The Grande Tour

The sea sparkled with thousands of diamonds set on cobalt fading to sapphire. Jagged dessert sand colored rocks lined the shores where we picked our way along looking for a place to soak in the Adriatic sun. While the thought of laying out on rocks all day with nothing but a sarong seemed uninviting and definitely not our idea of relaxing into the sand as your toes dig in, the rocks were actually quite wonderful. You could find a rock shaped as a seat, one on a slight incline like a lounge chair or one where the sea constantly sprayed over you to keep you fresh and cool. Where were we? The most beautiful place I had ever been and where a month later I am longing to go back-Rovinj, Croatia.

Croatia had been on the top of my list whenever anyone asked the "where do you want to visit while you are in Europe" question. Why? Well, first of all, I had heard that it had one of the most beautiful coastlines in Europe. A coast line where Roman nobility used to escape from Italy. Why wouldn't anyone want to go to a place where the Italians escaped to? Second, I hadn't heard of hardly anyone who had been there. And selfishly I wanted to discover a place. (In fact, to be honest, I am still rather selfish about Croatia and don't want to share it, maybe I should rewrite this and make it sound miserable...) My good friend Heidi was to be my fellow adventurer and we researched and researched getting to Croatia. Finally, we settled on a plan. We would head to the northern, less popular, part, Istria. Istria is just across the Adriatic sea from Venice. I created a wish list of things to see in Rovinj and Istria from rock climbing, going to art walks, wine tasting and truffle hunting. Of course, I didn't get to do all those things but what we did do did not disappoint.

The second we walked into the center of Rovinj, with bright colored housed lining the sea-literally right up against the sea and sail boats, fishing boats and yachts lining the tiny harbor. With its slippery, dangerous cobblestones winding up to St Euphemia church crowning the village I knew I had finally arrived in the Europe I had dreamed of. The pace of life, the colors, the smells, the sound of southern European and eastern European languages mingling together and very, very little English fulfilled all my heart desired in seeking a European immersion.

Heidi and I took advantage of our time in Croatia, sunbathing, swimming in the sea so filled with salt that when you laid on your back with your arms out and face full up to the sun you needed only the tiniest flick of the wrist or foot to stay afloat, and if it wasn't for the fear of drifting out to sea one could easily fall asleep. We rode bikes through Himalayan Cedars along the coast, got caught in numerous thunderstorms, made friends with the restaurant owner over grappa, missed boats and had every experience two care free, adventurous girls could have. It was a trip we both know we will be talking about in our 80s.

After a week in Croatia we sadly crossed the sea by ferry boat. After Croatia, Venice and Verona held no charms for me. I hate to say it, I know I sound spoiled and I fully admit I am-but I was not quite as impressed as before by cathedrals and I was more annoyed than ever by throngs of tourists. Fortunately, we had booked our hotel on Lido Venice an island and what may as well have been a world away. Here we did dig our toes into the sand and swam along on the other side of the magical Adriatic. The high point of Verona (the home of Romeo and Juliet) was my first opera on the sun-warmed steps of the ancient arena. Although getting lost, eating peches with espresso and then pounding on the side of a bus to get it to stop for us was up there too.

Before we knew it, we were off the Heidi's European home, Barcelona. I loved how metropolitan and forward thinking this city was. I was truly inspired by the architecture of Gaudi. Fortunately, here too, we took in some beach time and tasted the sun and salt of the Mediterranean.

Then back to Paris. Where Heidi and I explored some parts I had yet to experience and Heidi did not once see a tourist-we visiting the Parisien's Paris.

I think its clear from this entry how truly inspiring and beautiful Croatia was. I really can't wait to go back and visit this precious discovery and I am so happy it fulfilled our dreams.

I come home in two weeks and am planning two more blog entries. I look forward to seeing you all!

Just to let you know I am Alive...

Hello beautiful people. This will be remarkably short. I haven't posted because I have been doing a mad dash around Europe before I return to the states September 30th. Which, as much as I long to see friends and family, I am incredibly sad to leave this beautiful land.

Anyways, things to come: my mad dash has been 5 days in London, 7 days in Rovinj, Croatia, 2 days in Verona, 2 days in Venice (where I am writing from), 3 days in Barcelona and back to gay old Paris.

Obviously, there will be a lot to share, I don't even think it will all fit!

Fete de la Musique (For Emily)

I climb out of the Odeon metro stop and instantly hear "Smells like Teen Spirit" by Nirvana covered by a cute 16-18ish boy band-so cute, wearing plaid flannel and a Nirvana T-shirt. After listening for a couple minutes I cross over to my favorite allee (Cour de Commerce) with its bright multicolored twinkle lights strung over cobble stones. Typically empty, it is now crowded with outdoor seating and a band playing "I Can't get no Satisfaction." I take a right onto Rue de St Andre des Arts and I pass a few more bands doing more covers of American songs when I happily stumble across my favorite band of the night, Otway Ross. This three piece indie rock band played original work and were really good. Even the habitually staunch Frenchies couldn't help bopping along to funky tunes, one including a song about not thinking he's creepy if he smiles, just trying to be sweet. The lead singer looked as if he had been plucked straight out of California. Sandy hair, short sleeved plaid button down paired with jeans and flip flops. The drummer in the middle with sunglasses perched on his head throws my American group theory when he is called Seamus and the bass player, definetly French with his petite build, slicked hair and cigarette dangling from his lips. (I looked the band up today, and they are based in France, but the lead singer spoke very bad French, so expats perhaps?) After bopping along till the end of their set I head towards St Michelle, hearing everything from rap to steel drum groups.

Turning left at the Seine, I make my way towards the Louvre hoping to culture it up with some opera or orchestra. A reggae group plays in front of the Eglise St Germain l'Auxerrios at the far east end of the Louvre. I cross Rue de Rivoli to the Comedie Française thinking I am sure to meet with an orchestra in the square-none. But in between the square and the Grand Palais a choir takes advantage of the acoustics in the alcove.

Back to the Louvre, where sadly, I find nothing! In front of Arts Decoratifs an exclusive looking group dance with cocktails in their hands to unimaginitive DJing under purple lights-so right bank.

Back to the left bank. I cross over in front of the Musée D'Orsay and walk towards Solferino. I hear what sounds like wannabe old school jazz (think Amy Winehouse) which turns into more thumping. A night club like atmosphere has taken over the street, where at least this time there are real performers. Being on my own and not fond of being picked up I push my way through the cigarette smelling (typical) and rose scented (oh the parisiennes love of parfume) crowd.

I turn left onto St Germain, I am really hoping to hear some jazz! I come across a Latin American group beautifully staged in a courtyard with incredible light installations, but not my type of music. Arriving at St Germain des Près and the oh so famous Café Flores and Café Duex Magots, where this a boy of about 10 playing his electric guitar to White Stripes (mind you, its about 1130 at this time). He proudly competes with a much larger production in front of the church across the square.

I take a seat at café Bonaparte to soak in the last bit of atmosphere and get a petite crème before I have to catch the last train out of Paris. Despite being nearly midnight and Monday, Paris looks like 3pm on a Saturday afternoon. There is a definite fete atmosphere and it feels more like a welcome to summer than a music celebration. While observing the fashion and attitudes of the super cool St Germainites, I ponder the lack of ability of the French in delivering good new music. (Disclaimer-I am aware of exceptions, Madeline Peyroux and Pheonix to name a couple- I am just talking stereo types). But as far as music goes, especially modern music, the French do not have the edge. One thing I have observed about the French is they have sought the best- quality, procedure and structure-and in so many ways have it right and nothing can touch the essence that is French. But with this well deserved superiority comes an acute inability to think outside the box and those who try lack originality and often miss the mark. Often it is a cheap and unimaginitive imitation and I am sorry to say feels a bit euro trashy. Sadly, some even try to mess with what is already perfection within itself - why accompany Le Vie en Rose on an accordian with a boom box!?!

But over all, I really enjoyed Fete de la Musique for the music, the atmosphere, the extremely late sunset behind the Eiffel Tower as well as pondering all that is French. (PS I'm sure what was really lacking, was not taste, but good friends! Love you and miss you all.)

Italy

Two weeks ago I expanded my exploritory territory with a quick trip to Itlay. Hopefully, it is the start of further treks. I love, love, LOVE Italy. The language is so beautiful, the people are so friendly and there is plenty of good food, wine and sunshine.

Carly and I stayed in an apartment in the Trastevere quarter of Rome. Trastevere is characterized by superabundant vines scenting the air with their sweet jasmine and creeping up buildings painted faded shades of gold, copper, pink, and honey yellow that deepen as the sun rises then begins to set. Many of the streets are too small to drive down and the bold car that attempts this feat must toot his horn in the politest way possible in order to clear pedestrians from his path.

Saturday commenced in traditional European fashion-at the market. Thanks to Carly's adeptness in the Italian language (after gaining a petit mastery of French I am definitely moving on to Italian-so musical) we quickly make friends with the vendor selling grapes the size of kiwis, beautiful juicy tomatoes, salad, oranges and so on. Really I don't know why we make candy - nothing beats Jehovah's own sweet concoctions. After procuring our ripe bounty, and marriage proposals, we made our way to the cheese vendor. Carly loved that the people continued to speak Italian to her, not only to sharpen her skills but to experience a warm Italian welcome and encouragement. Of course, we obtained our buffalo mozarella and olives and could barely contain our excitement for dinner time.

After this essential shopping we made our way up the Tiber toward the Vatican and our goal: the Sistine Chapel. Afer baking in the sun for over an hour and winding our way through the cathedral, we rested our feet at a bench as we gazed up at the art of Michealangelo. Honestly, you are in the presence of genius and greatness when seeing this art. Even the throngs of tourists and the constant shushing of the guards could not detract from the brilliance of this masterpiece. The dome is adorned with nine biblical scenes, along the sides of the walls are the prophets and below these tapestries of scenes from Jesus ministry. Behind the alter is "The Last Judgement." What was the most amazing to me was the depth of the figures, they really looked liked three dimensional sculptures and not flat paintings, giving tribute the Michelangelo's superior talent in sculpting. I was also impressed with how he interpreted biblical stories. It is amazing to think of what it will be like to talk to many of the artists who obviously meditated on these accounts and were able to bring them to life with so much emotion.

On our last night, of course Carly and I had to have a good Italian dinner. We decided on a small tratorria in the Trastevere with three little tables on the street providing a prime people watching spot. Our waiter promptly sat himself down in the third chair at our table and did not let us down in our expectations of real over the top flattery. After letting us know that he would choose our wine (of which later in the night he helped himself to a glass of) he commenced in choosing our cheese, and our main courses. He was right in letting us know that we do not know he knows what is best. I was worried that the food would not live up to its hype and I was so wrong. All of the flavors were so light and complimentary, nothing overpowered. Our fiesty waiter entertained us all night long, despite being told off by his superior. At one point he stole a guitar off a couple street musicians and composed a song right there with which to serenade us. Allthough the words consisted mainly of la, la, la and were peppered with amora, it entertained and sufficiently embarassed us. Of course after a bit the rest of the group joined in creating a little italian jam session. And so ended our time in Italy.

Wine Country II

Disclaimer: I didn't do this post soon enough and have had other remarkable amazing things happen since, so it may not sound as awesome as it truly was.

While in Bergerac I was able to spend one beautiful day in Bordeaux. Marc's dad Michelle took me to the train station early in the morning and I spent the hour-long train ride looking at vineyard after vineyard in the clear morning sun. Everywhere was a bower of lilac, hyacinth and "boule de neige." In the ten days we were in Dordogne and Bordeaux the vines went from small looped branches to bright green leaves with the promise of grapes soon to come.

Like Paris, London and Rome, Bordeaux is situated on a river (la Garonne) which makes a C curve through the city. My first impression was formed as I walked from the station toward some cathedral spires dotting the skyline. The streets were dirty, dark and I was a bit worried. I made my way past the Saint Michelle cathedral (the spires I initially saw) where there was a gypsy market. People spread clothes out on mats, selling for 1€ a peice, but probably dug out of someones garbage bin. You could also find old discarded furniture, appliances, books and CDs. Not really my type of market. Although I was intrigued by the people. Very dark skinned and weather beaten, leather like. I would have loved to learn more about them, but alas my language and courage failed me (courage to the point that I wouldn't even take out my camera to snap a couple pictures, which I thoroughly regret). From this quarter narrow winding streets spread out like spokes on a wheel, all curving away and concealing the destination. I started off down one hoping it would lead toward the river.

Out from the dark streets from the St Michelle quarter and onto the Quai Richeleu where an entirely different atmosphere greeted me. Beautiful, tan people jogging along the boardwalk, fountains and buildings influenced by Haussmann architecture. In american terms if Paris is New York, Bordeaux was Palm Beach. It had its own mini Champs Elysees and as already stated the newer parts felt a bit more Parisian. But the people were tan and not thin from smoking instead of eating, thin from drinking wine instead of eating then going out for a run. Instead of wearing black, the women wore bright colored dresses with wide rimmed hats and the men wore linen.

In this quarter I stumbled into my type of market. About a mile and a half of antique booths spread out before me. I once heard the antique markets of Paris described as Paris' attic and this was Bordeaux attic. Each booth set up its furniture as if it was a home and it was like walking through home after home. At lunch time the vendors sat at the tables in each booth and ate cheese, bread, ham and drank wine-I could not have thought of a better way to sell furniture. There were also antique linens bleached by the sun, funky clothes and jewlery and my treasure: a pair of '68 Lanvin sunglasses.

My favorite place we visited was St Emilion. Deep in the vineyards of Bordeaux this beautifully preserved midevil town has an incredible view of vineyards spread over rolling hills from a cathedral rising out of a natural mountainside. That was another thing I loved about the ancient architecture. The buildings seem to be extensions of the rock masses they are built out of. They are not just plopped somewhere like Dorothy's house thrown out of a tornado. So much planning and centuries of building make these strutures formidable, cold and breathtaking. Stone steps are smoothed and grooved by generations of footsteps.

After taking in the view, we had lunch at a bouille-bouille. Here you eat whatever is served for the day. Unlabled bottles of wine are poured freely from the vineyards that the fellow patrons have just come in from working. Little attention is given to decoration (we were sitting at a plastic table on plastic chairs). The central room is reserved for locals, each of whom sits in the same place every day.

More adventures coming soon!

Wine Country

I spent the last 10 days in the south of France in a town called Bergerac. It was so beautiful and peaceful. The home we stayed in was built in the 17th century. The walls and floors were stone with the wooden beams in the ceilings and walls exposed. French doors from everyroom opened onto a terrace. We set up our table there and staged some of the most beautiful and simple days I have ever experienced.

Our days started around between 8 and 9 am. Marc would head off to the boulangerie and get fresh bread for the day as well as pain au chocolate and croissants. Marc's mom had the house fully stocked with perserves of figs, from a tree in her back yard as well as prunes. (I also had Pruneax for the first time-prunes in a liquer, sooo good). Breakfast would leisurely pass and then off we were to a local market. When we came home we would start lunch. After an hour of preperation, while we sipped on an aparetif (of martini or beer) we would sit down to another leisurely lunch. Afterwich, the children are sent off to bed, and Marc, Helen and I rested on lounge chairs drinking coffee or tea and reading or studying. Then the kids are up and its time for goûter (a small meal at four or five that is meant to hold you over to dinner) and after the family would go for a walk while I went for a run.

And how I loved my runs. Through vineyards and vales where the french doors of the country homes were opened invitingly and revealing tables set with hydreangeas and lilacs, past farms where sheep grazed and chickens waddled out onto the lanes. All of the homes have names not addresses, the crickets competed with my ipod and with every deep breath my lungs were filled with the heavy sent of lilacs, hydrangeas and chestnut.

Back home it would be time to prepare dinner, once again sipping on an aperitif (it makes preperation so wonderful and gives those who are waiting something to taste). The kids would go off to bed and we would have a nice long french dinner on the terrace watching the sun set and chatting (in french) until about 11.

Anyways, it was a lovely time and everything was simple and leisurely. There will be more to come on this trip-Bordeaux, St Emillion (I can't wait to show you pictures!)

Picqu-niques and Tickets

This past weekend I experienced my first ever French picque-nicque/BBQ. The week preceeding had been one with madness and mayhem. Helen had her exams-a week long process of intense 7 hour testing on civilization, literature and linguistics and why an au-pair has been needed. Its hard to explain but so much expectation had been winding up to this particular week. So it finally arrived and with it arrived Charlie and Alistair getting sick, 2 out of 3 of the cars breaking down and winding up with Marc giving the Special talk on Sunday. I am sure you can imagine the tension. But as all things are with the Dubarry's handled very well. And to triumph Helen and Marc decided to invite some publishers over after the talk for a BBQ.

The Friday before Marc went to the National Bergerie, where one can order meat before animal has been killed and get cheese that was just made that day. The day of the picque-nicque it took four of us to get all the dishes prepared for eight adults and three children. Now I am going to tell you what we ate, but I feel that it may be a bit pointless becuase I know what images my American-bred brain conjures up when hearing of these dishes; let me assure you they are not at all the same as in America. For our aperitif, we started off with champagne and olives. Then had coleslaw-trust me its yummy!; pasta on a bed of spinach; roquette with chickpeas and sundried tomatoes; quiche; shrimp; and sausage. Followed by chevre and brie and finished with a pear and chocolate tart and coffee. I really hope to make this for some of you when I come home, but I know that even then it will not compare with knowing how close we live to where the food and wine originates. As well as the beauty of the day.

Now for the second portion of my post. I have had the unpleasant experience of having to deal with a 10€ parking fine. I got it last month and have to get it taken care of this week before we head to the south of France for a holiday. Unfortunately, this puts me in a situation where I have to deal with French beauracracy which is most unpleasant! To pay the fines one must go to a local tabac (where you can also get a café, cigarettes, magazines and post card as well as any tarif that must be paid to the governement). I went to one last week and stumbled through asking for what I needed and was informed that they didn't have any. I was thinking that perhaps tabacs don't carry this particular "timbre" and that there is some unknown tabac type that does. So today I bicycled my way to Ramboulliet (one of the cars is still broke down) and tried another tabac. Again, I was told that they don't have this "timbre." So I am peddling my way through the narrow, hilly cobblestone streets which months ago I thrilled at driving through, now let me tell you bicycling is an entirely different experience if not bordering on an extreme sport. I look at building fronts and read signs and hope that I will stumble across the magical place where I can spend 10€ and not have any run ins with the law. Finally, I end up at my school hoping I can find a friendly face to help out.

First, I have to explain just how the French are. They make things appear easy and accessible until you must try to accomplish a particular task. Their logic is circular and you must prove your worth of obtaining any knowledge of how the beauracracies work by either asking the right question-they will not divulge information freely, or being tenacious and nagging enough that they just want to get rid of you. Unfortunately, both require a rather adept use of the language, of which I am far from.

Even at my school, where most of the professors are of French nationality, which they proved by their unwillingness to help. But they too were not sure where to get this mysterious timbre. Fortunately, an American professor (from North Dakota) was ready to rally to my cause ("I have nothing better to do and I hate the beauracratic tape they make us deal with). Together we bicycled to yet another tabac where he had if not the right question, enough mastery of French to make himself a pest and found out that the tabacs are out of the timbres, they get delivered tomorrow (Tuesday) and my best chance of getting one is getting to the nearest tabac tomorrow before they run out! So tomorrow I will take another stab at it, and if I fail I will have to tell Marc and Helen that I have a ticket, ask them to send a check and confess my mistake! In the works of the French "byahch!"

P.S. Two days later three tabacs later and an early am bikeride and I was successful! Haha, take that French bueracracy!

Country Living

Spring has come late this year to France, but it is finally here and lives up to all the songs sung about springtime in Paris. The grass is a rich deep mossy green, the newly plowed fields are a warm, earthy brown and against the cheerful blue skies cherry blossoms and tiny new leaves are just sprouting.

I have plenty of time to absorb the scenery and weather on my bi-weekly bikerides with 2 year old Charlie. He cheerfully points out tractors, horses, cows and dogs as he relaxes in the little cart pulled by my bicycle. I am slowly expanding the territory I cover on our morning bike rides and discovering new delightful and beautiful aspects of the area I am living in outside of Paris. I pass by a charming home with a thatched roof and pleasantly surrounded by a small lake by which the horses graze and on the other side a few goats. I am sure they make their own chevre there. Not too far a way is a run down home that is in the process of being rebuilt. Even neglected it has its own beauty. All that remains are the old stone walls which can easily be imagined as ancient, vines creep up and surround the broken windows and grass and weeds have grown where the floor used to be. I am actually sad it is being rebuilt.

Another sight that I love are my fellow bicyclers. All sorts, from the stretch pants wearing to my favorite: cute little old men in cropped pants that tie on the side and jaunty hats. We are greeted by everyone with a "bonjour" or a pleasant smile. It truly is country living at its best and I happy that I get to not only see Paris and all its glory; but also live and experience the charming French country side.

Literary Pursuits

This last Monday I attended a book reading with my friend Carly at an amazing book store-Shakespeare and Co. Situated on the Seine directly across from Notre Dame, the cluttered and crowded bookstore draws students and tourists with a literary bend. The small upstairs room pictured above is the owner's private library where writers can board in exchange for organizing bookshelves and wringing up purchases. On this particular night I arrived about an hour early prepared to save seats for Carly and myself as the website appropriately suggested such a tactic.

At the far end of the room is a window with a view of twinkle light strewn trees and Notre Dame. The walls are lined with bookshelves and the only exposed piece of wall is covered with a poster size cover of the Great Gatsby. Only one other girl is in the room and while tourists come in and out and the volunteers organizing the event put up chairs, we sit reading patiently. I am reading a book on Beckett's early years and wearing a reasonably acedemic outfit of black pants, carigan and blazer. Such things make me feel that no one will see past and realize that I barely understand my book and besides enjoying a light read I am completely underqualified to contribute much to the evening.

A large women walks in and topples one of the tiny, child size chairs. "The elephant has arrived," she announces cheerfuly in a Scottish or Irish accent (I have yet to really tell the difference.) The other early arriver and myself are saving the seats on the bench, so the poor women attempts to perch her ponderous form on the tiny stool. An old mand walks in and carefully positions himself on another innapropriately sized stool. The two commence a discussion in German. I am thinking it must be about how rude the younger generation is to not offer up the more comfortable seats and am releived to here the names of Byron, Shakespeare and David come up. Obviously, they are not as concerned by my rudeness as I am.

The room starts to fill. The other girl and I valiantly defend our bench-our friends being the last to arrive. Finally, the author is introduced. She has written a book on a Mexican living in Berlin and elegantly combines historical fiction with modern day. It is fascincating to listen to this Harvard and Oxford graduate.

The evening ends with all going downstairs for wine and cheese and discussion. Not a bad way to spend and Monday night!

Paris like a Tourist

Thats right! Pictures! Its still not perfect getting them on, but here are a few...This is a view from Pont Nuef. One of my favorite places, although I say that about nearly every place. Pont Nuef is where Gene Kelly sings "Our Love is Here to Stay" to Leslie Caron in "An American In Paris." It is still filled with the hopelessly romantic. They do express this in different ways. Writing, drawing, kissing, and a few unsavory habits. Despite that its a lovely spot right on the Seine.

Next, is of course the Eiffel Tower. For the first ten minutes of every hour the Eiffel Tower lights up like a sparkling glass of champagne. Some friends and I happened to be on the first viewing platform when it started. Honestly, no photo can capture how incredibly beautiful it is. Especially in the cold, cold winter air on a clear night. I don't know if its the cold or the beauty, but my breath is taken away.

Finally, a shot taken near Franklin D. Roosevelt square. It rather self explanatory, but feels so Paris!

P.S. Check out some previous blogs, I added pictures to go with them ;)

La nourriture spirituelle

The last two weekends have been very spiritually refreshing. Last Saturday, I went to my first assembly here in France and yay! it was in English! It felt so incredibly nice to have a full day of spiritual food in my native tongue. I felt so encouraged, strengthened and rejuvinated. It was the one-day "The Time Left Is Reduced" program and I really enjoyed hearing it again. It was presented in a way that is appropriate for the audience; which was made up of many different nationalities and languages. Many were dressed in their native garb and it had a international assembly quality about it; although much smaller. The attendance was around 500 and 6 were baptized. It was also really interesting to hear about the foreign language feild from the Circuit Overseer's and the branch's perspective.
The circuit is very service oriented and zealous. Many in attendance were bethelites, special pioneers and those who had been asked to serve in groups or congregations. Out of the about 500 in the circuit there are 130 pioneers!
The assembly also made me realize how starved I was for spiritual food. I am studying, reading my bible daily and keeping up with the magazines. Of course I am also attending the meetings. But, the meetings are in French, so I am not getting the flood that I typically get. However, my comprehesion is increasing and I really look forward to the day when I am fully thinking in French and able to use the language to serve Jehovah more fully and be more available to help others learn about our wonderful God.
Today, I had another really wonderful spiritual treat. A sister in my congregation invited me over for lunch after the meeting. Her name is Brenda and she grew up in Southwest England (Somerset). When she moved out of her house as a young woman it was straight into a challenging special pioneer assignment in Wales. She and her partner were assigned to an area where there were no Jehovah's Witnesses. She told me about them finding a hall to rent for the meetings where in the beginning it was just the two of them meeting. They had to use their meager special pioneer allowance to pay the rent. Fortunately, they found a store that was not in use and the man couldn't sell the property and was happy to get any income from the space. They had a man start attending. They had a box for donations and after the first meeting there was just the amount to cover next months rent! Brenda conducted the Watchtower Study and her partner did the school and they organized to have a brother from other areas come and give the public talk. After a while, their study progressed to the point of baptism. Even so, the branch asked the sisters to hold off on giving him more responsibility in the group until he grew spiritually. Her partner was married and Brenda moved to serve with a new partner in Northern Wales to begin again.
Next, Brenda attended the 33rd class of Gilead. It was so great to listen to her talk about the ciricullum. She was assigned with another sister to Morcco. Later, she married a brother and they served together as missionaries in Morocco. She had 30 days of French lessons then was expected to go preach! The first month she had 100 hours of ministry and the next month she was to increase to 150! I really can't even imagine being in those circumstances! It is completely beyond my comprehension, but it is clear that Jehovah supported her and with his help we have "power beyond what is normal."
She showed me pictures and told me stories about some whom she had taught the truth. I felt so built up. She really encouraged me to not be hard on myself for not doing as much as I have. She said we are all like corks bobbing in the sea. Sometimes we are high up on the tips of waves being carried along and sometimes we are low, just under the surface of the water. But we are all heading to shore.
She herself is going through a difficult time as she was recently operated on and is enduring treatmend. So we are making service arrangements to work a territory right near where we live. I can help her and she can help me. Really, I think I am getting the better end of the stick as I get to glean some experience and tips from such an experienced minister!
Tomorrow, I am taking the plunge and going out in service with a couple who do not speak English at all. So that should be interesting. But it must happen.

La nourriture

This entire blog entry will be dedicated to food and wine because the food and wine here deserves at the extreme, very least, that. Seriously, volumes have been written on French food and wine; so if I manage to keep it to one entry, it will be testament to my amazing writing skills (though I say so myself).
First of all, a disclaimer: Helen is English and Marc is half Greek, so I fully acknowledge that I am not being exposed to full on French food, but an English hybrid of French food. And Helen is not even traditionally english in her cooking; there is quite a bit of hippy, health food conscienceness in the mixture.
I have had a couple of full on traditional French meals. The first one was very soon after I arrived. I had been "tricked" into helping a sister move. I say tricked because at the time I really didn't understand anything and just nodded and said "oui" to everything. I spent all morning running up and down stairs with miscilleneous objects involved in the most innefficient moving process I have ever seen. I had a chance to escape when Marc showed up, but everyone said that I had to come partake in the meal, since I had helped all morning. So Marc, the jerk, left after five minutes and two hours later I sat down to eat.
French meals are very structured and very formal. The purity of the food is protected and appreciated by keeping all courses separate and each dish on its own. Those of you who have children who do not like one type of food touching another on their plate have witnessed not childishness, but a truely culinary and sophistacated approach to food. The French would never, ever have more than one type of food on a plate.
So first come the aperitifs. Which consist of nuts, pickled vegatables, or some other small warm up for the extreme work out your stomach is about to get. Usually apertifs also consist of champagne or a very small (about 4 oz) gin or vodka beverage. Then comes a salad. Also fairly light, just green lettuce with light dressing. Usually at this point the wine begins to flow along with the bread. A couple interesting things to point out at this juncture. When you sit down to your meal, you have a full setting of plates, knife, spoon and fork and THREE glasses. Because not only must the food be kept pure, but the beverages CANNOT be intermixed, not even a splash. There cannot be a drop of water at the bottom of a glass that could potentially be mixed in with the wine, and heaven forbid a droplet of white end up in a red. Also, the bread. Bread is a mainstay. There are as many boulangeries here as there are Starbucks in Seattle. And the cliché of people walking down the street with a baguette is completely accurate. And continuing with the abhorrence of cross-contamination on a grand scale; we do not put our slice of bread on the plate, it goes on the table, next to the plate. Interesting, no?
Ok, back to the first meal. So after salad often comes the main course. all though I have been to meals where there is a kind of pre-main course, usually a quiche or something similar. At this particular meal, we were served a pasta with a créme-fraich sauce with bits of ham in it and on top was half an eggshell with a whole raw egg in it! I watched in horror as a sister nonchalantly poured the raw egg into her pasta then merrily set in! But I could not allow them to see my fear. So feigning a "oh this is quite typical in America too" pose I did the same and tried to control the shuddering. I mixed it in REALLY well, then took a bite. It was delicious!!! No sign of the egg. Then a brother came around with some parmisean to go on top. Already having a sauce of créme-fraich, I didn't feel my interolerance to milk could handle the addition and I politely refused. He misunderstood my refusal as a sign (I am sure they were looking for it) of not knowing what it was, and proceeded to sprinkle a small amount on a corner of my pasta.
"Non, je connais avec parmesean!" I cried. "Phh, Americians ,ne connais pas avec la norriture" he scoffed. I really think he was waiting to pounce on me with this and had most likely been thoroughly dissapointed with my well-acted non-chalance in the raw egg incident.
The whole experience really sums up the French view of food and of Americans. And I am coming around to their side on a few points. They do inacurately view us as a complete nation and culture without any appreciation of food and I do in someways see thier point. Our lives in America are not built around enjoying a good meal and our overindulgence in multitasking has squeezed out any time we would have for the joy of preparing and enjoying a really good meal. Much of my day lately is taken up with food. I cook, eat and clean, then its time to begin the next meal. This sort of cycle was completely unfathonable to me before. In France the kids come home every day for two hours to have a meal with their family. Schools, works, shops, even the gas stations shut down for two, some even three hours to go eat. Its wonderful. Markets are open every morning till 11:30 and you get to buy produce, bread, eggs, cheese, fish and poultry from the people who grow it themselves. The French can enjoy purity of food because everything is fresh and local automatically, its not a movement here, its the way it is.
Anyways, after the main course is cleared from the table, its time for cheese (thankfully, a chevre is always amongst the selection). After cheese its time for desert. Desert has been pretty light. I think as Americans we definitely have them beat in the desert department. Although the meals are so geogeous that desert is completely unnecessary. And finally coffee!
Needless to say this takes a really long time to eat. If there is a dinner party, it usually starts around 7 or 8 and we don't leave until around midnight and we have been eating the WHOLE time.
One final note on dining on France. The host always lets each guest know where he or she is to sit. Men and women are alternated around the table. Unless you have been married for less than two years, husbands and wives do not sit together. The host also always makes sure that wine glasses are full (it is completely inapropriate to serve yourself) and manages the conversation. No one is ever left out of a conversation. Its really nice, and lends to a very enjoyable, beautiful meal.
So, I realize I haven't really touched on the wine. That will have to be saved until later. I guess I need to work on my writing skills!

Learning French

OH LALALALA! Learning the language is sooo difficult!!! First there is the fact that there are so many words! I feel like I will never know all the words I need to know just to get through a normal conversation. But the really, really difficult part is pronunciation. To be honest, I have never had a good ear (hence my refusal to sing loudly, even when we are encouraged by the F & D slave)so I have a hard time hearing when I am not pronouncing something right. Then the fact that my mouth, tongue and throat just will not cooperate and make the right shapes and sounds at the right time. Even making the proper vowel sounds is challenging;then trying to combine them with the "r" is just beyond my capabilities at times. Finally, to add the cherry on top, I usually can not understand what is being said to me in French. It usually is something I know but French spoken by the French is difficult to understand. So what this all adds up to is: I don't know very many words, and may never. I can't say the words I do know to make myself understood. I don't understand the words I do know when spoken by the French people. It is beyond anything I could have possibly imagined.
A good example is last weekend when I was invited to a dinner with the other young ones in the hall without the Dubarrys. This meant an entire evening in French with no hope of translating when things got tough. (I actually pray all the time for help from Jehovah and the energy to not give up!) One brother at some point said to me "tout t'ennui?" I heard "tu ton nuit." He was asking if I was completely bored-probably my eyes were glazed over at this point. I thought he was saying "you, your night?" And was completely baffled. It was straightened out.
The sentence structure in the previous example is something I love about the French language. S'ennuyer is a reflexive verb. If you want to say "I am bored" you say "Je m'ennui"-meaning I bore myself. Isn't that great! I love it because built right into the language is the fact that you are responsible for your own feelings! If you are bored, its you own fault! Its the same with se fâcher. I anger myself.
I am pressing to improve - I am going to try the next level up in classes. I am at the point where I am progressing very slowly in my class and while it will be very difficult-one can only improve by surrounding oneself with those who are better. I also bought a French grammar workbook to do extra work. Boy, I am a geek!
Paris is all about improving oneself, though. I have been exploring the St Germain and St Micelle parts of Paris-which I LOVE!!! The Sorbonne (a beautiful, imposing university) is surrounded by bookshops, libraries, parks, paperies, cafes, everything that makes learning fun. The shops overflow with French, American, Canadian and other european students. Yesterday, after purchasing my new workbook, a new pen and highlighter, I made my self comfortable with a grand café and set in to do some work. Before I knew I was in a French/English conversation with my neighbors. They decided to help me with my pronunciation (thus helping me to see how far off I was) and I helped them with their English. The converstation started very basic-me making a fool of myself trying to make vowel sounds-like Eliza Dolittle in "My Fair Lady" and constantly interupting eachother to correct words or sounds. Then we discussed the history of France and Paris and the implications of the French seperating church from state and therefore leaving themselves open to the Muslims taking over with no competing religion. At this point I felt like Audrey Hepburn (again) in Funny Face. No, I did not break out in a beatnic dance and was not wearing a black turtleneck and leggings (too bad!)
But it was a fun day, the sun was shining and it looked like Paris had brought out her best, recently shined and polished jewels of jade, gold and diamonds.
Bientôt, mes amis!

Old and New (cont)

So Sundays. As you all know from previous entries, I sometimes go to Paris meetings (actually only two so far) and to the French congragation. Going to the Paris meetings means catching the train and the metro and usually takes over an hour. But I don't mind, I love riding the train. I study, read, listen to music, look at Varsailles and Paris neighborhoods as I pass them by. Everyone once and a while, I feel a bit homesick or am sad about something, then I look at the scenery on the train ride and am cheered up. Going to the French meeting is about a twenty minute drive. I haven't mentioned this yet, but when I ride with the family I am in the back of the mini-van. Mini-vans are a bit different over here. There is a removable third row that you access through climbing into the boot. So it is kindof comical as I haul myself into the boot of the van in high heels and a skirt. I am constantly humbled! After meetings I either go to Paris or, if I know I am going on Monday I study, clean, and relax.
Sevice has been a bit of an issue for me. Which I hate becuase I love the ministry. I am in the process of remedying it. I've been out with Helen in French service, which I have written about. And while in England I had a lovely time in service and was so happy to get to talk to people. In French service, once again, I feel a bit like a child. I basically ring the bells :) My friend, Carly in the Paris English hall has given me the number of a pioneer sister, so I am calling her to make arrangements to do some work in the foreign language field. I am also making arrangements with a couple of young sisters in my French congregation. Helen says my French will improve light years if I go out in service with bros and sis who do not speak English at all. Honestly, I feel completely exhausted by the prospect. But I must, so I am. I definitely feel a bit in limbo land and am looking forward to finding "my place" in Jehovah's organization over here.
So thats all for now. Sorry if my last couple entries have been a bit dry. I am just living life-so sometimes things aren't really that interesting. This is just what I am dealing with now. And I want all of my dear friends to know that Jehovan and the ministry are still the most important things to me. I once had a good friend tell me that you don't just make the truth your own once, you do it over and over again as your life changes. So that is what I am doing now. I turned my life upside down, but I am making sure Jehovah stays on top!

Old and New

So things are starting to settle down a bit. I now have a vague idea of life over here and a schedule. Having a schedule is a novelty for me as for the last ten years my life has been absolute chaos; and I am really soaking it up. I usually sleep until 8am and I LOVE IT!!! I have a normal sleeping pattern and I swear I cannot go back!
On Mondays I go to French class from 9am till 1030am, then study till noon or one. Occasionally I go to Paris after, but typically I stay home and study for meetings and do my family worship. Tuesdays I come over to the Dubarry's and make breakfast for Charlie and I, Alistar and Cesca are off to school. Sometimes Marc and Helen are home, but typically they head off to work/school around 1030. At 1130 I pick up Cesca and Alistar from school, and make dejuener while they play. Then Cesca goes back to school and the play and drive have sufficiently tired Alistar and Charlie out enough for a nap. To be really honest, Tuesdays are my favorite day becuase there are less people around and I usually do laundry, read and reply to emails and study for school. Wednesdays are my worst day (although compared to my previous life they are a thousand times better then my best day at work). There is no school on Wednesdays so the kids are home all day and Marc works from home on Wednesdays. This makes a deadly combination, as the kids have to be kept busy and sometimes very quiet becuase Marc has a conference call or something. Then just when I am about to reach my limit, Helen comes home and we all rush to get ready for meeting. Needless to say, it is difficult to concentrate at meetings that night. Thursdays I go to school in the morning then watch the kids in the afternoon. Friday morning I watch Charlie for two hours then have lunch and go to school. Now we get to the best days. Saturday I sleep in or read or watch a movie in bed and drink tea (yes, tea/coffee in the afternoons now). Lazily get up and head to Paris; where I wander. I finally bought a guide book to give a bit more structure to my wandering. I am also planning on buying a book on Parisian architecture and art history to make my wandering more meaningful. Probably a book on the history of Paris too.
This is where the old comes in. I really, truly love French food and am excited about discovering new and interesting and favorite cafes, restaruants and brasseries. BUT my guitly pleasure is finding a Starbucks, there are plenty, buying a double tall soy latte, curling up in a cozy chair and reading. Yesterday I found my favorite Starbucks. Its just off the rue de Rivoli across from the Palais Royale and the entrance to the Louvre. It has planty of cozy chairs and an upstairs seating area, where I can look outside the windows and stair at Napolean's former home to remind myself where I am when I start to feel too comfortable. They play the same music, from Beth Orton to Louis Armstrong, the drinks, decorations and clientele are all the same as home. Well, they all speak French. I know its an awful indulgence, I should be in a true Parisian cafe, reading a French book. I am just not comfortable in a cafe yet. First of all, there are no milk alternatives, thats just ludicrous to the French. And they kind of hover over you if you take a table, so its not the laissez-faire situations Starbucks provides. I have been introduced to the Centre Pompidue which is a contemporary art Museum that has a cafe overlooking the main entrance. I do plan on spending some time there. Its great for people watching and has a bibleotheque full of books on art. But Starbucks is so incredibly familiar to me and it is a wonder for staving off any homesickness that might pop up.
Ok, this has gone on long enough. I will have to talk about Sundays and service on the next entry. Until next time!

London Calling

The British Museum, Victoria and Albert, and ect did not let down. My time in London was brilliant. In fact in kindled a deep love for museums; I would love to spend at least a week in each as I feel I barely scratched the surface. One thing that really struck me in London was the brilliance behind the subway system design. The stations seem to be designed as ugly as possible and then thouroughly trashed. Then you walk out of the bowels of the city and turn your head and see something like Big Ben or the London Eye and it takes your breath away.

I am definitely planning on returning and hope to see much more. I basically only saw one floor of the British Museum. And what a floor! I saw Cleopatra, the Nabonidus Chronicle and a bust of Titus. Along with descriptions and artifacts from Ur, Assyria, Philistine, Isreal and on and on. And I have an awful confession to make. I had about three hours to spend in the Victoria and Albert Museum and when I walked in and surveyed the map; trying to decide where to start; I saw there was a fashion exhibit. I didn't mean to spend the whole time there; time literally just slipped away! But I saw garments from the seventeenth century until present and a whole section on the future of fashion and it was so incredible. But I definitely have to go back to see the rest!

The architecture of the buildings like Westminster Abbey and the Houses of Parliment are beyond anything I could imagine! So much detail!

I stayed with a really nice family and my friend Jess hosted a party on Friday where I met so many nice brothers and sisters. Then on Saturday, we went to a ball at a castle! A real honest to goodness castle. Everyone dressed formorally (thanks to Jess's sister, Hannah I had a beautiful ensemble) and dined and danced. The castle was Leeds Castle with a moat, turrets and everything a castle should have. The whole week was amazing and refreshing and an awesome amount of fun!