It's been a strange last couple of days on the host family front. After coming back from Morocco last week, I've only seen my host parents a handful of times. Last night, no one was around at dinner time, so I made myself some pasta (because I don't know how to cook anything else). The kids came trickling in and I let them share what I made. Tonight, the same thing happened - but I made a kick-ass omelet for myself which the kids could not quite replicate. Apparently my host parents are in Paris until Saturday - which is funny, because I am going to Paris on Saturday. This isn't unusual (they are often there for business) except that they usually tell me when they are going and my eldest host sister is usually around to prepare dinner. Last night she was at dance practice, and tonight she's nowhere to be found. Hm.
On another topic, tomorrow I will be having a little shindig with two of my friends from to belatedly and collectively celebrate our birthdays, which all happened more or less over the Easter break. This will probably be the last time that the whole group of my friends are gathered together, which really makes things feel like they are drawing to a close. I have six more weeks left in Lyon - and to be honest, I am totally ready to head home. Sure, there are things that I will miss about being here. But spending time with my parents over spring break really made me realize how anxious I am to get back home. I want to bring my camera with me as often as possible in these last few weeks and take more pictures of Lyon. I have hundreds of pictures from all the fabulous places I've traveled to, but hardly any of the city that I have called home for the last 9 months. After what has happened in L'Aquila, I realize that my everyday surroundings are not something I should be taking for granted.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Saturday, April 18, 2009
ouar-za-zate? why, morocco, of course!
During the course of my 10 day stay in Morocco, I became obsessed with the word OUARZAZATE (pronouced "where - zah - sat") and set it to a rap that became the soundtrack to my tour of that beautiful country. It truly is one of the most magnificent I've ever seen. We went from the seaside promenade in Casablanca to the Savoy-like ski resort of Ifrane, from the labyrinth that is Fez's ancient medina to the broad avenues of Marrakesh that recall South Beach (even though it is nowhere near any beach).
The highlight, though, was certainly my journey via dromedary (like a camel, but with only one hump) to the Mergouza sand dunes in the Moroccan Sahara. The desert is a vibrant golden orange color which seems unreal.
Since I couldn't possibly narrate every single moment of my trip, I'll let the pictures do the talking. They'll be up on Photobucket asap.
The highlight, though, was certainly my journey via dromedary (like a camel, but with only one hump) to the Mergouza sand dunes in the Moroccan Sahara. The desert is a vibrant golden orange color which seems unreal.
Since I couldn't possibly narrate every single moment of my trip, I'll let the pictures do the talking. They'll be up on Photobucket asap.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
vacation has rarely felt this good
It almost seems strange to me to be leaving on a 2-week vacation when I've been spending the entire school year bouncing around Europe. But I am very much looking forward to a few relaxing days in Paris on my own. My parents arrive on Tuesday, and I've convinced them to day-trip with me to Mont-Saint-Michel on Thursday before our early flight out to Casablanca on Friday.
Since I won't have my computer on me, I'll be old-schooling it on this leg of the trip -- but I'll be back in two weeks with lots of anecdotes and photos, I'm sure!
Since I won't have my computer on me, I'll be old-schooling it on this leg of the trip -- but I'll be back in two weeks with lots of anecdotes and photos, I'm sure!
Monday, March 30, 2009
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!
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!
Friday, March 27, 2009
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?
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?
Thursday, March 26, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
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.
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.
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