Yesterday (Tuesday), I went on a bike ride to the beach at the Mediterranean coast here in Montpellier. The ride there was mostly pleasant save for the seemingly relentless onslaught of road construction. After a brief soaking in the waters of the Mediterranean and the filtered (by the clouds) beams of the sun, I noticed some thunder. The storm was approaching. As soon as the first droplets of water landed in the sand, we (myself and Andrea) gathered our things and began to leave the beach. The storm intensified. In seconds there was hail and a torrential downpour with strong winds of Biblical proportion; Aeolus' rage even cast a plastic bench flying sideways. Fortunately, we, like several other beach goers, made it under the flimsy roof of a little food shop called Miam Miam.
The storm lasted not more than thirty minutes, and when the clouds cleared and I finished the café I ordered at Miam Miam, we were on our way. The ride back was fairly cool, and I was refreshingly physically tired when I returned "home." This sort of tired is quite different than the tired I experienced moving lots of things from one third floor apartment to another for like 14 hours (or however long it was)...
Regardless, it was a good day despite the storm. I also discussed later the meaning of the private school in France. I discovered that the teachers in private schools are paid by the State, and that all private schools must subscribe to the same core, base curriculum (to which they can add their own instruction, but from which they cannot deviate). I was told this somewhat confusing process of state sponsored instruction in private (i.e. religious [although not always]) schools has a long history revolving around the power relationship between the Catholic church and the lay government. I should really get some books soon, to help me get a better background in all of this whole dang-ole France deal.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
La Riviere, Pancakes et Exploration
I'm still in Orientation week here in France as I realized yesterday in my exploration in search of a library that they were all generally closed this week for various reasons.
Saturday, I went to la rivière and swam in chilly water that reminded me of the creeks in Tennessee. The landscape (see Facebook) was similar to what you might imagine the South of France looking like (perhaps from a film), only better.
Sunday was a day for relaxation and World Cup watching and I relaxed and thought about my research plans for Monday. Fortunately, that night, I (innocently) provoked a conversation on various hot topics relating to French immigration policy and tried to learn or at least reaffirm what I had read about the various positions with respect to the integration of immigrants in France. The discussion touched on what I see as the crux of the problem: a disconnect between the strongly pronounced moral code of French society and their actions resulting from the enforcement of their immigration (and integration) policy.
Monday, I explored. But first, I assisted in the making of pancakes (see Facebook) and they were DELICIOUS (see Facebook). Next time I'll try to make those kitchen sink oatmeal cookies if I can find the right ingredients at the marché. S'mores are also on the horizon... Mmm. America. Returning to Monday, I decided to venture to the library(ies) where I could go to do research. UM I was closed for a week, so I trekked to UM III Paul Valéry in the cute trolley thing in the city and ended up at UM II. I stumbled around until I found UM III and then *really* stumbled around (it was quite hot) until I found the library at Paul Valéry. It was also closed. Determined not to waste my entire afternoon, I decided to find my old école maternelle - École St. Odile. I decided to just find it, like holistic detective Dirk Gently of Douglas Adams' two wonderful non-Hitchhiker's Guide related books. That did not work. So, I proceeded back to Paul Valéry's little roundabout and asked at a magazine store. She informed me with *great* detail and poetic phrasing. "Go left out here, then go straight until you reach a light. Then continue straight! Then continue straight until you reach an small olive tree in the center of a roundabout. There, you go straight again and it's on your left." I did indeed go straight, and I did indeed find l'école. The neighborhood did not ring any particular bells and the school seemed far more urban than I had remembered, with very little trees to corroborate my memory of the bullies shoving pine needles down my throat until I threw up. Nonetheless, I took a photo of myself in front of the school for comparison to an older photo (see Facebook).
Monday night, I went to The Australian, a bar close to Rue de Canepetières, and drank some pretty poor 1 euro beer for a Monday night special. I would have protested more had it been more than 1 euro, but it was not. If I learned anything Monday night it would be that you should do yourself a favor and avoid Carlsberg beer. After returning from Australia, I watched a movie, Delicatessen, on Orange's version on On-Demand. If you haven't seen it yet, make sure you watch it *right* before you go to bed. It was one of the more unsettling films I've seen, but it's absurdism reminded me of Ionesco and that made me fairly happy. If I were to write an equation to describe it, it would be something like: Sweeney Todd + David Lynch + Ionesco + World War II.
At any rate, it's now Tuesday, and I have a bit more to do during what has been forced upon me as Orientation week (thanks to library closures and the limitations of my French speaking).
Saturday, I went to la rivière and swam in chilly water that reminded me of the creeks in Tennessee. The landscape (see Facebook) was similar to what you might imagine the South of France looking like (perhaps from a film), only better.
Sunday was a day for relaxation and World Cup watching and I relaxed and thought about my research plans for Monday. Fortunately, that night, I (innocently) provoked a conversation on various hot topics relating to French immigration policy and tried to learn or at least reaffirm what I had read about the various positions with respect to the integration of immigrants in France. The discussion touched on what I see as the crux of the problem: a disconnect between the strongly pronounced moral code of French society and their actions resulting from the enforcement of their immigration (and integration) policy.
Monday, I explored. But first, I assisted in the making of pancakes (see Facebook) and they were DELICIOUS (see Facebook). Next time I'll try to make those kitchen sink oatmeal cookies if I can find the right ingredients at the marché. S'mores are also on the horizon... Mmm. America. Returning to Monday, I decided to venture to the library(ies) where I could go to do research. UM I was closed for a week, so I trekked to UM III Paul Valéry in the cute trolley thing in the city and ended up at UM II. I stumbled around until I found UM III and then *really* stumbled around (it was quite hot) until I found the library at Paul Valéry. It was also closed. Determined not to waste my entire afternoon, I decided to find my old école maternelle - École St. Odile. I decided to just find it, like holistic detective Dirk Gently of Douglas Adams' two wonderful non-Hitchhiker's Guide related books. That did not work. So, I proceeded back to Paul Valéry's little roundabout and asked at a magazine store. She informed me with *great* detail and poetic phrasing. "Go left out here, then go straight until you reach a light. Then continue straight! Then continue straight until you reach an small olive tree in the center of a roundabout. There, you go straight again and it's on your left." I did indeed go straight, and I did indeed find l'école. The neighborhood did not ring any particular bells and the school seemed far more urban than I had remembered, with very little trees to corroborate my memory of the bullies shoving pine needles down my throat until I threw up. Nonetheless, I took a photo of myself in front of the school for comparison to an older photo (see Facebook).
Monday night, I went to The Australian, a bar close to Rue de Canepetières, and drank some pretty poor 1 euro beer for a Monday night special. I would have protested more had it been more than 1 euro, but it was not. If I learned anything Monday night it would be that you should do yourself a favor and avoid Carlsberg beer. After returning from Australia, I watched a movie, Delicatessen, on Orange's version on On-Demand. If you haven't seen it yet, make sure you watch it *right* before you go to bed. It was one of the more unsettling films I've seen, but it's absurdism reminded me of Ionesco and that made me fairly happy. If I were to write an equation to describe it, it would be something like: Sweeney Todd + David Lynch + Ionesco + World War II.
At any rate, it's now Tuesday, and I have a bit more to do during what has been forced upon me as Orientation week (thanks to library closures and the limitations of my French speaking).
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Getting to Montpellier and the First Day
My connecting flight to Paris from Heathrow was refreshingly quick and smashingly British. I overheard this cute, old British couple cracking jokes about the national strike in France that day (see pics on Fbook). I wish I could remember his exact phrasing, but I can't. At most I can say that it was *delicously* British.
Upon arrival in CDG, I managed to make my way through the passport line and then completely skip the place to pick up my baggage. I walked right through the exit assuming my baggage was just on the other side of two sliding glass doors, only to find that, in fact, it was not. It was to the left. So, I had to sneak back in the glass doors and glide past security to get my bag. Pas de problème.
My secret agent skills continued on the TGV from Paris to Montpellier; they were cultivated by the national strike. I had (wrongly) selected a method of picking up my ticket that required a ticket window and not simply the self-service kiosks smattered around the train station. Unfortunately for me, all of the ticket windows were closed due to the strike, as I was oft-reminded over the loudspeaker. Fortunately for me, none of the trains had controllers to check the tickets (as they were also on strike).
The TGV was a surprisingly quiet ride (see Fbook for video + pics) and I made my way into Montpellier at around 10 PM. My first discovery was that my French was more rusty than I had imagined. My second discovery was that the weather is quite nice in Montpellier. Those two distracting non-sequiturs aside, upon arrival, I was greeted by my gracious hosts and I slept well in the maisonette. The next day, yesterday, I took a tour of Montpellier on foot and, typically, forgot to bring my camera along to meticulously document each step.
Afterward, I went to watch the World Cup match (Chile vs. Spain) on the big screens stationed at one of the many bars in downtown Montpellier (they rotate for each night [I think]). After an exciting match, I went with one of my hosts and her friends to Les Estivals, a summer music, wine and food festival in a park. It occurs every Friday in the summer and involves lots of wine consumption and comparatively very little music listening. Today, I sort of woke up at a normal time (6 then 9) and hope to soon arrive at some sort of sleep schedule that makes sense.
As for the research, that I hope to start soon, but I'd like to refine my French to an acceptable level. I give myself about five days for that... I'll probably start by going to the huge library here and see what I can dig up.
Upon arrival in CDG, I managed to make my way through the passport line and then completely skip the place to pick up my baggage. I walked right through the exit assuming my baggage was just on the other side of two sliding glass doors, only to find that, in fact, it was not. It was to the left. So, I had to sneak back in the glass doors and glide past security to get my bag. Pas de problème.
My secret agent skills continued on the TGV from Paris to Montpellier; they were cultivated by the national strike. I had (wrongly) selected a method of picking up my ticket that required a ticket window and not simply the self-service kiosks smattered around the train station. Unfortunately for me, all of the ticket windows were closed due to the strike, as I was oft-reminded over the loudspeaker. Fortunately for me, none of the trains had controllers to check the tickets (as they were also on strike).
The TGV was a surprisingly quiet ride (see Fbook for video + pics) and I made my way into Montpellier at around 10 PM. My first discovery was that my French was more rusty than I had imagined. My second discovery was that the weather is quite nice in Montpellier. Those two distracting non-sequiturs aside, upon arrival, I was greeted by my gracious hosts and I slept well in the maisonette. The next day, yesterday, I took a tour of Montpellier on foot and, typically, forgot to bring my camera along to meticulously document each step.
Afterward, I went to watch the World Cup match (Chile vs. Spain) on the big screens stationed at one of the many bars in downtown Montpellier (they rotate for each night [I think]). After an exciting match, I went with one of my hosts and her friends to Les Estivals, a summer music, wine and food festival in a park. It occurs every Friday in the summer and involves lots of wine consumption and comparatively very little music listening. Today, I sort of woke up at a normal time (6 then 9) and hope to soon arrive at some sort of sleep schedule that makes sense.
As for the research, that I hope to start soon, but I'd like to refine my French to an acceptable level. I give myself about five days for that... I'll probably start by going to the huge library here and see what I can dig up.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Travel Saga Part Two: Sittin' In Heathrow
My flight was uneventful (regrettably?) and I now wait in this strange glass house they call Heathrow Terminal 5. Literally, the most exciting thing that happened to me on the flight was that I was A. listening to DJ Nate (DA TRAK GENIOUS) and B. I was sitting next to a Swedish national handball team member with giant biceps (C. I picked a scab that bled a lot).
I grabbed a pint of Murphy's at the "bar" in Terminal 5 (because I could) and brushed my teeth. (Exciting stuff!!) Currently waiting for my gate to become available for my flight to Paris. Let's hope that my train ride to Montpellier is one of the five that exist today as a result of the national strike.
I should probably listen to some dubstep now, or something.
I grabbed a pint of Murphy's at the "bar" in Terminal 5 (because I could) and brushed my teeth. (Exciting stuff!!) Currently waiting for my gate to become available for my flight to Paris. Let's hope that my train ride to Montpellier is one of the five that exist today as a result of the national strike.
I should probably listen to some dubstep now, or something.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Travel Saga Part One: The Hound
Nothing starts a journey better than an early start at 4 AM sans café au lait (comme d'habitude). After rolling out of bed and handling my emails, where more magnificent to wallow in my exhaustion than the Nashville Greyhound station? If you haven't been, I should warn you that the following description may be graphic at times.
The cluster of smoking, skulking degenerates brooded aggressively as I unloaded my bags and bid farewell to my parental units, but I remained strong and courageous as I briskly crossed the line from regular Nashville to what I've affectionately called "Hell." In Hell, nothing is fully constructed. In Hell, no human being is intelligible over a loudspeaker. In Hell, your destination doesn't matter, nor do your bags. In Hell, etc.
Beelzebub approached me with his bleached blonde, slicked-back hair and popped some pills into his mouth from out of his Hawaiian shirt pocket. As he stumbled away to stare blankly at the SportsCenter on infinite loop, I cried a little inside. Should I actually show my tears, the demons would lap away at my wetted cheeks, or so I thought.
Finally, the moment arrived. It was 6 AM and my bus was scheduled to leave. But where was it? Oh, it's running two hours behind schedule? I see! I forgot I was in Hell. Well, that's fine, I'll just wait until 8 AM to leave.
Once I left Hell, things only got better. I made friends with a young Chicago resident and discussed the finer points of footworkin', mountain lions, Waka Flocka Flame and kudzoo.
As I arrived in Atlanta at 2:30 (instead of noon), I decided to get my cousin to take me to lunch/dinner instead of taking another bus. This was an excellent idea. We left for my other cousin's and I admired the cats, the beer and the pizza. After family time, I proceeded to the airport and I now await the departure of my plane to Heathrow. More later...
The cluster of smoking, skulking degenerates brooded aggressively as I unloaded my bags and bid farewell to my parental units, but I remained strong and courageous as I briskly crossed the line from regular Nashville to what I've affectionately called "Hell." In Hell, nothing is fully constructed. In Hell, no human being is intelligible over a loudspeaker. In Hell, your destination doesn't matter, nor do your bags. In Hell, etc.
Beelzebub approached me with his bleached blonde, slicked-back hair and popped some pills into his mouth from out of his Hawaiian shirt pocket. As he stumbled away to stare blankly at the SportsCenter on infinite loop, I cried a little inside. Should I actually show my tears, the demons would lap away at my wetted cheeks, or so I thought.
Finally, the moment arrived. It was 6 AM and my bus was scheduled to leave. But where was it? Oh, it's running two hours behind schedule? I see! I forgot I was in Hell. Well, that's fine, I'll just wait until 8 AM to leave.
Once I left Hell, things only got better. I made friends with a young Chicago resident and discussed the finer points of footworkin', mountain lions, Waka Flocka Flame and kudzoo.
As I arrived in Atlanta at 2:30 (instead of noon), I decided to get my cousin to take me to lunch/dinner instead of taking another bus. This was an excellent idea. We left for my other cousin's and I admired the cats, the beer and the pizza. After family time, I proceeded to the airport and I now await the departure of my plane to Heathrow. More later...
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