Where Black and White Meets Europe

Mes Eleves et Mes Etudiants.

2007-05-17T11:16:00.000+02:00

I started working last November in Moulins. It is an agriculture Lycee, so my students ranged from Middle School to "Vo-Tech" level. I am not sure of the actually numbers, but it seems that a good 80% of my students were boys, which made the experience even more interesting. Also, I picked up a job working for the Universite Blaise Pascal teaching the "senior" undergraduates English as well. Across the board, I have enjoyed my time with them.

"What's your phone number?" or "Do you have a boyfriend?" or "Do you want to go to B-Box with me?" were the questions I was plagued with at the beginning of the semester. For each new class that I taught, I would have to answer a series of questions about my life in the U.S. Sometimes they were jealous of American life (how easy it is to get a drivers license) and sometimes they were disgusted by it (what do you mean, you don't have Saucisson?)

I remember the time that a boy in class tried to take a picture of me underneath his desk. He was just your normal troublesome boy, so I laughed. He gave me the most desperate look, "Please don't tell the teacher." I merely shook my head and pointed at him sharply to say, "If you do it again, I will set her loose on you." Then there was the boy who asked me at the end of class if I liked honey. I said 'Yes' of course, and he handed me the most adorable little bottle of honey that had been harvested at the school. Such friendliness is rarely found in the adults of this country, and to me, these students will always be the ones who brought me in.

They were really the ones who taught me to speak French. I can write it, no problem. But in that moment where you are alone staring at 20 students who are completely confused, you have to try your best to spit something out to explain it. I always enjoyed the surprised looks on there faces when I spoke French, as if they thought I'd lived in this country without even trying to speak it. At the same time, I sort of had done that. Living among International Students where English is the most commonly shared language meant that my French speaking practice was limited to class. But with my students, it was necessary.

And the teachers were such a help as well. They offered me coffee every hour, food every month, cheese after lunch, wine, etc. They would be so patient with me when I spoke French, and they helped me with my homework more than once. They never patronized me. They smiled at me and invited me to lunch, to sit with them, and share in a little conversation.

I will never forget the Christmas meal cooked for me by my professor, and the Spring lunch cooked for me by my BTS students. From oysters to Foie Gras to pear pie, these delicious kindnesses have made my time here feel valuable. And for that, I will always be grateful.

Le Train.

2007-05-06T15:30:00.000+02:00

Trains always felt like something from another time. Something for movies, for western outlaws, for secret meetings, or for murder mysteries. Now I take a train to and from my job in Moulins twice a week. It has become something de ma vie quotidienne. Nevertheless, each time I hear the little ring before announcements at the train station, it seems a bit like magic.

I love the landscapes slipping past. Unlike driving a car, I do not have to focus on the road in front of me. I can allow myself to study the little points of interest. Having taken the train from Clermont to Moulin every week, I feel like I know every aspect. I have a favorite hill. It's covered in thick, green grass. At the top is an old white, anonymous house. There is a tree off to the left that I watched go from barren white to light spring green to lush summer green. During the fall, I watched the huge cow feeders fill to the top with corn. I can spot the Army barracks, the last building before the Clermont station, a mile away. It's the sign of relief. At last, the journey is over.

I have experienced the evils of the train. I huddled hours on the hard benches in the freezing cold of an unheated train station waiting for a train that would never come because of the strikes. All of my most precious possessions were stolen from me on the train. Some person swiped my purse underneath my eyes. My iPod, €50, my Titre de Sejour with the perfect photo of me, a brand new wallet from Spain, and my purse that I bought in Paris are gone forever. I was able to renew my bank card and my student card. My Passport was found in a near by town. I had to take a train to retrieve it.

There is also a phenomenon thanks to the introduction of cell phones that play music. It's always some dumb kid around 15-18 years of age who plays his favorite rap songs aloud for the world to hear. I'm used to it by now, but I'm always amused by the adults coming across this problem for the first time. They stand up and stare at the kid as if their entire concept of the world has been turned upside down. I smile at them and shrug my shoulders.

Nothing, though, can take away the pleasure of sitting across from someone who is dear to you during your ride. Normally this takes place on some great adventure. First to Paris. Then to Brussels, Stockholm, London, Barcelona, Rome? Choose. They are all just a plane or another train away. In your excitement, you face the person you love. Or maybe you don't know you love them yet. But, you realize you wouldn't want to sit across from anyone else on your way to Barcelona. You let the thought fade away and begin any number of great conversations that you will never forget.

When I step off my last train from Clermont to Paris, I think I will be a little sad. I'm sure I will ride trains again in the future. This particular route, however, holds a special place in my heart. In my dreams, I'm sure I'll pass those fields of yellow flowers, the snowy hills that went on forever, or misty plains revealing the first colors of the sunrise. I will never forget them.

As the end nears..

2007-05-06T15:20:00.000+02:00

So, I gave up. After spending some time porting my laptop to the city center every week, it reached a point where I didn't want to do it any longer. Then it got cold. Very cold. Then I fell in love. Then I didn't want to do anything else but be with him. That hasn't changed much, but he needs to study. So, now I will write again.

Eight months up. One to go. What have I gained? Not a great deal of French. No French friends. In fact, I feel that Clermont has given me nothing for the most part. Will I ever want to return? Certainly not.

In last few days here, however, I would like to outline some of the things that I have gained from this experience. I will begin today.

Northern Lights

2006-12-19T16:35:00.000+01:00

Mon amie, Cassidy, m'a demandé quand j'allais publier mon article sur mon séjour en Amsterdam. Pour une raison ou une autre, j'ai complètement oublié de le publier. Hm, pourquoi? Peut-être fumais-je tellement de cannabis? Pas possible!

Je suis désolée de ne pas écrire plus souvent, mais ma vie ici est chaotique. Les vacances de Noël commenceront à la fin de cette semaine, et j'espère avoir le temps d'écrire quelque chose. Cependant, j'écrirai en français, donc cherchez des dictionnaires français-anglais parce que vous en aurez besoin.

Joyeux Noël, mes amis!

What is there to say about Brussels? It wasn’t Washington D.C., that’s for sure. Perhaps you do not know why I make such a comparison, but it is completely logical. You see, I know Brussels for one thing: It is the capital of the EU. If you are following my studies at OU, you know already that the European Union is one of a few points I’ve focused on. So, to see some of the buildings, that was interesting, yes, but not inspiring. My favorite city in the world so far has been Washington D.C., because not only does it have all the amenities of a large city, but the history is tangible. You walk down the streets and you can feel power emanating from the ground. If you expose your palms towards the sidewalks, you can feel the energy of the city, in all its evil and all its virtue.

Brussels, however, does not have this feel. Maybe for someone who loves Belgium, they would find inspiration from the Belgium power structures. If you are looking for some grand European power structure, you won’t find it here. Here is an irony: It’s easier to walk around D.C. than it is to walk around Brussels. Here are some things that are appropriate: the property layout is disconnected and disorienting. There is nothing about the physical appearance that suggests power. For someone wanting to find something by looking at it, it instead appears to push people away. What does this say about the EU that the EU wants to say? We’re disconnected? We may talk a lot, but in actuality we’re very weak? We will happily answer any questions given you do not want to ask anything?

Hate to tell you this, but the church had the Vatican, the U.S. has the White House, and even Coors has a museum/factory you can visit. I can understand if you are trying to be cheap or trying to avoid giving favoritism to one area or another, but the EU has got to invest in a “visitable” and physical center for their organization if it wants to be taken seriously. Maybe that seems superficial, but humans are superficial, especially when it comes to politics. Give us a place to tour.

Amsterdam. I met an English boy near Sacre Cœur in Paris who described Amsterdam as, “one grand social experiment. Everyone gets fucked up with one drug or another, and then, they get lost.” It’s so true. You walk through the streets, and you wonder who is on what. Is that a joint they’re smoking, or a cigarette? Do you think that person is drunk? Did they have too much coffee or maybe they’re on coke? You give up trying to separate, and instead become the object of judgment. Then you look at the map and think, “Wait. Where the hell am I?” Ah, yeah, she’s on the pot.

You may be wondering where the title of this post will come in. If you were looking for information about aurora borealis, I’m sorry to tell you that you will be disappointed. Northern lights was the first pot I smoked on my trip to Amsterdam. I wrote about a paragraph on my first day in Amsterdam, but that paragraph has disappeared. I remember that moment and this moment, but not much of the in between. I’ll try to make some sense of it.

The first night was easy enough. We smoked. We ate. Then, we ate a lot of candy. Finally, we fell asleep.

The next day was a little more difficult. Unfortunately, we were set loose into Amsterdam without a map. We stumbled around until we were finally able to find a map, and then made for our first destination: register at the Cannabis Cup. I remember one particular corner of the map particularly well, because I went up and down this area, I swear, 5 times. We checked the map, we checked the address, and it wasn’t there. We found an Internet café and checked the address. Yup, everything was right, but the Sugar Factory was not there. It wasn’t until we went to the Sugar Factory’s website that we found the problem. The Cannabis cup put down “23B” not “238.” Right. Well, at least the internet café is also a smoke shop. Get high, and keep walking.

After quickly checking in, we went to another coffee shop and smoke out again. This time we went to the Van Gogh museum. I went there on my last trip stoned, and I loved it. This was the first time I noticed differences in my highs. This time was not enjoyable, and I realized that the pot I must have had before was ten times better than the stuff I was using this time. Before, I would just stand and stare at the paintings, believing I could stare at them forever. This time, I got bored.

That night we saw the movie, “The Departed.” Fantastically interesting. It was a bit of a downer, but I loved the concept of the movie. I like how the title appropriately gives away the ending on some level. On this trip, I also saw “The Devil Wears Prada,” which was a bit of a disappointment. The concept was good, but the result was boring, preachy, and cliché. Finally, I saw “Babel” last night. It was a risky choice, because the subtitles are in Dutch, and there is more than one language (obviously) in this film. But, it some way, it was appropriate. I was able to understand what was going on, but I felt frustrated by some of the storyline I couldn’t read. I really identified with the American characters trying to communicate, but being unable to. Great movie. Can’t wait to see it again in with English subtitles.

The interesting thing is the movie options. November is the beginning of the serious season for films (November and December is when all the Oscar nominated films start popping up left and right. Wouldn’t be surprised to find “Babel” or “The Departed” making a claim to either of those lists.) I just wonder if the Amsterdam city council gets a kick out of the idea of the Cannabis cup. Let’s see, let’s get a bunch of people stoned, make them walk all around our city in the rain and the cold, then deprive them of quality “stoner” films, and let’s see how great they feel about pot afterwards.

So, moving on, the next day we started touring some coffee shops, curious how this whole “judge’s pass” thing works. Well, essentially you can go into coffee shops and show your pass and you get some access to things you might not be able to get otherwise. Some shops gave out free merchandise, some gave you free pot, and some would stare at you like, “Uh huh, you’re a judge. Good for you (sarcasm)! So, are you going to buy anything?” I was under the impression that becoming a judge meant free access to every Cannabis Cup entry. Not the case. In most cases, you had to buy a gram, usually at good prices, but still had to be bought.

We went, then, to the opening ceremonies, and I had a hard time not laughing. I mean, pot makes me giggly anyway, but this situation made it worse. The opening ceremonies were absurd. I don’t get high so I can sound smart. I’m a smart person. Talk to me and you’ll know that. When we know each other pretty well, then I’ll get stoned with you. Then you can see me stupid, and know that even I need a rest from my own brain. But here are these people, trying to run this event, and they are all blazed. Rather than admit they are blazed, they try to do this show that is all “heartfelt” and respectful of the thing that is Cannabis. Hey, I have respect for hippies, but these are hippies gone wrong. It’s pot, dude. That’s it. Let’s get stoned and listen to some music, man. This is not a time to pretend you can be eloquent.

This had a negative effect that I believe was tri-fold. First, I think there were those people who saw me laughing and were angry that I was not “respecting the ceremony.” I felt bad, like an intruder. This is their deal, they can run it however they like. Then there were those like me, who found the event ridiculous, but they did not attempt to hide their disdain. I just wanted to tell them to shut up for the love of all that it good in the world, or leave. Anger at me, shame within me, and anger at others. It’s just not what you want when you’re stoned.

I think there is a curiosity in American culture over what life would be like if people smoked publicly. Well, this is what you get. Yes, there is the convenience of being able to smoke where you like, but then you have to deal with others. I mean, I met some cool people, but I remember better the people who annoyed me the most. More than anything else, I wanted to just go home, smoke with some friends, order-in, and watch a movie I’ve already seen 10 times. If Americans are somehow worried about stoned people taking to the streets if we decriminalize marijuana, I’ve got good news for you: stoned people don’t like public spaces.

But, hey, we bought these judges passes, so damn it we’re going to use them! So, Cassidy and I go to the expo. I have to say it was like going to some weird version of the fair. These are farmers, and they’re here to show off their finest seeds, growing methods, and new devices… that get you completely stoned! Each has their own little both with pamphlets and demonstrations. “Try the new such and such vaporizer!” or “Such and such gravity bongs” and so on. Really? Okay… And don’t forget the bins (BINS!) of pot. You want a nug? Here just take it! How about a special brownie? Only 4 euros! Okay, okay, only 3 euros (winks), but keep us in mind when you vote, okay? Okay…

I noticed that the Cannabis cup seemed to be made up of certain kinds of people. First is the growers themselves. This makes sense. They spend their life devoted to quality marijuana, so they should have a convention. But then there are the flower hippies, which I spoke of earlier. Then, there are the Americans. There were a lot of us, but there were not a lot of young Americans. You could identify us out of a crowd. Usually we talked more, laughed louder, and we were probably smoking out of a pipe, not a joint. We’re not all bad. I think Cassidy and I were a good representation. We smoked quietly, kept a map on us, cash on us, and never demanded anything. I appreciated that most people assumed we were British. We speak English like natives, so we can’t pretend we’re French, but at least people thought we were not like the other “Americans.” I’m sure those people are the reason why other people want to forbid public smoking in Amsterdam.

Anyway, so thinking of these people, we decided to pass on the Cannabis Cup parties. Instead, we just go from one coffeeshop to the next, smoking a lot of pot. It was over our last two days that we smoked the most varieties. We heard the results for the top 7 (3 top entries: Mako Haze [smoked it], Crystal Bomb [smoked it], and Arjan’s Ultra Haze #1 [smoked it], 4 honorable mentions: John Sinclair [smoked it], G-13 Haze [smoked it], Blueberry [smoked it], and one other that neither Cass nor I can remember… Hm, I wonder why?) It was like a little study of Amsterdam’s coffee shops. Is it old or new? Traditional or modern? Expensive, cheap, bright, dark, touristy, back-corner, friendly, chilled, happy, thoughtful, American, European, Asian, Middle Eastern, themed, just pot themed, just a store with pot in it? Every store was a surprise.

Of all the pot I smoked, I enjoyed Crystal Bomb the most. I was clear headed, up, and happy. Extremely happy. I couldn’t tell if it was just that the sun came out, though. All the edges of objects seems a little blurred, giving the appearance that everything was illuminated. We had a lot of walking to do at this point of the day, but I greeted the idea enthusiastically.

It does make me wonder to what degree environment affects your high. Perhaps it’s not fair to the other strands that I smoke them on cloudy days in overcrowded coffee shops next to people I didn’t know and/or didn’t like. But, I became highly appreciative to the stores that were concerned about my stay. Thank you, Barney’s, for you side coffee shop with a breakfast menu that would satisfy the hunger of any stoned person. Thank you for the free stuff, too. Thank you to the Sensi Museum, with it’s little private area for judges and free samples. Thank you to the other smokers who did not talk to me while I was stoned. Thank you to our big, cozy room we stayed in just above a smoke shop. (Thank you to the free Internet I could receive from within my room.) Thank you to the pretty streets, to the hot chocolate with more whipped cream than drink, to the movie theater, and to raspberry cheesecake. Thank you episodes of “Scrubs” I had saved on my computer. Especially thank you to the new shampoo we bought it Amsterdam. It will continue to serve me well into my continued stay in France.

In the end, I enjoyed the experience. If I were to make recommendations, go to Amsterdam during the summer. It’s warm, walking around is fun, and the Cup is not worth it unless you live in Amsterdam or you are invested in the business. Before you go to Amsterdam, though, take a moment to get suggestions on coffee shops and last year’s cup winner. Then, just smoke and enjoy the pot scene when it’s not too busy. The Cup, well, it’s one of those unique things I will be able to say to shock people. Maybe I’ll tell my interns one day when I’m in my 50s as some political figure in the State Department, “Oh, yeah, well, I went to the Cannabis Cup back in 2006…” What, they will say to themselves, Secretary Eastland smoked (smokes?) pot? Even if that thought never comes to fruition, I just spent three days doing nothing but getting stoned. And, it was a good three days.

Childhood Struggles Revealed in Art

2006-11-17T11:02:00.000+01:00

Yesterday, I began this great adventure. It started with waking up at 4:20 in the morning. It is appropriate, but merely coincidental. I had to be over at Cassidy’s room by 4:45, it takes me 15 minutes to get ready, and ten minutes to pack the last few items before I left. On the way to the train station, my mother called me, because at home it was 10:00 p.m. the day before. She wished me a good journey and talked with me about the possibility of my transferring to another city for my next semester.

On the train, I slept for maybe 30 minutes, but sleeping in moving vehicles has always been difficult for me. So, I woke up and slipped on Cassidy’s iPod. The last time I went to Paris by train, I went a different direction (from Lyon, not from Clermont). I’ve found a new affinity for the album “Hail to the Thief,” so letting ‘There, There” whisper into my ear as the French countryside slipped past my view was somehow spiritual. I’ve found my recent life to be somewhat surreal. I’ve read about these places, I’ve seen them on TV, but somehow my mind registered these places in the same part of my brain that stores Coruscant and Middle Earth. They aren’t real. Then I find myself on a train, staring at the 3 dimensional qualities, and I’m blown away.

When I finally look down from the view, I pick up my book to read. Right now I am reading “Istanbul: Memories of a City” by Orhan Pamuk, the recent Nobel Literature Prize recipient. I picked it up off the suggestion of my Turkish friend, Sinan, that I should read a book by this author. Sinan later said this is not his best book, but I’m enjoying how other events in my life are reflecting the style Pamuk takes. “Istanbul” is a story both of Pamuk’s personal life and the life of Istanbul. He talks about events that define himself, and the next chapter talks about artists or writer’s struggle to express the mood and culture of Istanbul. So, I feel both empathetic and estranged from the story. His story of his life is this sort of sorting out how the way of living around him formed the way he lives.

If you read one of my previous posts, I’ve talked about how I am struggling to see how much of the way I live was formed by the place I was raised. The emotions, both joyous and tragic, of American life undoubtedly define the way I live now. He talks about painting in his youth, and I identify with him so closely, but, for me, it is writing and photography. As an artist, I’m talented at neither, or at least not unique. I find both pleasure in the sense of accomplishment I feel when finishing a post or taking a beautiful picture. However, when I go back and examine them, I find all the mistakes, criticize them, and judge myself unworthy of any praise. And yet, I continue to do it, because I enjoy the praise I receive from others, particularly my parents, when I finish a piece.

On the other end, Pamuk talks about the small details of recent Turkish history and I’m a little lost. World History does not cover these details, so when he talks about the city in great detail, again my mind sorts it back into fictional lands. He could tell me that there are Hobbits or land speeders, and it would be no great surprise. Despite my ignorance, I have begun to identify with it. As he has mixed his emotional responses from his youth with this emotion identity of the city, I feel that if I am empathetic with his life, I too can be empathetic with Istanbul. I can be a part of that life that melancholy.

Tearing my mind away from my book, I’m forced back into the physical world that surrounds me. I have this very urgent recognition that I have specific destinations. I have always been good with directions, but Europe is so different from the U.S. Streets are not structured the same, train systems are completely different, and a mistake can be extremely costly. Take the wrong train, and not only do you have to buy another train ticket, you have to change your plan, possibly causing you to have to stay in another night in another place. Suddenly, a trip that is supposed to be 100 euros is twice as much as you anticipated.

Yesterday, I had to catch a train to Paris, take the Metro to a different train station, find the train to Beauvais, find the bus from the train station to Beauvais airport, get onboard the right plane to Stockholm, find the bus from Stavska to Central Station in Stockholm, find the underground station near our hostel, and finally locate our hostel. The terror of getting lost consumes me every time I have to travel. On this trip, I haven’t failed once. When I get to my destination without getting lost, I have a moment of pure pride, the same as that first moment I finish a blog or see a picture that I have taken that is beautifully composed. Just for that moment, I am completely satisfied with myself. I should just create destinations to travel just so I can prove I can make it.

Our hostel was a boat. Well, the boat had been founded on the river-floor, but it was still a boat. We walked into our tiny little room with its little porthole window, and I thought, “Well, I doubt I’ll ever find anything like this in Oklahoma.” But there was no more time for thinking, because I had a taxi to catch for Berns. It was time for Sufjan Stevens.

Cassidy, Rachel, and I arrive at our destination to discovered we are extraordinarily underdressed. This high class restaurant/bar was a marvel to the eyes. It was multiple levels, with many different rooms for different ways of enjoying the rococo interior design. The main event hall where the concert was held seemed like an old ballroom that might be described in a book from the 17th Century. At first I was embarrassed of my apparel, but shortly realized that I am an American. This band is from my country, so if I am not maintaining the high class European style that surrounded me, I could say, “well, in the U.S., this I how we go to concerts: Jeans and a T-Shirt.” In Sweden, everyone speaks English like it is their first language. So, I waltz up to the bar and order a Czech beer with my thickest Oklahoma accent, and get a smile from the cute bar tender That’s right, sir, I’m an American and friggin’ proud of it.

After my beer and a class of South African white wine, I stand close to the front and wait impatiently for the appearance of the hero of this adventure. I may be the heroine, but I admire Sufjan Stevens intensely. His style of music is truly unique and his concept of one CD for each state is truly inspired. I was curious to hear him pronounce his name. It’s like this: “soup” with “f” at the end instead of “p”, and then “yawn.” The opening act was an artist called “St. Vincent” from Texas. She is very talented, and I enjoyed the sort of jazzy, bluesy sounding rock act she preformed. It was wonderful.

Then it began: Every performer decked in what looked like a boy scout uniform, a set of wings (maybe butterfly, or eagle, or fairy) and feathered masks. Cassidy said she was specifically stunned by the dark stage lit only by blue lights behind silver tinsel, and yellow lights floating spinning around the room as if in a snow globe. As if they knew my hearts deepest desire, they started with “Sister” from the “Seven Swans” album. I’ve actually posted the lyrics from this album in another post from my msblackandwhite blog, but I’ll put them again, because I love them:

What the water wants is hurricanes
And sailboats to ride on it’s back
What the water wants is sunkiss
And land to run into and back.

He plays many tracks from both “Seven Swans” and “Illinoise,” as well as some Christmas music. He also played a new song. For those of you who are familiar with his work, yes, I can tell you, it’s just as good as you would expect it to be. I allow the mood of the music to sink into my soul. The triumph of the brass instruments blazing, the soft pleading of his voice, the beautiful harmony of the female back-up, the tragedy and joy juxtaposed for one glorious end: beauty.

As I am writing this, I have realized that I love Stevens for the same reason I like the book I am reading. Pamuk is writing to sort out the mystery of where he comes from, both the fiction and the reality, as well as the study of his growing up. Stevens does the same thing, but with music. I feel even closer with Stevens, however, because he is an American. I know Superman. I know John Wayne Gacy. He told a story about going to summer camp and fighting with his siblings. I felt this strong memory of a time I chased my brother with a paddle. His back up vocalist, who is the girl from St. Vincent, told a story about how a boy from Sweden tried to convince her that Swedes traditionally greeted each other by blowing into each other’s ear and giving it a little lick. She had been so determined to be a good ambassador for America, and instead found herself being taken advantage of. She had no choice but to make light of the situation, and now she finds the story amusing. These struggles, the struggles he communicates in his music, these are the struggles of Americans. These are my struggles.

I love how Cassidy wanted me to try to perfectly reflect what we saw and felt when the concert started. She has always been a fan of Peter Pan. The atmosphere, for me at least, reminded me of the scene “Finding Neverland” where they recreate Neverland. I have some feeling that her appreciation for the concert setting might have something to with how they had created this, as she described it, “land of fairies.” The whole time we’ve been hear, she is constantly talking to people about how the story of Peter Pan helps her to remember to always maintain her inner child. Whether from Stevens, Pamuk or Cassidy, I am comforted to know that everyone is thinking about the mythos around them, the culture they live in, their childhood, and who they are now, and trying to make some sense of it; they are trying to define their own values, just as I am.

He finished the concert with “Chicago,” which simultaneously made me happy disappointed. I was excited to hear, “Chicago,” but I love ”Casimir Pulaski Day” and he had not played it. However, he played every one of my other favorite songs, so I was satisfied. Then, again, as if reading my feelings, he comes out to play one more song for an encore. He played the one song that I wanted him to play. The concert was everything I wanted and more. He definitely just knocked off “Wilco” and “The Decemberists” as my favorite artist in concert.

As we headed back to the hostel, I had another chance to test my abilities with directions. We had forgotten to grab the name and the address of our hostel before leaving. Without any way of communicating where we wanted to go to a taxi driver, we had to walk back to our hostel. I was right on the mark. We spent some time walking on the side of the freeway, but we got home, so another victory for my ego. Our little boat room is well heated, so we crawled into bed after being awake for 22 hours, and fall into sweet sleep.

This morning, Cassidy and I awake and head out for the Old City section of Sweden. Stockholm is a beautiful city. (Rachel is not coming with us to the Cannabis Cup, so she caught a different plane back to Paris.) I loved it there. We had to stop several times to ask for directions, and more than once, the venders would leave their stores to show us how to get to our destination. This place is the epitome of Christmas spirit, every store filled with advent calendars, father Christmas, stars and angels. We even had a tradition Swedish Christmas dinner for lunch. (Appetizer: Salad with bread. Main Entrée: Meatballs, sausage on top a beet salad, ham, raw fish covered with some kind of sauce, and one boiled potato. For dessert: Thin slices of pineapple drizzled with some kind of sweet red sauce. Finally, a cup of coffee or tea.) We sat in a little café at the Central Station and watched 17 Santa Clauses marching down the main corridor like a little North Pole parade. I would’ve taken a picture if Cassidy’s camera were not in the process of downloading the images from the concert onto my computer.

Finally, I had thought about buying a pair of boats in Europe, but I’ve been hesitant to purchase them because they tend to be expensive. But I thought it would be worth a look. So, I stopped into one store and tried on a pair of boots. They were very inexpensive, and beautiful. They are Italian leather in a beautiful tone of Chocolate brown, and I was surprised by how inexpensive they were. They had just opened the shop, so things were more reasonably priced as well as the fact that the store had their own factory, so they could keep prices lower. Cassidy started envying my pair, and the saleswoman offered to give us an additional 10% off if we both bought a pair. Are you serious? Hell yes!

So, now I’m on a bus back to Skavsta in my new boots. Next destination: Brussels.

Election, Turkey, and Lisa Simpson.

2006-11-08T16:27:00.000+01:00

I pulled up CNN.com international this morning and regarded the headlines announcing that the U.S. House of Reps was taken by Democrats, and that the Senate might also go as well. I'm not in the least bit surprised. However, I hardly know how to respond to the whole situation. I do not have much faith in the Democratic parties abilities to fix the failures of the Republican party over the last few years. I do not see much inspiration on either side, so I fear that we will continue in this mindless switching back and forth for some time. The Democrats won't fix Iraq. The Democrats won't fix the Medical System. The Democrats won't get to the heart of our immigration issues. So, can the Democrats take the Presidency in 2008? Maybe. It depends on if they fail to fix our problems with flare, then the American public may be compelled to keep a Republican president to keep Congress in check. On the other hand, if they manage to fail to fix our problems without Americans noticing it (which is exactly what Clinton pulled off) then I believe you will find us with a democratic President January of 2009.

I cannot wait to discuss this with some of the Europeans here. I'm wondering if they see this movement as a good thing for the world.

Congratulations to Brad Henry. I think he has done Oklahoma well enough, and though I don't particularly agree with all his policies, I commend his abilities to not mess things up more. I am disgraced that the best Oklahoma has to offer to the House of Representatives is Mary Fallin, but whatever. At least I know that there are a number of Democrats that will keep her ignorant policy making in check. The only good thing I see about this situation is that it does show Oklahomans are willing to let woman have significant positions of power. As to the rest, I don't know enough about your platforms to know if you are good or not. We'll find out, won't we?

My endless fasination with European/Turkish relations has not gone away. The European Union has set a deadline for Turkey to open its ports to Cyprus. If Turkey fails to do so, the EU will cease talks with Turkey about possible Turkish accession to the EU. The Turkish Prime minister claims that he doubts such an end to discussions will happen, but I'm not sure if that means he expects Turkey will comply or if they will try to negotiate their way out of opening their ports to Cyprus.

Today my friend compared me to Lisa Simpson. I nodded my head understandingly, but I'm curious how you all view that comparison. I've seen many episodes of The Simpsons, but not enough to make a fair judgement about that subject.

Les Politiques et Les Femmes

2006-10-19T15:03:00.000+02:00

"I'm concerned for you," said Piotr, my new Polish friend.
"Why?" I asked surprised by the sudden change of subject.
"Well, I think politics will make you cynical."
"No," I began, "it's very serious stuff, yes, but I don't allow it to bring me down."
"Well," he continued, "politics is really for men."
I stand quietly for a moment, allowing a stunned and uncertain smile to my face. Mon dieu! He is serious.
"In the U.S., Piotr," I replied stiffly, "women do whatever they want."

My experiences here, I must say, has less to do with the French. I know a great deal about teachers, beauracracy, and commerce, but very little about social interactions. I only have two real French friends. However, I am learning a great deal about other nationalities because I meet primarily international students. It's been interesting meeting students that do not come from the same sex/gender culture of the U.S., especially when it comes to politics. The conversation above is a perfect example. I sometimes forget how much more liberty there is for women in the U.S. than in most places of the world. I have to explain that one of the great values of the book Pride and Prejudice is not simply the story, but the presentation of an intelligent female herione. In romance, men find Cassidy and I to be less attractive because we are so bold. Women should be shy. They should act disinterested. And most importantly, they should not engage in political debates, period.

I remembered studying in class that the U.S. was different with regard to women and politics, so I did a little research (http://www.un.org/womenwatch/daw/public/percent.htm). I some ways it's true, with the U.S. ranking first with total percentage of women in government positions: 33.1%. Here may be a few surprises:

Belgium: 6.6%
France: 10.8%
Germany: 6.1%
Italy: 7.1%
Switzerland: 7.1%
U.K.: 6.9%

Even Canada only has 17.7%... That almost half as many women in government as the U.S.

But, the situation gets a little skewed when you look at how many women are in ministerial or parliamentary positions (http://www.ipu.org/wmn-e/classif.htm). Then the U.S. drops to 67th. Ouch. Bosnia has a higher percentage of women in their parliament than we do. Every other developed nation except for France and Ireland is above us on the list. Only 15% of the House of Reps is female, and 14% of the Senate is women. Seriously, Americans, we can do better.

I hardly know what to do with these statistics though, because you know who's number 1? Rwanda. Yeah, I think we woman might vote "Nay" on making Rwanda the posterchild for feminine capacity.

Anyway, it's interesting to study this. Mostly what I learned in this whole situation is that there are still places where woman are for some reason or another not supposed to go. And, naturally, I'm going there.

Thoughts that Come Faster than the Stars in Hyperspace

2006-10-17T11:46:00.000+02:00

I’ve been struggling the past few days to begin to grasp the speed at which I am learning. Moments of gross significance come and leave, only to be immediately followed by another. Something is said, my mind processes it, and I am forever changed. At first I hardly even noticed they were there, but now I am so aware of them that I feel intimidated. When I first arrived in Clermont-Ferrand, I felt that I was dropped off into a city where time has stopped. Now I feel I lack the time to simply process the weight of the events around me. From international politics, to art, to religion, to my feeling of personal significance, to literature, to music, to everything, I am lost in this new world of ideas.

When I graduated from high school, I remember the burden I felt entering college. It wasn’t simply a matter of obtaining a degree. I had been home schooled my whole life. It was my first test of many. I remember the skeptical, and subtly condescending, questions about my ability to handle a real classroom. Could the home schooler really handle the social pressures, the academic structures, and separation from her family? I felt this need to not simply perform well, but to perform excellently. Maybe even to perform perfectly. I managed it. Bumps came, but I navigated them with strength that’s expected from every other young American adult.

There is a key there, though. American. I achieved such heights because I was raised for American culture. This may seem silly on the surface, but I think those home schoolers who do fail fail because of the fact they were not raised to live in our culture. Well, I was. I know how to communicate with my peers. I know how to communicate with authority figures. I know how to communicate differently with a professor or a police officer or a boss. I know how to identify good fashion from bad. Cool from unpopular. Funny from inappropriate. Right from wrong.

Now I feel like I graduated from high school again. But home schooling is not the source of skepticism, rather my nationality is. Americans and their money. Americans and their need for order. Americans and their ignorance of other languages. Americans and their ignorance of everything un-American. Again, I feel the need to prove myself. To perform not just well, but excellently… perfectly. But in college, I knew my goals: get A’s, get cool/smart friends, keep a job, impress the professors, maybe take a boyfriend who is smart and cute, etc. Here, though, the goals are lost to me.

My Polish friend walked into my room the other day, and complemented me on the messiness of my room. I thought he was joking, but he replied, “No, it has a lovely European chaos to it.” He makes fun of Americans and our worries about money, and our dedication to practicality. Efficiency and order, he believes, takes away from the flavor of life. It would be so easy to dismiss him. Efficiency and order gives Americans the time and freedom to enjoy to flavors of life. What does he know? He’s never been to the U.S.! But unorthodoxy runs in my blood. Just because I know one way doesn’t mean there is another way. And, I must learn this other way before I can know which one is the best. But how do I knowingly abandon order?

Grades here are important, but I am hardly expected to perform well. I am one of the worst students in my class. Oh, I know my French grammaire backwards and forwards, but I can hardly speak or understand French. I am constantly making stupid mistakes in class. Yesterday a girl was giving a speech and she asked a question. I thought she was asking to the other students to answer, so I responded, in my best French. Everyone starred at me awkwardly before the girl said, “La question n’est pas pour toi.” Of course. She was listing the question she was going to ask French people for her exposé. I just can’t understand French. Fortunately I felt some need to talk, so I made sure everyone else in the class understood that too. Isn’t great to make all of your peers aware of your failings? I have become a child again. I am unable to communicate, making the simplest mistakes, but I lack a parent. Instead, I have the lingering values and ego of an intelligent woman who used to attend a university in Oklahoma. I am left only to long again for the time when I am respected by others and self-assured.

Lessons Learn From Real French People.

2006-10-10T13:02:00.000+02:00

On Saturday night, I went out with our new French friend and her boyfriend. He is in a band called “Cocoon.” (You can find out more about this band at www.myspace.com/listentococoon) Cassidy and I were surprised to learn that he writes all his music in English, and we asked him why. He said that English is more beautiful and melodic than French. I quickly explained that in the U.S., there is this notion that English sounds boxy, while French sounds romantic and beautiful. But then they both explained that there are tone changes even in regular conversation in English that are not in French. Our voices go up and down depending on the context of what we are saying. It never occurred to me, but French is much more monotonous than English. I love my own language more and more every day.

However, the most popular topic of discussion when we meet new people is obesity. If the people have been to America, they understand how fattening our food is, and also understand how good it is. So, they understand how Americans get so fat, but they are sort of mystified why we don’t simply eat healthier. I have had two people who talked about how sick they got when they moved to the U.S. because they were not used to so much fat in their diet. Being here makes me all the more determined to be healthy when I move back to the states. It is harder, but I think I can do it. Unfortunately, for the time being, I am having difficulty maintaining my weight here, because there is nothing to do in the evenings and the weekends other than eat. Oh well, I'll figure it out eventually.

Est-elle encore vivante?

2006-10-07T15:16:00.000+02:00

Okay, so I got sick... AGAIN! I had a fever for over 8 days straight! It was a bad relapse from my cold when I got here, only to made worse by the French medical system. It's a pretty groovy deal here with medicine, but a doctor is a doctor, whether here or in the States. And God knows I have bad luck with them. I went to the doctor, and she gave me medicine that made me worse. Then I went to the emergency room, and they gave me medicine that I was allergic to before they gave me medicine that made me throw up every other hour. Ultimately, I think enough time passed that the stupid sickness passed on its own.

I started a group on Facebook called, "Don't blame the French. They didn't take us to war with Iraq." It's been an interesting study in French/American relations. Some Americans were concerned that I was anti-American, though they supported the concept of not judging the French. Some French were quick to point out their own failures. Other Americans just left messages of hate. It also spawned a debate about the legacy of Clinton's impeachment. I listed it as one of the absurdities of American society since the end of World War II that Americans should think about before talking about how awful the French are. That has spurred more discussion than the French themselves.

I was supposed to start classes last week, but the doctor suggested that I "se reposer." So, I will start classes Monday. I am a little nervous. I have never in my life had so much class in one subject. I'm afraid I'm going to be mind-numbing bored, especially with how much French I'm having to speak already on a daily basis. I'm also having a hard time justifying in my mind why I'm even studying French. I mean, I am in France, but everyone speaks English. I am learning a great deal about living outside of American culture, but at the same time not that much. I went out last night, and it was all Irish, American, and British people. There were a couple of people from South America, a German, and a French girl. And only the people from South America couldn't speak English well. I'm just investing a lot into the goal of speaking French without any apparent return to that investment. I'm just hoping the benefits will reveal themselves in the process.

If all else fails, I'm seeing Sufjan Stevens, and I am living in Europe. I'm vacationing in Italy in December, I'll be spending a weekend in the Alps in the Spring, and I'll be meeting up with one of my dearest friends in Spain, England, or Germany. Life isn't that bad. I just wish I could get these people to understand the concept of toilet seats. And ranch dressing. And mexican food. And... what am I talking about? America is way cooler.

Actually, I am getting used to my pseudo-celebrity status here. So many people will stop our little group of Oklahomans on the street when they hear us speaking English, because they want to practice so badly. Then they hear we're from the U.S., and their eyes light up like we just told them we were movie stars or something. They want to know what it's like and so on. Now the people who've actually gone are a little less impressed, but even they understand that American food is pretty amazing. But it does make life a little more bearable when others are snooty with us. We just remember that our language (and maybe even our culture) is cooler than their's.

Now, if we could just fix some of our foreign policy glitches, we might be able to gloat a little more...

Carte d'Etudiant = WiFi!!

2006-09-21T14:32:00.000+02:00

Alors, j'ai reçu ma carte d'etudiant aujourd'hui. Il y a WiFi à l'université, mais il est necessaire qu'on a carte d'etudiant avant utiliser l'Internet. Je suis très heureuse d'obtenir la carte.

So, life is getting a little better. I got a banque account here in France so I don't have to keep paying finance charges for all withdrawls I make from the U.S. And it's turned out to have a secondary benefit. My banker is now my second best friend in France. (My first is Stephanie, a french girl who studied at OU, but lives here now who helped us set up our banque accounts, get a téléphone portable, etc.) His name is Paul, and he's my banker. He's fantastically attractive, and he speaks English, which is wonderful since my financial security is dependent on him understanding what I need. But, he still needs a little help with some of the cultural differences. He was explaining to me how the debit cards work, and how I am limited on how much I can withdraw from an ATM a time and he said, "Yes, you know, I do not want you to be like, "Oh, shit" when you can't withdraw..." But see, at this point, me and the other Americans start giggling. He gets all defensive and says, "I know this word, Shit. I also know bullshit, but we do not have this word in French." I didn't have the heart to explain to him the Shit in English is not exceptable in a professional setting, as Merde is exceptable in French in any setting. But he says it all the time now and it makes us laugh every time.

I found out that my money transferred to France at a pretty good rate, so hae more money than I anticipated. So, what do you do with a few extra hundred Euros? Va à un concert de Sufjan Stevens, bébé! That's right. I will be seeing Sufjan Stevens in Stockholm (Sweden, for all you miserable Americans who don't remember European geography. No, Sweden is not famous for its chocolate, neutrality, or watches. That's Switzerland.) There is this wonderful little airline company called Ryanair that flies in Europe with penny flights. Yes, I mean one cent. You have to pay the taxes, but even after taxes I am flying from Paris to Stockholm for less than 30 euros. (The symbol for euros has to be some weird combination on my keyboard, but I can't find it.) In fact, my train to Paris, flight to Stockholm, ticket to the concert, and hostel is all under 100 euro. I'm pretty stoked.

Add to that the fact that I will not be immeadiately returning to Clermont-Ferrand. I will be going to Amsterdam for the Cannabis Cup. ::gasps:: Oh, get over it. At some point, there will be more people who've actually tried pot and know it's not bad than people who haven't tried it and assume it ruins your life. And on that day, we will all meet in a pasteur somewhere, smoke out, and have some Cheetoes. (I should start a facebook group that's called, "I smoke pot and my GPA is better than your's...") It's legal in Amsterdam, so you bet your ass I'm going to be smoking out the whole time. Yes, I will be going to the single most important event of pot smokers on the earth, and try the best pot in the world. It's also great because I'm not going to pay for it. I'm gunna be a little pressed for cash this semester, but Cassidy doesn't want to go by herself, so she's paying for my judges pass to the cup. I would promise to write you about it, but there is a good chance that details will be fuzzy.

I'm trying to escape Clermont this weekend. We'll see how it goes.

Tout à l'heure, mes amis!

Is She Alive?

2006-09-14T16:38:00.000+02:00

Oui, je suis ici, et je suis bien!

I am still responding to this change emotionally and intellectually, and I haven't prepared anything to say here, so this is sort of off the top of my head.

This experience, so far, has been completely different than my time in Italy. We got off the airplane at Charles-de-Galle, which is the most depressing airport in the world. I caught my brother's cold, and so I was feeling ill carrying my 100 lbs of luggage through the airport to the bus to the train station. Luckily, Cassidy and I met another girl from OU, Julie, who had already set up a meeting with some students to pick her up from the train to take her to the dorms. Cassidy and I were just going to catch a cab, but it worked out that we could go with them. There were two nice boys who carried our luggage up the many flights of stairs to our dorms on the 4th floor. Needless to say, we were exhausted by the time we were settled in a good 48 since the last time we had really slept.

Clermont-Ferrand was not what I anticipated. Somehow, I anticipated something similar to Perugia or Arezzo in Italy. There are some modern conveniences, but you still have tiny grocery stores and little food venders, etc. But Clermont is like Norman. You go to the supermarket. It's a 30 minute walk to school, which is gunna suck ass when the temperature drops below 0. We live in the ghetto of Clermont, or should I say, just outside the ghetto. We've been warned by our French friend Stephanie not to go south of where we live. (I'm assuming south, because I still don't know where is North, South, East, or West.) We live in the dorms with other international students, so we've met other English speakers. However, we've not made a lot of French speaking friends. Almost everyone speaks English, or a little bit of English. I am definitely of the opinion that I know the only language I need to know or will ever need to know. I am just learning French as a challenge for my mind. However, every French person I've met desperately wants to practive English with me. It's frustrating when I'm trying to learn French, but comforting in terms of my long term plans: I know English. I'm set for life.

My room is nicer than I anticipated. I have a sink in a little side room of my room. I'll take pictures soon and post them now that I know how to get free internet. (This is a surprise! I was told not to anticipate WiFi at all, and I've found a number of sources.) It's painted green, which is my favorite color. It's cozy and practical. But there are not toilet seats, as I was warned.

I have a banque account and un telephone portable. I just cannot wait for classes to start, to really begin speaking French, and to make friends outside of the little OU group. I miss Italy. A lot. I am thinking about trying to go back maybe next semester or over the summer. We shall see.

I'm out of battery power, so I will return later.

The Tenseness that Lingers Throughout the Torso

2006-09-05T15:26:00.001+02:00

I woke this morning to my last full day in Oklahoma before I move to France. This whole month I have spent endless hours talking with people about my experiences in Italy. Everything from how great the wine is to how excited I was when I returned to American restaurants and the waiter asked, "Would you like a refill, ma'am?" It's been an interesting study of character in how people respond. Some people seem uninterested, and quickly change the subject to something of the significance of washing cars. Others listen intently, realizing that I have to sort through some of this information I just experienced as I prepare my life for a full year away. Thank you to those that have fixed themselves in group number 2.

I have to pack today. I know many of you may be thinking that I should have packed already. Somehow it seems like a foolish endeavor to pack early. My mother used to say that any project will fill the time allotted for it. If I had started last week, I just would have spent all week obsessing over what I had forgotten. And, to be honest, this whole experience is making me so much less materialistic. I have a passport, and I know food and housing is there. As long as I have that, I really don't need much else. Anything I forget, I can live without or buy while I'm in France.

I'll see you again when I'm in France.

Lessons and Eagerness to Be Home.

2006-07-17T23:46:00.000+02:00

This will probably be my last post in Europe until I go to Clermont-Ferrand en Septembre.

Let's review what you've missed out on:

Venice: Not that great. It's not a really city! It's tourist shop after tourist shop and lots of fake Italian restaurants. If you are planning a trip to Italy, two or three days is more than enough to see Venice and really only so you can see all the paintings of San Marco and say, "Oh, hey, I've been there!"

Paris: Oh my God! I'm in love. Paris was wonderful. They have movie theaters. So many people said Paris was too big, the people are rude, that it's too dirty, etc. I found none of it to be true. People were friendly, no one had a problem with us speaking English (my French is good, but my spoken French in a loud and very busy city never really works), it was extremely clean, and Le Louvre was frickin' incredible! (Allez Les Bleus!)

Amsterdam: It was beautiful. Everyone was so nice and spoke flawless English. It was hilarious. Waitresses would walk up to us and say, "Ein vuudin von ish glinen?" (That's not real Dutch, but you get the gist.) We stare dumbly for a second and then say, "English?" They'd smile and say, "Oh, of course. How can I help you?" and they didn't even flinch! I also have a new appreciation for Van Gogh. I cannot wait to go back.

London: So expensive it makes me want to cry. The English was very looked forward to, but it was kind of a disappointment. British English is very difficult to understand, and they get very pissy with American girls who ask them to repeat what they said. It's an impressive, but very intimidating. I'd like to come again with a more structured schedule of events.

I wish I had more access to internet so I could write about things here. I cannot wait to get home and just be able to sit and lay out my thoughts. I have not been alone since... May. To be alone and sit in the air conditioning. I am very eager to be home at this point. Looking forward to living in France has promises of benefits, but coming here first does make the prospect appear even more frightening. Visiting Paris made me doubt my French language skills. Living in Italy should me what it's going to be like not being able to carry on conversations with the people around you. It's expensive here, and little things like not having normal toilets is very devestating. At this moment, there is a man trying to talk to Elizabeth and I, and he will not leave us alone. I miss American men. They're kind of cowardly, but at least they leave you alone when you show you're not interested.

Regardless, it will be the most rewarding experience of my life. I've been here for 7 and a half weeks and I've gained knowledge that cannot be measured. I really believe, now, that every American needs to go to Europe. To understand where we come from, who our friends are culturally, what others do better that we should consider adopting, and what we love about ourselves are just a few of the wonderful benefits of visiting.

Tomorrow, Wednesday, and a very long Thursday and I'll be home. That is a very happy prospect.

Pretty Girls.

2006-06-27T14:26:00.000+02:00

This Italian men thing is a double-edged sword.

One of the more difficult experience about living here is learning how not to make eye contact with anyone. You're in a bar and creepy dudes are catcalling you, and you pretend they do not exist. You walk down a street, and men are literally leaning out the window to yell how beautiful you are. The trick is to look as though you are entirely deaf.

Every once in a while, though, it does work out to your advantage depending on your level of wit and astuteness. Many men here simply enjoy looking at pretty women. If you allow, given certain circumstances, and even play the role of a woman who toys with men's hearts, they will reward you. Today, Eli and I went to a restaurant, and our simple presence earned us a free appetizer from the all male staff. Last night, a girl from our group flirted with the bartender at a reasonable level and earned a bottle of asti spumante for our group. Free dessert wine, free desserts, and other little surprises are the benefits of women who work to be attractive.

It's not that bad of a deal. I can live with it.

MTV Italia!

2006-06-26T13:28:00.000+02:00

Alright, anyone who knows me well knows that I'm not the biggest fan of pop culture. I keep up enough to consider myself a cultured individual, but... I could really care less about who's with whom and crap like that.

However, I'm in Italia. It's hot here and there is absolutely no air conditioning anywhere. There is one except: Our hotel rooms. So, I've been spending endless hours with my two new friends Kristin and Ryan watching MTV Italia. Oh, yes, have you seen the new "Stop, Domentica" video? Hello! Number one video in Italia. It's absolutely amazing.

Actually, straight up, that's a lie. Italian music is not so great. Number 2 is Shakira's (is that how you spell it?) "Hips Don't Lie." American music frequently makes the top of the list. I've seen Madonna, M.J. Blige and Bono, and Hillary Duff.

It's amazing how I went to Italy, and now I am definitely more in tune with American culture. The little Italian culture I am picking up on MTV Italia is Italians pretending to be as cool as Americans. Sorry, y'all, we've got the monopoly on that market.

Catholicism? Hah! I'm a Catherinic!

2006-06-22T17:07:00.000+02:00

Praise to St. Catherine!

While in Siena, I came across a shop that had one of the more extraordinary dresses I've every tried on. That is to say, in America, it'd be a little dull, but in Europe I look absolutely incredible. All those people who say Europeans are so fashion forward? Well, at least in Italy, that is one big lie. These people dress worse than Oklahomans. No concept whatsoever for flattering shapes or colors. And I don't think it is a matter of different tastes, because it is quite apparent from store fronts in every town that I've been in that style is quite similar to American styles. These people simply do not know how to dress themselves.

Anyway, I tried on this dress and damn (!) I looked good in it. But it was a little pricy. I mean, dresses here are cheaper than in the states, but it was still a bit much. So, I gave the dress a little hug, left it on the rack, and left. Our next stop in Siena was to see the head of St. Catherine. Oh yes, this is literally the diembodied head of St. Catherine, displayed in glass in one of the churches. You can also see her thumb (or one of her other fingers). She's performed all of these miracles. One of them was her followers dug up her body to return it to Siena, but they didn't think they could get the whole thing back, so they removed her head and thumb. When they trekked out of the city, they were stopped by city officials to pay taxes on what they purchased. "What's in the bag?" the offials ask, and this of course comes to quite some concern of the followers. They open the bag, and the officials say, "Hey, nice flowers'" and let them pass through. So, now they can display her head at this church in Siena.

Well, I get to Florence (or Firenze) and start doing some dress shopping. I quickly relize that I'm a moron for passing up that dress. Yes, it was a little expensive, but I looked good! Then, I have troble finding the chain store that sold that dress. That's when someone suggested I try to hit up St Catherine. Maybe we could come to some arrangement about the dress situation. If she can turn her head into flowers, she could reveal the store to me, have that dress available in the right fabric and size. In return, I promise to return to the church where her head is at, make a small donation, and never again question the legitimacy of the catholic church. I know, it's quite a sacrifice, but you need to see me in this dress.

Well, sure enough, after much searching, I find the dress. Not only that, but they had it one size smaller than the one in Siena, which looks even better on me. Then, I found these great earrings and shoes to go with it, as well as nice undergarments that flatter the breasts without visible bra straps, and no panty line with a thong. So, I didn't promise to convert, but me and catholicism have found a respectable agreement. It was a good day.

The little red spots have not gone away. (It's not zits. I don't carefully proof read my stuff, because it cost me money. And typing on European keyboards is a little tricky.)

I am now in Arezzo. It's an adorable little town. A few things have suprised me on this trip:

1) Internet is expensive and very difficult to access. This results in no pictures and fewer posts than I desire.
2) I haven't take a lot of pictures. My camera is quite heavy and really impractical to carry around with me. I'm usually walking around with a group, so I don't have time to stop and take pictures without getting separated from the group. And, straight up, y'all, I'd much rather not take pictures than not hear the stuff our guide tells us. I think there are others in this group who don't enjoy what he has to say, but I've gone from knowing nothing and caring nothing about Italian art to understanding the connections and differences between Michelangelo, Da Vinci, and Donatello. I'm just really sad I can't explain it all to you. I'm going to forget by the time I get home.
3) Food is not as great as I anticipated. It's good, to be sure, but not sex on a plate like many have told me. There is a McDonald's in Arezzo. When I find it, I'm eating EVERYTHING! Though, I had this dessert last night which was composed of slices of dry cheese, topped with honey, walnuts, and pears. It was pretty fantastic.

Little side note, Arezzo is where they filmed the city scenes from Life is Beautiful. If you have not seen that movie ("La Vita Bella"), you are missing one of the world's finest cinematic achievements.

I need to go study dissimulation in italian life through observation, so I'll catch you later.

Firenze.

2006-06-18T15:35:00.000+02:00

Ah, I'm so happy to be in Florence! Perugia had it's own unique enjoyability, but it was a little dull towards the end there. Same thing every day: Wake up, breakfast, go to class, make plans for the evening, say you weren't going to get drunk that night, eat lunch, go home to "do homework," end up taking a long nap, wake up too late to do homework, go out for dinner with friends, end up getting drunk, go home, go to sleep. Fun for two days. Two weeks is a bit much.

Florence is wonderful. Rome was a little.... seedy. Amazing city, but it was a little scary, grafitti everywhere, and no internet cafes! Here, I feel quite safe. I definitely went out last night and watched the U.S./Italy soccer game in a big crowd of people on this huge screen and had no fear of cheering for my own team or getting robbed.

Our brave and brilliant tour guide is getting a little annoyed with the way of Italy. Yesterday we went to some big church in Siena, and he asked them were tobuy ticekts to this museum. They said, "You can't buy it at the church, you have to buy it at the museum." So, we go over to the museum and they're like, "Uh, you are supposed to buy them at the church, but you can buy them here, but it's a lot more expensive." Apparently the hotel we made reservations at lost our reservation, so he had to get a new hotel for us literally at the last minute. The bus was twice as much a it was last year. Today we saw Michelangelo's David, and the dude running the place decided to make up an arbitrary rule that because we are a big group, it's going to be 3€ extra person. It's definitely illegal, and Kirk fought for us. They ended up agree to space out the entrance of everyone. What can you say? Welcome to Italy.

I woke up this morning to find my face was covered with little red dots. They are zits, they aren't bug bits, the skin isn't raised, it's just little red dots. I'll post pictures later. (I will post all my picture eventually. It may not be until I get back to the U.S., but eventually.)

Oh, defintely saw the remains of someone hit by a vehicletoday on the street. Lots of blood and big fleshy chunks ground into the pavement. Without a doubt, the most gruesome image I've seen with my own eyes.

I need to go buy a dress.

Anyone want to add it up?

2006-06-11T16:36:00.000+02:00

Gelato: Italy - 1 point.
Ranch dressing: Oklahoma - 1 point.
Toilet Paper at every bathroom 99% of the time: Oklahoma - 5 points.
Alcohol legal to all people over the age of 18: Italy - 2 points.
Really cool old buildings: Italy - 3 points.
Things to do on a Sunday afternoon: Oklahoma - 3 points.
Customer service: Oklahoma - 4 points.
Flat streets: Oklahoma - 2 points.
Practical buses and trains for reasonable prices: Italy - 4 points.
English speaking: Oklahoma - 2 points.
Beautiful toddlers who speak Italian: Italy - 3 points.
Pizza: Italy - 2 points.
Tax included in price: Italy - 3 points.
Free water: Oklahoma - 3 points.
Variety of restaurants: Oklahoma - 3 points.
Likes my electrical devices: Oklahoma - 2 points.
Most people shower every day: Oklahoma - 1 point.
People generally dress well: Oklahoma and Italy - -2 points.
Being able to talk to men without fear of getting molested: Oklahoma - 3 points.
Never doubting your female form is being enjoyed in the eyes of men: Italy - 2 points.
Cappuccino's and Espresso for less than a euro: Italy - 5 points.
Pasteries everywhere: Italy - 4 points.
Tiramasu: Italy - 3 points.
Nutella pizza: Italy - 6 points. (As one of the other girls described it: Sex in your mouth!)
Everyone takes their dogs out with them: Italy - 5 points.
Chips and Salsa: Oklahoma - 4 points.
Cold sodas for cheap: Oklahoma - 2 points.
Availability of photographic opportunities: Oklahoma and Italy: 4 points.
Mountains: Italy - 4 points.
Ethnic variety: Oklahoma - 3 points. (I know! My God, we're the lilly white state of the union.)
Comic vaue of Italian interpretation of American culture: Italy - 3 points. (Last night, we went to see if there were any good American films out. There weren't, but they did have a popocorn station. It was a little square kiosk with four microwaves. It had bucking horses with cowboy's on it that said, "American Popcorn.")

You get the gist.

Happy Birthday to Me!!!

2006-06-10T20:35:00.000+02:00

Okay. So, like, best birthday EVER!

Okay, so, it started last night. Elizabeth and I were chilling at a bar thinking alone, "Hm, this is boring. Should we go home?" But, it was 11:20 p.m., so Elizabeth said we should stick it out 'til midnight. That way we could celebrate my birthday when it began. So, we waited, sipping out Pina Coladas (sp?).

Anyhow, we waited a few minutes, and suddenly like half of our group shows up. This guy comes to our table with a ton of shots, and he says, "Who's the birthday girl?" (Or more like, "Hoo es dee berthday gerl?" When I raise my hand, he gives me the first shot and kisses me on the cheeks. Awe.

Then, at exactly midnight, he brings over a bottle of champagne for our group. There's a picture of me fake chugging it on Eli's camera. (Seriously. I am smart enough to not get too drunk in a town were I don't speak the language.) Then, I get another couple of free drinks and our group is crowded around the table all fidgety. No one was dancing in the bar, but the music was good and the buzz was good. Then, all the Oklahoma students start dancing at once. Crazy Americans. But, after like 30 minutes, half the bar was dancing. And by the time we left, the entire bar was dancing.

The dude who's the internet guy here has connections with on of the discos in Perugia. So, he hooks us up to all get into the disco for free. We hung out way late into the night and finished off with 50 Cents song with "We're gunna party like it's your birthday." Very nice. The gentleman who got the group in was kind enough to walk us back to our apartment to make sure were weren't rapped or mugged. (He might have had alterior motives, but he didn't push them, so it's cool.) Thanks, Daniele (or however you spell Daniel in italian)!

This morning Eli and I woke up rather miserably. Fortunately, neither of us we hung over. (Lots of water, don't go to sleep drunk.) However, we had been dancing all night long. It's a wearisome activity! But, we got up and met or new friend Kristin to make our way out to Lago Trasimeno. We grabbed a slice of one euro pizza and headed to the bus station. Well, the people here are absolutely awful to talk to when you need help. Customer service has not been introduced to this society. So, we're not exactly sure what we need to do to get there, but we've got enough to get us close. Bus and train tickets are only between 2 and 10€, so one mistake isn't that big of a deal. Well, we do get off at the wrong place, but we were having fun on our little adventurous trip.

We find a train station that can get us to the right spot, and there is this little boy at the station who comes up to us and says, "Tu tu!" Don't speak italian, so I look at his grandfather and he responds, "Tu tu... Traino!" Tu tu is the sound trains make in Italy. Absolutely adorable!

We finaly make it to Passignano (town outside of the lake) and we catch a ferry going to a little island in the middle of the lake called Isola Maggiore. We ate lunch, had some great gelato, and walked around. So absolutely quaint and endearing. The island is known for supporting the lace making industry. By that, I mean there are little old ladies with lawn chairs lacing outside their houses. It was so cool.

Now I am completely exhausted, but it was worth it.

Thanks to everybody who wished me a happy birthday!

Sickness... Bah.

2006-06-09T22:29:00.000+02:00

Yeah, I've been sick the whole time I've been in Perugia. It's not cool. I keep forgetting to bring my card from my camera with me. Ah, you'll wait.

Today, I bought a awesome jacket for 9€. It's awesome.

Everyone is not enjoying Perugia except for Eli and I. Very strange, but whatever.

It's a slow life here. It's cold. There is no TV, no movies... essentially there is nothing to do but eat and drink. Somehow, however, the arranging to meet at the steps in the town center and gossip about each other represents the small town life I never got to experience. As long as they are not gossiping about me... (I'm the sick one, so they all feel bad for me.)

There's not much to tell.

Florence is coming up shortly. We'll see how that goes.

Benvenuto a Italia.

2006-06-06T22:08:00.000+02:00

Yeah, so, life is tricky here... I did go to the camera store and I did find a charger for my camera batteries (score!). However, when I got home, I opened the box to find plugs to the charger, but no charger. Not only that, but none of the plugs were a European plug. Of course, after I get class, I go back to the store, but it was closed. Most stores are closed between 1:00 and 3:00, so you have to come back later. Anyway, I finally have it now, but I still haven't charged my camera. Pictures are coming. Here's one to wet your appetite:

Men here are completely different! It becomes wearisome dealing with the constant cat calling. "Have my babies," and "Mm, love me" are among Eli's and my favorite. All the same, I like talking to people, especially if they like talking to me. Here, though, I have to completely ignore men when they are talking to me. One girl entertained some affection and ended up having to call our tour guide at 3 in the morning saying, "There is a guy here who has locked me in a bar and he won't let me leave." Yeah, not the experience I want to take away. As we speak, there is a guy a two computers down from my trying to talk with me. Bah.

Class today was fine. I have the advantage of French, which makes Italian very, very easy. Yup, gender of nouns and adjectives must agree. The possesive agrees with the gender of the noun. Blah, blah, blah. Apparently, however, there is no phrase "International Studies" so I can say "Io studio [International Studies]."

In Elizabeth's class, they had this list of get-to-know-each-other questions. One of the questions was "Have you ever been in a skyscraper?" She was really confused by the question, but the class is composed of international students, so many of them have never seen skyscrapers. If you are thinking skyscrapers like 80 stories high, that is not the case. Skyscapers are anything above 10 floors. One man was like, "I've never been in one, but I saw one once and I took a picture of it!" Adorable.

Perugia is lovely. Life is so slow, but I love it here. I have a cold right now, but I should be feeling better soon. Maybe by then it will warm up. I've needed a jacket every day I've been here. It's maddening.

Pants, fat, jealousy, and anger.

2006-06-05T16:10:00.000+02:00

I got pants today! Really, it has been absolutely awful walking around in shorts and skirts while it's like 50 outside. However, shopping is a very difficult thing. My size is the largest they offer here in Europe. At home I'm a 6 in pants, and a small in shirts. Here I'm a large in both. And it's still a little tight. I feel bad for the other girls in our group that are even just a little larger than me. It's difficult not to take it too seriously. I'm very happy for their skinny little asses, but man I wish they went one size larger.

I was able to get my camera to turn on long enough to take a couple of pictures of my room. However, I was a ditz and left my camera in my room. There is a camera store in town, so I should be able to get a charger soon.

Last night was really difficult. I don't want to get into lest some people are familiar with the names, but I was forced into a difficult situation. I was brutally angry with someone on the trip, but felt that trying to communicate my frustration would only make the situation worse. I will have to see this person a lot, and I don't want to make it awkward while I'm in Italy. But it's pressing so heavy on my mind that I can hardly stand it. It's a betrayal that may not be forgivable.

I must note, however, that things are so much cheaper in Perugia (even compared to the U.S.). I got jeans, kakis, and a belt for 30€. Nice. Very nice.

Here I am...

2006-06-04T16:38:00.000+02:00

I hardly know where to begin. I am now in Perugia in Italy. I've been in Rome since the 30th, but it appears there are no Internet Cafés in Rome. If there are, they're on the outskirts. It's frustrating because so much has happened, I can't remember all of it... I'll come back to elaborate. I will talk about today because it's easy to remember.

Today, we woke up early this morning and took a charter bus from Rome to Perugia. Rome is pretty flat and geographically not that different from Oklahoma. (Obviously, the plants are different... By the way, I'm using a European keyboard and the punctuation is different, so if you see a typo, it's probably because the apostophe is next to the zero at the top of the keyboard.) Perugia, on the other hand, is in a hilly area and the city overlooks a valley and then mountains. It's so hilly that they actually have public elevators and escalators to get from one part of the city to the other. The escalators were built into the old medivial part of town that used to be "buried." I'm not sure what this has to do with.

I'm having computer troubles, so hopefully I will get some pictures for y'all soon enough. Power conversion is very difficult, and I can't find a way to change my camera batteries.

Kirk, the man who's sort of our guide to getting around, met his wife and his two little kids. Blast, I need pictures of them, too. They're adorable! Kirk is a great guy. Here's a picture of him with the Borens while we were chilling outside the Vatican.

We were met at the bus station by a tour guide (I don't remember his name) who took us around Perugia. He was afraid we might get lost, but I think the city center is about the size of the OU campus. Yeah, I think I can handle it. We returned to the bus station to be picked up by our host families. Elizabeth and I worked it out to stay in the same place. The woman who picked us up is very nice, but she doesn't speak english. Our room is so cute (I need to take a picture of it at well) with a beautiful view of the mountains and the scenery on the hill. We went to an "american" restaurant today for lunch, which had amazing fries, but the burgers were just a bun with meat on it. No lettuce, tomato, pickles, or condiments. I had coconut and chocolate gelato (italian ice cream) with Elizabeth as we searched for an internet place here it town.

The differences here are subtle. You walk around and if you run into someone you say "I'm sorry" without even thinking about it. Obviously, all the buildings are completely different. If you take the elevator to the bottom floor, you'll hit 1 forgetting that Italy has a 0 floor. Coke is very expensive here, as is just about everything. However, travel is not that expensive. You can catch a train to almost any other town or city in Italy for about €20.

I haven't done much here in Perugia yet, but getting on the internet and calling my parents was a big accomplishment in terms of what I've been trying to do in the last few weeks.

I have some pictures from the Vatican, so I'll talk about it a little. Kirk is a fantastic guide, so the Borens came with us as we toured the different areas. The Vatican opens at 8:00 and closes at 1:30 p.m., so time is limited for getting in. The lines are extremely long, and though we arrived quite early, we were in line for close to an hour an a half.

(I was uploading pictures, but this computer is giving out on me...)

We saw the Sistine Chaple, the Deposition from the Cross by Caravaggio, the Transfiguration by Raffaello, the School of Athens by Raphael, the Pietà and St. Peter's Basilica. It was great because these art pieces are kinda spiffy, but I don't know anything about them. However, we had these head phones and Kirk, this dude who knows all this stuff about this artwork, is giving us private lectures about the art whole we are in the museum looking at it.

Then we goot hooked up with this super cool tour underneath the Vatican. They've been excavating underneath, finding these old pagan tombs. Well, if you know your Catholic mythology (which I do not), it is believed that the vatican is situated above St. Peter's tomb. So, digging under there was a big controversy, because if you don't find Peter's bones, you're questioning the legitimacy of the Catholic belief system. But, they do find something rather sigificant. It's a tiny little tomb with the bones of a 60 year old man. His head is missing and his feet are missing (Peter was matyred by being hung on a cross upside down, so it's likely his body was removed by chopping off his feet). On the outside of the tomb is this old writing that says "Peter is here." They've placed his bones back in the burial spot (in the really nice NASA designed boxes to preserve them), and I was able to see them. It's not a public tour in the traditional sense, but takes months of planning to get set up. It was an amazing experience to think, "This is the body of one of Christ's disciples and I'm looking at it."

Anyway, there is much more to tell, but I'm thirst, so I'm gunna jet. Tomorrow is first day of classes in Perugia. Finally, I'll be able to talk to people beyond "Grazie" and "Ciao."

The Silence Ends.

2006-05-28T20:06:00.000+02:00

I know I have been absent from my posting, and I apologize. I return now as I will be departing for the house of Elizabeth's family, who will drive us to Dallas where we will catch a plane to Rome. Last night me body ached with nervousness and there is nothing more I desire in the world that to simply be there. I will let you know how things go when I get there.

International Studies? At OU?

2006-05-03T23:15:00.000+02:00

The President of OU, David Boren has been working hard to strengthen the quality of the International Studies program at OU, as well as creating strong international connections for all students. I just found out that President Boren, and his wife will be joining our group in Rome. There are less that 25 people in our group, so this is a wonderful opportunity for me to meet and talk with him. In a school of 26,000 students, we don't really get the change to hang out with David Boren. In addition, and for me probaby more exciting than meeting President Boren, the U.S. Ambassador to the Holy See in the Vatican City is going to hang out with us on our first evening in Rome. Not to mention that I already knew we are going to be lead around by Kirk Duclaux, who is also connected to the State department and regularly guides dignitaries, the President, ambassadors, etc, throughout Italy.

Studying abroad through OU is going to give me experiences that are irreplacable. I'm so happy that I'm going to school here.

Itinerary

2006-04-30T22:43:00.000+02:00