My host mom knows how to party...!
How frickin’ awesome is it that i come back at 1 am after a day of (attempted) studying followed by a late night Taiwanese film... and the “fête” dîner (dinner party... ) that my host mom was throwing for a friend of hers was STILL IN FULL SWING at 1:30 am... in fact, they were JUST STARTING their dessert course. And the wine had definitely been flowing... in the background, I could here some token American 70s funk and oldies piping in through the radio in the background...
As I’d just wondered aloud to Alex after the movie if the party would still be going on, I texted him with a “I love it! They’ve just started in on the dessert chez moi!” His response? “Rad. I hope I age like that.”
Indeed, my host mom is about 50. And obviously knows how to throw a pretty awesome dinner party.
There are going to be a lot of things I’m going to miss when leaving this place I’ve come to call... well, “chez moi” if not home. Tea and talks chez Martina... Madame’s (Simone’s) laugh... random things I learn about her, like the fact that she loves country dancing and that her friend does it “professionally”... my rented bike (not stolen... yet!)... the gazillions of kebab places open all night for those post-bar cravings... the lovebirds on the side of canals or sharing a kiss before the tram... all the amazingly cheap, amazingly good WINE!!!... and the beauty that is cider... talking about the US with an insider’s/outsider’s eye and realizing just how many questions I can’t answer... the cultural hodge-podge signified by more than just where you come from (e.g. being Jewish here means a whole different ballpark than being Jewish in the Bay Area)... the prostitutes on Martina’s corner... oh crap, did I write that? It’s a joke... however, I will miss the fact that I have to laugh every time that I remember they’re never out on Sunday nights... because Alsace shuts down Sundays, right down to the sex calls! ... I’ll miss 5.50 operas/plays/&movies... I’ll miss Madame’s delicious dinners (though I look forward to the day I can regulate and cook my own meals again!)...
France has helped open my eyes to different cultures and customs (beyond the country’s own... I’ve learned about Lebanon, Martinique, Algeria, the EU as a whole, and more), and it has also helped me appreciate the randomnities of life. Perhaps France does the whole “esoteric” and “absurd” deal better... I mean, theater of the absurd was born here. But maybe it’s just helped tune me in to the beauty of things that make you go “huh?”
Examples:
Alex was telling me about how he and in his friend were in Sacrofage, one of the late-night bars, and his friend was just saying, “Man, you know, I’m really going to miss Strasbourg... there are just a vibe here that you can’t find in the US...” when Alex looked over his friends shoulder to see this guy, standing with his friends downing a beer... completely butt-naked. Perfect timing.
Anisa recounted a fantastic afternoon during which she was studying for a test in the park by her house in Petite France, when she heard the sound of bagpipes getting closer and closer... suddenly, lumbering across one of the area’s tiny cobblestone bridges, comes a flatbed truck with an entire kilted bagpipe orchestra on the back, playing to their heart’s delight. Following them was a film crew. Their latest music video? Who knows...
In my time here, I’ve seen a stuffed cow being unsuccessfully pushed through the door by three burly men, hands poised expertly on its rear-end... I’ve witnessed a duck totally slip off a step and look around as if to see if anyone saw... I’ve seen a middle-aged man in a suit riding down the side of the street on a child’s bike, his knees up to his ears and his hands gripping both his briefcase and the stump of where handlebars used to be...
And then, of course, there’s Mr. Europe, the rumored university-psych-professor-gone-mad who rides his bike around strasbourg everyday, plastic Fischerprice guitar slung over his shoulder, dressed in articles of any sort of mismatched costume you could imagine (women’s skirts, clown pants, doctors masks, etc.), waving a huge European flag, and wearing a motorcycle helmet with a long fake flower sticking out of it like an antenna. About 45 years old, he talks to anyone who looks at him, rallies students to go to various events around town (during which time he seems almost sane... and i wonder if he’s not just an old professor sick of bureaucracy who’s decided to enjoy life the crazy way...), and is seen by almost everyone at least once a day. A veritable figurehead in the student population. He told Martina and I that he studied law on his previous planet, where you learn things via the insertion of a chip into the back of your ear... “Right here! And there you go, you know everything, just like that! No more study, nothing. And makes sure you go to the Camouroonian soirée, 7:30 tonight. It’ll be fantastic! On the planet I come from...”
This place is brilliant!
As I’d just wondered aloud to Alex after the movie if the party would still be going on, I texted him with a “I love it! They’ve just started in on the dessert chez moi!” His response? “Rad. I hope I age like that.”
Indeed, my host mom is about 50. And obviously knows how to throw a pretty awesome dinner party.
There are going to be a lot of things I’m going to miss when leaving this place I’ve come to call... well, “chez moi” if not home. Tea and talks chez Martina... Madame’s (Simone’s) laugh... random things I learn about her, like the fact that she loves country dancing and that her friend does it “professionally”... my rented bike (not stolen... yet!)... the gazillions of kebab places open all night for those post-bar cravings... the lovebirds on the side of canals or sharing a kiss before the tram... all the amazingly cheap, amazingly good WINE!!!... and the beauty that is cider... talking about the US with an insider’s/outsider’s eye and realizing just how many questions I can’t answer... the cultural hodge-podge signified by more than just where you come from (e.g. being Jewish here means a whole different ballpark than being Jewish in the Bay Area)... the prostitutes on Martina’s corner... oh crap, did I write that? It’s a joke... however, I will miss the fact that I have to laugh every time that I remember they’re never out on Sunday nights... because Alsace shuts down Sundays, right down to the sex calls! ... I’ll miss 5.50 operas/plays/&movies... I’ll miss Madame’s delicious dinners (though I look forward to the day I can regulate and cook my own meals again!)...
France has helped open my eyes to different cultures and customs (beyond the country’s own... I’ve learned about Lebanon, Martinique, Algeria, the EU as a whole, and more), and it has also helped me appreciate the randomnities of life. Perhaps France does the whole “esoteric” and “absurd” deal better... I mean, theater of the absurd was born here. But maybe it’s just helped tune me in to the beauty of things that make you go “huh?”
Examples:
Alex was telling me about how he and in his friend were in Sacrofage, one of the late-night bars, and his friend was just saying, “Man, you know, I’m really going to miss Strasbourg... there are just a vibe here that you can’t find in the US...” when Alex looked over his friends shoulder to see this guy, standing with his friends downing a beer... completely butt-naked. Perfect timing.
Anisa recounted a fantastic afternoon during which she was studying for a test in the park by her house in Petite France, when she heard the sound of bagpipes getting closer and closer... suddenly, lumbering across one of the area’s tiny cobblestone bridges, comes a flatbed truck with an entire kilted bagpipe orchestra on the back, playing to their heart’s delight. Following them was a film crew. Their latest music video? Who knows...
In my time here, I’ve seen a stuffed cow being unsuccessfully pushed through the door by three burly men, hands poised expertly on its rear-end... I’ve witnessed a duck totally slip off a step and look around as if to see if anyone saw... I’ve seen a middle-aged man in a suit riding down the side of the street on a child’s bike, his knees up to his ears and his hands gripping both his briefcase and the stump of where handlebars used to be...
And then, of course, there’s Mr. Europe, the rumored university-psych-professor-gone-mad who rides his bike around strasbourg everyday, plastic Fischerprice guitar slung over his shoulder, dressed in articles of any sort of mismatched costume you could imagine (women’s skirts, clown pants, doctors masks, etc.), waving a huge European flag, and wearing a motorcycle helmet with a long fake flower sticking out of it like an antenna. About 45 years old, he talks to anyone who looks at him, rallies students to go to various events around town (during which time he seems almost sane... and i wonder if he’s not just an old professor sick of bureaucracy who’s decided to enjoy life the crazy way...), and is seen by almost everyone at least once a day. A veritable figurehead in the student population. He told Martina and I that he studied law on his previous planet, where you learn things via the insertion of a chip into the back of your ear... “Right here! And there you go, you know everything, just like that! No more study, nothing. And makes sure you go to the Camouroonian soirée, 7:30 tonight. It’ll be fantastic! On the planet I come from...”
This place is brilliant!
posted by Melia at 9:21 AM
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