Home: A Series of Ridiculous Events

Never in my life have I experienced a day as completely unrealistic as this. Oh wait, make that two days...or actually, 61 hours.

I've been considering for a few days how best to write this entry. The whole situation was so ridiculously humorous that I'm worried that I can't give it justice with my measly writing skills. I think, for the sake of time and space, I may just make a list. I really don't need to add commentary. The timeline speaks for itself.

Saturday, December 19, 2009:

7:45am France time (1:45am Virginia time)- Leave house with dreadful anticipation of the long day ahead. Already know about blizzard conditions and flight from Washington DC to Roanoke being rebooked for the next afternoon.

8:20- Watch host father uncharacteristically get into a shouting match with a horribly obnoxious driver at the airport in Marseille.

8:35- Remove 1 kilo worth of Christmas presents from my 50 pound suitcase at check in.

9:00- Make it to the gate after successfully passing though security.

9:30- Run into a German friend from language school who ends up being on my flight to Frankfurt.

10:00- Board first plane.

10:25- Warn flight attendant I only have 40 minutes in between flights. Will I make it?

10:30- Take off. So far, so good.

10:40, 11:00, 11:30- Flight attendant returns to me multiple times with positive information about our flight time and gate, therefore assuring me I would arrive in plenty of time for my connecting flight.

12:15- Deplane and run through airport.

12:35- Flight attendant was right. Arrive in plenty of time for flight from Frankfurt to Washington DC.

1:00- Board plane.

2:00- Take off, an hour late. This is perhaps the key moment of the entire experience.

For the next 8 hours- Sleep, listen to iPod, read New Moon, sleep, talk to woman beside me who is an English as a second language teacher, decide maybe I really don't want to be a teacher, sleep.

4:00 Virginia time- Fly over Washington and begin descent. Miles to destination: 32.

4:02- Miles to destination: 392. What?

4:03- Pilot on loudspeaker speaks a lot of German. Half the passengers look startled. The rest have no idea what he said.

4:04- In English, "You may have noticed we have again begun to ascend. It seems the visibility is too low on the runway because of the blizzard. For your safety, we are flying to Charlotte, North Carolina."

4:05- I am really bummed. I learn later that if we had left on time, we would have been able to land.

5:30- We land in Charlotte. I am almost glad of the diversion because we flew through sunset and I was in the sky as it turned rose and I watched rainbows play in the vapors coming off of the wing.

5:32- I call home. I am thinking, I really hope they decided not to pick me up in DC. Mom answers. I breathe a sigh of relief. She says, "Oh good timing! It took him 8 hours through the snow, ice, and car wrecks but your dad just got to the airport to pick you up. You will have to stay there tonight though because they just closed 81 South." "Oh no Mom! I'm in Charlotte." Silence. "I guess your dad is going to have to stay at the airport by himself. Wait, what are you doing in Charlotte??"

An hour and a half later- We are still sitting on the tarmac. We are informed that customs will not let us off the plane. We are going to Atlanta, Georgia. "Um, hey Mom, I'm heading further south..."

8:00pm- Land in Atlanta. Thank God for cheerful southern airport workers. So maybe customs guys aren't the nicest but everyone else sure was helpful.

Between 8:00 and 9:30- Go through security (to leave the airport? still haven't figured that one out), claim 50 pound luggage, re-check luggage, take train to other side of airport, re-claim luggage (we still haven't figured this system out either), get in line for hotel vouchers.

Around this time is when specific time is difficult to remember. By now, we were functioning only on lunch, a snack, and a lot of confusing hours without sleep. I will make up times for the sake of explanation. It will be close enough.

9:45- Strike up a conversation with some people in line. Meet Eddie (British guy who's lived in Turkey his whole life, who's mother is Greek, who's mother tongue is somehow French, who works for an Italian spice export company, who calls me Kary, who makes fun of my French, and who has a daughter my age, i.e. my adopted father for the rest of the trip. He has been travelling from Turkey since Friday morning and has not changed his socks.) and Emily (About my age, veterinarian, lives in DC, coming back from visiting her sister and new niece in Austria.)

10:45- Reach the front of mega-long line (our plane had over 400 passengers). Get hotel and food vouchers. Apparently look somewhat anxious despite feeling surprisingly calm. Go with Eddie and Emily to shuttle to go to hotel.

11:30- Finally get on shuttle. Atlanta is freezing by the way and by the size of most of our coats, I don't think we were expecting to be waiting outside for 45 minutes. Cough that I finally got rid of comes back with a vengeance.

12:00am- Stand in line at Clarion South waiting for a room. It is too late to use the $25 food voucher for dinner. We are all starving and on the edge of passing out from dehydration. Emily calls the Lufthansa number they said to contact for flight information. They are closed. We could call again at 8:00am.

12:45- Eddie and I get to the front of the line. Emily is at the desk getting checked in. The hotel's internet dies. The front desk people freak out. Emily gets a room. Eddie and I go to the desk. The front desk people are very sweet and extremely apologetic. They only know of two clean rooms and since the internet is down, they can't figure out which other rooms are open. They bargain with each other and finally Eddie and I get the last two keys. I feel briefly sorry for the people behind me but with the exhaustion, that soon passes and I only feel relief.

1:00- Leave my room with the door open in search of the drink machine. Return with Fanta Orange in hand to hear Eddie (who's room is across from mine) frantically calling, "Kary, Kary, your door is open!" He thinks I'm inside and don't know. He doesn't want to come in but he is scared I'll leave it like that all night. He is panicking. He is also probably waking up everyone in the hotel. I run to assure him I am ok. I then gulp down half the can of soda.

1:30- I take a shower. That makes the whole day seem better. For some reason my feet had chosen that day to reek to high heaven.

2:00- I pass out in a nice squishy American bed after a 26 hour long day.

Sunday, December 20, 2009:

(Supposed to be at church this morning, playing violin and visiting friends.)

8:57am- I awake to my mom calling the room. "Why aren't you awake? Your dad is still at the airport and we need you to figure out what's going to happen with your flight!"

9:15-9:30- I am on hold with the airline. Never get to talk to anyone. Even Lufthansa doesn't know what's going on.

9:30- I meet Eddie for breakfast and hear all the rumors about when/if flights were leaving.

10:00- I think I offend a German woman by the fact that I don't drink coffee. It's ok. In the end she is happy to take mine since I obviously would let it go to waste.

10:45- Leave in a taxi with luggage, Eddie, and a new friend who works in the US consulate in Chile. We get to know each other well in such tight quarters.

11:00- Get in line for Lufthansa flight LH418D.

11:30- Cheer when we all hear that they have finally allowed our flight to go back to DC directly at 4:00. We aren't licensed to fly between states and they were threatening to make us fly back to Frankfurt and then back.

2:00- After 3 hours, get to the front of the line. Receive new, ghetto-looking boarding pass and food voucher and check huge bag.

2:20- Eddie and I feel bad for security when we have to take off our shoes. Also, the metal detector man makes fun of my pink-toed socks.

2:45- Finally eat good, real food. Also randomly see someone I worked with at Doe River Gorge in line with me at the Chinese restaurant.

4:00- Meet back with Emily and another German friend and board plane. We leave mostly on schedule.

5:30- I am ecstatic! We land and I am about to see my dad who, bless his heart, has been waiting for me since 3:00 the previous day.

6:00- We find out there are so many planes on the tarmac, we are going to be waiting at least an hour in the plane before we can park at a gate.

6:45- Our crew leaves because they have to go back to Frankfurt. I later learn that Frankfurt's airports are now closed and I feel bad for the crew who are stuck again.

7:30- We still haven't moved so they bring us the mobile lounges that transport us to the terminal.

8:00- I see my dad!

9:00- German Lufthansa woman cries as she tells us the plane is still not parked and our bags are still on the plane. It has been a rough few days for Lufthansa.

9:30- We eat scones and coffee/smoothies from Starbucks for dinner.

10:00- We are still hanging out with Eddie and his daughter waiting for our bags.

11:00- The bags start going around carousel 10, after we had been told it would be 11, 12, or 13. We were just excited to see bags. Everyone cheered each time someone found their bag.

11:30- The carousel stops. There are tons of bags left from all the people who decided to give up and go home. The five hour drive doesn't give us that option. We all help take those bags off. We wait for the carousel to start again. It doesn't. I have been very calm about the whole experience but at this point, I, and many others around me, almost lose it.

12:00am- Apparently a little Hispanic lady heard something about the other 200 bags being stuck in customs on the international side, where they shouldn't be. She makes a guy go find them. Ten minutes later, the carousel starts again. We are too tired to cheer but finally everyone is happy. I hardly believe my eyes when I see my bag go by. I watch it and then say, "Dad, that one might be mine. Can you check?" He sprints and hauls it off. Finally!!

12:30- We get lost on the way to the hotel which should be 2 minutes away. Despite it all, I am thinking how much I appreciate Lufthansa's level of service, our crew's great attitudes, and the family-like camaraderie that developed between the 400 of us on the flight.

2:00- We have found the hotel and we pass out, once again, without real supper.

Monday, December 21, 2009:

(I am supposed to be on my way to Tennessee to visit college friends.)

We get up, eat a good breakfast, and drive five hours on perfect, clear roads.

3:00pm- We pull into the driveway. Dad decides to take a few minutes to smash down some of the snow in the driveway with the car wheel. We drive backward and forward...in the driveway. Finally I say, "Really? REALLY?" He understands and lets me out of the car. I go in and I am home!!!!

Aubagne

I'm mad, so I have to write this down for you in order for me to find it funnier than I do right now.

I'm so thankful for the theme and title of my blog right now because that's exactly what tonight was like: In Pursuit of Aubagne. It normally takes 20 minutes to get from Marseille to Aubagne after theatre class. Tonight it took an hour and 45 minutes. Ergh!

I was driving through Marseille, happily remembering all that had gone on in the theatre (Ingmar Bergman is awesome by the way) when I came to the entrance ramp onto the road home. It was blocked. I drove into some random neighborhood thinking it was just that entrance that was blocked. Not so.

It took me a full hour to realize that there was a detour sign on all the blocked ramps. Now, the idiots who block highways at midnight and make dumb signs might say it was my fault, but if the sign is miniscule and only says S32 or some such nonsense, how on earth was I supposed to realize that was it.

So when I finally figured it out, I followed the detour S32 signs all the way back to where I had come from. Then the sign randomly changed to S31 and sent me straight back the way I'd already been. Finally I ended up in an enormous stream of angry cars stuck on a tiny road. I knew I had found a group to follow.

We eventually made it into Aubagne. I pacified myself the whole stupid drive with the knowledge that I would (hopefully) soon be complaining about my plight to all my lovely readers.
I did manage to find two things to be thankful for. One, I now rock at shifting gears. I thought I had it down before but now I am totally stellar. Two, I now know by heart all the backroads from here to Marseille. I know them so much more than I ever wanted to. They are not beautiful and they are kind of scary, but maybe someday, that knowledge will do me good. Maybe.

But before you feel too sorry for me (because I know you were planning to), be relieved to know that otherwise I had an amazing day. We played a game in class (at one point I had to role play as the obnoxious 15 year old daughter of one of the guys in my class...great fun), I had good conversations in French with the kids' grandfather, and theatre class was amazing!!

I've also gotten multiple comments/encouragements on the improvement in my French today and I'm really, really happy. My theatre teacher told me that by the end of February, I will be speaking/understanding/pronouncing great. I hope she's right. I'm so excited!

Une Fete Merveilleuse!

I love loving lovely days! Today was fantastic, fun, and full of friends and food.

We had our school Christmas party this morning and it made me so happy. We laughed so much that I still have a headache and my cheeks hurt but it was so worth it. We all sang together in seven different languages. We gleefully watched a sultry tango demonstration by two members of my class. We giggled through three fantastic skits. And we ate a lot of food.

I love being a part of this group of international students of all ages. I love the French teachers and faculty. I love that I can be my own version of me, rather than the version I've grown myself into all these years. I love that I can find some of my identity in being American. I love that I can hang out with other Americans and dress in red and green for Christmas parties and take cheesy Christmas pictures. And I love that we can all understand each other despite language barriers if we try.

And I really, really love Christmas!

Noel en France

I'm just going to start with an apology and get it out of the way. If there are any of you out there in cyber-space who check my blog as obsessively as I check other peoples', I am deeply sorry for the whole week and a half that I left you with no knowledge of the happenings in my life.

If you have Facebook you should feel less desperate for news since I swamp everyone's news page with (almost) every thought that pops into my head. For example, you witnessed the whole stream of consciousness decision-making that is my life, like: Where should I live after France? Texas, Florida, Virginia? Ooo, Seattle looks nice. What will I do in Seattle? Hm, maybe I could get my certificate to teach English as a second language. But Kaity, you don't like to teach. Maybe I could learn to like it since it would involve travelling to awesome places like Russia and South Korea. Yeah, that's what I'll do. Move to Seattle and then on to other random and glorious locations... You get the picture. Keep checking Facebook if you're interested in the completely opposite direction my mind will probably lead me next.

So for real occurances, these last few days have been full and fun, but I've forgotten to write about them because I'm so looking forward to this Saturday, only 6 days away. I'm going home for Christmas!! I've been counting down for a few weeks now and it's completely overshadowed most goings-on in my life. Also I've been sick, which may account for some forgetfulness. I've been sleeping a lot!

But it would be a shame to miss the Christmas season in France. It is charming. In the little town where I live, the Christmas lights are up downtown and there are elaborate nativity scenes set up in glass boxes for everyone to enjoy. There is also a fantastic Christmas market every weekend. They sell everything from soap and jewelry, to loaves of bread twice the size of my head and whole dead pigs wrapped up in string. Last week there was a carnival and an amazing wooden carousel that was run by parents see-sawing and a man playing the piano and accordion. Fascinating!

School is exceptionally fun as well. We are having our Christmas party tomorrow and I'm so excited! Hopefully I'll remember to tell you about it.

Last night was a lot of fun. We had a party for all the people who have helped them renovate the house this past year. There were 13 adults here and 6 kids. We ate amazing cheese fondu and lemon ice cream floating in champagne. I was fortunate again to be seated next to a British man so I was able to chat happily in a mix of English and French depending on if I was talking to someone on my right or my left.

Afterward, we all gathered in the salon to play one of those famous people trivia games that I'm generally pretty awesome at if they are played in my language. It was a great vocabulary lesson. And when it was my turn to describe the people to my team, there were enough English speakers in the group that I was allowed to play in English. And can I just say, thank God for Ian Fleming (007), without whom I would never have scored us any points.

It's nights like that that make me love the people of France. I already love the language, the scenery, the food, etc... but each time these people include me in their lives and attempt to find topics of conversation that we can both understand, test out their English on me, suffer through my poor French, and let me play on their team even though I have no idea what the game is about, I fall in love with this place just a little bit more.

But, all that being said, I cannot wait to see my family and friends and eat my Mama's cooking!

The Rest of My Finger

Ok, so I didn't actually cut off any part of my finger, but I did make a pretty good sized slice across my knuckle. It's slightly ironic really. I had been thinking just this evening, as I balanced boiling hot water full of potatoes in one hand and tried to fish out the slimy potatoes with a knife with the other, that I would be lucky to get through the evening without injuring myself. I just expected it to be with boiling water or the salmon I had burning in the pan. It wasn't my best culinary experience.

But no, I got the food prepared and on the table without any serious problem. The kids and I ate leisurely and again, there were no problems. Then it was time for dessert. We have recently become obsessed with slices of bread with butter and honey. Paul's tartine came off without a hitch, just like usual. Then I foolishly decided that I wanted my third (or maybe fourth, but who's counting?) slice of bread of the day.

I began cutting the bread. I don't know how much you know about French bread, but it is delicious. It has a soft center and perfectly crusty...well, crust. But crusty crust is also hard, sometimes like a rock. This one wasn't as hard as some but I'm taking any excuse I can get. I was cutting with ginormous serrated bread knife. It works amazingly well for cutting hard bread. I imagine fingers are a piece of cake in comparison.

I looked up for a second to talk to a child. I do not have the best coordination in the world. Apparently I cannot move my head and my hand in two separate directions at the same time. I looked down in time to see the serrated blade running through my finger. It was slightly disconcerting but mostly I was thinking, 'Wow, I think there should be blood."

Then there was. A lot. The kids were hilarious. They ran in two different directions looking for band aids and then watched with the utmost concentration as I rinsed the gaping wound and tried to explain in awkward, pain-laced French that this is the reason it's not good to play with knives. Then Marie helped me put on my band aid. It was only a little crooked.

We also took a break when the blood flow slowed to run up to my room to find my camera. I like to document my battle scars. But for your sake I will post the "clean" version, with the band aid already applied. If you have a stronger stomach than some people I know, you can check out the "unedited" version on my Facebook. I find it impressive.

Thanksgiving in France

First off, I have a big, fluffy cat sitting on me while I'm writing this. It makes me happy. But that's not the subject of this post.

The subject is just what one might guess from reading the title: my experience of Thanksgiving in a country that doesn't actually celebrate the holiday.

We decided to have a Thanksgiving party on Friday night, not on the actual day but I really didn't even notice because I was working and there is not Thanksgiving stuff in the stores here, only Christmas decorations.

I did go shopping with my American friend in the Auchan (their version of Wal-Mart) for the supplies for the next day. I didn't buy a lot but I scoped out the things available in preparation for the next day. (It's amazing how many essential Thanksgiving ingredients they don't sell here. Of course, they're probably shocked by the miniscule size of our stores' cheese sections so I can't say too much.) I was off the next morning until 4 so I had plenty of time to run back to the store.

Well, Friday morning came and went while I slept. Then I woke up to the unceasing ringing of the telephone. You know those days when everything seems to go wrong but ultimately ends up ok? That was Friday.

It was Anne trying to get me to answer the phone to let me know there were two cases of swine flu in Marie's school and I needed to go pick her up. Ok, but when was I going to get the shopping done?

I panicked a little but then realized that there is a perfectly decent grocery store right across from the school. So, after I picked Marie up from her masked schoolteacher (it was creepy), we went to the Casino grocery store. Marie was very helpful in attempting to carry the flour for me and we found everything pretty quickly. I was really excited! I had to get creative with a few ingredients but it all worked.

Then we got home, ate lunch, and Marie took a nap. I used this time to cut apples for the Apple Pie Cake and grate a lot of Cheddar cheese. Then I picked up Paul and set to work on the real cooking.

You must keep in mind that this was the first time I had made any of the things I was planning or had even really cooked any real meal at all. I can bake, so I wasn't too worried about the cake, but I was freaking out a bit about the rest.

The putting together of the cake and the macaroni and cheese were much easier than I expected. But I couldn't work the oven. It's complicated and the instructions are in Italian. Why? I have no idea.

So I called Anne. She was supposed to be home at 6:30, an hour before our guests arrived. It was 7:15, I couldn't work the oven, the mac and cheese needed to bake for 45 minutes, and she wasn't there yet. Yikes!

And then company arrived. I had never met them before and I was in a kind of frenzied state of cooking and stressing out. It was slightly awkward but not too bad. Anne and Julien showed up pretty soon after and we got dinner figured out. We spent the evening comparing me to different Desperate Housewives. I started as Susan but I didn't burn the mac and cheese so I ended up being Bree.

We had turkey cutlets with gravy that tasted like brown, wet flour, packaged mashed potatoes, corn, really good green beans that Anne made (I couldn't get ingredients for green bean casserole but it tasted almost the same), my mom's and grandma's recipe for macaroni and cheese, and the cake. I was pretty surprised that it turned out pretty good and there was so much food I was stuffed and we had leftovers.

All in all, it turned out to be a really pleasant evening. I'm also more confident in my ability to grocery shop and to cook, but I still like baking better. You cannot believe how amazing the smell of nutmeg, cinnamon, and vanilla are after not smelling them for months. The mac and cheese was definitely my favorite and almost tasted like Mama's, but I can not wait until Christmas to eat the real thing with my family!

A Sugar High

Wow, what an amazing day! This was one of the best days of my time in France. It may have something to do with the fact I'm still smiling from last night, or possibly because of the copious amounts of sugar I consumed today, but no matter what the reason, I'm happy to be happy.

We started the day like every other Wednesday with handball for Paul. I already knew something suspiciously good was going on when much of the usual complaining and arguing that usually happens these mornings was nowhere to be found.

Handball went great and lunch went off without a hitch. Then came the project. I told the kids if they were really good, they could help me make an American dessert. My parents had sent a package that finally got here yesterday and it was stuffed with ridiculous amounts of knee socks, candy, and pudding. I must say, I'd like to eat it all myself, but I think that would not be prudent for my sugar levels or my waistline.

So, I'm feeding it to the children as well. This afternoon we made French Vanilla pudding (which I thought appropriate). It was so great! It's so easy that basically the kids made it themselves and were quite proud of the fact. And man, I never realized how much I missed pudding, Reese's, Mounds Bars, Cow Tales, Skittles, and popcorn until today.

We enjoyed our pudding and then it was calm time. Marie tried to sleep for two hours (with limited success) and Paul and I played with his train and I read him Peter Pan while he molded clay. It was peaceful and amazing. As a reward, they got one piece of candy each.

Then it was snack time, and since I was really amazed at the behavior today (as in, they said please and thank you to each other and there was no screaming or anything) I said we could watch Peter Pan. So, we settled down with some amazing microwave popcorn and enjoyed the film. You know, Peter Pan actually works really well in French.

Then I made dinner early, and everyone ate very well with the promise of pudding and a new bon-bon for dessert. When we were done, I doled out a few Skittles each. I think that was actually the biggest success of the day. I was hugged and kissed repeatedly for that one. Then we read more of Peter Pan and they were off to bed by 8:30.

Oh how I love the simple pleasures in life!

Godot

Last night was my second night at theatre class. It was amazing. I love my life.

This week I actually got to do stuff. Last week I got there late and only did part of the warm up. Then I sat for the remaining three and a half hours watching other pairs of students doing scenes from 'Waiting for Godot' (or 'En attendant Godot'). It was interesting but boring too.

This week, I had made some friends and I had a scene. I was the second one there, which is always nice, and I had my lines memorized. We warmed up (but I got singled out for not bending my knees enough in a slow motion fight exercise and for not air-punching energetically enough. At least I understood what she said.)

Then we did an Italian (which in my understanding is a speed-through) and I was partnered with one of my new friends. I was excited to realize I really did have these lines memorized in French, and she helped with some of my slaughtering of the pronunciation.

Then it was acting time. We ended up going last, which means we did our scene at 10:30 at night. I was so sleepy. And nervous. I'd been fine at the beginning but after watching everyone else I freaked myself out. There were some great scenes.

One really cool one was the two Spanish people we have in class. To help them get into character, Sylvia (the teacher) let them do the scene in Spanish. It was awesome and a little confusing for me cause it was my scene too but in Spanish, not French or English. A bit mind-boggling, but what isn't these days?

Finally it was our turn. We rocked it! Miraculously, I understood all the directions she gave us. And she liked what I was doing so much, she made me do it again and told everyone to watch my gestures. It was embarrassing but I was excited. I think I act better in French. It's liberating somehow.

During the scene, everytime I said a certain line, I heard snickers in the back of the room. Afterward, a few people came to talk to me and I discovered that my accent is "delicious", and the way I said that line was cute, and I reminded them of Jane Birkin. I'm so glad I knew who that was because they asked and I felt cool that I knew.

I think the others are more willing to talk to me now that they've heard me speak. I probably seemed standoffish, but really I just didn't know what to say or how to say it.

Anyway, after everyone left I stayed to pay the teacher for the lessons and she told me that what I had done was really good. I'm so excited! I'm pretty sure I didn't stop smiling all the way home.

Oh, and driving in Marseille is so much easier the second time. Next time, it'll be a piece of cake! And hopefully I'll find somewhere to park that doesn't cost me 7 euros, because that is ridiculous.

Theatre

Great news! I am now participating in theatre classes in Marseille! It's awesome and I'm so excited!

I had a meeting a week ago with the woman who runs the school. She offers a unique opportunity for foreign students to learn theatre and improve their French. Basically, we just start with the beginners class and stay there until our level of French (and our acting ability) improves enough to move up to the next class. We're in class side by side with all the French students, which is great since I was finding it hard to meet locals my age.

I started Tuesday and it is great. It's from 7-11 at night so I'm pretty exhausted after a day of school, work, and then that but it's worth it. I also have to drive myself to Marseille since the trains stop at 11. Tuesday was the first time I'd made the drive and it was a challenge. I got lost a few times and had to pay way too much at a parking garage but I made it only 15 minutes late (even though we're supposed to be 15 minutes early).

We study mostly contemporary works. Right now we're working on 'Waiting for Godot' by Samuel Beckett. Believe me, it's challenging enough without it being in a different language. But, I do find the language and the fact I'll only be here a year kind of liberating. I don't feel as self-conscious making a fool out of myself as I usually do.

I've already talked to a few others in my class and I think it'll be a great process getting to know them. They're mostly French with some Spanish and a few other countries mixed in. I only did the warm-ups and observed all the scene work last week but this Tuesday I have a scene to perform, in French! Yikes! I'd better go run lines again...and figure out the meaning of what I'm saying.

The Next Step

I've come to the conclusion that it's not about what you do, it's about where you do it and who you do it with.

As it always does when fall arrives, my mind is exploring possibilities for my future. As usual, I have already changed my mind multiple times. I'm past the 'go to VCU and get my social work masters' phase and the 'go back to school for anything right when I get home' phase. I'm already looking for another adventure.

Somehow, Australia got the ball rolling. It was only yesterday that I started considering it and already I know the best youth hostels, the requirements for my visa, which city I want to go to (Brisbane), where I want to work (Australia Zoo), how long it takes to get from there to the Outback and Tropical North Queensland, and how much money I need to have before I go.

After hours of research, my stream of consciousness leapt from Brisbane to Australia Zoo to any zoo and settled on Disney World's Animal Kingdom. I was considering whether I wanted to be away from home for another full year so soon after being in France for that long. Florida is tropical and seemed a nice compromise. Also, I don't have to go through visa hassles. And I LOVE Disney World!

Since the weather here is ridiculously nice today, I took a long walk around the countryside near the house. It gave me a lot of time to think. I was considering whether it was wise that I am making more plans to do random, directionless, fun things while most people my age are starting careers or families. *shiver* I am so not ready for that.

Anyway, I decided that it was. Who's to say that all these things I'm learning won't lead me right to where I'm supposed to be. There's no way I can plan my life now. I don't have any idea of all the possibilites waiting out there.

What if I get a job at Disney World because they have some random job opening for someone who can speak French, plays the violin, and likes working with kids? And there I end up working with the animals and become licensed in some animal care something or other. And from that I get a job working at Australia Zoo. And then I meet some handsome relative of Keith Urban and get married and have adorable Aussie babies. And then my awesome Aussie babies will grow up to be Wildlife Warriors and have their own globe-trotting TV show and I can guest star. And then... You see, the possibilities are endless.

Ok, so I really do have it all planned out, but I guess I'm flexible.

The point is, as long as I'm happy with where I am and who I'm with, and as long as I can make enough money for a roof and food, I don't know that I have to lock myself into a lucrative career path right now. At the end of my life, am I going to look back and say, "Gee, I sure am glad I worked at that job I didn't like so I could buy the big house in the stuck up neighborhood and have 1.3 kids who don't like me anymore." or will I think, "Wow, I'm glad I lived."

Nimes

Welcome to Nimes! It is a beautiful city full of Roman ruins that you can reach in as little as an hour by train from Marseille.

The five of us (Camilla, Lisa from Germany, Chelle from North Carolina, Hannah, and me) spent the whole day exploring this place. It was a perfect day. Not too cold, overcast but no rain, fall leaves, and hardly any other tourists.

As we walked through the tree-lined streets, somehow reminiscent of Paris, we spent time trying to talk to each other in French, something we haven't had much will to do until now. I think we were all encouraged by our ability to communicate pretty decently.

We saw the best preserved Roman colosseum where they still hold bullfights. There we were able to go into the arena bleachers and underneath where the gladiator chambers are. We also made friends with a stray cat.

We chilled in a cafe for a few hours with a table full of pizza, bread and cheese, liver, and who knows what else.

We strolled through the breathtaking Jardins de la Fontaine (Fountain Gardens) on our way to climb the swirling, lighthouse-esque stairs of the Tour Magne (Great Tower).

And finally, a stop at the Maison Caree (Square House), which was sadly under construction. They show a 3D gladiator film inside but fortunately, by unanimous vote, I was spared that monstrosity. (Disney World's 'A Bug's Life' and 'Muppets' 3D adventures have scarred me for life.)

By the end of the day we were exhausted. (My legs still ache from the tower climb.) We got back to the train station just in time to board with about a million other people on an unusually short train. So we sat on the floor for an hour and a half, as the beautiful French countryside slipped past the windows that we couldn't see through. But it's ok, because I fell asleep on someone's feet.

Not Getting Squished

I just wanted to let you know that I was hit by a car the other day. It didn't hurt and it was probably my fault but I'm still mad.

A huge group of people became impatient (as usual) in Marseille so they decided to cross the street before the little red man turned green. I followed the crowd because really, would a car keep going if there were twenty people in front of it, even if it was in a hurry? Apparently, yes.

Unfortunately, I was on the edge of the very large group of jaywalkers. I was almost across when the man in the white car got tired of waiting. Did it matter that I was still in front of his car? Probably not. I may have looked a bit too small to do any damage to the bumper.

So he went...and hit my leg...and I was mad. But I ran anyway because I was pretty sure I'd lose that battle. But next time you just watch out little white car man. If you do it again I'll...I'll...I'll be even madder!! So there!

Meaningless Procrastination (I'm doing anything but homework)

I just got the urge to blog but I don't have anything specific to blog about. Hm...

Sometimes I freak out a little when I write these things. I try to be funny, or at least entertaining, but I find that is hard to be funny when you're trying to be funny.

I've also heard (quite recently and from a reliable source) that my blog is in fact scaring people and possibly alienating them with my usage of large words and stories of potentially dangerous incidents.

I would now like to state, for the record, that this blog is for entertainment purposes only. It is intended to keep friends and family up to date and serve as a journal for me to look back on.

(I gave up real journaling about a year ago due to lack of time as a result of beginning to do things actually worth writing about.)

I would also like to inform you that I do, in fact, use a thesaurus. I like big words and when I have time to sit in front of my computer for an hour writing these things, it's fun to pretend like I know cool stuff, like how to use "whithersoever" in a sentence, when in reality, I just found it on phrontistery.info.

(Although, since I went to school at CHA and am therefore quite familiar with the King James Version of the Bible, I do know that it is perfectly acceptable to begin a sentence with "Whithersoever thou goest..." See, I can use it in a phrase at least.)

You will be happy to know that I will have something much more interesting to write about after tomorrow as I am planning on going to Nimes with some friends. I know you really only want to read about my adventures in France, not my musings on words and blogging. No worries. Check back sometime in the next few days and hopefully I can make that happen for you.

Oh, and there is potentially a really exciting thing starting for me next week, but I won't say what until I know for sure. Until then, you can try guessing, if you even care...

*The pic is of the drawings Paul did for Halloween (which he spelled "Alouin", which here I suppose is phonetically correct). They are cute and maybe you will like this post better because of them.

Le concert

I know, second post in one day. Sorry, I can't help it. When stuff happens, it all happens at once.

This is also my second promotional post of the day. I've already urged the consumers of this blog to check out and love the music of Olivia Ruiz. Now I implore you to go see the movie "Le concert." It may be difficult for those of you who are stateside (i.e. most of my readers) because I assume that since it's a French movie, it may never hit your movie theaters, but if it does, watch it.

This movie is amazing, obviously, or I probably wouldn't be writing this post. Of course I like it. It's like it was made specifically for my interests. (That's not egocentric is it?) The film is in French and Russian, the two languages other than my own that I have strong interest in. It features one of my new favorite actresses, Melanie Laurent. It is about an orchestra playing Tchaikovsky (whom I love). It includes a brilliant violin solo. And it is amazing.

So basically, I'm telling you to watch it, whenever it becomes available for your viewing pleasure. For your sake, I hope the DVD comes with the option to watch it all with English subtitles. I watched it with French subtitles for the Russian bits (and for when the Russians tried to speak French) but when the real French people came on and started talking really fast, the subtitles were gone. It was sort of a mind boggling exercise in concentration. But it was worth it...because the film is fantastic...and funny...and sweet...and you should watch it...

Olivia Ruiz: Miss Meteores

I feel that I have been an exceptionally cultured individual this week. I have admired architecture and murals at historical sights such as the Pont d'Avignon and the Palais des Papes in Avignon. I have witnessed a Baroque concert in the charming Aix en Provence. I saw a French film, Mademoiselle Chambon, at the cinema. And then, to top it all off, I went to a French Pop concert.

I have not been to many normal (i.e. non-classical) concerts in my lifetime. The only one of those that even meant a whole lot to me was Amy Grant (who will forever and always be my favorite singer) and if you know Amy, you know it wasn't a jump around in the mosh pit kind of concert. So, that being said, I didn't really know what to expect for any type of pop concert, much less one in France.

At one point during the night, I feared I may never find out. I went with my host parents, Anne and Julien. We were meeting people once we got to Marseille. There are tons of people in the city on Saturday nights so it took a while for Julien to find a place to park. He had dropped Anne and me off in the Metro station where we were waiting semi-patiently for him, her sister Cathy and Cathy's fiance, and Anne's friend Delphine (whom I had met during our notorious outing to see District 9. I've heard good things from friends in the states about that movie but believe me, it's not something you want to see in French.)

Gradually, the members of our party trickled in. But apparenly, it is always a contest whether Anne or Delphine will be latest. This time, Delphine won by a landslide. I was beginning to fear she would never show up...and she had our tickets. Finally, right as the train was pulling up, we caught sight of her sprinting down the stairs. We all made it and were only minutes late for the opening show. *insert sigh of relief here* We ended up sitting on the stairs, rather than in seats, but that just made it more fun.

The opening act was a band named Coming Soon. They were a vintage, folk, rock, indie, etc... kind of band. I was positive they were American, or at least British. I mean, they were singing in English and one was even wearing a cowboy hat. But alas, I was informed that they were French. I was ashamed to not even have recognized their accent when they sang in my own language. They were cool though and they made me want to join a fun band, rocking out on my electric violin.

Finally it was time for the real show. The lights went down and an artsy cartoon danced on the scrim. Then the lights changed and the shadows of the band behind the scrim shown through. And the scim dropped, revealing Olivia Ruiz standing high on the stairs in front of a huge flowered mirror. It made me think of Snow White. There were bird cages full of flowers hanging from the ceiling and the backdrop was black with silver stars. It was enchanting.

The concert was fantastic! She uses a really interesting mix of instruments and has a unique voice. I recognized a few songs from the radio and my iPod. I had done some research after I was invited to the concert because I didn't even know who she was. I'll give you links to some of my favorite songs on YouTube at the end. It was frustrating to know the tune but not the lyrics. She sang in French, Spanish, and English but even in English I couldn't understand her. That made me laugh.

One of my favorite moments of the night was when she sang Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend. I couldn't stop laughing the whole time. Not because it was bad because she did a really excellent job (and I could understand her words that time), but because my second favorite movie in the world is Moulin Rouge, and this song is in Moulin Rouge, and I was in France, hearing a French girl sing that song, on a stage with a swing like in the movie. I don't know the word I'm looking for. It was sort of like irony but that's not it. It was just perfect.

And my favorite song was saved for the first encore. (If you refer back to my Baroque post you'll see that they really will not stop clapping here until they physically can't do it anymore.) I'd been waiting for it all night and finally they played it: La femme chocolat!

So now I've written too long about a singer you probably have never even heard of. But I hope you check out these links to her music. Some of it's even on our iTunes if you're interested but I had to get French iTunes to find her newer stuff.

La femme chocolat: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tntp-_yKwyA
Belle a en crever: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gtdW6YQ9EpQ
And you can search my two other favs: "J'envoie valser" and "J'traine des pieds"

Oh, and after the concert, we went to one of Marseille's first "chic" restaurants and ate sushi (come to think of it, I've eaten a lot of raw things lately: fish, beef, ham, ...), skewered chicken (not raw), and a crepe stuffed with bananas and caramelized orange. What a night!

Le Grand Theatre de Provence

I drove myself to Aix-en-Provence. Completely alone. I must be a crazy person. I don't even like to drive to Roanoke when I'm at home. And it was dark. And the road signs are in French. And did I mention I'm driving a manual car?

Everything went incredibly smoothly until I reached the second toll booth. I inserted my ticket as instructed and went to plug in my credit card. "Rejected, please try again." I tried again. "Maybe you have your card in the wrong direction, please try again." So again, I tried. "Rejected!" The previously kind woman's voice on the automatic machine is now getting louder and more angry. So I try my credit cards from the US. Of course they don't work. I finally caved and pushed the intercom button. A man climbed out of his booth and made his way over to me. I'm pretty sure he was rolling his eyes. I wonder how many times this happens per day. He explained that the machine doesn't take cards like mine, and pointed at some tiny blip on the sign that shows my card as one that is not accepted. Only, it doesn't look like my card so how would I ever have known? But he took cash so I made it through the barrier.

Once in Aix, it was simple to find the parking garage. It's a beast of a garage. Huge with arrows pointing in all directions. But it wasn't too bad. I parked and went into town.

Then I was really lost. I walked in a circle for a few minutes but saw no signs of the theatre and it was really cold. I resorted to asking a woman about to cross the road if she could point me in the right direction. I now love Aix because, and I'm basing this impression on only one person, its people are so nice. Not only did she tell me how to get there, she went in completely the wrong direction for her in order to walk me to it. She said I'd be lost for hours if she didn't. We had a good conversation in French and I'm getting really excited that I can talk to these people, at least somewhat. She dropped me off and she was right. I never would have found it on my own.

So, despite all the obstacles, I got there in one piece. What would have caused me to attempt this dicey venture? One word: Baroque.

I found out the day before that there would be a Baroque concert by the Orchestre Francais des Jeunes Baroque. Basically, it was a concert by people aged 16 to 30 playing Charpentier, Purcell, Vivaldi, Locatelli, Bach, and Bach's second son Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach. I must have still been on a high from seeing Avignon that made me decide to go.

I haven't often been on the listening side of a classical concert seeing as I'd much rather be playing (violin if you don't know). But this was awesome. I was pretty far away so I couldn't see everything exactly, but I know that at least some of the musicians were sporting real Baroque instruments. And the Vivaldi was unlike any Vivaldi I'd heard before. I love Vivaldi!

The conductor was really funny. I understood a lot of what he said even though it was in French. That made me happy. When I didn't understand, I followed the crowd's cues and pretended, i.e. laugh when they do, clap when they do, etc... The only time I didn't give in to the mob mentality was when they clapped so long at the end that the conductor had to come back onstage at least six times. I drew the line after I'd been clapping for what seemed like ten minutes straight. It was almost 11:00 and I'd almost fallen asleep at the end.

Then it was time to make my way home. What I love about driving around midnight is that there are hardly any cars on the road. This was fortunate since I found myself dumped onto the wrong highway going a way I didn't want to be going. (Haha, reading through this the 50th time for editing purposes, I just thought of how funny it is that I can get on the wrong road and end up somewhere I "don't want to be" like Nice or Cannes or something equally as awesome. *contented sigh* Europe is great!) I panicked for half a second before I remembered how well marked their roads are here. I just followed the signs back to Aix and somehow made my way back through the center of town and onto the familiar highway that I was supposed to be on. From there I was home free.

I'll admit, I tested the speed limit just a little. The signs said 110 kilometers/hour. I felt comfortable at 90 and even then I felt slightly daredevil-ish. At one point, when the road was clear, I tried 110. Wow, that speed can take your breath away, at least at night when all you can see are the little white dotty lines on the road.

I arrived home at exactly midnight and sat in the car for a minute jamming with a song I liked on the radio. Then I stepped out of the car and suddenly considered the adventures of the night and thought, with amazememt and some pride, "What did I just do?"

Avignon

I've finally managed a day trip into a more typical Provencal area. On Sunday, I went with Anne and the kids to visit Anne's grandmother in Avignon. The drive there was absolutely gorgeous. We arrived in an hour and ate lunch all together. Then we set off for Avignon city center.

I don't know if you've heard the song "Sur le Pont d'Avignon" but it's a really famous kids' song here. It's the equivalent of our "Yankee Doodle" or something similar. Well, the song is about dancing on the Avignon Bridge. So we went to see this bridge and maybe do a little dancing ourselves.

Sadly we discovered that there is no Pont d'Avignon. It is actually named Pont de St. Benezet. Also, the people of Avignon danced, not on the bridge, but under it. Thus the song should be entitled, Sous le Pont de St. Benezet. But despite the inaccuracies, the bridge was amazing and the view beautiful.

What I think is great is that it doesn't even connect anything. Half of the bridge washed away and now it just sticks out into the water with no purpose other than to make money for the tourist industry and get annoyingly catchy tunes stuck into peoples' heads with just a glance.

After that, the family dropped me off in town while they went off to see "Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs" which I later heard wasn't that great, it was just noisy. Glad I chose to do some touring on my own.

With urging from my mother, I had done a little research previous to going on this trip. I had discovered (or actually remembered because thanks to Milligan's Humanities, I had already studied this) that Avignon is the other city where Popes used to live when they didn't live in Rome. Therefore, they had built a palace there. An amazing, ginormous palace!

So I found it. It's called Palais des Papes and is one of the most important Gothic structures in Europe, according to Wikipedia. It was really magnificent. It has turrets and those waffle-looking towers and everything you imagine when you think really old castle. I took a tour of the inside with a handheld audio guide the size of a stone age cell phone. It took well over an hour. This place was huge and really well preserved. There were rooms painted with colorful murals and original treasure findings. You can see the unbelievable large banquet room and the ridiculously small kitchen. I was just amazed when I imagined who had actually walked those floors, sat on that stone bench built into the wall, or climbed the exact same staircase as me.

And the view from the top...wow! You could see all of Avignon, the cutest, quaintest little town ever. So typically Provencal and adorable.

Now I can't wait to go back. I definitely need more time to explore. I had just found the city center when it got dark and it was time for us all to leave.

Thanks to this trip, I'm feeling adventurous. It made me remember how many amazing opportunities are so close by. So tonight I'm driving myself to Aix-en-Provence to see a Baroque concert (providing I can actually find the city and a place to park). Honestly, I don't think I ever planned to drive myself any further than I've already gone but a chance came up and I'm going to take it. No more sitting around. There are adventures to be had!

A Philosophy

Not being able to communicate in the language of an entire country provides extended opportunities to talk to one's self. Considering I spend most of my time in my own head anyway, this hasn't been too difficult of a transition. In fact, I've realized it's actually a blessing to be able to tune out the crowds around you. For example, I'm glad I can't understand what the gang of unruly teenage boys at the train station are saying to each other (or to the girls passing by).

But while I've been in my head bubble, I've been thinking a lot about language in general. It is astounding to realize that I may never understand 80% of the people of the world. While I am absolutely against forcing one global language, I understand some of the benefits. Imagine what it would be like to understand those in our neighboring countries, or the countries with whom we are at war, or our new friend who just moved here from France, China, or Mexico. Imagine what we could learn, avoid, and understand.

I have come to the conclusion that we just have to try harder. We should break out of our own shells and make the effort to understand others. We make such huge generalizations about people based on one random fact, like their country of origin. I certainly had stereotypical ideas of French people, most good, some bad, and I know I have similar opinions of other countries as well. But once you're living among them, living like them, it's so much easier to understand why they do the things they do. Sometimes you even find it makes more sense. Minor example, they eat kiwis differently here, and it works better than what I used to do.

So all that to say, I've been thinking a lot about my preconceived notions of people groups. This even applies to pockets of people within a culture. Everyone is a person. We all have bodies and bodily functions, we all eat food, we think, we feel. We each live the way we see fit. It's a unifying and comforting feeling, particularly when you're in the middle of an unknown culture.

If I've learned anything so far it's that, just because I believe something is right, and everyone I grew up with thought it was right, there may be 95% of the world who has never even heard of what we think. This doesn't always mean we're wrong or that there is only one answer, but it's worth considering before we defend something without really thinking it through.

These are just my random thoughts. Writing them helps me understand what I'm thinking. I'm not meaning to be preachy or boring, I just thought it was food for thought, and thinking is what I've been doing a lot of lately.

A Way to Make the Purple Blob Edible

When life gives you eggplants, don't make what I made.

I received a note this morning in French that I think was asking me to use the eggplants in the fridge for Marie's and my lunch. Well, actually it said "aubergines" so I first had to look it up to see what vegetable I was supposed to be cooking.

When in France, it may seem like a good idea to find an American website online that gives you simple, Grannie-style recipes. There are drawbacks however. For one, we don't have the same ingredients or cooking utensils here. Two, if I didn't even know what an aubergine was, the chances were slim that I could make anything edible out of it, no matter how much butter the recipe called for.

So I tried anyway. I peeled and sliced an eggplant. This being the first time, I couldn't be sure, but I'm pretty sure it was a bit overripe. Then I coated the slices in butter. I made my own breadcrumbs (but I now understand that big chunks of broken crusty bread don't count) and then mixed them with salt and pepper. Then I attempted to roll the slices in the crumbs. It didn't work so I just put the slices on the baking sheet and drizzled crumbs on top. Then it went into the oven.

Since I was planning for disaster, I went ahead and made eggs too. They are my backup in any situation.

I didn't set a timer so when I felt that the eggplant might be ready, I took it out of the oven. I tasted it. I spit it out. But, I decided to just see if Marie might eat it. She's a lot less picky than me. What a success! She loved it, oddly enough. She ate almost a whole eggplant. It was amazing.

So, if anyone was searching for a sure-fire way to win my heart and keep it forever, I've just discovered that you just have to like my cooking. Really like it, not just pretend. Also I decided that I need to learn how to cook something other than eggs and pasta.

A Sheep-Dog

This is Mech-Mech. She is a sheep who thinks she is a dog. Until three weeks ago, we thought she was a boy. She is a girl. She tries to eat my books. She likes me to pet her around her ears. Today, she slept on my feet.

Doors

This post has a lot more content than just my pursuit of doors, but I thought the title fitting since doors are what I want most right now. As of Friday afternoon, there have been almost no doors in our house. Why? you might ask. Well, the house is in the process of being renovated, as it has been since before my arrival two months ago. We are at the point of sanding and painting the doors. Therefore, no one has bedroom doors or bathroom doors. This is unfortunate. It means that when I want to change clothes in my room, I'd better be uber fast, or when I want to shower, I have to wait until the children are soundly asleep because they can see the shower from their rooms, and, most unfortunately, if I must make use of the other bathroom facilities, I have to make absolutely sure no one in the family, or the other three men helping with the renovations, are anywhere in the near vicinity. Awkward.

But, a lot more things happened this week as well. First, I had a lot of free time, which was fantastic. Anne was home all week and therefore, I had some time off. On Thursday night, I was able to go to a gathering in Marseille with a large group of international students who are studying in Marseille. A bunch of representatives from various consulates were there as well and the security was high. I found the hotel because of all the police standing outside it. It was amazing to see how many Spanish people there were. Second to Spanish must be Germans. I was the only American. I felt quite outnumbered. Fortunately, most international people speak English as well so I was able to communicate a little. I met a nice Polish girl there so that was cool. I wish at least my consulate rep had come but alas, he/she did not.

Friday morning I got my hair cut. I was a bundle of nerves but Hannah and Camilla were with me and they kindly forced me to go through with it. I had read horror stories on the internet of girls getting their hair cut in France and walking out with unwanted mullets. I did not want a mullet. So we studied up on our hair vocabulary and marched on in. It was awesome! The place had a great atmosphere and all the girls who worked there were really helpful. We only spoke French but we were able to communicate just fine with a little sign language to help. The assistant washed my hair for probably fifteen minutes and then led me to the chair. Then the girl who actually cut my hair arrived. She confirmed what I wanted and then went at it. My hair was flying everywhere! Most of it ended up in my shoes. It was an amazing process to watch. She definitely knew what she was doing. After maybe 30 minutes, my hair was cut, dried, and the cut was evened up. I was so happy with the result and with the fact that the experience was fun and that I'd had a real conversation in French with someone in my town. I almost felt like a local...almost.

Saturday I babysat for a little while and took the kids to see a creepy, animated, Japanese movie at the cinema. It was about two pandas and a little girl. Most parts were actually really cute but the Papa Panda really freaked me out. I may possibly have dozed a bit to block him out but the kids really loved the film. We were the only ones in the theater too so that was fun.

That night I went out to dinner with seven of my friends from school. We went to a little restaurant themed after the Reunion Islands, a place most of us had never heard of. The food was excellent and it was great to get out with some new people. Since we were all from different countries, we mostly spoke in our common language, French. Therefore, I didn't have a lot to say but it was great fun listening to the conversation. We represented America, Germany, Italy, Columbia, and the Czech Republic. Marseille is incredibly beautiful at night. With all the lights it looked like Christmas but the weather was warm and breezy. Fantastic!

So this afternoon I'm planning to go to the cinema alone and then I'm babysitting for my neighbors, a prospect I'm excited about since I like their family and I could really use some extra cash. I got a little overexcited at the shops this month. Next week is the children's ten day school vacation for Toussaint (All Saints) so I'll be working a lot. I'll let you know how it all goes next weekend!

A Train

The day started out oddly. I left the house a full two minutes early, practically guaranteeing I'd get a parking spot at the gare (train station), therefore eliminating the necessity of parallel parking on the sidewalk. Have done this once before. Not a great success.

Imagine my surprise when I arrive at the gare, only two minutes early mind you, and realize I have almost half of the parking lot to myself. This was unnerving. I was positive I must have gotten up an hour early or something and kept checking my watch to see if the little hand had become possessed recently. It had not.

I believe that the French have a special transmitter lodged in their brains which allows them to automatically know when the SNCF train employees would go on strike. They at least have some kind of sixth sense. I, however, am not French, no matter how hard I may occasionally try to be.

So I waited. I was supposed to leave on the 7:38 train, like usual, but alas, there was no 7:38 train today. So, I waited for the 7:50. The 7:50 was 25 minutes "en retard" meaning, it was really late.

When the train finally arrived, I was lucky enough to end up in the same car as Camilla who I generally meet in Marseille to eat breakfast with. The train was so full that every seat was taken and where we were standing near the doorway, there were so many people, you had no choice but to get really friendly. You know how there's a scale for how close people stand to others, the spectrum probably ranging from strangers to lovers? It would appear that we all loved each other very much today.

We were late to school but since everyone knew about/were suffering from the strike, we were quickly forgiven. We proceeded to take an exam to test our level of French (distastrous, particularly the oral comprehension) and then to have a school-wide party with foods we each brought to represent our country. Hannah and I made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. They were a hit. Our teacher watched, fascinated, as we put them together and we got lots of good comments from other students. We also heard a lot of nervous comments and things like, "You put that with jam?? That's strange." and "Isn't that really heavy? Isn't it fat?"

Next was time to catch the 2:33 train back to Aubagne. I really wanted to get home to finish a movie I'd started last night. The rental was going to expire at 8:30 and I needed to finish it before I got the kids. The train started right on time and I released the breath I'd been holding in nervous anticipation. We were going to make it! And then, halfway through, it stopped. Right in the middle of nowhere. So we sat (and slept) for 30 minutes. Gotta love French strikes.

The happy ending to this long and rather pointless account is that I did indeed arrive home late but fortunately, the family had other plans for picking up the children from school so I was able to finish the movie. It completely made up for the ridiculousness of the trains. Well, that and the PB&Js.

News From Home

Ok, this is one of those posts that I don't really want to write and that's not going to be especially fun to read either. But, I'm going to write it anyway, because I want to keep people updated, with the good news and the bad.

This week was one of the most difficult of my life. I was just coming off an episode of homesickness that had lasted about three weeks. Sunday and Monday I was in a ridiculously good mood for no reason and I was glad to be here. It was nice, but of course, didn't last long. Monday night I had a message on Skype and on my phone telling me to call home. I knew then what had happened but I could only hope I was wrong.

I finally got in contact with my mom to confirm that my grandad, my mom's dad, had died that morning. It was apparently peaceful and he'd been sick a long time but I was not expecting it to be this soon. All I knew is that I wanted to be home. I wanted to be with my family.

I went to school the next day thinking it would be good to be distracted. I was wrong. I got a bad stomach virus on top of it all and spent most of the four hours zoned out or with my head on the desk. That night I told my host mom and she said I could go home for a few weeks and even helped me find flights. It was sooo tempting but everyone from home said to stay here. It's expensive and so short notice. I was sick, would have been struggling with jet lag the whole time, and if I'd missed any flights, it would have complicated things so much more because I'd be arriving the night before the funeral. Basically I had to choose between this and Christmas.

So I stayed here, being basically useless because I just kept thinking how I could be at home right then. Thursday was the worst day. The funeral was at 11am where you are, 5pm here. I stayed in my room all day looking up pictures of haircuts I want to distract myself. At 5 I had just picked up the kids from school and right then, one of them decided to start crying and screaming at me for some reason that I have yet to understand. So there I am, on the verge of breaking down, shaking, and standing in the rain. Here, not where I should have been.

I spent the next few days locked in my room doing what I call "wallowing." I was planning on doing it today too but last night I got to talk to my mom and brother on Skype and that made me feel better and then a friend convinced me to go to her house to watch Twilight while eating Nutella and pretzels and sipping wine. Pretty content to stay in my room continuing my pity party, I first said no but I'm glad she convinced me to go. It was nice to be among people again, doing regular fun things and not thinking about home.

Driving back to the house, I was thinking how much I really do love this place and how lucky I am to live here right now. I just wish there were people from home here that I could show this stuff to. I'm also really missing Barnes and Noble. How bizarre.

Modernity

This week my title has dual meanings. First, my class at Alliance Francaise went on a field trip to the Musee d'Art Contemporain (Museum of Contemporary Art). Thus the first meaning of my title: modern art. Now, I've discovered a deep appreciation for abstract and modern art from my time at Milligan College. I have come to understand that, even if I can't get a thing out of a particular painting/sculpture/etc..., maybe someone else can, and, one would hope, at least the artist got something out of creating it. And sometimes I really do get it. Sometimes it touches me and I don't even know why.

But sometimes, I just don't understand. For example, with our over-enthusiastic tour guide, we spent a minimum of 20 minutes studying, in minute detail, a huge swirly painting/piece of fabric on the wall. It was called to our attention that the color was meant to hurt the eyes and therefore we were forced to stare at it for far too long, just to understand. After that, the white museum walls never did seem to stay still for the rest of the trip.

Fortunately, after our dissection of at least another 6 exhibits and having viewed at least 8 times a short film set on repeat of a man purposely flinging himself down the billion stairs of the Marseille train station to demonstrate a poem, we were set free to roam the museum alone. That was when it was really fun. We got out the cameras and started making art of our own. Above is one of the two giant thumbs featured there. The other is outside the building and is probably a few stories high.

So anyway, that was my trip to the museum. It was awesome and I learned a lot, particularly how much I hate buses and how ill I could easily become while riding one standing up. I also learned about art of course, some new vocab words, and some fun facts about my teacher and fellow students. Overall an exciting day. Who doesn't love a field trip anyway, no matter the destination?

The second meaning is this: I'm attempting to modernize my look. I know you are all thinking, 'Oh no Kaity, you've always dressed so well! You are a trend setter and you always look so put together.' I know, I know, but now I'm going to do even better. (Please, please, note the sarcasm in this paragraph. It is not funny at all if you think I actually do believe this nonsense.)

But really, I am trying. I went shopping Saturday with a goal and did quite well. I've picked a color scheme and a look and I'm trying to only buy things that fit into that wardrobe. I think this is how it's supposed to be done anyway but I'm just now figuring this out. Anyway, I found shoes that hurt my feet slightly less than the ones I had but look radically better than flip flops. I found more leggings and two cute dresses to go with them. I also found awesome earrings to match my new bracelet and necklace that I found last week at the best jewelry shop ever. It has so many shiny things it made me dizzy but it's really inexpensive and pretty. Hooray!

So, this is me striving for a little more modernity. Next step, hair. Definitely planning to cut it. It's in my way and I'm ready for a change. Also probably going to go darker but you've seen that before. Considering some sort of bangs again but not too sure. Anyone with any suggestions on the matter (ex. "No, never cut your hair!" or "Go bald, it'd be a good look for you." or even a mild "Sure, maybe go shoulder length but bleached with blue stripes.") would be helpful. Just looking for outsiders' opinions since I can't really see myself. I only have a handheld mirror at the moment.

To sum things up, modernity is tough. It's tough to understand and it's tough to achieve. I found myself considering whether I even want to achieve it. Everything changes anyway, what's the point in trying to keep up? But then I realized something. I look back through periods of history and I say, 'Wow, it must have been awesome to be alive then, to dress like that and do the things they did.' But realistically, if I did live then with had the attitude I have now, I would have missed out on that life anyway. Therefore, I am striving for change. I am striving to live in the now. I am ready to learn modernity.

Cinema

As I'm settling into the routine here, I'm looking for more and more ways to stay entertained. For example, what was once a momentous occasion, such as venturing into Marseille by myself, has now become an almost daily occurance and has since lost some of its charm. Driving in town, once the stuff of nightmares, is now second nature (well, usually.) Now, I know I need to be doing some travelling. That would certainly break up the routine. No worries though, I have plans to visit Avignon with friends next weekend. I'm also making plans to visit places like Aix, Lyon, Cannes, and Paris. Even bigger goals are countries like Germany, Spain, England, and Morocco. Hey, I'm this close. It's possible.

But in the mean time, I'm looking for entertainment closer to home. I love movies, probably more than any person should love anything less than human. But I do, I love them. So this weekend has been like a dream come true. I got to go to the cinema with a friend on Friday night. We saw The Proposal dubbed over in French. Odd but fun. I missed hearing Sandra Bullock's humorous voice but it was interesting to see her speaking French for 2 hours. After we left the theater, I also saw a bunch of kids sitting on my car making out and smoking illegal substances, but that's more just a random occurance than entertainment. Actually, I was more annoyed and embarrassed than entertained.

Then yesterday (Saturday) I made it back from a jewelry/candy shopping excursion in Marseille just in time to see Le petit Nicholas with my host family. It was so cute! I loved seeing the France of the 50s (I think) and it was interesting to try to follow along since the whole thing is really French.

And today, after spending a few relaxing hours with my friends at a cafe, I'm probably going to get to see another film with Anne and her friend. Yay for cinema!

Alas, I'm sure no one is really very interested in my theater going experiences. So, as the shiny newness of my life here is wearing off, I will attempt to find something truly new and exciting to do every week, for my benefit and for yours. I wouldn't want my loyal readers to become bored now would I?