Virtually Home

Last night I thought it was a great idea to be out until 4 a.m. And it was, at the time, since I got to see all my favorite people at Dick Turpin's open mic night, and at the Connemara open mic night, including my English friends who are all headed back home this weekend. This morning, I overslept. I woke up at 9:28, which is about ten minutes after I should have left the apartment to get to my 10 a.m. meeting a couple of minutes early. Because I'm obsessively punctual. Thanks, Mom and Dad. Anyway, I woke up cursing. Ran out of the house. Discovered that yes, it's still in the 40s Fahrenheit, still pouring rain off and on, still windy, and still overcast. Oh, and still May. Explain that. I missed the first tram and had to wait an extra six minutes, putting me further behind schedule. I ended up only about ten minutes late, and that living on French time, but it still makes me uncomfortable. My professor gave me a 12 for the course, which isn't too shabby, all thin...

I met Mélanie and Natacha at a tram stop this morning and we drove to Arcachon, a seaside town on the southwest coast. This was wondrous for a few reasons. The first and simplest was that I hadn't been in a car in a long, long time, and the sensation of highway driving was pretty excellent. After that, the wonders got more legitimate. The first stop was at the Dune de Pyla, which is a pretty gigantic sand dune by the water. Every year, after Easter, they put a temporary plastic stair case on the side of the dune, though since, as you might imagine, the dune's shape is rather mutable, they have to adjust it often. We trooped to the top. I avoided dying from asthma. Everything smelled like salt and pine needles. It was windy at the top. Kind of unpleasantly windy, in the way that makes you think you should cover your ears, lest you get sick. And in the way that makes one yearn for something to tie one's exceedingly long hair back (seriously, if I weren't so terrified ...

Yesterday was the Fête du Travail, the "work festival". Or "work party". Or any number of translations that I thought were funny -- here was a truly French holiday: one in which we celebrate not working. Then I realized we do this, too, on Labor Day. And then it made a lot more sense but was a lot less funny. Alas. Anyway, I had a surprisingly good day. I was doubtful. I kind of wanted to go to the grocery store (closed). The trams and buses weren't running. Even the bar downstairs was closed. Things were not looking up, in the way of entertainment. But mid-afternoon, Franck played a show with his blues rock band, FireFrank and the Fire Starters, at the Bourse du Travail. I hadn't seen them play before, though I'd seen Franck do a variety of acoustic covers and originals. It was definitely a good show. The weather was overcast, windy and in the mid-50s, Fahrenheit. I wished for a hair tie. My toes were cold in my sandals. This didn't really b...

The day passed slowly yesterday. I watched some (terrible) movies. I read some Philip K. Dick. I did some yoga and worried about my upcoming final and exposé for the history of France under Louis XV on Wednesday, neither of which I can study for due to my lack of book and notes, the campus being closed, etc. France conspires against my productivity. The evening was much better. The bar by the cathedral was having a party for its owner's birthday, and a local band I'd met at some open mic nights around town was playing. They played an hour set, during which they debuted a new song and played a lot of my favorite covers. We all conspired to meet up at the Black Velvet later on, and parted ways. I went with some people on a guitar-fetching and kebab-buying run to the neighborhood south of Place de la Victoire on Cours de la Marne. We even stopped to buy some Kronenbourg. I taught them the English phrase "beer run". You know. Spreading the American college culture. ...

I still have about a month and a half in Bordeaux, but today I felt really ready to go home for the first time. I mean, I'm far from having achieved closure with people, or even with the school, but I just missed things. People. Driving. What the South Oval probably looks like right now. Frog and insect noise, now that it's warm. It was 84 Fahrenheit today, which means it's reached the temperature that I need to keep the windows open for ventilation. While sleeping that's going to be a hassle, since the windows have no screens and the mosquitoes, though nowhere near the droves found in Oklahoma, are beginning to emerge. If the drapes are closed, no air passes. When they're open, my across-the-courtyard neighbors' lights shine right into my room. To say nothing of their windows looking right into my room, I guess. Morning sunlight is a whole separate issue. I think this will be good for putting me back on a diurnal schedule, though. Coming off of the Amsterda...

I can tell you that in the airports and the train stations of western Europe, there is nothing nice being said about Iceland. It is, of course, hardly their fault that a volcano erupted, but it is wreaking havoc with spring break plans all over the place. Our trip started out on Monday. We took the TGV up to Paris and dodged the RER closures to get to Draveil, which is a little town south of the city where our hostel was going to provide a free shuttle to Orly for our 10:30 a.m. flight the next day. We were nervous about the ash, but Orly had re-opened on Monday and was operating most of its flights. The only flights that weren't landing in Athens as scheduled were coming from France and Germany. This didn't bode well. Tuesday morning, and we have received no cancellation e-mail from EasyJet, and the internet tells me that our flight status is still "on time". We walk to the train station, get on a bus to the airport, walk from the bus stop to the terminal. I real...

French stereotypes that make a Jessie happy: Men in striped shirts. Ridiculous mustaches. Poodles. Hearing anyone, at any time, say "Ooh là là". Seeing French children rollerblading with baguettes under their arms. Terrifying cheeses. Seeing anyone selling escargot, ever. The omnipresence of wine. French stereotypes that make a Jessie unhappy: Constant smoking of cigarettes. That guy who reeks. And inevitably stands next to you on the tram. Complete lack of efficiency, promptness or competence.