mouillée in marseille

It seems like every time I travel to the South of France, the weather takes a turn for the worst. After a week of beautiful, clear skies in Lyon, it rained clear through the weekend, which I spent in Aix-en-Provence and Marseille.

As promised, Aix was very charming and had beautiful architecture. It is very much the typical Provençal community you imagine when you think of the South of France. Even through the gray mist, I was captivated by the old hôtels particuliers that line Cours Mirabeau and the city's famous fountains.

I had heard a lot of bad reviews from friends of mine who had already been to Marseille. It's the country's second largest city and biggest port, and has been point of entry to continental Europe for immigrants across the globe for millenia. While certainly more working class than most other French cities, I found Marseille quite beautiful, especially set on the backdrop of the Mediterranean. We also had a particularly pleasant dining experience at the first ever Corsican restaurant I have ever been to, which was run by some very friendly and boisterous gentlemen. And during the last few hours of our stay, the sun finally decided to come out and gave us a pretty beautiful sunset:
All in all, a good weekend in Provence. I look forward to heading back south next month, where I'll be staying in Nice during the Cannes film festival!

that sartre sure knew his stuff

I don't know if this comes through in my writing, but my adoration of France has been waning of late. Seven months away from home had started to take its toll. And then I went to see "Les Mains Sales" by Jean-Paul Sartre.

It was at the Théâtre de la Croix Rousse, where I saw the very underwhelming "Nouveau Testament" last semester. This piece redeemed the theater in my eyes. In the context of the immediate post-war period, the clandestine factions of the French Communist Party are at odds over how to proceed. A young bourgeois intellectual with lofty ideals has just joined the cause and looks for a way to contribute. His enthusiasm earns him the mission of killing one of the party's highest ranking members, whom the others judge a traitor for compromising their ideals.

In the great tradition of French theater, the play is long, and not much happens. Long, complex philosophical and political debates swirl around the stage. And yet, there is a palpable tension. The suspense emerges in this period of inaction, from the uncertainty of how the characters will finally act should they ever make up their minds about how or why to do so.

With a wordy and psychological play such as this, only a strong cast would be able to pull it off. The actors were all wonderful for the most part. Though the performance did not go completely without fault, it was good enough to bring the most gripping aspects of this play to life an an effective way. This theater-going experience has definitely inspired me to read more Sartre. Perhaps a summer project?

up in smoke

5:40 pm. Today. On the T1 tram line from Part Dieu.

The tram had just let off its passengers at Liberté, the stop right before Rue de l'Université. The conductor announced that the following stop was blocked. Most of the passengers exited the tram, including myself. I walked up Rue de Marseille towards the University. Turning the corner onto Rue de l'University, I see a column of dark black smoke. An ambulance with sirens on arrives on the scene. The people on the sidewalk watching did not seem to be in a panic, so I figured a pipe line must have broken or a manhole uncovered. A tram stood passenger-less at the intersection.

I approached the source of the smoke column. About 30 people were watching from each side of the sidewalk. Cars blocked my view, and I only realized what it was when I was at the entrance to the University. Metal barricades blocked the street bearing a sheet with the words "Education is a weapon, not merchandise." A pile of wood topped with chairs and tables from university classrooms was in flames.

Five minutes later, a fire truck pulled up. The firemen calmly put the flames out as the students behind the university gates chanted something I couldn't understand. As soon as the truck pulled away, I noticed that the police had redirected traffic so that Rue de l'Université was empty except for the charred remains of the bonfire. Then, a group of policemen armed like a SWAT team -- complete with helmets, tear gas, and bullet proof vests -- gathered in the middle of the road.

Then I went to class. If there was ever a day I wish I had had my camera on me, it was today. When I told this story to my host dad, he was not as impressed as I would have liked him to be. But apparently it's not all that shocking -- it happens about once every two years, he told me. I have to admit though, I was pretty scared when I saw those SWAT team guys get out of their cars. I don't know what I would have done if there had been a full on confrontation between them and the students. I don't even know what ended up happening because I went inside. Definitely an experience I'll never forget.

le déjeuner du 25 mars

I had the loveliest lunch at my adviser Valerie's house yesterday. The relative calm of her apartment was a welcome change from the chaos chez Pellet. While I am beyond grateful for living here, it's nice to get some perspective on other French families. Her three children are not too far in age from my host siblings: her youngest must be around 5 and her oldest around 13. After showing me their Wii (which I sucked at), we sat down to a delicious lunch of grilled chicked with cream sauce and roasted fennel topped with goat cheese. It was followed by a beautiful cheese plate (served with wheat baguette!) and then a homemade chocolate cake made the classic French way.

The lunch did not go completely without hiccups -- the youngest broke a glass and some tears were almost spilled over the last piece of a cheese I don't know the name of -- but it was nothing like the shouting match dinners I'm accustomed to. Valerie seemed embarrassed at the behavior of her children, but I reassured her that it was much better than what I am used to. She seemed to reinforce traditional table etiquette much more than my host parents. Everyone was required to stay at the table until the end of the meal and could not serve the next course until everyone had finished the previous one.

I am definitely going to miss the structure of French meal time, and it will be a little strange returning to the Chinese-take-out-from-a-box model that will probably be the norm when I'm home this summer.

saturday night pierogis

Yesterday night, I was treated to a lovely surprise Ukranian dinner for a friend of mine (who is Ukranian-Canadian...try saying that ten times fast). It was hosted by a trio of her friends in the quartier of Brotteaux in the 6th arrondissement. I had never really been in that neighborhood before, but it is absolutely gorgeous. Someone told me that the buildings there date back to the 19th century (while those in my neighborhood are 18th century), and therefore resemble the Hausmann-Parisian style.

One of her friends is a Swede named Amy, who is in her third and final year of studies here in Lyon. Basically, she has lived the life I have always dreamed of -- traveling around France after graduating from high school, and then just staying here for four years. She works in a café in Vieux Lyon and speaks French beautifully.

If I had the courage, I would just pick up my life and move to France after graduation next year. Work in a café maybe, travel around, and eventually find my way back to school for a master's degree. But I know I'll never be gutsy enough to leave the warm comfort of an assured American future, which is one of the reasons why I decided to come here to begin with. On top of that, there are all the deficiencies of the French university system that I just don't think I'd be able to put myself through again. However, it's still not totally out of the question that I would move back to France one day -- because I get the feeling that this one year isn't going to be enough.

What's blue and yellow with ice all over?

STOCKHOLM! I'm still recovering from my whirlwind weekend in the Swedish capital, where I spent 3 days visiting my best friend from home. The city definitely lived up to its reputation as one of the most beautiful capitals in Europe -- and I'm not just talking about the architecture! A lot of people thought I was nuts to go up to Scandinavia before May, and while it was pretty cold (hovering around the freezing mark), the sun decided to show up on my last day, which made for some pretty fantastic photos.
This is the few from the esplanade of Stockholm's City Hall, where the Nobel Prize banquet is held every year. I'll add the rest of my (nearly 300) photos to my Photobucket site.

Swedes are also pretty hip, and are behind some of the most well known brands on the planet. On the island of Sodermalm, the trendiest of the city's 14 islands, we found a Weekday (a boutique of the company that created Cheap Monday jeans) as well as the Stockholm branch of the London-based vintage store Beyond Retro and many cozy cafés.

Stockholm's Old Town, Gamla Stan, is gorgeous, with small, winding cobblestone streets leading to the former Royal Palace. One of the things I loved about the city is that each building is different from the one next to it, creating a really beautiful setting for island hopping.

I am also really grateful for having been able to spend time with some real live Swedes. My friend's host family was super friendly and welcoming -- and fed me really well!


Now that the trip is over, I'm really starting to come to grips with how little time I have left here in Europe. Talking to my dad last night, he pointed out that this is probably my last major trip alone. We're preparing for our 10 day tour of Morocco next month during the Easter break, and I am so excited!

le nid familial

I had an interesting and revealing discussion with my eldest host sister last weekend. She is 16 and in the middle of preparing for the first round of the baccalauréat, the super important concours that signal the end of primary education and, for a select and special few, entry to the grandes écoles. When I was her age, I was already living on my own at boarding school and couldn't wait to go to college and finally be an "adult". In France, it's relatively uncommon for students to move away for university unless they've been selected to attend one of the grandes écoles, most of which are in Paris.

My host sister, who is very responsible and independent, surprised me when she said she wanted not only to stay in Lyon for university, but even live at home with her parents and siblings. While it's true that this is more common in France than back home in the States, it was nevertheless shocking to me that she didn't even want to leave le nid familial after finishing high school. She was even talking about moving into the small studio below the apartment so she could have her own space, but still be close to her family.

I wonder if this is typical of most French families, or if my host family is just particularly tight knit? Come to think of it, all of the French friends I have at school have come from other parts of the country to study here -- I don't know any real Lyonnais! While it's essentially implicit that an American university student wouldn't live at home with their parents, is that another result of our self-made/American dream/independence schema, or is that just something that I assume based on the culture I was brought up in?

the american dream

Talking to my French classmates, I've gathered that the American Dream has become a rather stereotyped idea in this country. Of course, the same goes in America -- but it's especially interesting to talk to French people about it because that dream just does not exist here. I might be sounding ridiculous because, of course, it is the American dream. But, until coming here, I didn't realize how much that type of American mindset actually affects my outlook on the world. It is only when talking to my European friends about the choices and independence that Americans have that I become conscious of how patriotic I must sound.

I'm not making much sense here, but when reading this description from the NYT's Roger Cohen, a light bulb went off in my head:

Nobody in their right mind would give up the manifold sensual, aesthetic and gastronomic pleasures offered by French savoir-vivre for the unrelenting battlefield of American ambition were it not for one thing: possibility.

You know possibility when you breathe it. For an immigrant, it lies in the ease of American identity and the boundlessness of American horizons after the narrower confines of European nationhood and the stifling attentions of the European nanny state, which has often made it more attractive not to work than to work. High French unemployment was never much of a mystery.

Americans, at least in their imaginations, have always lived at the new frontier; French frontiers have not shifted much in centuries.

What they say is true -- once you go abroad, you become exponentially more patriotic. I've had to defend myself against preconceptions of Americans as an ignorant, stupid people who only care about themselves. Generalizations like this get me pretty riled up, and I find myself being more gung-ho America! than I've ever been in my life. But it's because I really believe in Cohen's American possibility, and I think my fervor for it lately is evidence of that.

aux armes, citoyens!

Or, rather, étudiants. For the last month or so, the French university system has been thrown into chaos, with many professors and students going on strike to protest certain reforms to the status of enseignant-chercheurs (research professors). I'm not 100% clear on what the proposed changes are or why this has provoked so many strong reactions. Nor have I really been affected by the strike because my fac, Lyon 3, is one of the more conservative ones, and hardly any of the professors are participating.

As the general grève seems to have had little effect, the angry students and teachers have taken on a different strategy. Almost daily, there are manifestations in Lyon's public squares, especially Place des Terreaux outside city hall. And today, when I was walking by the Lyon 2 campus, the buildings were actually blockaded -- tables and chairs from classrooms had been piled up against every entrance, and there were banners bearing angry slogans hanging out of many classroom windows. I regret not having my camera on me, because it really is a site to see. As my study abroad adviser from home wrote to me, I am really quite lucky to be experiencing this from afar. Apparently, several American universities are scrambling to put together programs for their students currently in France so that they can gain credit for the semester.

On a completely different note, I continued my Lyonnais theater tour with "Le jeu de l'amour et du hasard", a classic 18th century comedy by Marivaux. The theater was up on the hill of Fourvière in a very cute neighborhood that I've never explored before. And the theater itself was very pleasant, with a bustling bar in the lobby and affiches from former productions hanging on the walls. I say all this to put off my thoughts on the production itself, which I found horrendous. While the story itself was quite funny and entertaining, there was far too much over-acting and strange "artistic" choices to make it enjoyable.

a perfect day for human-watching

Yesterday, I took advantage of the incredible 60 degree, sunshine-filled day by picnicking at the Parc de la Tête d'Or with two friends. For once, the weather reports were right on the money, and there was not a single cloud in the sky as we feasted on tomatoes, pain, chèvre, and bugnes - an Easter-season lyonnais specialty resembling funnel cake. I had a ball perusing the market on Quai Saint Antoine because I don't really get the chance to do food shopping on my own -- my host family graciously provides all the food I ever need. Here's a picture of our delicious oozy cheese:



The mission of the day (as it is every day, let's be honest) was to get in some good people-watching -- or, as one of my Japanese friends has taken to calling it, "human-watching". I think I'm going to adopt her terminology. There was no shortage of adorable French children kicking around soccer balls bigger than their heads, and we were treated to a casual rugby match a few meters from where we had set up camp. We then spent the whole afternoon promenading on the Berges du Rhône, where it seemed like all of Lyon had decided to show up. A fanfare that I've seen a few times around the city even came out to perform a few songs (including Britney's 'Toxic' -- imagine that one on a tuba).

This morning, however, the weather took a turn for the worse, and it seems like the rest of the week is going to be cloudy and drizzly. But I was still able to pull myself out of bed for the enormous marché aux puces in Villeurbanne, a banlieue of Lyon with a somewhat seedy reputation. I had never been that far outside of the city center before, and it was quite impressionant to see such a large gathering of the Maghreb community in one place. The delicious smell of kebabs wafted through the rows of designer knockoffs and kitchen appliances. There was a fair amount of bric-a-brac too - we even saw one man selling a motorcycle! I'd like to go back on my own sometime and really take my time to browse.