Hello, all!
It's time again. I'm back to blogging, for now anyway. I have so many things on my mind and I need to share.
So here I am again.
The thing about the hours between midnight and dawn is that I am never sure if it is morning or night. It is still nighttime, but the day approaches quickly-- especially when you are awake without a purpose, or are suffering from a sense of impending doom
(the things the day brings are not always welcome).
It's quiet, too much so if your mind is racing and you can't force yourself to relax. When your mind is brimming with thoughts and lists of
things to do
things not yet done
mistakes
corrections
and misguided attempts at motivation.
The night is when I spend the most time thinking
(foolishly so because thinking strangles sleeping)
(and I am hopeless without sleep)
but the thoughts are good and sometimes inspiring and sometimes clarifying.
But it is lonely at night. The knowledge that everybody else is sleeping or off in their own mental world makes me feel lonely and isolated. At night I find myself in measures of extremes: the overly emotional girl that is brimming with love and happiness, or the girl that feels profoundly lonely. Frantically working or slowly drifting into unconsciousness. Company in the form of pixelated words on a too-bright screen, eyes straining; the light from outside through my blinds, covering my eyes to sleep.
As the evening wears on, sometimes I find myself thinking of happier things-- realizing, alone in my room, that maybe
just maybe
I am so much more than I give myself credit for.
(But sometimes I am much, much less.)
It is those moments, though,
(where I recognize that I am spectacular in ways I don't even acknowledge)
(that sounds so egotistical written out like that)
that I realize that these late nights
or mornings
are perhaps the best time because they are the most challenging.
It is in these hours that I am most critical and most emotional; where I allow myself to think about more than just mundane life for a while (before I'm sucked back into worrystressworrystressworrystressexhaustion).
I think it's time to sleep.
Aly
Showing posts with label observations. Show all posts
Showing posts with label observations. Show all posts
Saturday, February 9, 2013
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Downtown Tuesday
Hello, all!
Today ended up being a pretty fantastic day. The weather was more-or-less perfect, but in contrast to yesterday's rain and gloom, it felt like a perfect transitional day. A bit of rain, a lot of sun... a good day for walking, which is lucky because I ended up doing a lot of that.
So, my friend Alec had an assignment to do for his anthropology class. He had to go observe people and write down his observations in order to write a two page paper (I'm not sure the point exactly but people-watching is fun), so we decided to walk downtown. That's about a mile or so to walk, up and down hills of course but not an unpleasant walk when the weather is nice and you have nothing better to do with an afternoon.
Watching people in Downtown Asheville is strange. It's not quite a big enough city for there to be the distracted-and-serious business people, and it's not quite bustling, but there's enough activity to make it interesting. It's relaxed downtown, and nobody seems in any particular rush to do anything or go anywhere. But like any other downtown area, all the people walk by, oblivious of their surroundings and so focused on their own thoughts and their own lives that they don't seem to notice the rustle of the leaves in the trees, the cool fall breeze that seems out of place in September but makes the day the perfect temperature.
It always strikes me when people watching, how lonely everybody seems. All these people, lost in their own thoughts, moving on autopilot... how interesting it would be to step into their mind for a second and see if they are even living fully. Even here in Asheville, the people walk by like robots, smiling to themselves and generally uninterested in anything outside of their own minds. I can't blame them for it, since I have days like that too, but it's just interesting to note the stark contrast between the lively community of the drum circle downtown on Friday nights with the sleepy monotony and loneliness of a Tuesday afternoon.
A demain!
-Aly
Today ended up being a pretty fantastic day. The weather was more-or-less perfect, but in contrast to yesterday's rain and gloom, it felt like a perfect transitional day. A bit of rain, a lot of sun... a good day for walking, which is lucky because I ended up doing a lot of that.
So, my friend Alec had an assignment to do for his anthropology class. He had to go observe people and write down his observations in order to write a two page paper (I'm not sure the point exactly but people-watching is fun), so we decided to walk downtown. That's about a mile or so to walk, up and down hills of course but not an unpleasant walk when the weather is nice and you have nothing better to do with an afternoon.
Watching people in Downtown Asheville is strange. It's not quite a big enough city for there to be the distracted-and-serious business people, and it's not quite bustling, but there's enough activity to make it interesting. It's relaxed downtown, and nobody seems in any particular rush to do anything or go anywhere. But like any other downtown area, all the people walk by, oblivious of their surroundings and so focused on their own thoughts and their own lives that they don't seem to notice the rustle of the leaves in the trees, the cool fall breeze that seems out of place in September but makes the day the perfect temperature.
It always strikes me when people watching, how lonely everybody seems. All these people, lost in their own thoughts, moving on autopilot... how interesting it would be to step into their mind for a second and see if they are even living fully. Even here in Asheville, the people walk by like robots, smiling to themselves and generally uninterested in anything outside of their own minds. I can't blame them for it, since I have days like that too, but it's just interesting to note the stark contrast between the lively community of the drum circle downtown on Friday nights with the sleepy monotony and loneliness of a Tuesday afternoon.
A demain!
-Aly
Monday, September 5, 2011
Lacking Words
Hello, all!
Lacking words to describe today, or any deep revelations to share, I leave you with a few scattered thoughts.
This weekend felt like summer, prolonged.
Repetition of familiar trails isn't always bad; the familiarity is comforting.
Sometimes the best quotes are the ones that are embarrassing.
Moments between friends when seen by an almost-stranger are incredibly awkward.
It's hard to explain some things and still sound sane.
Goodnight!
A demain.
-Aly
Lacking words to describe today, or any deep revelations to share, I leave you with a few scattered thoughts.
This weekend felt like summer, prolonged.
Repetition of familiar trails isn't always bad; the familiarity is comforting.
Sometimes the best quotes are the ones that are embarrassing.
Moments between friends when seen by an almost-stranger are incredibly awkward.
It's hard to explain some things and still sound sane.
Goodnight!
A demain.
-Aly
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Return to Middle School
Hello!
So, this morning, a group of seniors from the two local high schools headed over to a middle school in the area to talk to the eighth graders about the "high school experience" and such.
And can I just say... four years is quite a long time. Four years since I sat in one of those rooms hearing very similar stuff to the things I said today. So much has changed since then, and all of it for the better.
I'm not sure about you, but my middle school experience was NOT the most pleasant. My eighth grade year sucked, mostly due to separation from my then-best-friends. High school, though, has been amazing. I mean, not like AMAZING, but it's been pretty dang good so far as I'm concerned. There have been bad parts and mistakes and the like, but seriously... nothing that made the entire experience awful.
Seeing my old middle school teachers reminds me how quickly time passes, and how quickly you can forget people. They all seemed to remember me, which surprised me. How memorable can each class of students be to these teachers? After so many years of teaching, how is it that some students-- or potentially all?-- can stay in their memories?
If they don't remember everybody, then I feel honored. I was significant enough to them to be remembered years after I have left the confines of their classrooms, and even though it's only middle school, that feels kind of important. It does to me now, anyway, thinking about how much different I am now than I was back then. I'm sure it's a curious sensation for the teachers to see the tiny little tweens they knew change suddenly into teenagers, ones that are adults so far as most places are concerned. How bizarre it must be for them to look at us, these vaguely familiar faces of years past and partially forgotten, blurred together into maybe decades of teaching. How strange it must be to look into the faces that hold echoes of children you knew once and realize you no longer know them.
What runs through their minds then?
Who is this person? This child no longer? What do they DO? What's different? Are they the same deep down?
Back then, I thought that everything I did MATTERED. The grades I got all through middle school MEANT something to me, and I measured myself against my academic success. I was terrible at sports (I tried out for the track team once... I ran a personal best at the time, 10 minute mile or something terrible), and... well, I was painfully socially awkward. I thought it was important that I had won the school spelling bee (it was a joke, but still, I thought it mattered), and that I was in the first violin section in the orchestra.
Who am I now, in comparison to that?
I mean, now I know that nothing I did back then really mattered *that* much, because once you leave middle school, nobody cares about how stellar of a student you were in middle school. I don't measure myself by grades now. I do, to an extent, but I know better-- that's not all there is to me. I'm decent at sports, and I love cross-country (I used to hate running, if you couldn't tell-- and my PR is quite a bit faster than 10!). I have awesome friends, and I seem to be finding more friends everywhere these days. And orchestra... well, I gave up on that one a long time ago, but I am not musically inclined. It doesn't bother me, though.
It's forcing me to think, though. Does that middle school me exist somewhere, still?
(I mean, other than preserved in the pages of myspace.)
Am I still the horribly awkward girl that sat at the front of classrooms, always ready to raise my hand when comfortable, or the girl that shrunk to the back of the class to be forgotten when confused? Am I still the girl that was a burden to her friends, exiled from lunch tables overandoverandover again for silly reasons that I didn't even understand then? Still a girl worth insulting? The one picked last for teams, last for projects, shoved into the corner when better options abound?
Because honestly... I don't think so. I hope not, anyway. Parts of that girl still exist-- I mean, I'm still quite awkward, but at this point, it's no longer the "awkward stage" of not knowing who I was, who I wanted to be, and what everybody expected of me.
And I am very glad not to be that girl anymore.
At the same time, I'm quite fascinated by who I was then. That's why I haven't deleted the myspace that I probably should delete-- it holds her, the Aly of what feels like so long ago. The one that saw the world in black and white; the innocent girl that believed that everybody was kind and that even the people that treated her poorly were still good; the one that believed in absurd crushes and impossibilities. The one that believed in so much without question. That is the me I want to remember from back then.
Years from now, what will I want to remember from NOW? Will I laugh at myself for thinking I understood myself? Do I even understand myself now?
That's it I guess. Middle school was awful, High school's been pretty great... but it's ending and I'm ridiculously excited to move on.
Happy February 1st!
-Aly
So, this morning, a group of seniors from the two local high schools headed over to a middle school in the area to talk to the eighth graders about the "high school experience" and such.
And can I just say... four years is quite a long time. Four years since I sat in one of those rooms hearing very similar stuff to the things I said today. So much has changed since then, and all of it for the better.
I'm not sure about you, but my middle school experience was NOT the most pleasant. My eighth grade year sucked, mostly due to separation from my then-best-friends. High school, though, has been amazing. I mean, not like AMAZING, but it's been pretty dang good so far as I'm concerned. There have been bad parts and mistakes and the like, but seriously... nothing that made the entire experience awful.
Seeing my old middle school teachers reminds me how quickly time passes, and how quickly you can forget people. They all seemed to remember me, which surprised me. How memorable can each class of students be to these teachers? After so many years of teaching, how is it that some students-- or potentially all?-- can stay in their memories?
If they don't remember everybody, then I feel honored. I was significant enough to them to be remembered years after I have left the confines of their classrooms, and even though it's only middle school, that feels kind of important. It does to me now, anyway, thinking about how much different I am now than I was back then. I'm sure it's a curious sensation for the teachers to see the tiny little tweens they knew change suddenly into teenagers, ones that are adults so far as most places are concerned. How bizarre it must be for them to look at us, these vaguely familiar faces of years past and partially forgotten, blurred together into maybe decades of teaching. How strange it must be to look into the faces that hold echoes of children you knew once and realize you no longer know them.
What runs through their minds then?
Who is this person? This child no longer? What do they DO? What's different? Are they the same deep down?
Back then, I thought that everything I did MATTERED. The grades I got all through middle school MEANT something to me, and I measured myself against my academic success. I was terrible at sports (I tried out for the track team once... I ran a personal best at the time, 10 minute mile or something terrible), and... well, I was painfully socially awkward. I thought it was important that I had won the school spelling bee (it was a joke, but still, I thought it mattered), and that I was in the first violin section in the orchestra.
Who am I now, in comparison to that?
I mean, now I know that nothing I did back then really mattered *that* much, because once you leave middle school, nobody cares about how stellar of a student you were in middle school. I don't measure myself by grades now. I do, to an extent, but I know better-- that's not all there is to me. I'm decent at sports, and I love cross-country (I used to hate running, if you couldn't tell-- and my PR is quite a bit faster than 10!). I have awesome friends, and I seem to be finding more friends everywhere these days. And orchestra... well, I gave up on that one a long time ago, but I am not musically inclined. It doesn't bother me, though.
It's forcing me to think, though. Does that middle school me exist somewhere, still?
(I mean, other than preserved in the pages of myspace.)
Am I still the horribly awkward girl that sat at the front of classrooms, always ready to raise my hand when comfortable, or the girl that shrunk to the back of the class to be forgotten when confused? Am I still the girl that was a burden to her friends, exiled from lunch tables overandoverandover again for silly reasons that I didn't even understand then? Still a girl worth insulting? The one picked last for teams, last for projects, shoved into the corner when better options abound?
Because honestly... I don't think so. I hope not, anyway. Parts of that girl still exist-- I mean, I'm still quite awkward, but at this point, it's no longer the "awkward stage" of not knowing who I was, who I wanted to be, and what everybody expected of me.
And I am very glad not to be that girl anymore.
At the same time, I'm quite fascinated by who I was then. That's why I haven't deleted the myspace that I probably should delete-- it holds her, the Aly of what feels like so long ago. The one that saw the world in black and white; the innocent girl that believed that everybody was kind and that even the people that treated her poorly were still good; the one that believed in absurd crushes and impossibilities. The one that believed in so much without question. That is the me I want to remember from back then.
Years from now, what will I want to remember from NOW? Will I laugh at myself for thinking I understood myself? Do I even understand myself now?
That's it I guess. Middle school was awful, High school's been pretty great... but it's ending and I'm ridiculously excited to move on.
Happy February 1st!
-Aly
Friday, September 10, 2010
The Samaritan
HELLO!
I didn't intend to blog again today, but of course, sometimes you have to just go with it.
This afternoon after cross-country practice, Molly, Margaret, Katherine, and I dashed off to Margaret's house to meet up with their youth pastor and John (who is in our grade, though I'm not particularly close to him), and Will ended up going as well.
We got to Samaritan Ministries later than planned, but soon, we were working, serving food to the men that would come in. We would cheerfully say "hi!" as they came in, pausing momentarily in our tasks to flash smiles.
After all the work was done, we retreated to the common room, where some played cards while others talked or watched a football game on TV. Margaret was speaking in Spanish to a man that works as a construction worker; I couldn't understand every detail of their conversation, but I understood enough that I knew what was going on. It must be comforting for him to have the opportunity to speak to somebody in such an environment, and talk about his life and topics beyond this town.
Anyway, at 10, there was a devotion. Usually I shy away from discussing religion on this blog, but I am going to address it now, because that devotion was the best I have ever seen. It was inspiring in a way I had never seen, and being in that room, filled with these people, attention centered on this one man, who is the director of the Samaritan, was really interesting. I couldn't help but realize how BADLY some people need to have a God in their lives. They need the guidance and comfort of somebody watching over them, the idea of the good that is coming in their lives. Pulling through a dark time defines these people, and as they continue to struggle, the message of a god that is looking out for them is necessary.
Tonight, two men were saved at the Samaritan. One man had been drunk, and was contemplating suicide. Steve talked to him, and told him to stay here for the night. Later that night, another man was choking; the man from earlier in the day performed the Heimlich. The irony-- the one that had been saved, continuing on to save another man. They spoke of the purpose in each of their lives, guided by God. A reason to live. Having faith and religion gives them that reason, no matter what the difficulties in their lives.
I respect that, and it is interesting to see the ways that religion impacts people's lives. Though I am not religious, and have moved beyond the point where I can truly understand it, I find this reminder of the "truly faithful" to be a good reminder of the good that is the origin of some religious ideals.
Anyhow, I just wanted to share that. I'm glad I had the opportunity to see that, and though my personal beliefs will not likely change because of it, I did appreciate seeing the good in Christianity again. The reason religion exists is because people need God. Not everybody does, and the gods may come in different forms, but in order for some people to find purpose in their life, they need to have this idea of god.
That is all. Time to finish packing! WILMINGTON SOON! :D
Until Monday! (seriously this time)
-Aly
I didn't intend to blog again today, but of course, sometimes you have to just go with it.
This afternoon after cross-country practice, Molly, Margaret, Katherine, and I dashed off to Margaret's house to meet up with their youth pastor and John (who is in our grade, though I'm not particularly close to him), and Will ended up going as well.
We got to Samaritan Ministries later than planned, but soon, we were working, serving food to the men that would come in. We would cheerfully say "hi!" as they came in, pausing momentarily in our tasks to flash smiles.
After all the work was done, we retreated to the common room, where some played cards while others talked or watched a football game on TV. Margaret was speaking in Spanish to a man that works as a construction worker; I couldn't understand every detail of their conversation, but I understood enough that I knew what was going on. It must be comforting for him to have the opportunity to speak to somebody in such an environment, and talk about his life and topics beyond this town.
Anyway, at 10, there was a devotion. Usually I shy away from discussing religion on this blog, but I am going to address it now, because that devotion was the best I have ever seen. It was inspiring in a way I had never seen, and being in that room, filled with these people, attention centered on this one man, who is the director of the Samaritan, was really interesting. I couldn't help but realize how BADLY some people need to have a God in their lives. They need the guidance and comfort of somebody watching over them, the idea of the good that is coming in their lives. Pulling through a dark time defines these people, and as they continue to struggle, the message of a god that is looking out for them is necessary.
Tonight, two men were saved at the Samaritan. One man had been drunk, and was contemplating suicide. Steve talked to him, and told him to stay here for the night. Later that night, another man was choking; the man from earlier in the day performed the Heimlich. The irony-- the one that had been saved, continuing on to save another man. They spoke of the purpose in each of their lives, guided by God. A reason to live. Having faith and religion gives them that reason, no matter what the difficulties in their lives.
I respect that, and it is interesting to see the ways that religion impacts people's lives. Though I am not religious, and have moved beyond the point where I can truly understand it, I find this reminder of the "truly faithful" to be a good reminder of the good that is the origin of some religious ideals.
Anyhow, I just wanted to share that. I'm glad I had the opportunity to see that, and though my personal beliefs will not likely change because of it, I did appreciate seeing the good in Christianity again. The reason religion exists is because people need God. Not everybody does, and the gods may come in different forms, but in order for some people to find purpose in their life, they need to have this idea of god.
That is all. Time to finish packing! WILMINGTON SOON! :D
Until Monday! (seriously this time)
-Aly
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
HUMMUS!
SALUT!
I was going to write in French but then I realized that I have something besides the daily workings of my life to discuss, so I will postpone le français for another day.
(Side note: did you realize how much of my last post RHYMED?! Completely unintentional. My brain just works like that sometimes.)
Today, Molly and I were discussing bisous, as in the French air-kisses. The premise of the conversation was the question about whether or not it would be possible for bisous to be introduced to American society, similar to how I introduced our affinity for hugs to my circle of French friends.
We both have been to Europe and experienced that style of greeting, and neither of us mind it very much. I would even go so far as to say that we like it, and I kind of miss that as part of my daily interaction with friends. Bisous add a different level to friendship, even though they are used so casually in countries like France. ALMOST casually, but not quite. Like how we give out hugs so easily, but it expresses more than just waving. It adds a physical-but-not-sexual level to the relationship that cannot really be expressed in another way. What if Americans accepted bisous as another level of interaction with friends? Would it work?
This brings us to sociology, which is basically the study of culture, and that means its impact on our lives and developement. Sociology, and our culture, affects every aspect of our lives, even if we don't notice it. Our social development and status are based on sociology. The immediate perceptions and definition of our very SELF is rooted in sociology, and the expectations that our society places upon us as individuals, as members of a greater group.
In European society, bisous are accepted and welcomed. It has become part of the definition of who they are. Molly and I agreed, that we didn't think that bisous could be accepted within American society, because the interaction is not a societal norm. Changing such a thing would be next to impossible, as anybody experiencing that kind of interaction for the first time would be incredibly confused about the reason.
That got me thinking about how different the culture of a particular area forces you to act in a certain way. I do miss the way I had to act in France, but only in the sense that I feel like I'm losing that feeling of it being "normal", when here, it is extraordinarily strange. It makes me think back to freshman year (or was it earlier? later?) when some teacher (I think it was my seminar World History teacher, who is a legend) brought up the idea about how much DIFFERENT your life would be if you were born in a different time, or a different place. What would you be like? What would the social norms be? What would you wish for in your time or place, or what would you consider to be ridiculous?
Just thinking.
-Aly
P.S. I'm such a humanities nerd.
I was going to write in French but then I realized that I have something besides the daily workings of my life to discuss, so I will postpone le français for another day.
(Side note: did you realize how much of my last post RHYMED?! Completely unintentional. My brain just works like that sometimes.)
Today, Molly and I were discussing bisous, as in the French air-kisses. The premise of the conversation was the question about whether or not it would be possible for bisous to be introduced to American society, similar to how I introduced our affinity for hugs to my circle of French friends.
We both have been to Europe and experienced that style of greeting, and neither of us mind it very much. I would even go so far as to say that we like it, and I kind of miss that as part of my daily interaction with friends. Bisous add a different level to friendship, even though they are used so casually in countries like France. ALMOST casually, but not quite. Like how we give out hugs so easily, but it expresses more than just waving. It adds a physical-but-not-sexual level to the relationship that cannot really be expressed in another way. What if Americans accepted bisous as another level of interaction with friends? Would it work?
This brings us to sociology, which is basically the study of culture, and that means its impact on our lives and developement. Sociology, and our culture, affects every aspect of our lives, even if we don't notice it. Our social development and status are based on sociology. The immediate perceptions and definition of our very SELF is rooted in sociology, and the expectations that our society places upon us as individuals, as members of a greater group.
In European society, bisous are accepted and welcomed. It has become part of the definition of who they are. Molly and I agreed, that we didn't think that bisous could be accepted within American society, because the interaction is not a societal norm. Changing such a thing would be next to impossible, as anybody experiencing that kind of interaction for the first time would be incredibly confused about the reason.
That got me thinking about how different the culture of a particular area forces you to act in a certain way. I do miss the way I had to act in France, but only in the sense that I feel like I'm losing that feeling of it being "normal", when here, it is extraordinarily strange. It makes me think back to freshman year (or was it earlier? later?) when some teacher (I think it was my seminar World History teacher, who is a legend) brought up the idea about how much DIFFERENT your life would be if you were born in a different time, or a different place. What would you be like? What would the social norms be? What would you wish for in your time or place, or what would you consider to be ridiculous?
Just thinking.
-Aly
P.S. I'm such a humanities nerd.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
It's the Americans
Hello!
I am perfectly aware that I haven't posted about Carnaval yet. You can't blame me! I want to do it justice, and by doing it justice, I am including so many details that you should be able to FEEL the excitement pouncing on you from France. Though the 717 pictures to choose from certainly don't hurt. So, WHEN I post it, it will be MASSIVELY LONG and probably take you hours to read. But you don't mind, right?!
This is another one of those real-time blog updates! As usual, I'm posting this about the time that I need to rant about my life here.
As a pretext for this, let me explain that the past two weeks have been rough. We didn't have internet here for a chunk of last week, and I'm an internet junkie (and so is Nathalie), so things here were frustrating. Beyond that, I haven't really done anything with any of my friends here for awhile.
Thus begins the rant.
If you don't know, I'm a very huggy person. I'm one of those annoying people that will hug you for longer than you're used to, and I may even attempt to hug you so hard that you can't breathe. My friends at home are used to this, and happen to be the same way. Even better, I'm so close with them that I can literally lean on them whenever I want (or need) to. Although "hug-training" has gone well (largely thanks to the fact that my friend Nolwenn is a similar huggy-person), I still slip into my normal, hug-addict self with the friends I've become closer to. Unfortunately, I sometimes get the always-fun reaction of people being kind of rude about it-- pushing me away, shrugging me off, or just generally spazzing out. It shouldn't upset me, but it does a little. I become embarrassed, I feel silly, and I feel snubbed. It's just not fun.
That brings me to my second point. I never wanted to see 8th grade again, because I had the worst experience with friends in 8th grade (though I came out of it well enough, with some wonderful friends that I love dearly). I've said before that I love the Frenchies, and they DO prove themselves to be awesome, but it's still not quite THERE. It's not quite there to the point that they make plans in front of me and don't include me in them.
I'd like to pretend that it's because they think I don't understand them, but let's be honest... I've been here for 3 months. It's apparently not rude to invite yourself along (whatwhatwhat?) but I AM SO SOCIALLY AWKWARD and I have warning bells in my head telling me that is a bad idea.
Worse, I don't have the guts to say something when I'm not happy. I don't want to offend somebody (maybe it's normal to only hang out with your family? Uhm, all the time?), or maybe they think I'm doing something (ha!), but it wouldn't hurt to ASK, right? I mean, generally, if you want somebody to be there, don't you just ASK THEM ALONG? Because not being invited me along makes me feel like I couldn't matter less. I'm good for laughs (make me say cuss words in French! it's hilarious! *sarcasm*), but I'm starting to feel like I'm just the "school friend" of too many people.
(I'm still trying though! I AM STILL TRYING. I AM NOT GIVING UP. I'm working on making plans for this weekend, and a few of the more-wonderful Frenchies seem to have picked up on my mood-- Nolwenn, my fellow hug-addict, made a subtle point of giving me bajillions of hugs yesterday. I was feeling particularly glum and I REALLY needed some good hugs. Once school was over, I told Camille about the fact that I was tired of spending so much time alone and can we PLEASE PLEASE plan something for as soon as possible-- and now plans are in the works for this weekend. As well as a few other unexpected-by-still-awesome people picking up on my need for social interaction... it'll be okay.)
That wasn't truly a rant. I guess those are both things you should know (besides the fact that sometimes, I miss home so hard that I want to cry; that's not particularly new, either).
You may not know this, but I've never considered myself to be outstandingly patriotic. I'm an optimist, sure (though I guess you couldn't tell sometimes by the tone of these posts...), but I know that we have a LOT of problems to sort out. Big problems, and less important ones, but problems none-the-less, and so many that I hesitate to claim pride in the country I call home, but haven't felt that GREAT about being a citizen of the US. I have loved France so long-- idealized it; the superior education system, the relaxed attitude about a multitude of things, and of course, the language.
Since being here, I'm still as in love with France as ever (and the language). I wasn't right about all these things (in some of my experiences), but yet... France has something going for it. These people (all of them that I have met)... they ALL seem to love their country. I can't really explain it, but their entire attitude (during the Winter Olympics, for football [the soccer kind], the fact that they all know the national anthem by heart...) just tells me that they are so PROUD to be French. It makes me want to be proud of my country.
But, you guys, it's really hard to be proud of your country when you're in a foreign country where you hear a TEACHER insulting your country to your face while your classmates stare at you. It's really hard to smile and laugh it off, when you're thinking that you don't want to be American if it means being all these horrible things, when you feel the eyes on you and these people you want to like you judging you based on the fact that you happen to be from the US, and you're probably one of the few Americans they've met. It really sucks to be American when you realize that yes, some of the things they say are true, and that maybe-just-possibly-they-believe-these-things-are-true-of-YOU.
This isn't to say the French hate us; in fact, they seem to like us well enough (but they loooove Obama in general, as well as American pop culture)... but some of them seem to blame us for everything wrong in the world. And it is really quite awful to be the subject of such a sentiment. I leave History far too often, after learning something I already know, and hearing yet-another insult about my country, feeling worn down and in desperate need of a hug. I laugh it off, and joke about it, but I still feel the sting of the insult.
Is it too much to ask to be proud of my country? Just once, can't we do something that isn't going to bring about world destruction, or isn't supporting something awful? Is it impossible to recognize that we are NOT THE ONLY country to blame for some international problems (such as Climate Change... did you realize that we are the only country in the world that pollutes?! THE ONLY ONE, YOU GUYS. *more sarcasm*), and that there are worthwhile things that come out of the United States? That maybe we aren't all religious-driven, brain-washing bullies with a twisted mind bent on making everybody else just like us?
I want to be proud to be an American. I know we have problems; but we aren't the only ones. I just don't want to be judged on the stereotypes and mistakes of my country. So, yes, Frenchies, I am an American.
Rant over!
In other news, I have to actually participate in school now. We're starting real Physics in Physique, and it is SO MUCH MORE COMPLICATED HERE. I didn't think that it could make less sense than it did before, but somehow they manage with the simplest concepts of Physics (force diagram! how is that DIFFERENT here?). I've been having to do French tests; my French teacher was surprised to discover that I can write in French, and I think his new goal is to make me write in French verb tenses I don't know as often as possible. I hope it'll work; I'll let you know. I had an English test today-- it was the easiest test ever, and I kind of loved it. Other than the fact that I don't know what the heck a "preterit" is or "irregular verbs" in English (wait, we HAVE those?!?!). I mean, I know the verbs, I just don't know the funky specifics like that-- I've never learned English like this.
Okay, that's all for now!
Hope you guys are doing well, enjoying life, and such!
-Aly
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Honesty
Hello!
If I'm going to be completely and utterly honest here (I am), I haven't been working on the posts from last month. I do have things to share-- little anecdotes of my first weeks of school and life here, my day of awesome with Dad in the mountains, interesting things I've learned-- but I really haven't been working that hard on drafting the posts that will include such things.
For one thing, yes, I am busy. I do have quite a bit of time off, but I fill the time living (this includes time on the computer, because that's part of daily life); I may not always be using my time productively, but as with life everywhere else, life here has its "ups and downs."
Yesterday was definitely one of those days, and I have struggled with similar sentiments periodically since Dad left and throughout the course of this past week. It makes me uncomfortable to admit this, but sometimes I just want to pack up and go home. In those moments, it seems like it would be the easiest solution, but I know (as do you) that it is not. If I come to you in those moments, rant in hand and asking for an internet-hug and tell you that I want to give up, kindly send the hug, listen to the rant, and slap some sense into me.
It's easy to forget when you are alone in a place you're not fully comfortable with that you are there for a purpose, and you aren't as alone as you would like to believe. I have this problem a lot-- sometimes, I am paralyzed and tormented by the thought that I don't really have somebody here that I can completely, effortlessly confide in. I struggle with the separation from people I now realize have been like security blankets: whose company I seek out at any moment when I have a chance, who make me a better person and keep me smiling. This is normal, and I didn't realize it would be quite like that. That's the nature of the thing, though, and recognizing that I have to be my own person is vital.
That isn't to say that I don't have friends here. People I will push away sometimes, or seek out; these friendships are still in the beginning stages where I still don't know that much about each individual, but I consider to be friends all the same. The language barrier is a problem; I can't always understand everything they're talking about, or the context of the conversation. I can't always reply and I am, in fact, quite socially awkward, so placed in a situation where I would have to come up with a topic of discussion where I can actively contribute and is interesting for all participants is something I need to work on. I do want to get to know them better, but I fall short of actually accomplishing this.
What I often forget, though, is that the friends I have here may be experiencing the same thing-- the awkward getting-to-know-you stage where you may not know quite what to say. Just like anywhere else, it's impossible to believe that somebody else will make the effort if you, yourself, do not. The people I count as friends appear to honestly want to be my friend (even if I don't see them all the time)-- people like Corentin and Nadia, who take the same bus as me, Laure, Jean-Paul, both Charlottes, Insaf... and more (listing all the names isn't a good idea, because that's confusing). They are, as previously mentioned, quite patient with my slow French, which is still scattered with English phrases.
Much to my amusement, some of my English phrases have been adopted. It makes me smile to hear them say "Fail"; today on the bus, Corentin said "epic fail", and pronounced it "epique faiiil." Such things make me giggle and want to hug whoever said the phrase because (let's face it), their accents make English words sound ridiculously cute. Similarly, it seems my accent makes some things sound cute to them, too-- I was reading Harry Potter (en français... n'inquiete pas!) very quietly and Insaf informed me of that while Jean-Paul nodded.
I have vacation starting Saturday; lots of French people go skiing, but as far as I know, I'll be in Fréjus for the duration of the break. I will be taking the initiative and trying to make plans with some friends; maybe some exploring is in order, of places I haven't been, such as Marseilles.
I didn't expect for there to be issues within the host family; I didn't expect this, but I try to take it in stride. I'm not new to handling a similar situation, but I feel as though it's not my place to interfere. I tread the line between stranger and family, and as a visitor, I don't want to stir the waters. My issues here ("chez moi", because this is my "home" here, no matter that I still refer to AEU as "home") stem from handling a younger brother that is 11 years old. HE IS ELEVEN, you guys. Eleven-- and I'm seventeen; this doesn't make for peace, as I am residing in his room-- in "his" house-- taking up space he finds familiar and comforting in the same way that I find my space AEU familiar and comforting. Beyond that, the two of us have communication problems as well; he is full of energy and the desire to play that is expected from young boys. I won't hesitate to tell you that sometimes I do not like the kid at all, but I recognize that he is a KID and the problems I have with him are expected and even normal for a younger "sibling".
I'd also mention, that like every time I travel, being here has inspired in me a desire to write and create. I can't face my novel, but I guess nothing will happen to it if I don't sit down and read it. I can't just shrug off my moments of inspiration and my desire to write stories; they won't be written if I don't write them, and it's been too long since I've made any effort to write stories. I want to get back that. If anything, like this blog, it is an exercise in expression and practice for true writing (I do still dream of being an author).
I know this wasn't particularly interesting, but there you have it. Life continues.
♥,
-Aly
If I'm going to be completely and utterly honest here (I am), I haven't been working on the posts from last month. I do have things to share-- little anecdotes of my first weeks of school and life here, my day of awesome with Dad in the mountains, interesting things I've learned-- but I really haven't been working that hard on drafting the posts that will include such things.
For one thing, yes, I am busy. I do have quite a bit of time off, but I fill the time living (this includes time on the computer, because that's part of daily life); I may not always be using my time productively, but as with life everywhere else, life here has its "ups and downs."
Yesterday was definitely one of those days, and I have struggled with similar sentiments periodically since Dad left and throughout the course of this past week. It makes me uncomfortable to admit this, but sometimes I just want to pack up and go home. In those moments, it seems like it would be the easiest solution, but I know (as do you) that it is not. If I come to you in those moments, rant in hand and asking for an internet-hug and tell you that I want to give up, kindly send the hug, listen to the rant, and slap some sense into me.
It's easy to forget when you are alone in a place you're not fully comfortable with that you are there for a purpose, and you aren't as alone as you would like to believe. I have this problem a lot-- sometimes, I am paralyzed and tormented by the thought that I don't really have somebody here that I can completely, effortlessly confide in. I struggle with the separation from people I now realize have been like security blankets: whose company I seek out at any moment when I have a chance, who make me a better person and keep me smiling. This is normal, and I didn't realize it would be quite like that. That's the nature of the thing, though, and recognizing that I have to be my own person is vital.
That isn't to say that I don't have friends here. People I will push away sometimes, or seek out; these friendships are still in the beginning stages where I still don't know that much about each individual, but I consider to be friends all the same. The language barrier is a problem; I can't always understand everything they're talking about, or the context of the conversation. I can't always reply and I am, in fact, quite socially awkward, so placed in a situation where I would have to come up with a topic of discussion where I can actively contribute and is interesting for all participants is something I need to work on. I do want to get to know them better, but I fall short of actually accomplishing this.
What I often forget, though, is that the friends I have here may be experiencing the same thing-- the awkward getting-to-know-you stage where you may not know quite what to say. Just like anywhere else, it's impossible to believe that somebody else will make the effort if you, yourself, do not. The people I count as friends appear to honestly want to be my friend (even if I don't see them all the time)-- people like Corentin and Nadia, who take the same bus as me, Laure, Jean-Paul, both Charlottes, Insaf... and more (listing all the names isn't a good idea, because that's confusing). They are, as previously mentioned, quite patient with my slow French, which is still scattered with English phrases.
Much to my amusement, some of my English phrases have been adopted. It makes me smile to hear them say "Fail"; today on the bus, Corentin said "epic fail", and pronounced it "epique faiiil." Such things make me giggle and want to hug whoever said the phrase because (let's face it), their accents make English words sound ridiculously cute. Similarly, it seems my accent makes some things sound cute to them, too-- I was reading Harry Potter (en français... n'inquiete pas!) very quietly and Insaf informed me of that while Jean-Paul nodded.
I have vacation starting Saturday; lots of French people go skiing, but as far as I know, I'll be in Fréjus for the duration of the break. I will be taking the initiative and trying to make plans with some friends; maybe some exploring is in order, of places I haven't been, such as Marseilles.
I didn't expect for there to be issues within the host family; I didn't expect this, but I try to take it in stride. I'm not new to handling a similar situation, but I feel as though it's not my place to interfere. I tread the line between stranger and family, and as a visitor, I don't want to stir the waters. My issues here ("chez moi", because this is my "home" here, no matter that I still refer to AEU as "home") stem from handling a younger brother that is 11 years old. HE IS ELEVEN, you guys. Eleven-- and I'm seventeen; this doesn't make for peace, as I am residing in his room-- in "his" house-- taking up space he finds familiar and comforting in the same way that I find my space AEU familiar and comforting. Beyond that, the two of us have communication problems as well; he is full of energy and the desire to play that is expected from young boys. I won't hesitate to tell you that sometimes I do not like the kid at all, but I recognize that he is a KID and the problems I have with him are expected and even normal for a younger "sibling".
I'd also mention, that like every time I travel, being here has inspired in me a desire to write and create. I can't face my novel, but I guess nothing will happen to it if I don't sit down and read it. I can't just shrug off my moments of inspiration and my desire to write stories; they won't be written if I don't write them, and it's been too long since I've made any effort to write stories. I want to get back that. If anything, like this blog, it is an exercise in expression and practice for true writing (I do still dream of being an author).
I know this wasn't particularly interesting, but there you have it. Life continues.
♥,
-Aly
Monday, January 11, 2010
Day Nine: “This is strange…”
Dec. 31, 2009
Bonsoir! (because it’s currently 6:15pm here.)
We’re going back quite a while now, because we’re finally reaching the END OF DECEMBER.
So, the first thing we did on (errr… *has to check what day of the week that was*…) THURSDAY! was go to Carrefour to shop for school supplies.
Since we hadn’t actually gone to a grocery store (I use this term loosely, since Carrefour is really a supermarché) in France before to actually BUY things, we were all “well, this is strange…”
“This is strange…”
- Pillows- So, you know how pillows are usually rectangular? I’m talking about the pillow that you sleep on every night; I’m willing to bet that it’s rectangular, right? Well, not here! Europeans have SQUARE pillows. They’re a bit bigger than our pillows, I guess, but they’re square, which just seems incredibly strange. I mean, in a world of small spaces (cars, apartments, etc.), there are these huge square pillows. (Insert “this is strange…”)
- Shopping Carts- The first thing you do when you enter a store to go grocery shopping is take a cart.You leave it to the workers to haul the shopping carts from the pens into the store, and you expect that there will always be shopping carts or baskets right inside the door for your convenience. In France, this is not the case (as we discovered after we got inside and realized we would like a cart). The carts are in pens outside the door, but they’re all chained together. The locks holding the carts together have slots on them to put money in; once you pay, you can take the cart. (We found out later that it’s a token-type thing and not actual money, though I suppose you have to pay for the token? Not sure how that works.) When you return the cart, you lock it back into the other carts and you get your money/token/thingy back.
- Fruit- In American grocery stores, fruit is nicely labeled how much for a pound (or a bag, or whatever… since I only ever buy fattie club foods, I’m not exactly certain xD). At the cash register, the cashier weighs your fruit, and you pay for it. Here, you weigh your own fruit… actually, there’s this guy who has a little stand in the fruit section. He just stands there, really… until somebody comes up with their bag of fruit, which they place on the scales (there’s four). He prints off a sticker that says how much your bag of fruit costs, and sticks it on the bag; after, you are free to continue your shopping. [I wonder what it says in his job description… must be good with stickers; VERY STRENUOUS work environment? xD I think I would’ve enjoyed that job, once upon a time.]
- Grocery Bags- Personally, I think this is good, and we should have expected it; especially with our philosophy on plastic bags. In France, they don’t HAVE plastic (or paper) grocery bags at supermarkets. You can’t just go to the checkout and shove all your purchases in a conveniently-located bag to take it home in. You have to bring your own bag (which is some variety of cloth), and you load it yourself, and you’d better be quick about it, too! (We learned this the hard way, when I had to shove everything into my purse and Dad had to carry a stack of things that were too big for my purse out to the car.)
While we were at Carrefour (not the supermarket, but the centre commercial that is attached), we decided we needed lunch (before we actually bought anything); seeing a sign outside a small “sandwicherie” (everything seems to be [word]-erie here, but that’s just a gross generalization) advertising “THE AMERICAN”, we decided to try it.
“The American” was supposed to be a sandwich with cheese and some sort of “American” sauce… being Barbeque sauce. We thought it would be, y’know… barbeque, like pulled pork or chicken or something.
When it arrived it looked something like this:
So “The American” sandwich, as perceived by the French:
Onions (underneath the cheese), “Hamburger Cheese” because they refuse to call it American cheese (I discovered this later), hamburger patties (cut in half so that they fit on the baguette), a little bit of lettuce, fries, ketchup, and barbeque sauce… all on a baguette. Although we are Americans, we ate the fries first. Maybe the French people could eat the American like it (apparently) should be, frites and all. Because seriously, I’m fairly certain I’ve never laughed that much at a sandwich before.
ANYWAY, after our shopping adventure, we headed over to Fréjus-Centre to explore more, since the last time we explored downtown, we only saw the Cathedral.
This time we saw the Roman Arena and wandered around downtown; even though stores near the beach are closed, centreville was still fascinating.
Unfortunately, the arena is being restored or renovated or something of the sort so we couldn’t actually go inside. :(
[Uhh, there would be pictures here but I can’t seem to find them on my computer. Help me out here, Dad!]
(Conclusion: more trips to Fréjus will be necessary in the future. Or to France. As if I didn’t think that would be necessary before.)
I love how modern businesses operate under ancient roofs (fine, the roofs probably aren’t ancient, but the buildings are! ESPECIALLY in comparison to the US!). You can walk down these tiny cobblestone streets that probably haven’t changed much since they were laid, but you can see cars and people in modern clothing walking around as though they don’t know they’re walking on FREAKING history! :O
*nerd moment*
Seriously, though. Walking on history.
(Uhh, I forgot to mention; there seems to be “gangs of girls” here. There are these girls here that walk around in what look like gangs; all scowling, wearing look-alike outfits in all black, and just generally looking intimidating. I think Dad was frightened by them; then again, I was a bit scared intimidated, too!)
Andddd that concludes Day Nine, because I think I’ll shove dinner that night with the Roquis into Day Ten, even though it technically wasn’t. Sorry for the picture-less post! I’ll add pictures once I find ‘em! :)
Hope you’re having a great Monday!
-Aly
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Day Eight: Not Nice
30 Dec. 2009
I really need to figure out a more interesting way to start these posts. So, for right now…
Salut! (“Hi”)
After yesterday’s touring of places close to my new home, Dad and I decided that we needed to go explore further away. So we woke up early and lazed around until we decided that we’d try breakfast at the hotel. That was strange; this hotel is kind of small, and they only serve breakfast to a set number of people, so they don’t really have extras for anybody. It’s not free, either; and beyond that, it’s just a French breakfast.
Our hotel in Fréjus
At home, we’ll have cereal, pancakes, waffles, eggs, or basically anything (cookie cake… Chick-Fil-A), for breakfast; here, breakfast is bread. I don’t mean toast-bread, either; a chunk of baguette, a croissant, and a cup of café or fruit juice. This is served with butter and jam of some sort (prune, apricot, cherry, strawberry…), so by my standards, it wasn’t particularly filling. Oink. [I think that the bread thing is standard, but I maintain the right to correct myself later on :)]
After we brushed all the bread crumbs off ourselves, we set off to Nice via la bord de la mer, because the thought of a French highway is very frightening, and we’d rather take the long route… seemed less confusing.
Nice is about 75 km (about 46 miles) from Fréjus when travelling along the coast, as we did. The trip is only supposed to take an hour and some, but for us, it took two hours… and some because we kept stopping to take pictures. We can’t really help ourselves; there were so many beautiful sights.
Even though it was a cloudy day, there were still areas of the coast where the water was this beautiful shade of azure (this being the Côte d’Azur, after all).
We got lost along the way, and ended up in a town called Antibes, where we had AMAAAAAZING egg rolls. Nearly perfect, by Dad’s standards! So we bought more to eat later (and share with the Chassons).
We saw Cannes and Nice, but I have to admit, neither of us was that interested in either place. They are both very commercial, but we took pictures for the heck of it anyway. xD
Nice is a nice town, but we feel as though we missed the point of it (for the first thirty-or-maybe-more minutes we were there). Everybody says (not just Madame Marks) that “Nice is nice”, but I’m a bit confused. Nice (the city) is not that nice. The coast is prettier, honestly, and (maybe this is because we never found the office de tourisme?) it didn’t seem to have anything to do except go shopping. It had a lovely Christmas village filled with plastic fake-snow covered trees… with a huge sunny Ferris Wheel! xD (We found this quite humorous, but you may think we’re crazy.)
So, Dad and I were not that amused by Nice. This may or may not have to do with the fact that we don’t like (nor are we good at) shopping. We would both rather be exploring some interesting bit of coast or the mountains than wander around overly-crowded streets looking at shops. Especially shops where we can’t afford anything because the exchange rate is killer.
However, we were very amused when we somehow wandered (in the car) to the edge of town and saw one of the signs saying that you are no longer in so-or-such town/village/city. We read it as “Not (Name of Town/Village/City)”, so it was “Not Nice”. Not nice. hehe. We were going to take a picture of the sign but we forgot soooo… here’s a picture of a Not-City sign for Antibes.
The exclamation point sign! Still not sure exactly what this means, but it comes in the yellow-orange/red variety and normal black/white/red variety. It makes me smile, though. I kinda want one.
Finally, we made our way back to Fréjus. We should have paid more attention though (we can just say it isn’t well-marked. Always blame the signs! ALWAYS!), so we wandered in circles in some random edge-of-some-town for a very long time, eventually making our way to another road… that was not the road we came in on.
We followed this nearly completely randomly-chosen road up into the Alps, without realizing what we were doing. Soon, the roads were twisting and winding, up and down mountains. It was dark by then; the trees surrounding the roads made the potentially-very-scary slopes near the edge of the road even more ominous, especially since guardrails were very rare.
We continued down this road until we figured out where we were (actually, that “we” was “me”, because I tend to figure such things out! xD) and discovered that we were just taking the scenic-route-which-wasn’t-so-scenic-but-was-much-more-confusing. Did you get that? I kinda lost my train of though somewhere in the middle of that not-a-word. (I must stop hyphenating. BAD.)
Finally, we called Nathalie to tell her that we would be a bit late for dinner because we needed to stop at the hotel to pick up my laptop so we could test if the internet would work at their house.
Dinner was pizza—Margherita (spelling? Uhh. I don’t know.) pizza is not the same here! It involves olives (YUM!) and not tomatoes (ew.)! Oh, and the delicious eggrolls from lunch.
[The internet took foreverrrrr to set up. But it works now and we don’t have to restart it every time, so that’s good.]
So, that was a nice day, and Dad and I are such tourists!
-Aly
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Day Seven: “Boring like the Musée”
29 Dec. 2009
Bonjour!
[Still currently Day Eleven, but once again… :D you should be an expert at pretending it’s the actual day now. Does it help when I include the day I was *actually* supposed to post this?]
This morning, Dad and I woke up at 8:something, and began a quest for a boulangerie/patisserie for breakfast. We wandered through Port Fréjus, looking at all the sailboats and (few) yachts.
Nathalie and Olivier came to pick Dad and I up at the hotel at 10:30 so we could go pick up our rental car. Like every other car in France, it’s a stick shift… which Dad hasn’t driven in a while, so combined with the insanity of French driving, I didn’t ride with him immediately.
Olivier rode with Dad to remind him how to drive (not sure how that went, as Olivier doesn’t speak much English) and show him the way to Carrefour, which is like Wal-mart but Carrefour has a centre commercial attached (kinda like a mini-mall with a huge Wal-mart stuck on). They were just showing us around so we would know where to find all my school supplies.
After we finished up at Carrefour, we drove to the Chasson’s apartment to eat lunch and pick up Quentin. They had me try a lichi (not sure about the spelling), which I did NOT like (I’m fairly certain it’s some sort of citrus? It’s this tiny little bumpy pink fruit, the center is white), so of course Dad and Olivier thought it would be funny to take a picture of me tasting a lichi.
We all piled into the Chasson’s car and drove up to Fréjus-Centre (downtown Fréjus), where we popped into the Office de Tourisme to pick up maps before walking up to the main square. The main square is based around a Cathedral, which is right next to what is now the mayor’s office.
The nativity scene at the cathedral; those are santons that are about 2 feet tall.
And then we had dinner (late, like 9 or 10) and discussed boring things like school, while watching French television, which is sometimes quite funny. :)
(Honestly, that’s what we did in the abbreviated form; I’m getting tired right now so I’m going to bed. Sorry for lack of elaboration!)
-Aly
Day Six: Gare
28 Dec. 2009
Hello!
I promise that I’ll get caught up with my posting and fill you in on all the details of my overly-busy life! If you want to know all the mundane details, that is… and I assure you, I have plenty of those to share.
So, until I catch up (today is Day Eight Eleven), except posts like Day four/five; just PRETEND I posted this on time! ;)
D’abord (first of all), I’d like to say that le matin was not very interesting. Our NaviGo passes (for the bus and metro in Paris) had expired the day before, so our only form of transportation was our feet!
Dad had discovered that there was a Roman arena near our hotel in Paris, so after we had breakfast (some pastry; I didn’t like it), we walked until we found it. That was pretty cool; something so old (older than Notre Dame de Paris, I think), right in the middle of the city (MORE OR LESS; Paris is a very large city.) It was kind of like the “beautiful ruins” I told you about before, except these weren't exactly ruins and they were incredibly old… I would still say they are “forgotten”, though. There weren’t any tourists (except for us, of course) standing around admiring it.
A few locals were wandering around; there was a small playground behind the arena, and small families with young children were there. It was otherwise empty, which I guess is a good thing because for once in Paris, we weren’t two of the hundreds of people. The emptiness allows you to imagine the arena not surrounded by buildings and instead, filled with throngs of people watching some sort of likely-inhumane entertainment. xD
Anyway, we continued walking past le Jardin des Plants, which apparently has a menagerie. Unexpectedly, looking through the the bars of the fence surrounding the park, trying to catch sight of les animaux is quite time-consuming.
We took pictures of some of them:
(uhhh… just kidding. You can’t really see the REALLY CUTE ANIMAL in it. Silly animals, walking around being cute where we couldn’t get a good picture of them…)
Eventually, we found a way into the actual Jardin! (I think. Again with the not knowing what something or other is.)
Once we had made our way out of that small portion of the Jardin, we returned to the hotel to pick up our bags and walked awkwardly (it’s impossible to NOT walk like an ape when you’re hauling far too many things) to the bus. Soon after, we had arrived at Gare de Lyon, where our train was arriving an hour and some later.
Quick side note: When’s the last time you took a train? Not a subway/metro/underground/etc., but an actual TRAIN?
The only time I’ve ever taken trains has been in Europe, and if you never have… you should experience it sometime. The confusion, chaos, and everything… it’s quite fun and you don’t have to go through security like at airports! You don’t even have to arrive an hour early! (Thirty minutes will do just fine, if you can figure out the signs, that is.)
Right. So, after a longgggg wait, during which we ate gaufres (waffles!) for lunch, the platform was finally displayed on the screen (they only show a color, for which area of the train station a certain train will be in until the train actually arrives) and we struggled through the crowd to the near the front of the train (which is the farthest away, naturally), and found our car.
Our train was actually two trains connected together, near where I’m standing.
When we found our seats (after dumping our excessively huge bags on the storage racks), we discovered that they were taken! Luckily, the guy sitting there spoke English so we could communicate the mistake. Trains are confusing like that; there are multiple cars with the same seat numbers, and sometimes, like with our train, there are two different trains and you have to pay attention to know which one you SHOULD be on. xD
Finally, we started moving; through the beautiful French countryside, heading to Nice. There wasn’t internet on the train, but they had outlets, so I wrote the Day Four blog while on the train, which took up most of the ride when I wasn’t staring dreamily out the window, listening to music on my iPod (Owl City, probably; I’m only a little obsessed), or watching Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince :)
The entire ride, Dad was trying to get a picture of the trains that would pass us. It was rather funny; he’d reach across me, holding his camera near the window, just waiting for another train and then jumping when one passed before finally trying to take the picture. He mostly just watches the countryside, though; this time, he was talking a lot to the people across from us, who seemed to be playing musical chairs, as there were three different people that sat in those seats at different points in time. Apparently they (the two women whose seats were actually across from ours; the other one was this guy although I don’t know why he was sitting there) live in a town near mine.
The sky got darker, and at last, we arrived in Saint Raphaël, the town next to Fréjus, where my host family was waiting to greet us.
I admit, I had no idea what they would look like, but I guess Dad knew or they knew or something, because when we reached the end of the escalator at the main entry, they were standing there waiting for us and smiling. Immediately, they took the suitcase that Dad was hauling (the heavier one xD), and gave us bisous. (That was unexpected, though it shouldn’t have been.)
[I will explain bisous more later on in this post or another, but what you need to know is that bisous are the air-kisses on either cheek.]
We all piled into their car (a Ford Focus) and drove to their house for dinner. Nathalie (pronounced “Natalie”), my host-mother, was worried that I would be picky, but I’ve kind of promised myself (and my dad) that I would at least TRY everything. Nathalie’s daughter, Alexandra, came to dinner as well—she was on holiday from university in Paris, where she is studying to become a translator (so she knows French, English, Spanish, and a little bit of Russian). Quentin acts just like a younger brother; in fact, I think he would get along really well with my “other” little brother, being Molly’s brother Christopher. Olivier is a bit of a goofball; he and Dad get along with signs and broken phrases.
Anyway, it was nice to finally meet them, and it looks like (from here) I will get along with them quite nicely.
-Aly
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