March march march

Bahhh I return!

So it has been a crazy couple of weeks, marred mostly by the fact that I’ve been sick as a dog. Currently, I still don’t feel all that great, which is ridiculous given the amount of drugs the French doctor gave me. Going to the doctor was quite a cultural experience, by the way. Literally, all I did was call and make an appointment (this entailed spelling my first and last name), show up and tell them I had arrived, have the doctor look up my nose and in my ears, get a prescription and pay him on the spot. There were no papers to sign, nothing to fill out, no questions really. It was almost bad actually, because I completely forgot to tell the doctor that about my medical allergies. And he ended up prescribing a potentially deadly medication to me. Luckily, I know how to read the word cephalosporin on a box, so I remain alive.

But consequently, I haven’t done a whole lot lately because of this worst sinus infection in the history of mankind. But I still have managed to live my life, which is good. A few weekends ago, my friend Scott offered me a ticket to a Gypsy jazz cabaret. I was ecstatic because 1) gypsies!!!!!!! 2) jazz is cool, and 3) whenever I hear the word cabaret, I think of that musical with Liza Minelli, and I thought of tasteful burlesque. So I was excited about this jazzy, tasteful burlesque show with gypsies. But when Scott and I arrived at the “theater”... we found it was actually more like a Church auditorium. Full of families. And for some reason, the walls were decorated with paper cut-outs of porcupines... and horses... pulling mobile homes. I DIDN’T UNDERSTAND.



But it gets better. Because the concert actually turned out to be traditional Jewish music, which I guess does fit the bill of Gypsy Jazz Cabaret, it just wasn’t what I expected at all. In the end, we had a good time, and even got up to do some traditional Jewish dances with some crazy old woman. I felt like I was seeing the real France. You know, the one with families going to neighborhood Jewish concerts on a Friday night. HOLLA.




There was a lot of drama in Angers that week because it was the week of the mayoral election. Angers has had the same mayor for like a billion (or I don’t know, 10-15) years, but this year, there was a staunch challenger: Christopher Bechu. Who, in my opinion, somewhat ressembles Colin Firth. Also, my friend Kelly lives with his parents here in Angers... they’re her host family. So basically, Kelly is the fake French sister to this guy challenging the Angers mayor (Antonini). I had some good talks with my French family before the election, mostly about how politics is about secret voting and not letting other people know who you’re voting for. I suspected my host mom was a Bechu fan when she excitedly showed me her “Choisir l’avenir! *BECHU*” Livestrong bracelet one day, but she dismissed my assumptions with a non-chalant gesture of, “If it’s Antonini... then it’s Antonini.” She really got me thinking, because I’ve been pretty obsessed with the American election. Politics isn’t competition! It’s about doing what the majority of people wants! So if someone wins that I don’t necessarily support, maybe it’s just like she says: it is just is, and I have to respect that. Then again, I think France is different, because I trust the French to make informed political judgments. I don’t necessarily feel the same about American voters. Stupids.

ANYWAY. I was wrong about my family not being emotional, because Bechu lost (50.4 to 49.6%... RIDIC!) and they were visibly upset. I don’t know what happened to the theory of “If it’s Antonini, it’s Antonini,” but I didn’t see any evidence of it. We were all hoping that maybe if there was a new mayor in time, we could get better night buses running through this town before we left. Quel dommage!

I went to Rome too. For Easter. I have a lot of feelings about that trip. Not all of them are positive, but it’s okay. I got to see a lot of my friends there, which was cool, because Notre Dame sponsored a trip for students studying abroad in Europe. So there were kids from London, Ireland, Spain, and Italy too, all in one place. But it rained. The whole time. And I was sick. I was really freaking sick. It just kept raining. I didn’t have an umbrella. I was really excited to tour the Vatican Museum and the Sistine Chapel... but when I woke up Saturday morning, all of my clothes were still wet from the night before, and, obvi, it was still effing RAINING, and I just thought to myself: “Lisa, you are already sick. Do you really think it’s a good idea to put on your wet clothes, and wear them for at least 18 hours, in the rain? Choose health, Lisa. Choose health.” In hindsight, this was the STUPIDEST decision of my life, because a) I didn’t see the SISTINE CHAPEL and b) I still got sick anyway, so it didn’t even matter. I have a lot of emotions about Rome. I’m trying to work through them. I saw the Pope though! And then a few nights later, I had a dream that I had a baby (a dream!) and the Pope wanted to use him as the symbolic baby Jesus for Christmas mass. I don’t know what that was about.



[the Colosseum]




[the Pope! during Easter Sunday mass]




[ it was so rainy.]


Yesterday I had the delightful opportunity to visit the most celebrated site in Angers. Have I not mentioned what this town is famous for yet? Oh my. I can’t believe I’ve neglected this!

ANGERS HAS THE LARGEST COLLECTION OF APOLYPTIC TAPESTRIES... IN THE WORLD!

Yes, it’s true. This town not only has a chateau, and not only are there tapestries in the chateau, but they are apocalyptic tapestries. Illustrating the Book of the Apocalypse. Before viewing the tapestries, I had the chance to watch an informative video about them, which was mostly film of the tapestries over some really scary organ music. When I entered the hall of the tapestries, it was freaky as shit, yo. There were no windows and it was all dark. And I was the only one in there. Tapestries, man.



[the view of the Angers castle from across the river]



[apocalyptic tapestry]



[view from inside the castle grounds]

In other news,
1. I’m very excited to be going to Spain for Spring Break!
2. I’m very excited to be going to visit the one and only Miss Erica Johnson very soon!
3. I got accredited for a pass to the Cannes Film Festival... so I’ll get to go backstage for a whole bunch of the events with film industry people, journalists, and some other students! This will fabulous.
4. I learned how to make creme brulee! Did you know they have special machines just for burning the sugar on creme brulee? They’re like blowtorches for French housewives. They’re crazy. You can get them at kitchen supply stores, and I totally would, except I think it’d get yoinked by customs.
5. I found a really cool French radio station, complete with cool programs like “Dread n Sky: rap francais”, “Fonkadelica: funk soul acid jazz”, “Resistencia!: punk et contre culture,” and “Boom Tchak: experiences electroniques.” So that’s been fun.
6. I’ve been to a few dance performances. The first was a feminist-themed show... it followed three girls through the process of going out for the night. It actually reminded me a lot of the talks we get about the Notre Dame hook-up culture. The dance followed the girls through getting ready, getting drunk, dancing, and then, of course, the disappointment and regret that followed. It was actually really cool. Then I saw this American troupe re-interpret pieces from the Alwin Niklaus company last night, and that was awesome. One cultural tidbit about the French: they love to applaud. Seriously, both shows, it was like a 10 minute cheer.
7. Oh yeah, I went to a futbol game too! That’s european for soccer. On my way out, I saw an unruly fan being clubbed by a police officer. Those crazy French fans! Could have been worse. Could have been a taser.


Usually on Sundays, my host mom makes a big lunch for all of this... but then again, she and my host dad didn’t come home until 6:30am this morning, so I don’t know if we’re eating. Those crazy kids. So yes, I’m sorry I haven’t written in a while, I just have been under the weather. Keep me updated on your lives, I’m going to go take a nap. A toute a l’heure!

PARIS

Paris... what is it even... the city of love? Lights? Some may say it’s tragic that I have absolutely no idea. But then again, I now know Paris by something more than stereotypes. I have now experienced Paris... as a real, living person.

Ahh!

So last weekend, Gloria, Danny, and I embarked on Paris. Riding the TGV on the way there was exciting in itself, since we sat by two sets of grandkids with their grandmothers. We talked with the kids about their families, their hopes, their dreams... one wanted to be a plumber, the other one liked to read science fiction, and the little girl was learning the alphabet. At the end, one of the little boys took down my phone number in his fake palm pilot. So I have that going for me. Their grandma also gave me a whole bunch of pastries, which was sweeeeeeet!

Danny, Gloria, and I had decided we wanted to be adventurous in Paris. Since it was a somewhat spontaneous trip, we decided not to book a hostel for Friday night. We decided that we’d depend on the spontaneous generosity of others (we all had a few far-fetched connections in Paris) or on our own spontaneous ingenuity and stamina. In the end, we had to settle for the lesser... and we simply stayed up all night, moving from bars to clubs to fast food restaurants to the Eiffel Tower until the morning, when we could check into our hostel for Saturday. It was cool to go the Eiffel Tower at like 6 in the morning, because absolutely no one else was there. But throughout the course of the night, we managed to meet up with some random French men who bought us wine and showed us around the city, and I know what that sounds like, but it wasn’t like that. They were just really nice people. And they spoke French to us. Which, in my opinion, is maybe a compliment, or more typically, just the mark of a nice person in a city where most people speak English and pretend like they can’t understand our anglo-phone accented French.

One of my favorite stops of the night was at Quick Burger on the Champs-
Elysees. We stopped by when they opened, at 4am, and it was a zoo. I like to think of it as the Reckers of the Champs-Elysees. It was just a whole bunch of exhausted, drunk 20-somethings shoving burgers in their faces when the clubs closed. BUT IT WAS IN PARIS ON THE MOST FAMOUS STREET IN THE WORLD! I just kept wondering to myself... who ARE these people?! Like... who is that guy, wearing cowboy chaps over his white pants? Who is he? Why is he here? Then I went to the bathroom and there was randomly a man in there, just like washing his hands? I was like whaaaaat is going on in this place? Another typical convo:

Moroccan man: American girl! You’re an American girl! Where you from?
Me: ... America.
Moroccan man: You study at school?
Me: I go to the University of Notre Dame. It’s kind of near Chicago.
Moroccan man: Ohhh yesss! I know your school! Great school! Wonderful school, well-known!
Me: Really?
Moroccan Man: NO! Hahahhahahaha! (throws up all over his tray)

So those of you familiar with late night college restaurants may see some similarities.

The next day we visited Montmartre and Sacre Coeur, and then went to this park in the middle of Paris’ version of Chinatown. It was called Belleville and it was fantastic... we had a view of all of Paris, but then there were lots of people just playing their guitars and playing soccer and lots of families with little children there, and Danny and I just ate our bread and cheese and felt French. That night we met up with some kids visiting from London and did our best to show them around (even though, who was I kidding, this was my first time in Paris too...). We ended up in Marais, the gay Jewish neighborhood, dancing until the wee hours, again.

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Throughout our time in France, Gloria and I have started a makeshift list of how French men will hit on you. Many of these theories were reinforced over the weekend.

1. A French man will compliment your shoes.
This first happened to me outside a movie theater. I had rode my bike, but when I arrived outside the theater, I wanted to change back into my cool silver pumps. As I was doing this, some man, while talking on his phone, starts pointing at my shoes, and saying, “Bon. Bon. Oui.” and smiling at me. He then continued his phone call.

2. A French man will compliment the man you’re walking next to.
Gloria discovered this gem as she was meandering through a flea market with Goodrich. Some man came up and started nudging Matt while stealthily motioning toward Gloria, saying, “Ouiii, bonne, bonne!” It didn’t take long for everyone to figure out he was complimenting Matt on snagging a hot chick like Gloria. Without ever saying anything to Gloria herself.

3. A French man will blatantly lie and say you have a great accent.
I am an atrocious speaker. I know this from the many blank stares I get when I talk to French people in normal situations. It’s okay. I have an occasional speech impediment in English, and I’m not ashamed to say I have a perpetual one in French. But sometimes, usually late at night, at a bar, men will suddenly call my accent perfect, and say they can’t even tell I’m from America! This makes me feel wonderful! Until I think about it for a second and realize they are lying. Blatantly.

In one amazing moment in the Paris club, all three of the theories collided in one smitten man. I was dancing with my friend Roakley, and some dude shows up and starts pointing at my shoes. He then smiles, and points at my shoes, and nods vigorously. He likes my shoes. CHECK. Then, in one fluid movement, he motions to Roakley, and starts raising his eyebrows, giving the thumbs up, and motioning toward me. What a great catch you have there Roakley! Oh, ma’am, you have great shoes! Yeah buddy. I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE GETTING AT. And the kicker was when he tried to talk to me later and told me he couldn’t hear my accent at all. I protested, saying he couldn’t hear anything I was saying at all, because we were in a club, with loud thumping music. I had to admire that French man. He pulled out all of our documented stops.

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I ended my trip to Paris by visiting the Louvre and the Musee d’Orsee on Sunday... I started off in the Louvre, and wandered through the Roman emperors and Greek gods, let myself get all nostalgic and PLS-y by taking pictures of Emperor Claudius, things like that. Somewhere along the way, I came across an impressionist painting though, and right then and there, I decided I had to leave, and immediately go to the Musee d’Orsee. So I did. I didn’t even see the Mona Lisa, but I’m okay with that. All of the Renoirs and Degas in the Musee d’Orsee were worth it.

So now I’m back in Angers, having a lazy Sunday... I’ve been a little sick this week, and no matter how much I sleep, I just seem to keep coughing and hacking up my lungs. Hopefully it passes soon, maybe when it starts getting warmer again. I hope everyone had fabulous spring breaks or just normal weeks, if you weren’t on spring break.