morning

L'arc a la Place Darcy (where i catch my bus)...sarkozy is IN. but he isn't nearly as chic as obama.



jon weiss' house, where i take my culture class


pharmacien


morning rush


les drapeaux

leaving the suburbs

my bakery


FLOWERS







okay, so i totally stalked a group of french children this morning.

a

my favorite part of the day here is my walk to centre-ville. inevitably. always. rain or shine. id rather be late to class than take the bus farther than necessary, despite the fact that bus encounters are bound to be interesting, especially as i smile, upon boarding, at the people who've laughed at me running desperately, hand out to push the doors open. if i don't get my morning walk, things don't feel right and i arrive at class unsettled--it's on those days that french sounds more foreign to my ears than it should at this point.

the sun hits the sidewalk just right around 8:30, and i love to watch the vendors put their flowers out on the sidewalk, to see the pharmacists mop their linoleum floors as the doors open at 8:55. men, women, grandmothers, aunts, everyone walks babies in perambulators down the cobbled streets, and les drapeaux blow colorfully in the wind as the streets narrow beneath the wheels of the buses, one after another. bakeries are bustling, and people of all ages are ready to meet the day, baguette in hand.


***

today, i had the honor of interviewing my host parents about immigration, racism, and french identity. they were honest with me, informative, patient, and most of all--candid. i am very greatful to them for their authenticity and their willingness to let me into their world. i have a lunch date with another francais tomorrow to ask more questions about being french, and i'm praying i get more answers.

my host mom gave me a latin book of Ovid's today--she teaches latin, and she knows he's my favorite. flipping through it has been a nice break from church architecture and history for me.


Mama, thanks for making me go to sunday school when i was small. you have no idea how many students i've explained bible stories to over the past two weeks. i am officially bible-knowledge girl who also knows random facts about St. Jerome and owns the vulgate. got to love that this here junior is useful for something.

book seminar forgotten

municipal parks are grand, grand things. to find yourself in a grass-filled place, an area of designated calm in the center of a bustling city, is really a strange phenomenon. because some man named Darcy decided to do something some other men deemed great, a plaza is constructed, and a fountain installed. toss in a few benches, get the pigeon population going, and strategically place an older french gentleman reading an ancient novel...and the scene is set. insert me, camus, and the crispest apple on the face of the planet. hurray for days off.

la peste is magnificent. too bad i just stood up my book seminar on un amour de swann. proust, buddy, looks like you'll have to wait. off to lunch with a friend right now. and then trying to track down some real life french aquaintances of mine to interview for my paper. and then, oh then, i get to have another needle jammed into my skin. hurray for obligatorie vaccinations.

my immune system is positively rejoicing.

how do you catch a cloud and pin it down?

le dernier jugement


the library of Bussy Rabutin (there were some VERY old books here)


view of Burgundy from the abbey window




walking from the farm to the chateau, very full






pastoral


the abbey


SOUND OF MUSIC




ellie, shelley, eliza, louisa, becca



lexi, ellie, eliza

abbey


eliza


liz, eliza, lexi

i got back sunday afternoon from a two-day excursion deeper into burgundy (dijon itself is in burgundy, but you must leave centre-ville to reach the heart of the region). our bus left saturday morning for le Abbaye de Fontenay, a 12th century cistercien monastery chock-full of gorgeous romane architecture. the abbey itself was simple--the church had a dirt floor--but the way the light fell through the arches was glorious. i couldn't help but think "Sound of Music" the whole time i was there. i kept on waiting for the church bells to ring to call maria home. note: interesingly, le cloche (bell) at the abbey was very small; as the abbey functions as a self-contained village, there's no need for a large bell, or a loud sound. the monks were able to hear the slightest of noises because the surroundings in the valley were so quiet. we've seen multiple gorgeous chateaus and magnificent cathedrals, but i think the abbey was my favorite spot so far. (thank god my camera died just afterwards.)

from the abbey, we left to have lunch at la Ferme Auberge de Bazoches (yes, it was a farm!). There were two Burmese mountain dogs and of twin French children that made the dining experience all the better, not to mention fantastic organic red wine. in France, lunch is the big meal of the day, so we were incredibly well fed: pate de cochon followed by pork in apricot sauce, potatoe pie, bread and fresh cheese, and tarte de pommes. given the fact that our history professor Jacques insisted on buying us all a breakfast of the BIGGEST croissants sold in dijon, we were all grateful for the walk up to the Chateau de Bazoches at the top of the hill.

From Fontenay, we proceeded to le ville de Vezelay, where we visited la Basilique Sainte-Marie-Madeleine, a gorgeous cathedral with an underground crypt designated for prayer. The crypt is said to hold one of Mary Magdalagne's bones. (soooo exciting for this here lover of all things mary (mother and friend). The cathedral had been rennovated multiple times, most notably after it was destroyed by cow vendors who decided to conduct market in it--New Testament Jesus getting angry lesson, anyone? The basilisque was beautifully decorated--the top of each column, called a chapiteau, was ornately carved with a special design that depicted some story or another. Absolutely amazing. My favorite part of the church is that one of the stones is deliberately missing from the archway so as to deliberately allow sunlight to fall on Jesus' head..so cool! The fact that confessions were also being held (without a screen) in the eyes of the public was also interesting.

After another five course dinner, complete with cassis AND regional wine, blanc et rouge, we stumbled back to our hotel in Auxerre, where we crashed long and hard...until the next morning.

Sunday was another fantastic day. We visited le Chateau de Bussy-Rabutin, a wealthy count with a keen wit. His chateau was full of paintings with caustic inscriptions (called devises) written in latin and French. My latin actually came in handy! I spent the morning wandering around with my resident director Jon, reading the inscriptions and making sense of the pictures with him. Sooo cool!

After leaving the chateau, we went to the little village of Flavigny-sur-Ozerain, where we had lunch in another barn (yes!) with a friend of one of the girls on my trip. The friend's name is Florence Ladd, and she is apparently an amazing author and psychologist. Florence and her husband were kind enough to give our whole group a tour of their gorgeous house after lunch--Momma, one day i'll buy you a house in burgundy. no worries. : )

***

I'm back in Dijon now, and have been enjoying my day relaxing in parks and cafes, reading La Peste by Camus. Good stuff indeed. My intensive French course is done, and the break is nice. Onto some work for now. Miss you all!

examens

hi loves. it's been a busy week indeed. i toured two cathedrals yesterday in my art history class (i'm definitely going to mass in one of them my next free sunday), and sat for my final examen in my intensive french course today. my professor gilles is a very kind man--he brought us all lots of goodies, insisting that les examens francais require de la force. i have an exam tomorrow in my french culture class, but have yet to do much preparing...c'est la vie. after spending upwards of six hours in class a day and running for busses right and left, american sitcoms (and if i'm good--french news reports) are about all i can manage.

today was also insufferably hot. as in, 75 degrees. too much for september when i'm used to maine. i miss them brick buildings just a bit. : )

les francais

outside at the soiree--le viande de la nuit was le porc. confession: i just couldn't bring myself to eat it.

mes amis francais: Eduard, Fabrice, Lecto, Bernard, Jonathan

Hi lovelies.

last night, i went to my first french soiree, a birthday party for a friend of a friend. the party was held at a lycee in autun, a small city about 70 miles southwest of dijon. the drive there was absolutely beautiful--the sky was dark as rain was coming, but the countryside was verdant and full of glittery streaks of light. i thoroughly enjoyed les vaches.

here, things are very different socially. to "enter" into a group of francais, you must be formally presented, or introduced. and, once you have been introduced (read: inculcated), you are one of them. plain and simple. regardless of the fact that you can't understand a word they say. you meet a group of people friday night. and if all goes well, you stick by them again saturday night. groups quickly form, but they're hard to break into if you make too many faux pas. true french friendships are more intense than american ones in that friends are like family--you fight with them, curse them, but would do anything to save their face because you love them just that much. (kinda an intimidating environment to be an outsider in, non?)

when you walk into a room, you must greet everyone in that room with two kisses, if you are a woman, and a correct presentation. also, the people to whom you are introduced will remember your name, so it's best if you know theirs also--or at least have some idea of what it's supposed to sound like when pronounced correctly. and, when you leave, you need to be sure to allow yourself a full ten minutes. kiss everyone you possibly might have kissed before, and make sure to establish eye contact one last time with your host/hostess, the guy roasting the pig, etc.

***

the party was a lot of fun--beach boys and michael jackson never grow old. the food was good, the company better; i had the chance to meet even more french people, of all ages, and my comprehension is drastically improving, even if the speaking still lags. i conversed about french art and literature, and learned a lot about how the french view americans. yes, they do see us as large middle-aged men holding huge bags of McDonalds. pas de soucis, because they also think we're "super cool."

***

in short, the weekend was fantastic. friday night was a cultural experience indeed: a tour of dijon in the rain, followed by an indian restaurant and a brazilian night club (yes, really). and saturday was better--fifty real-live french people to interact with, two hours of riding in the car hearing real-time french, and getting home in time to be conversant this morning with my host family.

lessons accumulated in the past two days
1) if you see it on a spit, it's a lot harder to eat it
2) blue malibus stain
3) pretend you're canadian when you forget to kiss someone
4) smile and say "Sarkozy," not "cheese"
5) answer honestly when people ask you if you like your meat bien couilee. the answer is YES!

quiche lorraine

Grandpa, if you're reading...here's a picture of real-live quiche Lorraine, just for you. They served it at the birthday party of a friend of a friend, and I thought of you.

friday

it's friday night in september, just the beginning of fall and just cold enough to be happy. the freshman girls are all in switzerland, and the boys are in germany--i thought i'd stay right here. and breathe, and sleep, and try very hard not to get swine flu, or something like that. the city is amazing right now, and i'm having fun foregoing the bus and trekking my own way home, even if it is a bit convoluted.

last night, my host mom took me to the theatre. it was the most fantastic show i've ever seen--a musical circus more disturbing (and powerful) than any thing i've seen on stage. i'm honestly surprised i didn't have nightmares.

tonight i'm going out, and hopefully i'll manage to not wake a soul when i come in. my host dad served me dinner tonight--he's a really nice (and shy) man, and he asked again and again if all my needs were being met. all i know is that i will be forever indebted to anne and jean-claude for ensuring that, under no circumstances, i don't leave the house without a bowl of coffee in me. it's nice when people see how you roll, and roll with you, caffeine and all.

city lights are waiting. as is my ride.

a taste of home

today was an absolutely beautiful day. it started off with my host dad having to let me out of the house (why can i get in the door, but not out?!) and my host mom chasing me down in her car to hand me my cell-phone out the window. thank you, jesus. i know lovely, lovely people.

if you know me, then you know that, in deeming a day beautiful, the day must be, above all else, insufferably cold. and frigid it was. the sun did not come out, nor did it ever get really light. grey streaks in the sky moved, and i could tell it was well past time to get up. ca suffit, no?

***
i just sat for the most pleasant dinner with my host parents. we actually conversed (i tried to explain how i was reading proust), and they insisted that my french is better than it was. they also affirmed that i no longer look like i will die. (success!) and suggested buying some vitamins. (check.)

my host mom is very excited about tomorrow night's dinner. she showed me the frozen fajitas she bought, and she hopes that they will remind me of home, en Californie de sud. i think it made her night that i know fajitas, and that she can give me a little something from where i live. fajitas in dijon must be hard to come by--i feel like research went into this. if my host parents hate the fajitas tomorrow, at least i know they don't hate me. also, i'm not sure, but i think they might have the impression that je suis un peu mexicaine. no matter--my host sister still thinks i speak some russian. all things in time.

off to put away clean laundry and write a french paper on globalization (i think).

New week of health!

I am back from the Cote d'Azure, and I am healed (no thanks to the Mediterranean Sea). The South of France is amazing--just enough sun, and always, always, the most spectacular breeze.

The drive from Dijon to Cyr-sur-Mer is eight hours, and I spent the better part of the ride semi comatose. After floating in what I believed to be the curative waters for about twenty minutes (I always think of Israel), my lips turned blue and my new papa Jon Weiss sent me out of the water....to lie on the sandy beach. Not going to lie, it really sucked. : )

That's when I thought I was going to die. And the third year medical student traveling with us had a look in my mouth and backed away. way away. Needless to say, Papa Jon and I spent the next few hours madly searching for a medecin on a Friday night in tourist town. Harder than you'd think. I'm pretty sure that half of Cyr-sur-Mer remembers the panicked middle-aged man and the pauvre americaine tres pale traipsing around town. soooooo much fun.

Needless to say, Jon found me a doctor. And, after taking one look at my mouth, she pronounced me to be the worst case of tonsillitis she's ever seen. In fact, it was beyond tonsillitis. The french call it "filament-a-quelquechose"--basically, it sounds to me like death. I got all the cortisone and injectable antibiotics that doctor had in store, and about a gazillion pills to take everyday. Aside from the bruises on my butt from all them steroids, I am healthy now. PRAISE GOD. My host parents are still convinced I'm going to keel over and die, but they'll get over it. They rock like that.

In short, the South of France was memorable. I have no pictures, but I remember the hotel where I slept away those days, and I really liked the Roman amphitheatre we saw in Orange on the way back. I also remember the first meal I could swallow. Priceless.




****

Today was a tiring day back--I ran for two busses, had to explain in pathetic French to the pharmacist how I managed to lose two weeks worth of pills, and had six hours of class. It was good though, because I can breathe and swallow and eat and think!

I had my first literature class today with a French professor at the University. He is amazing, and he is teaching four of us, yes, four of us, in a private class. I can't imagine a better way to study Proust. I also really like it when this guy reads the French out loud--it sounds nothing like it ever would should it come from my mouth.

***

The last few days have been full of small triumphs indeed

1) my laundry is in the machine as we speak
2) i managed to replace all my lost medications (i reallly don't look like a drug pusher, and i beg quite well in broken french)
3) Jon Weiss has not yet disowned me
4) The bruises are almost gone

Love you all. And mama, i've had this picture for a while. Here's the roundabout right by my house. I so wish we could take a ride on it. Like, you have no idea.





i love you all. write me. i'm lonely for e-mails. it kinda makes my day.

pretty and not so pretty pics

just in case any of you bio people are as curious as i am as to what ails me. (SOORRRRRRRYY, i know this is gross!)

inside the "Colby Apartment", a.k.a. Jon Weiss' house.



my friend liz and i at the park across from my house.



Chateau Roche-Pot in Burgundy (the colorful roof is typical of dijon architecture)

wine bottles from my history professor Jaques' collection.


the parish of notre dame in dijon (approximately seven minutes away from my house, on bus)



unpacking in my room. yes, those green blobs are lily-pads!



a view of burgundy





the market place, early in the morning.

liar, liar

confession number one: i lied about feeling better. don't get me wrong, i felt fantastic (as in, fantastic enough to get out of bed) for about ten minutes. i have a tendency to take things a bit overboard like that.

it was a rough night (hurray feverish hallucinations!) and i feel like it's a rougher morning. so much for today's plans. i'm very, VERY bummed about missing two days worth of amazing classes and priceless experiences.

confession number two: i am so afraid that i won't get better in time to go to the riviera tomorrow morning. and that i may be infectious. which complicates things.

confession number three: sometimes, i want to throw my laptop against the wall because i want to talk to my friends and family in real time just that badly. i know, self control. : )



I miss everyone very much, and I totally wish I could be healthy enough to communicate that better. Please continue praying that the fever and swelling in my throat will go down, and that this incredible place we call France won't leave me behind.

all my love,

kimberly

chez medecin

Good news! I'm starting to feel better. (It only took about 24 hours of solid sleeping mixed with a few periods of catatonia--I know you love that, mama.) My resident director, Jon, took me to the doctor today, and let me tell you that he is an absolutely wonderful man. He picked me up, brought me chez medecin, and came into the examining room so that he could translate what the doctor was saying. My french is definitely not up to par when I'm not on my game.

The strep test was negative, and it's not looking like I have mono. (Apparently, the French never have mono, but all the American students bring it over and spread it around). Jon took me from the doctor (whom you must formally greet and say goodbye to--in France, doctors are great friends) to the laboratoire across from his house so that a very kind French phlebotomist could take my blood and then to the pharmacy. Hurray, medicine!

A couple of cool things about the French health care system: 1) you don't have to wait. like, at all. you go for an appointment, spend 45 minutes (yes, nearly an hour) with your doctor, and then you leave. Best part? 2) The office visit costs a total of 22 Euros, without insurance.

Jon was telling me that the doctors here also give you prescriptions for over-the-counter medications because, should you have a prescription for Ni-Quil or the like, social security will pick it up. Cool, no? I also learned that there is a big uproar in France right now because the government is going to raise the cost of hospital stays from 18 Euros a night to 20 Euros a night. Anyone want to move to France with me?

***

Enough of this ranting. On to the good stuff. On Sunday, our group went to a small village called Saint-Romain, in the countryside of Burgundy. We hiked to some ancient Gaulic ruins, and listened to our Art History professor Serge share his expertise with us. On the way, we stopped to eat wild blackberries off the vine, and to look out in awe over the lush vineyards. Amazing.

We then went to my History professor Jaques' house, where we picknicked and drank wine from the vineyards next door. Dijon is known for two things: it's mustard, and its cassis--a very sweet liquor that you mix with white wine.

After lunch, Jaques led us into his private wine cellar--so many of those wines had sentimental value to him, and a good number of them, with their dusty labels, were older than him.

***

I am very behind in school work. And have repeatedly told not to worry about it. But, I learned my lesson. Eat well, sleep better, drink less, and say no to 3 a.m. weeknights. The night-life isn't going anywhere. Hopefully, I'll be in tip top shape for the French Riviera this weekend. It would be awful if I couldn't go.

I miss you all. Hot soup awaits. My host mom insists.

l'angine

Hi friends. It's looking like I have a nasty case of tonsillitis, or, as I wrote to my resident director, "l'angine." How do I know this, perhaps you're wondering. It is, after all, only a guess, but given the fact that my tonsils are swollen to the size of black grapes in summer and have decided to develop lovely blue (yes, blue) patches, I think it's a good guess.

Last night was indeed fitful. I think I broke a fever about five different times, and there was definitely delirium. FUUUUN STUUUUFFF.

Now, this serves me right, really. I haven't been sleeping. I've been drinking way too much wine and coffee, and I haven't given myself "me time." While I've been emotionally exhausted all week, it looks as though the physical exhaustion has also caught up with me.

I'm skipping a big day of class and tests, and am leaving much homework undone. But it's time I prioritize, no? AND, my cultural immersion will be absolutely complete. French doctor, here I come!

please pray for a quick recovery, academic motivation, and understanding professors.

une semaine

As of today, I've been in Dijon one week, and I feel that that week has been the fastest week of my life! I've officially had all four of my classes (Cotemporary France, French History, The Architecture of Dijon, and Intensive French), and after 17 hours of my intensive French class this week, I'm glad to finally have time to breathe.

Somehow, I managed to place into the highest level of French offered at the Universite de Bourgogne. Needless to say, I wasn't the only one surprised--apparently, I write (and test?) far better than I speak. Neither my resident director nor my professor at the University will allow me to switch into a lower level, as both think the challenge will be good for me. While I agree that I'll learn the most where I am, I can't say that being in a classroom with fluent French speakers isn't intimidating for me. BUT, it's very exciting indeed to be able to communicate with the girl from Poland and the guy from South Korea--French provides an excellent meeting place! The professor is amazing, but the class is difficult. If you get a fifty percent on something, you've done bien. And if you get less than that, well, the professor disparages you, albeit gently, in front of the class--and they, unlike me, actually understand what he's saying!

Yesterday, I got howls all around when my professor called on me (yes, by name), and I responded that I spent my night sur le piano. Apparently, one sits in front of, not on top of, a musical instrument. Imagine that.

French is hard, but I think I'm improving. I still can't speak to be understood, but I can comprehend most of what is said to me, times and dates and directions aside. Having twenty-five hours of classes in only French every week puts me in a mood to speak English with my friends...it's hard to have complete immersion when the immersion itself is overwhelming.

The weather is beautiful--rain in the morning, sun in the afternoon. Windy skies all around. Tonight is a free concert in the Centre du Ville, and I'm going with my host sister Blanche and some friends of mine. Saturday night, I'm going out with some French students, and Sunday the group is having a picknick in the countryside with our history professor Jaques. He's a hilarious man who loves young people, and was happy to serve us up multiple glasses of the Dijon speciality vin blanc avec cassis. Jolly times with Jaques indeed.

Love to all.

risk

Do I dare/ Disturb the universe?/ In a minute there is time/ For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse?
-t.s. eliot


Risks are funny, funny things. We take them when we want to, when we don't want to, and when we're forced to. Most of all, we take them when we absolutely need to. We do everything we can to avoid them for fear of getting hurt, until we realize that, without those risks, our bones turn to stone and we cannot move at all; what once felt safe now feels frighteningly stagnant.

With every risk, of course, comes the chance of success (and the real possibility of failure), but the gist of the ordeal isn't even about the final outcome for me. As much as I'd like to think fear of failing is what keeps me from taking that bus (or plane) and voicing more loudly an idea not yet complete, I know the end result never ends up mattering; it isn't what I remember, and it's never what comes back to haunt me, or to make me smile.

For me, it's all about the process. The process of actively choosing to leave the group, to venture out into a stormy city on my own, maps one and two (Francoise and Francine) in tow, and to get on that bus that stops for the world, but not for me. To sit calmly while swarmed by small French children, even as I realize I'm heading in entirely the wrong direction. To argue with myself about what to do, only to get off the wrong bus and find myself running for some bus sent by God. "Talant, Ligne 1" may well be the first angel I've met.

***

To leave is always a risk, but perhaps no more so than to stay. Choosing to remain where I've been placed, in a French class I swear I've been placed into by mistake, in a room of students who have studied for years the language I've only now picked up, is a risk I'll take today. To not stay would be cowardly. But even worse, to not stay would not be memorable. It is because I'm in Niveau Cinq, le niveau le "plus eleve" that I'm able to laugh as I stutter, incomprehensibly, "Je voudrais ameliorer mon francais" (I want to improve my French). Because I stay, I can communicate honestly with my resident director that I am being challenged, that he can tell me earnestly that I will grow by leaps and bounds.

I just might risk believing him.