I Suck At Updating

Seriously. I think I am actually assimilating to French culture because I seem to be getting closer and closer to adapting the very laid-back attitude of "Oh, it'll get done eventually." And that is an awful idea to have. I need to be studying, filling out forms for credit transfer, finding out about how we shall be making up the time that we missed in class due to the "grève," getting in touch with the cultural exchange program I signed up for to see how my forms are being processed, and, of course, updating my blog. Oh, and there are a whole other slew of things I have likely forgotten, but they are on the to-do list as well.

Life, though, does seem to be a bit more relaxed here, which is a lovely change from Wellesley, but actually has caused more concern on relief on my behalf because I truly want to do well here. I want to earn good grades that will give me an extra confidence boost for when I go back to the States and have to finish up my pre-med requirements. If I do well here, then I will be on a roll and ready to tackle organic chemistry with all the energy of a French protester. And that, dear readers, would truly be a sight to behold. I honestly could not tell you how effective their strikes, protests, manifestations, and riots are in terms of influencing their government, but they are nothing if not determined to have their voices heard. 

(On a somewhat unrelated to my eventual narrative note: A friend of mine actually posted a really interesting article about why the French strike to her Facebook page, and I think it is very informative. The article can be found here.)

It has officially been two months since I came to France, which is rather surprising when I think about it. It certainly does not feel as though that much time has passed already. I certainly do feel as though I have seen a lot in a somewhat limited period of time, and I definitely get the impression that my French has improved in certain ways over these past two months, but I consider the fact that I have been in France for over 60 days now... well, that seems pretty darn staggering.

Aix-en-Provence is an absolutely gorgeous old town about 30 minutes northeast of Marseille. My apartment building, for example, is a charming unit from the 17th century (assuming I remember correctly... might have been 18th century...), which concretely establishes it as the oldest building in which I have ever lived. And that is not even close to the oldest building here. One of the older (and distinctly more noticeable) buildings here, for example, is the cathedral, which dates from around the 12th century and is one part Romanesque, one part Gothic, and one part Neo-Gothic due to some renovations in the 19th century. 12th century not old enough for you, hardened and world-weary reader? Well, the cathedral gets better. Inside and off to the right in a small alcove are the remnants of a 6th century baptistery, which would not actually have been a part of the former 6th century cathedral but would have been a separate, though adjacent, building to the actual church. I have spent several hours trying to wrap my mind around how friggin' old that really is, and I have discovered this to be nearly unfathomable and thus worthy of my undying admiration.

Yet despite its medieval roots in Christianity, Aix is a highly modern city in its own way. It is, after all, the city with the second highest cost of living in France - just after Paris, of course. Here, you can find an Hermès boutique, a Rolex shop, a Longchamp store... and if those "magasins" just aren't really your style, there is always the H&M which is about 10 minutes walking distance from my apartment. And in addition, there are numerous bars and cafés and restaurants all with outdoor terraces - some of which extend out into the public squares after the morning farmer's markets have been cleared away. And even at some of the cheapest brasseries, the food is still a level above some of the best mid-priced restaurants in the United States. (I will admit, however, that I am still adjusting to French cuisine, so everything here is new and interesting and tasty and French. I might have a different opinion come next May.) It is not uncommon to spend two hours at a restaurant for lunch or for dinner. More than once, I have run across friends sitting outside at such-and-such a café, sipping a tiny French coffee, munching on a croque-monsieur, or studying for class. It is also very common to run into people at establishments such as Wohoo, Sunset Café, or O'Sullivan's, which are known for their *ahem* alcoholic beverages. There are entire streets, in fact, which are practically lined with bars and/or clubs, and bar hopping is almost like a national pastime for French students on an average Thursday evening. Likely due to its high density of ever-changing (international) university students, Aix is a lively town and certainly does not feel like a stifling village that needs to be escaped each weekend via an excursion to Marseille where one can get in touch once again with civilization.

One of my greatest fears in coming to France was being able to communicate with others my age. I worried every day about my ability to understand what they were saying due to 1) my knowledge of "textbook French" and thus total lack of knowledge of French slang and contemporary idioms and 2) the all-too-common tendency for people my age to not only talk at a rather rapid pace, but to hardly enunciate a word that we let loose from our lips. This, coupled with the vestiges of my near-crippling shyness from which I suffered as a mildly awkward and definitely brainy child and my concern over French opinions of American citizens, had me wondering if I would ever effectively communicate with other French students to the point that I could actually call them my friends. Oh, and to top it off, they have Southern French accents.

Yeah, that was really silly of me to worry about.

Turns out, while people aren't exactly clamoring to be your friend, it is actually fairly easy to make friends as long as you actually put forth a little effort. In fact, it is essentially a more advanced, mature version of kindergarten where you walked over to one of the other kids on the monkey bars, introduced yourself and promptly announced that you and your new acquaintance should be friends. Now, though, you meet at a bar/club/café/classroom/party/etc., introduce yourself, talk about your life plans, compare lifestyles in France and the U.S., exchange phone numbers and slowly begin hanging out more and more, inviting each other to parties or movies or a little afternoon snack. You have to be willing to network and to put yourself out there as a foreign student there to speak French and to make the most of the time allotted to you in Aix. And once you do that, the French are very, very friendly. Since one of the first things they learn about you is that you are foreign, they will be happy to speak a little more slowly for you or help you when you are struggling with a word or turn of phrase that you can't quite make work. They also tend to have a lot of questions about life in a foreign country in general.

And my fear of incomprehensible slang? Yeah, well, I hear that now and then when I am out shopping and run across some high schoolers, but not so much in the everyday conversations between myself and a native French speaker. The problems with enunciation happen fairly frequently where they speak a little too quickly or don't articulate with the finesse of a stage actor, but considering that this also happens to me in English (albeit with a greatly reduced frequency) I have learned to not let it bother me too much.

My general comprehension of French has increased since arriving, as well. Even if I cannot understand everything that is said or sung or written, I finally know enough French and can translate in my head rapidly enough that I can catch the general understanding of things. Tiny nuances are still lost on me, but each day I feel as though I am getting closer and closer to my goal of fluency. I can converse easily enough, and my sentence structures and use of grammar and vocabulary are slowly becoming more sophisticated. It is an exciting process overall.

All of my new French friends seem to think that I am quite good at speaking French. They find my accent to be astonishingly non-abrasive and are overall impressed that after six years of learning a foreign language, I can speak with such ease. Hah, they are totally overestimating my abilities, but their kind comments are a welcome ego-boost to this foreigner. Classes are running smoothly, too. My history and art history courses are quite fascinating - I have never learned so much about the Middle Ages in my life. And my translation course is very interesting from a grammatical viewpoint. Learning, learning, learning: there really is something new every day, which makes my inner Hermione Granger jump for joy. Yippee!

My French friends all seem to enjoy going to the cinema as well, which is excellent news for me because, in my opinion, going to see French movies where there are no subtitles and you can't ask anyone to repeat themselves is an excellent test of one's comprehension skills. Last Thursday, I went out to the movies with a few friends, and we saw Les Petits Mouchoirs (English description here), which, I was told, was a classically and typically French film: where the emotions are super intense and nothing much really happens throughout the course of the movie. Those can actually be some of the best movies, though (ref. A Bout de Souffle, arguably Belmondo's best film), and I found the film to be highly enjoyable. It ran a little long at the end, but the balance of comedy and tragedy was appropriate and it gave a fairly accurate depiction of life in France. There were certainly little details I missed through a lack of comprehension, but once I figured out that Guillaume Canet's project (he wrote and directed the film) was basically a French adaptation of The Big Chill, I was able to understand so many more things about the movie. This was simply further evidence that a good portion of anything involving Guillaume Canet will be of quality (excluding The Beach with Leonardo DiCaprio, which many people pretend never happened).

And now, a few pictures to finish up this entry. Enjoy!

Our living room - and my computer Aristophanes

Our lovely kitchen and my roommate's family cookbook

Rue Granet - view from our window

Place d'Albertas

Place de la Rotonde - as seen from les Allées Provençales

Tootles, y'all! Next entry will be about my travels in Provence!

Gros bisous!!

Rachel

By the Sea, By the Sea

Perhaps my favorite weekend during my pre-session in Paris was two weekends ago when our program visited the northern coast of France to see Mont Saint-Michel and Saint Malo. There is something absolutely magical about each of these places.

Mont Saint-Michel in particular seems like a mystical destination out of an epic fantasy novel. The tiny, tiny town of 25 permanents residents (twelve of whom are the monks and sisters who live and work at the church) sits atop a small island surrounded by the tides that flow in and out around the island "à la vitesse d'un cheval au galop" as Victor Hugo once put it (that translates to "as swiftly as a galloping horse"). The archangel Michael stands atop the magnificent spire of the abbey of Mont Saint-Michel slaying a dragon and protecting the people of the village below. The streets that lead to the abbey twist and turn and wind up and up and up until you have lost track of how many steps you have climb or exactly which path you have taken to get where you are. Mind you, there are not terribly many paths to choose from, but you would never know this from climbing up to the top. Each turn, each corner leads to you a new set of stairs until you eventually give in to the feeling that you are totally lost and only know that any direction up is likely the right direction.

Did I mention that Mont Saint-Michel looks like this?

From a distance, the sight is even more spectacular, especially if you go early in the morning. At that point in the day, there are few cars on the road to cause traffic or to populate photographs of the island, the sun is still rising so one side of the island is bathed in light while the other remains a slight mystery, and the marine layer has yet to burn away so the petite village can appear to be shrouded in mist. Even when driving up to the place in our super fancy Volvo bus, I kept expecting medieval knights on white horses to come galloping by.

The town itself is the most touristy town you will ever see. There is nothing to it but small restaurants and overpriced gift shops. Everywhere you turn, there is another postcard, another set of china adorned with Mont Saint-Michel or the Eiffel Tower, another snow globe with a model of the church inside, another tiny toy knight on a white horse. In effect, I have discovered that Mont Saint-Michel has two functions: to take your breath away and to take your money. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, though. For instance, some of the restaurants provide entertainment in the form of cooking when you go to them, or even if you are just passing by the window. I watched five full minutes of two men whipping up a batch of a pastry something to a beat and a rhythm all their own. It was extraordinary to see. Had I been hungry enough, I certainly would have stopped for a bite to eat at this tourist-packed establishment, just to watch these guys at work.

The actual abbey is also pretty darn great. Because it has been built and rebuilt and built over and added on to, there are elements that remain from both Romanesque and Gothic eras. For example,

Romanesque:

Gothic:

Romanesque:

Gothic:

This place is ancient. It makes Boston look like an infant and laughs at the missions of Southern California that call themselves old. It is amazing and humbling to think that this church has been around since the Middle Ages.

Saint Malo is somewhat more impressive and delightedly more badass than Mont Saint-Michel, as I see it. This town of a bit over 100,000 permanent residents started out as a medieval fortified town and then became notorious for the French corsairs and pirates that made their home there and forced English vessels passing through the Channel to pay tributes. Also, the man credited with discovering Canada, Jacques Cartier, came from Saint Malo. Clearly, this place knew/knows how to host some purely badass individuals.

These days, Saint Malo is much more touristy and full of interesting historical facts on plaques that sit in front of important landmarks. There are beaches with extreme tides and waves high enough that they breech the wall along the shore and hit the houses:

There is an entire street of nothing but restaurants (this is the "empty" end of the street just about, but it is still lined with restaurant after bar after cafe after restaurant):

Then there are the ramparts surrounding the original city. Two friends and I walked the entire length of the ramparts in less than an hour. That is how small this place is. But these ramparts and the wall surrounding the city are so awesomely tough that the British didn't even bother trying to lay siege to the city in 1758 because they just didn't have the time to lay siege to an entirely fortified city. Below is a map of the city from the era of this British raid:

It doesn't look much different now, to tell you the truth:

It's been built up a little bit. Modern ports have been added. The surrounding areas are now well populated. But the wall is still there!

The town is just wonderful. I had a lovely steak frites dinner, strolled along the ramparts, explored the streets of the city and walked around the fortified church in the evening, went out with a couple friends to L'Alchimiste, a local bar, for a couple drinks, visited the beach in the day with everyone in the program and meandered along the shoreline to my heart's content. I eventually decided that this was somewhere I could live for a few months out of the year, if not permanently. The small coastal atmosphere of Saint Malo is comfy without being suffocating. The beach is lovely. The city is full of tourists, sure, but I'm from San Diego; I can handle tourists who come to visit coastal towns. Simply put, Saint Malo has an innate charm that managed to completely enthrall me.

Oh, have I mentioned that this was the view from our hotel window?

Never mind that the beds seemed to be well worn and a little sunk in (there were still freshly clean sheets, so not all bad). Never mind that the room itself was slanted. The view of the adorable streets made it totally worth it.

I have not spent a single year of my life in a state that did not border an ocean. In fact, I have never spent a year living more than more than 30 miles from an ocean in my life. And I intend to keep it that way.

Peace, love, and giraffes,

Rachel

I Apologize for the Delay

Life, as always, got in the way of my attempt to focus more on my writing, and on this blog in particular. However, I am committed to this blog and shall try to update weekly as promised. Or at least monthly. I owe y'all monthly at least. And now, on to some good, old fashioned Bean Town architecture.

I've always had a passing interest in architecture ever since I took AP Art History my senior year of high school. Gothic architecture and some of the modern work by people such as Frank Gehry in particular caught my fancy. When I first arrived in Boston in August of 2008 to attend Wellesley, I was impressed with the buildings squished together around me on the streets. The architecture here is almost nothing like that of San Diego. Southern California has a much more youthful, spread out feeling to it, with heavy southwest influence in the ever-present stucco and earthen tones of so many buildings. Boston, on the other hand, is old and rich with history that San Diegans can't even begin to imagine.

And so I invite you to take a virtual journey with me to some of my favorite buildings in Boston that I have come across thus far. This will likely be the first of many entries about architecture I come across.

Today's entry will focus on three buildings in Copley Square, which is a very busy, tourist-filled area of Boston, especially around this time of year. Here's a photo I took of part of Copley Square on a recent outing with a friend:

And that, unfortunately enough, is not the side of Copely Square which we shall be discussing today. Instead, we will turn to the left and start with one of my favorite buildings in all of Boston: The Old South Church, also known as the New Old South Church. The reason for this strange nomenclature is that the Old South Church congregation had been around much longer than this building had. This was the "new" building that was created for a congregation that had been around since 1669. In fact, the congregation, a part of the United Church of Christ, is one of the oldest religious communities in the United States. Can your religious community claim that?

I love this building because of its ties to Gothic architecture, which captured the heart of my inner art enthusiast three years ago.

Completed in 1875, "the most beautiful basilica in North America," according to the Boston Transcript, was designed in the Gothic Revival style by William Sears (not of the department store fame) and Charles Cummings (a man with a very unfortunate last name). It became the third home of the Old South congregation. This Gothic Revival style particularly reflected the architecture of the cathedrals in Venice, as was advocated by John Ruskin, an influential English architecture critic. The exterior of the building if constructed mostly of puddingstone and deep rose sandstone to create an alternating red and white exterior that is also relatively common in Spanish architecture as well (google images of places in Cordoba, if you don't believe me).

The campanile, or that gorgeous tower attached to the building that most Americans probably couldn't climb without getting seriously dehydrated, is two hundred and forty-six feet tall, and houses a bell that weighs 2020 pounds. That's right, the bell weighs less than your environmentally-conscious Prius and is about 1/13 the weight of the largest bell in the Notre Dame cathedral in Paris. Quasimodo laughs at your puny bell, Boston. For shame.

All jokes about the Hunchback of Notre Dame aside, the Old South Church is thriving in the center of a city famous for people who can't pronounce their "R"s, beans, and tea parties. It currently is home to more than 650 Bostonians from every background you can imagine. They even have a female Senior Minister. Yeah, progress! For a church who once had a man named Ebenezer Pemberton as their Senior Minister and baptized Benjamin Franklin when he was born, I'd say they're doing pretty well for themselves.

One of my personal favorite tiny details of this building happens to not be on the building at all but on the iron gate that surrounds it:

Now, this I can tell you nothing about other than I found it to be especially pretty and so I snapped the above image.

Directly across the street from the (New) Old South Church is the McKim Building of the Boston Public Library, which certainly puts the Balboa branch of the San Diego public libraries to shame, and will possibly be put to shame by the new design for the Central Library in San Diego. However, as far as libraries go, this one is pretty... how shall I describe it? Well, "baller" seems modern and colloquial enough, despite the fact that it is normally applied to people.

Built in 1895, the McKim building was heralded as a "palace for the people" and currently contains the Library's administrative offices, exhibition rooms, and research collection. The building was designed by Charles Follen McKim in the Renaissance Revival style. Why everyone in Copley Square chose to design something in a revival style is beyond me, though I figure it's probably because these people knew good architecture style when it stared them in the face. No need to invent something new when there is already something perfect available, right? The exterior facade was heavily influenced by the Bibliotheque Sainte-Genevieve in Paris whereas the enclosed courtyard pictured below was modeled after the Palazzo della Cancelleria in Rome.

There are all sorts of interesting little symbols and details throughout the library that, in order to cover them all, I would have to create an entire post devoted to this building alone. My personal favorites are the two large statues in front of the library that represent Art and Science;

the head of Minerva (known as Athena to the Greeks), goddess of wisdom, over the main entrance;

the marble lions that proudly, if lazily, lord over the stairs and memorialize the Massachusetts Civil War infantries;

and the fountain in the Italian-inspired courtyard with the statue of the Baccante and Infant Faun in bronze.

For someone who normally misses the heavy symbolism that laces the art and literature of the world, I certainly appreciated all of obvious influences, references, and blatant copies that I found throughout my wanderings of the McKim building. The one aspect I did not appreciate as much was the never-ending stream of religious paintings that seem to be a requirement of any building built before 1900. If I've seen one Crucifixion of Christ, I've seen them all. Please, stick to the clever personifications of great over-arching terms like "Art" and "Science." Kthxbai.

I should clarify. I'm not anti-religion or anti-Christianity, but I always enjoyed the mythology and symbolism associated with ancient Greek and Roman societies so much more because there was so much more to pull from: gods, goddesses, demi-gods, heroes, titans, satyrs, nymphs, and so on. When I studied early Christian art, however, I saw the same twelve scenes or so repeated over and over again and quickly grew bored with the subject matter. Also, gruesome pictures of a crucified Christ do not really seem appropriate in a place of research, which is not a place of worship.

The last building I would like to share with you today is across the square from the Old South Church and is where I would like to stay when I am a wealthy doctor married to a man who has more money than either of us would ever know what to do with. My friends and I originally (and quite literally) stumbled into this building when one of us announced that we needed to use the ladies' room sometime soon or Bad Things would happen. Imagine our surprise when we walked through the doors of what looked like a normal, though not cheap, hotel, and were greeted with the below sight:

Everything in white marble and gold leaf... rugs that probably cost more than my yearly salary... chairs that might be actual Louis XV chairs from the time of the old French king himself. For someone who considers freshly laundered sheets a luxury, I certainly was impressed. My eyes were bugging out of my head, my jaw had dropped onto the ground, and my mind was desperately trying to not calculate how many lifetimes my family would have to work to afford what was in the lobby alone.

This is the Fairmont Copley Plaza. The hotel's architect was Henry Janeway Hardenbergh, the same man who designed the Plaza Hotel in New York City. The hotel opened in 1912 to host more than 1,000 guests, some of whom had had to make reservations for the hotel up to sixteen months in advance for a room. Currently, the hotel has 383 rooms that range in price from $259 per night to $3,500 per night. Among several of its impressive facts and anecdotes, this hotel was the first to be completely air conditioned and was the first to accept credit cards. The Fairmont, which was built on the original site of the Museum of Fine Arts, has been the hotel of choice for nearly every president since William Howard Taft, as well as several foreign dignitaries, celebrities that attract paparazzi like carcasses attract flies and maggots, and various royalty.

And if that doesn't impress you, then consider this: they have a hotel WITHIN the hotel on the fourth floor, open to a "selection of like-minded guests," where "your individuality is valued, your room preferences are honored, and your arrangements for a quick and effortless departure are anticipated." This is all taken directly from their website. They not only arrange your limousines for you, but even provide you with a bottle of mineral water to go along with your bath. Oh, and just to remind you, this is a common sight in the ballrooms:

Meanwhile, this is their bar/lounge:

Feeling outclassed yet? I definitely had a Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman moment when I stepped into this place, and had another one while I was doing the research for this entry.

Awesome.

So that's all for now. More soon. Peace, love, and pandas!