Three Things to Remember when Living Here

The following three things are those which I have done incorrectly around my madame, and have been promptly corrected by said madame.

1) Always wear shoes in the house. Especially to dinner. (I had asked madame on the first day if it was a "no shoe" house or not and she said to do whatever I wanted, so I did. Some weeks later, she confided across the table at dinner to me that "we shouldn't ever walk around with naked feet. It doesn't feel right. And have shoes on at dinner.")

2) Do not blow your nose on toilet paper. Especially madame's. (I don't know if it's the toilet paper, or if it's because it's madame's, but don't! I had a cold and I was told that this was not the thing to do. That is why we buy kleenex. Never mind that it was Sunday and I was desperately ill and there was no place open where I COULD buy kleenex.)

3) Finally, stop shedding hair! Sheesh! (I mean, come on, who actually loses hair! Apparently I do, and madame pulled me aside one night to inform me that I ought to pay more attention to my hair. At first I thought she was talking like my American mom does, that I should actually make it look acceptable, but no she meant that I should stop letting stray strands fall from my head. I should pick up every one that falls off. Sadly, I don't have a buzzer that tells me when a hair comes off!)

None of these things are inappropriate when executed improperly by my roommate. Maybe it's just us dark haired, naked footed, nose blowing Sariahs!

A European Thanksgiving

For Thanksgiving, about 25 of us went to Geneva (that's in Switzerland!) and stayed there from Wednesday evening to Saturday evening. There is a girl in our group whose parents were recently called as mission presidents there, and the mission home has (in just the "girls" side!) over twenty beds! So yes, that was very exciting. Thanksgiving dinner was HUGE, but sadly I wasn't as appreciative as I might have been. You see...the Tuesday before this I had that tell-tale sore throat that means you're getting sick. And then Wednesday it hit. And it was BAD! As in, just before Thanksgiving dinner on Thursday the mission president gave me a blessing because I had an ear infection coming. (Don't doubt this - I've had them twice in the last year. I know what they feel like!) And so I couldn't taste dinner. And except for dinner and a five minute attempt to walk into town (which failed), I spent the ENTIRE weekend in Geneva sleeping in my room, trying to quarantine myself since nobody wanted to be near me lest they catch it. I understand their reluctance to get sick (especially considering the symptoms, and in the opinion of several seperate sources, it was the flu) but it was really lonely.

I got someone to lend me their laptop and on that I watched 12 hours of the TV show "24" (that was for you, Steven. I'd already seen the first 12.) and I sort of slept/watched movies for the whole weekend. My ear infection DID go away. But then the lovely crash when I had consumed my entire package of cold medicine occured, and it was pretty much terrible. But I'm home now and I'm feeling a bit better though walking still takes a while to recover from. I hope you all had better Thanksgivings than that, and I shall see some of you soon soon SOON this WEEK!!, and the rest of you soon enough after that!

When in Rome, Pretend You're from France

This last long weekend, I went to Rome! It was, well, very Roman, actually. Somehow I kept getting Roman things and Greek things mixed up in my head and would make extremely intelligent statements such as in the following anecdote: while wandering in the Roman ruins with a guide book to tell us what was what, Sariah (who was holding the guide book) pointed up on the hill and said, “That, I think, is the palace of Caesar. Wait, that means this is probably where Pilot washed his hands, and Christ was sent to be crucified!” (FYI, I don’t think Christ made it to Italy. I’m pretty sure that was over in Israel.) I probably fit in the dumb American category, too.

It’s almost embarrassing to say you’re from the US, because you don’t want people to have a pre-conceived image of you, and you don’t want them to treat you as they view “stupid Americans.” After seeing all these tourists everywhere, I can really appreciate that “dumb American” idea. Not that all Americans are dumb, but they are a big amount of tourists in Rome and much of the frustrations the Italians have for tourists transfers to Americans. Example: after leaving the Sistine Chapel, where the mass of people had been told “Silence please!” many times, someone in a group near me asked someone in their group, “Why do we have to be quiet in there?” Their brilliant friend responded, “I don’t know. I think it’s out of respect for the paintings. Maybe out of respect for Michelangelo since he’s dead.” Goodness, I understand being quiet in libraries and museums, but did they not notice the “Chapel” part of the sign? And since when are we quiet while discussing something that was made or invented by someone who is now dead? I think the category they need is “oblivious American,” who are oblivious sometimes out of stupidity and sometimes just because we aren’t from Europe and just don’t know things that Europeans take for granted.

Our outgoing plane (Ryanair is great and cheap) had an Italian flag drawn on its side, and next to that was written in huge letters was: “Scotland. Welcome to our life!”

Please forgive all spelling errors, but for those of you who want an inventory (probably me in a while, too) I saw the: Pantheon, Coliseum, Trevy Fountain (and yes I threw some coins in), Roman Forum (and therefore lots of Roman ruins), Vatican City, St. Peter’s, Sistine Chapel, Vatican Museum (and therefore lots of famous paintings including Raphael’s School of Athens), the Spanish Steps, whatever river that is in Rome, lots of ristorantes and cafes, a choir concert in some church, and many streets of Rome. If you want the history of those, well, you’ll have to look in a guidebook. I saw them, though. I ate gelato six times, I had lasagna twice, I had fettuccini, salad, pizza, calzones, Italian pastries, I drank out of the drinking fountains that are really just fountains along some streets, I pretty much died without Orangina, which I really hope they have in the states since I’m addicted to it in France, and I had a few other desserts. I met some fellow named Donatello and someone named Flavio.

I also had some interesting interactions with various salespeople. The Italians are far friendlier than the French, and more of them speak English, so we weren’t totally lost. Mostly it was funny to see all the street vendor people, who sell things from semi-legitimate souvenirs, to this expansive sort of brotherhood who sells many things but mostly illegal ones. These guys are all black – never any Italians or Caucasians – and they have their funny little way of talking and they all speak English more or less. You can pick them out by their words and body language, calling, “Lady, lady, sista, wait! Listen, you want this? Pretty lady?” And as soon as you start haggling with them over prices they always say “Okay, okay, okay” and they’ll motion to you with their hand to “give” while looking away as if this is a great secret. I’ll have to demonstrate this for you, but it is quite classic and very funny. They’ll tell you in your ear, “Okay, for you I make ten euro!” and there’s always a lot of “Okay, okay, eight euros, but lowest price!” According to my group members, I’m the “goddess at haggling,” but I really think that Grandpa Todd would take the cake with that one. I’m really not that good; I’m just willing to do it. Mostly they sell knock-off purses, sunglasses, etc., but there are some who sold the stupid, stupid stuff that people somehow buy. There was an experience we had with some stupid items and a couple vendors that is probably not quite appropriate (sorry, Quinton children!) to put in here, but if you want the story email me and I’ll see what I can do.

Overall, Rome is very neat and old but also vastly filthy. Hugely, immensely dirty, from literal trash on the roads to a very crude attitude about porn, when I had thought that Paris’ attitude about that was pretty bad. If you ever go, remember that your group is part of your experience (and not the best part of mine) and try to be understanding!

I never thought I’d be so relieved to be back in France. I guess I never realized that I was comfortable here, but compared to Rome, this is very safe because I know it. Being able to speak in French to people there was such an amazing relief, and it was fun to answer the “where you from” question with “Oh, France” even though it’s not strictly true. Somehow we got along in English/French there with pretty much everybody, and I am so, so glad to be back in Paris now, and so excited to see my family soon!!

Normandie et Bretagne

Thursday

We drove a few hours to get to Arromanches, which is the town that was “ground zero” for D-Day. This is where Port Winston is, which was the port built by the allies during the D-Day invasion. If D-Day were to work, the allies would need supplies and food after they got a hold on French land, and to get those things they needed a port. Germany controlled all the ports on the coast, so the Winston Churchill had the brilliant plan to build the port in England, and then take it over to France. Thousands of laborers built it in England in pieces, not knowing what it was for, and then it was taken across the English Channel and sunk into the ocean and assembled during D-Day. Much of it is still there and you can even see some of it at high tide. It was actually really resourceful – they used old, almost broken battleships and sunk them in the water, making the Germans think they were winning, but they used that as an underwater break for the ocean as the outside of the port. It was the first pre-built harbor.

We saw a museum at the top, on the cliffs that overlooked Arromanches and Omaha beach, and there was a really sobering video there that had footage of D-Day, and it was 360 degrees, all around you, and it was really impressive. (The D in D-Day stands for Day, like H hour or S Sariah. In France it’s called Jour J.) Then we saw a museum right along the harbor and there are flags in the town of France, England, Canada, and the US.

Then we went to the WWII Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial, which we just called the American Cemetery. There are 9,387 white marble crosses (and stars of David) for the Americans who died on the beaches in Normandy, in about the 4 months around D-Day, and some of the bodies were sent back to their families in the ‘50s. These are just the Americans, and just on the Normandy beaches and just those whose families decided to let them rest there. Imagine how many people died total on all the beaches, and how many allies died in WWII, not to mention the Holocaust and even the number of the other side. It was staggering to see so many crosses; I cannot even imagine how many that number of people is.

Continuing with our war focused day, we finished up at Point Du Hoc, which is where 225 US soldiers were sent to scale these cliffs occupied by Germans during the invasion which is where the Germans were most fortified. Only 90 were alive at the end. There are bomb craters covering the tops of the cliffs, and destroyed German bunkers. It’s actually amazingly beautiful, like the rest of Normandy. It was sunset when we were there, and the craters have grass growing in them and it’s easy to choose to not remember what happened here when you’re watching the sea change color. I feel sort of guilty for thinking it was so beautiful, but it was. You can’t picnic here and it’s viewed as a gravesite. You can climb in the bunkers and down the craters (half sphere, perhaps 15 feet in radius on average, maybe 10 feet) and it is really very quiet.

Friday

The first city to be liberated after D-Day was Bayeux, which is where we saw the Bayeux tapestry, which I’d not heard of before but certainly recognized upon seeing it, but maybe because it’s so famous and is used for many examples of tapestries now. It is 70 metres long, and less than a metre tall. It is a “document” that tells the story of the Battle of Hastings: it starts with talking about King Harold (not yet king) and his adventures (accidental) in Normandy and him swearing loyalty to William (then called William the Bastard, not William the Conqueror. History added that little amendment) but then Harold becomes king and breaks his oath, so William comes after him in the battle where Normandy takes England. There was this incredibly cheesy video and almost as cheesy audio guide that was still useful as it took you through about a metre at a time (metRE is French, metER is not) and explains what’s happening.

Then we (sort of randomly, it seemed) went to Dinan, which is in Bretagne (Brittany) and is a medieval town. That means it’s very stone-oriented  and has a very distinctly medieval chateau. (How you tell the difference between an medieval chateau and one from the 14-18th centuries: medieval ones are usually on top of a hill, have ramparts, are meant for defense, are not decorated or beautiful, and are boring, gray stone. If the chateau in question lacks all or most of these details, it is likely NOT a medieval chateau.) We wandered around the cobblestone streets with the stone walls blocking us from the stone houses, and after visiting the stone chateau we walked into stone shops and eventually ate in a stone creperie. You see, Bretagne is famous for its crepes; it is the Mother of Crepes, if you will. Most famous are the galettes, which are the non-sweet crepes that you put eggs, cheese, meat, etc. in and they are fabulous in Bretagne.

Saturday

On our way home we stopped and spent 4 hours in Mon St. Michel, which is my favorite geographical anomaly of the trip. It is an island part of the time…when the tide is up (which is all day except for 90 minutes) it’s an island, and when the tide’s out, it’s not. It has one street, and is one of the top 4 pilgrimage sites in Christian history. There’s a monastery/abbey at the top, and it’s basically a big rock that is sometimes an island, too. It’s cold and windy at the top (and rainy, like everywhere in Normandy/Bretagne, especially in winter) but it was very pretty and quite impressive. Now there’s a land bridge for cars to drive to it, but it wasn’t always there and it’s known for its quick tides. Every year people die in the tides because they’re either not careful or they don’t believe what they’ve been told, which is this: if you are standing by the island when the tide starts to come in, and even if you RUN to the rest of France, you cannot outrun the tide. In the summer they have beach visiting hour and half, and that’s the safe 90 minutes when the tide is fully out. Pretty impressive.

It’s interesting to me (this has nothing to do with Mont St. Michel) how much people’s lives are still focused around WWII. Not so much in Paris, but in other cities where you can still see damage from WWII or where everything is new because the rest was destroyed. It’s still a huge part of people’s lives – people spend their whole lives now working at memorials, or if they aren’t doing that then they’re always surrounded by reminders that the war happened. I think it’s good that they haven’t erased the war, though it is a depressing thought to dwell on it all the time. I guess they get used to it, like you get used to anything. I am glad we didn’t have all this happen to us in the US. I hope it never happens.

Bocantes and Marches

If you ever make it to Paris, make sure to go visit some marches (markets) or brocantes. There are a lot down in Puces, which is in the 18e arrondisement. (Arrondisement = zone/district, and there are 20 in Paris, spiraling outward from the center of the city. Also, in France, instead of writing "1st" or "2nd", they write "e" for all "st" and "nd" and "rd" and "th." Much easier, I think.)

As I think I've mentioned before, brocantes are huge flea market things that look like a garage sale of someone's grandma. Marches ("marsh-ay") can be those selling food, so you have fruit, fish, meat, veggies, etc. all around, or others that sell clothes, shoes, jewelry, trinkets, etc. In Puces today there were all of the above, but it's neat because their brocantes are more inside, and are year-round although only open on weekends. The products are EXTENSIVE! It's really fun to walk up and down and look at things, especially with other people so you can exclaim over the extreme ugliness or the exciting choices. You'll also have to brush up on your haggling - it helps to have two of you, as we learned today when you can play off each other and provide support against the crazy vender who won't budge. We saved a lot today, and probably could have saved more but oh, well, it was fun! I especially recommend these brocantes to you, grandparents!

Just Some French Oddities

France is sometimes marked as a pessimistic country. Given these French proverbs, you can see why:
"Wait until it is night before you say it has been a fine day." (goodness!)
"The crow is no whiter for being washed." (pigeons, too)
"Everything passes, everything breaks, everything wearies." (true, but hardly motivational)
"Honey is sweet but bees sting." (normal people would put that the other way around)
"It's all very well in our practice, but it will never work in theory." (doesn't that pretty much say it all?)

Now let's inspect some prices in France. The gist: expensive! Drinks are expensive, especially at restaurants. I once ordered an orangina (a regular 50 cl bottle you'd get in the US) and it ended up being something like 6.80 euros! At Cyrano de Bergerac the other night, cans of pop, juice, and water (oh yeah and water is odd and carbonated here if it's a fancy dinner) were 4 euros each. Books are reasonably priced except for ones in other languages, where your basic paperback is about 11 euros, about $15. Since so many stores here focus on one item to offer (cheese stores, bakeries, etc.), the ones that sell it all (like Monoprix which is like a mini Target) cost a LOT, I guess for the luxury of only making one stop for shopping. Bread is really cheap here, though. McDonalds is probably the cheapest place it is possible to go for lunch unless you buy one baguette.

As for church differences, it is interesting to note that they only have about 2/3 of the hymns. Their titles are ALWAYS the first line of the song, never a seperate title. (Example, in English, "How Great Thou Art" starts with the words "O Lord, My God." In France, it is called "Savieur Mon Dieu," which is the first line.) Also of the hymns they have, about half of them are in either a different key or different time signature or both. I have no idea why this is. But in scouring to find something I can play when I don't know what hymns they are because they're in FRENCH, I soon realized I can't browse the music to find it. So pretty much, every time I have to play at church, I am sight reading. In both music AND spoken language, if I decide to try to sing along. Papi said you might find that interesting, Karma.