I strike, therefore I am French

I couldn't resist attempting to share with you one of the greatest French cultural experiences of all time, ranking right up there with cheap wine, baguettes, and cheese you don't refrigerate: the nation-wide strike. Today is the occasion of a very exciting "greve generale," or a strike in which all of the salaried workers in France are invited to participate. This means pretty much every public service is disrupted in some way: trains and buses, the police, airports, gas and electricity, and schools, since many teachers are on strike as well. (This is not to be confused with the two-week period in December when the high school students were on strike and barricarded the schools so that no one could enter or exit.) A lot of workers in the private sector are joining in too: cashiers, factory workers, and apparently many ski lift operators. Hundreds of thousands of French people have either taken to the streets en masse, or just decided to stay home and catch up on their soap operas.

When I walked through downtown Nantes this afternoon, I found myself having a little bit of a laugh attack seeing everyone marching/standing around in the streets, shouting slogans and drinking wine. There was even a marching band and - I kid you not - an accordian player to provide entertainment. And the funniest thing about French strikes is how they actually seem to be more efficient and organized than the normal, "functioning" French society. At the post office today there was a sign saying, "We are on strike from 1:00-2:30 and after 6:00." And even though many fewer trams and buses were running in Nantes, the transport officials let us know in advance what the adjusted time table would be, so that we could still get to our appointments on time. I love strikes that go out of their way not to actually inconvenience you.

What are they protesting you ask? It's sometimes difficult to say. Apparently this particular strike is concerned with the effects of the economic crisis. Which just goes to show you: an American's first reaction to a global economic recession is probably not to take up placards and take to the streets. But this is how change is made - or more often resisted - in France. When French people hear how seldom we strike in the United States, they react as if I'd just told them that we regularly employ indentured servitude. To them striking is one of the most important demonstrations of a free nation. To Americans, I imagine it looks like the French take an unaccountable pleasure in disrupting the functioning of an economic system that already makes do with a lot less efficiency than ours.

Then again, I suppose most Americans would be in awe of the fact that in France, Brianne and I can afford a two-bedroom apartment, fine wines, and weekend trips to London while working twelve hours a week and taking eight weeks of paid vacation.

Here's a picture to give you a little taste of our greve generale. And you can follow the link to watch a video of marchers in Paris. Happy Strike Day!

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/europe/7858563.stm

Put that in your king cake and smoke it

So since I'm sure you've all been on the edge of your metaphorical seats waiting to hear where I will be next year, I've decided that it's time to end the suspense. After a marathon of emotionally and intellectually confused conversations with Brianne, ending in a semi-epiphanic moment just two days after the actual Epiphany, the two of us have decided to spend next year in the United States working with Lutheran Volunteer Corps. This may come straight out of left field for some of you, so I'll try to explain. It's a long story, but here's the short version. After wrestling for a while with all the thoughts I talked about in my last post, I boiled down my dilemma thus: I knew I was feeling a longing for a long-term community, but also knew that when I imagined settling down somewhere right away, I experienced a strange sense of panic. And when I asked myself what specifically I was panicked about - in other words, what were the most important, essential things that I had to do for myself before I became a "real adult" and settled down - I came up with this: (1) doing some sort of "hands-on," non-academic work before making the graduate school decision, (2) experiencing environments that are entirely alien and therefore uncomfortable, and (3) exploring what it would be like to be a total free-spirited hippie.

And then I started to think that since the list of things that I want to do (Asia, South America, Russia...name a place on the map) is endless and inexhaustible, I had better start by working on the list of things I have to do or I will regret it later in life. And then if some long-term opportunity ever presents itself, I won't have to compromise essential parts of myself to accept it.

So the new, revised plan is to spend a year working with a non-profit through LVC, which will take care of the first step (and maybe little bits of the second two). And after that - and after working for/shamelessly begging for some money - I'll try to spend a few months WWOOFing and backpacking in New Zealand (#3), and then a few months wandering around/doing occasional work in India (#2).

I'll understand if you greet this announcement with a little bit of skepticism, given that - depending on when you last saw me - I probably recently told you that I was going to be in Chile, Peru, China, or South Korea next year. But I have actually completed my application for LVC, so that's a step in the right direction. And if you need a better reason to believe in our intentions, look no further than this picture of our own personal Wise Man, whom we found in our King's Cake (a traditional French dish for Epiphany) just a day before seeing the light. We credit him with overseeing our decision-making process.


If that little man isn't a trustworthy authority, I don't know who is.

Auld Lang Syne

So I'm aware that I'm probably not going to get any sympathy votes by complaining about the difficulty of readjusting to my retirement-style work life in France. And frankly I don't blame you for doubting that it's a real hardship to return to a country with over 360 varieties of cheese and the highest number of guaranteed vacation days in the world. But even so, I thought I would try to explain why my return to France has been a highly surreal experience.

When I used to leave for my various studies abroad, it was always with the understanding that some sort of stable "real life," with my family or at Hope, would be waiting when my time away was over. I could go anywhere I wanted, because the metaphorical and literal anchor of my alma mater was holding part of my life in place: saving me a seat, as it were, in a community where I had long-term friendships, connections, and a continuous identity.

These past two weeks when I was home on break made me realize for the first time that that equation had changed. I was back in what was supposed to be my "real life," running around to spend as much time as possible with my immediate and extended family, my best friends from high school and college, and yet all that time I knew I was not returning to something solid and permanent; I was on vacation. And the amazing, all-too-short times that I spent with the most important people in my life were now going to become a sort of annual (if I'm lucky) treat.

Which I suppose makes what I'm doing this year in France my "real life": not just a little adventure to look for new experiences and good food, but the actual work that I'm doing and the real person I'm becoming. I had never thought about it that way. I mean, honestly, how can a year spent with the time commitments of a kindergartner seem like my real adult life? And if I do end up spending the next couple of years living abroad, how long will it be before I'm able to create a community like the ones that I've left - something that gives me a sense of being rooted and invested? I always knew that that was something I wanted eventually, maybe after a couple years of being a rolling stone. Now I think for the first time I'm examining the vertigo I'd be feeling in the meantime, that period of trying to maintain long-term relationships while still staying open to what's immediate and present.

Over vacation, my cousin told me what her college professor had once told her: at any given moment, we have an array of doors-of-opportunity open to us, but when one of those doors closes, it doesn't always make much noise. Sometimes we don't realize which doors have shut until they're already barred to us. I'd heard enough adults tell me that they regretted not taking some time away from stability and commitment to follow absurd dreams like (barely) working in France, so I knew that I wanted to give my own travel fantasies a chance. But my wonderful/spastic/confusing/amazing time with my family and friends has made me wonder if relationships are doors that can close too. Obviously there's no place in the world where I can have everyone who's important to me around me at once. But does putting more and more countries and more and more years between us mean that I'm choosing something more final than I realize? Can I miss the chance to have my closest friends stay in my life, or to see my brothers grow up? Or am I simply feeling a very normal, but unrealistic post-graduation nostalgia for college towns where everybody knows your name? Maybe I would be feeling this way no matter what I decided to do, and so I might as well be feeling it somewhere exciting.

So, in conclusion, I'm now enjoying the crazy ambiguity of having no solid idea what I'll be doing this time next year. And I'm hoping that as I get over the initial shock of realizing I've actually become an adult, the next couple weeks/months will give me some clues about whether I'm ready to start putting down at least short-term roots in work or graduate school, or whether I'm still feeling the wander lust for another year on the road. I'll keep you updated: New Zealand, South Korea, Chile, Chicago, Portland, Denver...almost everything's on the list at this point. Luckily years of watching Lost have cultivated my ability to rejoice in cluelessness.