastronomic offerings, in which Lebanon comes out far ahead for its cheapness (and better Lebanese food, obviously). “For 10 euros you eat a feast there that would cost you 100 euros here!”. I think we (he?) probably ended up talking more than dancing, but it was fun regardless. Towards the end we quit the gab to make it to the dance floor, and I had the opportunity to dance with another guy – a very good leader, at that – who started speaking to me in English when he heard I was from the S.F. area and said he had family in Oakland. Ah yes, the world is a small, small place.
Dancing and talking with Amed some more, he commented that I had a “Lebanese air” about me... that he hadn’t met many people that moved, thought, or talked like me here... I, of course, asked him to clarify just what a “Lebanese air” meant in his assessment... but all he could say is that my mom “must have rubbed off on me” (so mom... everyone says we resemble each other, but this is the first person that said I may have inherited some “Lebanese” from you!)
Amed ended up walking us home (to my place) afterwards, which was probably a good thing, as 1 am train stations aren’t usually the best places to be walking past in female form. Somehow on the way home the subject of Ikea came up (which is, by the way, pronounced differently in French, German, and English... and you have to pronounce it the right way for the other to understand what you’re talking about...). And then somehow Amed “invited us” to take a trip to Ikea, to look around, to get some Ikea-grub. Which at the time seemed like it fit into the scheme of things perfectly well.
In any case, the night was fun and this afternoon we did end up walking out to the nearest suburb to the Ikea with him (which takes following the side of the freeway for a ways, as it’s not really meant to be a walkable location). Saturday night we’ll all go out dancing again (somewhere else, probably not salsa).
Just a few days ago it was Leah that I was just getting to know, hanging out with, talking to... and now Ahmed is suddenly in the picture and Leah gone... it’s really like one life follows the next, one person follows the next. Always new people, always making connection that may or may not be guarded. Given, most of my connections made thus far have been through others (Martina’s friends, her ability to randomly meet restaurant personnel...). But it’s weird, this idea of “instant friend.” Truly, hanging out with Leah it felt like we’d known each other for more than a few days... and even two excursions with Amed and it seems normal that we’ll be seeing him at least a few times more before he leaves for Lebanon (beginning of april... first time he’ll have seen his parents in five years!) and then we leave for our France train-about.
Instant friend is one aspect... but also transitory friend. It now seems so normal that I can have a blast one night with someone I may never see again. Or get to know someone a bit, knowing I’ll be leaving for the states and may lose touch. The whole idea of “friendship” has taken on a new dimension, more complex, filled with levels of lightness and transition... but always underscored by the fact that I have a stable set of connections and amazing people that I know I’ll be coming back to. I don’t think I could be having such a good time here and making the fleeting connections I’ve been doing if I didn’t feel like I had a base elsewhere, with some sort of stability. Out last night, though, was the first time I felt a little twinge of “God I leave here in two months!”. With Martina, I know we’ll both be leaving, so we’re both kind of in the same boat. But last night I had this flash of discovering the salsa-dancing community in Strasbourg, taking lessons, going out every Wednesday, forging lasting friendships...
As idealistic (and fleeting) as the sentiment was, it made me realize that, up until the last couple weeks, I’ve been living in Strasbourg as a true outsider... conversing with other foreigners, making connections with other transient students. Even in my home stay, I’m still the outsider, the American student, that’ll leave and be replaced by another when the time comes. Last night offered a small peephole into a life a couple layers deeper. Given, Amed, by virtue of his birthplace and appearance, would still be considered “étranger” by a majority of “true blood” French folk (prejudice is bad here... Mme is quite guilty of it herself, which comes out in various kinds of subtle remarks which often don’t really know how to react to)... but he’s passionate about France all the same, and he’s installed here. While he may move around some more, for the moment Strasbourg is his home (one of many, no doubt). Thus far, this city, beautiful and bustling as it may be, has not crossed my mind as being a home, but rather a mere stopping point for a period of time. Not like Portland and Berkeley, two places I definitely consider home.
Anyhoo... enough on the musings. A couple more notable things before I sign off for bedtime:
- Had dinner with Albane and her family tonight... she’s the French girl that Nicole Exaltier, Jean-Noel’s sister introduced me to when I was at dinner of at her place (fyi: Jean-Noel = one of mom’s old boyfriends from the Lebanon days, now an ever-smiling Jesuit priest who I’ll hopefully get to see come Paris trip in April! Nicole is his sister and lives in Strasbourg with her husband). In any case, dinner was good, though, alas, punctuated with a few notable awkward silences... but then again, it was my first dinner with a French family of multiple children – Albane’s two younger sisters – and somehow I feel like that made a difference. Her youngest sister, however (age 9), struck me as a pretty awesome kid, reminding me of those standout campers each semester at drama camp. Something about her, in the 20 minutes we were at the table, just made me think she was a pretty cool kid. Or perhaps it’s just that hearing smaller children speak French is by definition a fun experience.
- After dinner, helped Albane with a couple English papers she had to turn in (she’s an English major) and I definitely began to notice some of the same types of mistakes she was making that I always make.... it was good to see it from the other direction. We talked a bit in English, though mostly in French... and I learned that I add “Alors” to just about every beginning or ending of every sentence, where most French people might put “Donc” or “Quoi”. I had kind of been aware of this fact, but I didn’t know just how “not French” it was until Albane told me, in giggles, that it was terribly cute, because it was just a little something that I did, almost like an accent of sorts. Of course, from then on, I noticed every time I said it and had to pause and she would laugh and it made conversation rather difficult because really, I do say it an excessive amount, as filler (she assumed I was translating from the English “So... and so....” (alors = so), but I’m not sure... I think it was just one of those words I adopted and tailored to suit my own needs... and now I need to try and figure out how to sub in some “donc”s and “quoi”s so I don’t sound like a weird variety of French valley girl, with “alors” being some substitution for the ever-repeated “like” (of which I am, alas, a victim).
- Oh... and a kind of big deal... classes were cancelled today, even in our little secluded island of IIEF international students, due to the death of a student yesterday in the main Marc Bloch building on campus. Not a CPE-violence related death, but related nontheless. He was one of the occupying students of the building (which the univerisity’s president was allowing to continue) and supposedly he overdosed on drugs... not sure of the details. In any case, beyond the tragedy of his death itself, there’s the fear/conjecture that his death may become a symbol for the fight against the CPE... a sign of the students “taking it too far” in the eyes of the government? A martyr-figure for the students themselves? Haven’t read any news reports on it as of yet (it happened Wednesday afternoon), but I do know that in lieu of classes, I saw a crowd of perhaps 300-odd students marching again this afternoon, some of whom held signs along the line of “We asked for ______ (couldn’t read the words), not for a fatalité!”. Thus, it's hard to say. I know another student was trampled by a protesting crowd in Paris (I can’t even imagine...). From what I’ve heard, American news reports – however many there may or may not be – have been painting a picture of France going crazy. While that is partially the case in this one domain – yes, they’re fucking pissed about the CPE – it’s not like life is in a standstill. Some people probably go about their lives without really realizing this is going on. It’s present, for sure, but not omnipresent (well, the stickers and posters are. But not the protestors and marches and havoc). In any case, all of Marc Bloch and it’s affiliates were closed and locked up today because of the death. I think they’ll recommence classes (at least at the IIEF) tomorrow, but won’t know until I get there.
- Tomorrow I leave for a night in Nancy with Ariana, which should be fun. It’ll be weird, though, from having spent the last 48 speaking almost nothing but French, and with fluent speakers no less (Amed and Albane) to transitioning into the unavoidable speak-speak for a good 20 hours or so.
- Bonne nuit!!
NOTE: classes were indeed cancelled again today, to observe another day of morning and reflection due to Wednesday’s death, and also, most likely, to try and prevent any backlash on the campus. Students marched again Thursday afternoon, and classes should start up again Monday. The only thing I can find online regarding the death was that he entered the building Tuesday night in bad shape, laid down on a couch or something and spent the night in the building (as it was still occupied, under allowance by the president). The next morning other student/friends noticed he was in “bad shape” and called an ambulance, but by the time they arrived, he’d already died.
I’ve already had one experience here of having witnessed a slow arrival of an ambulance (one time, at beth’s, a elderly neighbor keeled over backwards and hit his head and a visiting helper came to beth’s and asked her to call the ambulance. Afterwards, beth insisted we go on with our meeting… and it wasn’t until 20 minutes later, when I was heading downstairs to leave, that the ambulance was just arriving). I’d like to assume that the ambulance in the student’s case did everything it could and that the students that called cited it as a truly urgent situation. But who knows.
Just last weekend was craziness, what with Friday’s St. Patrick’s Day festivals, sortir-ing with the Canadian girls and Martina/Leah and more. Saturday was the demonstration/rally against the CPE, a picnic with Martina and Leah, dinner with Ariana, the tears-you-apart-inside movie “Shooting Dogs” about the Rwandan massacre with Martina and Leah, the best yogurt in the world at L’Épicerie (Plum-Cinnamon, farm-made... needed something to calm my stomach after the film), and then, somehow, a late night of fun dancing at Sacrofage, the Egyptian-themed late-night bar with a little corner filled with French people dancing to French pop and American classics (including “It’s Raining Men”... I nearly died from excitement...).
Sunday offered another packed day, what with cooking an Alsatian-style meal for lunch (translation: Melia cutting veggies, Leah grating potatoes, and Martina doing all the “real” stove-top work), then the carnival, then more walking, a brief photo exhibit, back to Martina’s for a cup of tea and to catch our breath... and then an evening excursion to the free and awesome accordion/violin traditional music concert, followed by 50 minutes of getting lost at 11 pm in a kinda-suburb of Strasbourg because, lo-and-behold, there happened to be two “Rue des Pêcheurs” on the map in either direction... and I chose the wrong one (just when I thought I’d finally inherited Dad’s mapping skills).... and then finally the crazy encounter in the tram.
Monday morning found me sleeping in (instead of going to language class, where I knew we’d spend a good 2 hours correcting a mere 12 exercises of when and how to use “de”... I just couldn’t bring myself to disturb a good sleep for that). Monday afternoon = elective classes. Monday evening = stayed in. Tuesday morning = exhausting but good dance class, followed by my five hours of elective classes after saying good-bye to Leah (awesome girl, she is!). Tuesday evening = stayed in. Life here really seems to be this go-go-go followed by utter exhaustion and homing-ness for a good few days, and then go-go-go again. Ah well, such is my issue with pacing myself.
Wednesday night I had no good excuse to stay in because Martina texted me Tuesday night to say that she had a “surprise” for me and would tell me the next day, but that I better be available to go out. The next day I learned that her surprise was that, while eating at a good Lebanese restaurant in town (which I’ve been to once with Ariana... yummy stuff there!), a guy who was working there overheard her and Leah speaking in German and somehow came over to talk... and somehow the conversation lead to the fact that he knows a lot of Germans through a late-night bar’s weekly salsa night that he always goes to. When Martina showed interest, he proceeded to give her the name of the place and said he’d be there the next night, that she should come. What a grand surprise! Dance has kind of been a theme since coming here, as I’m doing more dance each week than I’ve ever done (may even sign up for a middle eastern dance class come next week... we’ll see about time management), but I hadn’t been salsa dancing here yet, so Martina’s “good-news surprise” turned out to be just that.
But first, wednesday afternoon... quite productive, over-all... I inscribed in the self-paced language lab of the university, where I’m going to try and start learning some German as well as filling up some of the holes that are becoming ever-more evident in my French (missing vocabulary, masculin/feminin mix ups, incorrect expressions, etc.)... I finally sent off the package to Derek containing what I owed him from Ireland plus Irish CDs and a surprise T-shirt Ariana and I got him from the world wrestling championships... I replenished my French bank account... recharged my cell phone with a week’s worth of text-messages... went through the email routine... and then returned with time enough to chill in bed with the ever-relaxing eye-bag and my iPod before being called to dinner.
Dinner proved rather hilarious, as Mme. decided (*finally* she exclaimed) to tell me that really, my hair is just a complete mess... where did the cut go that she’d given me? She was ever so disappointed... what must the people think when I go out, about the person who gave such a haircut? “It looks like nothing, Melia, it resembles nothing!” “What did you do to it? It was so nice when I cut it... now it’s all flat... it resembles nothing!” ... I couldn’t keep from smiling and almost laughing, saying really, for me, “Ca m’est égal” for the most part (“I don’t really care”). Rather than being offended, I was almost ready for the critique because, truly, I haven’t done much with my hair since she cut it and some days it really does look like nothing. But I nearly laughed aloud when she said that within the past week and a half I was maybe “bien-coiffée” twice, maybe three times. And that she was so disappointed...
The exchange was almost a laughing-banter, with each side expressing their opinion with a smile, so it was in no way mean. I kept telling her “I don’t know! I don’t know what I’ve done to it! It’s what I haven’t done, I guess... I don’t know how to make it have volume! Teach me, if you want to see it that way...!” Finally we decided it must be because I take my showers at night and then sleep on still-damp hair, thus flattening it more than usual. Her solution? “So take your showers in the morning! You have the time!” Of course, it was her that got me in the habit of the evening showers, as originally I wasn’t aloud morning showers, for fear they’d intervene with her and Marie’s morning routine. My response “But I kind of like evening showers!” “Oh, you... you just want to sleep in longer!” “*laughter* Probably...”
I finally told her I’d *try* a bit harder but that I couldn’t promise her she’d see a real difference. When I got out of the shower that night, I did attempt to dry my hair (with a towel... never been the hair-dryer type) without flattening it or anything... but when she asked “Did you succeed?” and then saw my not-yet-dry mess of hair, she directed me into the bathroom, had me sit down, plugged in her hairdryer and proceeded to make my hair larger than life with all her hair-dresser materials... I found the whole ordeal rather amusing. I appreciate the fact that we now have this gentle-banter relationship, so we can kind of make fun in a laughing sort of way without it being hurtful... if we didn’t have this relationship and she forced me into the bathroom for a “coiffing”, I don’t think I would have supported it!
In any case, I ended up with a pile of high-volume hair on top of my head (which frankly, though quite obviously “coiffed” didn’t seem to me necessarily better suited for my head... but alas) and Mme. said “Voilà! Now you’re ready to go out!”. And I needed to be, as Martina called 10 minutes later to say she was waiting down in front.
Bien-coiffed and all, I brought Martina back up to meet Mme. (first time I’ve every introduced her to anyone, first time anyone’s ever seen my room!) and then we headed over past the (kinda shady) train station in search of Le Camioneur, the bar/restaurant where salsa awaited our arrival.
Without going into all the details of the night, I will say that it was quite fun indeed... the “mec” (guy) that Martina had met at the restaurant showed up about 20 minutes after we did, and turned out to be quite a talkative and spirited companion for the night. His name’s Amed (the second Amed I’d met in a week!)... He’s Lebanese and grew up there, but left about five or six years ago to work in various European countries (Switzerland, Sweden, England, and France) and then, somewhere in there, do some university at La Sorbonne (in psychology, no less!), though I guess he didn’t “succeed” because he was also working a bunch and training... in boxing?? I realize that I am indeed missing certain key sets of vocabulary, sports being one of them, but from what I gathered, he’s been boxing for 12 years, but formerly just as a pastime. During the past year, however, he’s started competing in actual professional leagues... or something. Not too sure. But during his training he’ll be running or at the gym five hours a day. Oy. Somewhere in the last year, however, he learned how to dance salsa, and one of his favorite hobbies is to bring friends to the Camioneur to teach them. Martina and I ended up being much better than he originally assumed, but we had a fun time of dancing and talking...
We talked about differences Europe v. the US, France v. Germany in terms of unemployment, benefits, job opportunities, life-styles... he’s a gung-ho Francophile with an interesting, if somewhat skewed sense of all the amazing benefits France offers its residents... of course, he also compared France and Lebanon, mostly in terms of gastronomic offerings, in which Lebanon comes out far ahead for its cheapness (and better Lebanese food, obviously). “For 10 euros you eat a feast there that would cost you 100 euros here!”. I think we (he?) probably ended up talking more than dancing, but it was fun regardless. Towards the end we quit the gab to make it to the dance floor, and I had the opportunity to dance with another guy – a very good leader, at that – who started speaking to me in English when he heard I was from the S.F. area and said he had family in Oakland. Ah yes, the world is a small, small place.
Dancing and talking with Amed some more, he commented that I had a “Lebanese air” about me... that he hadn’t met many people that moved, thought, or talked like me here... I, of course, asked him to clarify just what a “Lebanese air” meant in his assessment... but all he could say is that my mom “must have rubbed off on me” (so mom... everyone says we resemble each other, but this is the first person that said I may have inherited some “Lebanese” from you!)
Amed ended up walking us home (to my place) afterwards, which was probably a good thing, as 1 am train stations aren’t usually the best places to be walking past in female form. Somehow on the way home the subject of Ikea came up (which is, by the way, pronounced differently in French, German, and English... and you have to pronounce it the right way for the other to understand what you’re talking about...). And then somehow Amed “invited us” to take a trip to Ikea, to look around, to get some Ikea-grub. Which at the time seemed like it fit into the scheme of things perfectly well.
In any case, the night was fun and this afternoon we did end up walking out to the nearest suburb to the Ikea with him (which takes following the side of the freeway for a ways, as it’s not really meant to be a walkable location). Saturday night we’ll all go out dancing again (somewhere else, probably not salsa).
Just a few days ago it was Leah that I was just getting to know, hanging out with, talking to... and now Ahmed is suddenly in the picture and Leah gone... it’s really like one life follows the next, one person follows the next. Always new people, always making connection that may or may not be guarded. Given, most of my connections made thus far have been through others (Martina’s friends, her ability to randomly meet restaurant personnel...). But it’s weird, this idea of “instant friend.” Truly, hanging out with Leah it felt like we’d known each other for more than a few days... and even two excursions with Amed and it seems normal that we’ll be seeing him at least a few times more before he leaves for Lebanon (beginning of april... first time he’ll have seen his parents in five years!) and then we leave for our France train-about.
Instant friend is one aspect... but also transitory friend. It now seems so normal that I can have a blast one night with someone I may never see again. Or get to know someone a bit, knowing I’ll be leaving for the states and may lose touch. The whole idea of “friendship” has taken on a new dimension, more complex, filled with levels of lightness and transition... but always underscored by the fact that I have a stable set of connections and amazing people that I know I’ll be coming back to. I don’t think I could be having such a good time here and making the fleeting connections I’ve been doing if I didn’t feel like I had a base elsewhere, with some sort of stability. Out last night, though, was the first time I felt a little twinge of “God I leave here in two months!”. With Martina, I know we’ll both be leaving, so we’re both kind of in the same boat. But last night I had this flash of discovering the salsa-dancing community in Strasbourg, taking lessons, going out every Wednesday, forging lasting friendships...
As idealistic (and fleeting) as the sentiment was, it made me realize that, up until the last couple weeks, I’ve been living in Strasbourg as a true outsider... conversing with other foreigners, making connections with other transient students. Even in my home stay, I’m still the outsider, the American student, that’ll leave and be replaced by another when the time comes. Last night offered a small peephole into a life a couple layers deeper. Given, Amed, by virtue of his birthplace and appearance, would still be considered “étranger” by a majority of “true blood” French folk (prejudice is bad here... Mme is quite guilty of it herself, which comes out in various kinds of subtle remarks which often don’t really know how to react to)... but he’s passionate about France all the same, and he’s installed here. While he may move around some more, for the moment Strasbourg is his home (one of many, no doubt). Thus far, this city, beautiful and bustling as it may be, has not crossed my mind as being a home, but rather a mere stopping point for a period of time. Not like Portland and Berkeley, two places I definitely consider home.
Anyhoo... enough on the musings. A couple more notable things before I sign off for bedtime:
- Had dinner with Albane and her family tonight... she’s the French girl that Nicole Exaltier, Jean-Noel’s sister introduced me to when I was at dinner of at her place (fyi: Jean-Noel = one of mom’s old boyfriends from the Lebanon days, now an ever-smiling Jesuit priest who I’ll hopefully get to see come Paris trip in April! Nicole is his sister and lives in Strasbourg with her husband). In any case, dinner was good, though, alas, punctuated with a few notable awkward silences... but then again, it was my first dinner with a French family of multiple children – Albane’s two younger sisters – and somehow I feel like that made a difference. Her youngest sister, however (age 9), struck me as a pretty awesome kid, reminding me of those standout campers each semester at drama camp. Something about her, in the 20 minutes we were at the table, just made me think she was a pretty cool kid. Or perhaps it’s just that hearing smaller children speak French is by definition a fun experience.
- After dinner, helped Albane with a couple English papers she had to turn in (she’s an English major) and I definitely began to notice some of the same types of mistakes she was making that I always make.... it was good to see it from the other direction. We talked a bit in English, though mostly in French... and I learned that I add “Alors” to just about every beginning or ending of every sentence, where most French people might put “Donc” or “Quoi”. I had kind of been aware of this fact, but I didn’t know just how “not French” it was until Albane told me, in giggles, that it was terribly cute, because it was just a little something that I did, almost like an accent of sorts. Of course, from then on, I noticed every time I said it and had to pause and she would laugh and it made conversation rather difficult because really, I do say it an excessive amount, as filler (she assumed I was translating from the English “So... and so....” (alors = so), but I’m not sure... I think it was just one of those words I adopted and tailored to suit my own needs... and now I need to try and figure out how to sub in some “donc”s and “quoi”s so I don’t sound like a weird variety of French valley girl, with “alors” being some substitution for the ever-repeated “like” (of which I am, alas, a victim).
- Oh... and a kind of big deal... classes were cancelled today, even in our little secluded island of IIEF international students, due to the death of a student yesterday in the main Marc Bloch building on campus. Not a CPE-violence related death, but related nontheless. He was one of the occupying students of the building (which the univerisity’s president was allowing to continue) and supposedly he overdosed on drugs... not sure of the details. In any case, beyond the tragedy of his death itself, there’s the fear/conjecture that his death may become a symbol for the fight against the CPE... a sign of the students “taking it too far” in the eyes of the government? A martyr-figure for the students themselves? Haven’t read any news reports on it as of yet (it happened Wednesday afternoon), but I do know that in lieu of classes, I saw a crowd of perhaps 300-odd students marching again this afternoon, some of whom held signs along the line of “We asked for ______ (couldn’t read the words), not for a fatalité!”. Thus, it's hard to say. I know another student was trampled by a protesting crowd in Paris (I can’t even imagine...). From what I’ve heard, American news reports – however many there may or may not be – have been painting a picture of France going crazy. While that is partially the case in this one domain – yes, they’re fucking pissed about the CPE – it’s not like life is in a standstill. Some people probably go about their lives without really realizing this is going on. It’s present, for sure, but not omnipresent (well, the stickers and posters are. But not the protestors and marches and havoc). In any case, all of Marc Bloch and it’s affiliates were closed and locked up today because of the death. I think they’ll recommence classes (at least at the IIEF) tomorrow, but won’t know until I get there.
- Tomorrow I leave for a night in Nancy with Ariana, which should be fun. It’ll be weird, though, from having spent the last 48 speaking almost nothing but French, and with fluent speakers no less (Amed and Albane) to transitioning into the unavoidable speak-speak for a good 20 hours or so.
- Bonne nuit!!
NOTE: classes were indeed cancelled again today, to observe another day of morning and reflection due to Wednesday’s death, and also, most likely, to try and prevent any backlash on the campus. Students marched again Thursday afternoon, and classes should start up again Monday. The only thing I can find online regarding the death was that he entered the building Tuesday night in bad shape, laid down on a couch or something and spent the night in the building (as it was still occupied, under allowance by the president). The next morning other student/friends noticed he was in “bad shape” and called an ambulance, but by the time they arrived, he’d already died.
I’ve already had one experience here of having witnessed a slow arrival of an ambulance (one time, at beth’s, a elderly neighbor keeled over backwards and hit his head and a visiting helper came to beth’s and asked her to call the ambulance. Afterwards, beth insisted we go on with our meeting… and it wasn’t until 20 minutes later, when I was heading downstairs to leave, that the ambulance was just arriving). I’d like to assume that the ambulance in the student’s case did everything it could and that the students that called cited it as a truly urgent situation. But who knows.
posted by Melia at 3:00 AM
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