So I promise that I started this around the time of the New Year, even though I'm only posting it now.
1.What did you do in 2013 that you'd never done before? France! And England. Spent a night in a hotel on U.S. Airways' dime and got a travel voucher (thanks to a cancelled flight). Swam in the Atlantic Ocean. Got an old-timey photo done with Regina and Maureen. Interviewed a professor for a magazine article. Recorded my singing voice to see how it sounded (it's not bad). Took a class in personal essay (and enjoyed it).
2. Did you keep your new year's resolutions and will you make more for next year? I didn't make any solid resolutions last year. I think this year's only resolution will be to keep in better touch with my friends and family, especially as they start to scatter across the country. None of them are very good at keeping in touch either, so someone's got to step up. :P
3. What countries did you visit? France! And England, for a day.
4. What would you like to have in 2014 that you lacked in 2013? A yard (or at least a balcony).
5. What was the most memorable moment of 2013? Anna's wedding and the surrounding days in MI. Rehoboth and Ocean City. Being in Labastide, and coming off the Metro into Paris for the first time (dragging way too much luggage with me).
6. What were your biggest achievements of the year? Are you really going to make me say it again? FRANCE. Also, having the resolve to quit OTS even though it meant a pay cut.
7. What was your biggest failure? Several of my house plants died. I just can't seem to get the watering schedule right!
8. Did you suffer illness or injury? Some kind of respiratory thing after I got home from France (I believe because the air there is much cleaner than Baltimore's) and a flu of sorts in early December. No injuries, thankfully.
9. Whose behavior merited celebration? Jon's and especially Geena's, for having the resolve to run off to Chicago to better themselves (even though it means they left us here in Baltimore, sigh).
10. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed? Oh, come on now. Why dwell in the negative?
11. Where did most of your money go? Either rent or travel.
12. What song will always remind you of 2013? Hm. Probably "Carry On" by Fun. and "Sunshine" by Matisyahu, among others.
13. Compared to last year, are you:
i. happier or sadder? I think I've pretty much leveled out.
ii. thinner or fatter? A bit thinner -- I've managed to lose some my Ireland weight.
iii. richer or poorer? Pretty much the same, though I quit one of my jobs and took a lesser position at the newspaper, so I have less income.
14. What do you wish you'd done more of? Getting rid of material possessions. As my trips to both Ireland and France taught me, life is much easier when there's less clutter.
15. What do you wish you'd done less of? Buying shoes? Okay, and wasting time on Facebook...
16. How did you spend Christmas? In Michigan with family, as per usual. With a bit of time stuck in my friend Jeff's driveway so that we could get our fill of snow and ice for the season.
17. What was your favorite TV program? Doctor Who and Once Upon a Time.
18. What was the best book you read? Probably The Artist's Guide to Grant-Writing -- it's about the business side of making a living as an artist, basically. It's one I need to look at again.
19. What was your greatest musical discovery of 2013? My year was sort of lacking in the music department, actually. I made a couple of good Pandora stations, though.
20. What did you want and get? To go to France.
21. What did you want and not get? A yard or balcony.
22. What was your favorite film of this year? I honestly can't remember seeing anything in the theater other than "The Day of the Doctor," so I guess that wins by default.
23. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you? I turned 27; my friends Jon and Regina hosted a party for me at their house and then we all went out dancing at The Get Down. It was quite fun.
24. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying? That award once again goes to a reliable, accessible public transit system in Baltimore.
25. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2013? Stagnated -- I'm very indifferent about most of my current wardrobe. But, on the plus side (maybe) I think I managed to get rid of more clothing than I bought, for the first time in my adult life.
26. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most? The Doctor, haha.
27. Who was the best new person you met? Probably my fellow La Muse retreaters -- particularly Helena, Jenny, and Kate.
28. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2013: I'm starting to learn something about the balance between solo life goals and making time for friends and family, who really make life fulfilling in a different and necessary way.
Monday, February 24, 2014
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
The Return to Baltimore (part 1)
This post is a little late, as I've been back in Baltimore City for a week now, but unfortunately I fell victim to some kind of respiratory virus, which I just finally seem to be recovering from now. I think I've slept as much as I've been awake in the last six days, and the mental fog I've been in while awake really makes me grateful for how well my brain works when it IS in top shape (and also how delicate a balance life has to be in for it to reach that ideal mode of operation).
Perhaps my illness has made the transition back to Baltimore from abroad an easier one; it prevented me from immediately diving completely back into my routine (though I did start class the day after I returned, thanks to a scheduling issue with UB) and even without illness, my body would have appreciated the rest. My trip from Paris to Baltimore was about as perfect as possible; all trains and flights arrived and departed on time, my layover was just enough time to make it through comfortably without getting too bored waiting on my next flight, and customs was a breeze. U.S. Airways even gave us a free glass of wine with lunch!
But, let me back up a few days. I left La Muse on Thursday and took a train to Carcassonne. By this point I was nervous about all my travel, but John helped me buy my ticket to Montpellier and got me where I needed to be on the platform, which was an immense relief. Once in Montpellier I got a little lost trying to find my hotel from the train station but managed to make my way thanks to a couple of screen shots I'd taken with my phone of Google Maps. (Despite paying for the roaming data on my Verizon phone, it was very finicky about the connection and thus usually of little use.) Upon checking in, I was humbled to discover that the desk clerk spoke better English than I did French, though most of our conversations thereafter were some mix of the two. He gave me a train map and explained to me how to get to the beach via the public transit, and I decided to try that first.
I have to say, going to the beach alone is weird. Going alone to a beach where nearly no one speaks your language is even weirder. I didn't see anyone else there alone, and I didn't particularly feel like people were noticing that I was alone, but I didn't end up staying all that long. I waded into the water (the Mediterranean Sea!) and floated around for awhile, picked up a couple of shells at water's edge then sat long enough to (mostly) dry off before heading back to the city. The transport system they've set up is quite nice; they have a light rail which stops at the southern end of the city, and from there you use your train ticket to access a shuttle bus to the beach.
Back at the hotel, I soon learned just how ideally situated I was, despite being wedged down a cramped little side street: one block away was the Place de la Comedie, Montpellier's big open square and the edge of a several-block-radius of shops, cafes, and restaurants. I spent my evening wandering around, feeling much less conspicuous as a loner. I bought a couple of French-language books to practice with at a multi-floor bookstore and had dinner outside at a cheap little place called Sucre Sale. There were various musicians and street performers throughout the evening, including like an 8-piece brass band at one point and a group of carousel-music type musicians (what's that music called? Ragtime?) at another. The lights and the energy and the atmosphere were all lovely, and it was nice to be in a place so alive into the evening and night. People were out shopping, or just walking, and it wasn't too crowded or touristy.
And the next day, I went to Paris.
Perhaps my illness has made the transition back to Baltimore from abroad an easier one; it prevented me from immediately diving completely back into my routine (though I did start class the day after I returned, thanks to a scheduling issue with UB) and even without illness, my body would have appreciated the rest. My trip from Paris to Baltimore was about as perfect as possible; all trains and flights arrived and departed on time, my layover was just enough time to make it through comfortably without getting too bored waiting on my next flight, and customs was a breeze. U.S. Airways even gave us a free glass of wine with lunch!
But, let me back up a few days. I left La Muse on Thursday and took a train to Carcassonne. By this point I was nervous about all my travel, but John helped me buy my ticket to Montpellier and got me where I needed to be on the platform, which was an immense relief. Once in Montpellier I got a little lost trying to find my hotel from the train station but managed to make my way thanks to a couple of screen shots I'd taken with my phone of Google Maps. (Despite paying for the roaming data on my Verizon phone, it was very finicky about the connection and thus usually of little use.) Upon checking in, I was humbled to discover that the desk clerk spoke better English than I did French, though most of our conversations thereafter were some mix of the two. He gave me a train map and explained to me how to get to the beach via the public transit, and I decided to try that first.
I have to say, going to the beach alone is weird. Going alone to a beach where nearly no one speaks your language is even weirder. I didn't see anyone else there alone, and I didn't particularly feel like people were noticing that I was alone, but I didn't end up staying all that long. I waded into the water (the Mediterranean Sea!) and floated around for awhile, picked up a couple of shells at water's edge then sat long enough to (mostly) dry off before heading back to the city. The transport system they've set up is quite nice; they have a light rail which stops at the southern end of the city, and from there you use your train ticket to access a shuttle bus to the beach.
 |
| The Mediterranean Sea from Montpellier |
Back at the hotel, I soon learned just how ideally situated I was, despite being wedged down a cramped little side street: one block away was the Place de la Comedie, Montpellier's big open square and the edge of a several-block-radius of shops, cafes, and restaurants. I spent my evening wandering around, feeling much less conspicuous as a loner. I bought a couple of French-language books to practice with at a multi-floor bookstore and had dinner outside at a cheap little place called Sucre Sale. There were various musicians and street performers throughout the evening, including like an 8-piece brass band at one point and a group of carousel-music type musicians (what's that music called? Ragtime?) at another. The lights and the energy and the atmosphere were all lovely, and it was nice to be in a place so alive into the evening and night. People were out shopping, or just walking, and it wasn't too crowded or touristy.
And the next day, I went to Paris.
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
Leaving La Muse
I've reached the point in which my journey is 3/4 over, and my time at La Muse ends tomorrow morning. I am, of course, a little sad to be going, but I'm also in the mindset now that I'm eager (and a little anxious) to complete the next leg(s) of my journey: a night in Montpellier, then four nights in Paris, with a day trip to London on Monday before flying home on Tuesday morning. I've made all the arrangements, so here's hoping the bad luck I had on my way here is long gone.
The last week or so has included quite a bit of reading, writing, and walking, spending time outside on various trails and terraces. We went back to Carcassonne, to see La Cite this time, which is the old fortified part of the town (and quite a tourist trap, admittedly, though we found a good restaurant with a really nice outdoor terrace).
Sunday involved climbing another mountain to see the ruins of Les Chateaux at Lastours.
Monday was Jenny's birthday, so a group of five of us went to La Fenial in Roquefare for dinner and wine. Roquefare is the neighboring village, as I think I've mentioned, and it's quite lovely. A couple days prior, Helena and I walked a trail that led into the village and gave us some great views from above.
In this past week we also had a group "farewell" pizza dinner put on by La Muse and a reading at which to share the writing we've been doing. Kate and I went to the village rummage sale Sunday morning, were I found a few kids' books in French to practice with and a couple of other funny little souvenirs (both for myself and others). Hopefully no one makes fun of me if I decide to (try to) read them on the trains.
So that, briefly, is what my last week has been like.
The last week or so has included quite a bit of reading, writing, and walking, spending time outside on various trails and terraces. We went back to Carcassonne, to see La Cite this time, which is the old fortified part of the town (and quite a tourist trap, admittedly, though we found a good restaurant with a really nice outdoor terrace).
 |
| The entrance to La Cite |
Sunday involved climbing another mountain to see the ruins of Les Chateaux at Lastours.
 |
| Here are three of the four castles; the fourth is behind and off to the right. |
 |
| Roquefare from the mountain |
So that, briefly, is what my last week has been like.
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
France: A Progress Report
Well, I've reached what is approximately the halfway point in my trip (and a little beyond halfway through my stay at La Muse) and overall, I'm pretty satisfied with my progress. Being in a setting where I have little else to worry about besides what I'm reading and writing for the day has really allowed me to focus (as would be expected, I guess) -- particularly once I got out of my own way.
In some regard, when I first got here, I was putting a little too much pressure on myself. Some of it was the expected "performance anxiety," but more than that I think I was expecting some kind of revelation, if you will, which would allow me to pursue a completely new and inspired path of writing.
That's not how it seems to work.
I have had revelations of other sorts, it's true: I now know what it's like to be on the outside of the language barrier, and what it's like to struggle to communicate with someone else on a basic level. For a few days I was actually a little afraid to run into the other villagers on my walks, for fear that they might say something more than "bonjour" or "bon soir" and I wouldn't understand what it was (this has happened, for the record, and I handled it just fine, if a bit awkwardly. The villagers are used to non-French speakers wandering through regularly, thanks to La Muse).
But perhaps my biggest revelation was, that's not how my writing works. I'm a processor; things take awhile to root and develop in my head. However, it's completely reasonable (and now, in hindsight, obvious) that I should work on the things I've brought with me -- both the actual words I'd already written and some of the more abstract things I'd been mulling over in my head before making the trip. In fact, there's a half-full notebook that I left at home to make room for empty ones; I wish I'd brought it to give myself more places to start from. On the other hand, I did print out a couple dozen poems and several stories in anticipation of revising them, and I have done some work with many of those drafts.
I've also managed to write. I've added 24 (handwritten) pages to a story I started in Baltimore (which I'm not yet acknowledging as the start of a novel for fear of being overwhelmed), added a few pages to another half a story I brought with me, and have filled up roughly one third of my poetry notebook (though some of the pieces are more like musings with line breaks than actual poems). I've also been reading, journaling, blogging, and studying French (I have a phone app for the latter called Duolingo; the randomly-generated sentences which are put before me to translate have been quite the source of amusement for my fellow retreaters. Examples include "Why is the cat dead?", "The horse is eating the roses," "Your boy is ugly," and "The man is naked." Finding practical applications for these sentences has been... a little difficult, as one might imagine).
I haven't put forth specific goals for myself in terms of production; I'd love to leave the retreat with all three of my notebooks full and my journal nearly so (a few of the pages will be reserved for the travelling I do after La Muse) but I'm not going to beat myself up about it if they're not. Everything I write here, whether it's crap or not, could prove a source of inspiration later on. In fact, I think I revise better when I let something sit for a long time before returning to it.
The village, of course, is still wonderful. For a couple of days last week I was feeling a little stir-crazy, but a trip to Carcassonne on Thursday helped with that, as did a trip to the cafe in the neighboring village, Roquefare, on Saturday evening with Helena and Jenny, two of my housemates. And on Sunday, Helena and I climbed a mountain (I'm still a little sore from the trip). Yesterday I had a bit of trouble getting started, so I walked down to the river (which I did finally find two different paths to, thanks to the help of another housemate) and sat for a couple of hours with a book and a notebook. I think all the possible changes of scenery within walking distance of La Muse will be strongly missed when I return home.
But so, without further ado, pictures:
In some regard, when I first got here, I was putting a little too much pressure on myself. Some of it was the expected "performance anxiety," but more than that I think I was expecting some kind of revelation, if you will, which would allow me to pursue a completely new and inspired path of writing.
That's not how it seems to work.
I have had revelations of other sorts, it's true: I now know what it's like to be on the outside of the language barrier, and what it's like to struggle to communicate with someone else on a basic level. For a few days I was actually a little afraid to run into the other villagers on my walks, for fear that they might say something more than "bonjour" or "bon soir" and I wouldn't understand what it was (this has happened, for the record, and I handled it just fine, if a bit awkwardly. The villagers are used to non-French speakers wandering through regularly, thanks to La Muse).
But perhaps my biggest revelation was, that's not how my writing works. I'm a processor; things take awhile to root and develop in my head. However, it's completely reasonable (and now, in hindsight, obvious) that I should work on the things I've brought with me -- both the actual words I'd already written and some of the more abstract things I'd been mulling over in my head before making the trip. In fact, there's a half-full notebook that I left at home to make room for empty ones; I wish I'd brought it to give myself more places to start from. On the other hand, I did print out a couple dozen poems and several stories in anticipation of revising them, and I have done some work with many of those drafts.
I've also managed to write. I've added 24 (handwritten) pages to a story I started in Baltimore (which I'm not yet acknowledging as the start of a novel for fear of being overwhelmed), added a few pages to another half a story I brought with me, and have filled up roughly one third of my poetry notebook (though some of the pieces are more like musings with line breaks than actual poems). I've also been reading, journaling, blogging, and studying French (I have a phone app for the latter called Duolingo; the randomly-generated sentences which are put before me to translate have been quite the source of amusement for my fellow retreaters. Examples include "Why is the cat dead?", "The horse is eating the roses," "Your boy is ugly," and "The man is naked." Finding practical applications for these sentences has been... a little difficult, as one might imagine).
I haven't put forth specific goals for myself in terms of production; I'd love to leave the retreat with all three of my notebooks full and my journal nearly so (a few of the pages will be reserved for the travelling I do after La Muse) but I'm not going to beat myself up about it if they're not. Everything I write here, whether it's crap or not, could prove a source of inspiration later on. In fact, I think I revise better when I let something sit for a long time before returning to it.
The village, of course, is still wonderful. For a couple of days last week I was feeling a little stir-crazy, but a trip to Carcassonne on Thursday helped with that, as did a trip to the cafe in the neighboring village, Roquefare, on Saturday evening with Helena and Jenny, two of my housemates. And on Sunday, Helena and I climbed a mountain (I'm still a little sore from the trip). Yesterday I had a bit of trouble getting started, so I walked down to the river (which I did finally find two different paths to, thanks to the help of another housemate) and sat for a couple of hours with a book and a notebook. I think all the possible changes of scenery within walking distance of La Muse will be strongly missed when I return home.
But so, without further ado, pictures:
 |
| Carcassonne. To the right is the city square, where the Market was just closing down for the day. Fresh fruits, vegetables, meats, and cheeses. |
 |
| The Cross at the top of Le Roque, an easier sort of half mountain, if you will. |
 |
| The view from the mountain Helena and I climbed, near Roquefare. In the distance is Carcassonne, and beyond that, the Pyrenees Mountains. |
Sunday, August 4, 2013
Getting to Work (soon)
Day Four is coming to a close (though it's only been my third full day here) and, aside from a few sort of sloppy poems written yesterday, I haven't done much yet in the way of being productive. However, the Quiet Hours signs do say that we have Saturdays and Sundays "off," so that's what I considered it. I've taken a couple of walks since our brief tour of the village on Friday morning; there are so many winding roads and trails that make it seem as though it'd be easy to get lost, but really most of them only lead one place, and so you can just turn around and go back where you came from. I just can't get over the beauty and the peacefulness of it all. The plants are different; there are wild flowers and butterflies everywhere. Yesterday morning I leaned out my window and watched a hummingbird feasting on a flowering bush outside. And the weather has been absolutely perfect, with lots of sun and highs ranging in the 80's and the lows in the mid to upper 60's (though we've got some rain in the forecast in the next few days -- I'm actually looking forward to that).
I've spent a fair bit of time in conversation with my fellow retreaters, too -- there are seven of us staying in the Inn currently, and our schedules all seem to cross paths at different times, but I usually run into someone during each meal, and it's happened that most of us have eaten dinner together (or at least a glass of wine) each night thus far. I really, really enjoy the process of getting to know people from other parts of the world, even if their daily life isn't all that different from mine in the U.S. (or even if they're just from other parts of the U.S.). It seems that the kind of people who sign up for this retreat are the types who live very rich lives (and I hope the same applies to me, though I feel like I'm just getting started).
One good conversation I had was because I started reading a book today called Sarah's Key -- there's a synopsis on this Amazon page but basically it takes place in two different time periods in France, the earlier being 1942 and the "Vel' d'Hiv'," or the round-up of much of the Jewish population in occupied northern France (the second timeline is a journalist revisiting the event 60 years later). The Frenchman who is also staying here at the Inn (I don't know if I should call him "the Frenchman," since he's lived in England for several years now) noticed me reading the book and asked about it later on, so I told him the premise and asked him about the actual Vel'd'Hiv' (which I hadn't even known about before starting the book). He told me how the whole situation had been kind of unspoken of for many years, in part because those involved had agreed to keep quiet but also because the country was ashamed of their role in it. He also told me more about the historic event and the Resistance movement in Southern France particularly; apparently there's a trail near the Inn called the Resistance Trail (well, except in French) and that there's a monument along the way where a battle between the Germans and the French Resistance took place. It was interesting for me to realize that I was on ground where WWII was actually fought. It definitely adds a richness to the experience of reading the book (and now I want to find the trail).
I have found and wandered a few other trails (though for the life of me I can't seem to find the one that takes me down to the river) which passed by/over little streams and what are becoming waterfalls. I also got a few pictures of the village on Friday night, on our way to and from a clarinet concert at the village church (which was apparently quite the affair -- the whole sanctuary was full. The four musicians were quite good though, and I don't even especially care for the clarinet).
I've spent a fair bit of time in conversation with my fellow retreaters, too -- there are seven of us staying in the Inn currently, and our schedules all seem to cross paths at different times, but I usually run into someone during each meal, and it's happened that most of us have eaten dinner together (or at least a glass of wine) each night thus far. I really, really enjoy the process of getting to know people from other parts of the world, even if their daily life isn't all that different from mine in the U.S. (or even if they're just from other parts of the U.S.). It seems that the kind of people who sign up for this retreat are the types who live very rich lives (and I hope the same applies to me, though I feel like I'm just getting started).
One good conversation I had was because I started reading a book today called Sarah's Key -- there's a synopsis on this Amazon page but basically it takes place in two different time periods in France, the earlier being 1942 and the "Vel' d'Hiv'," or the round-up of much of the Jewish population in occupied northern France (the second timeline is a journalist revisiting the event 60 years later). The Frenchman who is also staying here at the Inn (I don't know if I should call him "the Frenchman," since he's lived in England for several years now) noticed me reading the book and asked about it later on, so I told him the premise and asked him about the actual Vel'd'Hiv' (which I hadn't even known about before starting the book). He told me how the whole situation had been kind of unspoken of for many years, in part because those involved had agreed to keep quiet but also because the country was ashamed of their role in it. He also told me more about the historic event and the Resistance movement in Southern France particularly; apparently there's a trail near the Inn called the Resistance Trail (well, except in French) and that there's a monument along the way where a battle between the Germans and the French Resistance took place. It was interesting for me to realize that I was on ground where WWII was actually fought. It definitely adds a richness to the experience of reading the book (and now I want to find the trail).
I have found and wandered a few other trails (though for the life of me I can't seem to find the one that takes me down to the river) which passed by/over little streams and what are becoming waterfalls. I also got a few pictures of the village on Friday night, on our way to and from a clarinet concert at the village church (which was apparently quite the affair -- the whole sanctuary was full. The four musicians were quite good though, and I don't even especially care for the clarinet).
 |
| Walking away from La Muse (though the road leads to it) |
 |
| Inside the church where the concert took place. |
 |
| One of the gorgeous views down into the valley from another section of the village. |
 |
| This is, for sake of ease in explaining, roughly the building next door to La Muse. |
Friday, August 2, 2013
Bonjour de France
On Tuesday July 30, I flew out of Baltimore to Philadelphia, which was supposed to be flight one of three. On the plane to Brussels, I was seated next to a pair of American siblings, Andrew and Emily, who were on their way to Belgium for a week, and decided that they wouldn't be such bad companions for the long trip over (though on my way to Dublin last year I had the privilege of sitting next to an Irish man who had some fantastic stories). But, we never made it to Brussels; in fact, we never made it out of Philadelphia. After two false starts (where we were literally taxiing down the runway for take-off both times before the pilot hit the brakes and took us back to the gate) and 1.5 hours of sitting on the plane in between, we de-boarded the plane and our flight was cancelled.
Thus began a pretty torturous 36 hours, which involved waiting almost three hours for a shuttle to a hotel (until about 130am); having to change my connecting flight three different times (due to the cancelled flight and U.S. Airways error), getting no chance to sleep for almost 30 hours, and having to buy 3 different train tickets to Carcassonne because Rail Europe, the company I bought them through online/by phone, was absolutely no help (a word to the wise: don't bother buying train tickets to anywhere in Europe until you're already there. In my limited experience, both train and bus tickets can be had easily even minutes before departure, and for much cheaper than U.S. travel on, say, the Amtrak). It was literally like one of those nightmares in which you're trying really hard to get somewhere you have to be and can't seem to make it. I dread to think what my next Verizon phone bill is going to look like, at $1.29 per minute for calls made from Europe (though I should be, and really am, glad that I made the choice and had the ability to bring it with me).
Ultimately, I ended up flying from Philadelphia to Frankfurt, from there to Munich, and finally from there to Toulouse (where I had to take a shuttle to the train station and board the train to Carcassonne). I had a few minutes to kind of collect myself there before John from La Muse came to pick me up, and Carcassonne seems like quite a lively place (I'm sorry I missed my first night there, though we're going to take a couple of day trips as part of our "ride package"). I got the chance to shop at a French supermarket for the first time; between that and the train station I got to see both how much French I've actually learned ("Je voudrais un billet a Carcassonne pour dix-sept heures, s'il vous plait") and how painfully far I still have to go. (I brought study materials).
The others staying at La Muse currently all speak English, though for a few it's not their first language (we have one Dutch woman who lives with her family in Dublin, a Frenchman, and a Korean woman who's lived in America for most of her life). The Inn provided dinner for us and while we ate, we got better acquainted; most of the others have amazing histories of living or travelling throughout America, Europe, and Africa. Most were fluent in at least two languages (though the Dutch woman speaks five, because, as she said, "no one speaks Dutch") though I'm not the only one who doesn't speak (much) French.
This morning we had a crepe breakfast and a bit more formal of an introduction, and then John gave us a tour of the little village we're in. It's been so soothing already, being here. There are fruit trees (cherries and figs) and walnut trees, and a little spring with delicious cold water. Various paths and roads wind up the mountains, and you can hear birds, crickets and locusts almost non-stop (in addition to the church bell, which has a lovely, unobtrusive ring). In other words, not even 24 hours here have relieved much of the stress of my ridiculous journey.
I plan to take a walk later this afternoon/evening to get some photos of the village, but in the meantime, here are a few shots I took out my room's window this morning.
Thus began a pretty torturous 36 hours, which involved waiting almost three hours for a shuttle to a hotel (until about 130am); having to change my connecting flight three different times (due to the cancelled flight and U.S. Airways error), getting no chance to sleep for almost 30 hours, and having to buy 3 different train tickets to Carcassonne because Rail Europe, the company I bought them through online/by phone, was absolutely no help (a word to the wise: don't bother buying train tickets to anywhere in Europe until you're already there. In my limited experience, both train and bus tickets can be had easily even minutes before departure, and for much cheaper than U.S. travel on, say, the Amtrak). It was literally like one of those nightmares in which you're trying really hard to get somewhere you have to be and can't seem to make it. I dread to think what my next Verizon phone bill is going to look like, at $1.29 per minute for calls made from Europe (though I should be, and really am, glad that I made the choice and had the ability to bring it with me).
Ultimately, I ended up flying from Philadelphia to Frankfurt, from there to Munich, and finally from there to Toulouse (where I had to take a shuttle to the train station and board the train to Carcassonne). I had a few minutes to kind of collect myself there before John from La Muse came to pick me up, and Carcassonne seems like quite a lively place (I'm sorry I missed my first night there, though we're going to take a couple of day trips as part of our "ride package"). I got the chance to shop at a French supermarket for the first time; between that and the train station I got to see both how much French I've actually learned ("Je voudrais un billet a Carcassonne pour dix-sept heures, s'il vous plait") and how painfully far I still have to go. (I brought study materials).
The others staying at La Muse currently all speak English, though for a few it's not their first language (we have one Dutch woman who lives with her family in Dublin, a Frenchman, and a Korean woman who's lived in America for most of her life). The Inn provided dinner for us and while we ate, we got better acquainted; most of the others have amazing histories of living or travelling throughout America, Europe, and Africa. Most were fluent in at least two languages (though the Dutch woman speaks five, because, as she said, "no one speaks Dutch") though I'm not the only one who doesn't speak (much) French.
This morning we had a crepe breakfast and a bit more formal of an introduction, and then John gave us a tour of the little village we're in. It's been so soothing already, being here. There are fruit trees (cherries and figs) and walnut trees, and a little spring with delicious cold water. Various paths and roads wind up the mountains, and you can hear birds, crickets and locusts almost non-stop (in addition to the church bell, which has a lovely, unobtrusive ring). In other words, not even 24 hours here have relieved much of the stress of my ridiculous journey.
I plan to take a walk later this afternoon/evening to get some photos of the village, but in the meantime, here are a few shots I took out my room's window this morning.
 |
| The view straight out my window, into the valley. |
 |
| To the right, the very edge of the La Muse building and a continuation of the village (and someone else's table) |
 |
| And the view to the left -- La Muse's terrace (and the table where we had dinner) |
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
Between Two Trips
I don't know how it's July already. It seems like time goes by faster as I get older and I don't know if I like it.
I went home to Michigan for a couple weeks in early/mid June. It was really good to see all my family and friends, and I was somewhat intrigued to find how both "in the loop" and "out of the loop" I felt. I suppose that's the way I'll always feel when I go home now; kind of teetering on the edge of immersion and alienation. It's still weird to see a place -- in this case, Saginaw -- where, for awhile, I spent nearly every moment of my time (sleeping or waking), and how it's continuing on without me, sometimes even becoming unfamiliar. It's also odd to see my friends' lives go in directions that I'm not involved in... but I guess I'm doing the same thing. (Though so far only one of them has actually been out to visit me... but I'll curb my whining about that for now.) The point is, I wonder what will happen as my path strays further from my point of origin.
I think in some way, it makes me feel like I really do have to accomplish great things, to make my self-imposed exodus worthwhile. But even when I was in Michigan I always felt like I should be somewhere else. Except for maybe my last summer there, when I knew I was moving and therefore made the best of the time I had left. Anyway, it makes me happy to see my friends getting married and having babies and starting families and careers and being (or at least appearing) fulfilled, and I wonder what it is about me that makes me not want that life, at least not now.
I really do hope something great comes out of all this.
I went home to Michigan for a couple weeks in early/mid June. It was really good to see all my family and friends, and I was somewhat intrigued to find how both "in the loop" and "out of the loop" I felt. I suppose that's the way I'll always feel when I go home now; kind of teetering on the edge of immersion and alienation. It's still weird to see a place -- in this case, Saginaw -- where, for awhile, I spent nearly every moment of my time (sleeping or waking), and how it's continuing on without me, sometimes even becoming unfamiliar. It's also odd to see my friends' lives go in directions that I'm not involved in... but I guess I'm doing the same thing. (Though so far only one of them has actually been out to visit me... but I'll curb my whining about that for now.) The point is, I wonder what will happen as my path strays further from my point of origin.
I think in some way, it makes me feel like I really do have to accomplish great things, to make my self-imposed exodus worthwhile. But even when I was in Michigan I always felt like I should be somewhere else. Except for maybe my last summer there, when I knew I was moving and therefore made the best of the time I had left. Anyway, it makes me happy to see my friends getting married and having babies and starting families and careers and being (or at least appearing) fulfilled, and I wonder what it is about me that makes me not want that life, at least not now.
I really do hope something great comes out of all this.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)