What Luke is doing in France

New Blog Post!

2009-05-19T04:28:00.000-07:00

Well, there are several events to recount, so I don't have to search hard for material.

With my return to the States fast approaching, the thought of sitting in my room in Paris for another three weeks was nauseating. With the lightest load of work for final exams, it seemed there was just enough to do in Paris to keep me bound to the ancient 750 grid. What a horror, thinking of all the places in Western Europe I would be unable to travel to from the far side of the Atlantic!

And so, with little regard to my academic schedule, which I remind you, is quite light, I whipped together travel plans for three days and two nights of traveling in the lands North of Paris. Once again, I had caught scent of the northern, germanic winds.

Still, I was timid, not willing to make any substantial leap in that direction. Taking small steps, I went from Paris to Lille, the capital of the Nord Pas de Calais region, not far from Dunkerque, where the British Expeditionary Forces took flight across the channel in the spring of 1940.

Like the American South, the North of France has a special reputation - namely for the homeliness of its people and the cold, windy North and the effect it takes on the people mentally. Close to the Walloon region of Belgium, the language takes a different tone. There is a Walloon language unique unto itself - never have I heard such gibberish! I wanted out almost as soon as I arrived! Then I had a delicious crêpe (chèvre and honey served with a delicate salad), and the uneasy feeling passed.

I took the 7:26 a.m. train to Brussels the next morning. My second visit to the city after a day-trip there with my father in the fall of 2007, I was destined to repeat a day-trip-length visit. I was excited to see the city in full bloom, but was rather disappointed as I walked around the city, poorly planned compared to other, more compact European capitals. Yes, the bruxellois architecture is nice, a blend of new and old. The new dominates the old in the Beglian city; it's a young nation, even compared to the United States. The sprawling Parc du Cinquantenaire was constructed in 1880 to celebrate independence from the Dutch in 1830. The French don't have a monopoly or patent on revolution.

The highlights of my day in Brussels were a visit to the Museum of Fine Arts, a delicious fresh-squeezed orange and lemon juice drink, a waffle I bought from a guy in a truck, seeing the European Commission buildings, and viewing the Parc du Cinquantenaire with its magnificent arcade. The latter was stunning, a view that would have bowled me over had I not been so exhausted. I was disappointed to learn that the René Magritte Museum is not yet open! I took a picture of the entryway.

Holy Belgian waffle!

With no hotel or hostel booking in Brussels, I decided to catch the train to the Hague a day early that same afternoon. In the train station Bruxelles-Midi, I took this picture:

This foldable-style (term may be incorrect; I'm going from a direct translation from French) bicycle type seems to be catching on in France, Belgium, and the Netherlands. In London, however, the trend is fixed-gear bicycles. Stars such as Chloe Sevigny opt for the foldable-style:

It all goes to show the practicality and comprehensiveness of public transportation in these countries, with the Netherlands at the forefront. Travel by train is energy efficient and comfortable. I might as well tell you that one plus one equals two. Subway lines create a web of connectivity, and are sufficient for commuting to work. Trams, buses, and suburban subway lines enhance this web, connecting neighborhoods and suburban districts. Travel on foot remains a significant part of daily activity, but in fact, makes for less hassle. Image - a life free from parking, navigating poorly marked areas, highway on ramps and exit ramps, not to mention a more palatable atmosphere.

Compare to : American rail system

It's important we remind ourselves from time to time of our own imprint on the planet. In some major metropolitan areas in the US, cars account for 70% of total carbon dioxide emissions. Eisenhower built America the greatest roadway system known to man, but he did so after we had already built the most expansive rail network. Thereafter, our cities were designed with the automobile in mind, which is to say they were built in a manner that is unfriendly to pedestrians. Bicycles do not solve the problem, but they help. As for the fate of the US, large scale legislation got us into this, and it will be large scale legislation that gets us out of it.

I can't help but to imagine an America free from the big three and the bailout packages they've been given. Imagine if that money were invested in developing a better, faster, more affordable American train system? All this imagining caused me to momentarily forget that ours is a realist nation, no longer the land of dreams.

Back to Europe!

I wandered Rotterdam for a couple of hours in search of Hostel ROOM Rotterdam. The Netherlands is the first country I have ever traveled to without any speaking ability in the native language, family vacation to France in 1998 excluded. German is closely related to the Dutch language, and while I can make sense of the language in written form, the spoken form is entirely different! Check out this website, there are several recordings available that can give you a better idea of what I'm talking about.

The hostel was great - the staff was nice and beautiful, and I had an entire room to myself - no repeat of the smelly Scottish trio with poor eating habits experience in Berlin. One of the two tall, blond, Dutch girls on the evening shift invited the guests to the rooftop to view a light show commemorating the Nazi bombing of Rotterdam in May of 1940. This gave us a chance to discuss current political and social world affairs. Nations represented were AMERICA, Canada, Australia, the Netherlands, and France. Afterwards, I enjoyed a beer with said Dutch girl, who has similar taste in music, and is therefore good. In conclusion, for every bad experience staying in hostels, there is a good one to cloud out the bad one!

The next day I had a nice (buffet!) breakfast with the Canadians. Then, exercising great caution to avoid being struck by a big, Dutch bicycle, I went the Rotterdam Kunsthal and Boijmans museums. The Kunsthal is a temporary exhibition space. I paid €4.50 to see Japanese Kimonos and Prix de Rome architectural, painted, and sculpted works. Check this out:

The Boijmans Museum collection was, simply put, extraordinary.

Adriaen Brouwer (1605, Oudenaarde - 1638, Antwerp)

I hustled back to the Centraal Station to catch a train bound for The Hague. I went directly to the Maritshuis, the Museum in possession of Vermeer's The Girl with the Pearl Earring. It was nice! I stayed until close, and had very little time before my train to Paris to explore the city. What else does one do in the city that is home to Vermeer's greatest work?

The next day I went to Givery, West of Paris, with the Americans to see Claude Monet's home and gardens. Have you been to the Orangerie, where his large format paintings of water lilies? They were realized here.

It was more a tourist traffic jam than it was an educational visit. This woman has impressionist art printed on her clothing!

For me, the day in Giverny was a last chance to see some of the friends I've made this year, as well as to eat a really big, four-course meal. I hadn't eaten so well in weeks!

If you're interested in seeing more of my photos from my trip, check them out here on my Flickr page.

NYTimes article of interest

2009-05-09T16:37:00.000-07:00

So I'm studying the French Revolution. When one studies Modern (post 1500) European History, the topic of la révolution almost always surfaces. That's right, France. We'll never stop talking about you in the modern world.

The French Revolution is, I agree, one of the finest examples of change in the modern world. But one thing we can learn from it is that change is gradual and often slow. President Obama put it best last month while fielding questions from Turkish students in Istanbul. "States are like big tankers, they're not like speedboats. You can't just whip them around and go in a new direction. Instead, you've got to slowly move it and then eventually you end up in a very different place." Yes, Napoleon's ten year reign was glorious, but where were the French back in 1830? Revolution, chaos. 1848? The same thing. The Bastille was stormed in 1789, but didn't burn until 1830. Life in France during that period was - difficult, unpleasant.

It is very French, everything mentioned in this article. Michael Johnson's perspective on the matter is a rare one, and not even for a minute do I envy his responsibilities. He really lays in on the French. Towards the end, I found myself wondering, "Can he do that?" Good thing the French don't read the New York Times, let alone their own newspapers.

Here's a link to the article. It isn't long, but I've copied the highlights below.

I gained some insight into workers’ attitudes when I moved from London to Paris to manage part of a French publishing company a few years ago. This was not a workplace I recognized.

The standoff between French labor and management is accepted as normal, hardened through decades of mutual suspicion. The two parties tend to consider their interests to be mutually exclusive.

I was surprised how often my staff spoke of “revolution,” seemingly nostalgic for their 1789 upheaval when the guillotine cleared the way for change. Even today, television pundits and trade union leaders talk earnestly of revolution brewing. Hyperbole? Probably, but indicative of the cultural conditioning.

In France, workers expect their companies to balance financial performance with the care and protection of their employees. If the company fails, the state is there to provide.

Here's where Johnson really digs in.

Despite the forces of globalization, the French worker does indeed give less than a 100 percent to the job. Individuality and personal life are prized above all, and friendships tend to be outside the workplace. This makes team-building difficult for the manager but allows the worker a richer outside existence.

Studies show that in the United States excessive devotion to work serves to limit one’s family life, cultural pursuits and personal development. Americans work longer hours, adding up to about two months more per year than the French.

This article confirms several suppositions I have been mulling over these past few weeks. I have little patience for French prudence in their professional and personal lives. It is still a very classist society, and in a nation that has experienced a great deal of immigration in the past fifty years, it's native French have become snobbish and racist. Thanks to this article, I can now say that these things date back to the First Empire, Second Empire and the Third Republic: the height of France's power.

The 20th century has not been kind to France, that much is certain. The Third, Fourth and Fifth Republics are responsible for a great number of domestic and international follies, begging the question: is France deserving of the title of world power? These are the Dreyfus Affair, the military imprudence in the Great War of 1914, colonization in Southeast Asia, World War Two, Vichy France, and the French-Algerian War. The empirical state of mind was slow to leave the French. John F. Kennedy once wrote, "We must make [democracy] work right now. Any system of government will work when everything is going well. It is the system that functions in the pinches that survives."

I don't know if I'll live to see the end to French snobbism, though I long to see that day come. Yes, their current system has its flaws, but they are not what has caused the global economic recession. Just because theirs is a socialist political system doesn't mean it should thrown out in response to these thin times. France didn't start feeling the economic crisis until late last year, nearly a year after personnel cuts began in the US.

This may be due to the French economy, which bears little significance globally. One third of France works for France. Americans work longer hours, adding up to about two months more per year than the French.

A woman in Paris once said to me, "I'd like to send my daughter to the US, but Americans play far too many sports." Perhaps she was also afraid her daughter might break a sweat, or worse, might think too hard.

enjoy these mp3 snacks with your coffee!

Dirty Projectors - Stillness Is the Move

Siouxsie and the Banshees - Hong Kong Garden

Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Heads Will Roll

Been Listening to Music

2009-05-03T13:58:00.000-07:00

It's been a good week - I've had the chance to attend several concerts since I last posted. Also, Easter vacation finally ended and I went back to school - joy! I'm auditing a class for lack of work to do. After a whole semester without it, now I can really say that I miss the Sorbonne. It's odd to say that weeks before my return to the States. I leave at the end of May.

Last Monday I saw Frida Hyvönen at the Théâtre Marigny on the Champs-Elysées. As you can see, it's a magnificent venue, though I may not be accustomed to remaining seated for the duration of a concert. Frida is Swedish, and plays a sort of cabaret set with two other Swedish females, one on percussion and the other on bass guitar and cello. Their set was charming, opening with two of my Frida favorites, Birds and Enemy Within, more charming than it was strong.

The trio emanated a bird-like femininity, at one moment harmonizing in tones reminiscent of twittering sparrows. Their costumes, full body spandex jumpers with golden polyester decorations, contributed to their muse-like stage presence.

Though her lyrics may lack in poetics, the bizarre course and patterns of her melodies take hold of the listener, a kind of innocent seduction. She is two parts charmer, one part musician - but she's really charming, so let that speak to her talents as a musician. The songs are not moving, rather, they are alluring. It was a great performance.

Songs from Silence Is Wild

Birds

Enemy Within

Pony

Hyvönen was followed by Clare and the Reasons, a five-person band out of New York playing songs I recognized, but did not know. Clare and her band were great, but I believe that none of their songs ever passed 100bpm. It all had a very hypnotic effect, and I'm embarrassed to admit I nodded off once or twice during their set! Can you blame me? I was seated, for goodness' sake! Clare's voice was more classically beautiful than the act preceding her, and her charisma would have made for great chemistry in a less formal venue setting.

Clare spoke some French, no doubt thanks to the French violin player. One of their songs was titled, Perdu à Paris, or "Lost in Paris". The American accent doesn't really do much for me, but I'm told it's nice. I would describe their performance as nice.

Then I saw a brief show just off the rue Oberkampf (not to be missed when visiting Paris) at a bar called Antirouille Café. Ultradig is a nifty Parisian/French Canadian trio with electronic, rock and folk influences. Left of YéYé, on their myspace page, is really good. The friend of a friend was acquainted with one the band-members.

Last Thursday I saw the Yeah Yeah Yeahs at Le Bataclan on the Boulevard Voltaire in Paris' eleventh arrondissement. I had no ticket for the show, but for the second time this year, the scalpers roving the entrance came to my rescue. Actually, I never laid a hand on a ticket; instead, I paid a guy the rough equivalent of the price of a ticket to escort me directly to the VIP entrance (sneak me in through a fire exit, where his friend, working security at the venue, was waiting). I would have preferred that the money go to the band and the venue, as this is currently my sole means of supporting the music industry. In any case, I got in and saw a good rock show.

The YYYs have been around for quite some time (consult their wikipedia page for more on their history). WRNR, my preferred local, grass-roots radio station has successfully followed their rise to rock greatness. Another five years and they'll be ready for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame (go C-town!). For those of you who aren't familiar with them, here is what you need to know about the band:

Yeah Yeah Yeahs = Karen O

And conversely,

Karen O = Yeah Yeah Yeahs

I was there for Karen O, not her band. The band may as well have not been present. No drummer, keyboard-playing bass-man, or guitar player could have been less exciting.

I have read a good deal about the Karen O performance - mostly that she dominates the stage and the spotlight, as if doing so were unfair or selfish.

When she took the stage and as the Parisians let forth a resounding oui, it all became clear. Karen O's performance was remarkable. Her composure surprised me. She was sober, her stage tricks were rehearsed to the letter, and she was beaming. Her voice always reminded me of a rubber band, and this rubber band voice is one of the best in contemporary rock and roll. Yes, it lacks in versatility, and performs more like a two-cylinder engine, being limited to roaring and off.

Her physical performance, like I said earlier, was spectacular. The few rock and roll stage conventions she calls on are for fun - the costumes, the costume change, the sexy dance moves and poses. The fist-pump, however, became the fist-pump jump, more girly than riotous. The show was, in fact, family friendly, which still baffles me.

Such fun made for a quick show - one and a quarter hours passed by quickly. Unfortunately, the encore numbers, including Maps, were emotionless. Maps has become another Wonderwall, Creep, Clocks, or Mr. Jones. Their live rendition of Zero, the single from their their new album It's Blitz, was also missing something.

Nonetheless, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs are at their best, with Karen O as the proof. Though her strength on stage is dominating, all the attention is rightfully merited. She is a modern wonder in rock music, and we can only hope she and her band will continue to blaze the way for modern rock and rocker-kids.

Look back a few posts - a link to the Zero mp3 is in here somewhere.

This is not related:

I just stumbled upon this live clip of St. Vincent, one of the best new artists to arrive in 2009. Pitchfork Media's Susannah Young recently reviewed one of the best tracks on her album Actor (2009), titled Actor out of Work. The mp3 may be found at the end of this post. Her midwestern heritage means you've got to love her, and this live rendition of Marry Me is simply inspiring. It's a shame she had to play with the Polyphonic Spree, the most Mormon of bands to be aired on MTV. She's currently on tour and will be stopping in Washington, D.C., Philadelphia, New York, and some town in Massachusetts.

Here are some other mp3s - very good ones, as always!

Lead Belly - Goodnight Irene

Dusty Springfield - Twenty-Four Hours from Tulsa

St. Vincent - Actor Out of Work

Fever Ray - Coconut

The Streets - Trust Me

Midlake - We Gathered in Spring

Shugo Tokumaru - Rum Hee

As this post demonstrates, a minimal amount of schoolwork awaits me these coming weeks. However, my forgotten work ethic will make success a less-easily achieved objective. Time to listen to some Ronald Reagan speeches.

Please excuse any grammatical errors!

For Laughing

2009-04-25T01:56:00.000-07:00

Here's a funny image a friend sent me just a few days ago. I thought it would compliment this blog's theme nicely.

The Vandame's really enjoyed this one. I don't think they knew how, eh, tall Carla is.

Slacker Blogger

2009-04-23T15:09:00.000-07:00

Sorry folks!

I can't even claim membership to the Slacker generation.

Well, since my last post, I visited AMERICA - and I visited everyone and everything! Sorry, didn't take my camera with me. I'll make a sandwich of the trip.

- Flew back to Dulles through Montreal.

- Reunition (this is a new word) with ma, pa, granny, and auntie.

- Reunition with the apostles.

- New laptop battery. €0.00.

- Visits to American doctors - √

- Coffees at the Hard Bean in downtown Annapolis. They now have a liquor license.

- Road trip North to see 1/2 my sisters. Stops in Boston, Providence, and New York.

- Beheld the Washington Monument and the Capital Building.

- Visited the National Gallery of Art, the Smithsonian Castle for the NMAAH architectural bids exhibition, and the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston.

- Requested Yeah Yeah Yeahs new single 'Zero' twice in the same day on WRNR

- Ate many bagels and drank a lot of coffee

Ok that was longer than planned. Here are some photos from my recent bicycle excursion to Chartres to see the cathedral - and test out my new wheels.

Summer is still up in the air.

MP3s

to be played at high volume

Hermes Zopoula - Alpha et Omega

The Streets - Trust Me

La Roux - Fascination

Peter Bjorn & John - I'm Losing My Mind

Chubby Parker - In Kansas

three Devo tracks in honor of cycling

Devo - Speed Racer

Devo - Working in a Coalmine

Devo - Big Mess

I'll Never Let Go

2009-04-06T07:13:00.000-07:00

It's officially spring in Paris - many cafés have opened or completely removed their exterior windows, affording their patrons a better view for springtime people watching. The high-collared coats are coming off and the femmes are loosening their scarves and showing more skin bit by bit. Rays of sunlight are piercing through grey clouds, and Parisians are laying out and tanning, as they should.

I've stumbled across new, good music, which always makes life sweeter. In the past few weeks I've been to a couple of good concerts, too. The first was a Peter Bjorn & John concert at Nouveau Casino on rue Oberkampf, one of my absolute favorite nighttime haunts. They played material from their new album Living Thing, a fresh new route for the Swedish pop band, which may not please listeners the same way Writer's Block did in 2006. They're still the same Peter Bjorn & John of old, only with sharper, less conventional rhythms that could prove more difficult for the general public. For the band that made whistling cool again (remember Young Folks) and owes much of it's fan base to television ads, this is encouraging. PB&J are not another hollow, pretty-faced pop band. On the contrary, they are musicians of a rare European lineage with a multi-lingual, multi-cultural musical style. I only hope more bands in the main-stream would take such bold actions. Is the world not in the throes of massive reinvention? Can't the arts take part in the same?

Peter Bjorn & John - Lay It Down

Peter Bjorn & John - Just the Past

This past weekend a friend invited at the last minute to a jazz concert in the restless, young 20th arrondissement. Though I greatly enjoy it, jazz always makes me suspicious. Anyways, it was a great show, not at all what I was expecting - so maybe I have the right to be suspicious in the future. The Fly is a fascinating franco-american duo with equally diverse instrumentation. American Sly Johnson beatboxes and sings with power and conviction, while frenchman Eric Truffaz played trumpet. Both implemented heavily a technique called 'phasing' or 'music looping', where music is either recorded live or pre-recorded and played among other musical elements or tracks, allowing just a few musicians to create a larger sound. The trumpet player used what I believe is called an 'elbow', which is essentially a sustain pedal for a wind instrument. The drummer's accompaniment was perfect, and the two frontmen allowed him several moments to show his stuff, moments that proved key in the concert. I can't really review their performance as I toe the line of my qualifications as an amateur 'musicophile', or whatever the term is.

On the art front, the Galerie Polaris made an appearance at the Paris Salon du Dessin Contemporain, an annual art fair for contemporary drawing in the European art capital. We sold a few works. Linked is an article that appeared in La Libération last week. I learned quite a lot and had a great time people-watching from our booth. Artists, collectors, gallery personnel and art enthusiasts came out in force.

Also, I spent a night in London visiting my friend Rania from Kenyon. This was my first time in anglophone territory in more than six months! What a radical experience it was, hearing English spoken everywhere. Here's a picture for proof. More can be found on my Flickr page.

Me n Winnie!

AND NOW - MP3s.

Asobi Seksu - Thursday (Acoustic)

Karen Dalton - Something On Your Mind

Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Zero

Röyksopp - Miss It So Much (feat. Lykke Li)

Woody Guthrie - Dust Can't Kill Me

CSS - Knife (Grizzly Bear Cover)

ENjoy. See? I told you this blog doesn't suck, I mean, stink.

For your ears

2009-03-10T05:35:00.000-07:00

Hey Guys!

Just thinking about you all, figured it might be nice to send you a little something that might enrich your day. Put these on your iPod classics, nanos, or shuffles and enjoy.

Gudrun Gut - Rock Bottom Riser

St. Vincent - Now. Now.

Amy Winehouse - Some Unholy War

Jorge Ben - Take It Easy Brother Charlie

Del Shannon - Runaway

Today - art history followed by the theater!

Quick Post

2009-03-06T05:15:00.000-08:00

Greetings!

Sorry for letting the blog stagnate. There will soon be a Berlin, etc. post. In the meanwhile, I have here a few things to distract you from whatever it is you ought to be doing.

So funny!

SO COOL.

I've recently joined flickr.com because I have become frustrated with the Blogger photo uploadrer. I hope that sharing photos will be easier this way and that it will be more convenient to access the photos remotely (for those of you who are sick of reading my writing).

Follow the link to my Flickr page.

Please contact me via comment or email if you encounter any problems accessing the page. Enjoy!

Struck Out

2009-02-19T05:43:00.000-08:00

I am sad to report the indefinite closing of Paris IV and its history department. Much of the faculty and staff have abandoned their posts in protest of unfair compensation and a number of other complaints. The History center at Clignancourt remained open longer than the other Paris Universities, but finally closed its doors this past Tuesday.

Such events are not uncommon in the French University system, or any other nationally syndicated organization for that matter. Public transit workers strike, schoolteachers strike, immigrant 'sans-papiers' workers strike, and factory workers strike. I remember the 2008 Tour de France, when protesting auto-plant workers threatened to block the 100 plus cyclists and international race. Fortunately, the president of the race arrived on the scene and dispersed the strikers before they could sabotage the race, promising them on-air time to broadcast their grumbling.

I find such behavior selfish and ignorant, a great fault of the modern republic's political functioning. Most of the time, the strikes accomplish nothing, especially now with a self-absorbed president whose chief concern is his international reputation. France's stunted economic growth reflects this behavior appropriately, and in my opinion, we can soon expect the arrival of the economic crisis and it's devastating effects on a people ill-equipped for such an upset. Has the European Union really been a worthwhile venture for France, one it's influential founders? In the storm of the financial crisis, France has found itself thrown overboard, bound to weak nations unable to stay afloat. Would the French have a better chance of swimming to shore without the burden of the poorer EU nations?

I had better stop here before I lose my visa or get deported. We must try to look at these striking professors in a positive light. In a bureaucratic government such as theirs, striking is the individual's means of expressing their dissatisfaction with their current circumstances. Civil servants should not be subject to sudden changes in pay and work hours. However, when nearly one third of all jobs are considered as public administration offices, such changes are to be expected. Students and working classes dependent on public transit should not suffer the repercussions.

My study abroad program foresaw all of this and warned us to take every precaution enrolling in courses at our universities. Several American Universities in Paris have joined forces to create classes for international students in the event of a lockout from the French universities. I was enrolled in one course, a yearlong course in the French institutions of the Ancien Régime in the 18th century. My professor, a young man impassioned by his work and the foolishness and imprudence of the French monarchy, has openly discussed the strike with us. When he brought his pay sheets (rough translation) to class, it became clear that he is concerned less with the figures of his salary than with his research and instruction. Yesterday at 8 a.m. standing before the locked doors of the Clignancourt center, he proposed we do the lesson in the garden or a nearby café, but we were soon informed that this would violate the university's insurance (someone might have scalded themselves with a hot cup of tea!).

Several of my French friends' responses were surprising. The strike was a reason to go on vacation early (after just two classes in the 2009 semester). The strike has clearly added a new dimension to my frustrations with the French university system. I myself am no longer convinced by my cover as an 'international student'. I would take spy work if it were offered to me (are the NSA and CIA recruiting?), it would give me the chance to learn a thing or two! Maybe I should find a way to turn this joke into a reality.

All I can say is thank goodness for my internship at the Polaris art gallery! I'm interested in the work I do there, which engages my writing and language abilities. I have also sealed a few letters with the saliva off my tongue, which serves me well.

The clients and collectors are a real laugh! Some of them are nuts, just the battiest characters imaginable, while others are real thinkers and dreamers. The other day an interesting-looking fellow came into the gallery and began to work with other assistant. I made him an espresso. From what I observed, I deduced he was one of the artists. Some time later he came into the office I share with my boss, seating himself at a computer. We struck up a conversation - he wanted to talk about America's West, the raw North American countryside, a pleasant change from discussion of American cities. We exchanged thoughts and experiences; it was a rich conversation, his insights attesting to his artistic conviction in dreaming. He finished his business and departed.

I asked my boss which artist he was; we have two who share the same first name, and I assumed this fellow to be one them. He wasn't an artist, he was the computer guy. Draw your own conclusions.

Here's some music I've been listening to lately. Follow the links to download.

Fever Ray (the girl from The Knife) - When I Grow Up

~ visit the artist's website and watch the music video~

Peter Bjorn and John - Lay It Down

Rainbow Arabia - Holiday In the Congo

The Ronettes - Be My Baby

~ r.i.p. Estelle Bennett ~

Fred Hewett - The Prickle Holly-Bush

Jeremy Jay - Beautiful Rebel

Earlier this week I saw the film Mister Lonely with the Cinéma Club. Legendary German director Werner Herzog stole the show in his role as a missionary who was a healer, alcoholic, and pilot all at once. Here's the trailer.

The film succeeds in creating a cinematic experience much like a dream. The film is rooted in reality with opening panoramas in Paris at summer's end and two main characters posing as two of the 20th century's greatest stars, Marilyn Monroe and Michael Jackson. Soon after, references to places with names like, "The Highlands" and equally ambiguous dialogue effectively sever those roots, and the dream begins.

What follows is a departure to an artful fantasy land, a paradise for outcasts who share a passion for the impersonation of Western legends. My favorite was Abraham Lincoln. In this far-out setting, among these free spirited eccentrics, the main character's drama unfolds. The director proceeds by painting a happy picture of the commune, the home of which is a classic French château in a stunning natural setting, seemingly remote from society while simultaneously supporting a small population of townsfolk. The characters are wonderful, some of them causing my friends to double over with laughter. The commune is embarked on a theatrical venture, wishing to put on the best talent show of all time.

All is not happy at the commune, we soon learn. Beneath the costumes and makeup are a troupe of unhappy and confused individuals facing a heap of shortcomings and baggage. The commune's herd of black sheep, a fitting metaphor for such a group, come to a cataclysmic demise.

The foreseeable fall of the Marilyn Monroe character causes Michael to return to society, where he renounces the label of impersonator, and embarks on the uncertain odyssey of self discovery.

The film is clever yet lovably simple. It does not discourage us from dreaming and imagination, rather, it concedes to that life is a complex and grandiose puzzle eclipsing the individual. Many of us are helpless in the quest to find out who we are. In the eyes of the director, Harmony Korine, the human condition is the struggle to find a place in the world. To contest this fact is to deny the plight which is life.

Please pause and visit this link.

Even earlier this week I went to a special art exhibition at the Paris Treasury. American photographer David LaChapelle's works are super controversial and intentionally so. The friend who invited me introduced him to me as an artist fascinated with excess in all forms. His photographs are beautifully realized, many of them featuring prominent celebrities in compromising positions and poses. Superficiality plagues our society, and for an artist known to have associated with the likes of Warhol during one of America's most decadent eras, this is no epiphany.

LaChapelle, however, has reached the known limits of excess in his recent works displayed here in Paris. He has arrived at the finisterre of the two dimensional world of photography, blending all too familiar sources of greed, gluttony, and heresy. The large format works, incredible photographs realized in ornately decorated sets, are printed on shaped cardboard. These sick, cheaply printed works are absurd and disrespectful to the extent that they become beautiful. He facilitates this recognition with strong references to art history, religion, and images we see on the 8 o'clock news.

I grant that his photographs are beautiful, but my concern is that the young public will not recognize them as a warning. Many of his photographs reference the second coming or the apocalypse, but these powerful notions are misconstrued. The colors, celebrity subjects and props turn his works into comedies, making them sellable and negating any clever artistic device.

LaChapelle is no craftsman of subtlety; you'll see no gentleness in his works. Another insurmountable characteristic of his work is its commerciality, which comes as no surprise given his résumé.

Through his work and behavior as a budding celebrity, LaChapelle does not deserve the respect due to artists of the past century. He represents a new breed of well educated and even better connected artist-celebrities whose work is better suited for VH1 than any museum. The artist's canvas is representative of his own involvement in the excesses in stardom and false ideas of beauty in the 21st century, fatally hypocritical for an artist. He is too aware of it to ever escape from it.

Please excuse any spelling, grammar, or syntax errors. I blame France.

This will be my last post before departing for Berlin. I'll be there the 23-26th to take advantage of my vacation and GET OUT OF FRANCE!!!

Tune in next week for pictures. Bis dann!

Catch Up

2009-02-08T13:30:00.000-08:00

I feel like a dummy for missing this one, but it cannot go unmentioned, be it nearly a week late and having very little to do with me or France.

Tuesday, February 3rd of this year marked 50 years since the death of Buddy Holly, one of the greatest American musicians of the 20th century. He died in a plane crash at 22 years of age on February 3, 1959.

If you're interested in reading more, read the recent Locust St. post on the topic.

Follow the link to download

Buddy Holly - Peggy Sue

Buddy Holly - Maybe Baby

Giving the people what they want

2009-02-05T05:19:00.000-08:00

Hey Everybody,

Welcome to February! It's shocking to find myself this far into 2009, though January was a wonderful month. I began this new month with a fever and a cold, bringing my demigod complex to a sad end. I'm not quite better yet, but I can see the light on the horizon.

At the end of January we had our first official day of RATP strikes, or, la grève, as the French call it. There were several metro lines that just stopped running, though I noticed no difference in the lines I use. As I understand it, this was fairly mild compared to previous strikes extending for weeks at a time. The grève hasn't got me worried. I'm superbly located in the city, and in respect to my classes, I have very little trouble riding my bike to the various sites and universities.

What has stirred up some concern is the threatening university strike, where professors at certain Paris universities are not attending their own classes due to 'unfair' compensation and other disputes. My Parisian friends assure me that the Paris IV History University is one of the most conservative branches of the Sorbonne, and that they are the least likely to strike, but I've heard many other conflicting opinions. My history classes resume next week, so I'll report back then.

In other news, some friends and I have launched a cinema club, appropriately named, Ciné-club. The club operates under the same principles as a book club, only with movies. Last night we saw a film called Hunger about IRA hungerstriker Bobby Sands. It was solemn, but very powerful. If you've got a strong stomach and are interested in the history of the IRA, I recommend the film. Here's a trailer.

And now, a few mp3s to fatten your iPods. Follow the link to download.

The Bug - Skeng (feat. Killa P - Flowdan)

Dick Haymes & Helen Forrest - Button Up Your Overcoat

Anna Järvinen - Götgatan

Asobi Seksu - Familiar Light

And please - comment or email me if you have any trouble downloading these!

I'm the most French of all the Americans.

2009-01-29T04:31:00.000-08:00

It's so true! I got back from the Cévennes Tuesday evening. Of all the places in the world you could possibly go home to, Paris is surely one of the best. It's strangely welcoming.

Last night I was back on the town on the left bank to bid a friend farewell, and was having a troublesome time finding my way. Over the course of an hour, I asked several strangers for directions, pleading with them, "I'm sorry, I'm from the right bank and I have no knowledge of the 6th arrondissement." With the right kind of smile, most Parisians will lend a helping hand. I finally arrived at my destination.

I recall one afternoon when two female metro officials asked a cluster of young men and women, myself included, to help carry a wheelchair-bound man up a flight of stairs to exit the station. Three of us automatically stepped forward, took hold of the old man's chair, and carried his old bones up the stairs. It was but a small effort; he was very light. Still, it was a unique moment, taking part in an unrewarded good deed.

Anyways, les Cévennes were wonderful. We spent five and a half days relaxing, eating, walking, and exploring in the beautiful surroundings. In the company of these French friends, there is no uneasy language barrier to bar our relationships. In the calm of the countryside, we got to know one another without the additional stresses of school, the city, or our personal schedules. We were all at ease in a large house in a beautiful place with a full refrigerator, a decent stereo (what a luxury!), and absolutely nothing to do all day but talk, cook, dance, and stroll. I have many special memories from this extended weekend. Here are some photos.

More photos to come, I'm needed at the moment!

CIAO

2009-01-21T02:39:00.000-08:00

Friends,

I wanted to be sure to post before departing for the weekend. Thursday morning I board a TGV train bound for Nîmes, an ancient city in Southern France. It's a beautiful city full of Roman ruins. I and several friends from the Clignancourt history university will be staying at a friend's vacation home. I believe there will be eight of us in total.

I return late Tuesday evening in time to attend my first class of the semester the following morning. I've been on vacation for more than a month! It's about time to get back to the books, don't you think?

This is not intended to be a debaucherous weekend! Those poor, French souls have been slaving away in preparation for their final exams, from which we international students were exempted. I suspect the themes of the furlough will be rest, revitalization, and romping in the woods. I'll be taking charge of the last one, as I've got a head start on the first two. As for educational activity, we will be learning le rock, a partner dance that reminds me of post-liberation and roaring fifties France. Then there will be cookie baking, where I am expected to blow away the competition, as the American. Wish me luck.

Am I wrong in saying that? That this dance is kind of dated??

This photo is to attest the smog suffered by non-smokers at French house parties. I have more photos, but wouldn't post them without permission. Anyways, you get the idea!

mp3s!

follow the links to download

Harlem - South of France

Beck - Mexico

Honey Is Cool - Nach Heart

Thanks for tuning in!

Life's Not So Hard

2009-01-16T15:57:00.000-08:00

The typical work day in an art gallery is not severe. Though for some reason my alarm clock (cell phone) went off an hour late, I still had no problem fitting in the leisurely morning I've grown accustomed to, the French term for which translating to 'fat morning'. Arriving at the gallery at 13h30, I was quickly put to work in the reserve stock room preparing large format photographs for a potential buyer, the cultural director of the city of Rennes. This did involve me windex-ing each work, which struck me as somewhat menial, but as the day progressed, I realized that such a task is fundamental this type of work. My boss was as or more physically involved in the labor as I was. I like to think that this calibrated the two of us, or more simply, that we bonded over our labor.

What I really want to say is that immediately after closing the gallery (at 19h00), I was able to just stroll into the adjacent arrondissement and catch a fantastic concert. Ah, the Parisian lifestyle! I saw Animal Collective, a fairly well known New York art/noise group, at le Bataclan. I didn't even have a ticket, I was just lucky enough to bump into a nice guy willing to sell me his friend's ticket for the advertised price. I might have bought a ticket before they were sold out, had any of the friends I asked expressed interest. No matter, everything worked out, and I'm so glad for having gone, albeit alone.

While I wouldn't have called myself a great Animal Collective fan before the show, I knew that the type of people associating themselves with the band would be closer to my type. Simply from the address of the concert hall, I knew in advance the type of audience to expect. It was French-hipster heaven! To set the record straight, I'm not a hipster. I don't own a single pair of neon-accented high-top Nike's. I'll just tell you what I saw: A lot of beards, a lot of thick-rimmed (at times non-prescription) glasses, a lot of hoodies (no doubt American Apparel), a lot of smokers, lots of beer, a lot of bad haircuts, and a whole lot of lingering irony and sarcasm. I really ought to make some hipster friends here so I can compare them to my hipster friends in America.

As I don't listen to Animal Collective save for the rare occasion, I was lucky to find myself in a slight resurgence of interest. There upcoming album has been well received, as it has already leaked on the internet, and the bloggers are, as usual, expressing how they feel about it, and the DJs are remixing it (quite likely at this very moment). Their set was good, perhaps a little more than an hour of trance to noise to nonsense music. As I write this several hours after the fact, my ears are still ringing from the venue's acoustics. And I'm glad! I have missd Kenyon, where you can open your door and play your music as loudly as you choose. Tonight's mild deafness will probably make up for an entire semester missed blasting my music at Kenyon. The encore number was familiar. Take a look.

Here's the same song in mp3 format.

Animal Collective - My Girls

My American Side

2009-01-11T14:06:00.000-08:00

When I first arrived in France, one of my chief concerns was fitting in, as you can imagine. It was time to be French, not American! My friends and I would speak in hushed voices on the metro, some of us not speaking English at all, if we could help it.

Well, it's different now. I am quite in touch with my American impulses and act on them as often as I can. This means drinking (real) coffee in Starbucks, reading American literature, American soirées with American friends, limiting the cholesterol in my diet, and doing manly things. I make very little effort to dress like the French, and have in fact come to despise certain French trends! I try not to be too harsh, though.

I miss America, it's true. Perhaps this is one reason for my mild bitterness. These things considered, I still have a great time. It is a mild winter that facilitates, rather than prohibits, activity. Living in the magnificent city of Paris makes having fun easy. All the same, my friends and I eagerly await Spring.

In the meanwhile, my command of the French language is better than ever. This Friday I begin an internship at an art gallery in the 3e arrondissement, la galerie Polaris. This is fantastic news to me, as I'm pushing four consecutive weeks of vacation now, not including my German class. I attended an opening this weekend and was shocked, even a bit repulsed, by the artist's work. Nonetheless, I think the experience will be marvelous. More news to come.

On the sports front, I think I may need to cancel my plan to run in the Paris marathon. After some debilitating pain in my knee experienced at the end of November, I was led to take the entire month of December to rest and recover. I ran yesterday for the first time since then, and though the run was quite nice, I experienced the same pain in my knee later that evening. Besides, there will be many more marathons to run in the future. Who wants to train in the winter, anyway?

And now, mp3s! Follow the link to download, and please, let me know if you encounter any problems.

Johnny Western - Cowpoke

Eddie Vedder - Hard Sun

Bertrand Burgalat - Spring Isn't Fair

M83 - Kim & Jessie

Crystal Castles - Crimewave

Back Already?

2009-01-07T02:00:00.000-08:00

Yes, I am. Auvergne was great! I didn't get to taste any of the famous Bleu d'Auvergne, much to my disappointment. The next time you find yourself at the magnificent cheese counter at Whole Foods, look for it. It's really quite good, very French, and it's possible that I crossed paths with the cow(s) who produced it's key ingredient.

I started walking at 12pm Saturday and continued until Tuesday morning, when I awoke to temperatures nearing 10º fahrenheit, much colder than conditions I had been expecting. And I can attest to the fact it was even colder overnight, although my body put up with it all pretty well in spite of my 32º rated sleeping bag. Winter hiking can be intimidating, but with the right attitude and knowhow, it can be a dream. Given the chance, I wouldn't have made any decision differently.

It was a kind of sad to come to the realization that I needed to quit the trail. It's not the first time I've been faced with such a decision. However, the odds in this case were stacked against me. I surely wasn't properly outfitted for nighttime temperatures below 10º, I wasn't equipped with snowshoes to traverse sections of trail where more than 4' of snow had fallen within a few weeks. With barely 9 hours of daylight each day, progress was slow, considering all the extra time that must be devoted to putting up with the cold. Most of all, I realized that in such adverse conditions, if I were to get lost or become disoriented, things could get dismal quickly.

And so Tuesday morning, after finding a way to heat the frozen leather of my boots, I packed up my rig, walked a kilometer to a chapel, took shelter from the wind, and stuck my thumb out. First I caught a ride with a farmer on his way to fetch some sheep, then I walked some more, then I caught a ride with a man whose business was animal reproduction. Next thing I knew I was in St. Alban-sur-Limagnole arranging a ride to St. Chely, where I hopped a bus to Clermont, where I bought a sandwich and newspaper, and then boarded a Paris-bound train. Then I realized I would arrive in time to attend my German class at the Goethe Institut, which I did after showering.

Ok, you've put up with my doleful explanation. Here are pictures, as well as a few key mp3's. Yes, this was the first time I brought my iPod (shuffle) on a hike. Shameful? Not when you're spending 12-14 hours a night in your sleeping bag.

Cathédrale Notre-Dame du Puy, where the trail begins. A pretty little place with kind bakers. Check out the wikipedia article.

The Black Virgin (a copy).

Here I go!

That's me.

I asked them about the cheese. They had nothing to say.

It was frozen.

Circumnavigate hazardous ice. Beware of barbed wire.

Photo taken from the height of the snow drift I found. Apart from the lumpy ice/snow, I slept pretty well.

Wakey-wakey

Photo's no good, but I am led to believe this village is where the film Chocolat was filmed. I'll have to look into that one.

They didn't know the whereabouts of the cheese either!

I couldn't believe it either!

Blogger seems to be having some trouble uploading my photos, so I'm going to flip the cassette over and enrich your lives with a few songs I enjoyed while hiking and while hanging out alone in my sleeping bag. Follow the links to download.

Dean Martin and Ricky Nelson - My Rifle, My Pony, and Me

Bertrand Bugalat - Out of Touch

Cansei de Ser Sexy - Let's Make Love and Listen DFA (RAC2 Mix)

Blonde Redhead - Silently

Department of Eagles - No One Does It Like You (Alternate Take)

Portugal The Man - Colors

Jimi Hendrix, Curtis Knight & the Squires - I'm a Man (Live)

The Velvet Underground - Temptation Inside Your Heart

Back to the photos. This was a nice spot.

Okay, so the trouble with the blogger photo uploader continues. That's probably my cue to get out of the house. Check back later, I'll give it another shot, I promise.

Overdue

2009-01-01T17:14:00.000-08:00

Sorry to post so infrequently. I really ought to be more diligent, as this is the sole form of contact linking some of you to me. Well, Merry Christmas to all, and by now, Happy New Year. I've been thoroughly enjoying myself here in France, first with my host family in Le Touquet, then with my pal Perry, an old chum from Kenyon who paid me a visit for New Years.

An uproarious time was had on all fronts. I'm writing this hurriedly, as tomorrow morning I board a train for Le Puy-en-Velay, where I will start a short hike. It could last anywhere from 4-12 days, depending on my comfort, enjoyment, and progress. This is the Chemin du Puy, which is one of the French feeder trails to the great Pèlerinage du Chemin de St Jacques de Compostelle, an ancient religious pilgrimage. I just found out today, to my relief, that you don't have to be Catholic to do all this! I'm in the clear. Well, from what I know, the trail will be much different than what I'm accustomed to in the States, meaning the trail is more like an extended walk in the country. The terrain is agreeable, while undulating, and it passes through towns at least once a day. This means I will collect water from established sources and will not need to treat it, and that I should never be carrying more than 2 days of food with me at any time. Yes! I'm taking my new 35 liter pack, and even though I'm outfitted for winter weather, my rig is gonna be nice and light. I've got my good, solid, American gear to depend on (thanks for sending it all, mom). I'm 93% sure I'll be comfortable. But don't worry, this is my third winter hiking trip, and I've got what it takes.

Here are some pics from Perry's visit. Wish me luck!

Perry found a copy of the literary journal in which he has a poem published. This is in the way famous bookstore, Shakespeare & Co. Woowie.

We had seen about 2 dozen reliquaires or reliquaries that day, so I grabbed the duck bone off my plate and treated it as if it had come from a Saint.

Later on we took a ride on an abandoned baggage cart. See, my Vélib card is only good for one bike, so we were forced to improvise.

Perry really wanted a shot in front of Courbet's The Origin of the World. It took three rounds of asking museum goers to take our picture to get a good one. Pushing a camera towards uneasy tourists and saying simply, ''photo'' just doesn't guarantee a good outcome.

Perry and I were on the Île de la Cité for the strike of midnight. We sung a hearty round of The Star Spangled Banner, because we didn't know the words to that song that goes, "...may old acquaintances be forgot ...". This attracted four German girls, well, we approached them, and chatted with them in German. At some point this Algerian guy and his friend appeared out of nowhere and were just a bit bothersome. I told him about every crêperie I knew of in the area, but he didn't go away till we took this picture. What a laugh.

Roommates in a bar enjoying several pints. It was a blast.

Deadbeat Blogger

2008-12-17T07:41:00.000-08:00

- - Tried to post this yesterday but my laptop battery died unexpectedly - -

I do not deny the charge.

Well, as of yesterday at 12:00pm I finished my last exam. This year's round of exams was surely the easiest I've experienced. In my experience, the academic work I did this past week was equivalent to a mild week of work at Kenyon. I ate a lot of chocolate and honey.

I write this message from the McDonalds around the corner from the apartment because the internet is temporarily not operating.

This coming weekend I will attend the marriage of my eldest host sister being held near the family's vacation home in the North. That will be nice. I will spend the week there, including Christmas. I boiling over with excitement - a week away from Paris is just what I need.

Last weekend I achieved greatness - a soirée of nearly 12 continuous hours. This is me bragging. Fortunately, more than half of that time was spent with my friends from the Sorbonne. Which reminds me - I still owe a friend two euro for the coat check. They really nickel and dime you here, every service has its price. Ketchup packets are provided upon purchasing your fries here at the McDonalds, and I haven't had ketchup in ages. To be fair, I ought to add that it is very clean, orderly, and the interior decoration is better than any I have experienced in the States.

The holiday ambience has not yet descended on me. Perhaps I should go shopping. Perhaps not.

According to the New York Times:

"A package of dynamite planted in a luxury Paris department store was found and removed by the police on Tuesday, rattling the nerves of Parisians at the height of the Christmas shopping season. The store, Printemps, on the elegant Boulevard Haussmann, was just beginning to fill up with shoppers at 11 a.m. on Tuesday when the police swooped in, acting on a tip from a French news agency. They discovered five sticks of dynamite bound together with a cord in a restroom on the third floor of the men's store. There was no detonator with the dynamite, French officials said."

On a lighter note, here's a photo from a field trip in which I participated with my Ancien Régime class from the Sorbonne. We went to the National Archives. These are the remaining keys to the Bastille.

As you may know, my ear hasn't strayed from American music. Oddly enough, it has led me back in time to The Carter Family, Woody Guthrie, and other classic American folk artists. The older the recording, the better. Here's one I like, though admittedly the lyrics are dismal.

http://www.sendspace.com/file/m3tpxr

Perhaps I'll update once again before I leave Friday, at which time I will receive my Carte de Séjour. I'll be legal!

Shout-out

2008-12-07T16:50:00.000-08:00

Thank you for keeping me well fed and for being easy to locate most places in Paris. I also thank you for being reasonably priced. I would be less satisfied from moment to moment without you. You keep me happy and healthy. I am fond your many different brands and flavors, but I am most fond of you. Here's to you, to our union, to our wonderful past, and to our bright future together.

Swift blogging, swift justice.

2008-12-02T15:30:00.000-08:00

Don't text while you ride your bike - stop and do it safely. You just might witness some juggling at the traffic light.

Fill Your Ears

2008-12-01T15:56:00.000-08:00

With the sounds of what it's like to be in Paris amid the gaggles of beautiful girls.

Promise a decent post soon.

Two points to the person who knows which Wes Anderson film this song belongs to.

Luke wishes you a Happy Thanksgiving!

2008-11-28T02:22:00.000-08:00

Felicitations from Paris!

Take a look at this New York Times article, it complements the blog perfectly and it's seasonal.

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/11/26/opinion/26davis.html?partner=rss&emc=rss&pagewanted=all

Don't quote me

2008-11-21T17:40:00.000-08:00

Originally drafted November 16^th

I've had a lot on my mind lately, and I'm going to try to make sense of it for me and for you. Perhaps it’s too much for a single blog post, but I don’t know what else to do with it all. Having a public to which I can broadcast these thoughts makes it easier, I feel. It’s also an invitation for you to consider these thoughts and respond to them.

Last night at the soiree thrown by my host brother, Bruno, I found myself amid a conversation that roused the foundations of my patriotism and my perspective on this extended international field trip of mine.

The topic of the conversation was at first naïve: recent films. Evidently, the French are much more critical of film than Americans, and thoughtful, I should add. Film is not entertainment to them, but art directly coupled with society, and so they are quite often opinionated. These discussions become animated, personal, and sometimes fiery. The French will acknowledge that their film industry is crap, and they talk almost exclusively about American film (television as well), with the occasional British film thrown in the mix.

Anyways, film led to the American election, a popular topic of discussion in France, where 80 percent of the population would have voted for Obama if given the chance. Up until then every French person detecting my accent had talked my ear off about the election, so I wasn’t thrilled to hear any more of the same constrained enthusiasm.

Now let me just say that the conversation was in French, and though I understand it very well, that is not say that I understand every nuance and turn of the conversation. I find myself in this situation often, and though being unable to understand fully and respond with confidence can be uncomfortable, I am rewarded with a revelation.

So - I'm not French, and this is where it gets blurry. I sensed that the man dominating the conversation, a nice, bright fellow, was holding his tongue a bit in front of me, the American. What is sure is that he was bitter about losing his job in New York, though he still held the country in high regard. One of his observations of America really stunned me, and I exited the conversation at the next opportunity. He said that America's culture is seen through its television networks, but that the real way to understand a foreign culture is through international exchanges (like mine).

This got me thinking about a number of things: America my homeland, my charge here as an American, and America's lack of any real culture outside its unstoppable entertainment industry. I had only just begun to toy with the idea of considering myself an attaché from the USA. As one the dozen or so proficient French speakers in my program of 90 students, I’m beginning to realize that I am one of the American "elite", though I do not say it out of snobbism. From the start I have been well raised and exceptionally educated, by American standards, so really, it’s up to those of us who have been so privileged to put these talents to work. Still, the idea of being ambassador of American culture hadn't occurred to me.

With the help of my few French contacts, I have begun to evaluate the American world presence, and by that I mean dominance, in the world. Paris is easily one of the most Americanized capitals of any nation on Earth. Any English speaking American idiot can come to Paris, get by, get around, and see the sights without breaking a sweat. Now I'm beginning to sound bitter! English is everywhere in Paris, I hardly go a day without hearing it spoken in the streets, the metro, or seeing it on billboards.

Last night's conversation isn't my only reference. Friday night I attended my first real French party; a friend from the Sorbonne invited me. I have made several acquaintances at the Sorbonne, but none quite so welcoming, accommodating, or genuine as Pauline. As it was a house party, I found the whole affair very 'high school', only the venue was an exquisite flat decked out with beautifully framed photographs and paintings. My français familier, or slang French, is pretty good, and I found I could hold my own among youth of my age at the party. I served as a kind of attraction, the foreign infiltrator; the guests were quite interested to meet me and talk to me. For a moment I felt like Prince William or Harry, with all the pretty girls taking interest!

When it came time for dancing, I was shocked to hear SO much American music played. After three or four songs, I assumed they were humoring me, that it was all a joke. They played the Rolling Stones, Chuck Berry, Elvis Presley, The Strokes; it was bizarre. When I asked Pauline about it, she smiled and said that American music had invaded France, at which I took some offense. The American music industry easily dwarfs any other in the world, so it is only natural that American music should make up the majority of any contemporary playlist.

And yet it’s all for profit. As the Frenchman suggested last night, American culture of the 21^st century has been largely channeled in media; its television, its music, its film, its art, its fashion, all of which we have directly exported. I am partially sympathetic to this concept. Ours is a history steeped in capitalism and immersed in commercialism - a society in which everything is directed towards profits. Tobacco farming in Virginia and cod fishing in New England are origins I am proud of. However, I am experiencing the soulless wave of American influence on the rest of the world.

I feel lost in my nations liquid culture, a culture converted to capital. It’s a cycle in which every morsel of creative development is maturely picked from its source, processed, labeled, blindingly advertised, and sold back to us. While the same thing is happening in other countries, France included, the concept is an American contrivance, and frankly, we do it best. I distinctly remember the summer of 2007, my first real exposure to New York City and living independently in a metropolitan center, where for a time I suffered a, ‘cool crisis’. I found myself with no idol or role model in the middle of the world’s leading source of innovation. What I saw on the streets was the reflection of shop windows filled with kitsch. Virtually everything in that city is a short metro ride from its source. It frightened me to see how fleeting originality had become. So why even try? For this reason, my generation has had its wings clipped and can no longer fly, contrary to the nature of youth. Youth movement is no longer part of the vocabulary of young America. We sport keffiyehs, originally worn to show solidarity with the Palestinians, not because they’re a charged symbol, but because it’s cool to be politically active and motivated. We eat Chipotle excessively because they did it first on The Real World. I browse websites and see links to the ‘Culture Store’. The wealthy seek to mimic the lives of the working class, riding the same fixed gear track bikes as savvy bike messengers. What is there to rebel against that hasn’t already been parodied? If a culture exists in my generation, then it is terribly misguided and confused. And it’s currently for sale to the highest bidder.

So there’s the responsibility I bear representing these United States of America. The three statues of George Washington I’ve located in the city prove to be comforting in this regard. Could they have been installed to remind Americans like me of our pure founding vision? The great role played by America in history ever since the Second World War of leading every other developed nation shaped the modern world we know. Before then it was the same story, only less pronounced, time marked by innovations such as the discovery of electricity, the inventions of the telegraph machine and later the first gasoline powered automobile, America’s crucial role in the Great War, the construction of the Empire State Building, and the birth of Jazz.

Since the terrorist attacks of September 11^th, 2001, America’s superiority has been undermined, becoming even more obscured with the Wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, the disaster of Hurricane Katrina, and most recently, the financial crisis and its ripple effect on the economies of the world. To put it simply, the balance in world powers has been tipped. We have arrived at a crucial moment in the 21^st century where the world powers of the future will be soon decided. For these and other reasons, I have been hesitant to wear my nationality on my sleeve. I feel no need to attract more attention to a nation that is already the chief focus of the world.

Arriving at this point, I am heartened to report on France’s support of Barack Obama in the presidential election. The morning of November 5^th, when the election results were released, the 18^th arrondissement, one of the city’s ethnic melting pots, erupted in celebration. That same morning I saw my French classmates openly wearing Obama t-shirts, defying their stylistic mores for the sake of their political support of America’s electorate. Though they may be hesitant, the French of my generation have sided with the new Obama administration, and they are looking to America to resume leadership of the world. Though I’m not home in the US to take part in this new sensation, I feel its effects resounding across the Atlantic in the European continent. This event has struck France more than any chart-topping song of the past decade, the next great feat to mark the evolution of the world, with America at the wheel.

Cultural attaché from the US I am not, but I realize the image I embody of America is real. It’s not what I came here to do, but it is my charge. I came to immerse myself in French culture, while other Americans in my program have chosen to play the part of tourists. Perhaps I'm approaching the matter too seriously. Still, it’s my responsibility to make the experience an exchange, a give and take with benefits for both parties. After more than two months with the Vandames, it’s quite evident that they are a family with strong roots in French soil and even stronger morals as a Catholic family.

It would have been much easier to spend my junior year in Gambier, Ohio. I might be hitting the books harder, but every aspect of my life would be the same as the two years prior. My raison d’être is clearer, though it is more convoluted and personal than I had originally expected. I’m in good hands with the French, though I always know where home is.

Why not.

2008-11-20T02:54:00.000-08:00

Here's a short article I wrote for some pamphlet my study abroad program is finalizing. I don't know whether it will be edited, but this is the version I submitted. Thought you might like to read it.

After an especially active summer, I was not looking forward to the changes that would soon be made to my active lifestyle upon arriving in Paris. Swimming laps in the Seine was certainly out of the question, and I don’t possess the equipment to scale the Eiffel Tower without the use its stairs. All of us in the Sweet Briar France Fall 2008 group have managed to adapt our active lives to our new urban home, not at all like our sprawling American colleges and universities, and each in our own way.

As Paris evolves it grows less and less tolerant of automobile traffic and more and more comprehensive in its public transportation system. More accurately, it’s a dynamic, in which walking is considered a chief means of transit. Then there is the Vélib’ public bicycle system, available to just about anyone, and in my opinion, one of the most agreeable ways to get around and see the city. These unwieldy masses of steel bear the same chic quality as the Pompidou Center: the love it or hate it curse. If city bike riding intimidates you, know that if the French can do it in impeccable style, Americans can probably manage without risking their lives. The Paris Métro to the savvy and quick-footed urbanite soon becomes the replacement for both umbrellas and rain jackets. In this sense, it can at times be a great comfort, while other times it is nothing more than a series of rattling, high-speed sardine tins, sometimes with a similar odor. The RER is like the Métro, but with more class, higher speed, and less odor. I only consider taking the bus between the hours of 1 and 6 am when the subway is closed, but then again, why not take advantage of the empty streets; surely a Vélib’ stand can’t be far. Taxis are for the unadventurous.

Above all I prefer commuting to class on my bike, an old road bike I purchased in the city; never did such a junker feel like such a high-performance machine. It’s the best replacement to a cup of coffee I’ve ever been willing to try, though at the same time I would advise drinking one any time you think of getting on a bike in the city. I weave through traffic like a madman, leaving most two wheeled vehicles behind to gawk as I navigate spaces just wide enough for my shoulders to pass. As Salvador Dali once said, “There is only one difference between myself and a madman. I am not mad.” There is a real and present danger that keeps your instincts alert, but it’s a risk with real rewards.

Riding my bike in Paris has given me a sense of ownership of the streets. It is a city I traverse in full confidence and in all conditions. For those of you still reluctant to hop on a Vélib’, there are still the seven flights of stairs to climb up to the Sweet Briar Office at the Alliance Française.

Good Tidings!

2008-11-14T10:24:00.000-08:00

Hey Guys,

Good news from France! I'm doing quite well, the coming winter months don't seem so daunting with this great family unit I have installed here. You've heard all about them, so I have only to make updates as our stories progress. There's been a fair amount of chaos in the house this past week as Bruno staged is move out of the house and the rest of us here filled in the space he occupied. Saturday seven of us moved Bruno and his affairs from rue Saulnier to rue de Dunkerque, a 15 minute walk North, still in the 9th arrondissement. The move was simple, and with our squad assembled, it was completed in two hours and a single trip with the family's van and a baker friend's Smart. Here are some photos.

Oh wow, what might! The squad.

Ombeline remarked that Bruno has a certain catwalk effect in this picture.

Bruno is now a resident of rue de Dunkerque.

You wouldn't think of using a Smart for you next move, would you? Well, that's what we did here.

We did it! From the left: Ombeline, Vianney's friend Alexandre, Tony the baker, and of course Bruno.

Tomorrow night Bruno's throwing a party to celebrate his Baker's degree, which he just received from some Parisian Baker's Association, a pretty big deal in the Boulanger-Patissier world. The fellow in the white t-shirt (above standing before the Smart) is going to introduce me to his girlfriend, who he claims is a model. He's very proud of her.

Oh! And for those of you wondering, last Friday night's Discotheque soiree was a succes: good music, good company, fun dancing, and a great ride back on Velib' bikes. I would have to kill you if I said anything more. JK. Expect more soon, I have a photo of Clignancout!

PS TONIGHT I'M GOING TO MY FIRST FRENCH PARTY, THE INVITATION TO WHICH I SECURED BY MY OWN CONTACTS AND MERITS!

What a slow and boring blog, you must be thinking.

2008-11-07T11:30:00.000-08:00

Well, I'm not a liar, and this isn't a blog for storytelling.

The past week has been a little dull, beginning with last Friday night, which included no Halloween celebration, to my dismay. 20 years I've seen and this is the first time I've missed dressing up, eating candy, and having an uproarious good time. My American friends were busy being grandmothers at home.

I've had a lot of time to break in my new bike, which has again been struck with a flat tire. I'm finding it to be as fast or faster than the metro in some cases, and it's always a real thrill and joy. I arrive at my destination with flushed cheeks, alert reflexes, and majestically windswept hair. Ha. As of now, I have ridden la Place de Charles de Gaule, where the Arc de Triomphe can be found, and descended the Champs Elysees en velo, just like in the final stage of the Tour de France. Actually, that time I was gently 'doored', meaning I had a slight accident in which I crashed into the opening door of a parked car. To my credit, I had plenty of time to brake and didn't even fall off the bike, I only abruptly hit the corner of the car door with my chest. Needless to say, the poor girl getting out of the car was speechless, and I was surprised to hear myself respond in French to her and the driver of the car. "What are you doing!?" Was what came out. Don't worry, I'm ok, no marks or scars. No close call has caught me totally off guard or scared me yet.

Sunday night I visited the la famille de Planta, the French family that hosted my sister Madeline last fall during her semester abroad. They're quite nice and were glad to have me over a second time, as the year before they invited my family to dinner at their home not far from the Arc de Triomphe and infamous Place de Charles de Gaule. Dinner was good, ate me some meat! By that I mean fish.

This week I found myself faced with some of the first real schoolwork of this academic year. With it came a good dose of panic and procrastination, but in the end I was satisfied with the work I submitted. The assignment was a commentaire de texte on Savlien de Marseille's Eulogy to the Barbarian, a text from the church addressing the sinful Barbarians invading the Occident and to the hedonistic Romans, whose sins were of greater consequence due to their understanding of the Christian faith. Tuesday I had a test on the balance of power in the European Union, and Wednesday I had a cumulative controle, more or less a quiz, in my 18th century French History course, which was murder. On a more positive note, I'm beginning to make some friends in my classes, meaning two, but I'll take what I can get. I was quite comforted yesterday to have one of my friends mention to me in class that no, she didn't understand what the professor was explaining, either.

I've also had the chance to catch a few French films in the past week. I saw Bienvenue chez les Ch'tis, a hugely successful film about the North of France, which I highly recommend. When it released this March, one in three French citizens saw the film in theaters, setting a new record for box office sales in the nation. Still, it was no Titanic. Ha. Before that I saw Brice de Nice, a comedy about an idiotic, self-obsessed surfer on the Mediterranean, where there are no waves. This one was also good.

I've been hitting French libraries, a surprisingly difficult, or at least tedious, task. Since there really is no central library for the Sorbonne, students are left with the national resources. There are a ton of libraries in Paris, but the ones I've visited are the Bibliotheque Nationale de France in the 13th arrondissement and the Bibliotheque St. Genevieve in the 5th just across from the Pantheon. I have really mixed feelings about my experiences in both libraries. I'll spend some time reflecting on them before I speak.

Oh, and today for the first time I walked five minutes to a municipal pool, which was quite a laugh! I thought I had walked in on a pool party when I first entered, there were so many people in such a small pool! It's a 25 meter pool with five lanes, in which 25-30 people were swimming, by my guess. That's a lot of people in a small pool! Everyone was getting their sport on, wearing the obligatory swim cap. Describing French swimming is difficult: it was like social swimming, but without the social part. Everyone was swimming quite happily at a tranquil pace, as if they were taking a stroll, but swimming.

Tonight I'm going to a discotheque with my host brother and a few of his friends. It's costing me 20 euros, so it had better be fun. We'll see whether Tektonik is accepted there or not. Here, have a laugh at the website, it's www.lebackup.com. I sure did. Sorry for the lack of media!

What a laugh!

2008-10-31T03:40:00.000-07:00

Last night's topic of discussion at dinner was the military, and all of a sudden my host father starts singing this song.

And I, the American, didn't even know the song. Well, anyways, here it is.

Velo!

2008-10-30T02:53:00.000-07:00

I GOT ONE!

After a fair amount of fussing with flat tires and cranky bike shop owners, she's in action! And fast as ever! I picked it up last Friday used for 80 euros, more money than I was comfortable handing over all at once, but WELL WORTH IT. Take yesterday evening for instance: I was winding down from a stressful morning and a stressful assignment I had just submitted, had a few hours to kill, so I went and played in traffic for an hour or two. I'm surprised by how comfortable I feel navigating the busiest intersections in the middle of rush hour, though I suppose you could say I've been working towards this moment for some time. So far I've tackled La Place de l'Opera and La Place de la Madeleine, and have passed through Place de la Concorde ever so briefly. My greatest triumph will be Place de Charles de Gaulle, or l'Arc de Triomphe, but I'm not ready yet.

Don't worry, Mom, yesterday I picked up a mountable light for riding at night, as well as one of those funny reflective ankle bands to keep your pant leg out of the gears. Also, I wrapped the handlebars, which were bare steel before and quite uncomfortable in cold weather. Hopefully my friend Cody will get his own velo soon, and then I'll have a riding partner. Until then, no one is fast enough to catch me. Better not speak too soon, I'll surely be proved wrong.

In Paris

2008-10-30T01:39:00.000-07:00

So I'm back after a weekend in the countryside and seaside of the North where my host family has a vacation home. The town is called Le Touquet, situated just North of Berck and two hours from Lille. This week is the week of Toussaint, or All Saints Day, a national holiday in France celebrated for an entire week. As holidays go, it's quite different from the States, as the government staggers the vacation days to avoid overflowing the transit systems. A few members of the family have stayed at the vacation house all week, and after my weekend visit, I can say with confidence that I envy them.

After our arrival, we stopped at the house to turn on the heating, then jumped back in the car to have dinner with family friends. It was really good. They say that the salt air in the North stimulates the appetite.

The next day I awoke, ate breakfast, and picked apples from the pommier in the back yard after Ombeline announced the opening of the (apple) hunting season. She outfitted us both with boots for the wet grass and I found a ladder in the shed.

View of the house in the morning light.

It's not terribly big, but after Paris it felt enormous. After filling two big baskets, we put on our sneakers and went to the town market, absolutely overflowing with seafood. Before going home, we went for a short walk on the beach, which was beautiful, though I have no photos to prove it. We went home, I went for a run, got lost, came back, and we had lunch. The French serve their shrimp with the heads still attached, antennae, eyes and all. This is a video from the market Ombeline insisted I took.

They have quite a collection of bikes at the house, one for each child, and then one or two extra. The girls and I rode to the equestrian center to check out the horseys. I rode one of the most beautiful antique Peugot road bikes I have seen, painted a sort of bright, sparkly teal. Then we went home and watched a movie. Dinner was quiet.

The next morning Bruno and his fiance Evguenia arrived, and we all went to church. It was a grey day, and on the way out of the service I took this limited view of the Hotel de Ville, which is really nice.

We had company for drinks and lunch afterwards. I think there were nine of us. We talked about Russia, alcoholism, and the French. Then, in spite of the cold, rain, wind, and grey skies, we all hopped in the family van (7 children warrants ownership of a real van) and hit the beach for a promenade. It wasn't a long walk, but a fun one all the same.

"Behold!"

Mme Vandame (in the orange pants) was the toughest of us all! Of course, she's originally from the North.

Everyone was soaked, so we went home, changed clothes, and sat by the fire drinking tea for the next hour. Then, sadly, M Vandame (above) and I took the train back to Paris.

As for this weekend, I'll be in Paris, as far as I know, riding my bike (refer to post above).

Marseille

2008-10-21T14:05:00.000-07:00

South of France.
Marseille.
Port
Point of entry of the black plague.
Immigration.
Rats.
Water.

I'm back from Marseille. After only three nights in the city, I was read to go back to Paris. This should be not be taken as a discredit to Marseille, but instead a sign of my love for Paris. In Marseille I was shocked to find myself the ethnic minority in an abundance of African and Middle Eastern peoples. The French we heard spoken was quite different, I would say degraded from its pure origins. The notion of leaving the protective sphere of Paris, international in a Western sense, had not occurred to me. With the city's reputation as one of the oldest port cities of the Occident, I expected an immigrant population, but I could not have prepared for experiencing it. The shock I experienced reflects on my upbringing in the States and the distinct social and ethnic boundaries there.

I don't want to give the wrong impression, so let me say that my visit to Marseille was incredible. What made it incredible was not its citizens, its architecture, or its culture. What made it incredible was the sea and the strong sea breeze. My years in Annapolis have honed my penchant for salt air, and my nose perked up immediately when I stepped into the open space of the Vieux Port. It was refreshing.

Friday morning Abhinay and I reunited with a few friends from our study abroad program. I had my coiffure done and then we climbed to the Eglise de Notre-Dame de la Garde, a beautiful church overlooking everything. The clear sky granted us the greatest view. That afternoon, we warily experimented with the public transit and visited a nature preserve of some sort with access to 'Les Calanques'. The term is new to me, so I'll let the photos speak for themselves.

Can you imagine how overjoyed I was to find myself standing before this inlet in weather just warm enough for a swim? Looking back, it was like a dream. Here's where I made my entry.

Proof.

To seal the lid on one of the best personal experiences of my life, I ended the day with a steak and a few glasses of wine. Then I slept a blissful sleep.

The next day, after a good run around the city and up to Notre-Dame de la Garde a second time, we visited a very old prison, the Chateau d'If. Then we embarked on a self-guided walking tour of the old quarter. Some refer to this as wandering.

Ended the night with moules frites, or mussels with french fries. Abhinay somehow convinced me to eat out two nights in a row. Then again, eight euro for dinner in Marseille doesn't seem so steep when tea in Paris is four.

Anyways, enough complaining. I believe I will be staying in Paris this weekend. My host family has invited me to their house in Le Touquet (dans le Norrrd, as my host father puts it, very menacing) and I really would like to go, especially with all the time I've spent away from them, but a weekend here would be nice. Still undecided. As for travels further abroad, my plans have been temporarily put on hold due to visa restrictions. With my incomplete French visa, I may not leave the country, that is, until my revised American birth certificate arrives. I find these details boring. Chances are you do, too.

These photos are not serious. Insert your own captions.

2008-10-21T13:39:00.000-07:00

Before I go

2008-10-16T02:21:00.000-07:00

Last weekend was wild! Thursday night we celebrated the birthday of a friend in the Bastille, then Friday I visited the chateau Fontainebleau with Abhinay, my friend Lauren, and a friend of hers from USC. Saturday and Sunday I journeyed with 30 some American students to the French coast of Normandie and Bretagne. It was free! Though we only stayed one night, we packed the two days full of adventures, strung together by many bus rides. Here are some pictures.

Abhinay and Lauren standing on the cobblestone entryway to the chateau. Here in 1814, Napoleon Bonaparte made his final procession before being exiled.

Borrowed from facebook. That sure was a big canal (le grand canal)!

Modern art on exhibition. The French consensus (don't quote me) is a general distaste for this type of contrasting display. They want their chateaux traditionally furnished and adorned.

The Cathedrale Notre-Dame de Bayeux was nice.

Then we went to Normandy beach to see the memorial. Sam and Damla on the beach. None of us had a very emotional visit. It was my second time visiting, and I consciously chose not to visit the cemetery, wanting to keep my weekend as cheerful as possible. Instead, I found myself upset for not bringing my swimsuit, it was hot!

La Point du Hoc, a cliff at the midpoint of the beaches stormed during the D-day invasion and a key strategic location for German artillery emplacements which they considered impenetrable due to the sheer rock walls protecting it. It posed a great threat to the Allied forces invading on Omaha and Utah beaches, and was considered essential to the success of the invasion. After a heavy allied bombardment, a force of 225 Army Rangers scaled the cliffs with special climbing equipment and took the Germans by surprise, though suffering heavy casualties. By the time reinforcements arrived, only 90 remained. I couldn't help but marvel in its beauty.

The next day we visited Mont Saint-Michel. Been there done that. Actually, this is my freaking out pose.

I just had to get Guy de Maupassant's opinion on the matter of St. Michel and the devil.

Then we spent the afternoon at St. Malo. Supposedly the city is usually quite depressing, what with its grey stone ramparts surrounding the older arrondissements, but it was sunny and delightful the day we visited.

I have a few more pictures to add but not the time to do it. Late this afternoon I leave for Marseille and the Cote d'Azur, where I will be until Sunday afternoon. I'll be sure not to forget my swimsuit, though rain is predicted. A plus!

Filler I neglected to post last week

2008-10-09T10:29:00.000-07:00

- Sorry, dug this one out of the archives. Due to an internal error and the fact that I keep falling asleep as I type, this post is going up a week late -

I have some media to present. Nothing phenomenal, just a few pictures to fill in the blank spaces in time.

The week I returned from Germany the the 'kids' were all alone in the apartment, their parents away on vacation in Venice until the end of the week. I was quite surprised by my host siblings' contributive efforts to the upkeep of the home. Fun was had, of course, but in the form of several crepe parties, playing music loudly, and entertaining friends. The place was a bit messy, but a vigorous evening of cleaning before the parents' return restored the place to order. That last night of independence a dinner party was thrown by my host brother, Bruno (23) and his lovely fiancee Evguenia. They met at the boulangerie where he works. When I came home that evening they were preparing dinner and wearing matching aprons.

Last Friday a treasure hunt was held at the Louvre by my study abroad program. It was alright, they arranged for French students interested in meeting Americans to be there. This fellow Valery here came toting a really nice bag and an umbrella, which he carried in the crook of his arm (not over the arm). The photo's deceiving, but he really carried the bag in the crook of his arm.

And his shoes squeaked.

I saw this in the toilettes of the Paris IV Championnet site. It's French for 'All Cops are Pigs', though it translates to 'All Cops are Oxen'. Written on the wall of a stall in the same bathroom was, 'Down with Democracy', complete with an arrow pointing to the toilet.

Bienvenue a la Jungle

2008-10-08T13:06:00.000-07:00

Welcome to the jungle, amen. Sorry for not posting since my return from Munich, honestly I needed a few days to catch up on sleep afterwards. Those efforts, however, were of little avail, as by the end of the week I was sick again, and had no choice but to spend my Saturday afternoon, evening, and night in bed. I'm back to full strength again, I think, though it's difficult to gauge with the odd weather we've been having in Paris. It's been colder than usual, though yesterday afternoon the temperature rose to 68 degrees fahrenheit.

And there's been a lot happening, too, though this sort of news is certainly not universally exciting. I've entered the hideous concrete jungle that is History at the Sorbonne. Wow, ugly and inefficient are just about the worst compliments possible.

So far I appreciate the French University system - the same way you appreciate a child's help in the kitchen. The effort is sweet, but in practice, much less efficient. And then there's the food, the goods, to worry about. Classes are just now underway (as of Sept. 29/Oct. 6), and though they're already under full steam, the unescapable administrative corrections have proven to be tedious. For example, this morning in the Travaux Dirige for my XVIII c. French history course, there were more than 40 students crammed in a classroom that would seat 20 comfortably. I still don't know whether I was the only one convinced they would die of asphyxiation or hyperthermia during one and a half hours of class.

Also, I had my first class at the Goethe Institute yesterday! There are five in my class, and I've never met a more grammatically demanding professor in my life! It's odd to feel relieved speaking French after class.

Anyways, my laptop is running low on batteries, so I'll conclude. Paris IV is hideous, this I will prove with photos in a future posting.

This weekend I'll be in Normandy, but I will make a strong effort to post before I depart.

Here's a picture of Paris III, which I toured today, surely prettier than Paris IV.

München

2008-09-30T09:00:00.000-07:00

My train back to Paris arrived early Monday morning under a welcomed dawn. The Nachtzug (night train) was a long, fitful ride, almost ten hours from Munich to Paris. Traveling by train just isn't the same after you've ridden the French TGV (train de grande vitesse) line. We Parisians are the toughest to impress.

It was clear upon my arrival at the Hauptbahnhof that Oktoberfest was fully underway. Men in lederhosen and women in the German dirndl could easily be seen in every direction. It's the same as Americans dressing up in farming garb or ranch hand duds. German 'Trachten' or 'traditional clothing' celebrates the time before industrialization came to Germany when Bavaria was an agrarian region, before Germany was great. I find it ironic. Anyways, Germans dressed this way teemed through the station, along with American, French, Polish, and Russian people. Many of them were drunk, so an appropriately sized police force was present. As I waited for my friend Nell and her Middlebury chums, I saw this note taped to the wall.

I was eager to see as much as possible in the waning daylight. This is St. Paul's, marking the direction to and from Oktoberfest
from our apartment, which proved to be quite useful to some in our party.

Well, I had better not delay it any further. Here's a photo of the beer at the Hofbräu tent. At 10:15am.

Now imagine drinking this quantity in a single day. One of the guys in our group did just that. One alone left me reeling.

Nell had a beer of her own.

Having already had quite enough of Oktoberfest and being less sober than I would usually prefer before noon, I went off on my own tourism adventure. This is the Frauenkirche, a fine example of Gothic architecture constructed between the 15th and 16th centuries. It houses a funny bust of my good friend, Pope Benedict XVI, who originates from Bavaria.

Then I learned about mining at the Deutsches Museum, where I was nearly refused the student ticket price. Whatcha doin' there, bud?

And then, of course, there was Otto von Bismarck of the First German Empire.

I was heartened and still saddened to see empty Jägermeister flasks everywhere. In France we joke about 'Veloskills', our term for drunken bike riding. However in German the term would be something like, 'Fahrradfähigkeiten'.

Here is the Neue Rathaus, completed in 1910, at Marienplatz in the center of the Old City. The sun came out just in time for ...

The Chancellor of Germany, Angela Merkel! By chance, there was a CSU rally that Friday afternoon. Other speakers included President Minister of Bavaria Günther Beckstein and CSU Chairman Erwin Huber.

Again, the measures taken by Oktoberfest goers.

At the Städtische Galerie im Lenbachhaus und Kunstbau München, there were lots of great paintings to be seen, particularly from the pre WWI German expressionist group, The Blue Rider artists. Here Wassily Kandinsky teaches lesson of the day to the students of his 'Phalanx' school. Photo by Gabrielle Müller.

There I also bore witness to the worst exhibition space design of all time.

Oktoberfest, I will not miss you.

How dull, no multimedia?

2008-09-24T16:17:00.000-07:00

But I do have good news. Tomorrow I'm leaving for Munich, Germany, where I will be until late night. You can expect lots of good pictures and even more stories - it's Oktoberfest! Tchuess!

Goodies

2008-09-23T15:02:00.000-07:00

MP3s!

So today I was hunting for books for my literature class with a few friends in the 2e arrondissement, and one in my party took us into a Zara store. Zara is French clothing for men and women with similarities to the American store Banana Republic. We were only in the store for a matter of minutes, but in that time they managed to play two of the most popular songs by the hit new artist Yelle. They're good, I won't lie, though I've grown tired of them after nearly three weeks of continuous play (and singing).

This is Yelle. Here are the songs I speak of:

http://www.sendspace.com/file/ewa8zc
http://www.sendspace.com/file/2lxyr8

Check it out! More updates soon!

Tantalizing

2008-09-23T14:32:00.000-07:00

Look at this. Does it make you hungry or does it make you . . .

I need to hire a private blogger

2008-09-21T14:41:00.000-07:00

Because there aren't enough hours in the day to blog! Here's a video to hold your attention while I sleep.

This is the group. This is Tektonique.

Compare with this. Unfortunately it's a German vid, but the idea remains the same.

BIG DEAL!

2008-09-17T02:47:00.000-07:00

Monday I signed up for the Paris Marathon, April 5th of 2009. WOWIE.

De Tours a Paris

2008-09-15T02:07:00.000-07:00

You can tell when I'm using my personal computer because of the lack of proper accenting.

A lot has happened since my last post. Courses at the Insistut de Touraine were completed, and we all bid a fond farewell to the city of Tours and the Loire River. It really is a nice place, though it is better suited for a slower paced lifestyle than that sought by my colleagues.

We traveled to Paris on a bus (there were two for all of us) and were promptly deposited with our new and permanent host families. My family is great! Family Vandame is two parents and seven children. They are very traditional, Catholic, but at the same time, more relaxed than one would expect considering those factors. My chambre is enorme, there are a few pictures of my view below.

This one's for Melanie.

Cody and Abhinay inform the world of their brutally judgmental personalities.

We made crepes my last night in Tours. I cooked more than half of them.

The secret to French cuisine: BUTTA! I've decided that any time excessive butter is used in cooking, it becomes French cuisine. EXCESS.

I couldn't wait until dinner to eat one. It was just so buttery and good.

Here's the recipe, which I obtained secretly! Translation may be provided upon request.

Where we dined when the weather was nice.

My window in Paris. That is not a real bird.

THAT IS THE POPE, IN WHITE!

My friend Natalia in front of the Tour Eiffel after a great picnic (pique-nique) with friends.

My adorable host sister Ombeline and I in front of the apartment.

UPDATES

2008-09-08T07:37:00.000-07:00

The moment you all have been waiting for - an update! Complete with images!

Tours has been wonderful, I'm with my new host family in Saint Cyr sur Loire just across the river from the downtown. My room is much more comfortable, though the cat Archymede invades it at night when he can. I take great precautions in sealing the door and windows at night to keep any feline bedfellows at bay. The family Morbieu is very warm and welcoming, and their strong family bond is quite clear. The meals are not quite as exquisite as they were at the Basri home, but they are much more relaxed. The Morbieus love word games, or <>, which are a challenge to comprehend, but quite a laugh if you manage to catch them. I've even made a few of my own, though they are more transparent. The father has taken to instructing me in the ways of the French, even a little history. I look forward to the nights when we linger in the kitchen, he lecturing, me asking questions. I've taken a great interest in his home region, the Pays Basque, in the Southwest corner of the country on the Atlantic coast, Spanish border, and the Pyrenees. It's true farming country with its own language, completely independent of the French tongue. Perhaps I'll manage a visit.
The other students and I go out quite often, which means we get together at night for a beer or glass of wine. The weekends are a different story, however, and some students have been hitting the boites de nuit, discotheques, and bars. Then there are others of us who prefer the more relaxed alternative, which is going to a late night store, picking up a bottle of Bordeaux (4 Euro), and heading down to the stone walkway under the Pont Wilson on the bank of the Loire. Of course, I partake in a bit of both, though I have yet to make it into a discotheque. I'm saving my dance abilities for Paris. All this has given the group time to get to know one another, and I'm confident the company in Paris will be good. Paris remains something of a mystery, as I have yet to receive my housing assignment or schedule of classes.
Already I'm a bit sad to be leaving Tours, which has really grown on me. This weekend we got the chance to visit a few of the treasures of the Loire Valley : its Châteaux. Saturday we visited Chenonceaux (on the river Cher) and then Villandry on Sunday. Rather than take the time to describe them, I'm going to upload a few photos and get out of here.

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My ride to and from Tours and school. Totally broken the day I arrived. We fixed it, but the brakes are still terrible. Keep your fingers crossed for me.

Gypsy barge.

A bike ride with some friends.

Chenonceaux. We rode under that thing in a boat.

Drew goes to Kenyon and looks great on a bike!

Villandry and a fraction of its gardens. We rode there on bikes, 50 kilometers round trip.

The garden was full of fruits and vegetables! I just couldn't resist.

This one makes me think of Melanie, or at least her photographic quirks. What do you think of it?

Enormous loaves of bread! To feed the legions of gardeners?

Small peppers growing inside on the windowsill.

Sorry for the delay in posts, I just haven't had good access to the internet with my laptop. You can expect more later this week and once I arrive in Paris (Thursday). The Pope will be there Saturday!

L'Atterrissage

2008-09-01T06:10:00.000-07:00

I am writing from Tours, France, where I will be living for the next 12 days or so. It's a beautiful medium-sized (300,000) city in the heart of the country, just below the French corn belt. The city itself does not boast any great landmarks or features, but it is nonetheless a wonderfully relaxed and beautiful city where a five minute walk will take you from the quiet residential quarters to the happening town square. Our days have been action packed, though I think the constant distraction from being jet lagged has assisted my recovery greatly.

After a brief stay with a temporary host family, I have been united with my assigned family who live on the other side of the Loire river. My 10 minute walk to the Institut de Touraine is now a 10 minute bike ride, ou conduit à vélo, much to my satisfaction. Now I must report to a meeting, though I intend to make updates soon.

Offense

2008-08-26T22:19:00.000-07:00

What's wrong with a euroblog?

I ask you this, blog readers, in hopes that you can explain.

MY NEW BLOG

2008-08-25T11:05:00.000-07:00

Hello, friends. It's me, Luke Williams, and this is my new blog, intended to act as a log of my day to day life in Paris and traveling through Europe. While Paris is a really big city and hub of international exchange, it's in another continent, so I figured that to make things easy, I would construct a blog, accessible from any computer equipped with the internet. This way, you might not forget about me! At your own leisure, check in here for updates on my life.

To fill you in, I will be studying in Paris the coming academic year, returning sometime after May 31, 2009. I will live in the city (location TBA), most likely with a host family, and will study history at the Paris IV Sorbonne University. I plan on traveling through Europe over the course of the year, especially to Germany. I already have plans made to visit Munich for Oktoberfest! In this time, I hope to perfect my French, expand on my ability with German, and above all, to meet new people and enjoy myself.

As for contact info goes, I will have a few mailing addresses. For the first half of September, I will be in Tours, France, for a brief immersion to French culture outside the city. As of September 5, I can be reached in Paris at

(My name)
SWEET BRIAR COLLEGE
34, rue de Fleurus
75006
FRANCE

I may be given a more direct mailing address upon my arrival and depending on my living situation.

If you are in Europe and would like to hang with me, I will be posting a mobile number as soon as I arrive.
If you are in America the beautiful, send me your mailing address! at williamsl@kenyon.edu and I'll be sure to send you a carte postale. Send me travel suggestions and keep me up to date with your life! If you're interested in my other, less formal blog, let me know and I'll give you the URL. Alright, enough.