Artistic Inspirations

There are so many breathtakingly-beautiful sights in this part of the world, and consequently, throughout the course of the day, I am tempted to take yet another picture to "capture" that beauty. After all, it seems that every day I walk down the same cobblestone-paths to find that the sun's rays have accentuated more/newer detail along the winding, narrow streets of ancient architecture and time-stained edifaces. And yet, leaving the bustling back streets of the "downtown," you're more than likely to stumble upon a flower-ridden park, or a riverbend/quai lined with lazy Weeping Willows, and monstrueuse Platagne trees.

Whether due to the quotidien-visual treats, or the loneliness, (here thinking that perhaps "art" often substitutes, and meanwhile searches-out human-connectivity/understanding and appreciation?) since I have lived in France (far from and out of contact with the majority of friends and family) I've had the strangest urges and hankering needs to express myself artistically...

Yet, in the beginning, I had no idea HOW I was to express myself, what I was to DO, or exactly why "I should" DO ANYTHING...? (I never knew myself to be any kind of artist whatsover!)

In addition, I believed that ART was obliged to communicate some kind of message, lesson or hidden-sentiment in order for it to be considered "aesthetic" or artistically "meaningful" or valuable, thus making it difficult to proceed; for, I knew couldn't produce something "useful," or "insightful," at least "not NOW" - "NOT YET..."

So, I tried dancing, thinking I could get pleasure out of the activity while expressing myself artistically - getting exercise, appreciating music all the while. Unfortunately my attempts were quickly denied, but I'll get to that one later in speaking about French MEN.

I then tried drawing, but found that I questioned myself too much, asking "what" I was to draw, being so focused on "the point" of the activity itself...and even when I finished completing the drawings, I was never satisfied with the result, the product - my creation. It never fitted my "expectations..."

Writing poetry was even worse in the beginning. Every time I put a pen to the page, I felt like I was back in highschool, tackling a forced homework assignment (especially since I've never been all that fond or appreciative of poetry, for whatever reason).

Writing short movie-scripts then became a hobby of mine, but the lack of visual-detail and expression left me really frustrated, preventing me from continued the efforts...(after all, I'm not so great at decribing visual/situational DETAIL - at least not as well as I imagine/"picture" things in my mind.)

I resolved to writing e-mails, writing friends...reflecting upon the daily life; thinking about other peoples' lives rather than further attempting artistic expression; after all, a lot had been going on "under my radar," back at home: for instance, I missed 3 weddings, 1 divorce, as well as my sister's first home-purchase. One should think I had enough material to keep my head spinning for a while.

Unfortunately, in turning to "emails," as my one sole form of expression, I quickly learned that I could not and cannot/should not rely upon OTHERS to satisfy this (human/basic) need "to communicate." Friends are often too busy in their own goings on to respond to anything in-depth, professors are too busy preparing classes, family members too "close" to provide unbiased feeback...

Something else "had" to be done if I was not to feel...so anxious...!

But, ironically, without DOING anything (that is; as soon as I stopped searching for outlets) many thoughts started to stream through my mind, and at the strangest of moments...

1) It was a cold and rainy late-Friday afternoon, and I had just finished teaching 4 classes at Sturm. The day was less than superb with the kids, and for that reason, I was a bit down. Nevertheless, I knew it wasn't yet time to celebrate the weekend's coming, for I had to babysit in 3 hours...which I wasn't particularly looking forward to that evening.

Since it was so icky outside, I decided to go warm up at a café, hoping I'd get "in the mood." I ordered 2 glasses of Bordeaux (my favorite), and read a book (Lol V. Stein) for a little while. After "warming up" sufficiently, I still had 1.5 hours to kill (and, biking home 30mins only to return after 30mins time was not an option for obvious reasons) so, I hit the streets with my umbrella.

In wearing high heels, (which is a rare occasion for me, and probably not the most clever of choices in Strasbourg) I was able to experience an artistic insight that evening in the rain; for it was in listening to the music of the rain pitter-pattering, alongside my heels clicking and clacking the cobblestone, that my eyes were drawn to my footing. The glowing lights from the street lamps and store windows were reflecting off of the cobblestone in the most magnificent of ways...(and NO, I had NOT smoked anything!) So I kept walking along, noting all of the different patterns, designs and playful mingled suggestions of water with light and stone. I snapped one photo after the next, without thinking about it, and suddenly thought..."wow...a cobblestone collage is something I'd love to document and frame in my (future) home!" The more I thought of the idea, the more I liked it...for it would represent my FOOTING in Strasbourg, representing all the places I've been - my chosen PATHS, which would be inevitably linked to the millions of feet that had been there before. Since then, I've snapped pictures of "my feet" in some of my favorite "footings"...nuzzled in the sand at the ocean, hiking a vineyard up some earthy terrain, in historical settings such as Avignon...

2) At another moment, I was TEACHING class when an artistic insight/inspiration came to mind. Having assigned an exercise to perform in silence, I more easily overheard the cathedrale bells clanging at 3'oclock. "Ahhhhh...the Cathedrale bells. How I LOVE their melodious songs!" Upon the last striking sound, I was further distanced from "work" and more concentrated on the "things I love about France," contemplating an addition to my cobblestone collection, adding to it "the dirty, the funny, and the beautiful: sights, sounds and smells of Alsace..." In it, I would compile photos of dog poop (found SMEARED across, or in large "piles" upon the pedestrian sidewalks and major walk-ways), along with recordings of the bells and the live musicians (my favorite: the accordian players!) and all the flowers-galore. Although I haven't put this idea to work, I still think it would be fun to document!

3) Most notably, when I TRAVEL (on airplanes and on trains) I have entreprenurial insights. One involves automobiles, another involves locamotive cigarette-disposal (both of which only my closest family and friends are privy to know...) and the two remaining deal with reading-ease in travel, and space-savers. For some reason, these things come to mind when I LEAST expect them to...a real example of the "unexpected, sudden" insight - as Lonergan notes in his book, INSIGHT.

4) And, despite my resistance (by force) in writing poetry, I've poured out endless poems since last spring's coming, perhaps in trying to find the words, and SENSE to understand the feelings I had been undergoing, and the mysterious/cathartic...often very violent/gory dreams I had been having.

Until just recently, I had often linked artistic expression with 'inwardness,' subjectivity, weakness, and even mental instability (hence the stereo-type/image of the greatests artists...) and had perhaps been resistant to REALIZE my need to express myself. Now, after 25years of denying childish-creativity, I realize the joy of artistic creation (as an activity) as opposed to the "usefulness" of the product. I still wonder if, perhaps I had always shunned the "less pragmatic" due to lingering (confused) images of my mother (who is not only an artist, but is "labeled" as mentally-ill by the medical-industry) and my father (the engineer).

In any case, when I was thinking about THIS subject, I happened to bump into my sister on facebook-chat. There and then, she had remarked the sheer quantity of photographs I've collected (and posted) that revolve around boats and ships...saying something along the lines: "you're as much a boat as I am a mountain."

I envisioned what she was saying, literally. She is a mountain; I am a boat...my father an airplane...my mom a pioneering-wagon, filled-to-the-brim and rumbling across the harsh lands...we'd all fit together - our little neuroses and instabilities...our artistic, entreprenurial and engineering-like inspirations...

After all...what constitutes "NORMAL" is something that has forever racked my brain. Pirsig's LILA got me thinking about it all the more, and not to mention the movie, Revolutionary Road, and my friendships with less-than "typical" persons :-) However, I suppose this topic is leaving the subject of ART, and must arise in a later entry...

These ENTRIES btw, (this blog in general) is the "online" version of my REAL "artistic" endeavor, which is to be continued...

My Bicycle, My Adventure

When I used to live in Boston, I would bike up to and hour and a half to get to and from work each day. Over pot-holes, and traffic-packed streets, my trajectory caused a lot of aggravations, seeing that there were NO BIKE LANES for cyclists in or near the city of Boston (not including the "recreation paths that led from nowhere-A to nowhere-B). The intense-physical exercise and big-time financial-savings were enough to keep me on the road, however.

Biking, in any case, had come to be a chore - that is, until I lived in France. Biking in and around Strasbourg was surprisingly one of the most pleasant, and positive activities I had experienced in a LONG TIME, let alone since my arrival in Europe. After my first couple of rides down the perfectly-paved bikelanes, I was HOOKED to exploring/visiting and "capturing" the region (with my camera, that is) on bike; subsequently I spent many hours each day, taking time looking at my surroundings, getting lost, finding things, going places, hitting upon unknown destinations...

New horizons were setting and I could feel my spirit being rejuvinated with a heightened sense of liberty and freedom! Ah! Fresh air! Nature! Exercise :-)

That is in biking, I was able to "move towards" an understanding that I ought to be more ACCEPTING/appreciative of every "un-knowable" trajectory in my life - and not ONLY my unknowable biking-paths if I REALLY wanted to enjoy my days in France as much as I did my biking-adventures.

Up until now, I had been looking at things the wrong way - seeing my endeavors in France thus far as a "challenge," -as something to "confront" - as something to "accomplish/achieve, which obviously begs for "failure," when REALLY, I should have just treated each day, (each moment rather) as an adventure...as something to experience/something also worth "capturing," something worth LIVING!

As a matter of fact, this "wisdom" was already there inside of me. I suppose that wisdom is present to all of us, especially given some awareness/reminder to "slow down" in this fast-paced society of ours in order to "appreciate the moment." Nevertheless, this had always been especially difficult for me, for one reason or another (trying to tackle one goal after the next) and for that very reason, I had been really touched by a passage (and reminded of it while cycling) that comes from one of my favorite novels, "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" by Robert M. Pirsig, wherein a young boy faulters and swears in defeat, as he makes his way hiking up a mountain with his Dad. In feeling short-changed, disadvantaged, "forced" to climb the "MOUNTAIN" before him by external cirumstances (most notably, his Dad) he has no control himself, or his experience. His Dad on the otherhand, (the narrator of the story, named Phaedrus, after Plato's Phaedrus) ENJOYED the climb because he had a wisdom of life beyond mere "words;" beyond the mere awareness that he "ought to slow down." He had already LIVED the alternative, which is exactly what I had been doing up to this point...

And yet more concretely, as many studies have confirmed, there are numerous side-benefits/advantages to bicyling, including physical-strengthening, endurance-training, respiratory-control, and emotional/mental training. Since I had run cross country and track for the majority of my young-adult life, I quickly-recognized, benefitted from, and appreciated the similar side-effects from cycling. Far beyond the "physical," though, the added bonuses to bicylcing in Alsace are countless!

The Alsacian wine-route takes long and winding turns in between two mountain ranges: the Vosges Mountains in France, and the Black Forest in Germany -two fairly LARGE mountain ranges, which long ago were ajoined and later separated by the RHINE river...

Bicycling north, south, and west of Strasbourg one will see, along with the view of the mountains, a collection of tiny picturesque "Alsacian" villages COVERED in flowers, unique architecture, and medieval to ancient castles, cathedrales, temples and forts.

The (paved) bike-routes along the Rhine river, and along its parallel canal (set apart from the WIDE-spreading river itself) are also SUPERBE rides. Of course, they ride all the way down to Switzerland, but if you wanted to remain just outside of Strasbourg, the paths allow for you to see vist the 12(?) dykes/ecluses, which have long been known the major-operational advantage in Alsace due to their efficiency/effectiveness in accepting and releasing boats for importing and exporting goods. (In fact, Strasbourg, thanks to its developed water-ways, is the 2nd richest city in France, after Paris - and the region of Alsace is known to provide the 2nd best quality of life!)

One day along this canal, I managed an 8 1/2 hour bike ride from Strasbourg, just to a village outside of Freiburg, Germany. It was one of the greatest bikerides of my life, although I suspect to be having many more this spring...

Yet, best of all, while biking along the canals on a hot and muggy summer's day - letting the wind blow through your hair as you pedal through the heat-waves eminating from pavement- one could only pray to stumble upon a swimming hole! After glancing at my regional map a couple of times (in order to align myself with the right path/a good direction), I was hoping to hit upon a beach one of those days...and indeed, I stumbled upon two!!

For starters, there was l'etang/"plan d'eau de la Ballastiere" about 40 mins north of Strasbourg, as well as BAGERSEE, just 25 mins south of the city (which is actually where I now live). Both routes are extremely bike-accessible, along one of the millions of provided "bike paths."

Each swimming hole not only provided me with a REFRESHING swim - a satisfying cool to my increasingly sun-tanned skin, and sweat-glistening limbs, but they also provded plenty of space for watching or participating in various group-activities and games (volley-ball nets, soccer fields, tree-lined walking areas, fitness-running paths and more.)

Yet, what I enjoyed best of all (beyond watching all the families and youngsters splash, play, and lay around, topless) were the savory ordors of grilling steaks, kebab and hamburg, smoking through the trees. The scent of barbeque made me feel right at home since grilling, camping, and hanging by the beach had always been my most favored summer activites with family and friends back at home!)

So, although I was alone, (and without a friend in the world!) I didn't feel "ALONE" on bicycle, or when stumbling upon such terrific finds...

HOWEVER, a funny story about these "swimming holes..."

La rentree, (or the first day of school) was now fast approaching, and I had yet 1 week left of summer before me. Since it was consistently somewhere in the high-80's, sunny, and without prediction of rain, I made my way over to the "beach" that week on bike, along with a bag-load of reading...

That is, though I was STILL unclear as to what my job would REALLY be like, I figured I should know a thing or two about religion before "teaching" it! hehe.)

Along with my ipod, I took root on a sandy spot near the water, stripping down to my bikini to catch the rays...Ahhhhh...I AM a summer sun-worshipper...:-) It felt great! Yet, before too long, someone planted root not too far beside me: a man seemingly in his mid-40s. I couldn't help but notice him staring.

When he said hello, I couldn't resist but to respond. I hadn't SPOKEN to anyone in nearly a month's time, ever since I had retreated to the balcony (and the open road) and sort of felt like talking. I figured I should give the guy the benefit of the doubt...(maybe he was just being FRIENDLY, I thought...no harm in that!) I said hello, and tried to get back to reading...

He moved his towel closer to mine, and asked me if I was from around here. (For some reason, this is one of the FIRST questions one gets asked in France, which is certainly a weird way to pick up chicks, but is too a way of starting "casual" conversation, which is apparently VERY VERY difficult between men & women in this country, since "seduction" seems to ALWAYS be on peoples' minds...)

We started talking about ourselves - where we were from, and what we did for a living, before he asked me to join in at the snack bar for a drink (of water!) The water bottle I had brought along with me had already warmed to body-temperature, so the mere IDEA of getting some cold water sounded good to me, so I went along.

The conversation continued, in a fairly normal fashion, until he started telling me how "beautiful" I was. BLECK. I so didn't want to hear it, but didn't know how to get out of the conversation by this point.

Trying my best, I said "well thank you, that's nice, but I would like to get back to reading now."

Silly me...of course he followed!

I put on my ipod, and tried to put him out of my mind, but then he came over to apologize. He had excused himself for being so direct...which I accepted. For some reason, I put so much pressure on myself to "be nice," but not MERELY for the sake of "acceptance." After all, moreso in France than in any other place back at home, I feel as though I must "represent" what it means to be a "good woman." In other words, I put pressure on myself not only to represent my own ideals, "PRINCIPLES" and 'VALUES' but also represent those of my country...so strange, I never thought myself to be so nationalistic! hahaha....

Anyways, to "apoligize" he invited me to join him for a swim. I went swimming, which too ended up being a mistake. He grabbed my foot at some point, which (despite the fact that it was just MY FOOT) I took as going too far.

Lucky for me, I'm a super-fast swimmer, and out-beat him to the shore. It was apparent he thought I was playing some sort of game (who the hell knows what sick games French women play?) but got the hint when I told him I was leaving.

"Wait wait!" He implored as I packed up my things..."May I ask you something before you go?"

(I thought he was going to ask for my cellphone number - which I didn't even have for that matter - thank goodness, so I wouldn't have to LIE!)

BUT he asked the unaskable...

"May I give you money?" he began to ask, handing me 20euros.

"UHHH NOOooooo....?" I responded confusedly, while pushing away the money. Although I didn't really want to know the answer, something within me compelled me to ask further...."FOR WHAAAT?" to which he said:

"Well, I wouldn't want you to DO anything, or even to LOOK...but...if I could pay you 20 euros JUST to SIT beside me while I "pleasure myself" I will be the happiest man alive."

"BAH!!! NOOOOOOOOOOO!" (I should have slapped him at this point, but decided not to, for a part of me felt BAD for the guy - I mean, I could tell he didn't even KNOW BETTER!) How disgustingly shallow...

Trying to stay clear-headed, I remained as direct and honest, informing him that:

"You CANNOT ask a lady to do such a thing. It is offensive, rude and disrespectful," and I hopped on my BICYCLE...my savior at this point...retreating back to MY BALCONY.

KEY WORDS: Cycling in France, Biking in Strasbourg, Bicylcing in Alsace, swimming in Strasbourg, beaches in Strasbourg, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, A Cup of Tea

A Summer in Strasbourg

By late-August, I was installed in Strasbourg and settled into my new apartment. Finally, I thought: things were looking up; I was an official resident of Frace with a mailing address and all! :-) As an added bonus, the weather was absolutely gorgeous - every day was sunny, warm, and dry - an ideal change of pace after a LONG spring/early-summer of rain, thunder, cloudy-skies and cool temperatures...

Without a television or radio, and without ANY KIND of cash-flow to buy (or to DO anything for that matter) I had a lot of time to think - to SIT AND THINK: ALONE.

Part of me was excited by the lack of "distractions." I wanted to eat up this time to "better myself" and to "make the most of my alone time." But, my nerves and my conscience were not at all put to ease by this "new opportunity to think." All the time "thinking," "strategizing/planning" and reading/preparing for work led to some serious worrying...I guess one has to clear one's mind sufficiently in order to think clearly (Better said in ancient times, perhaps: "If one's cup is already full, it may no longer hold the tea that pours-into it; one must EMPTY the cup before accepting tea" - paraphrasing my favorite Zen Koan.)

Most of all, I reflected upon past events, worried about future events (and cried) plenty about losing control in the moment. I felt defeated, rejected and ugly as a person knowing that "C" could part with me so easily, even though he continued to be on my mind NON-STOP. As such, it was extremely difficult to prevent myself from wasting time, asking inconsequential/stupid "girlish" questions like: "what REALLY went wrong?" or "What could I have done differently?" and worst of all: "What's WRONG with me?"

Beside my "emotional" troubles at the time, there were many practical work-related details that had not been clarified, which I knew I'd have to work-out (somehow? magically?) before September. For starters, although I had been offered a job with a private school, I had not received any "proof" or "guarentee" in writing. No contract, no time-table -no specifications whatsoever - had been given to me; so not only had I NO IDEA what sort of "program" to invent with all the reading I had been doing (given the massive load of books and notes on "religious culture" that were on loan to me), but I was beginning to get nervous that I was being played...who knew? (My -French-born- father seemed to think he "knew," and subsequentially worried a lot FOR ME, insisting that it was a dog-eat-dog, competitive and heartless working world in France, therefore meaning that "anything goes.") He had reason to think I had already lost the deal, lost the job, to someone more suitable/that is, suited to teach religious culture, or, in the very least, to someone who was a NATIVE French-speaker!

What made things even worse was my inability to MAKE MONEY/to be PRODUCTIVE. Money is independence, after all, which I knew I had not yet attained, despite how far I had come. That is, in having to ask my family for financial help in order to open a French bank-account (which required a deposit of 100euros), to pay for my apartment deposit and last month's rent, I sank my confidence to a new, EXTREME, LOW.
Even skipping meals, spending zilch on outings and posessions wouldn't help me at this point, and my only "personal source of income" (to buy minimal groceries) was my American credit card (which btw charges you international-service fees EVERY time you use the card abroad!) all of which I was not too proud of...

But I knew that I couldn't let off to others just HOW defeated I was feeling, for their sake, and my own. Indeed, reasonably-speaking (leaving all emotions aside) I knew I hadn't REALLY been defeated just yet! The little energizer bunny inside of me still had SOME BATTERY JUICE! And, if no one else could believe in me, given my surmounted troubles, I would HAVE to believe in myself...

Realizing that I couldn't let myself sit around feeling so low, I would HAVE TO BE ACTIVE in order to feel better about myself...so, to kill 2 birds with 1 stone, (to make some money WHILE staying active) I resolved within the first week of my stay that I would set myself on finding a full-time job waitressing/bussing tables. Considering my EXTENSIVE 8-year expeience waitressing, my semi-bilingual capacities, and the sheer abundance of restaurrants in the city, I thought I'd have a chance! (BTW: the advantage of working for the restaurant business abroad, I knew, was that it could be managed full-time during the (still flourishing) summer-tourist season, then part-time during the cooler (non-tourist) season, only to be followed by a Christmas-rush.) To aid my search by foot through the city, I created a somewhat generalized cover letter, and a service-oriented CV to distribute to twenty-something restaurants, bars and ice-cream cafes.

In the end, I heard back from not a ONE of them! But I was lucky to meet with a kind restaurant-owner/manager, who sat down with me on the spot one day, to explain the difficulties in August-hiring...the summer tourist-season was ALMOST over, and most positions were already filled, especially given the economic crisis. He also told me that most places would not even consider hiring workers if they were not dedicated to working full-time, all year-round, let alone hiring a "teacher." Good to know.

I planned to plug-along, nevertheless, hoping to hit upon something; after all, lucky-timing, persistance, and confidence USUALLY does the trick, and had worked like a charm in the past! :-) Before plugging-along, I'd just have to fix a couple of details on my CV, taking into consideration the advice I had been given, and since I lived about 5 mins walking-distance to the Bibliotheque Nationale et Universitaire, I thought I could make prints over there. I looked online about the possibility of obtaining a one-day library pass, and depending on the quality of the library, I'd decide whether or not I'd register for a monthly-pass, in order to use their facilities/printers/photocopiers, and also to have a quiet, resourceful place to read and to meet people...

To my surprise though, it was there - at the LIBRARY - where I had confronted the biggest and worst of hassles yet. In fact, it is thanks to the BNU "service employees" that I was able to develop a twisted/negative perception about the French and about my chances of "making it" in France...

A funny, surreal story about the library:

I bought a 1-day "full-access" pass at the library front-desk for 3euros. Receipt in hand, I proceeded to wander around, just to check it out at first; after all, it was a very fine, and well-equipped and reputable library with ornate, lovely architecture inside and out! Finally, upon arriving at the 3rd floor, I noticed the computer room, and thought I'd get to work, yet, when trying to open the door (several times) I realized it was ::LOCKED::

Luckily, someone was exiting the room just as I was (trying) to enter, at which point I asked if the computers were freely-accessible, (to which the man at the door said "yes of course.")

Proceeding forward into the computer room, thinking nothing of the secure-door system, there was a separate desk/office-space to the corner, where I'd ask for a sign-in.

Immediately CONFUSED, the woman VERY RUDELY asked me "if you don't have a pass-code, HOW DID YOU GET INTO THE ROOM?!?"

Calmly at first, I explained that someone had LET me in the door, simultaneously passing her my receipt, assuring her that "I paid to use the library, including the computer center and printers..."

Now yelling, the woman asked me for my "PASS." "WHERE IS YOUR PASS? YOU HAVE A PASS!"

Now stumbling in French, (out of MERE SHOCK) I told her that I had not RECEIVED a "pass" and that I had ONLY receievd a RECEIPT..."Look here...my receipt!"

The woman THREW my receipt, PICKED up the phone, and started dialing the front desk. "Good, I thought...she'll see I'm not MAKING THIS UP." (After all...who the HELL would try to "cheat" the library out of 3 euros anyways?)

Allegedly, the person at the front desk claimed to have given me some kind of "PASS" (a plastic card with a magnetic strip and passcode on it), which was NOT the answer I had expected to hear, knowing very well that I had not been GIVEN such a pass...

Before she could hang up the phone, I asked her if she could merely give me a temporary log-in name, JUST so that I could print out a couple pages of word documents that were stored on my USB...a simple enough task, one should think (after all, throughout ALL of my univeristy-library experience -in the States- there was always a way to avoid formalities.

Yet between my (overly-simplied?) suggestion/question, and the bit of information she had received in making her phone call to the front desk, I suppose her "suspicions" were confimed -INSISTING that I had the pass "SOMEWHERE!!"

I SHIT YOU NOT) at this point, the desk-lady took my wallet from my hands (which is moreso a Peruvian change-purse) and DUMPED it out on the desk...

WIDE-EYED, CONFUSED -and now REALLY PISSED OFF<---I reacted very poorly...
In broken, shakey French, I yelled "LADY! I DO NOT HAVE THE FUCKING PASS! I PAID FOR ENTRANCE AND I WANT A PASSCODE TO USE THE FUCKING COMPUTER! CAN YOU DO THIS FOR ME OR NOT?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!"

Yet instead of replying to my...request...she picked up the phone, and whispered something quietly...I couldn't make out what she was saying...

After hanging up the phone with a surprising amount of force (especially given the fact that we were STILL in a library, and not some middle-school play-scape) she implored: "FOLLOW ME," and...so I followed....

Bringing me downstairs, via back-stairwell-access, she escorted me outside of her "terrain," passing me ("the problem girl") to yet another desk...

When I was told that I'd have to pay again to use the computers, I told them exactly what I was feeling, except this time in English, very clearly:

"You are all CRAZY! I didn't receive a pass, and ALL I wanted to do was use the computers here, but you're all SO incompetant, lazy and stupid that I can't even stay one more moment! GOODBYE!"

Perhaps I over-reacted, but in all honesty, there's no telling just how strange the situation was in real-time; between the woman's facial expressions, annoyed hand mannerisms, suspicious-whispering, and BALLSY wallet-grabbing, you would have thought I was trying to break-in to a bank vault!

Instead of finding another library, I tried to track down an office-space of sorts (not knowing if they even existed in France) so that I continue the job search - same day - without wasting much more time. And in any case, I was all dressed-up (in heels, a skirt and a fine blouse) ready-to-go. Yet, after walking around (later resorting to BIKING around) in search for a store, I was too sweaty, too tired, and way too "LOW" psychologically-speaking, to continue. I had asked 3 cops, and a hand-full of persons on the street where I might be able to print out documents...but NO ONE KNEW! I couldn't think for the life of me WHY no one knew...you'd think printing documents would be much simpler...!

So, I started to worry that my French wasn't good enough, and justified peoples' reactions, (mainly shrugging me off) thinking that they had not understood what I had been asking for...was it my accent? Did I walk around with a "dumb confused look" ?)

After thinking about my day's "adventure" more generally, I defensively resorted to defining the average French person on the street to be an ASSHOLE; after all, I was USED to people being a BIT more...helpful? (And coming from Boston/NEW ENGLAND...that's not saying too much!)

I put off the waitressing-job search and resigned to my balcony-space, (which I had cleared of spider-webs galore, dead-plants, tools, piles of LOOSE dirt and potting soil, and rotten who-knows-what). There, on that balcony at Rue de Bitche, I created my own "get-away." I spent my mornings there over coffe, baguettes and butter, my late-afternoons, over salad, fruit, water and tea, and my late evenings over wine, left-over salad and pasta: (all the very cheapest products in France, believe it or not! NUMNUM!) In the very least, I knew I'd avoid further negative interactions "out there." Yet, in resigning to this space, I knew I'd have to wait-out the month of August, completely, forgetting my dreams to travel France/go camping that summer.

Aside from my long hours sitting out on the balcony, "waiting through" the late-summer days of August, I did do a LOT of bicyling and running...free activities: good for the mind, and good for the body! I'll explain more of that in the next blog entry...

KEY WORDS: BNU, French servitude, Travelling abroad, Living Abroad, Living in France, Working in Strasbourg, Applying for jobs in Strasbourg, Breaking up is hard to do

The apartment at "RUE de BITCHE"

No kidding, my apartment-to-be was located on a street named "Rue de Bitche," which despite the name, was in a well-to-do/posh area of Strasbourg.

I should have taken the name as a sign of what was to come, but...in the end, I suppose I didn't have any choice! I SCORED A PLACE TO LIVE, and that was ALL that mattered at the time!

Excited as hell, I moved in most of my stuff immediately - but since I still had to purchase a bed, I wouldn't be able to sleep there immediately. Knowing this, I saved 1/2 of my load for a second trip, and made my way back to Germany for the night.

"C" and I shared one more dinner together that night, and said our final goodbyes the following morning- but this time it was REALLY for good. Somehow we both knew it, feeling a sense of "finality" in the air, and this knowledge made us both feel a bit strange. For starters, I think we were surprised that I had actually pulled this off, and so "last minute," after MONTHS of stress and painful preparation. All of a sudden - - - I was gone!!!!

I moved in to my new place on a sunny Saturday afternoon, and came to find my landlord's son hanging arond in the apartment. That was when I realized (for the first time) that he'd be sticking around quite a bit...in fact, by THAT Sunday evening, I wondered if he was literally GLUED to my living-room (which he called "his office.")

The apartment itself was pretty sweet though, totalling 67meters-squared, to which I had 3/4 access. My fully re-finished/freshly-painted bedroom faced West, (which I was very happy about, since it allowed me to take in the late-afternoon rays before sunset), and my bedroom view overlooked a large private garden, full of pine-trees and lavender bushes. Yet, the very best aspect of the apartment itself was its huge balcony, overlooking a quiet street...and this is where I spent almost the ENTIRE month of August! NO JOKE. (Explanations will appear in later blog entries.)

As an added bonus, my place of work was perfectly situated just 10 mins-walking-time down the street, along with the lovely French outdoor-markets, beautiful parks and the riverside-quais...ahhh...more than quaint, I thought it to be ROMANTIC! (Damnit, it was certainly a pity to have been so down-hearted and shit-out-of-luck in the romance department...)

So, I reasoned with myself that I had scored a great deal, and for a relatively decent price. Although the decor was...well, needless to say...extremely outdated (filled to the brim, in fact, with PLANTS, war-medallions, garden-gnomes, toy-cars, antique-figurines, cigarette-stained paintings, religious paraphenalia, and Alsacian collectible items)...I was SO looking forward to cleaning the place up and making it my "own" before heading back to the States to re-claim my dog, a 2nd, and MUCH MORE DESIRED "ROOMIE!"...I was sooooooOoooo pysched!

However, day by day...I discovered more and more about the apartment, and the family with whom I had signed a (minimal-3-month-stay) contract. Apparently, the apartment had belonged to the (late) grandfather of the family, who had just passed-away 6 months prior to my moving in. This not only explained the decor, but I suddenly rationalized the EXTREMELY TERRITORIAL BEHAVIOR of my "surprise" roommate, who was there from 6am in the morning to 2am at night most days of the week.

When I first raised issue to this increasingly apparent "problem" to my landlord (the protective father of this young man), I heard one excuse after another: His son was "merely using the living room as his OFFICE-space," and reminded me that he was not "officially to be called or considered a 'roommate,' since he would be soon vacating the premisis to go to the University to finish his studies."

I took the man's word for it; after all, what choice did I have? I couldn't handle moving AGAIN so soon after getting settled, and anyways, I had WAY too many other things to think about...

But come late-September, I had learned that my landlord lied about his son, who indeed no longer even TOOK classes at the University! Apparently, he was doing a couple hours a week of internship-studies and research in a bio-tech lab...but didn't work outside of that, and had ABSOLUTELY NO SOCIAL LIFE...argh I was SO very frustrated, on top of (still) feeling down-and-out, under the weather and alone after my break-up, which I'll get into later.

It is here, rather, where I should mention that my "rommie" was OBSESSSED with plants - and although that would normally be delightful (since I too LOVE PLANTS) he seemed to be particularly keen on DYING and ROTTING plants... you know - the ones that attract bugs and flies. NO JOKE!!!!!

He assured me that his "carniverous selection of plants (and believe me, he had a lot) would take care of any pest problem, but the kid was surely mistaken...and obviously OUT OF HIS MIND!

And JUST to be SUUUUURE to attract the right amount of flying creatures into (MY) home, he left out bowls of rotting fruits and fruit-skins on his desk-table, which piled up day after day, despite my asking him to clean up...

Finally, when October rolled around, and I realized I just couldn't handle it anymore. I was going insane. The kid ("G," I'll call him) was there far too often, far too late, and far too early...always humming and whistling along (and OUT OF TUNE, mind you) to bad techno, rap, and nasally-girly-rock music - which I HATE - always facing his computer in frog-form posture (he literally "squatted" in his computer chair for hours on end).

His "posession" over the internet network really freaked me out too...I knew he had access to my networds codes, and every passwords, which subsequently made me begin to suspect that he was causing the VERY POOR internet service...(to this day, I still don't know if he had anything to do with that!)

At one point in late-September, just before making the decision to move out, I had invited a friend of mine to stay with me for a week, since he had a philosophical conference to attend to in Strasbourg. Not only was he totally freaked out in the middle of the night by a glowing statue of Jesus, but he admitted to having several nightmares about the gnomes and lizard decor! hahaha...he really cracked me up, the poor kid; but unfortunately for him, he was forced to sleep in the living room, despite the fact that the apartment contained a large spare bedroom, which was allegedly "off-limits" to me...(twilight-zone CREEPY!!!!!)

One "G" took off one afternoon, my friend and I decided to check out the spare-bedroom one day, and we came to find a mini-shrine to the family...there were TONS of pictures of my "roommate" all over the place, as well as pictures of the belated grandparents - along with all of their belongings. (Nevertheless, there WAS a queen-sized bed that was being unused...but I couldn't even go therel I suppose it would have been sacrireligious or something!)

As one could imagine, I soOooooo CRAVED just ONE WEEKEND alone, without having to bump into G wearing his grandmother's apron in the kitchen...(using MY stove...MY oven...to bake his damn cookies and produce his home-made jam.) Just ONE MORNING, I wanted to make a pot of coffee, and let it sit - HOT, - while sitting and finishing my first or second cup, out on the balcony, without his unplugging the coffee machine my back (he ALWAYS claimed that keeping appliances unplugged would cause fires, and no matter what I said, he wouldn't listen).

The much-needed weekend never came, however...so I was forced to give my notice - OCTOBER 1st. Hell, I wanted to move out SO badly, that I paid for 2 months rent at the same time, so that I wouldn't have to wait until February to get outta' there! (Now that's what I call desperate...)

KEY WORDS: Living in France, Living abroad, American in France, Strasbourg, Apartments in Strasbourg, Weird roommates, Poor living conditions.

From Normandie to...Germany?

Normandie is a beautiful region of France, or so everyone says. I guess I should consider myself pretty lucky that my family's history is rooted there...(although it should be noted that there are definite drawbacks to having "Normand" character traits in the family...stubbornness, thick-headedness, and hot-headedness just to name a few!)

From what I've seen, (and mind you - I've been there MANY a time now!) The countryside is somewhat varied with hay-bombarded/flattened fields, hilly forests (especially in Swiss-Normandy), lush farmlands, orchards, and my favorite: beautiful coastal cliffs and long, wide-sandy beaches.

Despite the fairly monotone grey-skies and often-rainy weather, the Normandie-cows and traditional "Chaume" roofed houses are worth seeing first-hand, as well as the quaint cities scattered throughout the region: Honfleur, Deauville, Caen, Cherbourg...(just to name a few).

For all the history-buffs out there, Normandie is also an extremely rich territory, considering the array of DDAY-beaches, forts, monuments, museums and cemetaries - all which are highly revered - and not to mention its ancient castles, fortresses and monestaries (most notably, Guillaume the Conqueror/"the Bastard's" remaining fort in Caen, and the mysterious Mont Saint Michel...)

But this time around, I wasn't in Normandie to be a tourist; I merely spent my days relaxing with family, playing boules (otherwise named Bocce, Boccia or Pétanque), and Belote (an excellent card game) and snapping pictures.

Otherwise, the majority of "exercise" and activity involved stuffing my face, throwing back wine, and bicycling around...

Nevertheless, I couldn't forget what was waiting for me in Alsace after "vacation:" A JOB - for which I had to prepare! And then, of course, I would have to find LODGING before making my way back...(DUH! No brainer!) So once again, THE CLOCK WAS TICKING. Timing is EVERYTHING...

VIVASTREET and Leboncoin proved to be really helpful websites...but even still, I didn't hear any positive responses before my vacation-time was up; indeed I scored not a single rendez-vous!

What I DID receive while I was in Normandie was ANOTHER job-offer with the "Ecole Internationale" in Strasbourg, which ended up distracting me, thus setting me back from finding a place to live...(after interviewing with them weeks later, I came to find out that their salary would not cover my living expenses anyways...so much for that.)

Biting my finger-nails, and embarrassed as hell, I had to suck in my pride, being forced to ask "C" if I could stay with him just 1 more week in Germany after my vacation in Normandie (after all, I was technically "homeless at this point.")

Luckily, "C" allowed for it & didn't give me any gripe; I suppose he must have understood that it was impossible to score a place to live "over the net." In addition, he knew that I'd HAVE to be in Strasbourg for my work-training no later than 1 week afterwards.

So, the pressure was on...again...to find a place to live.

The apartment-hunt -making phone calls, posting ads, writing emails -became my fulltime job. Yet, miraculously just 4 days after some SERIOUS searching, and apartment-visiting, I received a phone call from a very very very talkitive fellow, "Monsieur D."

Apparently, if I had not posted the name of my future place-of-work, (he confessed) that that no one would have taken me in without proof of 3 month's pay...so, it was sheer luck that his wife was a future-collegue of mine at the same school. Together, they thought it'd be nice to rent out their spare apartment to a fellow-coworker...but...this begins a different story altogether...

KEY WORDS: Normandie, Normandy, France, Living in France, Apartment-hunting in Strasbourg, Apartments in Strasbourg, Leboncoin, Vivastreet

Leaving everything behind...

I must have been the saddest, and yet FUNNIEST sight to see that hot summer's day, with ALL of my possessions/luggage on hand, leaving Germany for Normandie.

Luckily, "C" was kind enough to give me a hand with my luggage from his place to the train station, early that morning at 5am; both of us went on foot, (in the rain) with our bicycles trailing. To boot, I had the WORST period-cramps imaginable; I literally thought I was going to die...

Looking back on it, I suppose the pain kept me alert to all of the changes that were taking place. I was closing old doors, and opening new ones, and we all know that new beginnings are ALWAYS painful. Having said that, the pain was almost fitting/appropriate to the occasion...

Saying goodbye wasn't as difficult as I thought, however. I didn't even cry, (which was quite the shock considering how much crying I had already accomplished that summer!) I took in a deep breath...gave him a hug, and accepted that I'd have a long day ahead of me, followed by longer days to come.

From Germany, I connected to Strasbourg, but the train ran into technical difficulties along the way, just before reaching the train station (my luck.) Subsequently, I didn't have enough time to "compost" (stamp) my ticket in the station; I just managed to get myself ON the TRAIN, with ALL of my luggage!

BUT that was probably a bad move, since, as soon as the train started moving, I realized (in looking at my 'ticket') that I had not been assigned a seat. "Hm...fairly strange...a bit worrisome."

And before I could figure out what to do next, a train conductor found me in the isle, with a confused look on my face (I guess this is my "classic" very common look.) He asked me for my ticket and I provided him with all I had - my receipts, my itinerary and the printed (online) ticket I had received from a travel-agency in Freiburg. Despite my long explanation accompanying the supplied paper-work, he denied me, saying I had an "unofficial" ticket, and thus forced me to pay for a SECOND ticket...(Credit Card galore!!!!)

With a sweaty back, and tired arms, I merely resigned myself to the cafe-section of the train, where I sat up against a window to cool myself off. My cramps were JUST beginning to ease-up, and I was hoping the rest of my voyage would prove to be easier as well...

How I was wrong to hope for such things...how silly and overly-optimistic of me!

Upon arriving in Paris, to my dismay, I found that EVERY ELEVATOR AND EVERY ESCALATOR was OUT OF SERVICE. I shit you not: I lugged up 6 flights of stairs with ALL of my possessions (along with my newly-added -heavy- BOOK COLLECTION) to the street-level at la Gare Est. From there, I was to walk to the neighboring train station, "La Magenta," in order to catch a subway to "La Gare Nord," where I could finally access the train leaving to Normandie. (THE CLOCK WAS TICKING...)

Exiting the first train station, I looked up the HUGE flight of steps before me. (Anyone that has travelled via la Gare Est knows which flight of steps I speak of!) Without any choice, I began to climb. Yet on my way up, a young woman came to the rescue...someone who seemed to have quite the hand on her. Insisting for her to stop, I yelled: "Non non, c'est gentille mais ca va aller!" (No no, that's very nice of you, but I'll make it okay" but she didn't seem to hear me...

Now, I wasn't nervous that she'd STEAL anything. Indeed, the suitcase was large and heavy, and I'm a fast runner. However, I was perplexed as to what she was up to...no stranger in France could be so nice...! In the very least, I knew this...

Reaching the top flight, the young woman put out her hand to collect money. "Okay, okay...she helped me out," I thought. I reached into my pockets, and found a 2-euro piece. (3 bucks, which I thought to be fairly generous). Apparently this young woman DID NOT think so, at which point I came to understand what was happening: waving, pointing and flapping to a laminated (yet still somehow water-damaged) pamphlet, the young girl moaned and and groaned. The sign read: "Charity for the Deaf: Minimum 10 euros." I laughed my ass off, and shook my head: "NO WAY!" and managed to stumble away without too much of a problem...

I hardly could believe it...I thought to myself: "what a sucker, touristy, naive, easy-target I am," and I wondered for a long time what it was that gave me away: was it my pit-stains and back-sweat from all the running around? Was it my look of desperation? Or perhaps it was my more "classic" look...?

In any case, the train-escapades continued; and just before my wrists were (seemingly) about to break, I resolved to hunt-down a worker to help me carry my luggage. (These guys must HIDE, I'll say, because it was a difficult task to find anybody!) I took this opportunity to complain about the lack of services and amenities for the handicapped - "whatever should someone in a wheelchair do in Paris?" I asked...but the man laughed apologetically, as though he was listening to a familiar song. (So much for efficiency and progressivism towards positive change, I thought.) Apparently, the train stations had been under construction for a long time already!

By the time I reached the final train station heading to Normandie, I was sure ready to collapse, and that is exactly what I did! Feeling ::relieved:: upon finding my assigned seat, I reassured myself that I'd be going somewhere with less stress - somewhere to think..."the Normandie countryside"...a vacation with family; hence a time to "vacate" unwind and be merry.

I was so looking forward to being surrounded with people I loved, and to finally have people around me who loved me back (::sigh:: I then recognized my feelings of resentment towards "C's" disposition, and was reminded how badly my ego was hurt by his "lack of love" for me.)

I'd have 3 weeks to figure out where I was in life, since at that moment, I felt somewhere in-between: some immature girlish-stage with a hurt ego, and some independent, womanly phase. (Personality disorder much? hehe...)

KEY WORDS: La Gare Est, Paris, France, Living abroad

The unravelled loose ends...

So how is it that everything all came together at once? Honestly, it'd be impossible to explain just how it happened (sheer luck, perhaps?) but if there is ONE single thing that I have learned from my experience abroad it is that you NEVER know what's coming - no matter how well, (or how poorly!) you plan and prepare yourself; you simply ought to be alert and quick on your feet to react to whatever it is that comes your way!

For instance, just before the final move from Germany to Normandie, France (to stay with my cousin until I could find something of my own) I had my first BIG interview in Strasbourg with the Catholic Diocese. (That's right...the Catholic church! hahaha, how ironic, considering my non-religious background!) Yet, thanks to a wise French philosophy professor of mine from Boston College, I knew that I'd have greater chances of getting into the teaching-networks of France if I were to go through through private affiliations, like the Diocese. They were the FIRST contact I e-mailed, even before leaving to Germany, and they were the LAST to get back to me, mid-summer.

The interview was super-duper stressful, as it was early in the morning, on a super hot & muggy summer's day...I had straightened my hair, dressed-up to a T (thanks to "C"'s help, whose knowledge of fashion was FAR superior to my own) and applied very minimal make-up and jewelry (since I had read prior to the interview that it is customary for French women to wear very little of both in the work-world, let alone French women in the Catholic Diocese!) In a great rush, I was forced to take the train from Germany to Kehl, since I had missed the connection direct to Strasbourg (that is...silly me...I almost forgot my keys at "C"'s apartment, and was forced to back-track a bit, losing the "extra" time I had set aside in case of emergency). Good thing I always plan for transport-emergencies, since from Kehl to Strasbourg, I had to BIKE like a MAD-WOMAN in order to be prompt for the interview...

And ya' know what happened next? It started to rain! I was forced to bike even faster, praying that I could navigate the way without getting lost (after all, it is not so easy to navigate across the border when the RHINE separates the 2 countries), Nonetheless, that I was able to successfully manage, despite the long distance I covered in doing so! Consequentially, my "straightened hair" looked like a complete mess, my (luckily minimal) make-up was smeared, and I was a sweaty disgusting mess by 9am...

However, thanks to the fact that I had been in great shape from all the summer biking I had done, I managed to do the 10kilomaters in less than 30mins time, and I arrived early enough to fix myself up...at least outwardly! Inside, I was trembling...and, when I realized WHERE my interview was actually being held, my trembles turned into shivers: The interview was held in the same building as the Strasbourg Cathedrale!!!!!!! Mind you...this BEAUTIFUL establishment is the most monsterous, towering Cathedrale in all of France...and the mere idea of being "interviewed" within its walls really freaked me out!

My nervousness was definitely apparent to my 2 interviewers, especially since my excitement and nervousness affected my ability to speak in French...but, I was in luck: my interviewers were patient with me. I tried to FOCUS on being polite, to keep good posture, and to appear FULL of CONFIDENCE. (This was EXTREMELY difficult considering the circumstances...but I guess I pulled it off?)

The interview lasted about 1 hour, which was only a preliminary meet-and-greet. It was not YET apparent that there would be any job openings...

Such unclarity made me think they weren't interested in me, but 1 week later, right before giving up (literally 1 day before I was scheduled to leave to Normandie) they asked me back for a 2nd interview.

The second interview took ALL DAY on the other hand, and though I was a little less intimidated the second time around, my head was SPINNING over all the details, and all the questions that had been put on the table.

Although I had applied to teach ENGLISH in a Catholic school, the post they had found for me had NOTHING to DO with English!!! And, at the time (a high-pressure 2nd interview, just weeks before summer's end) I had become So DAMN desperate for a job, that I forced myself to put on that I could do it: I could teach "religious culture." (Sure...I mean...I studied philosophy...I had full-scholarship at Boston College to study a Catholic philosopher - Bernard Lonergan - and I taught critical thinking and ethics before that...so although I knew very little....VERY VERY little about religion and culture - aside from Nietzsche, Plato and Dawkins' criticisms - I thought I could learn along the way, and manage!)

With very few details about the job itself, I was dragged to a school for a 3rd interview that same very day, where there was a job opening. I met my future boss in his gigantic, beautifully-adorned office, and I was given a historical overview of the institution itself, along with a tour. (It is the OLDEST school, and the most prestigious in Alsace) since the Protestant Reform. Following directly after the tour, I was asked a couple of questions, looking at one another directly in the eyes, when suddenly (and unexpectedly)...

Monsieur P (this is how I will refer to the school principal) announced: "WELCOME TO THE CLUB!" while shaking my hand with a certain forceful grip...this was almost the LAST thing I expected this man to say...

Walking out of the school door, it occurred to me that I had been granted the job. HOLY SHIT. Time to get a move on!

But, not so fast - the first batch of interviewers led me back to the Cathedrale, where I was filled-in on a couple more details. Before leaving to Normandie, I would have to take with me some preparatory material. Yet, they made it clear that they themselves had NONE of the material on hand; I would have to contact, and track down the woman I was to replace in order to pick up HER materials...all in the same day.

This woman, (Mme. S) was a Saint for driving down to Strasbourg to pass along all the reading material/books, pamphlets, notes, binders...so that I could prepare for the job while I was in Normandie. She assured me that she would be in contact by late-August, just before school's start to explain "what to do with it all."

Leaving Mme. S with a HEAVY duffle-bag full of religious materials, the first thing I did was call my cousin to let him know that I would be coming to Normandie one day later than expected (tomorrow instead of that same very day, since the interview ran into the evening hours) and then I called "C" to let him know that I'd be coming back to pick up all of my things...

He was very kind to open up a bottle of champagne to celebrate the good news, despite our "broken" status. I cried from relief, ate some Kebab, (followed by the most delicious ice cream) and slugged back a couple glasses of champagne before hitting the sack.

By the next morning, however, at 5am I had to MOVE OUT...with all of my things, including the dufflebag-full of books.

KEY WORDS: Strasbourg, Interviewing in France, Working in France, Living in France, Living abroad, American in France