Living an absurd French fantasy? Who, me?

So just when I had finished my job, my face nice and sore from smiling encouragingly, just when we had finally finished the unaccountably difficult process of moving out of our apartment, and in short, just when I had been feeling good and ready to go home, Brianne and I left for two weeks of vacation in France and now I'm attached to Europe again. Our trips were so incredible that I'm going to have to subject you to a cruel number of photographs. If you're really a glutton for pain, you can go check out a slightly different selection on Brianne's blog here.

We started the vacation off right with a stop at EuroDisney in Paris with our Kiwi friend Juliette (see left) and her Russian boyfriend Dimitriy.

Next Brianne and I headed down to the south of France, where we explored little towns on the Cote d'Azur like this one (St Jean Cap Ferrat).

Then we took a ferry (much like this one) from Nice to the French island of Corsica...

...where we were amazed to find landscapes I didn't even know existed in the world. Above is a picture (you can just make out some snowy peaks) I took on our bus ride from Ajaccio to Bonifacio, where we camped with a Canadian, a Colombian, and a Brazilian whom we'd met along to way.

Here's a view of Bonifacio, our town, which is perched right on the edge of some spectacular limestone and granite cliffs.

The cliffs, with the famous Graine de Sable.


One day we took a morning boat tour to the Isles Lavezzi. The guides told us we had the option of waiting until the afternoon boat came to pick us up, and since Brianne and I (along with our Colombian and Brazilian friends) were the only ones to take them up on the offer, we had the whole island to ourselves for an afternoon. We scrambled around on rocks, through tide pools, and hung out on gorgeous beaches like the one above.

And when you have a private beach that magnificent, of course you have to go swimming, even if it's body-numbing cold water.

After a couple days in Bonifacio, we hitch-hiked (our first time!) back to Ajaccio and spent a day on the beach and in the food markets.

And our last night in Corsica, we decided we had better take advantage of our hotel room's little terrace and have a picnic of local foods: goat's cheese, bread, strawberries, spinach and onion pasties, a selection of olives, and a bottle of wine made by the half-American half-French winemaker who picked us up hitch-hiking. Words cannot describe.

And our second week of vacation was, if possible, even more ridiculous. Brianne and I, along with Juliette, Dimitriy, and two of Juliette's crazy Kiwi friends (Megan and Richard) rented the above chateau in rural Vendee.

Welcome to our dining room. Ridiculous enough for you?

What about some morning archery practice?

And adorable French neighbors who give you eggs straight out from under their chickens and ducks.

And deciding to amuse yourselves by filming a mockumentary about the history of the castle, complete with epic battle scenes

And for a final touch of absurdity, check out Puy du Fou, the ridiculous French "theme park" we visited, where we were treated to Viking, Gladiator, Middle Ages, and Muskateer battles set to the soundtrack of Pirates of the Caribbean.

And here's our crew (from left, Dimitriy, Juliette, me, Brianne, Megan, Richard). All in all an incredible bunch of goofballs to share a castle with for a week. I can't wait to hang out with them all again in New Zealand.

Now, post-vacation, I'm in Nantes for two and a half weeks without work and without permanent habitation. And because we're staying with the same friend whose apartment we shared at the beginning of the year, the strange limbo-like feeling of this transition period is even more pronounced. I can't really tell whether I should be getting excited about going home (which I am, of course), or feeling sad about leaving Europe for who-knows-how-long. A month ago I was ready for pancakes and Captain Sundae and all things familiar. Now after two weeks of incredible vacation the idea of going back to the United States for eight months is making me feel...frankly...a little claustrophobic. I have to remind myself that my plans for those months still involve a lot of adventuring, and more importantly a lot of the quality friend time that I've been missing for much of this year. And also I have to remind myself not to be an overly dramatic commitment phobe. But surely my series of contradictory posts about my changing plans for next year haven't given you the impression that I'm feeling non commital?

Someone really ought to give me a nice firm reality check.

New Zealand...Like Lord of the Rings!

So here we go, continuing on the update journey, and making up for lost blogging time. Next stop: plans for next year. Which with today's economy, let me tell you, is a very exciting topic for the casually employed. Now if you've kept abreast of all the waffling I've done in the past months (and bless your little deeply-unimpressed-with-my-decisiveness heart if you have), you know that I've had some trouble zeroing in on exactly which of my many travel wishes I was going to make a final commitment to for next year. But what I've settled on is: a short-term job somewhere in the U.S. for the fall, and then leaving for New Zealand in January. Why New Zealand, you wonder? First, because...


Yes, it's true. My fascination with New Zealand does suspiciously coincide with the first time I saw Fellowship of the Ring. I may or may not be listening to the soundtrack as I write this post, but I'll leave you to your own conjectures as to the actual extent of my nerdiness. In any case, ever since I saw those gorgeous landscapes on the big screen, I've been itching to see them for myself. And, since every Kiwi I've met has been so warm, laid back, and fun-loving, and every backpacker I've talked to who's spent time in New Zealand couldn't wait to tell me how incredible it was, time has only made me more and more keen to go. So I figured...



And indeed, why not? When I made my list of "Places I Absolutely Have to Go or I Will Regret It During My Mid-Life Crisis," New Zealand was at the top of the list. And even though living there for a few months won't really add any shining gold stars to my C.V., if I'm ever going to do something just for the sake of it, throwing responsibility to the wind, now is quite possibly the last chance I will get. So what exactly will I be doing while I'm there? Well luckily...


...for temporary work visas. O.K. that transition was a lot less brilliant than the others. But bottom line: New Zealand allows Americans to enter with a 12-month holiday work visa, which will permit me to pick up odd jobs during the three or four (or five?) months that I'm there. And I hope that a lot of those jobs will be through an organization called WWOOF, or Willing Workers On Organic Farms, which hooks volunteers up with organic farms/orchards/ranches who are looking for temporary workers. The host feeds and houses you, and in exchange you do whatever odd jobs need doing. I've had a couple of friends who have done it in the past, all with great results. And I will also have quite a few people to visit: a Kiwi assistant I've befriended here in France (and, through her, a smattering of other locals), a young French woman I met here who has since moved down under, and my good friend Alicia, who's with Peace Corps in Tonga. So I don't think I'll have any trouble keeping busy. And if I have some extra money, I'm going sky diving and learning how to surf.

And that's the long and short of it, folks. I hope you recognized those lovely New Zealand tourism posters from the incredible television show Flight of the Conchords. If you didn't, you're missing out, and you should really check out this little sampler video, in honor of New Zealand and Lord of the Rings...

Frodo, Don't Wear the Ring

The Great Vacation Update

So first things first. And for me, when trying to make up for months of blog inactivity, that means a photo tour of my vacations. I hope you'll agree. I've tried to keep things pithy, and if it still seems lengthy to you, just think about how many photos I haven't posted...

Week One

Words could not describe our happiness when our friend Ian decided to come visit us for the first week of our vacations. Since Ian and I both spent a semester in London, and are both shamelessly and slavishly in love with it, pubs and pints like these ones were our first stop. We also saw a comedy at the National Theatre, browsed through Camden market, and of course ate ourselves silly like the vegetarian (or vegetarian-tolerant, as the case may be) gluttons we are.


Also, thanks to Ian's friend Dan and his Hilton points, we got to stay one night in the poshest European accommodations I'll probably ever be able to afford.


After we got back to France, we took advantage of some unexpectedly glorious weather to take a day trip to a coastal town called La Baule. We may have even gotten the tiniest bit sunburned.

We (me, Brianne, Ian, and Dan) then got to fulfill a romantic-at-heart's dream and spend Valentine's Day in Paris. It was a great way to celebrate how much more full and happy I felt after spending quality time with real, in-it-for-the-long-haul friends (one of the things in which this year has been a little lacking), and it was a wonderful stop-over on our way to...

Week Two

Poland! We landed in Krakow, which instantly jumped to the top of my "most beautiful cities in Europe" list. Golden domes, snowy parks, scrumptious pierozki, and War and Peace in my purse: now that's a recipe for romance. And to top it all off, our hostel offered free breakfast and dinner, free coffee and tea all day long, and even free shots of vodka on the owner's birthday.

The next stop was Warsaw, a city that combines modern skyscrapers (not quite American-size, but some of the biggest I've seen in Europe) and beautiful "historic" quarters like this one, which were actually entirely reconstructed after WWII, when most of the city burned or was destroyed during the Warsaw Uprising.

But the best part of the day was without a doubt the 2 hours we spent walking across the entire city in search of what our guidebook called the "floating palace" - me growing grumpier at every park we passed that did not contain a celestial mansion - and finally arriving, just as the sun was setting, only to realize that, of course, a palace that is supposed to float by being reflected in two mirror lakes will, when those lakes are frozen, look rather like a very ordinary large-ish house. You can see how well we appreciated the irony.

The next day we took the train northward and got a look at the Baltic Sea, which was gorgeous, aside from the terrifying number of swans.


While there we stayed in the town of Gdansk, where we had a really interesting historical moment while exiting the Solidarity museum, dedicated to the Polish resistance to Soviet occupation. We had just spent a few hours underground and watched footage of riots and martial law and then as we were walking out we suddenly heard police sirens and air horns and people shouting. We looked at each other with "are we nervous?" faces and climbed out onto the street to see a huge demonstration of police officers, who were all marching to commemorate the men who had died in the shipyard strikes in the 1970s. Suddenly, seeing how many of those police officers had lived through the years when men in uniforms inspired anxiety instead of security, I realized what a charmed period and place in history I've lived in so far, and how lucky (spoiled?) I am that even most of the atrocities that have happened in my own lifetime seem distant and "historical" rather than real and present.

Continuing our exploration of Poland's history (if there's one thing this trip taught me, it's that my knowledge of European history is in sore need of a tune-up), we took a trip to the Aushwitz-Birkenau concentration camp on our way back through Krakow. Words are obviously inadequate to describe that experience, and in a lot of ways that experience is itself an inadequate expression of all the symbolic weight that the word "Aushwitz" carries in my mind. We arrived at the camp just in time to hear a group of Jewish teenagers singing in Hebrew in front of the barracks, an incongruously beautiful sight that was somehow incredibly fitting.

Well I hope that was a decent sort of catch-up, and bravo to you if you've made it all the way through. More updates to come soon.

Update Outline

I. Plans for next year: DISCLAIMER obviously, as evidence shows, don't believe a word that comes out of my mouth until I actually follow through and move somewhere.
A. Brianne has decided to stay in Europe next year, ergo...
B. I will be moving back to the U.S. to work somewhere fun and exciting for several months and then...
1. Going work on farms in New Zealand
2. Meeting up with Brianne in India
3. Probably having another existential crisis about what to do next

II. It's time for another two-week vacation!
A. We just got back from a couple days in London with our friend Ian
B. Tomorrow we're off for two days in Paris and then six in Poland
C. Pictures to follow

III. My job here in France...
A. Is done at the end of March, though I'm staying in France through the beginning of May
B. Is going well, but using only a very small percentage of my brain power
C. Has allowed me to perfect the perfect French accent, but only in English

So in all seriousness: my apologies for falling so far behind on my updates. January was a month of crazy existential upheaval, February is half taken up by vacations, but in March I will be all yours. I promise photos and details when I return.

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.