Lackhead.org

I mean that both metaphorically and physically. Not only did the rain finally break yesterday, but when I returned home my iPod finally showed up after being shipped from Utah. Yay! The first song out of the box was “Hip Hip Hooray” by Sneaky Sound System…not only did it fit the mood but it had been in my head for the last week on constant replay. Giveittome giveittome giveittome giveittome giveittome giveittome giveittome giveittome now! Huh. Don’t you know it’s what I need? There’s something very American about American music, and while that might sound trite and even tautological, there’s something very comforting in there somewhere. Kinda like my friend Edye said, that I smell like America. I doubt that holds anymore, but I so know what she was talking about. And it’s almost unimagineable how blazingly fresh Stevie Wonder’s “Signed, Sealed and Delivered” sounded this morning.

But before Stevie, before the sun graced us with its appearance, I managed to take in a game of spades with my Arabic friends. Now, this is a game I have played a bunch, but not quite like this. First off, the cards weren’t American, with each of the face cards having a name along the side as well as having different letters associated with them- the kings were ‘R’ for ‘Roi’, I assume, but I couldn’t make heads or tails of what the others meant. Plus the rules were different; it was basically boiled down to be as simple as possible, as each country had its own variations. And when I say ‘boiled down to be as simple as possible’ I really mean that the weird variations of whoever was dealing were kept in. I managed to lose quite spectacularly, but many laughs were had, while I struggled to get a sense of the rules through the broken French.

After that, I wondered home in the breaking sunshine to find the aforementioned iPod waiting on me, and given the good weather I headed out for my first run along the Loire. The interesting thing about running here is that while nobody will look at you on the street (you know they’re aware of your existance only because they will move out of the way so as not to run into you), every single jogger I passed looked directly at me and said a quick ‘bonjour’ as we went by each other. I also passed a sign that mentioned the local Centre Municipal des Sports and climbing facilities! I have their phone number now, so my weekend project is to figure out if there indeed is a climbing gym in town. Of course, I have to fit that in alongside the trip to see Château Chenonceau tomorrow, studying, and my homework which involves checking out one of the local galleries and answering some questions about what I find there. Who knew I’d be so dang busy here?

OH! And I have a few more photos copied up and available- just click on the photo here to go over to the gallery. So, I’m off to pick up to see if I can find some good chocolate before hooking up with my group; there is a veritable ton of chocolate around here, but mostly in the form of expensive chocolates or Nestlé. I have to say the Nestlé chocolate here is way better than the crap we get back in the states, but it isn’t my frou-frou Bonnat or Pralus that I’m looking for. You’d think that since they’re just a hundred kilometers away or so the streets would be overflowing with the latest from either of these places. Hmmm, I will definitely try to get over to Lyon to visit one of those artisans choclatiers. It might be difficult, as to take the TGV I’d have to go up to Paris and back down to Lyon. Ah, la vie c’est difficil!

Over and out y’all. ‘Til next time,

-c

OK, I’m running a bit late for class, so no time for useless ramblings. First photos are online. Yay!

-c

Greetings from Tours yo!

Yes, I’m sitting here at l’Institut de Touraine having finished my first day in Tours. From the looks of things I should be able to post images from here, so hopefully tomorrow I’ll have a photo or two up here.

Today has been a loooong day, and not just because I got about an hour’s sleep last night (combination of weird sleep schedule, a long afternoon nap, and perhaps a bit of nerves). It all started out like any good vacation, with an exam that kicked my trash something good. This test will determine which class I will be placed in, so the questions ranged from fairly easy to “who am I supposed to be, Moliére?” Honestly, I don’t think it will matter too much which class rank I make, as I’m already getting tons and tons of practice in, more conversation today than in all my classes so far combined, and today was just the test and a tour of the city! But today wasn’t super exciting, at least compared to last night.

Yesterday I flew from Stanstead, London, direct to Tours. I was pretty worried as Ryan Air’s fees for overweight bags are massive (about $11 per pound), and my bag, despite the over-stuffedness of my backpack, was still about 8 pounds overweight. Luckily they didn’t charge me for the extra poundage and I arrived in Tours a bit less poor than anticipated. What wasn’t expected was being met at the airport by mon père français, Bernard. I had sent M. Chaigne (Bernard! he insisted) email before I left the states saying that I would take the bus into town, and I hadn’t heard back from them, but hey, free ride- woo-hoo! Bernard and Colette are wonderful people- they have had students from the Institute for years and have the routine pretty much down pat, including talking slowly, having lots of patience, and having all the rules and needs for cohabitation sussed out in advance. In fact, I am just one of several students they are housing right now; the others being a Kuwaiti named Fahad, an American girl who is out of town right now and whose name I don’t remember, and a fourth student who is apparently arriving this week. I have my own room and shower on the far side of Colette’s painting studio, a bit removed from the rest of the house, which is just perfect (pictures soon!)

I spent the afternoon wandering aimlessly through the Sunday market that crops up on Boulevard Béranger, which is the main thoroughfare 1/2 block from my house (the market also runs on Wednesdays). After a lovely dinner of a sorrel omelet (looking up a French word and finding “sorrel” as the English word didn’t help much), accompanied by local mushrooms and followed by fresh strawberries, Fahad took me out to a cafe. Turns out we went to one of the local Arab cafes where we met up with a bunch of his friends from the Institute. Pretty soon I was surrounded by a wonderful group of guys who were smoking Turkish tobacco from nargilahs, drinking tasty, sweet mint tea, and trying to communicate with me via bi-directionally garbled French. The big joke of the night was that Masoud, who is rooming with three American girls (a circumstance he finds unfortunate, methinks), was going to take us all over to his house so we could fight over who was going to marry them! Ha! Being Moslem, none of them date before getting married, so perhaps a proposal is like a first date. Hmmmm….perhaps that wasn’t so much of a joke after all! Seriously though, what a nice and inviting group of people. And how refreshing it is to leave America and the politics behind, and wind up in the middle of a bar in a foreign country, an American surrounded by Moslems, feeling totally welcome and at ease. Chouette! Afterwards we walked through town, along the Loire, staying up way too late. Farad and I made it back home hozever, where I proceeded to stay up way too later reading and studying. Some things never change, I suppose. (ps- kudos to those of you out there that can translate “way too later” into French)

Tomorrow morning our test results should be posted so we can figure out what classroom to report to when we get to school. Yay. But, before that, I think I’ll head home for a quick run before dinner (I believe it is chicken with tofu for me). Bernard and Colette hosted a vegan student obnce before, and they said it was hard coming up with stuff to make for her. After that experience, they said, un végétarien normal n’est pas de problème! so hopefully the diet thing will work out.

So, à bientôt mes amis, hopefully I’ll get some photos online tomorrow.

Peace out yo,

-c

Greetings from Cambridge!

Yes, I am in the illustrious town of Cambridge, having mostly recovered from the jet lag. The flight over was fairly uneventful and also fairly sleepless, and after arriving in London and traveling by train to Cambridge (I went through Paddington Station! The one Paddington Bear was named after!), I was immediately taken to the Cambridge Beer Festival for copious consumption. Actually, I was very thankful for the inebriation as it helped dull the sting of how expensive this place is. I suppose if I were earning my wages in English pounds that would be one thing, but as an example, the 15-minute train ride from Heathrow to London was 18£ or about $37. Add that on top of the 4£ Underground ride, the 19£ train ride to Cambridge and the 15£ cab ride, and that’s about $115 in the first hour of touching ground. Thankfully the beer and cheese were much cheaper and came in quantity!

Today yielded another trip to the Beer Festival, followed by a lovely walk through St. John’s College to laugh at the punters (a punt is a silly English water craft that is propelled by a long shaft that you push into the bottom of the river, with absolutely no keel or rudder to make it go straight. I swear it is just to make tourists look ridiculous). Then, during a bike ride through town I got to mingle with a small group of cows (they said they knew I was a vegetarian by the way I walked up to them, offering them buttercups to munch). Then, after a dinner of raclette (think reverse fondue), we went for a lovely walk through the countryside, looking at wild orchids and an ancient Roman dike. I also got to hold two slugs, for my second wildlife close-n-personal of the day. They reminded me of the Branston’s Pickle I had eaten earlier at the Beer Festival, a British condiment that goes surprisingly well with the right bread and cheese. Yes, take a spoonful of Branston’s Pickle and bestow it with the gift of self-propulsion and you’ve got yourself and English fen slug.

Tomorrow should be fairly chill, although I am promised the treat of vegetarian bangers and smashers, and a trip to an authentic English Pub. More inebriation! Woo-hoo! But until then, it is off to study more French in preparation for my test on Monday.

Over and out,

-c

ps- French phrase of the day: “Salut frangine!”, which, if I’m not mistaken, is roughly translated as, “‘Zup girlfrenn?”

After all of these years, you would think I would have learned how to pack before I have to leave the house. I firmly avow that I am mentally incapable of packing with less than 3 hours before my departure time. Here it is creeping up on midnight, leaving the house at 3:45am, and I’m still throwing stuff together. No, the lacrosse stick is not going. I feel simultaneously under- and over-packed. I have strict weight limits on some legs of my flight, so I have to be careful. I also don’t know how the border gestapo is going to like the 6 cans of chipotle peppers I have in my suitcase (essential traveling gear, honest). For a guy who likes to think of himself as calm under pressure, I’m a bit nervous, and am alternating between sweating over the packing, and playing Guitar Hero to help break up the tension. Anybody who’s been around me the past two weeks has for sure picked up on the subtle agitation I’ve got going on.

Does it seem sane to spend this much money to travel half-way around the world, just so I can plop down in a foreign country and immediately take a test on their language? Shouldn’t I be climbing instead? That seems so much more, well, peaceful. Less complicated. Safer. Which, I assume, is just why the hell I am doing this.

It is finally starting to hit me that I am actually leaving. That I quit my job, which means I have an entirely new world that I will be returning to. That returning without the ability to laugh at the right spots in Amelie without the subtitles turned on means I just blew a big wad of money for….well, I wouldn’t say nothing. This should be an experience no matter what, no?

Yes. Methinks yes.

Avoir, mes amis! Catch you all on the other side of the pond.

-c