Kindergarten University

I hate feeling incapable. It doesn't agree with me at all. But lately, it's been a lot of what I've feeling. Incapable of starting a literature review (writer's block, or mental block?), for example, which is what I'm feeling right now. But alas, class deadlines don't wait for me, so I should probably get to starting that.

Seems to me that the biggest struggle of getting back has been getting through the work, learning again to balance work and play (with a heavy bent toward play), and procrastinating like crazy. But you know, probably the most important thing I learned in Paris is that the education you get through classes, the version they feed to you so that you can look academic, is not really all that valuable. I mean, let's be honest, college--even at an elite institution such my (our) own--is not about the information you absorb by reading a book. I mean, that's interesting, and discussions can be lively and exciting, especially if you engage in them. But, it's not the point. The point is to be surrounded by amazing people, to have access to resources you couldn't normally access were you studying on your own, but ultimately to take your education into your own hands. Which is to say, to refine your ability to learn, all over again. It's sort of like kindergarten, redux. Except with reading and papers and exams.

I know, it sounds stupid and cliche. But, I mean, most cliches tend to actually have some truth to them when you think about it. So if college were measured in that sort of GPA, well I'd say I'd probably be doing pretty well in GPA, considering where I started. Of course there would be the occassional lesson that I don't tend to learn very well, or those "exams" of sorts that I fail miserably. But, I'd like to think that I'm making progress. Improving. Learning. You know.

The point of this all is that...well, I don't really know what the point is. I guess the point is that if I were to summarize the last week of my life in one major thought, that would be it. I have direction, I have a goal, and I'm sticking to it. It's amazing the value that can add, the sense of purpose you can feel. In the end, life will not send you signals, there will be no bricks dropped on your head to point down the right (or wrong) path. You just have to sort of guess. There's always time to make up for mistakes, to try to change directions later on. But you'll get nowhere if you constantly decide to go back, and take the other road.

Sometimes, though, your wireless cuts out and forces you to work on your paper. Sometimes the signs are there. But that's only if you're being really dumb. Unfortunately, that happens alot for me. Fine, God or overarching force of reason or whatever you are, I'll work. If you insist.

Life in "John" pace (gotta love inside jokes)

Life has kicked into full swing. It's sort of tragic, you know, the phase of rushing around trying to balance everything has faded into normalcy. On the other hand, it's quite reassuring to know that the transition is that quick, and to know that it's possible to leave but there are always people you can see with whom it will feel like you just saw each other yesterday, even if yesterday was 5 years ago.

I've had a busy week this week. I guess that means that I've had a lot to do for classes, a lot of things to deal with (I started a new job, for example), and it's felt a little like I've been rushing from one thing to another. Fortunately for me, when I feel like I'm rushing, I'm really just moving at a faster rate with the same amount of time at my disposal. I just think I need to rush. In any case, now I'm hoping my econ problem set is good to go, worrying that I'm forgetting something I was supposed to turn in, and looking forward to beach trip this weekend.

But that's all boring. In fact, that's I guess the point of this return. Life has become normal. I'm working on it, and hopefully soon there will be more interesting things to talk about.

For now, and for always, I'm taking pleasure in those little moments that make a day. The random run-ins with old friends on a campus that is infinitely smaller than it should seem, the sly smiles to a cute passer-by, the chill factor on a cloudy day (that actually has double meaning), and the comfort of my dorm bed. Life is good, as long as you take the time to notice it. God really is in the details...

In any other world

Begin phase two. So to speak. I've definitely begun to feel it, that sense that you have changed, the feeling that you are completely different, unable to explain to people how you changed and unable to really illustrate to them (though they clearly can tell it's there) that you're not the same person you were when you left. This is just about the most exciting experience I've ever had!

Sounds weird, right? It may sound like I'm feeling constrained, feeling surrounded by a sense of alien-ness, a sense of disconnection. To some extent, this would be true. But not in a bad way. It's good to feel alien every once in awhile, to feel foreign, to not understand what you're looking at. Teaches you to deal with situations (which will come, over and over again) where you are thrown into a new environment completely alone. And here I'm lucky: I'm not alone. 60-some other people this year, and hundreds (or thousands) of others in years before have been through this whole transition.

But the truth of the matter is that, if I were to throw back to SOC 1 last Spring, I've been able, by going abroad, to gain the "eye of the sociologist." What they don't tell you in that class is that the eye of the sociologist is really just the eye of the foreigner. It's like when you walk into a new country, a different culture, how the littlest things throw you off and make you think, "why the hell would someone do that like that?" After living for a substantial amount of time in that country, though, you start to understand it. Then you come back to the US and you wonder why everyone seems to look you in the eyes (sketchy???), and why people are always done with their meals before you are (did I really start on a French diet?), and why your alcohol tolerance is suddenly SO LOW (wtf, mate???). But, you know, life is one constant movement from culture to culture. We all did it when we left high school and came to college, and even before when we switched from junior high to high and all the other transitions we've made. Ultimately, there is no such thing as culture shock. It's impossible. There is just a transition, an adaptation, that can be gradual or quick by degrees, but that, in the end, is nothing more than what it is: a transition. It is not a shock. It is not deadly. It is human.

So, blogging on this thing has become less interesting, naturally, as a result of the fact that life does not offer new random experiences of cultural adjustment. But alas, I will keep it up, for it is my mission, my heroic goal in life. Or just because I want to torture everyone with the boring diatribe that is this blog. Either way, why kill the fun? Cheers to boring transitions!

The absurdity of normalcy

So, it's been a few weeks. Quick summary: past two weeks I went home, I saw most everybody (yay!!!), then I came up to campus Sunday, moved in, and started classes today. It's an interesting experience, you know, coming back to the US. I thought that it would be difficult, but to be honest it wasn't that hard, until now. In SoCal there was a lot of time at home, a lot of hanging with friends, a lot of feeling like I was back home. Here on campus, though, things feel very foreign, very different, very new, like I'm coming back to somewhere vaguely familiar but also somewhat bizarre.

So what does that mean? Well, primarily it means that I am feeling reverse cultural shock, yes. It's usually manifest as a "why do people do that like that" or an occasional "whoa, I actually understand how this works" every few minutes. Also a lot of over-analyzing the way people interact and then quickly telling myself to forget about analyzing things. But alas, such is the process, and I figure it'll pass in a couple weeks once I'm out of this whole process and settle back into life at Stanford (but I doubt I will get over dressing more Parisian anytime soon).

In any case, life is slowly getting back into a rhythm. Classes are fun, meeting people and adjusting to the new house is exciting. And I really don't have much of anything else to say. So yeah, here's to America, and to the "honeymoon phase" as that return adjustment thing Estelle gave us once said. Onward!

P.S. Blogger still says things in French for me. My computer apparently is adjusting a little more slowly than I am. Lucas, we're in America, you're not in France anymore. Sorry, deal with it.

In memoriam...

This entry is titled in memoriam for two reasons. One, I'm about to pack up and leave France, and these past six months will slip quickly from the realm of active experience to passive memories of the good times and an intense longing to return back. Two, however, and perhaps more importantly, it is a brief and mostly unsatisfactory tribute to a 21-year-old young woman from Orange, taken from this earth a bit early but angelic in all that she was. Linda, may you rest with the angels tonight and feel a peace that none of us on this earth can ever comprehend.

How to really summarize the emotions and thoughts that are running through my head right now? On the one hand my brain is trying to prepare itself, ever so feably, for the coming shock that will be the return home. They say, and I'm sure they're right, that many times the cultural shock is much worse when you go back, when you return feeling completely different but unable to express and to explain what exactly that difference means. I've been trying to wrap my head around the person I am now, to try to compare him at least in degrees to the person I was before I left. But the truth is, the warp has been a complete 180 degree turn. I mean, on the surface I am still the same man with most of the same beliefs and values, but on the inside the thoughts I have now are completely different, my excitement and interest in the world is infinitely higher, and I just can't even begin to determine how far I've come. I've grown, and for the first time I saw it happen right before my eyes, in a brief span of only 6 months. I mean, you know, how often does something like that happen? I fear intensely that life will be normal again when I get back, that my excitement will die and that my interest will wither and that in the end all I will be left with is a longing to return.

But of course, I will do everything in my power to stop that from happening.

In other news, I can't quite understand how to get a grasp of what happens when a young person dies. It seems so unnatural, so illogical, so unfair. But then, it seems like there's no reason to fret over it, nothing to do that could make anything better. And, I don't want to write a blabber about this situation, don't want to act like I have the right to really summarize what has happened, don't want to be the one to talk when so many others are in so much more pain than I am. So, in the end, I am not qualified. All I can say is that the world will never be the same. Never is, is it?

Yes, but right now those are basically the thoughts running through my head. I hope that Paris will remember me, I hope that I will always remember Paris. And of course, I will never forget Linda, and hope what I've done on this earth can only be at least a little bit as amazing as what she has done herself. Here's to life, and to all it brings us, and to all it is!

Life moves too quickly when it moves in slow motion

The more and more I reflect on Paris (mostly in the form of my self-reflexive rapport du stage...ew), the more I realize how much this place has changed me. In physical form, I'm pretty much the same in appearance and such as I was when I left, sure, but my outlook on life, my way of seeing events in the US (especially of the political variety), and my perceptions of myself have been completely revolutionized, basically. I'm sort of afraid that I won't be recognizable when I get back, at least in the way I act and the person I am. But then again, do people really change? Put me back in the same environment, I'll probably be mostly the same. Hehe.

In any case, more on what I will miss about Paris. This weeks abstract concept will be, I suppose, um, well what's the best way to put this...the vitality, nay, the accessibility that is city life. I mean, I can get city life most anywhere in the world, but Paris is unique, you know. It's a city where everybody is walking the streets, even if it's pourring rain outside, and where you can always find a boulangerie that's open even on Sunday (unlike most everything else). On that note, it's a city where things close randomly (the owner didn't feel like coming in? ok, no big...), where strikes block off city streets and prevent you from following the path you had planned on (especially if you're driving), and where metro stations and lines close at least once a day do to a malfunction or a protest or (worst of all) a suicide or attempted suicide--and where you just go with the flow. Even in California, famed state of "going-with-the-flow" laid-back beaches and sunny days, life is not this laid-back. Even at Stanford, campus of discussion sections having trouble finding space on the grass because every other discussion section is there, or of slip-and-slides on the front lawn on a breezy April afternoon, the stress can feel daunting and the rush between places can become more overwhelming. In Paris, if you show up an hour late to work, nobody faults you for it, and if you miss the bus and have to wait 20 minutes for the next one--hey, just another opportunity to enjoy the scenery and the company of 10 other people who missed the bus when you did.

I mean, this attitude is certainly not unique to Paris. In fact, Paris is sort of behind when you compare the laid-back to feel to, say, a Barcelona or an Athens or much of Italy. But the unique way it manifests itself in Paris--which is to say, mostly in the form of "manifs" (i.e., manifestations = protests)--is perfect, and I'm afraid somewhat that with the influx of a global economy and its accompanying work demands that will change. Once the 35 hour work week is abolished (which is admittedly probably a good thing) and once the 6 weeks of vacation are shortened to four, I fear for the joie de vivre parisienne, but alas, we'll see what happens. In any case, I'll be able to say, ten years from now, I once knew a Paris where the metro broke down and you just took it for granted, where friends would always show up 15 minutes (minimum) after the agreed on meeting time and it was expected, and where things still closed down on Sundays and (sometimes) Mondays. Alas, nostalgia is very agreable bedfellow.

So yeah, with one week to go, only one more entry before I leave, I'm starting to feel sad. I had a day dream today of my plane taking off from CDG, the feeling I'll have as the landing gear close in and the countryside around Paris fades away. The feeling of getting in the taxi to the airport, of leaving peripherique on my way out, of driving along Blvd St-Michel for a last time, saying goodbye to all the places where I used to drink beer and find cheap dinners, to all the memories of meeting "at the fountain"! It's almost unbearable, so I'm going to try to live in denial and stop thinking about it for now. In the mean time, I'll be having the best last-week-in-Paris of my life, so don't be surprised if I'm constantly in and out of contact!!!

Better seen than believed

Ok, so, I set out to come up with things that I am going to miss about France, and at this point in time I'm still having a bit of difficulty thinking about things. I don't think it is so much that there is nothing to miss, but mainly that I'm just not in the position right now to realize what I'll miss. Basically, what it comes down to is that the things I most take for granted are the things that I will miss the most, and I can't quite get my finger on what those things are, because, well, I don't think about them (that is what taking something for granted means, no?).

So anyway, some potential candidates: the metro, in all it's close-at-12:45 glory, because, well, how else would I get anywhere; the architecture, which I'm sure will become idealized in my head the moment I set foot in Orange County; the little discoveries, like discovering this morning that the bus I take to work passes the house where Manet was born, not to mention the Louvre, the Comedie Francaise, St-Germain, and the Academie Francaise; the activity, like always being able to find a bar to go to or a restaurant to eat at wherever you are. I mean, it's so hard to just quantify how much of Paris has gotten ingrained into me, has seeped its way under my pores, whether in the form of harmful bacteria or in slightly less corporeal manifestations. For example, the fact that my hand automatically types an "e" after the suffixes "and" and "end," especially words that have French counterparts, like demand(e). In any case, I may not have intended it to happen, and I may have resisted quite strongly at first, but France has gotten inside of me, and I'm pretty sure that I won't be the same again. That's a good thing.

Which brings me to the last point. I can't say that I'm actually going to miss France, because in all honesty missing to me usually implies that there is something that you feel was incomplete about the experience. When you miss a friend, it's because you wish you could talk to them about everything and nothing going on in your life. When you miss a restaurant (or your grandma's cooking), it's because your taste buds can't quite bring themselves to somehow align with your memory and bring back the particular flavors and experience that made that meal great. With France, I can't say that I have that feeling. Sure, there are buildings I haven't seen, museums I haven't been to, a theme park I might feel sad to have not seen, foods I have not tried. But in the grand scheme, France is everything I wanted it to be, which is to say nothing like I expected it to be. In the end, for me experiencing Paris has become less about checking off that always expanding list of cafes to pass an afternoon at, museum exhibits to ponder, and second-hand bookstores to revel in (though it is a noble cause), and more about the changes I have gone through, the maturity I have gained, and the indescribable sense of pride I know I'll feel to have conquered being abroad for so long.

So yeah, my body and my brain are going to miss Paris. They're going to go through their little withdrawals when my hand finds itself shocked to learn that B813A is not the code to every apartment building, when my legs start to veg out from not having to walk around cobblestone streets, and when my reflexes start to slow when it comes to navigating my way through a crowded street. But I won't miss Paris. No, better than that, I will be forever indebted to this city, to its residents (from the hot guy on the bus this morning to my host mom), and to its incredibly powerful ability as muse and as inspiration. I wondered before I got here why Paris was such a powerhouse when it came to turning out artists, philosophers, writers, and all those other creative types; now I know, it's all you can do in a city so inspiring. You'll forgive me, I hope, if after Paris I come home a chain-smoking, caffeine-infused cafe dweller with a penchant for waxing poetic from four in the afternoon until dinner time (around 9).

C'est quoi cette ville, cette Paris?

As the days get longer, and as time grows shorter (especially as my leisure-time approaches zero like a limit out of hell), I think it would be appropriate to begin the reflection phase, in order to not leave everything until the day I'm leaving and the 12 hour flight home. Granted, 12 hours is a lot of time to think about something, but there are movies to watch and "sleep" to catch, so, why bother thinking?

In any case, there are only three more weeks left here in the city of lights, the city of Sartre and de Beauvoir, of the Bastille and of the Grands Boulevards. In the city of me. I mean, you never know until you start thinking about it how much you're going to miss a place, and perhaps I should take heed that I've started to feel homesick. After all, my homesickness is not so much homesickness as it is a sense of hyper-regularity and total normalcy that has become life in Paris. Weird, right, that life can become "normal" even in a city as unusual, as cutting-edge, as vivante as Paris. And ultimately the wanderlust inside of me I think has caught up with me, to such an extent that Orange County seems almost exotic (I have been away from it for forever), or at least comfortable. But the point is, when you start to feel homesick, that's a sign that you're going to miss the place your in infinately more than you know.

That in mind, I have been doing my best to go out and see the city, to see the museums and the cafes and the people and all the things that I idealized in my mind before coming here but never really got to know. Mostly, this means an attempt to find good food. Because there is no better way to experience a foreign place than through it's food, even if that food is decidedly foreign from that place itself. So, the highlights of me week thus far? Well, yesterday was pretty amazing: dinner at a classy Indian restaurant in Montmartre for 28 euro, which really is quite affordable when it includes a bottle of wine. On top of that there was this morning's "American breakfast" at Coffee parisien (a sort of a mix between everything Franglish and a New York diner)...there were pancakes, which is really all that matters. (For future reference to French people learning English: A crèpe is not a pancake, it is a crepe! We know what crepes are in America, and in England, so...you know, stop calling them pancakes!!!) So yeah, good eats. I also saw La Vie des autres (Das Leben der Anderen, The Lives of Others) avec Colleen on Friday night. That was exceedingly, uh, "cute." Shut up, cute is a totally masculine word. It was fun to watch a German movie subtitled in French though, without any English context at all. I love German, I wish I spoke it.


Right, so back to the point. It's about time I start compiling a list of the things I will miss most/the things I love most about Paris. So, with that in mind, entry number one: les courses. For the English-speaking public out there, this means grocery shopping. Granted, I didn't get to go shopping that often, since dinner is provided for me and I'm not supposed to use (read: I don't really feel comfortable using) my host mother's cookware. But what I do know is this: if I had an apartment on my own in Paris, grocery shopping would be so much more enjoyable than it would be stateside, even in New York or any other walkable city. For one people cart around their little grocery bags on wheels, or if you spend over 50 euro you can have the menial labor at the super market take your groceries to your door (supposing you live within like a reasonable walking distance). And, once you've bought the meat (that you need to cook today or else it will literally expire...no freezing will help), the milk (which on the contrary will last in your cabinet until March 2029), the flour (which is heavily sifted and very pure), and the fruits and vegetables (which you had to weigh yourself and print out your own label for...cheating? never!) at the supermarket, you then have to go out and get the carbs and fats! So, off to the boulangerie at the corner (which happens to make the best bread in Paris according to Fromer's 2006), to the patisserie next store (sorry, the former shop was not a boulanger/patissier, like so many places), and to the fromagerie for some nice Camembert to go with the pain de tradition. If you were really hardcore you actually would have bought your meat at the boucherie too, but that is a frightful place, so you stick to the supermarche. Then you can whip up a quick dinner of potage, chicken and rice (whoops, gotta get that too), cheese & bread, and finally tarte au noix de coco or some sliced fruit or that patisserie for dessert. And of course there's wine on the side, which you picked up at Nicolas a couple days ago. Life is really hard in Paris.

So yeah, if I were to do this again, I'd get my own apartment. It'd be expensive, but really it's the only way to function when so much is at your fingertips. So what will I miss first about Paris, even though I didn't get to do it that often? Les courses, plain and simple. You have to go shopping everyday, but that way you aren't oversupplied with food. It's a clever concept really. It would never sell in the US.

But that's why they are two different cultures, is it not? Alright, off to paper-writing...

Carnivale is sort of crowded...

This weekend I travelled again. It was fun, except for the fact that I was pretty much dying of sickness the night before I left. But for the 100 euros I spent on that flight, I think it was worth it. Especially since I ended up not paying much else on the trip (thanks to a few ironically opportune mishaps and some well-coordinated sneaky moves). In any case, all of it worked out well, and the experience was great, just to get out, to get a change of scenery, to see an old friend, all of that.

So, I think the best part of the weekend is hard to identify. Bologna was nice, pretty much just a college town with the normal college town characteristics: not much to do except party on weekends (which would be nice were I and later Grace not sick), lots of young people, blah blah. Except it was in Italy, so the buildings were really cool and the streets were really twisty and confusing. Then we went to Venice, which is exactly like everything they've ever shown you of it, especially like the Venetian hotel in Las Vegas (which for some reason I keep wanting to call Paris). And Carnivale (hope I spelled it right...) was going on in Venice, which mostly involved an extremely crowded train station and people dressed in masks and tons of touristy items for sale (which I would assume is the norm, but perhaps slightly increased for Carnivale). But all in all, it was a great time, a big rush around, two sick college kids, and lots of Italyness.

Um, so that was my weekend. It was really nice to see Grace again, forgot how great our conversations can be. Yeah, not going into that, but let's just say Friday night's conversation was probably the best one I've had in awhile, if not centered around one of the most taboo topics out there. Conversations are really what make life amazing. Anyway, here's to a weekend away from home, to counting down the remaining weekends, and to getting started on three weeks of overworked hell! This is Reo...good day!

Backward and forward

It's been an interesting week. I had my first weekend in Paris in three weeks or so, always refreshing to "stay home" for the weekend. And I'm really tired, with no idea why.

But, perhaps more interesting than your run-of-the-mill weekend in Paris (read: day 1 going to a bar playing YMCA and other American classics and later walking home at 1:30am because you missed the last metro, day 2 having a vegetarian dinner and partying at la Loco, and day 3 brunch in St Germain and dinner party at the Fondation until late), was the fact that I am becoming more and more American as the days go by. Let me explain.

Last quarter what tended to get me most excited (no, not like that) and most thrilled about being in Paris was the fact that every once in awhile, usually after a "plateau" period as Patrick (French prof last quarter) called it, my French would improve and I would get closer and closer to being understood. At lunch lines or at the movie theatre I'd be able to order anything without needing to repeat myself once or twice (or more). And that was great. I was feeling more and more integrated into Parisian society each time I was mistaken for a local and asked for directions or each time my American accent (which apparently was there, though I couldn't hear it) was ignored.

Lately though, after a winter vacation in Germany that vastly improved my French (don't ask how that works), I've become lazy and uninterested in improving the language any more. I have stopped becoming annoyed when someone at the boulangerie will immediately address me in English even though I spoke to them in French, and I have even gotten to the point where I asked a if a shoe saleswoman spoke English before asking to try on shoes. Quite the change, I'd say. I don't know what it is, but somehow in my mind assimilating to the Paris culture and trying to break away from my Americanness just doesn't seem as appealing. I suppose I've come to see the Parisian tendency to dress in boring neutral colors, to never make eye contact with anyone, and to gawk when someone speaks a language other than French as foolish and as a sign of low confidence. I mean, perhaps most convincing is that many Parisians themselves walk around in bright yellow coats or wearing orange dress shirts or something equally "outrageous" and just don't give a damn about the stares and the onlookers. Or they stare straight back, confronting gazes with a certain forcefulness and rancor. Perhaps they know that the onlookers are only envious.

In any case, when it comes down to the problems and the struggles in French society and the mess-ups and the wrong turns in American culture, well, let's just say at least I can get a handle on the American ones. Immigration and race issues are divisive issues in France as in the US, but at least stateside we can admit that certain racial groups are less favored than others because we can find survey data based on race. I mean, maybe it is best that all cultures be able to mix rather than carving out their own territory (the French ideal), but how can they mix if they're not even allowed to talk about their cultural identity. Likewise, maybe there are some things that the government should stay out of and leave a little open, rather than create infinitely more bureaucracy and confusion by trying to intervene. I mean, sometimes American government is the model, and for good reason, even if it is led by GW.

So how does this play out for me? Well, on the one hand I'm feeling increasingly more homesick for the ability to dress how I like and to be able to communicate readily without thinking through every word before I say it. Don't get me wrong, Paris is an amazing city, probably the most amazing I have ever known, but being here is starting to feel constratining. It's nice to know I've made progress in French, and the experience of being here has I'm sure made me like 20 times more confident and self-aware than I was before in addition to radically changing the way I see the world, but I think I've just about reached the point where enough is enough. So, I'll get through the next five weeks I assume focusing mostly on the overwhelming amount of work I have to do, and then I'll get home and revel in Americanism. But then again, perhaps this is just another plateau, one I will hopefully break through just in time to get the most out of my last few weeks in this city. Because in the end, leaving Paris is like leaving a dear friend: there's an incompleteness and a sense of detachment that will keep you trying as hard as you can to come back. Don't be surprised if one day I end up working in Paris, at least for a few years. It's just the way it goes.

Liberated in Normandy

Have you ever been somewhere and known it to be perhaps the most unhappy place you have ever seen, only to be reminded of the horrors that exist elsewhere around the world, horrors that you are too untravelled or too naive or too close-minded to have seen? It has been only a couple of months since I last went to Normandy, and going back I found it to be just as sad and heartwrenching a place as it was last time. It's not that the people there aren't happy (they are quite joyful, in fact) nor that the countryside is desolate and boring (rolling hills, dramatic cliffscapes, the most beautifully rain-nourished grass anywhere...), nor is it that anything horrible has happened there recently. Throughout it's history, though, Normandy has been at the center of the conflicts that have defined Europe, conflicts from William the Conquerer and his ride to the British Isles through almost every great war of history. Of course, worst of all was Normandy's involvement in WWII, Normandy's complete destruction by the bombings from it's "liberators" the Allies, the deaths of thousands of men on it's beaches and in it's ravaged villages.

In any case, the trip to Normandy was really quite enjoyable, but perhaps not in the normal sense of how you enjoy something. You see, I'm the type--and I'm pretty sure I'm not alone in this--who likes to experience things the way they were, to experience the horrible and the inhuman for what they were, to try to understand somehow how something so terrible could arise. I'm not talking about Hitler and the Holocaust, because that's hard enough to find in Germany let alone in Normandy, but more so about how young men can be driven so directly not only to kill and to destroy but also to criminalize and dehumanize an enemy in their minds to the extent that that killing becomes justifiable and right. I have trouble doing that in my mind, but I have to admit that if I had been told of Hitler's atrocities, I can't say that I wouldn't turn into a brutal killing machine myself (or, perhaps better, be killed 10 seconds after getting out of the boat on the beach at Omaha). Interestingly enough, the double viewing of Saving Private Ryan on our bus and the Caen Memorial and all of it were my favorite experiences in awhile because there were a few moments in there when I really felt a small hint of what it must have been like to be in that situation, to face that horror and fear and adrenaline. Then again, maybe I'm just a masochist.

Anyway, Normandy was, is, will always be amazing. It really reminds people like me, people of my generation how untouched by difficulty our lives have been. Since we were born, there has been no major threat from a Hitler or a Mussolini or any type like that, though numerous dictators have risen to power and ruthlessly killed their own countrymen just the same. The threat of nuclear warfare does not hang over our heads in the way it did during the Cold War, in the way that a major power seriously threatened to wipe out an entire landscape, though the situation with nuclear weapons has by no means become peaceful. The greatest fear we have faced is probably that of terrorism, but we do not have an enemy to focus all our rage on (despite what officials might say), we do not seriously need to adjust our lifestyle because we might go down in a plane crash...there's really nothing to do to prevent it, and if it does, oh well. I guess in the end, I feel like my generation is extremely lucky, but in some light we are also extremely unsure of what to do should something arise. Would we really recognize it, if something did come up? Would we really rise to the call, should we be called to defend abstract ideas like "Democracy" and "Liberty"? Or has the blunder of wars like Vietnam and now Iraq driven the unconditional belief in such ideas out of our heads? Would it be worth it to send all of our resources or all of our young men into a conflict, or have we reached an era and a technological advancement where that's no longer necessary? Is anything even in black and white, divided clearly between good and evil, anymore?

I don't know what that means, and I don't know if it's even necessary to reflect on it. Ideally war would just be erased from the human consciousness. But somehow I doubt that is possible. But I wonder, have we advanced further toward a lasting peacefulness, if not a denial of tensions? Or have we gone backward, unwilling to defend our core values because we no longer know how core they are? I'm not pro-war by any means, but I do sort of wonder what it means to truly believe that democracy, liberty, and hell even capitalism are the undeniably right way to live. Normands today still question the value of a a liberation that destroyed most of the historical buildings and towns of their region. Perhaps liberty isn't always the most important thing. Perhaps the outsider's judgement isn't always right. But then again, what would Europe today be like had the liberation failed? I don't want to know, that's for sure.

Gone for the weekend, be back Monday...as usual

It's been quite awhile since I've seen this thing, and like most old acquaintances and long forgotten toys it's just like it was before. Well, okay, so maybe it's not that amazing that the interface of a blog has remained the same, but still, it's still important to note that things from the past have their ways of staying the same...

Yeah, that was totally unphilosophical in every way. So, let's just get on with it. Last weekend was an amazing weekend! It's hard to look back on it now and write about it in detail, but suffice it to say that the French Alps are probably the most amazing of places on earth. I mean, for one you have snow, two there's amazingly fulfilling food that's perfect for the cold (mostly composed of cheese and vin chaud), and three, well, it's the Alps! I mean, c'mon. Yeah, so needless to say, Stanford (unofficial) trip to the Alps was sort of like a ski trip back home, except it took nine hours in a cramped bus to get there (though a TGV exists) and it was in Europe, so infinitely better than Tahoe, which in itself is infinitely better than the mountains in SoCal (Big Bear, what???). Yeah, so amidst days skiing on semi-icy slopes (talk about a bad place to be a true beginner), nights cooking and eating the most amazing group meals on record, and late nights either drinking in house or (over) drinking at the "welcome drink" provided free by our host company...well, let's just say it was a whirlwind of craziness.

So yeah, now I'm currently packing to go to Normandy, for which we will depart, on our Bing trip, in an hour. I've been to every single place we're going to before, so I'm not looking forward to seeing much in the way of new stuff, but still...the food and the people and all that should make it. And, I mean, Normandy is probably the best part of France so what's there to lose? And there's always Calvados and cidre and sandwiches americains to get me by. Like the Alps, Normandy has mastered one thing and mastered it well: unhealthy food.

So, I hope everyone stateside is having as exciting a time as I am here, but I am inclined to believe that that is not the case. Nonetheless, enjoy your homework and midterms and frat parties and all that, and think of me exploring the Alps, or Normandy, or in two weeks Bologna. Yeah, why isn't travel this easy in the US? In California, I should say. That would be ideal. Right, en tout cas, bon week-end! A toute!

Ramble ramble ramble, with a side of b.s.

Hi. No really, hi. What? Is something on my face? Is there something between my teeth? Seriously, what is it?!?!

Hehe, now I have your attention. Maybe. Anyway, it's been quite an eventful week. I guess really quite an eventful weekend, not so much an eventful week, per se. Where did we leave off? I think it was around Tuesday of last week when I last wrote something, so just to get up to speed, I spent Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday procrastinating, just like before. I'm really bad at the whole, uh, getting work done before it's due thing. But I mean, c'mon, it's the start of the quarter. I can't really be blamed, can I? And I did finish a map sort of thing on Thursday, so, I didn't procrastinate the whole time.

Nonetheless, come Sunday I was quite on top of things, if only because I had to be. I basically locked myself in my room and forced myself to write, even if it meant lying in bed under the covers practically in a sleeping position. I still got it done. I ate meals that came in plastic containers (Chinese take out) and cardboard boxes (microwave dinner), which was fun. I went running for an hour, which was refreshing. But you know, that's how things go. Sometimes you have to lock yourself up like the hunchback in his bell tower, hide your face from the world...but only to be more productive of course.

So I finished that. I then had the Monday of all Monday's, with a marathon health policy class that covered nothing but medical terms--irrelevant to all but the two future doctors in the class. That was fun... It was followed, 7 hours later (I didn't go home, but instead worked on proofreading my paper and wasting time, along with a bout of ski-clothes shopping) by my EU class, which was good times. It's so depressing though to have class start just after the sun rises and to go home after the sun sets. That is not how life should be. Sun is important, you know? Otherwise, I dunno, you could go crazy.

Right, so, now I'm at work, "researching" environmental policy in the US, mostly just waiting until my boss comes in so I can show him the outline I came up with. Life is so entertaining. Anyway, looking forward to going skiing this weekend, in the Alps (check item number 437 off my things to do in my life list). So yeah, should be a good weekend, even if it turns out to be quite the sleep-deprived experience. Here we go again!

Musings of a Procrastinator

So, Paris is amazing. Too amazing, really. It prevents me from doing work, it makes me feel great even when I'm locked in my room trying to finish a 15 page (NOT 30 page thank you very much!) paper. Why do I have a 15 page (NOT 30 page...) paper to finish, you may ask? Well, to put it quite bluntly, and, well, if I were to really tell the truth, precisely because of the sole and undeniable reason that, in actuality, and being completely honest, I was, um, in a sense lazy last quarter too, in a certain sense of the word.

So now I am still procrastinating. I think rather than work on my paper and rather than actually accomplish anything else tonight, I'm going to watch another episode of the 4400 season 2 (once you start watching, it's hard to think of anything else). Needless to say, I'm having a hell of a time this quarter! Being completely unproductive :). Anyway, that is all. Nothing else really new to report. Life in Paris becomes life as usual at some point, just like anywhere else. Reo, out.

P.S. That building that's always under construction on my walk to school (see picture below) is now done! The scaffolding was removed sometime between 9 AM and 7 PM today. It's a miracle! I think this is the sign of good things to come.

-- Transmission terminated --

Ich bin Französisch

Alright, so, here I am, sitting back in "my" bedroom (which is actually my hostess's son's former room) in Paris, trying to reflect on the month that has just ended with my return to this city. In some ways I'm somewhat sad to come back, and in many others I'm excited as ever!

Anyway, I'll try to give a brief rundown just to impress you with my travel skills (skillz). I suppose it all started one cloudy day back in December, the 10th to be exact, when a tired mother of mine and I made our way to Charles de Gaulle Airport, not to fly, but to pick up our one-month rental car. From there, we set out, bravely and exhaustedly. Destination: Germany. Nay, Deutscheland. But first, to Strasbourg we went!

And from Strasbourg we left (but not without catching the famous Marche de Noel/Chriskindelmarkt that city had to offer, and getting a slight taste that left me wanting to go back). Jolly good times!

Then, we continued on our merry way to the glorious city of Munich (with its equally glorious/upsetting memories in my mind - remember my camera? yeah...) There we spent a few days with the wonderfully accomodating Munn family (Jim Munn and my mother were old work chums) and toured the city a little (though I already knew it well enough). That was quite fun, but right now it was a long time in the past. Oh, but good Italian food!

Next, we made our way up the Rhine to Frankfurt, well, to Neu-Isenberg, where we spent a few days with my mother's Uncle Ernst and his wife. Much fun again, considering Frankfurt is quite an amazing city. Then, we had a whirlwind of family meetings as we went to the Giessen area, about 60 km north of Frankfurt, site of my mother's past in Germany (she grew up in Giessen, my grandparents in some of the outlying towns). Everybody was there, and there were so many people who were all so excited to meet me! And I couldn't say a word to them! Hehe, but alas, all was fun, and now I can know who my mom is talking about (or at least have a face come to mind) when she talks about family members.

Then, we went to see my mom's childhood friend Harold and his wife, Ilena. They were fun, and slept in late which was great for me! Harold is also quite the successful architect, and needless to say he showed me a lot buildings and told a lot of the history of Braunshweig, the university town where they live. Harold and Ilena also took me to Berlin for my b-day (oh yeah, I turned 21, I forgot), and that was, you know, great. I mean, what can compare to Berlin, you know?

Anyway, after that, and after having being virtually unable to speak and follow conversations except through the occassional translations from my mom for about a month, the mother and I went to someplace where neither one of us could speak the local language: Athens! We spent the new year there, celebrating midnight before most of Europe and of course before the U.S., and saw a ton of old buildings and columns and such. And, we had amazing food, because everybody knows Greek food is glorious!

Then, we went back to the Frankfurt/Giessen area, met about 50 more new relatives (including my mom's aunt Heidi and uncle Heini), and two days later drove back Paris-ward. Now, after a 6 hour drive (which was actually quite pleasant) and a relatively light headache from navigating Paris by car, and after a dinner in a nice restaurant in Gobelins which had a menu for 14.50 euro (I almost died! And it tasted amazing!), I am back here, immediately on the internet, and about to pass out from exhaustion. Anyway, hope everyone is having a great 2007! I look forward to hearing from you soon (now that I'm back in internet contact...I'm tied to this thing, this "computer," like a drug). Tscheuss!

Photodocumentationisme 2: le chemin

Alors, voila mon chemin a l'ecole (accents omitted). Yeah, my walk to school. It's exciting, somewhat, and boring, mostly. But anyway, this is what it's like to live life as a student in Paris, supposing you live a 10 minute walk away from your school (and it is more efficient for you to walk to school than to take the metro). It's a pretty exciting journey, that took me about 2 weeks to get down to a science, but now I can practically walk it blindfolded. It can be annoying when it's raining, and I'm often tempted to take the metro in that case, but then I realise that's just dumb. Besides, rain in Paris is much more beautiful than rain anywhere else. And, of course, romantic.

Anyway, shall we start the walk. First off, here is me getting ready for school ("they grow up so fast"). Notice how attentively I am watching my computer shut down. It doesn't like to shut down. It's weird. Ooo, and also notice my sexy coat (with totally UNsexy buttons that fall off every 2 days...well, not anymore, since I triple reinforced them, but still).

Alright, so then, I go down the stairs one floor (I took a picture of the stairwell, but it didn't turn out very well), and am out on rue St-Jean-Baptiste de la Salle (yes, long name, not-so-long street). Regardez:Yay European cars! Hehe, notice how cute they are. And how they have grown by like 2.5 square cm in length (according to le Monde, that's the case with the 2007 Smart car). Ok, moving on, next we turn left onto rue du Cherche-Midi (below),Fun billboard, rue du Cherche-Midi

which we take one block to rue Jean Ferrandi: There's another sign on the other side that says that Jean Ferrandi was an "homme politique et conseil general du 6eme," and something about the military. Uninteresting I'm sure. Wikipedia him if you're interested. Anyway, more of his rue:

The building that's been under construction forever (always a complicated obstacle to navigate)

The G20 supermarket at the end of the street.

Alright, so that brings us to rue de Vaugirard, home of a Holiday Inn and a private high school, neither of which I decided to feature here (though I do have pictures of those). In any case, here's the crazy intersection of like 5 different streets at the end of Vaugirard (maybe he's the military one, I don't remember). Almost there!

Traffic!

From here, cross behind that bar on the right of the photo, straight across, past the metro station, and there's rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs, famed home of I.S.E.P., Stanford in Paris' host institution:

I.S.E.P. building, and children crossing sign. Yeah, they're the same as the ones in the U.S., basically.

Now there are some stairs to climb (unless you're just going to class, which is on the 2nd [3rd U.S.-style] floor). In any case, once you've climbed the seemingly endless way to the 6th/7th U.S. floor, you arrive in the beautiful, Mac-infested Stanford Center:

Aren't they pretty :)?

Right, so, there are infinitely more pictures than this, but it takes like 20 minutes to load each set of 5, so, don't think that's happening. Anyway, this concludes the second part of my Photodocumentationisme feature (btw, that's a made-up word, but I think it totally could exist). And, I think, that'll be the update for this week. For now. Maybe later I'll talk about Jess & Julia's visit and our amazing night at le Queen (is there any other type of night there?) We'll see. Anyway, off to correcting my paper. Good night!

Photodocumentationisme

Alors, I know you're all amazingly interested in knowing about my daily life in more ways than my written accounts, so I thought, why not do a photo journal? Well, actually, I just got a new camera that I'm exceedingly excited about (say that ten times fast)! Anyway, let's start it off with, the most interesting and telling part of my life here in Paris:

MY ROOM!

(Yay!)

Alright, so, first off, my favorite photo in the selection, is the one of my desk.
Mayve you can't see very much very clearly in this reduced sized image, but there are plenty of interesting and telling things on this desk. For example: the full water glass, the empty water bottle (for travel), the endless stacks of books and papers, the picture in the left corner of someone special (hehe), the iTunes open on my computer screen. Yeah. Interesting, right? Maybe not. Ok, moving on then.

My bed:
Sexy right? I was just reading in it, that's why things look a little ruffled. Otherwise they'd be more normal. Notice the sexy lighting, the wall paintings (not my own...my host brother's), and the way it's shoved in a corner (the coldest corner in the house, I swear). I love it.

Next: the dresser!
Yeah, not much. But my entire very sexy wardrobe is in there, so, you know, don't overlook it.

And finally:
The bookshelf I use for miscellaneous items, such as laundry, medications, and whatever. The shirt on the hanger there is drying after being heavily sprayed with Febreeze after being heavily sweated in during my run this morning. Let's not talk about that. But notice all my ties. They are my pride and joy. Really. I love ties. I wish I could wear them more, but I just look out of place if I do. Maybe I will tomorrow though, for no reason. Probably not.

And finally, some pictures of me. Because you know you want to stare into my beautiful eyes. Hehe. Mostly, I just took some really good pictures testing this camera (there are more, but, I thought I should limit myself). And voila:

"C'est quoi, alors?"

"L'écran mystifiant"

Yep. So, that's about it. Now you've seen into the secret, private life that is my personal space. Maybe you saw some dark secret deep in my soul, maybe not....But look, I updated on a Wednesday! For no reason besides procrastinating. Ok, more to come, I hope. Coming soon: the walk to school, the neighborhood, and the Marais! Maybe.

The Everyday, on the other side of the world

So, um, a sort of revolution has happened on Blogger. I don't know if you've been paying attention, but blogger has decided to go over to blogger beta, which in turn means you have to log in with your gmail name, which in turn means...you guessed it! Blogger pages all show up in FRENCH!!! Well, for me anyway. It's interesting, and sort of confusing. I don't know what to do with myself.

So, it's been a good weekend. A good week, I guess. I finished my paper, which is about the biggest accomplishment in about six months for me. It may not sound like much, but considering that I started writing it over three weeks ago and only finished it on Friday, well, let's just say I haven't taken that long to write a paper in ever. Naturally, that accomplishment required a little bit of celebration and a lot-a-bit of reflection on why I am so unproductive. Maybe I should have gone to Oxford, just to have to write something every week. I'm thoroughly convinced that my academism has left. Maybe it's junioritis. You remember that from high school right? The one they never told you about, that came at the most inconvenient time in your h.s. career, and left just in time for senioritis to take it's toll. Yeah, I think I have that. I'm afraid of the quarters ahead.

Anyway, after finishing my paper, I figured it was time to celebrate, to reward myself a little. Everyone else was working on a paper or project or studying for a final or something though, so a night out was not really in the picture. As a result, I spent Friday night relaxing and reading a little bit of David Sedaris, just to get a chance to reflect on my own experiences in Paris. The sad thing is, most of the experiences he describes in Me Talk Pretty One Day are very stark reminders of how banal and quotidien most of the experiences I've been having are. I mean, mine have been interspersed with the occasional crazy night out at The Queen, or the random picnic on the Seine followed the next day by mass at Notre Dame, or watching the fireworks launching behind Sacre Coeur from the base of Montmartre...but still, most of my experience in Paris is about boring things. Avoiding dog shit on my walk from the apartment to the class room, pondering the translation of "Ne mets pas tes mains sur les portes, tu risques de te faire pincer tres fort" as "Keep hands away from door," or hearing the annoyingly high-pitched cry of a passing ambulance, followed immediately by three police cars and their equally high-pitched sirens.

I mean, I guess that's what it comes down to in the end, or am I wrong? I mean, when you really come to love a place, to take it in as a part of you, is it not the minor things that remind you of it. The distinctive scent of the sea that reminds me of Orange County, or the gentle breeze knocking a few brown leaves off of tree-lined boulevards to remind me of Stanford. When a place becomes a part of you, you start to see other places in terms of it. And I have no doubt that when I return, I'll go searching (in earnest, most likely) for the things that remind me of Paris. The Camembert (which is apparently impossible to find in the same quality stateside), the 85 cent baguette (yeah, try finding that at Safeway), the (seriously) familiar scent of dog crap wafting up from the sidewalk (ALERT! Dog poo approaching. Look down!). The day-to-day, the familiar, these are the things I'll remember. I guess that's better.

Which brings me to the distinctly familiar and completely American celebration known as Thanksgiving. French people just don't understand Americans, and I'm pretty sure the confusion goes both ways (myself included). I had an amazing Thanksgiving dinner yesterday (yes, Saturday and NOT Thursday...forgive me oh holy lord of American holidays) with an alumnus of Stanford, his wife, their amazing friends, and a Wellesley student (who was, like myself, randomly invited by the wife, who is of course a Wellesley alumna). That was amazing! Gave me a taste of, I suppose, what Thanksgiving is going to be like once I'm out of college and I or a friend or whoever is preparing the turkey, in the company of numerous friends and gratuitous servings of alcoholic beverages. Essentially, I haven't drinken so much since the summer, but it was paced over an amazing 7-hour celebration, so it was fine. And the food was, well, of course, glorious! Anyway, in the end it made me a little homesick as I realized that I haven't had Thanksgiving at home in over two years, and, well, no stuffing is ever as good as the one your grandma makes. Admit it. I did.

So now I arrive at today, a day spent walking around Paris, counting stores and cars for my "Paris by Numbers" course with Nikki. It was fun, got to see the 19th and 20th, which, while admittedly sketchy compared to the rest of Paris, offer a great deal of low-priced goods and Asian foodstuffs...making them a college student's Paridise! I vow to return at some point. And, I guess I can say I feel accomplished, since I got all of that done, and have begun reading and reflecting on the paper I will eventually (meaning, in like a month or 2) have to turn in for my independent study. After my last experience, it's always good to start early.

Alright, so that's about it. In other news, I've secured an internship working for an architectural research group (I have no idea what that means) next quarter, and my horoscope yesterday told me to go out and buy a new article of clothing (I didn't take it up on its suggestion). Also, Paris is most beautiful when the sun comes out after the rain and a chilling breeze blows through the alleyways.

Anyway, I'm off to bed so I can get up early and go running in the Jardin du Luxembourg, another one of those day-to-day's I'll take home for me (as begin the quest for every possible gravel-covered path I can find on Stanford campus - seriously, gravel is amazing, especially when it soaks up all the rain). I hope everyone else is getting as much excitement from the uninteresting and boring things in their day-to-day routine. And, in conclusion, "Happy Belated Thanksgiving," to quote Ms. Hill.

En ravanche, la vie est belle...

Perhaps you don't understand what that means, but just use babelfish or some other translator, it should get it right on. Or, mostly right on.

Anyway, right now I am blogging instead of working on a paper of which I have written four of "8-10" pages. It's in French, so maybe cut me a little slack? Tomorrow will be my paper writing day. As today was, as Saturday was, as last Wednesday was, as last weekend was...yeah. Call it writer's block. Call it creative difference. I see myself as enjoying Paris, Stanford sees me as getting an education. Blah. I suppose, in the end, it's worth it. Really, I know exactly what the problem with this paper is: it is that I have not had enough time to think about and twiddle at my topic, so now it is far far far too broad and complex to tackle in an 8-10 page version. I suggest, to myself, limiting the debate a little. But I fear it is too late to turn back, seeing as I have already written 4 or 5 pages or so. Whatever.

But why am I talking about a paper when there is so much more that is infinitely more interesting happening in my life?!?!? For example, Chris, Kasey and Jocelyn came to visit this weekend!!! It was so amazing to see them, to recollect days gone by, to find friends who I've known for two years already. Time really flies. It was fun, I hope. Hehe, if you guys are reading this, I hope you enjoyed your time here! Remember how amazing Paris is, and how transformative it has been for me, hehe. The thing that I learned, though, is that I miss old me. I miss the me I was becoming on campus, the me whose development was suddenly interrupted by my shipping myself off to Paris. I suppose it's a good thing, and I know everyone back home will accept the new me just as they accepted the old me (after all, the old me is probably the weirder of the two). It was just interesting to have these external eyes look upon me, and to realize, through their gaze and their observation, that I have changed, just as they have, just as everyone has. It is missing that change that tugs the hardest. But in all honesty, I am most excited to go back and to find everyone in their new states and their new places, and to be young again for a minute, and to bring back to life Californian me. For in reality he's in here somewhere, he's just on standby for a second while Parisian me takes over, if only to not seem out of place.

But yes, the visit was a great time. I think my favorite part was picnicking along the Seine, and having these friends with whom I sort of still noticed the awkward looks, but with whom a part of me didn't care about what Parisians thought (besides, their looks really are looks of envy and not of judgment). And then, Gracimone, my illustrious ex-wife, is now in town. Tonight we saw Borat: [insert exceedingly long subtitle here]. It was, um, interesting. This may irk some people, but I don't think I really liked it, looking back. It was interesting to watch with an audience of Frenchmen, and it was an interesting expose on some of America, mostly parts of it of which I am not proud, like the rodeo man who judges all people with a certain 'look' to be terrorists, and the frat boys (yeah, that suffices). Overall I suppose the point though is to show what is really out there. And I think it's frankly hilarious that some of these people are suing the producers over their portrayal in the film. I mean, that's you, deal with it, you know? Whatever. I still love the U.S.A., but mostly parts of it that were not featured in that film.

All in all, though, it's just not my type of movie. I'm not much in to comedies of all types, and when a film just tries to push the limit of what it can do that's below the belt, well, it doesn't impress me. I see why it's funny and why it's popular, I just don't like it. Not because I'm offended, and not because I don't think this is true - mostly because I don't like that sort of comedy. But, that's just the type of person I am. I like depressing, tear-jearking movies. They're more cathartic for me.

Alright, so, perhaps I should consider working on my paper. I'm going to be up for awhile more anyway, after my 3 hour nap this afternoon. Most important thing I've learned this weekend, however: I LOVE PARIS!!!!! I wouldn't want to have studied anywhere else, in all honesty.

Learning to speak French...in Spain!

Yeah, so, went to Barcelona this weekend. Big trip of the quarter, I suppose (well, big student organized trip of the quarter). Nine of us went, so, you know, quite a big deal. Hehe, it was a ton of fun, I just sort of wish I had had more time and, perhaps, more money. Money for food and museums, especially...both of which were amazing (except for the disappointing-ness of "spicy" sausage and "spicy" potatoes, which were the European definition of spicy...meaning no tat all).

So, as usual, I'm just going to write about what comes to my head. I think the best parts of going to Barcelona was, ironically, the way it helped my language. Let me explain (obviously): as many of you (if not all of you) know, Barcelona is part of the Catalonia region of Spain, which has it's own language - Catalan. And, as per Catalonia's proximity to France, the language is actually pretty close to French, except, like, if you spoke it with a Spanish pronunciation and added a bunch of x's in the place of 'ch'. Anyway, it was sort of fun to read signs and to attempt to sound like I can speak Spanish and/or Catalan, which failed miserably. But, most exciting, was being forced to use English, and to not understand the majority of what was being said and/or done.

You see, in Paris - in France, really - I can understand almost anything, and my language is pretty much at a level where I can handle virtually any situation and provide an answer to almost any question. Unless it's in slang, or l'argot, in which case - well, yeah. But, in Barcelona, there were a great number of tourists. Probably the largest proportion were English speakers, with heavy weight going to the Brits (including English, Irish, Scottish and Welsh), followed closely by French speakers. What was interesting, then, was to see French tourists, and the ways they were thrown into situations in Barcelona. In many cases it became easier to speak French to get an order or a question understood at a restaurant or store, because of all the French tourists. But nonetheless, the most important thing is that it really led me to realize and to understand the everyday - that is, vernacular - quality that defines French. I guess what going to Barcelona and seeing all of the French tourists communicating in their native tongue really did for me was to force me to see that French is more than an academic subject to be studied and practiced vigorously, but that it is a language that a specific group of people in this world feels most comfortable communicating in - that it is a method of communication.

So, Barcelona was amazing. Tons of new memories (always the best part of trips) - "fashion shoots" in the Parc Gaudi and the metro, hiking to our castle-of-a-hostel at the top of the hill, clubs (that are all free and have on entry point) on the top floor of a mall on the site of the old port, the Gaudi Cathedral, etc, etc, and so on...But I think the most important part of this trip was that it took getting out of France, after having been here for so long, to understand how the French language is now more than a subject of study for me, but it is a tool of communication. I'm hoping that means my French skills will get better. We'll see.

Now, I think I'm going to go to bed and try to sleep off this little bit of post-travel illness that I fear is coming on. Ciao!