L'Alimentation

There quite a few differences between Americans and the French, but the one I have been enjoying the most this past week has been their approach to food. In the States, we tend to view ourselves as machines, or animals that must be supplied with fuel and energy in order to operate. We try to eat balanced meals, with the right amount of every food group, each decision made based on function, and less on form.
Today, I learned what food it. I was invited to join my host family for a holiday luncheon at our house, where their children joined us. I was looking forward to it, but was slightly nervous as I inevitably am at all formal gatherings as I tend to miss many social cues and am deplorable on decorum. But this meal was an experience. We began with a beautiful crisp champagne, toasting one anothers health and to the holidays that are fast approaching. My impending move to Cameroon became the topic of conversation over an apparatif of delicate froie gras, neatly sliced and served on little brucetta toasts, lightly salted and with fresh ground pepper, grilled razor clams seeped in olive oil and garlic eaten right out of the shell complimented by green olives, flavored with more garlic. We moved to the table, where the deacedence, that never became oppulence, continued. We opened a heavy, dry Bordeaux, and passed around a plate of caviar. I have never tasted caviar before, and was not even sure how to serve myself, so I snuck peaks at my neighbors behind my wine glass to see what they were doing. Steaming little blinis slathered with a rich crème fraiche topped with a dollup of caviar was heaven. The blini created a solid and clean base that supported the soft, salty, breathtaking mix of the slightly chewy caviar and the smoothe crème. It was the most amazing thing I have ever tasted. We cleared our plates, continued to enjoy our wine, and I could feel my cheeks warming as the 5 frenchmen battered each other with stories about mutal friends, family members, jobs and vacations. The converstation wandered from the inheretence of the three children to what kind coffin the parents would want, then quickly moved on to reitrement before the meal could become macabre. Nicolas, our chef for the afternoon swept back into the room bearing plates crowned with the masterpiece for the night; a cheesy risotto sandwitched between two slices of clam and topped with shaved truffles. Each bite was more amazing than the previous and we were all silent for about 10 seconds as everyone savored it. Any one part of that dish could not have stood on its own, but together...it was music. The cold fishy taste balanced the richness of the risotto and the truffles...well, they were truffles. We were practically singing as we finished the wine, but it was far from over. We waved off salad in lieu of homemade "orangcello," a thick citris liquor that made you think of woodburning stoves and lemonade on a hot summer's day in the same moment. We finished off in a flourish with macademia nutt ice cream with the last of the truffles on top.

Together in Paris.....

In retrospect, my expectation that I could sustain weekly posts was a little unrealistic, in light of my track record of maintaining all other forms communication.....oh well.
Last weekend our group went to Paris. Needless to say it was incredible. How could it not be as every single time you turn around there is some incredible piece of architecture, not to mention all of the impeccably dressed Parisians, the gaping tourists, the whizzing cars, the mounted policemen...the list goes on and on. I felt most of the time that I was in the States, English apparently being the language on the street. I began the trip in style, oversleeping and waking to my host mother knocking on my door 10 minutes before I was supposed to meet the group at the train station. I have no memory of dressing, finishing packing, or getting out of the house but the next thing I knew, I was running crying down the street, my pants falling down, my backpack bouncing, and the homeless people getting a great show of my haphazard panicked passage. However, due to some act of god, or all my years of sports, or perhaps just plain adrenaline not only was I on time, but I was not even the last there! Of course I did not have a lunch, and I also forgot my contacts. An auspicious start.
The five hour train ride was spent playing complicated games of cards, listening to wild dance music and general shenanigans as usually ensue when 17 students are trapped in a confined space for hours on end. We arrived without further incident, though of course I could not see a goddamn thing. Our hotel was wonderful, and we were all staying in apartments that included kitchens and a great view of the street. Our first group activity was possibly the most wonderfully touristy thing I have done in a long while; a sunset cruise along the Seine. To those of you who are not acquainted with the intricacies of french geography (as many of my peers here apparently are not) Toulouse is in the south, while Paris is in the north. I, of course, was aware of this, and therefore showed up to our 6pm (that's 18h) decked out in hat, scarf, boots, legwarmers, sweater, the works. I was promptly mocked, but bien sûr I had the last laugh as I was one of the few who were able to withstand the wind on the cruise, and was able to enjoy the view from outside. O la la Paris, comme vous êtes belle!

I did not manage so well for the rest of the trip, almost loosing my wallet, walking for an hour home by myself, loosing my metrocard while riding a bike, getting yelled at by a policman, going to closed museams, getting my feet run over by strollers, and almost missing all of the rendezvous. But none of it mattered! I had the time of my life, I spent time with my mom, my friends, I saw an incredible performance of Carmen, flamenco style (the most sensual beautiful performance I have ever seen and then I went out with the dancers the next night, as they were staying in our hotel) I walked through gardens, I went to a flea market, I saw Cezanne and Matisse and they made me cry, and I went to a techno parade.

This was not a tourist trip for me. I have already done the whole "oh my god we have to see la Tour Eiffel, le Louvre, l'Arc de Triomphe, Versailles...." the list goes on and on. All of these places are incredible, but I cannot a) bring myself to wait in line for hours or b) share deeply emotional, personal experiences at these places with a huge crowd of gawking people, yelling and flashing their cameras. Are they even looking at the beauty? Or is it just another pelt to add to their culture belt, "well, when I was in Paris..." I am often frustrated by our blatant lack of appreciation for the now. We americans are hailed throughout the world as forward thinkers, always gazing into the future. But what happens to today? Why diminish the now? Years from now, when you are looking at that perfectly framed portrait of your family under the Eiffle Tower that you made your french waiter take, will you remember what it smelled like? The awe you felt at its majesty, or the joy of being with the people you love?

I choose the memory.

Jet Lag, Fireworks and La Ville Rose

My friend told me that Toulouse is one of the ugliest cities in France. Not from where I am sitting. The winding streets dating from the Roman conquest, the red brick buildings that hem in on all sides and the river curving through the city are as picturesque as they are confusing. As I lock the four different locks for the two doors leading to my house every morning (usually on time, but once an hour late due to my inability at calendar navigation) I walk out to the Canal Midi, passing shop keepers arranging fresh bread in their boulangeries, jumping out of the way of cyclists ringing their bells, past the homeless women who sits on my bridge with her blond hair in in one huge dreadlock, feeding her dog, I have to work to keep a silly grin off my face. Its been a week, that has felt like a month, and every experience is still surreal.

This weekend was Festa Europa, an arts extravaganza full of crazy events all over the city. This is primetime to be a tourist/student in Toulouse as the city is a candidate for the cultural capital of Europe and so all was pomp and craziness to try and impress the judges that were here.

Saturday afternoon was rainy, and I decided it would be a great idea to where some orange espadrille sandals.....long story short between the rain, stepping in gum, and shoddy manufacturing, my shoe fell completely apart ten minutes from my house. I sat on the side of the street in the rain, my purse between my legs, my knees in my face and my umbrella dripping down my back and half tucked under my chin tying my stupid shoe to my foot with the ribbons. I began laughing as I walked along, sloshing water everywhere and drawing an amazing amount of strange looks as I limped to the city center. The man who helped my buy some new shoes (fortunately on sale) laughed when he saw my shoes, and asked if I even wanted to keep them. As they had by this time, fallen completely into pieces, and were soaking wet, I declined. The sun came out and although I got some of the biggest blisters of my life that afternoon, it was worth it. Many of our group from Dickinson walked down to the river, bought dinner and wine and sat on the riverside and watched the sun set over the water.

Little did we know our amazing planning as most of the city of Toulouse swarmed around us in the next two hours. We watched fireworks over the water, squeezed together in one huge pulsing mass of people.

summer lovin at aid

baltimore md....an interesting town that can't decide if it is a blue-collar american town where everyone gets cheap tickets to the orioles' games, an eclectic den for an underground thriving art scene or a sketchy bombed-out boarded-up ghetto. a harsh judgment perhaps, but unlike dc or nyc where there are areas that you just avoid, b-more can't seem to fit itself into the neighborhood mold. it transitions hard, and it transitions fast: one block there are boarded up windows, the next is a nice park or some slick brownstone row houses. dampening the excitement of never knowing exactly what your going to pull out of the grab-bag is the fact that the public transportation makes it difficult to get around at night.

at complete odds with the fact that i am drawn in and caught up by this pulsing city is my work at americans for informed democracy, a ngo stuck in its own identity crisis where a group of motivated, talented young people can't decide if this organization should take a more militant advocacy approach or stick to being a resource center for student activists. spinning in the middle are 16 interns who had no idea what they were getting into. and maybe that's not such a bad thing....our expectations often predispose us to utter failure.

as i jump into this world i am tempted to just quit school and become a transient volunteer or go work on a farm or just become a professional activist slash hobo, but that's not really on the docket for the next year. august 29th is the date of departure, and who knows what the land of wine and cheese will throw at this would-be world traveler. one would hope that a city full of university students will be interesting to say the least, and perhaps i will even learn a little french.

acclimation is becoming my word of choice on my mental cv, and these next two months in maryland will commence this year-long experiment in cultural discovery. in the words of james baldwin "i met a lot of people in europe. i even encountered myself." here's hoping....