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.

Photo Essay - Spring Sprung

This time of year bees, butterflies, (chocking hazards on the bike - haha!) and beetles are buzzing around everywhere to announce the arrival of Spring.  These two cities (Tours and Saint-Cyr-sur-Loire) are in full bloom right now.  This photo essay represents the best I could do at capturing this seasonal beauty.  The pictures come from my backyard, the flower market, and random walks and rides around town.  Highlights include poppies growing out of stony roadside walls, a sunset behind the gym, and a twenty foot guard dog.  Haha - Enjoy!

Just Another Day in Paradise

Tonight we ventured to Paris to steal a tough four-set win (25-20, 19-25, 16-25, 21-25) against a formidable rival.  It felt so great to get a W!

I also finally found my name on USAVB dot com.  It doesn't really matter, but for some reason it feels super good just to see my name on the same list as some of the greatest female volleyball players in the world right now (Logan Tom, Nicole Davis, Alisha Glass - just to name a few)!

That's all for now.  More later!

Photo Essay - Rue de l'Hermitage

 

The Natural

"You've got a gift, Roy.  It's not enough.  A clear mind and the ability to see from the heart.  That's real strength.  Just pick a spot and work at it.  The secret is confidence and concentration...  you got them you don't need much else."  - Quote taken from the movie The Natural

I've never been called a natural.  Ask any one of my coaches.  My athleticism has always been forced.  So, while my sister Sarah was a game-winning-goal-scoring soccer star and my sister Chrissy was landing back flips on a balance beam, I was best known for being wimpy and wiry and choking under pressure.

Coaches never recognized me for having natural talent or a gift - not once - and for good reason.  Ha!  In my youth, I saw this as a setback, but looking back now I've realized that this mindset really helped me.  I remember one time, after missing a wide-open game-changing shot, my dad took me out to a soccer field to practice my aim.  I didn't go on to score many goals after that, but this evening did teach me a valuable lesson:  "just pick a spot and work at it"

Being programmed from a very early age to believe that success was not going to come as easily to me as it did to others gave me the quiet confidence I needed to tryout for the Bella Vista high school volleyball team (despite my dad telling me "Amy, there's no way you're going to make the Bella Vista volleyball team!" Haha... he was almost right!).  I barely squeaked by with the last spot on the JV roster.  Bella Vista drew from a pretty strong pool of girls who were already playing club, so once I made the team my mission was clear:  try, fail, repeat.

For the four years that I played at BV and the two years that I played club (at Orangevale and Twin Rivers) my parents were a constant source of support.  They drove me all over Northern California to games and tournaments.  They shelled out copious amounts of hard-earned cash for club fees. They gave me pep-talks and cheered me on from the stands. They did all this probably not even realizing how desperately I needed it... Blah blah blah - I was a HUGE nerd with no friends who ate lunch alone in a bathroom stall - wah wah.  I digress!  The point is - I never expected volleyball to come naturally, but instead relied on a sticktoitiveness (which stemmed from my parents' steady support) to fuel every single inch of my progress in this sport.

Moral of the story?  Natural or not, having great parents is helpful.  And if you aren't talented don't worry about it because hard work works!  :)

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!

Home Is Wherever I'm With You

Here is a cheesy slideshow of the precious time Billy and I spent together in France! *

Slideshow from Amy Moor on Vimeo.

* These photos were put in chronological order for the most part, so it's a total coincidence that this song weirdly corresponded to a bunch of the shots...  Also, I tried to use photos that we didn't already photobomb you with on facebook, but I was not entirely successful, so sorry for the dupes. 

For the best results, watch all the way through with your eyes glued to the screen.  For those of you who want a *real* challenge, try watching without blinking.  It's only five minutes!!  You can do it.  If you're new to this kinda thing, your goal is to stay in the room.  That's a super nerdy bikram yoga joke.  Haha!  :)

It's the Little Things

Thanks to my sister Sarah, we are staying a week in Paris before Billy returns to the United States.  Paris is amazing.  We're doing all the things I've always dreamed of doing here with Billy.  The view from the top of the Eiffel Tower??  Take it or leave it!  But waking up to this:

Being together again is just the best!

Castle Country

First things first!  The bike shop in Tours had a whole range of contraptions with two wheels.  After we wiped our drool off of the race bikes and asked about their rentals, they rolled out this lime green dream.  I couldn't stop laughing at the thought of Billy riding with upright handlebars and pedals with no clips...  Haha!  Seeing this clunker, at least, gave me hope that I might in a million years be able to keep up with him.  We laughed all the way home.  It was so good to be back on bikes with Billy.  I've seriously missed riding with him so much.

As soon as we got home we started planning day trips to the nearest castles to our east and west.  We spent the next three weeks exploring castle country on a beautiful bike route that spans from Nevers to Nantes.  The well-marked La Loire à Vêlo signs kept us pedaling in the correct general direction AND on the right route (for the most part - ha!).

Chenonceau is the one in the bottom right.

We narrowed our desired destinations down to lunch in Montlouis (round trip 30km/20mi), crepes and castle tour in Amboise (30km there only), Valentine's day lunch in Villandry (20km/13mi there only), and a half day to check out Chateau Chenonceau (heeding warnings about the hilliness of the route to Chenonceau we opted for the train).  Actually, Montlouis turned out to be the only place close enough to do a there-and-back (the only restraint being how long we could stay in the saddle if you know what I mean...).

Don't those seats look comfortable?!

Thankfully, all of these locations were conveniently served by the SNCF (a local train which is a cross between Amtrak and BART).  I was really amazed to discover that, apart from Villandry, train lines picked up five minutes walking from most of these castles and stopped service smack dab in the middle of beautiful downtown Tours.

Even though we took the train to Chenonceau, we still took our bikes with us that day and it's a good thing we did because our train back was delayed.  So, that evening, instead of freezing our butts off at the (outdoor) station, we made our way east past Chateau Chissay and went all the way to Mont Richard and back (another 20km/13mi).  So, just as a side note, yeah...  No banks in these parts.  Not even an ATM.  Do all those people bank in Tours?  Off shore accounts?  Shoe box under their bed?  We may never know.

Almost as awesome as being back on the bikes and taking trains through the scenic Loire River Valley were the looks we got when we told people that we have been riding our bikes to these places.  Haha!  Priceless.

Standing On The Shore

"I have crossed oceans of time to find you."  So, I thought of this, but then I googled it to make sure no one else had thought of it first and sure enough...  Dracula beat me to it!

Billy and I at the Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris

Being here in France to play volleyball has been a wonderful experience, but being away from Billy has been a practically unbearable sacrifice, making the last six months of my life so bittersweet...  

It has been exactly 180 days since I last saw Billy.  I'm excited to share everything about this place with the part of me that has been missing for so long.

A Curious Creature of Habit

This is my fourth day in Montmartre.  It is *so* amazing and cute!  Every day since I've been here, I've done the exact same thing:

1.  Wake up early to skype with Billy
2.  Breakfast at the hostel (pack a picnic lunch)
3.  Wander around the neighborhood to find things that Billy and I can do when he gets here
4.  Eat lunch and feed the birds
5.  Get some *real* coffee (fyi - this is the best coffee shop in Paris)
6.  Yoga
7.  Walk/hike up to Sacré Coeur to see the sunset over Paris
8.  Pick up quiche and veggie side dishes for dinner
9.  Chat with the cool traveler girls that are boarding in the same room as me
10.  Settle into a book and bed

I'm sad to be saying goodbye to Paris tomorrow, but so so grateful for this ten-day yoga vacation.  Today, I plan to attend my last Bikram class of 2013 (and my ninth class in a row) and then catch the New Year's Eve fireworks display from the Eiffel Tour and the Champs Elysées.

In 2014, I'm looking forward to the second half of our season, a visit from Billy in February, and, in May, a return trip to California via Amsterdam.  Happy New Year to everyone back home!

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!

Merry Christmas from Paris!

Today after breakfast I set out to run to the Eiffel Tour, and you’ll never believe this, but I ran for twenty minutes in the wrong direction.  Haha!  I was at the Place de la Bastille before I realized my mistake.  Due to this blind trust of my terrible sense of direction, what had started out as a forty minute there-and-back fun run turned into an hour and a half knee-grinding, hip-popping mini-marathon.  Oy!

When I did finally make it to the Eiffel Tour, I found it crowded with tourists from all over Europe and Asia.  I heard so many different languages: Arabic, German, Russian, Chinese, Korean, you name it!  Globalization at it's best?  My cold Christmas jog back along the Seine brought on the starkly contrasting feeling of solidarity with local hardcore athletes who were also running along the river alone.  Church bells all over town were ringing and a half moon hung in the day sky, making this particular Parisian morning just a tad more magical.  

I made it back to the hostel and realized that if I was going to get to yoga, I required a nap.  After a quick lunch, I conked out for a good two hours straight.  Yoga was calling, but first I had to turn the town upside down to satisfy my intense craving for banana nut bread (Thanks, MacDonald’s).  The five o’clock class was crowded, so we sweat a lot!  My back bends were back (Woohoo - I saw the tip of my mat!), but my legs felt like lead throughout the entire rest of the standing series.

I grabbed a mushroom and emmental cheese crepe from a vendor outside the Pompidou on my way home and made it back in time to skype with my family Christmas morning.  

Upholding a Moor Family Tradition

I woke up early this morning to skype with Billy and grab a decent breakfast downstairs: coffee, muesli, yogurt, and baguette with butter and honey.  Not bad! 

First order of business was to get some stronger coffee.  Then, buy some postcards.  Then, it was off to yoga.  Today, our instructor started the class in English and then asked me after the first posture of the standing series if she could teach in French for the sake of the French-speaking debutantes.  I, of course, nodded my head yes and we went along without another bump in the road.  I saw some minute progress in the back bends, but my triangle pose was really weak on the left side.  Again, a kink that will work itself out along the course of my ten days here.  After a nice shower, I started home, stopping into Sephora to shamelessly use all their testers (Sneaky or resourceful?  You choose!).  Maybe my lipstick was a little too pink because my remaining walk home resulted in blatant stares from strangers and a random guy (he must've been 20!) inviting me to a par-TEE.  I responded with awkward silence.

A restaurant in the neighborhood called Au Chien Qui Fume (At The Smoking Dog) caught my eye with a front window display of fresh seafood.  I thought, "What the heck!  It's Christmas Eve after all."  I sat down and enthusiastically ordered fresh oysters (a French tradition) and French Onion Soup (a Moor family tradition).  Though a little pricey and *a lot* lonely, this dinner treat felt right.  The service staff was nice and fast (a very unusual combination here by the way), and then the bill came.  Once I put my debit card down the staff ignored my table for a solid 45 minutes.  Were they giving me the cold shoulder? ...time to digest?  When I finally got someone’s attention, I ordered a petit café (espresso) to enjoy out on the heat-lamp-warmed terrace.  The people-watching on this night was spectacular.  A winter drizzle brought out fur collars, high-heeled boots, a million different color pea coats and the most elegant selection of umbrellas I’ve ever seen.  People were scurrying around with arm-fulls of last-minute Christmas shopping.

After writing and stamping a few postcards I walked to the Louvre courtyard where several glass pyramid structures lit up the dark stormy night.  The rain-soaked night air was refreshing, but my instincts (and my right hip) were telling me to turn in early.  So, I headed back to the hostel where a single bed warmly welcomed my yoga weary body with cotton sheets and a thin plaid flannel blanket.

J’aime Paris

My coach Maguy dropped me off at Orly airport today and, after climbing the smelly metro stairs and weaving through the streets of Paris, wet with recent rainfall, I found my hostel tucked in a touristy corner of town.  What this hostel lacked in ambiance and free wifi, it made up for in cleanliness, safety, and location, location, location.  (It's a stone’s throw away from the Pompidou, the Louvre, Notre Dame, and – this is the best part – a short walk to the local Bikram yoga studio!). 

It didn’t take me long to get settled in and then I was out the door to sniff out my second home for the week: the yoga studio!  Besides the obvious signs, like museums and Starbucks, one way I could tell I was in a touristy area is by counting the bagel and burger joints.  I found the studio without too much trouble and signed up immediately for a 10-day introductory class pass that included a mat and a shower (only 35 euros - what a deal - right?!). 

Ahhhh!  After all the delicious French food I've been eating, I'll admit my yoga costume didn't fit exactly like it used to...  Ha!  Nevertheless, it felt so great to push my hips and lock my knee for an hour and a half in the 40 degree heat and humidity.  The most difficult asanas were the back bends, which require the absence of fear, but I have faith that I will overcome that later this week.  After class, I grabbed a most delicious toasted whole wheat bagel with cream cheese (five months deep into France I figured a bagel was going to do me some good) and then stood in a long line at a Mediterranean deli next door to get fresh dolmas and hummus. 

It’s so great to be back in Paris.  I love everything about this city...  the sights, the sounds, and even the stinky smells.  

That's all for now.  More later!

The Incredible Story of One Lucky Mitten

After the farmer's market this morning, I headed north on my bike to stock up on staples that don't grow from the ground here like maple syrup, muesli, and oat milk.  Once inside Auchan (European Walmart equivalent that normally makes me think deeply about the Russian anarchist group Voina, but that's a different talk show...) I noticed that one of my new gloves was missing!  I immediately retraced my steps back to the bike rack, but turned up nothing.

After coffee and shopping I retraced my bike route home scouring the ground for one bright green mitten.  Turning around the second time, I started hearing my boss at SweetWARE in the back of my head quoting Einstein "Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."  I'm having visions of Tom Robbins' Skinny Legs and All, my bright green mitten bravely striking out on it's own and making it's way in the world with other escaped inanimate objects.  This was craziness, and I loved these gloves so much...  I was determined to reunite this perfect pair.

Flash forward three hours, I'm walking and looking.  After no more than fifteen minutes of walking up the street like a crazy person with one glove on (which apparently is the international sign language for "I've lost a glove")  I hear a woman from across the street yell "Madame!"  Yeah?  She's sitting at the bus stop about to catch a bus going the opposite direction.  You will not believe this.  She goes, "Have you lost a glove?"  I reply, "Why yes, I have!"  What a coincidence!  I cross the street and she explains that she picked up my other glove on the bike path a few hours ago and took it home.  She happens to live nearby and can get it for me and it will only take a second...  We walk together for a minute (I'm feeling much less crazy by now) and I agree to wait on a bench outside the entryway to her building.

A few minutes later, an old woman wearing kinda outlandish jewelry and a disheveled hair cut cops a squat next to me and almost sets her scarf on fire lighting her cigarette.  She asks me if I'm visiting someone here.  I tell her I'm waiting for someone.  Not much time passes before I see two people in scrubs leaving the building, which is when I ask the woman next to me if this is a hospital.  She says, "YES, this is a psychiatric hospital."  Uhhh...  The crazy is starting to creep back.  Haha!  Now, I'm sitting here wondering if this lady is going to come back with a rubber ducky declaring "Here's your glove back!" ...or just forget about me entirely.  Wrong on both counts.  Wonderful woman #1 restores peace to my universe and I walk home (so overjoyed) with two warm hands.

All I Want for Christmas

Here's my Christmas wish list:
1.  peanut butter power bars
2.  refried beans
3.  $ for travel (Paris/Amsterdam???), gloves, and winter boots

Of course, if you want to send a care package, pretty much anything you can think of will be appreciated.  You can sponsor #3 here just by clicking the big blue button that says donate.

I'm wishing everyone at home a great holiday!  Big huge hugs!

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.

Fun with Verbs!

Here are some of my favorite new verbs in French!

faire valloir - to make the most of
focaliser - to focus
mener - to lead
mouvoir - to drive, propel, move
parachever - to perfect
parvenir - to reach, succeed in
percer - to break through
planer - to soar
pointer - to sharpen, aim, check off
potentialiser - to increase the effect of
pourchasser - to pursue
rentabiliser - to make profitable
surélever - to heighten, raise
tâter - to feel out
taper - to bounce
turbiner - to work, toil
valoriser - to increase the value of
vivifier - to invigorate

... and last, but certainly not least!!
zozoter - to lisp

Their word for LISP is even meaner than ours!  Isn't that crazy?!?
Je zozote
Tu zozotes
Il/elle zozote
Nous zozotons
Vous zozotez
Ils/elles zozotent

...SO MEAN!

Bordeaux!

At 10:30 AM Sunday morning the whole team piled into a nine-person van to make our 4PM match against team AMAZON (I mean, Bordeaux Merignac).  This team came down from National 1 at the end of last season and has been dominating National 2 with their scrappy defense and ferocious offense ever since. 

Unfortunately for our record, the road trip was the highlight of the day.  The freeways here are fast, direct, and cost a fortune.  The gas was 110 euros, and the tolls totaled 150 euros!  OUCH!  Coach Maguy said if you aren’t pressed for time the national routes here are beautiful *free* back roads that wind through the countryside and tiny town centers (a great way to see the French way of life up close).

Bordeaux was unlike any wine country I’ve ever seen...  Lush vines extended from the freeway in their uniform lines for as far as the eye could see in every direction.  Vineyards weren’t nestled in a valley, or shelved along steep, rocky cliffs.  They just stretched on and on and on forever.  Rows of trees and solitary farm houses spotted the landscape and spurred deep conversations about food, farming, and the environment. 

You will never believe this, but it turns out that on this three hour car ride, I happened to be sitting next to a girl on the team who has also been to Madagascar!  Oh, we went on and on, sharing with Maguy all the coolest things about Mada.  Since Maguy spent most of her life in Brazil, she could relate to a lot of the eating habits that characterize that latitude (ie tons of rice, a million different types of bananas, and avocados for dessert).  Mmmmm… 

I often forget that Madagascar is where I first developed a respect for food.  Despite annual family outings to Apple Hill and my mom’s lifelong gardening and fearless foraging habits, before studying abroad in Madagascar in my mind food primarily existed prepared, packaged, and priced on a shelf, in an aisle, in a huge air-conditioned building with slick floors and friendly employees.  Madagascar is where I finally realized that even the ingredients for pop tarts are planted, grown, and harvested, before being shook up in a test tube, squirted out a mechanical arm and zipped up in a rectangular foil wrapper.  Haha!

That reminds me of a great bit from Jerry Seinfeld on pop-tarts:

Pop-Tarts aside, it’s really rare to meet someone else who has been to Madagascar!  It was so nice being reminded of the year I spent learning, eating, and experiencing life there while studying abroad.  So many names, faces, moments, and meals flooded back into my memory; devouring banana and nutella sandwiches around a campfire; meditatively chatting while peeling apples and oranges; snacking on boiled manioc doused in sweetened condensed milk; harvesting, de-husking, sorting, washing, and cooking huge pots of white, red, brown, and black rice; savoring samosas and skewers of beef with lemony hot sauce; and washing everything down with THB (Three Horses Beer)...  It made me want to go back so bad!

To put it lightly, the game we played once we arrived in Bordeaux left something to be desired...  Enough said.  Bordeaux Merignac provided post-match pâté and crêpes (YUM!) and on the ride home we chowed down on a yogurt and nutella cake that our setter baked and my dad’s famous chocolate chip cookies (which arrived in the mail this week!).   Even though all of us were stuffed from the snacks, the club paid for a pit-stop.  We sat inside a gas station dining area and supped on delicious (by American standards) microwaveable pasta boxes.  Outside the sun set on distant forests and farms in hues of highlighter yellow, orange, and pink behind wide blankets of dark purple clouds. 

We made it home by 10:30 PM.  My head hit the pillow hard, gears still turning over missed serves and bad plays from earlier that night.   Alas!  Sunday nights remind me to look forward to a sit in the sauna and swimming, and a week of hard work for our next match.

That’s all for now.  More later!