Normandy, My Love

I have to confess that after visiting the Loire Valley, I didn't think there would be a region to live up to my standards of French regions. But I was wrong. The first view of Normandy we took on our latest excursion had me hooked: fishing boats, the Seine, and cute architecture. Pardon my pun.

The town is called Honfleur, and if you have never heard of it, you should look it up. Many of the great French painters, predecessors of the Impressionists, painted and lived in this charming city. Between the history of the oldest wooden church, L'Eglise Sainte Catherine, and the atmosphere of a water-front town, all of your needs can be met in this one place. Not to mention the fact that I found a milkshake there. No joke, it's the first one I've seen this whole time that wasn't suspicious. Next to Honfleur on your list of destinations should be Deauville, and geographically, they are practically neighbors. This lovely ocean-front town is also the site of an important American film festival, as you can see by the beach side changing stalls dedicated to Hollywood stars.

Our home base was Caen, a very typical destination for anyone visiting Normandy. You will find university students and everyday folks just as often as you will find tourists, but the city is worth your time. Though we didn't go for a tour, we walked by William the Conqueror's castle. We visited l'Abbaye aux hommes, home to a wonderful Romanesque/Gothic fusion church. William's ancient remains are interred inside, so if you care about old Norman history, you should stop by. Apparently, they had trouble getting him to go into his grave, so the remains, I'm sure, would testify to that if you could still even find his crumbs.

Anyway, the important site of Normandy happens to be one of the most visited tourist sites in France: Mont St Michel. Not far from Caen, this island is a witness to centuries of history, from William the Conqueror trying to lay siege to the World Wars. What makes this jewel so special is its beautiful views. You hardly make it to the top of the steps (there are a lot) before the view takes away your breath. On top, you will find a church and abbey, still in session for those who want to make pilgrimage there. I found the gardens to be the most enchanting spot.

As a conclusion, we visited the Memorial in Caen, which consists of a very thorough museum on the history of World War II in France. There is also a separate exhibit about D-Day, or Jour J as the French call it, and the landings on Normandy's shore. Unfortunately, our subsequent visit to the shores themselves was overshadowed with fog. Under better conditions, you can see what remains of the British, American, and Canadian landings. We did, however, get to explore a few bunkers, one complete with a tank!

If any of you is wondering, we did visit the American memorial at St Laurent. It was just as moving as I imagined, and the only thing missing was patriotic music. It's funny how nothing seems to patriotic to me now that I've been away from the U.S. for so long. I don't always miss it, but there is nothing like America - even with our problems and vices. I'm actually thankful to be American... but if any French person asks, I'm not really American. I just play one on TV. 

Laisser les bons temps rouler

(Let the good times roll!)

I just want the world to know how much I truly love the Loire Valley. Anyone who is visiting France should add this jewel of a region to their list of places to see. The region is full of beautiful, quaint towns and chateaux that look like they have just sprouted out of the ground. During the Renaissance, the French crown made its primary residence in the area, and the chateaux still exist today for those who are interested in seeing how the other half lived in this time of cultural rebirth.

The best part about this trip is that it has led to beautiful weather in Paris! I welcome spring and sunshine, because it cuts the wind and cold. Even more than that, the good weather is welcoming in the celebration of my birthday! What a wonderful way to celebrate being born. Even the Seine is beautiful to me today, the Seine, the Tour Eiffel, the towers of Notre Dame. All these usual sites of my neighborhood look so much more beautiful to me today. It's la vie en rose! I can't stand it!

Well, yes I can. Anyway, here are some lovely images of the Loire to show you just how beautiful it is! (Le Chateau de Chambord [the first 4 images], Chateau de Blois, D'Ambois, le Chateau de Clos Luce, et le Chateau de Chambord, the final image is of Tours - just a few lovely sites).

Full Circle

I find that in my life, the circumstances that mean the most to me are the ones that show me there is something more to life that just coincidence.

One of those instances just happened upon me, and I must share with you - whoever you may be. In my cinema class, we just finished our discussion of the American era "Hollywood-sur-Seine," in which many Hollywood-funded films were made in Paris to avoid sending massive amounts of money back to the U.S. (In other words, to avoid paying heinous taxes.) One such film is none other than An American in Paris, Vincente Minelli's chez-d'oevure musical. Those of you who have been following this blog closely will remember that I first began my Parisian experience with this very film while I was still in the U.S.

My first thought was that this was too much of a coincidence to be watching this film, albeit just a few clips, in my French cinema class. There were even several points of my own observation in our professor's analysis. Chiefly, the references to French painters during the American in Paris Ballet. However, I learned that my recognition of the paintings was limited to Toulouse Lautrec, while the ballet actually includes many great French painters from the Belle Epoque.

I continued this feeling of coincidence when I watched the most recent Woody Allen film, Midnight in Paris. Everyone it seems has had this film on their lips since I arrived, and I felt it was time to find out what all the buzz meant to me. I'm happy that the film not only lived up to the hype, but it has brought my experience in Paris full circle. There were so many moments in that film, which centers on the fantastic encounter of a 21st century screenwriter with the great American expats of the 1920s, that made me think of my life here. For example, when Gill (the screenwriter/struggling novelist) sits down with Ernest Hemingway, he confesses that he is always reticent to have other people read his work. Hemingway tells him that a writer should never fear death and is always jealous of another writer's talent.

Being a writer myself, I think that this film is the most pertinent look at the effect of romance and environment on the artistic spirit. Granted, I'm no Hemingway, and I'm certainly not the next Woody Allen. But at the same time, I felt that I could identify with this erring protagonist in that I'm always focused on my writing more than I am what's around me. Being here in Paris has given me a new sense of setting and its integral role in the action. Some of that awareness has also come from reading the greats of 19th century French literature, Balzac, Zola and Maupassant to name a few key figures. This city has impacted literature so much that it exists in mystique more than in actuality for most people.

What is Paris to me? For the moment, I hardly know how to put its role into words. I'm with Gill sometimes, who decides at the end of the film to give up his cushy job in Hollywood and move to Paris to work on his novel. Then other times, I'm a cynic. Paris is an ideal, not a physical place. I think Hemingway said it best when he called it a "moveable feast." You can take it with you wherever you go; you don't have to move here to experience it for a lifetime.

So my goal is more than just to experience something as overtly romantic as Gene Kelly in An American in Paris - falling in love with a Parisian dancer and living happily ever after - or even as sentimental as Gill in Midnight in Paris. I just want to understand what this artistic feast means to me and how that plays into my life. In the meantime, I'm enjoying how even in the big city, life is a series of recurring emotion that never ceases to overwhelm me with creative energy. I love it.

Le Ballet

Tchaikovsky is one of my favorite composers, and it just so happens that the Moscow Theater Ballet was performing Swan Lake (Le Lac des Cygnes) here in Paris this weekend. And I am blessed to report that I saw it! I must say that I'm glad my first ballet was this one. The performers were wonderful and professional, and I was in a small enough theater to actually see what was happening on stage!

I think my favorite part was the ambiance. When the scenery changed to the Lake, there was fog and mist to match the broody change in the music. I was very excited when that happened! The only unfortunate part was that the music was previously recorded. If the theater had been bigger, I might have wondered why they didn't have a live orchestra, but it made sense in the space not to try to cram a few dozen players much less a symphony in there. I consoled myself with the lovely view!

I am not much of a ballerina or a dancer, but I am familiar with the forms of ballet. After watching this performance, I really can't fathom performing something as strenuous as a ballet. Each performer not only has to be spot on with the ensemble but he or she also has to stay in character. It's like being a silent film star: your body must convey your words. That in and of itself makes these dancers my heroes.

What's my next goal, you may be asking? To see a ballet/opera in the Opera Garnier. As in the one from the Phantom of the Opera. Don't worry; I'll let you know if that happens.

March Is Here

You know that March is here when the weekly forecast contains sunny, high of 56 and rainy, low of 30. That's exactly the weather we've had in Paris this week, but I'm glad that we started with wet and cold and ended with sunshine. Not only that, we ended in style! Yesterday I went on a walking tour around the area of Mont Ste Genevieve.

Sainte Genevieve is important to the French because she not only discovered the tomb of St Denis, a very important early Christian martyr in France, but she also helped to protect the people of Paris during a long siege by the Huns. There are two churches right next to each other in this area of Mont Ste Genevieve, which is not really a mountain. It's just an elevated part of the city. You can find one church, named for the patron saint herself, that is a glorious mix of late Gothic and Renaissance architecture, and the other is famously not a church. That is to say, it's a mausoleum known as the Pantheon. It's interesting to imagine what the Pantheon might be if the Revolution hadn't happened. But I guess we'll never know. Now it's a very majestic home to important people after they have died. Eerie when you think about it, but so is the fact that the church houses the relic of Ste Genevieve's finger.

In the afternoon, I took my first real stroll on the Champs-Elysses. Honestly, I think that it will be prettier when spring really does arrive. The trees weren't in bloom, despite the deceptive weather. I also think that the only cool part is the view. Everywhere you are surrounded by wonderful 19th century buildings, all leading toward the Arc de Triomphe, which is the center of the spokes of the star (etoile).

I even ate a typical alsacien meal, that is a traditional menu of Alsace in the North of France. It mostly consisted of sausages and cabbage. To my taste buds, it felt more German and even smelled German and not French, but the funny thing about France is how truly different the regions are. In the South, or rather in Provence, everything felt and looked like Italy. In the North, you could have German influence or even something more akin to Great Britain. It's all relative to geography. I think what's truly wonderful about that fact is that France is a fraction of the size of Texas; it's even smaller than Georgia.

I hope to share more wonderful things with Americans in the future, but if you're considering coming here to France, you might just want to prepare yourself for how truly small this space is by remembering that even in Paris, there are more people in the space than such a small city has room to contain.

God's Love Speaks

Today I couldn't eat my lunch - first since I've been in Paris. The reason I am shocked and why I'm writing this here now is because the Holy Spirit was the cause. The Lord was weighing so heavily in my heart, He was so palpable, that I couldn't stomach the taste of something as simple as a ham and cheese sandwich. Perhaps some of you have never felt this before, but I think that one of the most beautiful parts of knowing God is communing with Him. It's just that sometimes we are surprised at the situations that remind us of His presence.

When I went to the grocery store to purchase my pre-made sandwich, I walked past several homeless people sitting beside each of the doors to the store. The thought crossed my mind as I was walking away from the sound of their soft but insistent voices. What was I doing, buying that food for myself when all these people are asking for is something to eat? As I stared at my uneaten half of the sandwich, their simple pleas reverberated in my head.

I went back after what felt like ten minutes of hesitation. Beside the gates of a nearby elementary school, a child, probably 10 years old, sat bundled up on the sidewalk. I reached out and gave this small human form my sandwich, hardly hearing the plea escaping her lips. As I walked away, I realized that I didn't even know how to share more with this child - how to share the reason that drew me to give her food. All the years of learning the "strategy" of evangelism cannot prepare anyone for what it is like to go beyond yourself for the Gospel in real life. I had no words, only a sandwich and a smile.

At the end of the day, strategy is a tactic the world uses in business, not a Biblical necessity. When face to face with human misery, we have to lean on the Lord. There is nothing in human power to provide for the needs of another soul; all we have is food.

I want this moment to be frozen in time as both a turning point and a failure to trust in God. My failure was when I hesitated to go the moment I felt the Lord's rebuke. I thought about just throwing away the uneaten half of my sandwich. It would have been just as easy to do it. But that thought should caused me to recognize the voice of the Lord. We are always tempted to give into the flesh when we are on mission for the Lord. The enemy knows where we are weak and constantly gives us the chance to forget about God, to conveniently believe that He couldn't be present in our daily lives. But the Lord protects us so that we never have to doubt the call of His Gospel.

Perhaps if I had acted immediately to the stirring of His Spirit, I wouldn't have had that trouble speaking the words of God in my heart, yet I know that the Lord's grace will cover me and this child. Even now the Word of God is my food. My strength. My love.

Monday, Monday, Monday

This week is going to make me stronger, because it's certainly not gonna kill me! It's funny how being in a foreign country and doing all of my work in another language has made me appreciate English more.

In the next several days, I will be completing the second and the third French-formatted composition of my life - the first one being an essay that my teacher saw fit not to grade beyond pass/fail for completion. French compositions at their very heart are based on logic. If you make one point, you should acknowledge the opposing view and state why that view is not the argument posed in your essay. It makes sense, of course, to write that way. As my teacher put it, if you show up to a debate without expecting the opposition, you are not equipped to make your own arguments (see every political debate ever).

My dilemma here is that I am writing about literature. What can one possibly do to deny me my right to read a text how I see fit to read it? Honestly, if I write something, I want my readers to read the work in their own way, and that generally doesn't involve picking apart every metaphor and saying, "This section relates to **'s desire to break free of social constraints" and other such literary mumbo-jumbo. But I am a good student of literature, and I secretly enjoy attributing things to authors that they probably didn't intend. I just prefer doing it in a language I fully understand, using my own logical structure.

In France, even the composition is policed. They say that we have issues. Well, at least we teach our students to write essays however they please! There's no real art to writing something using a form for the first time. It's like the first time I tried to write a sonnet. Any self-respecting Shakespearean scholar would have told me in a heartbeat that the metrical feet were wrong in several lines and I had the whole blank verse concept out of proportion in a few places. We've all got to start somewhere.

Here's the point. It's Monday; it's rainy and cold outside. All I want to do is cuddle on my bed and write a story about an American student in Paris who doesn't want to write her essay but who meets some mysterious  Welshman in the metro, and they fall madly in love... Ok, so I'm just being evasive. I think I just wanted to blow off some of my creative steam. The French certainly understand that! If you don't believe me, you should really be looking at this passage from Balzac.

Clouds Can't Bring Me Down!

This morning, I really didn't want to get out of bed. It's sad to admit, because I'm generally a morning person. Today I didn't want to wake up. But there was something making me put my feet on the ground, and that something was the prospect of re-visiting the Eglise Evangelique Baptiste on rue de Sevres. I was surprised even that I not only made it but I was only 5 minutes late!

When I arrived, the first thing we did was sing one of my favorite worship songs: "Shout to the Lord." If you have never heard it, look it up! There are countless versions of it (by now, it's kind of an old chorus), but I think that the French version has something for me the English version lacks. It's pure poetry! Here are the words, and even if you can't read it, you can still appreciate it's aesthetic purity.

Oh ! Jésus, mon Sauveur,

Seigneur, nul n’est comme toi.

Jour après jour je te louerai

Car ton amour est merveilleux.

Mon abri, mon refuge,

Mon réconfort, mon rocher.

Tout ce qui vit, ce que je suis,

Ne cesse de t’adorer.

Chante au Seigneur, crie de joie

Terre entière.

À Dieu la gloire, la puissance et l’honneur ;

Les monts s’inclinent et les flots rugissent

À l’écho de ton nom.

Je vois tes œuvres et mon cœur crie de joie.

Je t’aimerai, je tiendrai par la foi.

Rien ne pourrait égaler tes promesses pour moi.

Even now, I'm smiling just singing it to myself!

I was blessed as soon as I stepped foot in the room. Then we studied in Mark 5:21-34, when a woman touches the hem of Jesus's robe so that He will heal her. The teacher remarked on something very poignant about this passage that we should all remember: this woman came to Jesus because she had heard the rumors of what He had done in someone else's life. Not only that, she pushed beyond the limits of her physical limitations and beyond her status in society. Because of that persistent faith, she was healed. Jesus restored to her the status of humanity gave her a family with God. 

The personal application is that we should be that close to the Lord that people are always talking about Jesus and the miracles He has done in our lives. If He hasn't been present in your life lately, that's probably because you weren't looking for Him. We often miss the opportunities for miracles because we fail to recognize miracles in the ordinary things. Every day that I wake up is a miracle; every second I take a breath because Jesus paid for my breath. I will never step outside these four walls with a frown on my face and paranoia in my brain. It's impossible to fear when you know that the power that raised Christ from the dead is in you (Romans 8:11).

Cloudy day in Paris? No problem. All I see is beautiful.

Another Week for the History Books

Folks, I have officially been in Paris for a month. This is a time to remember, to celebrate, to set down on the page (virtual in this case): a true introvert has survived in a big city for four weeks! I'm imagining a Nice-style parade going on right now, complete with carnaval music and confetti. Except minus the carnaval and the confetti.

Apart from my first test and my first quiz, this week has been unremarkable. I've learned a lot about myself in the process, however, and I know that there are a few lingering questions that I still need to work out, so here we go.

How am I going to be content with living in suburbia after this? When I'm in a moment of weakness, as I often am in the winter months, I'd say I would get along the same as I always have. But that's not going to cut it anymore. The truth is that I've barely done anything in my life that was remarkable while I was at home. It's sad, but that's the truth. The only remarkable things I ever do at home happen in the realm of the imaginary, and I rarely like the things that come out of that state of mind longer than a few months after the mood has past.

My mind is flying in a million directions trying to synthesize what it would be like if I lived like I do here while I was at home. Let me explain, because I feel like this is more for my own benefit than yours.

As an introvert, I generally keep close to what is familiar. I go to classes at school and socialize with the people I live with, and beyond that I don't really stretch my social muscles. If someone says, "So and so is hosting a party. You should come." I generally just smile and make up a ridiculously exaggerated half-truth to get me out of going, whether I like the people or not.

Contrast that with Paris: I take the metro every day by myself. I order meals, go to class and socialize with my hosts all in French. I often walk in the neighborhood, and I do things with a purpose when I am in public. Okay, so not that much different so far. I'm getting there!

What I never do at home is take the time to look around when I'm in public. I don't actually walk around where I live, but if I did, I might be more inclined to care what my neighbors were doing, instead of fearing a conversation with them. At least they would be speaking to me in English.

That's just the tip of the iceberg. What if even in Paris I got into the thick of cultural engagement, and actually went out of my way to understand what makes someone French? That's how I would be able to look at the suburbs differently. After the week I've had, I think that's what I'm most looking forward to enjoying when I go back home. Of course it will be difficult to re-enter the Deep South after living in such a liberal metropolis for a few months, but the difficulty will be inside of me. I won't be able to react to other people in fear, because they share my culture - something I never knew to value before I came to France.

I'm writing this so I don't forget when I go home to remember to be thankful for America, warts and all.

Random is best

I've been on the downward curve of cultural immersion this week - most likely a result of re-entering the big city after so much travel last week. The most ironic thing has happened though: a spontaneous act of a professor that normally would have made me feel awkward has actually brought my spirits back up.

Here is what happened. On Wednesday for my architecture class, we went to visit the cathedral Saint Vincent de Paul, not far from Gare du Nord. This cathedral not only represents the 19th century practice of appropriating styles from previous centuries but also demonstrates a good example of a paleo-christian church. The basic layout and spirit reflect the mysterious reverence of early Catholics in their vision of what a place of worship should be. For inspiration, these early Christians looked to the Roman basilica, which was not a religious building but a secular meeting place. The additions made under Christian influence have lasted even to modern times, such as the altar and the pulpit.

After we visited this eerie monument to times past (eerie because we were the only ones there), our professor decided to take all five of us out for a cup of coffee. I suppose this sort of thing is more of a European concept, since naturally it looks weird for five female students to go out in public with a male professor, especially when he's buying. But actually, this was one of the most normal things that has happened to me this week. We casually drank our lovely free drinks, mine a hot chocolate, and then the professor proceeded to discuss something that is very casual in France: politics. Lovely. This is one area in which I am not well-versed, and I generally make my opinions known with the utmost timidness.

As our professor opened the conversation with, "Do you think Obama will be re-elected? Do the Republicans have a chance?" what are five un-suspecting Americans to do but just say, "Well, the Republicans have a chance, but not a great one." Naturally, this was unsettling but honest; I am a Republican, but sadly, an uneducated Republican. Who am I to deny that President Obama is not only a competent leader but a good president? I just wanted to give my party a chance, even though I actually don't have any clue who these candidates are in terms of their politics.

Anyway, the conversation was mostly one-sided, as the professor is an enthusiast of American politics, and apart from being very French, he probably knows more than I do. Maybe it's just that he is more intelligent about his understandings of government. That is definitely a very French way to be: always curious about other points of view but staying firm in personal convictions. He wanted to discuss something interesting to him, and I was ashamed that I live in a country that I don't really understand, even here in France! I haven't studied government in a year and a half. Here's a Frenchman who follows the speeches of President Obama more closely than I would ever follow President Sarkozy.

This professor said one thing that stuck out more that the rest. "You have to be able to view your country as the world views it in order to have a better opinion of the things that are going on." Clearly, he said it better, because it was French. Come on, the most boring TV add is more interesting in French. (And sometimes it's the same commercial we have in the US, just translated.)

If we in America took ourselves more seriously, we would be able to have a better country in the present, instead of just letting our president harp on and on about our future and how we have to do this and that, etc., to improve it. My generation is really guilty of a general apathy regarding the future, because we have forgotten that we inherit it. At some point very soon, our generation is going to be calling the shots. In a lot of ways, we already are, and that's why we can't seem to have politicians who really care about their constituencies and who can do more than promise change and reform.

Take this French example to heart. In the banlieue or the suburbs of Paris, one can find the highest percentage of illegals and people who have immigrated from other countries. You can also find the highest rate of abstention come election time. Why? It's the same reason there are so many regions and demographics who are under-represented in the U.S. People aren't voting, and the candidate has to incentive to represent their needs. Candidates just want to be elected, like any good business men and women. If we want them to be of the people and for the people, we have to start supporting good ideas, not just letting them fight over botched compromises until their passed in Congress and then say, "Hey, that's not right!" What's not right is our apathy. Since when did we stop being a democracy?

So this random moment is really making me think. I don't even want this to be about politics, but there it is. My architecture professor sparked a torrent of feeling in me that I have never felt - at least not in a while. And he's right. I never would have realized that I needed to wake up if I hadn't gone outside of the U.S. In France, Obama can do no wrong, while in the U.S., he has some pretty vigilant haters who have their own TV shows. The reality is that we can't just let other people tell us what to think. I for one don't want that to be the way I lead my life.