Random Ramblings - Part 4

I was sitting here thinking about all the random things about France that I haven't yet mentioned here.  Things that I'm a little worried about in terms of re-adjusting to American life.  Things that I've gotten used to that I might need to warn Sarah and Meghan about before they get here (TWO DAYS!!!!).  So, here is my final list of random ramblings about my frenchified life:

Detachable Shower Heads

Yes!!!!  If you've ever found yourself praying for a day when detachable shower heads are the norm, maybe start praying in French, because the 'dieux des douches' are wide awake here.  Detachable shower heads are seriously in every shower.  It might be difficult to go back to the stationary stream...  Oy.

Hustle and Bustle

The French have a very different understanding of personal space in public places.  Whether the sidewalk is crowded or not, old ladies will check you like an Alabama State line-backer if you're in their way.  At first I wondered if there were reinforced shoulder pads on their old-fashioned dresses, but that was before I realized that these public displays of disorderliness were a cultural norm enjoyed by all ages.  Pushing a stranger aside, bustling their bags, or even just full-on running into a total stranger for no apparent reason are not really considered rude here.  It's normal.   Happens all the time.  I'm still writing this a little in disbelief of some of the things I've seen.  Just like, someone totally pushing people to cut in line or just simple to get where they want to go (regardless of age, gender, size, all that just goes out the window)...  This is especially crazy here in France because otherwise people are SOOOOO polite.  Good morning, good afternoon, yes ma'am, yes sir, yes please, no thank you...  I mean, if you need some bread you better say 'yes please ma'am thank you have a nice day', but if there is a human being in your way go ahead and hustle and bustle the hell out of them.  You'll fit right in!

Commercials' commercials

In addition to still having panty hoes commercials here they also show commercials for commercials.  Every station (at least on public access anyway) has commercials warning you that five to ten minutes of commercials are about to begin or end.  Commercial breaks only happen once (maybe twice) during an hour-long show.  The commercials themselves also happen to be a lot less annoying.  I can't really explain why.  They're funny - or at least clever in some way - and normally play off of the different quirky things about France or other European countries.  In the most extreme cases, this manifests as me watching commercials and then changing the channel or just turning the TV off completely when the show comes back on.  Ha!

Aerosol Deodorant

This is more just an oddity that I find interesting.  The deodorant aisle at the supermarket here looks like the air freshener aisle in the States.  Indeed.  That means that for the last nine months I've been assaulting my underarms every morning with blinding whirlwinds of spray antiperspirant...  It definitely still feels like I'm febreezing my armpits...  and I still stink.  Haha...  So, yeah.

Random Ramblings - Part III

Forget About It

The French say "laisser tomber" like gangsters say "forget about it".  What does it mean??  Make up your minds!!!

A Tall Drink of Anything

You know the feeling when you order a large orange juice at a diner and you're super let down when it comes out because it's 8 oz?  Imagine a whole country with cupboards packed full of this special brand of diner-sized disappointments.  French cups are designed for sipping on much smaller serving sizes.  I now guzzle juice directly from the carton and (more often than not) while standing in front of the refrigerator.  I know - it's sad - but it doesn't make sense to dirty a glass for one gulp...  it's not even a big gulp.  Hehe... ;)

Basic Instincts

Dropping Billy off at the airport reminded me that I haven't seen a wax paper toilet seat cover in a while.  In fact, you're lucky if you get a toilet seat at all in most public restrooms around here.  And, oh, instead of the little handle, the French use a myriad of levers, buttons, and hand-sized trick-door-style contraptions to flush their business.  Each visit to the lou is followed by a multiple choice quiz:  a. #1, b. #2, or c. all of the above.  You can normally choose c (all options available) without fail, and yes, sometimes you still have to jiggle it a little.  Ha!

A Long Story Where Nothing Happens

This morning I checked out of my hostel in the 1st arrondissement (between the Louvre and the Pompidou), and, at around 9am headed up to the 9th arrondissement to compare a cheap apartment I found on auboncoin.fr (which is like French craigslist) with another hostel from the same company (Bureau des Voyages de la Jeunesse or BVJ - kinda like French YMCA).  I also went straight away to check out the Bikram yoga studio in Montmartre.  The studio is amazing and I can't wait to get in and get started.  Today will be my fifth day in a row and I'm feeling more determined than ever.

After popping my head into the studio (which is also beautiful and fully-equipped with mats and showers), I set out to hunt down the hostel.  It was a short five minute walk away, but when I arrived, the thick blue doors were closed and locked and there was no answer when I buzzed the front desk.  Hmmmm...  I dialed the number for this hostel and who picks up but the guy who just checked me out at the Louvre location!  Yep.  They told me this location doesn't open until tomorrow, and that I needed to go back and stay one more night at the Louvre location. So, this got me thinking that maybe the apartment was going to be the best course of action since these hostel people were not doing the most stand-out job.  Maybe if this apartment really sucks AND if the price is right...

By this time, I had been schlepping my bags all over the metro and Montmartre for a few hours and my shoulders were begging me for a break.  I found a cute little corner cafe that looked like an appropriate spot to people-watch and bang out some postcards, so I sat down at a tiny outdoor table.  After about ten minutes I realized no one had seen me sit down, so I popped my head in and asked if it was okay that I sit "there" indicating the location of my tucked away table.  They said no problem and sit down and we'll be right out to take your order.  So, five minutes later, server #1 popped out to take my order.  Cappuccino??  No problem.  I was forewarned that the milk takes at least five good minutes for her to properly froth.  I said that was absolutely fine as I was especially fond of a frothy foam.  Flash forward five minutes and out comes said server with a cigarette and a friend.  I just patiently wrote second-hand-smoked cappuccino-less postcards.  I thought for sure she's going to come right out after her cigarette break with this coffee...  Nop!  Four postcards later and almost an hour after I had originally sat down I thought, "Okay, there is no foam on earth luxurious enough to merit this wait", so I popped in to cancel my order.  My servers eyes doubled in size when I told her I was still waiting for my coffee.  She shot daggers at server #2 (who said, "Here it is!" and pulled my cappuccino out of the refrigerator???).  I told them not to worry about it and took off laughing a little to myself and in hopes of finding some speedier service...

So, there I was, installing me and my bag-lady-like assortment of gear at cafe #2.  I ordered and enjoyed a cappuccino.  Brilliant.  The bill came and forty-five minutes later I finally came to terms with the fact that no one was coming back to pick up my money and bring change (since I didn't have the exact amount).  Oh man.  Here we go again.  Ha (by now I was laughing a little less enthusiastically)!  I jumped up and loaded my shoulders with luggage and brought my tab with the money inside.  Server #2 accepted the bill with incorrect change and quickly brought it to server #1, who was casually flipping through the morning paper, and didn't even turn around, but instead burped out a "Merci!" as if to accept my incorrect change as a tip for ignoring me for an hour.  I literally stood and stared in disbelief, mouth agape, in the direction of the back of my server's head.  I honestly did not know what to do next.  Finally, the barmaid broke the silence - "Are you all settled?" she asked.  I replied, "I'm settled, but I haven't received my change yet."  Server #2 brought over my change and I rallied my caffeine-calibrated body parts to find this apartment...

Once I had properly explored this neighborhood and deemed it as safe and cheap and a great way to get out of the most touristy parts of Paris, I arrived at the apartment building as-advertised.  The ground floor was spiffy with an enclosed courtyard and glass doors and beautiful spiral staircases, but - not unlike many apartment buildings in Paris - as I climbed up six stories the stairs, the walls, the ceilings, the welcome mats appeared less and less storybook...  By the time I got to the sixth floor; there was a solid stench, the wall paper was discolored and peeling, and the ceiling was dripping with a questionably dank substance.  First, the landlady showed me the working toilet on the floor, equipped with one tiny wrought-iron-barred window.  From there she steered me down a narrow hallway, a walk that had me wondering which dingy apartment door was hoarding the toilet seat...  Haha!  Finally upon unlocking the door to possibly my own place in Paris for the next five nights, I discovered that the "apartment" was the size of my mom's walk-in closet.  Oh my gosh - so small!  Free wifi, yes, working kitchen, yes, heater, yes, clean sheets and towels, yes...  I wondered what was exactly the price of privacy (as that was exactly the opportunity cost here).  I left, thanking the landlady for her time and apologetically admitting that I was not prepared to pay 235 euro for four nights in hell (she pounced a last-minute 100 euro deposit on me - huh?).  I jumped on the bus back to the Louvre hostel location and happily unloaded my things in my original room (assuring myself that - no matter what the price - clean and safe was an unbeatable combination)...

With little time to spare, I was off to yoga!  On my walk to the studio I spotted a - hold up, what?!?! - MEXICAN restaurant.  With burrito on the brain, my concentration in class suffered, so much so, in fact, that while the rest of the class conquered the spinal and seated series' I was already settling into cheese enchiladas.  I ate and tried to grasp how much like a sitcom my day had been.  Not much of anything happened and, at the end of it all, I ended up exactly where I started.

Still, in Paris - here, where the streets are paved with poodle poop - the fun never ends!

Random Ramblings - Part II

The *Right* Right of Way

After getting (almost) run over several times, it has been explained to me that the right turn *always* has the right of way here.  So, for example, say you're driving fast down a straight road, but you're approaching an intersecting street on your right.  If and only if there is a vehicle barreling down that street about to make a fast and completely legal right turn onto the street upon which you are driving, it's your responsibility to prepare to stop.  

Video Killed the Radio Star

You don't have to be attractive to be on TV here.  There *are* lots of attractive people on TV here, but it certainly does not appear to be a universal rule like it is in the States.  There are loads of normal looking people on TV.  Makeup, lighting and airbrushing are used sparingly.  This has not affected how disinclined I am to watch TV.  When I do, every other commercial is for cheese or chocolate.

Slowly Into Winter

This morning, like every Wednesday morning, I rode down to the Les Halles Farmer's Market.  Most of the leaves are fallen now.  The bare trees revealed a low haze over the Loire river valley, rendering the morning sunlight cold and wintry.  Since we've been working on blocking this week and I don't have gloves, my Wednesday morning ride turned into a (much needed!) cold air ice bath for my hands and fingers.  Haha!

I'm getting to know my way around here pretty well and now I can't even remember the last time I was lost.  I'm also finally building up a rapport with the local farmer's market merchants.  They recognize me now and greet me with a more familiar generosity in their eyes.  Today, two of my favorite people - mushroom lady and artisan tomato man - weren't there and I almost cried because I look forward to our exchanges so much.  I've become quite appreciative of their tiny acts of kindness and their willingness to engage a lonely stranger.

All romance aside, though, the farmer's market is just a great place to practice my french and increase my food vocabulary.  I've become quite adventurous lately, asking random people questions about the different vegetables and their favorite preparations.  For example, just today I took a chance and bought a quarter of a huge warty looking pumpkin with instructions that involve peeling, boiling, draining, and mashing with milk, cinnamon, and sugar.  Doesn't that sound delicious?!?

Disney Was Right... It's A Small World!

Yesterday, I was walking down the wrong aisle in the grocery store looking for bar soap and some people passed by casually speaking English.  I stopped dead in my tracks and turned around as quickly as I could and just shouted at them "Are you American?!?" like any sane, but slightly lonely and desperate person might.  The couple was Canadian.  Oops?  They were collecting a lost-luggage-esque assortment of items along with an American woman who lives here in Tours.  When I told her I was here playing volleyball, she told me that she met Kelli Smith (THE marathon winning, ass-kicking wife of TVB star middle blocker David Smith) at this very same supermarket under the exact same circumstances (ie totally randomly).  It's a small world after all  ...and it was about to get even smaller.  After chatting for barely five minutes we discovered that we were both invited to the same Thanksgiving dinner.  What?!?  After we picked up the parts of our exploded heads, we said our goodbyes and I found the bar soap at the end of the aerosol deodorant aisle.

I hope you are all looking forward to Thanksgiving.  I know I am!  :)

Remembrance Day

168 Saint-Cyriens gave their lives in the First World War.  This morning I attended the inaugural ceremony for a fountain next to the City Hall in Saint-Cyr which signifies and honors their lives.  The ceremony was attended by the Mayor of the city, the president of associations, military, police and firefighters, schools, and families.

It was a clear, cold morning, which made my flip flops a special treat for anyone in my vicinity...  They drew some attention away from the weighty topic of the day and added a little (unintended) levity to peoples' mornings.  I got the classic stare, the look + laugh, the double look, the triple look (which is a lot like the double look, but includes disapproving eye contact), the foot to face stare, the foot to face and back to foot stare (which clocked in at an amazing twenty three seconds!), and the very nice "Aren't you cold?"  I was most uncomfortable and, needless to say, had a difficult time focusing on how deep and beautiful this moment was in the history of the city of Saint-Cyr.

Nevertheless!  The eleventh of November is a national holiday in France that commemorates the armistice signed between the Allies and Germany on "the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month".  The fountain remembers the 168 fallen soldiers and innocent men, women, and children from Saint-Cyr who died for France in World War I.  The inaugural ceremony was quite beautiful, and (appropriately) French.  Afterwards there was a snack!

A Very Very Un-Scarey Halloween

Halloween came and went here without much excitement at all.  Our practice was cancelled that night, so I went to the gym to workout and on my way back home I spotted one trick-or-treater who, from what I could gather, was being asked by a kind old lady to wait on the sidewalk while she searched in her house for a piece of candy.  I just kept riding, laughing to myself a little, imagining her dumping out her purse on her kitchen table, turning wool sweater pockets inside out, eventually getting out a flashlight, and finding a year old candy bar in her basement.  Poor kid.

The remaining bike ride home from the gym also produced one haunted house sighting.  A neighbor decorated inside and out for what looked like a Halloween party with a mostly invisible attendance (but that could've just been my mind playing tricks on me).  Haha!  All in all, it was a most uneventful evening: no costumes, no gunshots, no stabbings, no drunk adults roaming the streets in ripped stockings, no zombies, no screaming until 3am, no sirens...  Why is this list making me miss home???  :)

With Halloween grossly overlooked, I thought November would come equally quietly, but I was wrong.  Overnight, the cemetery around the corner from where I live turned into a botanical garden of chrysanthemums.  It was a Halloween miracle!  I wish I could've taken before and after photos because it was such a beautiful thing to see almost every grave come to life with bright autumn hues - magenta, pink, yellow, orange, and purple - leaving this previously gray and gloomy plot of land just bursting with color.

After asking around and a little googling, I found out that in France Friday, November 1st is All Saints Day (Toussaint) and Saturday, November 2nd is the Day of the Dead (Jour des Morts).  These holidays are marked by the distinct ritual of honoring the graves of deceased family members.  Apparently on this day more than 22 million chrysanthemums (94% of total annual sales) are sold in France alone.  What a beautiful tradition!

Random Ramblings - Part I

51

There's a 51 bus here!  I swear to God...  I was walking down the street and BAM! there was the freaking 51!!!!!  Ahahah - hilarious.  I almost had to sit down on the side of the road I was laughing so hard.  One day - when I'm really homesick - I'm going to ride that line from end to end and dream about the Bay Area.  Ha!  The 51...  We've shared so many good times...

No 666

There's no 666 here.  I found this out in a very absurd way!  Walking into town on a race day, I passed by two guys still proudly sporting their runner's numbers.  One of them was 666!  So I did what any normal American would do - I pointed and laughed in a way that invited everyone to join in - he just looked down and looked back up and gave me the "What, did I forget to zip?!!?" look.  We continued walking in opposite directions, everyone very confused.

Pick a Lane

They don't have lanes in the community pool here, so swimming is like playing a game of frogger.  If you know me, you know that I am a very weak swimmer.  So, as you can imagine, I am like a baby elephant under there...  I've kicked plenty of people and been caught (on a few occasions) accidentally/intentionally dirty looking some individuals who just stand right in the middle.  I haven't built up enough courage to ask them why they just stand there in the middle of the pool causing others to go out of their way to swim around, but one of these days when my anger has subsided I will find a way to ask nicely.

Pre-game Routine  

To prepare the regional men's team for their first match, I wanted to encourage them to find a pre-game routine.  However, I didn't know how to say "pre-game routine", so I decided to just describe what I do to prepare for a match and asked them what they call that.  They said "obsessive compulsive disorder".  Wah wah!

There's more, but I can't think of it, so that's all for now.  More later!

Poetry is Bravery

Last week I picked up a mini magazine called PROG! at my local newsstand/coffee shop/bar.  The postcard-sized booklet advertises 24 pages worth of cool cultural happenings in and around Tours.  Lo and behold!  The first Monday of every month, a café in Tours Centre hosts a free *keyword* poetry reading.  So, before my usual Monday night sauna and swimming sesh, I built up some courage and jumped on the tram to find some poets, poems, and poetry.  Oh la la! 

Opening the thick door to the café, I realized that the average age was 62 (this number was significantly lowered by one young suicidal-looking gentleman).  Central themes were nature, family, love and tenderness.  Under normal circumstances, this poetry might induce vomiting.  However, since I was too distracted by the meanings of the words (pronounced loudly and clearly), the poetry reading became more like an extraordinary listening exercise.  We went around the room and everyone read something…  Luckily, before I left the house, I jotted down a few of my favorite poems from Birds of Arizona, by William Moor (just in case - anticipating that I might need some material myself).  Here is what I read:

Greater White-fronted Goose

And

june

Mallard

I

Cinnamon Teal

Mandela and when you are going

Ruddy Duck

A house plan

Wild Turkey

If

all

of the

huge

cost

all of

us

all

just

Montezuma Quail

Are

they are and are in

R a

R

R and

who are in the

R

R

R

R

Neotropic Cormorant

The

Cedar Warwing

That

, that

man

that the

Yelllow Warbler

Click the

...  Cool right?!  Haha!  I stayed for a while afterwards to talk to the president of their association (who happens to live right down the street from me in Saint Cyr) and another very nice woman who pretty much told me her life story.  Their poetry was not at all what I’m used to.  Poetry where I come from challenges great big ideas with interesting sounding words that cut into your thoughts and graft them with your feelings.  Truly, this experience left me with a deep sense of gratitude for Billy and his poetry and the poetry community in the Bay Area.

I've realized that, no matter what topic you choose to write about or what country you inhabit, writing poetry is an incredibly brave act.  So I wrote a poem.   I’m sure the poem I'm about to share with you has been written before – either by a sad solitary peace corps worker, or a lonely soldier in some dugout somewhere craving the greatest creation to ever come from the United States besides the internet…  I'm warning you - it's so bad that it's even more bad, but here it is anyway:

Peanut Butter Poem

On a sunny afternoon

I will lick you from a spoon

Chunky, smooth, sweet

You’re all I ever want to eat

You make me more me

Pee

Bee

This week I've been working on a few poems inspired by different circumstances I've encountered while living here in Saint Cyr.  I'm also working overtime on my French...  Billy sent me a link to this site, which is a fun way to learn a new language:  www.duolingo.com  Check it out!

That's all for now.  More later!

Roundabouts

Today,I rode my bike for an hour and a half to Hopital Trousseau and back.  For some reason, I couldn't get this song out of my head!

Haha - YES!!!!!!!!!

I'm not sure why, but in general - and for some unknown reason - I really do feel safer on my bike here.  In terms of circulation, there are lots of differences between here and the States...  Here's ten off the top of my head:

1.  Widespread use of roundabouts in lieu of stop signs (keeps traffic moving albeit a little chaotically)  :)
2.  Pretty much everyone drives stick shift
3.  Traffic signals appear BEFORE the intersection at eye level on the right
4.  Corners and intersections are yields because there's maybe like two stop signs in this whole country
5.  Roads are narrow and curvy for the most part
6.  Street names mostly appear on sides of buildings if they appear at all
7.  Signs are results based, so destinations are more prominent than street names
8.  Parking on the sidewalk, or halfway on the sidewalk is not only totally acceptable, it's encouraged
9.  Bike routes are super well marked (and cyclists observe red lights and traffic laws)
10.  There is no turn on red lights.  So, if you have a green, it's a sure fire thing you will not be run over!

Today, I had an amazing visit with a cardiologist!  I got an EKG (cool) and we talked a little about my diet.  I told him I've been crunching some numbers (nutrition post on the way) and it looks like I'm getting more than enough protein, but not nearly enough carbohydrates...  He said I should be eating more complex carbs (like pasta and rice) and then specifically recommended (wait for it...) CHOCOLATE!  That's right!  Not a piece of fruit, not a power bar, or a hard boiled egg, or a bagel!  Chocolate.  I thanked him and told him that shouldn't be a problem...  Haha!

Come to France to play volleyball and get prescribed chocolate and carbohydrates...  Life's not too shabby right now!  Seriously though, if you know me well, you know that there's no way I'm going to take any recommendation from any one (even a fancy French cardiologist) at face value, so I'm doing some research about diet and nutrition that I'll be sure to post about as soon as I've finalized my findings - wink wink!  :)

That's all for now.  More later!

Snuggling Up To French Women

Wednesday morning!  Yay!  Today was the outdoor market Mecca at Les Halles. I rode down in the misty morning light and immediately got in line for the same fruit booth I went to last week and the week before to get a refill on apple/pear juice and the seasons best apples, pears, peaches, and plums.  I've witnessed a large spectrum of acceptable behavior at French farmer's markets so far...  Sometimes people fill their own bags, but still wait in line to weigh and pay.  Sometimes people wait in line for just the bags and pay when they're done picking out what they want.  Sometimes people wait patiently in the whole line with their empty bags and then order their household fruit and vegetable consumption in terms of kilograms per week from the overworked farmer behind the table.  (Me?  I'm getting used to the kilometers and degrees, but I still think of fruit and vegetables in units - 2 plums, 4 apples, 2 pears - like a French kindergartner.)

Today, I got out my empty bags from last week and eagerly started filling them up with deliciousness.  It wasn't long before I started pissing off the woman in front of me who did not hesitate to scold me for touching all the fruit.  Here is a rough translation of what was said in French + make sure to add a terrible American accent to my part...
Her - "If you squeeze all the fruit, you're making it bruised for everyone behind you in line."
Me - "I never squeeze the fruit."
Her - "That's right.  Don't squeeze it."
Me - "I don't."
Her - "Good.  You shouldn't."
I continued to pick my fruit out awkwardly when it became obvious that this random French woman never wanted to think about me or see me ever again.  We don't know each other so that shouldn't be too difficult...  Not a great start - culturally speaking!

Next stop:  garlic, onions, spinach, mushrooms, tomatoes!  I quickly find myself in line behind another French woman who had the exact same haircut as the Shih Tzu in her arms (no joke).  I tried not to stare, but her fingers were all over the place!  She'd take a stroke of her precious pet, then fondle the onions, pet pet, sift through garlic, pet, ew...  I was starting to understand what I might've looked like to French Lady #1.

Done!  Cue French Lady #3...  A well-dressed woman with straggly white hair handed me a flyer and instead of my normal, "non, merci" I welcomed the flyer and looked her straight in the eyes and genuinely asked if this flyer would tell me where I can find some friends.  We stood in the middle of the market for a second laughing like insane people and then she said, "Maybe!  You never know."  I walked away pretty pleased with my joke of the day...  The flyer was for an antique fair.  Wah wah  :)

Practice was great last night!  I had a terrible stomach ache beforehand (probably because of the anti-inflammatories I've been popping like red hots), but as soon as I got with my team - it was like magic - my stomach pain just went away.  Seriously, I was sitting alone in the gym doubled over with pain and as soon as my team arrived and we started talking and laughing - GONE!  I love practicing with my team!