Tales of a Juju

I've Moved! www.talesofajuju.wordpress.com

2011-01-23T06:10:00.001-08:00

Check it out guys!

Tales of a Juju with blogspot will no longer be in service. Come here for old posts, go to :

www.talesofajuju.wordpress.com

Thanks!

Love

Juju

You save him a lot of talking

2010-11-18T14:07:00.000-08:00

Over some perogi this evening with colleague and close friend Lola, whose name is cloaked by that of a showgirl to ensure anonymity, I realized something.

Girlfriends are vital.

That is, in the platonic sense, as I bat for the Breeder Team. (<--That one's for you, Dece.)

As I enjoy the steady routine that I have developed here in Warsaw, waking up early to have a tea and ready myself for a day of teaching, a croissant at the little bakery downstairs and a kiss goodbye to the manfriend, I stop sometimes. The routine is warm and cozy, certainly.

But then there's always that moment when someone decided to re-arrange the bathroom, and someone else is a bit upset that his routine has been interrupted, as the domain of his toothbrush and toiletries has suddenly and mysteriously migrated, and a bit of a quarrel ensues. Or there are other moments where someone got up on the wrong side of the bed, or was late, or I was a bit crazy, or he was -- and it gets to be too much.

That's when a laugh with a woman does the trick.

I find that as much as I love N., it is vital for me to decompress about our relationship with Lola. She has a way of listening and understanding, or just receiving some gushy lovey-dovey-ness that is refreshing, making room in my psyche for the evening with my hunnie.

As Lola said to me this evening during a conversation about politics and intercultural relations among Polish people, "I bet Crush [<--protective anonymity name, hereby referred to as 'P.A.N.' for Lola's manfriend] is so glad that I have you [Julie], because you save him a lot of talking."

I inquisitively cocked my head. "Huh?"

"No, I mean, you listen to all this stuff I have to say about life, that otherwise might overwhelm him when we get time together. I mean, he's not like Roy from The Office, who was like, 'Yeah, Pam's always coming to me with like her feelings and stuff, and I just can't deal with it.' But it's so easy to talk to you and it makes me feel calmer."

Aw.

Girlfriends = SO UNDERRATED.

Go get yourself a girl and have a chat today. You will save your 'him' a lot of talking.

22 Today!

2010-10-23T12:32:00.000-07:00

Do you think people will finally stop telling me how young I am?

Probably not.

But hey, it does feel good to have turned the corner from "Whoo-hoo, now I'm legal!" to an age that seems vastly distant from 21. That's probably just the inner 30-year-old in me talking.

Now, they say that youth is wasted on the young. I want to be clear, it's not that I want to be old old, like, you know, 32 or something (JOKE), but what I would really like is to be treated with the respect that 32-year-olds seem to merit inherently somehow. I am not sure how this happens, but many things seem to come together. Bozena, a Polish friend of my mother's, once told me that one must not choose a life partner until the age of 30. Most people seem to define the '20s' as a crazy time meant for 'finding oneself' and discovering who one 'really is.'

As Jayne or my beloved would say, I find this to be bullocks.

It does NOT matter how old or young you are; life carries us in certain directions, sweeping us in currents that we might not have expected to encounter, bringing us to calm and still waters when we least expect it, and then rushing us along again. I am really starting to stop believing (sorry, cast of Glee) -- at least, I am stopping the belief in my mind that I must do x before age 21, y before 22, etc.

If my birthday can impart anything to you, dear reader, let it be this: be you. Trite, perhaps, but do it. If you have just turned a half-century young (*you know who you are), take your weedwhacker and get cracking outside. If you happen to be 13 and feel to be 20, that's FINE. Stop taking this idea from others that you are meant to do certain tasks in a certain fashion at a certain time.

I mean, otherwise all that Jane Austen nonsense would just be for nothing.

Finally, remember, I may be young, but I have:
-lived in Moscow
- lived in France
- lived in Italy
- lived in Belgium
- currently living in Poland
- traveled to: Mexico, England, Spain, Whales, Ireland, Corsica
- climbed a fort on the Aran Islands
- loved and lost...and then loved again
- had my own poetry published
- spoken for the President of Loyola University Chicago
- earned 2 Bachelor of Arts degrees
- realized that 2 Bachelor of Arts degrees don't do much alone...it's my UUMPH that makes them run!
- become a godmother to a baby sister
- overcome self-doubt
- battled depression and anxiety
- channeled difficulty into learning experiences
- received love and generous gifts from so many people
- made dear, dear friends
- learned how to speak French
- learned how hard it is to speak Polish
- figured out that it's not how young you are, it's how hard you're willing to work to GET IT.

This is quite an arrogant list, but hey, your birthday is only once a year, right?
(I'll start working on the rest of the year, don't worry.)

:D

From Darkness to Darkness...well that's cheery

2010-10-09T09:59:00.000-07:00

In a fit of nostalgia, I recently tapped a sappy email to some of my Loyola professors.

My purpose was to thank them for their years of service to the profession of education, as every day I am gaining a newfound respect and admiration for those who commend themselves to lives of overtime on a constant basis (without the overtime pay, needless to say).

One of my freshman Honors Program professors, Father Tobin, responded with the following quip regarding my recent relocation to Warsaw:

"My lecture on devolution may be helpful, especially in Warsaw. There is a Polish Jesuit living in our community, and I tell him that the essence of Polish spirituality is "From Darkness unto Darkness." He agrees. In any case, I hope that you are enjoying your time in Warsaw."

Cheery.

Ironically, this somewhat poisoned my thoughts as today, when sauntering through TESCO for the week's groceries, I couldn't help but think about this rather ominous assessment of Poland. It is certainly true that the air here feels heavy to me, that there is a certain sadness that I do not think I have felt before.

The question I have for myself, though, is this: how much of that feeling can I harness? Is it my own projection that makes me feel this way about Poland? Or is there truly some inherent aspect of "darkness" here? Maybe it's a little bit of both. As I continue to adjust culturally to the people, the overwhelming amount of sausages on sale at the supermarkets, the heavy sour cream in everything, the buildings that have numbers stamped onto them, and the ga-jillion letters of words that are just about 3 syllables, I will try to push myself into the light a bit more...

even if it is no thanks to Father.

Amen.

Wednesday, October 6th

2010-10-07T12:35:00.000-07:00

My dear students,

A few things today:

1. Journal Time

2. Collection of Essay 1

3. Return of Vocab and Grammar Workbooks

4. Discussion: 'What is a MYTH?' Discussion of what UNIVERSAL means.

HOMEWORK DUE ON FRIDAY, OCT. 8:
1. Greek god/goddess mini-presentation

BACK AGAIN

2010-09-25T03:02:00.000-07:00

"The time has come," the Walrus said, "to talk of many things..."

Well, I won't be talking of cabbages and kings, or why the sea is boiling hot, and whether pigs have wings, but I will be announcing as of right now the official reopening of my blog.

I know it's been some time, but there were quite a series of events that took place. As many of your reading are already aware of these events, it seems rather unnecessary and indeed, cumbersome, to reiterate everything.

I will, however, provide some highlights, my dear readers, for those of you just joining our program.

December of 2009 - Graduation from Loyola University Chicago
This certainly was a momentous event, not that it was highly celebrated by Loyola in any regard. Instead, my family threw me a fabulous soirée to join with me in finishing my undergraduate degrees in English Literature and French Language.

February 2010 - Move to Brussels to work for Fragomen, hereto referred to as 'F-men'
Well. What can be written. I was working in an intensively corporate environment, having just emerged from the cocoon of college land, and, oh what a surprise, I was shocked that all those warm and fuzzy Jesuit lessons weren't at work in the 'real world.' Money made, got me to Europe, different life ideas certainly taken on board, but overall a difficult, challenging experience. More to come on this one.

April 2010 - Meeting of Nicholas, a certain 1/2 French, 1/2 English gentleman, with whom things go extraordinarily brilliantly...

June 2010 - Trip to Espagne with friends from the European Parliament

August 2010 - Trip to Corsica for vacation with Nick!

End of August 2010 - Finish with F-men, MOVE TO POLAND

September 2010 - Beginning of new job with the International American School in Poland! (I wanted to put in a picture but uploading here isn't working!!!)

I think that brings us up to present day!!

I am very much looking forward to incorporating writing back into my daily life, and I appreciate your patience and fervently burning loyalty to 'Tales' in my long-during absence.

With love for now,

Ms. Juju

Hourglass

2009-11-12T11:26:00.000-08:00

An hourglass, also known as a sandglass, sand timer, sand clock or egg timer, is a device for the measurement of time.

Wow, am I feeling a rush of slipping sand.

The look on my dear friend's face sums up the sort of feeling I experienced this morning as I was jamming out to Glee and applying my make-up.

Moving in. My mother hugging me goodbye. Crying in my dorm room. Cleaning. Staying in to study. Schedules. Planners. Cafeteria food. Plane tickets. Philadelphia. Red cups. $5. Bulletin boards. Name tags. Lectures. School...class. Professors. Too many books. Transferring. Applications. Recommendations. Acceptances and then acceptances. Epiphanies. Gratitude. Visits. Love. Friendships. Rejoicing.

Discovery. Niches. Walking backwards. Learning. Messing up. As, Bs, A-s. Homesick then not.

Ache. Darkness.

Ireland. Backpacks, resentment, coffee, kebabs. Blossoming. One week. Rome. Nantes. Money. Anxt. Los Angeles. Reflecting. Loneliness.

4am phone calls. Validation. Working, crying, lamenting. Flying. Fear. Isolating language. Apple tarts. Beautiful napkin rings. Taboo. Prépa. Brother. Sister. English French English French. Americans. French. Fear. Growth. Shedding.

Discovery. Giving directions instead of getting them. Hot vin. Marché Noël. Goodbyes. Tears. England. Flu. Pain. Mistakes. Growth.

Return. Talking. Growth. Defying. Lectures. Resentment. Joy. Noirmoutier. Friends. Islands. Poulettes. Bises et bisous et kisses et calins et hugs. English lessons. Yearning. Russia. Frustration. Work. Reading. Theatre, French Theatre.

Realization. Gratitude. Sorrow. Sadness. Ache. Love. Joy.

Understanding.

Return. Alienation. Depression. Isolation. Grind. Daily grind. Coffee boxes coffee boxes. French. Time cards, dedication, drive. Tenacity tenacity tenacity. Books. Back to school. Leaves.

Friends. Boys. Dancing. Drunkeness. Love. Rejection. Sadness, love, sadness, joy. Father. Mother. Maturation. Work work work. Wee hours. Networking Events. Class coffee class. Love love love.

REJOICING.

Dreams. Realizations. Reality. Mother. Mom. Maman. Mama. Elizabeth.

Friends, balls, gowns, dresses. Make-up. Money. Texting. Texting. Texting. Skipping.

FEAR.

LOVE.

------
Four years of college, one year abroad: did you get it?

Finding Never-ever-ever-ever-land

2009-10-20T13:19:00.001-07:00

Peter Pan’s not the only one hanging onto to those dreadfully green tights.
If only there were such a thing as Tinker Bell. I'd totally feed her and stuff.

That is, I, too, am finding some difficulty in imagining my life outside of my Neverland, outside of my beloved Loyola.

Sure, I’ve traveled and spent time outside of my university. But as my final semester trickles down to just seven weeks, I am really struggling to balance remaining a kid at heart and emerging into the “adult” world.

Yet, will I have to say goodbye to the Tinker Bells that are Blue Emergency Lights, to the Captain Hooks that are Midterms and Finals, to the Robin Williams-like figures that are dear Professors? To the Magic that is my Friends?

Maybe not so fast.

It isn’t as though once December 15th rolls around I have to literally walk the plank. I won’t lose my attachments that are friendships or long-since built relationships with professors or advisors. What I have come to realize as I hop around from one networking event to another or blip out one resume after the next is that Loyola will always be with me (cue a sudden change of key at this point in my musical-bio, “Just Julie!”*). Childhood isn’t like a red ball that we have until a certain point and then are forced to let go of; we keep it, always, simply changing how it is we play with it.

Or maybe it’s just easier to think about Peter Pan instead of graduating. *Scratches head.

To be continued…

*Will and Grace reference, yes Devon.

The Last First Day

2009-08-31T08:28:00.000-07:00

From the mis-matched socks that lead to tears on the first day of kindergarten to the stomach-ache of knowing that I am now a senior, going back to school has always been somewhat turbulent. Why this is, I’m not sure. But what hit me with overwhelming force just one week ago was this thought:

I’ve had my last first day of school.

Now, rather than blubber through a post about how the nerd that I am will miss shiny new school supplies, the point I am making is that each year we “go back to school,” we make a mark. Slowly but surely, we pencil another line on the figurative height chart of life, growing and seeing the progress we’ve made from a year before. Though this year, my transition means a lot of things: back to America, accepting that it’s the last time to start fall classes, having courses in English–there are transitions going on for all sorts of grades and ages.

Whatever your “last” thing, keep this in mind: it is only in the realization that some part of life is passing that we come to fully appreciate it. Without the end or the finality that so often accompanies life’s experiences, do we not lose that luster that make them unique? For me, whether it was a friendship, relationship, or relationship with a country, the molding and shaping of what someone or some place meant to me was finally cast into permanence after some sort of transition or trial. It is the difficulty that puts the joy into relief, though we may only feel a little relief at the time.

Alors, today, savor whomever or whatever it is in your life. Let a moment wash over you without letting the dark, nagging question of “And tomorrow?” snatch you away. Relish in where you are: freshman, sophomore, junior, senior, highschool student, grown-up, almost-grown-up…and you’ll see just how beautiful it is even when it ends.

GMApping it out.

2009-07-06T23:06:00.000-07:00

I registered for the GMAT tonight.

Can we say, WHAT?

(1) GMAT (2) GRAD (3) MCAT (4) GRE (5) KAPLAN (6) BA (7) MBA (8) BS (9) MA...

If we re-arrange these acronyms, we can spell:

I need a Godd*** mat (1) because it's such a DRAG(2) to do all this REGular(3) BS(8) so I think I'll take a NAP(5) so I don't jump into the LAKe(5). It was fine but then BAM(7)! Here I AM(9) and I'm going BAllistic(6)...

And off to bed again...

Sleepless in Chicago

2009-07-03T23:45:00.001-07:00

Mmmm. The Office.

"We're warehouse workers. Would you like more proof?"

"The eyes are the groin of the head."

"My hip bone!"

These are the lines floating into my ears right now as I finish up some important emails from my Rogers Park apartment.

Bonne nuit. :D

EL-evated Living

2009-06-23T22:08:00.000-07:00

Without all the gory details of why I've not posted, suffice it to say I was in France. Do I get to keep playing that card? Oui.

So I'm back in America.

This summer:

- working at the Quebec delegation (accent to be inserted later:)

- walking backwards all over campus about 10 hours a week

- possibly nannying/french tutoring (TBA in the next 48 hours)

- possibly working at Victoria's Secret

- taking a summer class in about a week for about a month

- hanging out with friends

- moved into new apartment and made it homey for soon to be returned roomie who's been in Costa Rica (I love you, Andrea)

In recent crazy news, I have officially decided to graduate an entire semester early. That means that I will be done with undergrad in December. Am I crazy? Maybe. But crazy in love with France.

Seriously, I feel like France and I fell deeply in love with each other. We fought, sure, and sometimes France decided to close the bank on Monday or charge me 3 euros for a Coca-Light, but we worked it out. I got better at communicating and listening, and France got better at understanding my American angle.

And then I had to leave my darling France. Abruptly, like any break-up normally feels, as if without warning, it was over. I had taken off from Charles de Gaulle only from sheer discipline to bring myself there.

I felt like a magician's dishware during the tablecloth trick.

Now, I've survived the blur of the first month back. I saw my beautiful sister graduate high school, an old beau of mine for the first time in awhile, reconnected with old best friends. I moved into my Chicago apartment, began my internship, and made a big decision that will not only save me time and money, but brings me closer to the big dream.

Closer to France.

I don't know what's going to happen yet, but I already have some ideas.

And this is where my crazy tenacity comes in handy. :D

Stay tuned...

Un changement!

2009-05-27T21:12:00.001-07:00

Ok so after much ado and much procrastination, and much accidental toppling onto this new cool thing called "Tumblr," which seems to be quite à la mode in blogging, I have moved my blog over to a newer, cooler, smaller version (which, if you follow the size of the lastest iPod thingy, the new iPod shuffle, which might as well be the "Invisa" from the years-ago SNL skit, you'll notice that smaller = better these days).

Hoping to write more without the daunting tasks of POSTS, I will now be communicating "jujubytes" on a much more regular basis. Migrate to this site for snapshots of my insights, post-France stress symptoms and reliefs, and itty bitty "bytes" of life that will be sure to speed up your hardware.

À bientôt, dear readers!
Je vous embrasse,
juju

Breaking up is hard to do.

2009-05-20T19:34:00.000-07:00

Here with my five dear French girlfriends, "qui vont me manquer" so much.

We had a good run. The beginning was honey-moon like, too good to be true, sugary sweet and lovely. I was infatuated. Then there were some hard times, some challenges, some frustrations. But those challenges gave way to real love, to profound respect, and to an everlasting impression on the other.

But now it's over.

I'm breaking up with France.

The past week has been a flurry of exams, goodbye dinners, hugs, kisses, gift-giving and receiving, crying, packing, laughing, remembering, and even planning for when I will come back. I am a wave of emotion one minute, up and then down within instants.

So I have to leave this dear country with whom I was "in a relationship" for nearly 10 months. I have to leave chère France, where people keep their hands on the table, say "Bonjour" just like in Beauty & the Beast, and still smoke quite a lot even if they can't in bars. I have to leave her, even if I don't have the envie (desire) to do so.

But how? How can I break up with this place I love so much, the streets I've walked hundreds of times, the corners where I've met up with friends, where I've rested, where I've sat under the sun, where I've shivered, where I've been lost and then where I've come to know my way? How can I say "Au revor" to the boulangerie where the French get their bread every day, to the bar where I always went to relieve a little stress, to the servers who taught me French on those little napkins used for peanuts? How can I say goodbye to the family who hosted me, who let me into their lives, to see a little piece of French culture? How can I say goodbye to the friends who have become family, to the sounds of the French chatter (conducted ever so quietly, on the bus or the tram), to the small cups of coffee strong enough for the most tired of days?

Though in life, we turn pages, we close chapters, we open doors when another one closes, we seek an opportunity out of a challenge, or we simply keep a memory profoundly close to our hearts, I am having a hard time. My time in France was exceptional. Not easy. Not always was it all dancing in the sun with a cigarette under the Eiffel Tower with a fresh baguette in hand. Oh no. But it was rich. It was deeply rich. The food, my host family, my classes, the friends...the language, even, were all entities with which I created relationships. There are simply no words that convey the brilliance of how unique my experience was. Others may have done it before me, and certainly will do so after, but my séjour (time spent) in France has changed me in a way I never thought possible, and simultaneously shown me the characteristics about myself that will never change.

And so, though I can barely bring myself to do it, I go now to put the last pair of socks in my suitcase, the last couple of books, the last couple of things, and to dine for the last time with my host family. I will leave for Paris tomorrow, and then return to Chicago on Tuesday. But my heart, my spirit, at least in part, will be here, ma chère France, forever.

How true, really, is the expression, "C'est la vie"?

2009-05-10T15:09:00.000-07:00

My dear French friend, Esther, with me at a "soirée" this weekend in Penestin.*

A dear friend of mine just "skyped" me the following statement which I find to be pretty profound:

"It's like there's this sorta train on its way and when I stop to think about it, my stomach hurts a bit."

Yes, ladies and gents, that's a direct quote.

This stomach-hurting reference is about leaving France. A fellow American in Nantes since September who also lived with a French family, my friend Alex also "connaît bien la chanson," as the French say, or, as we say in English, "knows the story."

Instead of repeating the time-old cliché that "It seems like just yesterday that I arrived," I prefer to just share what I'm feeling in this present moment.

Sadness. Nostalgia. Fear. Excitement. Relief. Stress. Anxiety. Joy.

In other words, I'm a royal mess.

And funnily enough, a song by the renown French artist Patrick Buel just began to drift into my ears from my iTunes, entitled "Pour la vie." There are a number of times in the chorus he says, "C'est la vie, c'est la vie..." and he talks about the different ways we go in life. There is one line in particular:

"On se dit, 'Biensûr, je m'en souviens,' mais on rappelle de moins en moins..."

This roughly translates to:

"We say, "Of course, I remember that!" but, in fact, we remember less and less..."

My time in France will, of course, always remain a part of me. There is no way it could not. I have grown and changed, but I have also discovered the things about myself that stay always the same. Tried and true, there are qualities, I believe, that we discover about ourselves and our mother culture only when confronted with those different from our own. And yes, as I prepare to leave this beautiful, rich, confusing, difficult, strike-making, cheese-producing, passionate country in just a week, sure, "C'est la vie..." Life goes on, I will return, though I be sad to leave, "c'est la vie, c'est la vie..."

But there's a little more to it for me.

I will keep with me, always, without much effort, a reverance for my time in France. In French, there is a word that I love that encapsulates voyage, trip, and time spent in a given place all in one: "séjour." It wasn't just a vacation, it wasn't just "study abroad." I arrived feeling small and misunderstood, lost and even lonely, isolated by the language barrier and the cultural differences. But what's even more difficult is to leave, especially knowing that I have been understood by those so different from myself, that I have cultivated relationships, that others have taught me and challenged me beyond what I thought possible.

So yes, Monsieur Bruel, "c'est la vie," and the chapter closes, but the book is forever altered by the pages forged in France.

*Friends I've made here...*sigh* I'll miss almost the most.

Shelf life of a study abroad student: sexy or sad?

2009-04-27T14:35:00.001-07:00

Drink in the rich image of fancy tea, calmly resting on a colorful shelf in a Paris boutique. Though it was delivered to the shop at a certain date, and is meant to stay there for awhile, eventually it will be picked up and carried out again into the world, somewhat abrubtly displaced.

A bit like the average study abroad student.

Though we can arrive in our host countries with the acceptance that it will be a bit difficult at first to adjust to the culture shock, what is often less discussed is the difficulty on the flip side of the journey. The process of arriving takes all our attention, our energy, and our focus: we don't have time to realize what changes we're experiencing because we're so concentrated on the challenges that could await us. Anxiously, we search for the difficulty, and so we find none. The over-compensation of hyper-tuned radar helps us avoid pitfalls of shock (for the most part).

Finally, a few months into it, we step back and look at ourselves in the mirror. Finally, we see just how far we've come: the language skills, the familiar walking path from a favorite café to a class, the first time a person asks us for directions in a city that was once very foreign. A rhthym commences. Suddenly, I found myself saying "In French, we say..." rather than "They say..." I found a steady beat with which to walk among the French, rather than trying to clang my cultural sound against theirs.

But then my shelf life kicked in.

Those afternoons in Paris, licking gelato outside the famous ice-creamery "Bertillon" located on Isle San Louis, sun-kissed and glowing from visits to museums and parks and restaurants (as pictured below) seem to become even more delicious because I become aware of their finality. It's as if someone told me, "This is the last time you'll ever taste chocolate," right as he handed me a bar of Lindt Swiss or a Ferraro Rocher. The taste suddenly floods my senses.

Such has been this last month in France. With just three weeks left, after 10 months here, I'm finding that there is a tragically beautiful nature to a shelf life: with the conscience of an expiration date, each limonade drunk on a café terrace, each soirée out with my dear French friends, each slice of Camembert during dinners with my host family, each promenade from school to my internship, each time I see Antoine or Emma, the little kids for whom I babysit, each odeur of a fresh baguette from a boulangerie, each sensation, chaque embrasse, chaque sourire--it all becomes powerfully poignant.

And so the shelf life is both sexy and sad, a juxtaposition of achey dread to leave and blissful relief to return. Studying abroad, I believe, is the culmination of the definition of "bittersweet," and though of course it is difficult to swallow what is bitter, it is only in doing so that the sumptuous flavors of my experience are as delectable as that raspberry gelato bought on a sunny afternoon in Paris.

Finding fluency: is it feasible in less than 1 year?

2009-03-31T03:27:00.000-07:00

My Israeli-Palestinian course--all in French--can become quite complex...

I think I was under the impression that French was rather easy. I had always excelled in my French classes in the States, and though perhaps I wasn't conscious of my "fausse" idea, I really thought I was a rock star when it came to my speaking ability.

Oh, boy, was I wrong.

A foreign language, when we dabble in a couple courses in high school or at university, is seemingly like an acquaintance whom we see a few times a week. She's a lovely presence, but we don't spend too much time with her, we don't really even realize when she's not there because we are submerged in our own lives, problems, and joys.

But when we go abroad, that acquaintance becomes a roommate, so to speak.

From the moment I open my eyes to the second I hit the pillow, my life functions in another language. This morning a delivery man dropped a receipt on his way into a building, and I, being a little French now myself, picked it up and ran after him with it (a post to come regarding how French people always pick stuff up). As a reward, I was privileged enough to witness the rare, radiant French smile, and receive the sincere, "Merci mademoiselle!" It lit me up. Aw, French people, sometimes, your moments are precious.

But the second before I handed him the receipt, even after 9 months, I hesitated. "Excusez-moi, Monsieur, vous avez tombé ça..." "Excuse me, sir, you dropped this..." But was that it? Did I conjugate my verb correctly? Did I sound like a stranger when I said it?

And so this brings me to my point. How the heck do we learn a foreign language? How do we reach the echelon of fluency, of idiomatic expressions, allusions, cultural references, jokes, play on words?

My answer, after almost 10 months in France:

time.

I write down vocabulary like a mad woman, I listen, I ask questions, I take classes all in French, I talk with my host family, I hang with French friends, I order food and drinks and train tickets in French. And still, I am no where near truly fluent. Sometimes, it's true, I think I expect too much of myself, but what I want to signal to anyone considering time abroad, be it in France or elsewhere, is that patience and time are the only way of learning.

So if your French class or your Spanish lesson, that takes place once or twice a week, is a simply a bit of a lovely acquaintance, and not "someone" whom you wish to know intimately, tant mieux (too good) for you! Enjoy that presence of a foreign language in your life. However, if French is for you how it is for me, a beloved, romantic language, a culture with which I am borderline obsessed and certainly fascinated, know that patience with yourself will be key in becoming fluent. A year is not long enough to get fluent--though you will definitely improve dramatically. A year is long enough, however, to deeply, deeply immerse yourself, to learn about another culture, to build connections and make friends, and certainly, certainly...

to decide if that acquaintance, if French language, for example, is worth the time and effort to become a sister. Fluency after 10 months? Maybe not. A lifetime of memories and intimate knowledge of French culture, and a possible open door for the future--

absolutely.

The dancing monkey who steals things...a.k.a., an American host student

2009-03-17T08:45:00.001-07:00

My French host mother, often asking, "Julie! What are you doing? Are you alright? Where are you going? Ok, well..."

Though I've written a couple warm and cuddly posts about my host family, allow me to remind any one considering a stay with a host family of the possible difficulties as well. No, my mission is not to paint some sort of misanthropic picture of my lovely French host family.

But, let's face it.

They are French.

And that means that there are certain, let's say, qualities inherent in the way they interact with others, primarily their wee little American girl living with them. In a conversation with my mother (yes, on Skype*), I was telling her about what I'd call a sincere cultural difference between myself and my host family. Let me give you the exposition.

My host mother, lovely as she is, is somewhere between a mother hen, looking after her little flock of sons, husband, and American girl, and an overly curious journaliste, looking for as many facts as possible about every aspect of her inner circle's affairs.

So, what does that mean for me, the American who tries to speak French and survive the teasing antics of her host brothers?

It means that I'm somewhat of a dancing monkey for my host family. They love me and accept me, but to a certain extent. For them, I feel sometimes to be the source of a dysfunctional kind of entertainment. When I make a grammar mistake, when I take two slices of Camembert instead of combining those two slices into one, when I go out with my friends and come home sort of late, when I don't go out, when I take a sip of water too quickly, when I'm a little tired and I don't respond right away, it's a round of:

"Julie! Qu'est-ce qui se passe?? Pourquoi t'es aussi fatiguée? Tu n'as pas une bonne mîne, Julie, pourquoi? Qu'est-ce que t'as fait hier soir? Tu étais avec qui? Pourquoi? C'est qui? Tu dînes là? Pas ici?"

(translation:)

"Julie! What's going on?? Why are you tired? You don't look so good, Julie, why? What'd you do last night? Who were you with? Why? Who's that? You're eating there? Not here?"

The flood of questions doesn't stop there.

On top of that, even now, 7 months after living with this family, I still feel like I'm stealing when I eat my breakfast in the morning. I grab an apple or a yogurt and I feel like the French thief at the end of Ocean's 12 stealing the jewels while balancing multiple laser boundaries. It's a bit absurd. The feeling of being a stranger, of being outside the family, never totally goes away. It lingers like the dew of a strong fog--it's almost all clear, and one can see the way to go, but the sense of a haze isn't gone. And it doesn't go. It's an important aspect of living with a host family--we never become truly a part of the family.

In short: I am the dancing American monkey, funny to watch, funny to talk to, who sometimes "steals" apples and bananas, who is adored in a "Oh, you cute little thing" sort of way, who is in the circus but will never be one of the French trapeze artists who are soaring high above.

Ok, I have to go, I have a class with the 50 other American monkeys dancing here in Nantes. À bientôt!

*see previous post for some Skype snippets

Ménage à trois...via Skype, that is...

2009-03-10T11:58:00.000-07:00

After much ado (grâce à ma mère-"thanks to my mom") about blogging, I've put fingers to keys once again. Sometimes in the flurry of France and all the baguettes flying around and totally black-clothed Frenchees blowing smoke in my face while they cry about their lives while sitting on top of the Eiffel Tower just gets to be too much.*

So today Skype has served me in more ways than one. The new-aged tool for communicating for free helped me reach a friend in China, my Omaha-mama, a French friend 15 minutes away, and even a friend in Chicago. And it was all from my wee little Mac. Props, technology.

But Skype has a secret its not telling you.

First of all, for those of you who have yet to discover "Skype," here's a brief description:

Passez des appels sur votre ordinateur. Ils sont gratuits entre utilisateurs de Skype et à tarif réduit vers des téléphones fixes et mobiles partout dans le monde. En outre, la qualité audio est extraordinaire. Laissez-le ouvert toute la journée et c'est comme si vous vous trouviez dans la même pièce que votre interlocuteur.

and in English:

"Make free calls on your computer. They're free between any other Skype users and offered at a reduced price for home phones and mobiles everywhere in the world. Plus, the sound quality is extraordinary. Leave it open during the day, and it's like you're in the same room as the person you're talking to**!"

So now I can fill you in on the magical secret that makes Skype even sexier:

the possibility of a three-way.

That's right friends, on Skype you can ménage à trois with your loved ones. Though the video capability is mitigated when you switch to a three-person call, three Skype users can talk and hear each other at the same time. It's brilliant!

And you may even get to hear your mom say, "Ooh, yeah, I've never done a three-way before, that'll be fun!"

Totally, totally worth it.

For more info on how to download Skype, visit: www.skype.com

*Yes, I totally subscribe to these ironic stereotypes. (not)
**I added the exclamation point for American enthusiasm to which the French do not always subscribe.

16/2/09: How to avoid stu-"dying" abroad

2009-02-16T03:47:00.000-08:00

The harsh reality of many students' lives, at home and abroad.

It's a well-known fact that students are the wealthiest demographic of all the social strata.

Riiiiiight.

Considering the price of college tuition these days, coupled with the current economic crisis, students are needing to be more and more creative when it comes to part-time jobs to supplement those oh-so-important late-night pizzas, movie tickets, or even toilet paper.

This need to be creative is even more pressing when a student is overseas.

When I landed in the Paris airport five months ago, I was very stressed about finding a job. I work around 20 hours a week in Chicago as a tour guide, assistant in the English Department office, or in the Undergraduate Admissions Office. How was I going to find a way to make my euros go the distance?

I did a couple of things right off the bat, and now I have a steady babysitting gig, a couple of students to whom I give English lessons, and some other offers still coming in.

1. Talk to your network.

That is, if you're living with a host family while spending time abroad, ask them their opinions. Do they have friends you could babysit for? If you're in student housing, is there already an office set up for foreign exchange students to ask questions? Start by asking, and you shall probably receive at least a start in the right direction.

2. Fliers, fliers, fliers...

After consulting with my study abroad director, my host mama, and some young French students, I made a flier that included my information and my price for private English tutoring (12 euros/hour is a pretty competitive rate, affordable yet not too cheap--French people shy away from things that are too affordable because they think it indicates poor quality). A couple days later, I had some emails and began calling people to set up "rendez-vous."

3. Be the squeaky wheel.

Sometimes after putting fliers up on school bulletin boards, grocery store windows, church bulletins, and university boards, there still is no answer. But that doesn't mean there isn't a need. Just this morning, I received a text message from a French high school student interested in getting English lessons, and I'm planning on meeting with her later today. If you just keep pressing on, you'll find someone who needs to learn English, or needs a babysitter.

Though it isn't easy, especially in a foreign country, you can find a couple little lessons to earn yourself some going-out/toiletry mula. Keep with it, research websites like this one I found, sort of a "Craig's List" for the Frenchees: http://www.vivastreet.fr/account_classifieds.php

And hey, if you don't find a job, think of all the weight you'll lose walking around Europe not being able to buy baguettes.

12/2: Why are French women so damn hot?!

2009-02-12T00:47:00.001-08:00

Who DOESN'T want to look like this? Seriously.

Call it better genes, better jeans, a certain "savoir-faire" (know-how) or simply an effect of the hierarchy of human beings, but there is something about French women that just works. There is a quality to the way they sling a scarf around their long, graceful necks. making hundreds of loops from two yards of fabric.

Even my host mother, passing into the golden years of her life, carries an atmosphere about her. Matching her outfits in complimentary ways that aren't overly match-ee match-ee, her clothes are always pressed and ready for the day, with easy transition to prepped for a soirée with a simple application of some eye-shadow.

As I walk down rue Crébillon, the main drag of downtown Nantes, which is lined with Michigan Avenue-worthy stores and even more worthy shoppers, I could not feel more aware of my americanism (I know, not really a word, but still).

This was particularly evident to me the other day. I was charging down the street, iPod earphones blasting "The Way You Make Me Feel" by Michael Jackson, and finally feeling at home in a city where I'd lived for about five months. I have even mastered the classic French stare: the cool gaze that you arrange about your face to avoid shallow stranger-smiling. Everything was like a movie, the sun was out, I had great music, on my way to meet friends, when suddenly, I couldn't hear Michael serenading my triumphant marching anymore, and as if in slow motion, I realized it just as it happened...

I face-planted.

No lie. The tip of my boot had caught on one especially knarly cobblestone, and I tripped over it and fell right on my face. Hands out to brace the fall helped a little, but what hurt especially was, of course, my pride. Just when I thought I was migrating over to the French side of sophistication, I got a little message from the heavens that no, in fact, I will always be American, making a little bit of a spectacle of myself wherever I go.

It's not so bad--I picked myself up, brushed myself off, turned the corner, and no one on that next street knew I wasn't French.

Touché.

What's in a "mom"? Frenchness, kindness, and of course, good wine...

2009-02-11T14:03:00.000-08:00

Nathalie, my beautiful host mama, always dressed to the nines and lookin' fine.

"Dis-donc, Julie, raconte! Qu'est-ce que t'as fait aujourd'hui?"

"Julie! Tell me! What did you do today?"

Such is often the greeting I receive from Nathalie, my French host mother, when I get home from a long day of classes, meetings, clubs, or just general life in France, accompanied with a cup of tea or even better, un verre du vin (a glass of wine). Sitting down with regal grace across from me, my host mom will listen attentively, lending her ear but also her objective and often quite frank advice (ever wonder where the word "frank" comes from? Stop the presses--because if ever there was a people almostly too bluntly direct and honest and at times, it is the French).

Though she speaks from her French esprit (soul, mind; in French, esprit involves the two into one concept), Nathalie Renaud is much more than just a polite conversationalist. She laughs easily, quick to find the joke or the bit of a situation that is somewhat shocking, flashing her eyes and biting the corner of her lip in a girlish manner, and tempting her audience to react the same way. That is, any time a friend of mine has come to visit me, to have dinner, to watch a movie, or simply stop by, she is ready to meet and greet them, to get to know them, and to see the beauty of the funny things in life.

This evening, for example, my friend Kathleen is sleeping over, since her host parents are in Paris for about 10 days (yes, the French have roughly 7 weeks of paid vacation a year, and yet are still the world's 4th biggest-economic power). Upon arriving at the house, I was anxious to get up to my room so as not to disturb my host parents after hours. Yet, as Kathleen and I stood in the doorway, saying a quick "Bon soir" to Nathalie, we began to have a more intricate conversation about Kathleen's host family and how Kathleen, who just arrived in Nantes a few weeks ago, is taking to everything. Three minutes into it, Nathalie broke from her sentence and declared, "That's it, I'll come have a cup of tea with you girls, let's chat!" (Of course, said in French.)

Less than the detailed points, more so, I want to paint the portrait of my host mother as a genuinely warm, caring woman, who loves her family with all of her heart, who gives of herself in a uniquely French way; that is to say, though the French might be known to some Americans as arrogant, unapproachable snobs who don't know how to loosen up and just stop going on strike all the time, my host mother, I believe, represents a part of the French culture who know how to cook, how to drink fine wine, how to laugh about those things that deserve laughter, and how to cast aside what doesn't really matter. She knows how to observe, with a keen eye and a worldly understanding, those around her, and love them for who they really are, faults and qualities alike. She is, even if she is French, a mother to me, though I am an ocean away from my own. She is, as we say in French, a maman. And I am so lucky to get my experience in France with someone like her.

She has even participated in her own generation's strikes. It's offish. She's tight. Granted, I can't ever explain to her how the fact that "tight" is a compliment, but still.

25/1: Another Sunday of epically slow proportions, II/II

2009-01-25T08:17:00.000-08:00

Continuing on with my updated résumé and insights...

20/1: The Presidential Inauguration! Or, as we say en français, "L'invesiture d'Obama!" It has been incredible being in Europe while the historic political scene has been taking place. For the noon-time event, that being about 6:00pm en France (18h00), I headed to my favorite bar in downtown Nantes, a place that has become somewhat of a second-home: Webb Ellis (yes, named after the Welch founder of rugby). It offers a warm atmosphere, striking the balance between a rowdy sports bar and an intimate French café with the European-style high tables and rugby paraphenalia everywhere.

Ludo, the owner, is incredibly welcoming of all the Americans, and so we head to Webb Ellis when we just want to wind down with a kir or a café, or when we're winding up and end up staying for quite awhile. Arranged in advance, Ludo showed the inauguration on the big projection screen (le grand écran) and we ordered a bottle of champagne to celebrate the momentous occasion.

We were all just stunned, sitting there, a group of about six Americans and two dear French friends, listening to the profound words of our new president:I know, my Longchamp looks ridiculously large in this photo. :-p

After the inauguration, we headed to a crêperie for dîner, a social activity arranged by Samuel, the beloved social coordinator of IES. I had a galette, which just means a crêpe that has the makings of a salty, dinner-ish plate, like in my case: cheese, sausage, seasonings, and an over-easy oeuf (egg). It was chocolat all the way for dessert, and cidre brut all during the meal, which my friend Pete seemed to enjoy a little too much:Soooo drôle, mon ami.

21: Had two classes, including my teaching internship course, which I am really excited about. Mme Duportail, the professor, smiled so much during the course, and was so convivial, I wondered if she was really French. It was back to dîner chez moi (dinner at my house) for the evening, and a night in.

22: Headed to the IES center after sleeping in, babysat, and lead my convo club before going over to my friend Guillaume's for dîner, and then to Webb Ellis for drinks. The conversation club I lead is for the French American Alliance organization here in Nantes, which is known as "France/Etats-Unis," and is sort of one of those chic extra-curriculars for adults. French adults who are members of the Alliance thus come to the institute for practice with their English with a young American student<-----me.

23: More babysitting little Antoine (3 years old) and Emma (1 year old) before eating with my host fam. The night then took a swirly turn, as I headed into town around at about 9pm.
21h00: at Webb Ellis, meet up with French friends.
22h00: Still Webbing it up.
0h00-1h00: Head to night club here in Nantes, "Castel." Play on the word, "castle." Gain admission due to Jérôme's friend, Guillaume, who dj's at the club. 13 euros including a beverage.
1h00-3h00: Dancing, talking, drinking, and fun!
3h00-6h00: Head over to friend Victor's for the morning to speak some more French and discuss cultural differences such as the word "hypocrit." In jesting with a friend, Nicolas, who was trying to dry his just-washed hands on my sweater, and who wouldn't let me do that same to him, I said, "Ah, comment t'es un hypocrite, toi!" His face went positively white. The following 15 minutes included me apologizing and playing my American card for the umpteenth time, and figuring out that that is pretty much the most honor-shattering thing to say to a French person. Bit of a sting of a lesson to learn, but now ça va, ça va.

24: Slept until...3? Watched "Darjeeling Limited" and had dinner chez Jérôme...went to bed around midnight from exhaustion from clubbing. Own fault, yes. :-p

25: Ah, TODAY, at last! Caught up! Consisted of a lunch of pasta, a lovely pork/meat sauce, salad, and dessert, with a glass red cabarnet. Quintin has been resurfacing the terrace, and good American friend of mine, Alex, is coming over for a cup of tea before dinner tonight, which will be all in English, as an opportunity for my host-bros to practice. American friend Charles will be dining with us as co-animator of discussion, and 2 of Vianney's friends will be coming, too. After dinner, I'll probably begin reading "Les femmes savantes," by Molière, in preparation for my French theater class tomorrow.

25/1: Another Sunday of epically slow proportions

2009-01-25T06:19:00.000-08:00

It's that time again.

Time to...

be.

Sundays really are to France as the tortoise was to the hair...verrrrrrrryyyyyyy slow. Especially in consideration of the time French people spend out and about, working, walking, talking, drinking, eating, museum-ing, n'importe quoi...

So finally, much to what I imagine will be my mother's great pleasure, I am able to sit and just write for awhile, sans distraction. My time in France really has taken off since getting back from my lovely holiday in England. A brief résumé:

13/1: I arrive back in Nantes, and greet my ever reine-like (queen-like) host-mother. Somewhat surreal realization that I was no longer at the Rowley residence. A bit of a culture shock. Begin speaking French again, a bit slow to respond, but luckily it was all there.

14: Not too much to report, save drinking tea, sleeping, and dining with the Frenchees. Much host-brother teasing, but finally feel that I have ammo with which to retort back.

15: Week of orientation at IES with the new group of about 60 americans; I found a way, even in France, to be a tour guide. Headed to the French university (l'université de Nantes) with the new guys, and walked around for about two hours, explaining and showing and helping as much as I could. Stopped at the little expresso bar inside the R.U. (restaurant universitaire) and had a café with my group, which started a chain-reaction with the others to join in on.

For one of the first times, I chit-chatted with the woman manning the bar (<--ironic sexual contradiction here, God bless the English language). It was fabulously liberating, my speech flowing with ease, with no real snag between my thought and my actual conversation. After getting back to IES, the center downtown, I headed off to my babysitting gig. Around 18:30, I met up with the other Americans, and my good friend Moy, who is also a full-year student, walked with me like a co-mother duck at the head of about 30 of them to get to "L'hôtel" for a little "Galettes des rois" celebration. See below for a brief history on "galettes des rois" en France.* Also see below for a picture of our little pre-dinner gathering to celebrate this tradition: Continuing with my résumé...

16/17 (vendredi, samedi/friday, saturday): Not too much too report; did some walking around, went out with some of the new Americans...as previously written, went to my first FC Nantes football game.

18: Sunday, as today is, was quite slow. Saw "Burn After Reading" with about 5 other Americans, and thoroughly enjoyed it. The six of us were about the only ones laughing during certain moments, as it was shown in what is called, "Version originale," so it was in English with French subtitles. Oh, what is lost in translation, honestly, is sometimes the funniest joke or innuendo...

19: Courses begin! I'm taking the following this semester:

FR473: Grammar/composition course at IES with the ever-famous Mme de Pous
LT345: Panorama du théâtre français
IN395: Teaching Internship (I'll be teaching English in a French préparatoire twice a week, a prep-school for the Grandes Écoles en France = ooh la la:)
PO340: La France et les États-Unis au Moyen-Orient depuis 1945: convergences et divergences (France and the Middle East since 1945)
HS/RL342: Religion, Société et Etat dans la France moderne (XXe siècle)-->Religion, Society, and the State in Modern France, 20th century)

I'm really looking forward to this semester, and I've resolved to be more organized. Part of this resolution evolved from my experience at the French university last semester, where I felt sort of like a needle in a haystack, not paid to much attention by my French professors, and even less by my fellow French students. Thus I'm sort of confining myself to the IES institute for courses, as I believe it will force me to be more diligent with my studies and that means becoming more adept at FRENCH.

This post is getting a big obnoxious in length, so look for Part II of Epically Slow Sunday above...:)

*A king cake (sometimes rendered as kingcake or kings' cake) is a type of cake associated with the festival of Epiphany in the Christmas season in a number of countries, and in other places with Mardi Gras and Carnival. It's very popular here in France, but also in Belgium and Switzerland, Portugal, and Spain.The cakes have a small trinket (often a small plastic baby, sometimes said to represent Baby Jesus--imgaine that, a little plastic Jesus) inside, and the person who gets the piece of cake with the trinket has various privileges and obligations--that is, if he doesn't choke in his efforts to win the prize. :-p

19/1: Classes commencent!

2009-01-19T04:28:00.000-08:00

This weekend was a bit blurry, but incredible all the same. A brief resume:

17/1: Attended my first ever FC Nantes football match. In European terms, football = soccer, hence the keeping with the culture in which I'm living. It was wicked fun, sitting with all the hooligans and crazily loyal fans, trying to shout French swear words while not getting on anyone's nerves. I went to the match with some of the new American crowd, who are just as jovial as can be, and truly had a lovely time. See below for evidence of a truly cross-cultural photo:

Note the French dude behind us, holding his cigarette in his Frenchiest way. God bless him.

After the match, we headed to the beloved Webb Ellis, a welch bar in the centre ville. The tram ride there could NOT have been more crowded, but Charles le Roi and I made it work. En ville, I met up with Jérôme and Guillaume, my two lovely, lovely French friends, and another good buddy, Alex, whose brother, Chris, was visiting. Laughing and bantering in French and in English, the night sped past us...time seems to do that when one is enjoying the company so much:

Pete, Charles, me, and Alex :) Guillaume, Alex, Jérôme, and Charles

Put me home quite late...and sooo worth it.

18/1: On this sunny Sunday in France, I rolled up and out of bed around noon. After a nice little lunch with the host fam, where I understood almost everything that was said, I trotted on down the lane chez les Jagneau, where Dina, the new American where Imin used to live, was hanging out, and invited her over "for a brew" (thanks, English folk). We ended up heading downtown to meet up with some others, and spontaneously decided to go see "Burn After Reading," the new Coen brothers film with George Clooney and Brad Pitt. INCREDIBLE film, go see it ASAP. Then it was back on home to dîner with the host fam, and organize some papers to get ready for the first week of classes.

19/1: Ok, so the day has been pretty much a RUN-DOWN so far:
7h35: Alarm sounds.
7h40: Get up.
8h08: Dressed and ready, descend from my room to grab a couple clementines before dashing out the door.
8h15: Catch #56 bus vers Malakoff to get to the IES center for my 9h00 grammar class.
9h00: La grammaire avec Mme de Pous! Oh, how her steely blue eye-shadow makes my knees weak.
10h00: Finish with Mme's class. Computer lab. Chicken marbella recipe copied down because the silly printer isn't working. Made some Easymac (thank you BETH!) and trotted out the door.
11h15ish: At Marché Plus, the local little grocer, where I bought fixings to make an extravagant meal this evening for my host family.
12h00ish: Arrive back at host fam abode. Run into host mama and Vianney, little host bro. Find out that host mama has ALL missing ingredients for chicken marbella. Washed over with sense of relief.
12h30ish: Lunch with host mama and Vianney. Fish sticks, rice, peppers, salad, tea. Good stuff.
13h30ish: Help clear the table with host mama.
14h00: Currently blogging and thinking about how I need to go make the chicken marbella so that it can marinate properly for a good five hours before dinner.

WHEW!

I also learned a lovely French expression today that is somewhat intriguing...when something is too salty, as Vianney thought the salad was at lunch today, one asks the chef/person who made the too-salty food, "Es-tu amoureux?" meaning, "Are you in love?" This might not strike the logical chord immediately, but then Vianney explained, "Because when you're in love, your eyes aren't on the salad, and your brain is somewhere else, so you just let the salt fall onto the plate..."

Ah-ha, Frenchees. Touché.

16/1: Around the corner!

2009-01-16T10:59:00.000-08:00

I've turned the semester mark, and 'oy, does it feel bon!

After a three and half week hiatus from Franceland in the absolutely lovely England, I've returned to Nantes with a fresh dose of perspective. Getting some distance from the French made me realize just how much I love them, but how much I need some space sometimes. As in any relationship, balance is really key, and I feel like I'm finally finding that in my French life, be it with my host family, my time at the fac (the French university is called "faculté," aka, the "fac"), with American friends, and with the French ones.

Today I have a rendez-vous around 17h00 (5:00pm) with the parents of a lovely little French boy, Paul, who is 10 years old and in want of an English tutor. So in addition to my other extra-curriculars, which include babysitting two little Frenchees on Thursday and Friday afternoons, tutoring a French high schooler once a week, and hosting the Convo Club at IES for the French/American Alliance, this will add another 10-12 euros to my plate. Score, baguette-mula!

Then this evening, I'm going to a French football match (aka, soccer) to see Nantes versus Bordeaux. We're (Nantes) supposed to lose, as Bordeaux is apparently particularly brilliant, but on verra (we'll see).

On a funnier note, my host-Papa is currently in my salle de bain, fixing the toilette. No, I didn't break it, it's just extremely old, and as all the toilets in France are, quite delicate. Sort of comical. :-p

Behold, a pic from my mini-trip to Dublin whilst I was in England, when I finally made it to the Dublin Writer's Museum:
I was thrilled!!

Signing off now so I can get prête (ready) for my rdv (rendez-vous) à 17h00. À toute à l'heure! (Later!)

xxx
juju

31/12: Lost email, found sentiments...

2008-12-31T07:55:00.000-08:00

In an email that I wrote to a good friend of mine, I spilled my guts...this was right around the middle of November...thought it would do well for the blog. Below is a picture of some of the people I mention in my heart-poured-out email:

Alex, Guillaume and moi at a lunch at Jerome's house

Addressed to a Mr. Clark, I describe how I was feeling one Sunday afternoon after spending time with some young French people:

"...I've really come over to this side of the ocean in the emotional sense...I've grounded myself, I know I'm not going home for Christmas, and so I've gotten in this great mindset about it. As my American family is prepping to leave, I find myself praising the high heavens that I decided to stay for a year, because with all the challenges France has posed, be they cultural differences or host brothers or language barriers or gah-whatever-else, it is FRANCE, and the little-Julie-girl inside me who dreamed about being here her whole life is finally out and playing under the Christmas lights that are all over. I don't know if you had a Marché Noël à Lyon, mais ici, il y a une place, Place Royale, où il y a un carrousel et plusieurs petits magasins, desquels on peut acheter du vin, du noisettes, des cadeaux...c'est formidable.

The air here really is just magical. So don't worry too much about me...I'm finding some good ways to appreciate France. En fait, last night, I met some amazing Frenchees. I have this friend, Jérôme, who studied abroad in Virginia for a semester and has this American girlfriend, Paige:). I met him when I was at this English-club night at a bar the Americans frequent. Well last night, sur facebook, he randomly asked me what I was up to, and as it was 8pm and I had no plans, I said I was "libre." After some crêpes en ville with a couple girlfriends, we met up at Place Graslin (this is a popular meeting spot, right in the center of downtown) and we walked to his friend's house.

Trev, it was like a movie.

I walk into this house, which was right off one of the main drags of the downtown area. It was dimly lit but not too dark, and Jérôme took my coat. To the left was a huge salon, in which 2 boys were playing P.E.S. (Pro-Evolution Soccer) and big squashy furniture surrounded them. Ceilings must have been at least 15 feet high. Then J and I walked over to the kitchen where 6-7 French peeps were just casually sitting around a table with cards and drinks, some smoking. J introduced me, and one of the girls started going a million-miles-a-minute with me, and I had to stop her, to which she responded, "Mais tu n'es pas française?" Warmed my heart.

SO the rest of the evening, I discover little things about each one of these French people. Victor, the lovely gentleman whose house we were occupying, is a direct descendant of Manet, the French painter. He has his friends over on the weekends in this GIGANTIC house. Really sweet kid, though I feel bad for him that he never gets to be with his 'rents. I don't know why, but I finally felt like I was making progress, like my French was actually coming out of me before I had time to wrap it up inside my head and put a ribbon on it, you know? I was saying words that I had no idea I knew how to say, which astonished me. But it was absolutely FANTASTIC. I had gone all on my own--with a charged cell phone, enough money for a cab, and a couple girlfriends who knew where I was, even though I knew Jérôme was cool--and put myself out of my comfort zone, and it WORKED. It was so REWARDING to meet people who opened themselves up to me and who are FRENCH. I told them numerous times that they were absolutely lovely, and Camille, the only other girl who was there, told me that I was "trop mignonne" and "super" and told me we just had to see each other again, squealing with delight when she found out I was here until May.

I think the thing was that they were celebrating me, asking me questions about American songs and what I really think about French culture and wanting to know why I came to France and all the while making me feel so welcome. There was even this cute little one, aw merde I forget his name...anyway, he's gay, and I taught him how to moonwalk to Michael Jackson's "Billy Jean" at one point. When I finally left at 3am, accompanied home by Jérôme, who is such the gentleman, Victor told me I was leaving too soon, and that I simply had to come over for movie-night tomorrow. We all bisous-ed and I was so grateful for the entire thing.

WHERE HAVE THESE PEOPLE BEEN??? It's like I was in a desert, lost, seeking French companionship, because that's the ENTIRE reason I came here, to learn FRENCH, and it's not going to happen if I don't find French friends. I don't know if this will flourish into a deep, lasting thing, but I have a good feeling about it."

Oh, wowza.

31/12: Last of 2008...a look back

2008-12-31T07:03:00.000-08:00

Cliche, I know, but necessary.

Suddenly, I'm struck with some horrible guilt for not blogging more, for not keeping better track of my experience in Nantes from September to December. For 3.5 months, I certainly have been working on my French and such, but I feel a little underaccomplished in terms of what I saw, what I did, who I met...so this blog is more personal therapy than anything else to try and assuage my consternation:

September:
- arrive at Charles de Gaulle International Airport in Paris
- had met about 6 other American students coming to study abroad in France--wicked
- waited for Maddie at airport for about 4 hours--enough time to freak out and calm down
- whisked away to Steph's house, French contact through Maddie
- ate oysters for the first time in my life
- encountered IES: met Mme Rouchet, Monsieur de Berringer, etc.
- met Mme Renaud: Imin was first real friend at IES, were carried off to host families together on rue Claude Monet (even remember that Mme Renaud was wearing a turquoise and brown outfit...scarf, ballet flats...)
- was introduced to the house...sunny day out, saw bedroom, walked behind house in boulevard
- talked about having open communication
- set up shop in room, unpacked
- had dinner with Quentin, Olivier, Gauthier, Vianney, M. Renaud, and host mama; all for the first time, absolutely petrified
- after dinner: helped clear dishes, and sort of fuzzy on the rest
- whisked off to Vannes for orientation
- Vannes: other americans, silly ice-breakers, beginning to see just how little French I actually knew, Mercure hotel, great food, jet-lag, language placement tests, roomed with Maddie, Salsa Latina, fortresses, castles, Rochefort, another little village, too much bus time, rain, first impressions
- back to host families--AWKWARD first week...terribly ill from too much wine/cookies/meat/awesomely rich French food
- IES intensive orientation week, tired, mock-classes, mock-homework, ditching with Maddie and drinking cafe cremes at Moliere
- starting to get to know people
- signed up for classes
- learned way around Nantes a little bit
- conversation club with other frenchees
- signed up for classes
- attended University of Nantes classes: first class, Translation: nervously waiting outside classroom, speaking English and being a spectacle
- opened French bank account
- began carte de sejour process
- meshed with host family...movies, outings, trip to La Baule
- start tutoring Lea, young French student, with English lessons

October:
- full-swing into classes at the fac and at IES
- book report for Mme de Pous
- european conference where I was a translator for the day and met some lovely people (Sara, Per, Frenchees...Paul and I got free dinner at Lieu Unique)
- birthday celebration at the house: big dinner with everyone on the Saturday after my birthday
- trip to Tours, Chateaux de la Loire (3 castles: Chenonceau, Amboise, et a B-named one that we didn't visit because Grandma was tired and Maddie and I were thirsty)
- peanut butter and oreos
- fantabulous gift from Mamabear to aid with expenses
- amazing package arrives from Andrea and Robyn
- numerous cards from family, so helpful and nice
- attend first rugby match (free tickets from Ludo,Webb Ellis)
- attended conference on the differences between Obama and McCain given by French professor from the Sorbonne
- bought 12/25 card
- need to go out more
- begin meshing more with IES peeps
- whining a LOT about wanting French friends
- Musee de Beaux Arts for Art History classes
- discovering nightlife in Nantes
- secured job with Madame Bonneau for babysitting
- French/American Alliance Conversation Club animator job!
- begin really navigating public transportation system
- Halloween

November:
- trip to Paris with Em, Molly, and Hannah
- see post about Paris trip: Tour Eiffel, le Louvre, Champs-Elysee, Notre Dame, Arc de Triomphe, Quartier Latin
- difficult couple of weeks with many, many papers due
- Yoann, library, good friends, lots of cups of coffee
- fun weekends, IES people, Imin coffee dates, ditching Voltaire and being a bad-ass
- sense some significant improvement in French skill level
- met Jerome, Guillaume, Leo. starting to get in the groove with some French peeps
- Thanksgiving banquet
- theater piece presented by everyone...great fun

December:
- wrapping up semester
- people mentally checked out, seriously
- dates with Leo: La Cigale, cute little cafe by the Marche Noel, cooked dinner chez lui, Le Menteur (play at a theater called Le "T")
- freezing cold class for l'histoire de l'art with Mme Josse...Christine and I were partners
- preparation for finals
- crazy library days at IES
- marche plus
- aperatif chez Mme de Pous
- lunch at Jerome's
- lunch with Alex
- missed the last little good-bye thing at IES due to babysitting/wanting to say bye to Imin
- left the 20th for England
- Christmas in England, spent two days in Wales visiting Jayne's relatives
- flu
- enjoying just being around
- blogging an attempt to remember 3.5 months in France

GOALS FOR NEXT SEMESTER:
- visit more historic places around Nantes, like the Natural History Museum or Theatre Graslin
- travel to the south of France: Aix en Provence, Marseilles, Nice
- go to Paris at least once more (see Regina, Chelsia, and Emily)
- find a yoga studio and sign up for classes
- enroll at the gym at U. of Nantes
- continue babysitting, tutoring, and convo club
- do teaching internship ("stage pedagogique")
- focus more on classes; build in some more library time
- English will be spoken ONLY on Sundays...that means no skyping, no talking to friends/family if it means doing it in English--no IES English
- no complaining about speaking French or having it be difficult...it was my CHOICE and now I want to celebrate it
- talk more randomly, improvise more
- study grammar on a weekly basis (versus CRAMMING...do more practice exercises)
- pick up a dance class, like Tango or something, at the fac...get Yoann to do it, too, or something
- save more money
- eat out 2 times during the week to reserve 1 meal for Saturday and 1 meal for Sunday (Sunday night, especially)
- send more postcards back home to Mom & Andi, sisters, Dece & Michelle, Beth, Andrea, Robyn, and Laura
- send postcard to Regina in Rome, to Steph/Mara in Chicago
- BLOG 2x/week here, 2x/week for Examiner, 1x/week for LUC

Will add more goals as they come to me...WHEW I feel better. :)

29/12: Dreamt in French, in England

2008-12-29T02:32:00.000-08:00

What gives?

A real snapshot I took of my brain last night.

Does it take leaving France-land to dream in such a beloved language?

Apparently.

Last night, though I can't quite recall the context, I dreamt that I caught a cab in order to get home from some sort of outing. As I climbed into the back seat, the driver began some banter with me, and somehow worked in, "I'm from Pakistan."* It was like my dream-self, wondering at where his accent was from, answered my dream-self with the driver's auditory response.

So we drove on.

But after a couple more words, I started to just sense that in fact, his accent was French. So I answered, "D'accord," instead of "Alright," and it began.

The next bit of conversation is sort of pushed too far into my cerebellum now, but I distinctly remember that I spoke French in my dream. I remember saying, "Est-ce qu'il y a?" and "Mais non, mais non..."

Now, I have been in a cab a couple of times in France and I've spoken with the driver--but OOH LA LA I have NEVER DREAMT in French.

Go figure that I had to leave the country for it to kick in.

After some very relaxed google browsing, lasting all of 10 minutes, there does not appear to be any conclusive evidence that dreaming in another language bears some kind of great significance. One blogger who surfaced mentioned that she'd dreamed in French and had never even been to France.

Bloody wench.

The point is, the directors of my program in Nantes (IES), Mme Rouchet and M. de Berringer, have both told me that dreaming in French is an excellent sign, and shows that the brain is really absorbing everything into a more permanent realm.

So bugger off, google.

*Last night, while catching a quick pint at the Rose&Crown, in conversation I made a remark like, 'Terrible what's going on with Israel and Pakistan on the Gaza strip right now,' and obviously my dream-self was feeling the reverberations of that.

27/12: Juu-Juu and the crackin' Brits (oops, Welch;)

2008-12-27T15:47:00.000-08:00

Imagine it.

An eight-year-old British boy trots up to you, eyes as bright as a Taco-Bell sign at 3am, and cries,

"JUU-JUU, CAN I PUT THIS IN THE RUBBISH BIN FOR YUU?"

All the extra u's have been added to emphasize the accent.

Such has been my life for the past week as I've been so lucky to be in England over the holidays. Jayne, my Welch fairy godmother, invited me to stay with her when my host family was not available* and we've been having a cracking time.** From a hike to visiting the downtown area of Manchester, to eating at the Rose&Crown, the local pub, to relative-house hopping, to drinking and being merry--all has gone swimmingly here across the pond.

Save: getting the flu.

Ok, so I've been hacking up a lung and sort of semi-conscious, but I've had so much love around me--and some even sent from a land far, far away that Europeans call "the States." I quite like saying that, actually. Helps me fit in.***

A few Britishisms I've learnt (<--note that this blog is in keeping with my current cultural context):

quid = bucks
knackered = tired, exhausted
pavement = sidewalk
pecking = nagging
pillock = idiot
tosser = wanker = hope you can figure it out
mythering = bothering
fuzz = police (if you haven't seen Hot Fuzz, rent it. NOW.)
a slash = a wee = a piss = a pee (ok, I added pee for the rhyme, lame, I know)
jumper = sweater
knickers = underwear
to go for a fag = go for a cigarette (yes, I've adequately warned the Brits of the dangers of carrying this across the pond should they visit)
goosed = tired (again)
takes the biscuit = takes the cake
hair of the dog = the drink you have the morning after to try to cure the hangover. Don't ask. leathered = drunk
stuffed = full
scram = food
tidy = neat, nice, someone goodlooking: "Oy, mate, see thar...ain't she mighty tidy?"/"Hey, dude, check it, she's hot, don'tchya think?"
bob on = spot on, the best
sound as a pound = fit as a fiddle

There are loads more super inappropriate ones, but I really like my blog domain and thus I'm restraining myself. And I don't need the wee ones coming up to me like, "JUU-JUU, WHY'D YOU WRITE RUBBISH ON YOUR WEBSITE?"

Bless their wee, lovely, tidy, British/Welch little hearts. ~

*Father, forgive them, they know not what they do. They're just French.
**cracking=amazing, fabulous, awesome, genial, super, top, fantastique, lovely, ace, etc. ***Because that's really the only difference between me and Europeans.

13/12: It's been one month since my last blog, and these are my sins...

2008-12-13T00:46:00.000-08:00

M. et Mme Hill, who had me over for dinner and you know, served this fish. Like holy vache.

SO.

Michael, this one's for you.

Just kidding, it's for me, too, but honestly, thank you for lighting the fire under me to write--it HAS been far too long. The good thing from that issue, though, is that at least I'm out in the world of the French, and not sitting in my room blogging. Hein, hein?* For example, the lovely pictures of les Hills was taken at a dinner at their house, where I had some of the most incredible French food, including...drumroll...escargot.

But it's not all fun and snails. November was a bit of a tough-ee. I had many different papers/assignments that sort of all came up and smacked me in the face, like, "In France there's homework, too!" So I was a bit tendue (pulled, strained) for a time there. Just having finished my grammar final yesterday, I'm feeling a lot better as I go into next week with just two finals in L'histoire de l'art and Traducation (my translation class).

After Paris, I have spent my weekends here in Nantes, for the combined reason of wanting to do so and not having the budget capacity to do otherwise. And it has been lovely.

For Thanksgiving, IES** held a formal banquet at a beautiful restaurant in downtown Nantes, and the host families and students gathered together in an effort to honor our beloved American holiday. The students were able to combat any mal du pays (homesickness) with the lovely French vin (figure that one out:) and the Frenchees were happy to hear why we basically just stuff ourselves silly for this holiday.

Aside from the fact that I was dreaming about running down the stairs of 16523 Pine Street and hearing the sink go on, seeing my mother in some sort of Puerta-Vuerta dress-thingy***, and being told to empty the dishwasher (you know homesick is bad when you start wishing your mom could tell you to do chores), I enjoyed Turkey-day here in Franceland. Thank goodness for Skype-video capabilities.

The last few weeks have honestly been filled with studying--hahah, PSYCHE. No but really, they've been filled with school, babysitting, tutoring, the French-American alliance convo club I lead, more school, dinner with my host family, seeing American friends, but even more exciting--making FRENCH friends. Look, a real live French friend, Guillaume, is pictured below:

It's said that French friends only smile the Mona-Lisa smile around blue-shirts.

I've recently come to have what we Americans dub as "acquaintances," though my French comrades I'm sure wouldn't quite get that concept. A lovely lot, Guillaume, Jérôme, Camille, Victor, Thibault, Léo, Max...even last night while out at the beloved Webb Ellis, a welsch bar downtown, I met some really cool French girls who are studying design and planning on going to New York in a year and are just dying for a cool American girl to be cool with and speak English and oh mon dieu!

:)

So for now, that's a bit of an update, and I am sorry for not being more diligent with this. Being abroad has thrown me a bit in terms of my ridiculously over-stringent organizational skills--I'll let you be the judge of whether that's a good or a bad thing.

Next Saturday I leave for Liverpool to visit Jayne and the little ducks for the holidays! Ouais!!!

Grosses bises pour tout le monde,
juju

*Pronounced "eh eh" with a slightly nasal French accent.
**International Education for Students, the program I'm studying through (you should really know what this is by now, if you're a loyal reader...though I haven't really been giving you material to which you can be loyal...ok anyway).
***Inside family joke.

13/11: An American in Paris!

2008-11-13T04:06:00.000-08:00

Finally.

I made it to Paris.

This past weekend, from November 7-11, I was en vacances from school, so I hopped on the TGV and headed to Paris with my good friend, Emily. There, I met up with Molly and Hannah, two dear Loyola friends who've known me since freshman year, who are studying abroad in Rome this semester. We were so thrilled to meet up and find each other, let alone to be in the city of love and of lights.

The itinerary (in chronological order):

Friday: Le Tour Eiffel--we went up right at dusk, and the view was super:After reaching the top and taking trop de photos, we headed to the Champs-Élysées, where we walked around and ate dinner. When I asked the waiter for a steak "bien fait," in an attempt to say, "well done," he winked at me and said, "bien cuit."

I will never forget it now.

Saturday: Le Louvre, Les Jardins de Tuileries, Place de la Concorde, Champs-Élysées, Paris Opéra, walking around, out at night.

Sunday: Les Jardins de Luxembourg, walking around the Latin Quartier, some metro rides, dinner, hotel.

Monday: Notre Dame, a crêpe with nutella at a café called "Esmerelda" (quite à propos, I thought;), goodbye to friends, some walking around, train ride back.

WHAT A WEEKEND!!!! OOH LA LA!

FR, 2/11: 2 Months in France!

2008-11-02T11:00:00.000-08:00

Today marks two months of my living in France.

So much has happened that I'm just going to go into bullet-mode to attempt a little résumé:

- gone to Vannes
- gone to La Baule (see recent post)
- met some amazing Americans from all over the States
- learned how to walk into a restaurant and ask for a table without being too much of an idiot
- discovered Lutti (a French candy that solves crime;)
- learned the city tram/bus system, including the night bus
- opened a French bank account
- secured a tutoring gig (12euros/heure, man!)
- adapted to my host family
- done some homework (some=not much=hardly any because it's just not necessary)
- received some amazing packages from Mom and Robyn and Andrea
- got to see Grandma Jan and Papa Martin in Tours
- PEANUT BUTTER FROM MOM
- learned some good grammar stuff
- cultivated an excellent rapport at this Welsch (is that how you spell 'Welsch'?) bar in the centre ville
- developed a penchant for wine
- bettered my table manners
- taken way too many pictures
- had a lot of up and down moments
- smoked a cigarette with French people (I know, I know, smoking kills...it was just one. Ok, two.)
- listened to and also whined with my friends
- tried to get a carte de séjour
- had the best food of my life
- booked a ticket to Paris (5 days, I'm going!!!)

There is so much more, but my host bro, Quintin, just poked his head in and said, "À table!" which means, "Come eat!" So I have to jet! More soon, Mom, je te promets! :D

BISOUS!!
-juj

FR, 2/11: I know it's been awhile...here's a b-day recap!

2008-11-02T10:58:00.000-08:00

(Ok, I know I owe you all a decent blog, but for now, here's a copy from my Examiner blog:):

If you're a student who knows you'll be celebrating your birthday, no matter what age, in the country where you will be studying, be sure to do it up right.

Whether that means hanging out with your American comrades or your newfound foreign friends (or a "melange" of both, as I did), don't let your birthday go by without celebrating. For me, my birthday triggered some very profound homesickness, a longing for my own mom and dad, my sisters, my aunts, my friends: for the people who have truly known me. It can be overwhelming to realize that you're passing a milestone in your life without those around you who have been there for some many others.

Luckily, I have amazing, amazing opportunities here.

Not only did my host family, the Renauds, prepare a beautiful dinner of chicken, pementos, salad, cheeses, wine, and chocolate cake for dessert, they gave me a gorgeous set of earrings and a French novel. The night of my birthday, after this lovely "repas," I met up with some of my American buddies downtown and we went dancing. People brought me candy, little chocoloate French pastries, flowers, champagne...and I was so overwhelmed with happiness by their thoughts, their time, and their expression of affection for me. For it is that which one really misses when one is homesick, I think: that familiarity, that powerful love, that easiness that comes from relationships you've had all your life.

On TOP of all that, my host parents let me invite about 8 of my friends over for a big dinner on the weekend after my birthday to celebrate again.

The bottom line is not to toot my own horn, here. It is merely to underscore the importance of celebrating YOU, celebrating your life, no matter if you're in the States, France, Chile, or India: take a little time to relish those around you and the fact that for what will probably be one of the only times in your life, your birthday is taking place across the globe.

Merci, encore, to all who made my birthday incredibly special, including my friends and family back home who sent me cards, gifts, and their love and affection.

4/10: Déjeuner à La Baule

2008-10-05T11:13:00.000-07:00

This Saturday, it was off to the beautiful town of La Baule for a lunch with some friends of my host parents, les Roberts. After about an hour, we reached the sea. That's right. The Atlantic-freakin'-ocean. Incroyable:

If you look closely, you can see the evidence on the sign.

It was one of the first invitations which my host parents had extended to me, so I was delighted to accept. Les Roberts are actually related to my host family--Monsieur Renaud is the son of Monsieur Robert's uncle, or cousin...or something...didn't quite catch it, but don't worry, they're related--and so they were incredibly welcoming right from the start.

The stereotype out there is that French people are somewhat arrogant, or cold, and part of this comes from the reality that the French do not smile the way that Americans do. But it's not because they're not happy or lovely people--it's a sign of respect of a person's privacy not to smile at them, I've learned.

Not so with les Roberts, which was just fine with me. :)

After just a few minutes with them, I saw how warm, how chalant, they were, and how much they appreciated my effort with their beautiful language. I thanked them numerous times for their understanding of my errors. But really, what was more important this Saturday was that I was completely immersed in French culture, from speaking it all day only with French people to spending time in their presence, eating and drinking and talking. The French meal consists of numerous parts: l'apératif, the little bons-bons before the meal, the salad, the wine, the bread, the main course, the side dish, the wine, the dessert, the wine, un café...it's wonderful. It draws out the experience of meeting people, of being with them in a completely unique way because for those two or three hours, the world and all its responsibilities have melted away, and you're learning about that person, about that day, about your own self.

You coud just feel their convivial spirits, their smiles, the tone of voice, even the body language, the way they were situated--his arm crossing in front of her in such a familiar way that can only come after years of togetherness.

A pic of us (minus Nathalie, my host mom, who took the pic) together:
After a two-hour long walk around the town, where we did some window shopping and soaked up some sunlight, the Renauds and I prepared to leave. As we kissed the Roberts goodbye, Mme Robert told me that she was so pleased to have met me. She said:

"Je sens que tu représent bien ton pays, ma cherie. Tu as un esprit ouvert, un air ouvert, qui est très, très bien."

In translation, this means:

"I feel that you are representing your country so well, my darling. You have an open spirit, an openness about you, this is so, so good."

It felt good to hear, but more than just toot my own horn here, I'm trying to demonstrate that French people are, in fact, affectionate, loving, open people. You just have to know the keys. There isn't this level of artificial acquaintance that American culture has--and don't get me wrong, I am missing that level of acquaintances, that place where you know someone, but not too intimately, but you're still sorta nice to 'em, and it's all warm and cuddly. Recently, I've really been struggling with the absence of this level in my day-to-day French dealings, because I'm a smiley, "wear-my-heart-on-my-sleeve" kind of girl. But I've come around a bit to this French way.

They don't have the level of acquaintances because for them, why bother with people whom one doesn't know very well? Why use up energy to be nice to someone you may never see again, or with whom you have very limited interaction? Why express the strongest of exclamations and smiles for those who aren't really important? Because, when you do that, don't you diminish the quality and the potency of those times you really mean it? Save smiling, laughing, and warm and fuzzy moments for those who merit them, and then, it means something.

I felt lucky that after my perfect table manners, my attempts to speak French, my smiling, my agreeable nature, and my genuine gratitude for the day, Monsieur and Madame Robert gave me such a rave review. They even invited me to see them at their apartment in Paris, where they live most of the year, whenever I go to visit.

So, the moral of the story: he who expects the same attitude from France as he does from America may be unpleasantly surprised, but he who makes the effort, he who has patience for the stage of acquaintance to turn into the stage of friend, will truly find gems in those French with whom he interacts.

A good lesson on a sunny Saturday en France, I think.

2/10: Getting down to French business

2008-10-02T14:15:00.000-07:00

It was QUITE a day.

To start, I headed out not knowing exactly where I was going.
Me, knowing where I'm going, most of the time. Not like today.

Though that feeling is always a little unsettling, after surviving in Italy with basically zip-o language skills, I've realized that if I can at least ask, "Excusez-moi, Madame, pouvez-vous me dire..." then I'll be alright. The reason I didn't know where to go was because my L'histoire d'art class was actually held at the Musée des Beaux Arts de Nantes today.

Behold. La musée!

No big deal, just, lemme grab some breakfast and you know, go look at primary-source PAINTINGS for class.

Gee whiz it was awesome.

It was just fun to walk around the museum with my friends (I was paired up with my friend, Ben, who goes to Santa Clara, who also loves art) and look at the art and analyze it. The hour and a half flew past me. I had one of those moments come over me like, "Am I really here, in France, in CLASS in an ART MUSEUM like this, and my prof is FRENCH and she's speaking FRENCH?"

Then my friend Moy and I headed to Marché Plus, a little grocery store, for the week's cours. For 16.92 euros, I bought:

- Camembert (si important)
- a box of spaghetti
- spaghetti sauce
- a frozen pizza
- a package of 2 quiches lorraines
- those AMAZING Bien Mention cookies
- raspberry jam (Bonne Maman:)
- a baguette
- a 4-pack of yogurt
- a can of peas
- a pack of 2 slices of turkey

Excellently bought, I thought. Then Moy and I headed back to IES for lunch. Afterward, Mads and I headed to the SNCF station to get our 12/25 cards and our Tours tickets--81 euros, but cela vaut la peine. We actually ran into Magalie, a really sweet French girl whom we met through Mads's friend Steph, and tomorrow we're meeting up with her and some of her friends to boire un verre. Yippee!

After the train ticket excursion, I went back to IES and worked at the bibliothèque for une heure. At 16h00, I headed out to go and fetch Antoine, the little French boy I am now babysitting for on Thursdays and Fridays, from school. He was absolumment adorable! Après Antoine, I picked up Emma from her day-care center, and a quick 20 minutes later, Mme Bonneau was home! Just in time, I headed back to IES for the Club de Conversation that I lead for the French/American Alliance. It's a club of French adults who are enrolled in this association that sponors intercultural events with French and American people, so I get to exercise my English machine once a week WITH some Frenchees. Chouette, eh? :-p

I had printed out an article about the debate between Madame Palin and Monsieur Biden going on at WashU tonight, but before we dove into conversation about the elections, I had each one of them go around and introduce themselves (in English) and describe where they were from and what they were currently doing: working, retired, kids, grandkids, whatevs. It felt like I was back on old turf, like giving a tour of campus, except we didn't move and I was in France. :) But you know what I mean. At the end, they all thanked me profusely, and as we switched our conversation back into French, and the scales shifted from my favor to theirs (yet again), I realized just how cool the hour had been, because even though we walked out speaking French, I felt like I had gotten to be myself with some French people, like we really got to know each other a little bit, and I realized how lucky I feel to be able to at least basically function en français.

During the conversation, we touched on a lot of info about the elections. I asked the six French adults I had in front of me what their thoughts were about the elections and what their thoughts were about American culture in general. When I asked the latter question, one woman thoughtfully replied something like this:

"I find that when I am with French people, and we talk about America, that the French often criticize the American way of life. But the reality is that though the French criticize the life, they want it for themselves all the same!"

Very, very interesting.

I found myself working to keep my personal opinion out of the conversation and continually turn things that I might have reacted to negatively into calm questions. This worked quite effectively, and by the end, we'd had a lovely hour of practicing English together, and one of them told me, "A friendly atmosphere--that's what we're looking for!" which made my heart all full of puppies dancing in front of rainbows and sunshine.

Then I took the 56 bus home, vers Hermeland, hopping off at Poincaré, mon arrêt, and walked the four minutes it takes me to get to Rue Claude Monet (do I REALLY live on this street? YES. :D).

Then it was à table pour dîner, where I found out that Vianney will be going to England for a week, and staying with a host family and everything, and when he was talking about how nervous he was, I was like, "T'inquiete pas!!! Je peux t'aider, vraiment. Tout se passerent bien...si je peux le faire, tu peux le faire aussi!" and he said, "Mais ce n'est pas pareil!"

Oh, Vianney. :-p Welcome to my life all the time.

28/9: La messe avec ma famille d'accueil et les biscuits!

2008-10-01T16:14:00.000-07:00

No, not like KFC biscuits.

"Les biscuits" means "cookies" en français, et en fait, after mass today, I baked chocolate-chip cookies for my host family as a sort of thank-you/I said I would do this when I got here/Please God let them turn out ok type gift-thing.

My second mass with my host family, this morning we headed out around 10:45am (10h45) for 11h00 mass. Though, actually, we left closer to 10h55, and arrived à l'église around 11h05. I've noticed that French people don't really consider "on-time" to be "late" the way we do in the States--if anything, showing up on time is sort of shocking (étonnant) for the waiting party, since it's just sort of assumed that you'll be rather late. Or, not even "late," but, "à l'heure." QUAND-MÊME...(ANYWAY...)

Saint Nicolas is this gorgeous cathedral located right in the heart of the centre ville (centre ville = downtown) of Nantes, and I feel so lucky to be going with my family. It's a nice time to just be together without talking (and when I say talking, I mean that they talk and I bumble), to find a little time to just "be." See a pic of the cathedral below:
Not kidding, this is where I go to mass on Sundays. For realio.

After mass, we had a nice lunch at the house and then I made the chocolate chip cookies. THEN, my friend, Imin, this beautiful young woman who is actually from Chicago, too, and lives just three doors down from me, popped over to say hello and invite me over to do some homework in her host family's sun room, an invitation I natually accepted. After cleaning the kitchen and sampling some of the fruits of my labor, I headed over to Imin's to do some intense grammar exercises and write an essay for my Traduction (translation) class.

It was a restful, peaceful, wonderful Sunday. A little God, a little chocolate, a little sun, a little homework, a little verre du vin avec dîner...what more do you want? :)

I've just begun to really adapt to this notion of absolutely shutting down on Sundays. In fact, the French planner I've been using doesn't even have Sunday as a day on the weekly calendar. Like, not even PLANNERS allow to plan stuff for Sunday. Everyone just withdraws into their homes to be with their loved ones and family members. It's beautiful. On the drive back from mass, the sun was bright and shining, and I saw young families walking with picnic baskets towards Parc de Procé, the park just by my house, and little kids running around--but everyone is together, just to be, just to pass time.

Methinks we Americans should take this Sunday-day-of-rest-thing out of the Frenchee's book. :)

27/9: Mont Saint Michel

2008-10-01T15:12:00.000-07:00

Today, I visited the majestic Mont Saint Michel!

A mere couple of hours away from Nantes, this 1300-year old edifice is quite impressive. After an early morning wake-up call and some sleepy time on the bus, we finally arrived. This the pic I snapped from the bus window before happily pushing my way into the fresh sea air.

I had the chance to visit during the anniversary of Mont Saint Michel--this year, en fait, il a 1300 ans! Pretty historic and cool, je sais. We students climbed up to the main abbaye, where you can overlook the edge and see nothing but swampy wetlands that become covered over with water when the tides come in. It really was breath-taking (see below).

The experience of climbing the steps of the abbey was truly overwhelming. The spiritual idea of Mont Saint Michel is that it erected in honor of the glory of God, and that as one ascends its steps, one ascends in one's own spiritual enlightenment and understanding. It really becomes an individual experience.

Here is what some French writers have said about MSM:

" l'abbaye escarpée, poussée là-bas, loin de terre,
comme un manoir fantastique, stupéfiante comme
un palais de rêve, invraisemblablement étrange et belle "
Guy de Maupassant

" Au Mont et alentours les heures du paysage
sont toutes de belles heures. Le ciel agrandit les grèves,
et les grèves paraissent agrandir le ciel."
Emile Bauman

" Le Mont-Saint-Michel apparaît (...) comme une chose sublime, une pyramide merveilleuse."
Victor Hugo, 1865

Vraiment, their sentiments echoed with me during my visit. Though I didn't have a guided tour, I discovered, alongside the other Americans, why MSM is so mysteriously overpowering. It's position gives it a true sense of grandeur, of a looming power. It's between the earth and the sky in a way that no structure is situated in the States. It was absolutely gorgeous.

To be hyper-cool, I've decided to give you a little summary of the Mont en français:

Le Mont-Saint-Michel^[1] est une commune française située dans le département de la Manche et la région Basse-Normandie. Elle tire son nom d’un îlot rocheux dédié à saint Michel où s’élève aujourd’hui l’abbaye du mont Saint-Michel.

L’architecture du Mont-Saint-Michel et sa baie en font le site touristique le plus fréquenté de Normandie et le deuxième de France (après l'Île-de-France) avec plus de 3 000 000 visiteurs chaque année^[2] (3 250 000 en 2006 ^[3]). Une statue de saint Michel placée au sommet de l’église abbatiale culmine à 170 mètres au-dessus du rivage. Classé monument historique en 1874, le site figure depuis 1979 sur la liste du patrimoine mondial de l’UNESCO.

Ses habitants sont appelés les Montois.

Thanks, Wiki.

24/9: La Crêperie Charmante

2008-09-24T16:00:00.000-07:00

Crêpe chocolat maison.
Need I say more?

Today was a magnificently busy day. Quick itinerary:

- went to carte de séjour meeting with billions of documents (the word "bureaucracy" has French roots for a freakin' reason)
- stamped back to photo-place for reimbursement for incorrect carte de séjour pics--got 'em taken again GRATUITE--victory
- back to l'hôtel to give correct pics
- CRÊPERIE WITH MADDIE! huge splurge, totes worth it--2 hour lunch--brilliant--def going back
- returned chez moi
- went for a run in Parc de Procé
- showered, changed
- back onto the bus and into town
- grammar class from 16h30-17h30
- navigated self around centre ville to Madame Nathalie Bonneau's apartment where I secured a babysitting gig for thurs/fri afternoons with Antoine, 5, and Emma, 1 :D
- Monoprix: 1.86euros on candy for host brothers
- bus number 22: back chez moi
- dîner avec mes frères français (pasta, zucchini, fromage, and chocolat ENCORE pour dessert)
- some P.E.S. (french jeu de vidéo that the boys love)
- planned outing with Gauthier for demain à Place Graslin à 16h30 with REAL, LIVE French people
- devoirs
- un peu du thé
- BED
- insanely frenetic energy swarming causing me to blog at 1:07am--silly julie

WHEW!!

22/9: Wee hours, thinking, reflecting...

2008-09-21T15:55:00.000-07:00

Trying to get to sleep in the wee hours of this morning...it's proving sort of difficult. I'm thinking about school, about money, about the people I miss at Loyola, about giving tours, about Damen Hall, about curly fries...

about:

- Starbucks
- ice
- diet coke
- vending machines
- gas stations
- MIKE MCCLAIN!
- highway signs
- Barnes & Noble
- this boy:- my little sisters
- my teenage sister
- Power Ranger cultural references
- semester/the year...
- fear
- food
- gaining weight
- how I'm going for a run in the morning
- being teased in a foreign language
- blisters
- walking
- nutella
- my mom. my mommy.
- my old apartment in chicago
- how this will feel in 5 years...

Ok, I feel better.

À bien tôt!
-JF

21/9: La masse à la cathédrale et un peu du tranquillité

2008-09-21T07:40:00.000-07:00

Today marks 3 weeks that I have been living in France.

Wowza.

Nathalie, French mama et moi

This morning, I attended 11h00 mass with my host parents and my little brother, Vianney (pictured in last post). Though it was, bien sûr, all in French, I was able to follow along and it was truly incredible. The cathedral was a bit cold, but I had worn my imperméable, so I was alright. I sat next to Nathalie, who wore this bright yellow sweater and a navy polka-dot skirt...she looked right out of some sort of magazine (Mom, don't be jealous...your Porta Varta dress doesn't come close).

It was a good bonding experience with my host family, but moreover, it was just cleansing. My grandma mentioned to me once that even if I'm still not a die-hard Catholic (and who is?...oh yeah, Zio Philip...see Roma blogs...), it doesn't hurt anything to go to mass.

Certainly not.

I'm writing from my bedroom at my host family's right now, and it really is starting to feel like home. It's so much less awkward than the first week, and even though I'm still struggling with the language and with my overall new lifestyle, I am finding a way to make it work. I feel like my temperament is perfect for this family because they're incredibly easy going, rambustious, even, and full of life--and it just fits.

So far, I definitely have noticed some things about the French, though I don't want to say that these are généralités...

- In the street, one must not smile oneself into sillyness.
- French people do, in fact, buy baguettes and carry them around.
- Women and men alike ride bicycles with little baskets that can't hold anything.
- Almost everyone is perfectly dressed. Even the 10-year old girls are better dressed than me.
- Yes, they do smell--a little. Especially on the bus. But this is true of anywhere.
- They thoroughly enjoy teasing one another: my grammer prof, Madame de Pous (soon to be explained), enjoys using public humiliation in class to illustrate a point. Example: I tried to explain the meaning of a proverb in French--"Quand le chat est parti, les souris dansent," which means that when the cat's away, the mice play--by explaining the idea of a boss who works above other employees...but in French, I said "sur" for above, which means literally ON, with physical contact, at which Madame burst out laughing and said, "SUR? VRAIMENT? WOW!" Needless to say, I was a bit peeved by the Pouse-ster.
- They. talk. so. fast. Perhaps this is my own fault, and I know that I probably talk really quickly in English, but WOW they talk fast. Mince. ("Crap!")
- They eat faster. When I asked Madame Rouchet, la directrice of my program, what I should do when my French family looks at me because they've all INHALED their food before I've finished, she said, "Il faut accélérer" ("You must speed up!"). Swell.

:D

Tonight, Quintin, the 24-year old and oldest of my four brothers is coming over for dinner. So that should be lovely; I've met him before and he's very good at impersonating an American girl who says, "Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God!!!" Hilarious.

16/9: L'emploi, La banque, Ma famille...

2008-09-16T15:39:00.001-07:00

Mon petit frère français, Vianney. Adorable, n'est-ce pas?

Today was QUITE a productive day! It was certainly a "I love France" day--sometimes I am not so lucky. But things are ironing themselves out, so for that I feel very fortunate.

Nouvelles: Yesterday, I discovered a website called "Vivastreet," which is basically the French equivalent of Craig's List, and I made un petit annonce, aka a free ad, for those looking for a babysitter. After one night of my ad's publication, as of this morning I had received not 1, not 2, not 3...but 8 offers of employment from various parties! One in particular is incredibly promising, so tomorrow I have a rendez-vous with Madame Lydia Labalette and her 2 petits garçons to see if we can work something out for the entire school year. Stay tuned! Things are looking good (*crosses fingers)!

Éxpérience culturelle: Today, I opened a French bank account. With the help of my beautiful French mother, who took me to the bank, I was able to chat it up with a lovely banquier (banker man) who apparently had a couple of friends in New York and was just nuts over Al Capone and Chicago, so he waived all of my fees for opening/closing my compte. Soon, I will have a little French "carte bleu," aka an ATM card, and I'll be able to make deposits and everything! Héléne, the other woman who helped me, was wonderfully patient and explained things to me so I could understand. I am so proud that my euros are safe and sound at the bank now, instead of in my hot little hands! :)

Famille d'accueil: For those of you who don't know, "Famille d'accueil" translates to "Host family" en français. Mine is incroyable. We laugh so much, my brothers are already teasing me and semi-beating me up, it's fabulous. Tonight, Quintin, the 23-year-old who lives in Nantes but not at the house, came over for dinner, and we had a bang-up time. I feel so lucky because we're in Week 2, and I can already feel myself becoming more and more comfortable as the days continue. Stay tuned for pics!!

Love you all, and I'll write again soon! Bisous!

Enfin, FRANCE COMMENCE!

2008-09-12T12:42:00.000-07:00

Finally, I begin my posts from my new home in Nantes, France!

Rather than give you all a play-by-play of the events that have happened in the last two weeks, I'm just going to give you a little background and begin from here on out with the daily posts.

Arrival in France: 1/9/08 (because les français put the date by day, month, then year:)
After a week in Chicago filled with goodbyes, well-wishes, and working, my good friends Andrea and Robyn took me to the airport on September 1st. About 10 hours later, I landed in the Charles de Gaulle Paris airport. I was incredibly tired due to my inability to sleep well on planes (let me know if anyone can sleep well on them), but because my good friend Maddie (see below) was with me, and her french friend, Steph, picked us up, I felt taken care of right off the bat.

Arrival at IES Center: 2/9/08
After spending the night at Steph's and eating my first French meal, Maddie and I traveled to Nantes via the TGV and the tram. We finally reached the IES Center after a ridiculously long walk with our valises and a four-hour train/tram combo. We dropped off our bags and ate a delicious lunch at a local café in Nantes:
Needless to say, I was very happy to eat. This salade was trop bonne!

Weekend à Vannes: So the very first evening in Nantes, we met our host families. All the students were super nervous to meet the families with whom they would be spending the next semester or year of their lives.

I'll always remember that first night at the IES center before Nathalie Renaud came to get me. She walked in with her friend, Marie-Héléne, and my new friend, Imin, and I were waiting near the front door. The moment she entered, I felt like I knew it was her. I had emailed her some pictures of me, so she was eyeing me a bit and I felt like, "This is it!" When she asked, softly, "Julie?" I flew over to her and planted two grandes bisous on her cheeks and exclaimed, "Je suis vachement contente de faire votre connaissance!" I was nervous and excited and incredibly jet-lagged all rolled into one piece.

For the first time since landing in Paris, I was without Maddie (again, see her below) or any other americans. Nathalie let me to sa voiture and we journeyed to the house. I was just smiling a lot and saying, "Oui, oui, oui!" to combat any nerves.

Madeline Gibson is a character who will be making many appearances in my writings, as she is here for the entire year as well. She loves ice cream more than any other food group, can braid her hair in 10 seconds flat, wears big hoop earrings and scarves all the time, and when she speaks French, it sounds like she's singing, it's so beautiful:

Anyway, the evening passed very well for the first night, I think. At dinner I met Emmanuele, Monsieur Renaud, my host dad, and three of the four brothers, Quintin (24), Gauthier (20) and Vianney (15). Gauthier and Vianney are the ones who live at the house with me. I was pretty shell-shocked from the voyage, but they were all very welcoming.

There wasn't much time to worry about it, either, because the next day, I was whisked off to Vannes for the weekend with all the american students!

During this trip to Vannes, we traveled all around Bretagne. One of my favorite stops was in the little village of Rochefort:We stopped in a little shop that looked like it was straight out of Chocolat:

Though the chocolate was amazing, the weekend was somewhat of a wash.

Literally.

It rained every day we were traveling, and we were on the bus for a LONG time, but we did get to see a lot of Bretagne. Whoot!

Life in Nantes thus far: Donc, now it's getting down to the nitty-gritty of setting up shop in a brand new city. Bank account, bus pass, school meal vouchers, student ID card, registering for classes, getting to know the bus routes, walking to and from school and home every day, making friends, living with a new family, and, oh yeah: SPEAKING FRENCH while doing ALL of it!

I'm really feeling lucky to have the family that I do. They have had 11 other american girls before me, so they are incredibly habitués to having an american student. At first, I was feeling a bit outdone by this fact, because, for me, they are all so new and exciting, and it was a bit like dating someone for the first time who has had 11 other girlfriends...but then I discovered an ionic, 40-euro hair-dryer below the sink that some other girl had left that I, now, didn't need to buy, and I changed my tune a little.

Plus, this is different for them because they have ME. :-P

And I ain't no ordinary américaine.

Stay tuned! This week, I dive into la fac, the French university, begin classes, and begin the hunt for a JOB...

Grandes bisous pour tous!

Un petit déjeuner...

2008-08-11T00:09:00.000-07:00

It was lunch time at Cheesecake Factory, and boy, did it get cheesy.

Check out some stellar pics of my favorite women on the planet:

Dece and Grandma look lovely.

Maman et moi! :)

Who knows?

I'll let you decide.

Yeah, pretty much sums it up.

JUST KIDDING. Aw, feel the love. It's the two old lesbians who lived in a zoo.*

Grandma and me!

It was so awesome to be sitting at the restaurant all together, and I just couldn't help sharing. 'O Omaha, how I'll miss you and all the people in it!

*N.B. They live with five cats, a dog, and sometimes, two small, loud, squawking, hungry mammals (a.k.a., Maddie et Maya).

L.A.la Land–Definitely nothing ‘la-la’ about it

2008-07-23T11:01:00.000-07:00

Welcome to the first blog from L.A.!

Well, it is a sunny day here in the Golden State of California.

This is the view from the office where I am an intern:

From the 25th Floor. Can you see the Hollywood sign?

After blogging a couple of weeks ago about my “in-between” state while in Omaha, Nebraska, I hopped on a plane to L.A. for my summer internship. I am currently working at the Wells Fargo Building in downtown Los Angeles for a company called “California Consortium for Agricultural Export,” or “CCAE,” for short. You can visit www.ccax.com to learn more about it, but basically, it’s a private company that connects foreign investors with the government so that those investors can get their permanent residency visas, or EB-5 visas. Yesterday, I got to sit in on a meeting, and I’m learning every day about a real aspect of international business dealings–it’s amazing!

Before you jump for joy on my behalf, don’t worry–there is still plenty of fun filing to do, too. See below the station where I often work on general ledgers, spreadsheets, and other lovely accounting items:

Ooh, hard at work.

And reflecting on that blog in which I was whining about that ‘nothing-to-do’ syndrome that hits some of us, inevitably, during the summer, I see now just how wrong I was.

I feel like as I get older, with each passing year, even after each month, I am r

ealizing just how little I know. Now, that might sound rather discouraging, but allow me to elaborate. It isn’t that I’m not learning and expanding my horizons, capitalizing on current experience and feeling like I am coming into my own–I am, indeed feling like I’m doing those things. What I mean is that there is still so much to learn. Working from 7am-7pm out here in California has made me realize that this is–as funny as it sounds to say it–what grown-ups do. They don’t have those hours on hand to meet in Rambler Room or sleep through classes if they feel like it (NOT that we do that here at Loyola, oh NO, not EVER;). Play time DEFINITELY gets minimized as careers take over and building a life for yourself doesn’t revolve around building plans to go to a midnight arts festival even though you have a paper due, or making silly movies to a Kelly Clarkson song with your best friend.

Working in this way has made me realize just how lucky I am to still be young enough to be in college, to be changing my mind all the time about who I want to be, about what I want to become, about how I want to change my future. It’s a challenge, and certainly I feel so grateful

to be here–but I am craving those familiar things, those hallways of Dumbach, those faces of the people I love smiling at me as I cross campus, even those late nights at the library.

Below is a picture of me dipping my toes into the Pacific Ocean while hanging out with my friend Molly last Friday evening. The water was a bit frigid, but after a minute, I got used to it…

…kind of like growing up.

Luckily, as you can see from below, I'm not in a rush to be a grown-up. :D

Finito, Roma!

2008-07-03T13:47:00.000-07:00

It finally came time to say arrivederci, and oh, how I didn't want to say it.

All packed up to go the next morning. :(

The last night in Roma seemed to sneak up on me like an exam or a paper. I kept thinking about it during the trip, but until the day arrived, I wasn't ready for it.

The evening before we all departed, we attended a beautiful banquet at a ristorante just down Via Ballduina.

You can just make out Dr. Sergio Corsi there, enjoying some fine Italian cuisine. :)

We all cleaned up pretty nicely, too, I daresay. Here are some pics from the evening:

Nick and I pose--dashing, is he not?

We chin chin the wine provided us by LUC! ;)

Dr. Corsi and me, the beloved professore.

Dan, me, and Rob, readying to walk to dinner.

The compulsory picture of Dan making a fool out of himself.

Finally, after arriving home, I have been able to appreciate and reflect on just how incredible the time I spent in Roma really was. I was bitten by the Europa bug, it seems. Though I know that France will be a different experience from Italia, I am thrilled that I am heading back to Europe in just two months time. The people there, the nuova familia I found there, even my classes and professors, the monuments, the history...it is endless in beauty and wonder. It was the time of my life.

To all of you reading this, thank you for taking the journey with me, if only through this website. I want to thank my parents for all of their support in helping me go to Rome, and my grandmother, whose continual love and generosity, from those ballet lessons when I was three to now, as I hop around the world, has made my dreams possible.

Look for more, soon, as I journey to Los Angeles to begin an internship for the California Consortium for Agricultural Export! Check out their website at http://www.ccax.com/ for more!

Molto baci,
juju

June 16: Honoring Tim

2008-06-17T02:39:00.001-07:00

We have lost someone great.

Tim Russert, as I'm sure the millions* of you reading this blog by now already know, died on June 13 of a sudden heart-attack at 58 years old. It is a sobering reality that we must all confront.

I have thought of this often over the past few days, so today I took some time to read about Tim's life and watch some beautifully done memorial videos by NBC. After watching a clip of Tim's son, Luke, speak incredibly eloquently about his father, my heart was touched.

I have thought often, also, of my dear aunt Dece, who watched Meet the Press religiously. Quite seriously. There was nothing that could happen in that hour every Sunday that could disturb my aunt's concentration on this show, on the politics, on the news...on Tim.

My most sincere thoughts of comfort go to the Russert family in this time, and to my family, especially Dece, who had Tim in their lives, and on their television sets, on a weekly basis.

*(Millions=Mom, maybe Dece, Ricky the Creeper.)

June 15: La messa, Le metro, Le tiredness

2008-06-17T02:03:00.000-07:00

After waking up late, bolting out the door, scrambling to the #907 bus, hopping on the Metro Linea A, switching to Metro Linea B at Termini to go to Pyramide, and then FINALLY finding the trenino, I boarded a direct train that passed right by Vittinia and stopped at Ostia Centro.

Needless to say, I was not a happy camper after the three hours it took to end up sitting in la macchina with Sara, Rita, and Maria.

Finally, we got to mass. We were soooooo late, and I could feel my face burning as we made our way into a pew. But ah, gli italiani are cool.

After la messa, and a brief chat with Zio Philip, we headed off to the beach at Ostia for lunch. It was gorgeous outside.

The sun beat down on us four ladies as we sipped Coca-Lights, ate some pasta freddo, and talked. While Sara and Maria were getting their food, Rita and I were left alone. She does not speak lick of inglese, so in my broken italiano, I told her about my nerves about having a bene familia in France, but how "Penso che tutto bene con questa...penso che va bene." (I think that everything is fine with this...I think it will work.)

After soaking in some sun, it was back to Sara's house per un poco di caffe, and, apparently, a nap for me, because I could barely keep my head up. Soon after, I headed back to the JFRC (John Felice Rome Center) on the trenino to Metro B to Metro A to a bus to a walk.

Upon my arrival, I was assailed in the hallway by my bene amico, Dan. Yes, the same Dan who was featured in the last blog.* We chatted before he headed off to mass, and then Mike and I went down to Rinaldo's for a bit of coffee and some chill time before dinner.

Yes, dinner.

In Italia, they BEGIN dinner, normalmente, around 9pm.

My mother would sleep through dinner every day.

;) JK Mom.

So after mass, I had a sudden change of heart, and instead of going out and spending my precious euro on dinner, I hung around the JFRC and watched a movie with some pals. Dan, Nick, Robb, Ali and I all got together to watch Wedding Crashers and just relax.

Sometimes you have to get you some good 'ole American film even if you are in the Ancient City.

All in all, a great Sunday evening.

*He's kind of a big deal.

No Hankie Pankie in Roma

2008-06-16T09:06:00.000-07:00

Vatican bans Dan Brown film Angels & Demons from Rome churches

(Francesco Proietti/AP)

Tom Hanks on the set of Angels & Demons, in which he reprises the role of Professor Robert Langdon, which he played in The Da Vinci Code

Richard Owen, in Rome

The Vatican has banned the makers of Angels & Demons, the latest Dan Brown thriller to be filmed, from shooting scenes not only in the Vatican but in any church in Rome on the ground that it is "an offence against God" and "wounds common religious feelings".

---taken from http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/world/europe/article4147839.ece

Can you believe this? Just the other day, I was IN the Piazza del Popolo, and I am free to go back there.

And not Tom Hanks.

Crazy.

Just wanted to put this out there. I am amidst crazy Hollywood hub-bub. Special.

June 14: Musei Vaticani

2008-06-16T02:57:00.000-07:00

Raphael. "The School of Athens." BLEW MY MIND.

The word for today: overwhelming.

As we headed off to the Vatican Museums this morning, I had no idea what was in store. Zio Philip had called ahead so that I could get past the line (and the ticket counter;) with my friends. And aha! Upon our arrival, I chatted briefly with the guards, smiling a lot and saying, "Lo no so, sono una americana ragazza, per favore, aiuti mi, eh? Mio zio e Padre Philip, capito? Ahaa..."

They weren't amused.

But once I mentioned "Lydia," the apparently much-needed word to say, they were all smiles back. We found the elusive Lydia and she walked us right inside, no line, no paying for our tickets, no muss, no fuss.

Fifteen minutes later, we had our audio guides in hand and we began our walk through one of the most beautiful places I have ever been in my life.

The museum is constructed in a one-way path, so that all visitors shuffle along like a massive herd of cattle, sometimes straying off to look at a particular piece of artwork or pose, quite annoyingly, dead center in the line to snap a photo of the ceiling or the floor. After about an hour, the crowds thinned out a bit, and we got to the Rooms of Raphael. WHOLE ROOMS just painted by this amazing master of art.

One painting in particular that I was delighted to see was The School of Athens.

Remember this:

"The unexamined life is not worth living."
- Socrates

Indeed, So-so. Indeed. It was just one of those moments that washes over you again and again because you can't seem to wrap your mind around it while you're living it. I knew, as I gazed as this famous work of art, that I wouldn't really feel like I'd grasped what I had seen for some time. After relishing numerous rooms of gorgeous things, pics of which I'll be adding soon, we finally arrived at the much anticipated Capella Sistina.

It was as if, when I entered into that chapel, though I had been there once before, I was imbued with some kind of energy of millions of peoples' desires to see this space.

When I walked in, something was stimulated within me. It was bigger than just the size of the chapel--I felt like I was confronting something both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. As the narrator of my audio guide put it, rather bluntly I might add:

"It is as if 'The Last Judgment' invites us to confront the meaning of our own existence, and the finite amount of time we have on this earth."

Thanks, audio-guide stranger. That's not overwhelming at ALL. Let me just waltz into the Sistine Chapel this morning and have you ask questions about me that I've never had to think about before.

As we exited the chapel and I stole one last glimpse of Michaelangelo's 'Creation,' depicted below, I had thisfeeling that I had grown some how. Laugh if you want. But I really had.

Famished, my friends, Dan, Mary, Mike, and Claire, and I headed off to lunch across the street from the Vatican. After wolfing down some ravioli and petti di pollo, we stopped off at Old Bridge Gelato, famous for its AMAZING treats, and popped a squat in the piazza. Then we headed on home via the 990 bus to Via Massimi, to rest, relax, and reflect on what we'd seen that day. We enjoyed a nice dinner at a restaurant on Via Balduina, the street that leads up into Via Massimi. Pics from dinner are below:

Fig.1. Americans like to stack things.

Fig.2. Dan Finucane, my good friend who constantly makes fun of me but for whom I am so grateful because he's made this trip amazingly awesome, reprimands me for stacking things at dinner.

Fig.3. Enough said.

Molto baci, amores!
juju

June 13: Day Trip to Assisi!

2008-06-16T02:25:00.000-07:00

Today, two large buses headed off to Assisi with bunches of sleepy students on board.

Three hours later, we arrived. After a guided tour of the cathedral and around town, we had lunch at a place tucked away from the hub-bub of the central piazza, where pizza margherita was only 5 euro. After some souvenir shopping for the fam, we boarded the bus for the three hour trek back.

After about an hour of re-grouping, we headed out, boarded the 907 bus, and then took the Metro Linea A to go to Barberini, the Fontana di Trevi stop. We found a little pizzeria where the 10 of us sat and enjoyed a meal together. Then it was back home to sleep and rest.

I promise more exciting details will come later when I can get my damn pictures to upload.

Ciao!

June 12: Chena con Zio Philip!

2008-06-16T02:18:00.000-07:00

Ciao, amores mio!

Tonight, I spent the evening in San Giovanni, where Zio Philip lives. Rita, Sara, and Chiara picked me up from "Coin," a department store that charges about 30 euro for a small samsonite travel bag, which I did NOT buy, and whisked me off to Zio Philip's apartment.

We ate dinner for about three hours.

It was simply fabulous: we just sat, relaxed, laughed, and talked. I wasn't exactly sure what I was eating, and finally, I did, in fact, refuse the melon con prosciutto. But I tried and tasted as much as I could.

After we ate dinner and enjoyed some gelato, the gang drove me back to Via Massimi, with Zio Philip leading the way separately on his vespa. The whole time, we women were shouting, "STAI ATTENTO, ZIO PHILIP!!!!!!!!" because he kept weaving in and out of traffic.

What a night.

June 11: Colosseo!

2008-06-16T02:12:00.000-07:00

Inside the Colosseo today, I was BLOWN AWAY.

Ok, I'm running out of ways to mention how amazed I am by certain things.

But seriously, I finally made it downtown to actually go inside the Colosseum. Billy, Dan, Rob, Mike, Nick, Ali, Jen, Claire, and I walked through the beautiful monument, admiring the ancient stones and even more amazing, the ancient trash cans. (PICS to come!)

After getting some breathtakingly beautiful pictures, we went to a restaurant on the east side of the Colosseum for dinner. It was called, "Royal," and boy, was it ever. We ended up having QUITE the bill, but it was once of those reasons we all came to Roma. The gorgeous evening, the Colosseum lit against the backdrop of a breezy night, a couple of bottles of Chianti, wonderful Italian cuisine, and happy friends made the time incredible.

Afterward, I headed off with Billy, Nick, and Dan to a gay bar closely adjoining the "Royal" ristorante. After about an hour, I ended up introducing myself to a lovely gentleman, Andrea, and inviting him over to our tavalo americano for a little chit-chat. It was a great night. Then Billy and I cabbed it on home to Via Massimi, sharing some laughter along the way.

Che note in Roma!

xoxox,
juju

June 10: An Unlikely Lecture

2008-06-10T15:45:00.000-07:00

Starting out with my good friend, Dan, in Piazza del Popolo, I saw five different churches today. I'll add the details/pics soon, but for now, allow me to share an experience from the Basilica di Maria del Popolo.

Though all I could really tell you about these various churches was that they shared Baroque features and that they were all very impressive, I do feel like I learned something by seeing them. In one church, at the Basilica di Maria del Popolo, I was standing in front of a flying sculpture of Jesus, freed from the cross, when I had a very intriguing experience.

As I stood in awe of the unique cross, the likes of which I had never seen before, I was suddenly in the presence of someone besides my good friend, Dan.

An elderly woman had approached us from behind, and softly whispered to us,

"Are you inglese?"

Smiling, I answered, "Si, si!" A bit counter-intuitive, I know.

She began, "Isn't it just so interesting to notice that the Madonna is typically orthodox..."

Though I was struck by the audacity of this woman to come up to us quite simply and begin a brief lecture, I felt compelled to listen to her. The white dress she wore, which matched her silvery hair, was spattered with tiny blue flowers, and just barely covered her shoulders, giving her a youthful look. Her hands betrayed her age, though. Like the flowers on her dress, small veins of blue dotted her forearms and hands. There were deep lines etched across the back of her palms, lines perhaps sketched into her skin from holding chalk or writing much.

I detected somewhat of an Eastern-European accent when she spoke, and so I proceeded to ask her where she was from.

"I'm from Belgrade, but I used to teach Russian and English literature in America," she breathed.

"Oh! Well we're from Chicago, but my father is from Russia, from Moscow."

At this she became incredibly animated, a new kind of smile breaking across her face, bringing her wrinkles up toward her eyes like the folds of a lifted blanket. She seemed almost lit from within to have encountered me. She asked me in her native tongue if I spoke Russian, to which I could only reply "Malinka, malinka..." (Just a little, a little)

"It is such a pity that you have forgotten so much," she sighed.

"Oh, no, well you see, he is my step-father...I'm not actually Russian. I speak French, though!"

She seemed disappointed.

But she smiled again at me, grasping my hand, and asked:

"What is your father's name?"

"Andre Konstantinov."

"Andrusha Konstantinova!" she exclaimed.

"Si, si," I said, smiling at her. "This icon is similar to the ones that are all around my house, even in my mother's car," I told her.

There we stood, two young Americans from half-way across the world and one retired Russian professor, gazing at the Madonna and child upon the altar.

After a moment of silence, she looked toward the back of the church, suddenly changed somehow, her softness replaced by an urgency. She turned to me, taking my hand again, and said:

"I am so glad to have met you. I hope you come back again some day."

"Si, si, piacere! It was so nice to meet you! Thank you!"

As she walked away, Dan and I looked at each other. It was just baffling that we had had this experience. This burst of kindness from a stranger, this encounter of totally random warmth that was found in a church one afternoon in Roma, gives me some kind of reassurance that the world isn't so bad.

The world is open when you are open.

Especially from one smiling Russian woman to one smiling American girl.

And I do sincerely hope to go back.

June 9: Italia Soccer!

2008-06-10T06:46:00.001-07:00

"*&%$^!!!!!!!!"

Del Piero, one of the famous Italian soccer players, captures the emotion of everyone last night.

The funny symbols represent an Italian swear word I heard repeatedly this evening, screamed by about 20 Italians who were crowded around one television screen.

After a somewhat uneventful day of Dante class, some online browsing, and Shakespeare lessons, I headed off to Vittinia for the night. It was Italia versus Holland, and the gang was getting together for some pizza to watch the game.

Just imagine the superbowl in America, but with more cussing. And in a foreign language. And it's soccer, not football.

Spitting, yelling, jumping, yelping, eating, drinking, swearing, roaring, and nearly crying, the Italians were gung-ho about this game! It was intense.

After staying inside my "I-don't-speak-Italian" bubble for about two minutes, I joined in the scream-fest in my own language.

"PASS! WHY ARE YOU CROSSING THE GOAL? ARE YOU KIDDING ME? WHAT THE HECK?! C'MON!"

Though Italia lost to Holland 0-3, it was still a great match! IEH! (Italian version of, HEY!)

I'm pretty sure they felt my enthusiasm, even if it was in inglese.

:D

June 8: Mass with Mio Zio

2008-06-08T15:36:00.001-07:00

Today I received the Body of Christ from my dear Zio Philip.

After taking the #990 bus to Piazza Cavour, waiting for half an hour in the rain for the #30, which didn't come, walking to the Metro Linea B, taking that to Termini, switching to Metro Linea A, taking that to Pyramide, then taking the trenino to Vittinia, I made it to Rita and Sara. We drove off from the station and snuck in just a couple of minutes late to mass, at which Uncle Phil was the presiding priest.

All in Italiano, it was difficult to understand, but the snippets I caught, along with Sara's brief explanations, helped me to get the gist: the main broadcast of today's program was:

Love the sinner, not the sin.

That is, seeing as how yesterday, the Italians celebrated their own version of a gay pride parade, the topic of discussion was about loving gay people for who they are, yet understanding that the Catholic church cannot condone and accept their way of life.

It's moments like this when I feel myself to be a fair-weather Catholic.

After mass, I mentioned this idea, "to love the sinner but not the sin" thing, to Uncle Phil. He had a spark in his eye as he asked me,

"Oh, you caught that, did you? Don't agree?"

"Well, I've just grown up with it, and some of my closest friends are gay, that's all, so I feel differently," I said bluntly.

"Well, I can't change the church," he sighed, smiling at me. Couldn't tell if he was smiling out of amusement or frustration. Same sort of smile Dece gives me sometimes.

"Lo so, lo so," I said. (I know, I know)

It was just one of those moments where I found myself really conflicted. This trip has renewed that religious part of me that has been somewhat dormant for a long time, and as I've hopped around to various museums and churches, I've liked the feeling like I belong, like being Catholic is a positive thing. Hmm.

I just don't know how I feel about this "Love the sinner, hate the sin" stuff. Seems to me, the more love, the less hate, the better.

So I think I'll just love. All of it.

Amen.

June 7: Il Ragazzo

2008-06-08T14:46:00.000-07:00

This one is about a boy, a girl, and a clam.

Well, the clam part is more of a metaphor.

As some of you dear ones reading this may already know, I have been dating an Italian man named Riccardo for about two weeks now. It's nothing too serious, but we have great fun together and it sure is a swell way to improve my Italian.

A good friend of Sara's, Riccardo is 24, a bar-man here in Italy, and quite capable of showing a ragazza americana a good time in Roma. Tonight, he picked me up around 10pm and took me to the center of the city.

From the Piazza di Spagna to Fontana di Trevi to Piazza del Popolo, Riccardo and I walked the streets of Roma for about three hours together. I worked as hard as I could at my Italian, and he pieced together some beautifully broken inglese for me.

It was almost too romantic.

Then I got a blister somewhere between two piazzas from my new Italian leather scarpes, and I came back down to earth a bit.

But really, apparently this is something that many girls dream of: coming to Italy for the summer and having a "fling" with a handsome, foreign man.

Now, I'm not exactly the "fling" type. But this is really working out for me.

Riccardo and I have some kind of unspoken understanding that we're just standing still for a moment with each other. We're not talking about the future or what our little amore is, we're just dating and laughing together. It feels so nice to just be, and to trust in someone, and be taken around Roma by a real Italiano.

Now, the best part of the story. Because you're probably wondering about the clam part.

So Riccardo and I are sitting on the Spanish steps, joking about how easily identifiable the Americans are versus the Italians in the crowd, butchering each other's languages, and sneaking an occasional kiss in between our laughter, and I'm having one of those "OMG" moments, except I'm in Italy, so I'm thinking, "Mio Dio..." and just thanking my lucky stars for this beautiful time, when he and I start talking about life.

Tragically, Riccardo lost both his father and his brother within a month of each other about six years ago. Since then, la vita e brutto per lui, one might say. He constantly works in order to support his mother and himself, and though he is full of life, pieno di vita, I can see in the way he looks sometimes that he has sustained a darkness inside of him from this great loss. He told me that sometimes life is just brutto, ugly, and difficult, because of this.

Wanting to express to him that I understood his reason for wanting to remain closed off to truly deep emotion, I opened with a metaphor. Clasping my hands together in an effort to convey the image of a clam, I said:

"Tu sei comme un ostrica, si? Un ostrica che tu devi aprire per conoscere..."
"You are like a clam, yes? A clam that you must pull open in order to know the beauty inside..."

At this point, I mimed to him the incredibly difficult opening of a clam.

"It's hard, forte, on the outside, but there is something special inside, capito?" I implored. "Not that I want to pull at you, capito? Gusto che tu puoi essere con me..." (Just that you can be yourself with me..."). Capito?

He grinned at me.

Then he said one of the most beautiful things I have ever heard in my life:

"But if you force the ostrica, it does not open. It opens naturally, on its own."

And I grinned back.

If I do but one thing for this man, with whom I stood still for a few weeks of a blessed summer in Italia, if I only let him know himself a little better, and help him to realize that sometimes in life, you have to let yourself open your shell to let your pearl shine a bit for a ragazza americana, then I feel that I can keep our friendship a happy moment in my heart. I feel so lucky to have met him, and more than just a "fling," he has meant something real to me.

He has helped me to heal my mending heart.

He has shown me a city more bellissima than I ever could have imagined.

And, sure, that universal language doesn't hurt, either.

June 6: Italian Mayhem

2008-06-07T07:23:00.001-07:00

Today was more of a somber one.

After going to class, I headed out to Piazza Cavour with some girlfriends to find a gift for Rita, since today was her birthday. After some lunch at a pizzeria and a great find at a shop called, "Accessories," where I found a beautiful silver colonna (necklace) for Rita, I departed for Vittinia to meet up with Sara for the evening's BBQ.

Sadly, right after I left Porta San Paolo on the trenino, Sara called me to tell me that she, Rita, and Francesca had been in a car accident.

Quite seriously, the next few hours were very difficult. Chiara picked me up at the station with Maria, their next door neighbor, and we darted to the scene of the accident. Rita was still beautiful in her Dolce & Gabana sweatsuit with tears streaming down her face, which were carrying her dark eye-liner with them. She was fine, but Francesca and Sara had gone to the hospital due to some serious whip-lash.

After standing, tongue-tied by the language barrier, just outside the scene in the middle of the busy Italian intersection, I helped Rita into another car and we all drove to sua casa. It was quite the afternoon, and of course the BBQ was off for the night.

As I helped slice bread and cut tomatoes for the bruschetta, it hit me that I had no one around me who spoke a lick of English. For about two hours, I listened harder than I ever had to what people were saying, watching them intently and trying to infer from their body language what exactly they were saying.

It was one of the most challenging experiences of my life.

To not be able to say any words of comfort, to not be able to participate in the conversation, to not be able to convey my feelings at this extremely stressful and painful time for the family that had been so good to me for the past three weeks was hard.

Then, I sucked it up.

I made it work--I mimed hand signals, I spoke the little bit that I knew, and I hugged and kissed my way through that language division. It was amazing to watch the way all of the relatives and friends were calling Rita, making sure she was ok, checking in on her, stopping by, cooking, tending to her, asking about Sara and Francesca, and just being incredibly supportive. It was one of those, "this is how they deal with things," moments for me, and when I just stopped trying to be so American by "staying out of the way," and once I "got in the way," so to speak, and did what I could with the tools I had, I made a difference.

What a night it was in Vittinia, for the Italians and for one Ms. Foubert, indeed.

Ketchup

2008-06-05T15:07:00.000-07:00

Catch up.

Hee hee.

Just for my records until I can splash a fancy spin onto this page:

Sunday, June 1: Down day. Slept super late. Like until 3pm. Woke up. Putzed around. Yes, putzed. Did some homework, wrote my Dante paper about sympathy and the 13th canto of the suicides. Everyone was getting back from Florence, Venice, etc. Greeted them. I am in Roma. Good for me. Had some dinner at Rinaldo's, chatted with some people. Went to bed relatively early. Great relaxing day.

Monday, June 2: Woke up, went to Dante class. Left Rome Center around 11:30am to meet Sara and Rita in San Giovanni. Took 907 bus to Cipro, switched to the Metro Linea A going toward Termini, got off at San Giovanni. Met them at Coin, a big department store. Went and visited Riccardo in his bar for about an hour, had a coffee, might have ordered a lemon soda just to be able to sit there a bit longer. Wasn't feeling good, so took some medicine Rita gave me to make my tummy feel better. Wore new skirt Rita got for me.

This was the day of the Italian Republic, so big holiday, big parade in town. Went to fancy lunch with Rita and Sara and discussed amore. Saw Italian soap opera star. Made friends with the restaurant host, who was from Brazil but spoke Italian and had lived in New York and knew great English. Amazing how smiling is universal. Hung out with Rita and Sara at another bar for about an hour and recharged cell phone (10 euro). Went to Zio Philip's. Lauren filmed. Rita was cajoled into coming inside. Sara, Rita, Lauren, Zio Philip, and I all talked together for awhile before heading out. Lauren and I made our way back to Loyola. Got in, turned around, changed, and headed out for Pizza and Beer night with our fellow American comrades. From 9pm to midnight-ish, had pizza, played Italian drinking games. Fabulous evening.

(Pics: All of us before heading out; Dan and me at the Pizzeria)

Tuesday, June 3: Amelia, dear sister, turns 17 today! Wake up, go to two classes. Head out to the Roman Forum for my Shakespeare class after my Dante class. Arrive at Forum around 3pm. Paid 10 euro for entrance. Sheesh. Way to give American students the discount, too--not. Walked around the Forum with Dr. Cutrofello, Ricky, Mike, and Nick. We READ Julius Caesar IN the Roman FORUM. Wow. We were a spectacle. People took pictures of us and we had a blast. Separated from group around 4:30pm.

Walked to Metro by the Colosseo. Took Metro Linea B to Pyramide, switched to the Trenino at Porta San Paolo going to Ostia to get off at Vittinia and meet Rita for her birthday! She was in a gorgeous outfit, white skirt, black top, pearl necklaces and bracelet...bellisima. Actually communicated with Rita, who speaks no English, for the duration of the 10 minute car ride. Talked about how Meelie's birthday was the same (lo stesso:) day as Rita's. Picked up Sara and Chiara. Headed all over town saying CIAO and greetings to neighbors. Many pictures of adorable Mateo, little boy who is 3. Went to pizza after having some gelat0 (I know, wrong order). Taught Alissandro, Chiara's boyfriend, much English. Was told, in an affectionate way, that I am not an American, nor do I look like one. Don't know how to respond to this. Get driven home late. Sleep. (Above: Nick, Ricky, me, and Mike, reading Julius Caesar at the Roman Forum)

Wednesday, June 4: 8:00am-12:00pm, Papal Audience. Heard from Pope Benedict in about 5 different languages. His speech was the harmony between faith and action, and words and action. Hella hot outside. Like, the sun was so hot it was a testament of the will to endure it. But probably more so for the poor Cardinals, who had to wear black robes and little red yamachas. Ate at a cute little restaurant close by, voraciously hungry, so paid 12 euro for "Insalata di pollo" and 4 euro for a Coca-light. Light indeed. Heavy on the wallet. I keep thinking Coca-light really doesn't taste the same as Diet Coke. I miss Diet Coke. And peanut butter. And white popcorn. Random, I know. (Below: The restaurant right near the Vatican where we had lunch)

Then shopped around with Lauren the Roomie. Bought gorgeous black Italian leather heels. Also black dress from a boutique called "Monique." Came back to Rome Center at Via Massimi via 990 bus. Changed, got ready. Met with Shayla and taught her some French while doing laundry. Went to Italian dinner--Assunta, Riccardo's mom's birthday dinner. Had some sort of enchilada thing that was amazingly good, and then some champagne to celebrate for her. Came back to Rome Center around midnight. Slept.

(Sara e Chiara, adopted Italian cousins; Riccardo e me at his mother's birthday dinner:)

Thursday, June 5: Dante class. Midterm. Nap. Mensa for lunch. Shakespeare class. Discussion of Hamlet/Julius Caesar. Started watching Marlon Brando version. Went out with Dan Finucane, lovely gent and great friend, to marvelous places: 1) Basilica di San Clemente, where I saw the main church and then the "Excavi" below it, where there are the remains of both a 1st century AND a 4th century basilica and tons of beautiful frescos. Favorite was called "La Discesa di Cristo al Limbo"--IX Secolo. The Descent of Jesus into Limbo--9th Century. Google that stuff, people. WOW. Best 5 euro for the ticket and 4 euro for an art book for Mom. Made an offering for my Grandma Jan upstairs. 2) San Pietro in Vincoli, where the chains used to arrest St. Peter are located and "Moses" by Michelangelo. Camera died upon the moment to take a picture. That's what I get for not charging it. Ah well. Got some aviators right outside the basilica and a SWEET map of Roma. 16 euro. (2 euro earlier for bus tickets.)

Then Dan and I ate at this restaurant literally across the street from the Colosseum--the view was breathtakingly beautiful. It was called "Caffe Royale--Roma." 71.50 euro between the two of us, but we had Gnocchi, Petti di Pollo con riso, a bottle of Pinot Grigio (22 euro:) and decadent chocolate tortillino desserts. Amazingly worth it. Good company, good food, buono vino, the sun setting behind the Colosseo...that's what the money was for. Incredible. Took the Metro Linea B back to Termini, switched to another Metro, took the 913 home to Via Massimi. Saw a black cat, but probably just because today was too perfect otherwise. God has to balance things out.

More a presto! Molto baci! XOXOXO
-juju

Immersion Excursion

2008-06-01T10:42:00.000-07:00

Ciao, dear readers!

Yesterday was quite the day. I set out by myself to conquer the bus system. That's right. To conquer it. In Italia, it's pretty common for people to ride the bus, but what is uncommon is the fact that you have to know where you are before you know where you are.

Allow me to explain.

The buses, unlike the CTA system, which I never thought I could appreciate as much as I do now, have no method of communicating to their passengers' the exact stations of location. So, at each bus stop, there is a yellow sign, which you have to sit closest to the window to ascertain, that has the names of all of the stops on it. Your given stop is labeled with a red box around it.

Behold. The bus-routes of Roma.

After finding the 913 bus, switching to the 990, getting off, boarding the 30, realizing I had gone the wrong direction, getting onto the correct 30, arriving at the trenino station, and taking the trenino towards Ostia and getting off at Vitinia, I MADE IT to the Holy Grail of my Zia Rita and cousin Sara and friend Francesca, who awaited me in a car.

WOW. You really can't make this stuff up.

So even though I spent 2 hours of my life feeling pretty much terrified, uncertain, and anxious, it was worth it for what I learned. I realized that everywhere, people are people, and if you just acknowledge the fact that sometimes, you're going to get lost, and you're going to go the wrong direction, as long as you can reach out and ask a random stranger where you are so you can get on the right #30 bus, you'll be fine.

And sticking next to some conspicuous Japanese tourists with their giant cameras while smirking as if you're a local doesn't hurt either.

The Night Walk

2008-05-26T14:09:00.000-07:00

"This very Rome that we behold deserves our love...the only common and universal city"--Montaigne.

Steph and I pose before throwing coins over our shoulders into Trevi Fountain to ensure our safe return to Rome.

Montaigne's quote really came alive the night I walked the streets of Rome.

Just four days into the trip, it seemed that it was fate for me to have this adventure. I was just washing up around 8 o'clock when I commented on how much I liked this girl, Sara's, shoes. We ended up having a conversation and formulated a plan to go out.

Twenty minutes later, there were literally twenty of us gathered to go out and explore.

After boarding the 990 bus and punching my bus ticket (though you can SOOO get away with not-I'm too much of a goody-goody), I arrived, along with my classmates, at Piazza Cavour. We started out. Along the way, we saw:

Piazza Navona
The Pantheon
Piazza di San Ignatius
Trevi Fountain
Spanish Steps
The Vatican

It was from about 11:00pm to 1:00am that we all traveled around, and the pictures are beyond words. There was a moment that I was walking along the Tiber River and I just took a breath as if to tell myself, "I have arrived. I am here. I am in Roma."

xoxoxo,
juju

An American in Roma

2008-05-26T14:00:00.001-07:00

Ok, not as catchy as Paris, but we'll get to that later.

Today was check-in day at the Rome Center at Loyola. After getting some jet-laggish sleep in the beautiful orange apartment that I stayed in for the first three days of being in Roma (see below), Uncle Phil picked me up and I met his good friends, Linda and her daughter, Brittany. We had a nice lunch together at a restaurant near Montemario, where the LUC Rome Center is located. Then it was, "Ciao!" to Uncle Phil and time to be at school.

After a brief orientation session and some food in the Mensa, the Italian word for "cafeteria," I hung out with my friends a bit and chatted about the day.

The next morning, bright and early we departed for the beach! It was an amazing day. We took a huge bus for about an hour to get to this amazing sea-side village. There was lunch, a little disco, a bar, and not to mention, the ACQUA! I'll be adding pictures for your enjoyment really soon.

Ciao for now!
juju

Breaking the Barrier

2008-05-26T13:25:00.000-07:00

Often, the language barrier prevents people from communicating, for obvious reasons.

But it is just not so here in Italy.

With my newly adopted aunt, Rita, and cousins, Sara and Chiara, I am able to communicate volumes of information sometimes without saying a word. The first day I was in Rome, Rita and Sara took me to the Colosseo and we ate gelato together. Then at a lovely dinner out with Uncle Phil, where I had some Pollo alla gorgonzola, we were able to tell each other, in not so many words, how glad we were to meet and spend time together. The dinner was long and warm and fun--we did not just eat and leave.

So far, I've noticed how Italians are all about being with each other. They want to welcome you into their midst and then stay awhile. My vecchio zio Philip is often teased because he wants to go go go so quickly: but I'm adopting these people along with their customs into my heart. They are so loving, so generous of spirit--it's remarkable. Rita and Sara greeted me with a beautiful bouquet of flowers and wonderful attitudes of welcome, and it just hasn't let up since.

The second day of being in Roma, Sara took me out on the town. We stopped at a little bar for some coffee and croissant, and then went to the Italian equivalent (are there really even equivalents?) of Walgreen's, called, "Beauty Point." There, I spent 5 euro on some shampoo and conditioner that smell like vanilla cookies. After, we jumped into the car in the middle of the street when Rita pulled up to whisk us off to the beach. After a stroll and some tasty seafood, we headed back home to relax. Uncle Phil came for dinner and we enjoyed some pizza. See Rita, me, and Uncle Phil:

More soon!
xoxoxox
juju

"Ciao, Roma!" But can we say anything else?

2008-05-23T12:52:00.001-07:00

So can Americans say anything more than, "Ciao"? It's debatable.

Upon arriving in Rome, I found myself flabbergasted by the amount of energy swarming around Fiumicino airport. I lugged my suitcase behind me, all the while gripping my purse close to my arm, zippered shut so as to avoid crazy magical Italian pick-pockets who might grab it without me seeing or feeling anything. The plane landed without being attached to one of those accordion tunnels I was used to, so I jumped on a shuttle that could have starred in the circus there were so many people crammed into it in order to arrive at the actual terminal.

Twenty minutes, one growling stomach, and one speedy-passport stamp later (I'm told that my American passport packs a lot of punch, meaning that the Italian official was looking at me longer than at the actual document), I was surrounded by Italians, all holding various signs with people's names on them. I, however, did not see mio zio Philip, so I walked outside, nervously looking for him. I had been warned about Italian men, and for some odd reason I expected someone to jump me or approach me like a crazy guerrilla.

I really was just flattering myself.

No one was pointing and laughing at me like, "Stupido americano!" I was just a little out of sorts from the 9 hour, 10 minute plane ride and the fact that my Italian vocabulary consisted of "Ciao, Roma!" It's like my mom always says, "If you knew how much other people actually thought about you, you'd be surprised at how little they really cared." Ah, motherly wisdom hits home again.

So I called Uncle Phil on my cell phone to see where he was, and also to appear busy with my phone, which I've noticed is a popular hobby of Italians. He said he was about 20 minutes away. He laughed when I said that I would look for him, telling me, "I think I'll be able to find you."

Now, am I that obvious?

Apparently, yes.

So even though I was alone, a bit freaked out, and all I could say was "Ciao," I found a way to say other things to myself and to the people around me. After I talked to Uncle Phil, I walked confidently across the street to the middle boulevard to wait for him. I put an expression on my face like, "I know what I am doing," though I was a thunderstorm of nerves inside. It wasn't because I was injured or had to talk to someone or because I didn't know what to do--I was just somewhere completely foreign to me, and I was very aware of how foreign I was, too.

So, the first lesson of Italy?

That I am an American. And even if I can't say more than "Ciao" with words, I can say everything with the way I carry myself, with how I act, with how I treat people. It's all just a state of mind.

But soon, I really should know more than "Ciao," for all Americans' sakes, jeepers. (<--I borrowed this word from vecchio zio Philip.)

More soon!
Molto baci,
juju