England.. a place where the houses are named not numbered, where the women wear more eye makeup then American drag queens, and a place where the bread is about as awful as the weather...HERE is where I've spent the last week. Having lived here for 2 years when I was wee lass I have since been eager to examine the country through an older pair of eyes. You know, back to my British roots, etc. So I've been romping back and forth from a town called Chorleywood and London all week. I'm staying in Chorleywood with old family friends Ken and Claudine Morris. Ken is a good ol' chap and, if I may, quite "to the point." With his deep, burly scottish accent he illustrates honesty with ease and I can see how, to some people, this may be intimidating. I, of course, have always preached about honesty and found his company to be refreshing and truly enjoyable. Claudine, on the other hand, I'm most convinced dislikes me (for a number of reasons that I wont be bothered to mention) and she has contributed to my sweeping assumptions of British women; they are cold, snappy and, on occasion, quite rude. I have found it appropriate to make such sweeping assumptions of the whole British culture because, well, I've only had a week to examine it. To be honest, I think I have every right to do so. It is quite odd, actually, the contrasting feelings I have for the two sexes of Britain. The men I have found to almost always be great looking and charming. The women, however, have been unfriendly and have such an air of snobbery it creates a 2 foot barrier around their existences that I don't dare intrude into. I just want to say this to the women of England before I move on: not ALL of you are royality.
Now, this trip was wonderful in all sorts of senses but I will mention only 2 specific days. The first being a trip to the city of Bath. Bath is nestled into the English countryside and under government mandate is compeletly built out of a local golden-coloured stone, the Bath Stone. It has several natural hot springs that the Romans built luxurious spas around and some are still standing today. The lover of "old stuff" in me was absolutley enthralled by this. Something else I discovered while I was visiting was that Jane Austen had lived there. I went to her vistitor center and bought a copy of Pride and Prejudice which has since put me into a goopy, romantic mood (great). Bath is so incredible I'm finding it hard to describe to you, so I will only suggest that given an opportunity you visit.
The second day I will mention is the day that I went to my old house. Home cottage, as it is named, was once the frolicking ground of my sisters and I. It is an old World War II house set on a fruit farm, accessorized with secret passages and ghosts. It illuminated my imagination as a child and since I've been eager to if it still lives up to its original magic. Ken so kindly offered to take me there this last Saturday and I, of course, said yes. After getting slightly lost we turned down the old dirt road and soon found ourselves face to face with Home Cottage. Mighty and white with black shutters and a red door it looked just as I remembered it. After quite indiscreetly taking pictures of the house, the owner rightfully came out and inquired what I was doing. After explaining that I lived there as a girl she invited me inside and let me look around. It is, perhaps, one of the oddest feelings I've ever had...strolling down halls that I used do somersaults down, walking up those abnormally creaky stairs, peering out the window that me and my dad used to watch foxes chase rabbits out of...I remember feeling awful for the rabbit but always having a pertinent fascination with the hunt..
England is a jolly good time, regardless of the weather and women. France tomorrow and I can't wait.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Life lessons with Franck
During my last week or so in Plogoff the initial awkwardness melted away and I became friends with Franck and Karine. My daily routine didn't change except for the work, it got a bit harder... but I suppose I now I have a pair of nicely toned arms to show for it. Another worker named Samuel came for my last week. I did not like him one bit. His very presence repulsed me which is something that I can't claim to have felt so strongly before meeting him. Although, I definitely tried to get over this; I assumed I was just overreacting and not trying hard enough to make friends with him. But I just could not push my stubbornness to the side. You know those people who just rub you the wrong way? Well he was like someone taking a porcupine and rubbing it all over my existence. Naturally, in the ironies that life creates, he felt the exact opposite of me and he expressed this in a letter he snuck into my bag before I left Plogoff. Barf.
ANYWAYS, one of the more interesting things that came from simply "becoming friends" with Franck was his life advice. Over lunch one day Franck began telling me about their sheep....and how they kill and eat them themselves.
Sorry, what?
A: I didn't know that people ate sheep and B: I didn't know that they would kill them themselves. Seeing the obvious horror on my face Franck began to explain the reasoning behind it and quite "franckly" (teehee) he made some good points. If you make the decision to eat meat/be a meat eater, he explained, then you should have the courage to kill it yourself. Because, after all, you are taking a life. One can't just shade their eyes from that gruesome fact and then just enjoy chicken wings. He made a very interesting connection between "life and the table" that I feel is ignored in our meat consumption in America. As we munch away in our kitchens on our hamburgers I feel there is a big gap in our thinking; we think "food" where once was "life." Franck and his family provide a beautiful view, a good lot of grass and the occasional bucket of old bread for their sheep before the sheep give the family food; this is an exchange of life. It is important to acknowledge this exchange because it is so often disregarded as we scarf down our roast beef. Now, I fully understand that it is silly to think that we can all raise our own meat. But I think its important to draw the line in the meat that we choose to eat. Its in no way courageous of people to consume meat from an animal that has been squished into a 3ft long cage its whole life and fed chemicals, in fact I'll take the moral stand and say that it is cowardly. If one is to consume the "life" that an animal provides in the form of food and nutrience then it is one's obligation to ensure that they are eating an animal who has had a life worth taking.
Plogoff was a really wonderful time. I learned a lot about life and the pursuit of happiness...Although my french has hardly improved.
ANYWAYS, one of the more interesting things that came from simply "becoming friends" with Franck was his life advice. Over lunch one day Franck began telling me about their sheep....and how they kill and eat them themselves.
Sorry, what?
A: I didn't know that people ate sheep and B: I didn't know that they would kill them themselves. Seeing the obvious horror on my face Franck began to explain the reasoning behind it and quite "franckly" (teehee) he made some good points. If you make the decision to eat meat/be a meat eater, he explained, then you should have the courage to kill it yourself. Because, after all, you are taking a life. One can't just shade their eyes from that gruesome fact and then just enjoy chicken wings. He made a very interesting connection between "life and the table" that I feel is ignored in our meat consumption in America. As we munch away in our kitchens on our hamburgers I feel there is a big gap in our thinking; we think "food" where once was "life." Franck and his family provide a beautiful view, a good lot of grass and the occasional bucket of old bread for their sheep before the sheep give the family food; this is an exchange of life. It is important to acknowledge this exchange because it is so often disregarded as we scarf down our roast beef. Now, I fully understand that it is silly to think that we can all raise our own meat. But I think its important to draw the line in the meat that we choose to eat. Its in no way courageous of people to consume meat from an animal that has been squished into a 3ft long cage its whole life and fed chemicals, in fact I'll take the moral stand and say that it is cowardly. If one is to consume the "life" that an animal provides in the form of food and nutrience then it is one's obligation to ensure that they are eating an animal who has had a life worth taking.
Plogoff was a really wonderful time. I learned a lot about life and the pursuit of happiness...Although my french has hardly improved.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
This weekend I was thrown into an interesting situation. The Deboutes took me along on a weekend get-away of sorts, we went to a family birthday party in the city of Nantes. You can assume that I was, well to be honest, I was terrified. Its awkward enough living in such close quarters with people I haven´t known but a week and can´t understand half the time, but to add several more French adults to the mix and a large slew of screaming children; I wasn´t sure I would survive the weekend. But without the vocabulary necessary to construct an excuse and having a general curiosity about Nantes I hopped in the caravan. Our first destination was Karine´s sisters house. I couldn´t help but notice that as we got closer Mattis and Hugo got more excited...I soon understood why. Once we arrived and I got past all the awkward introductions and kisses on the cheaks (which still catch me off guard) we entered a house that was fully equipped with all sorts of fancy toys. Huge huge huge tv armed with like 40 wii games and a computer around every corner; this French lifestyle is competely different than the Deboutes. After a few hours of odd Frenglish small talk we ¨adults¨ all sat down for a drink (thank god). Henrik (Karine´s sister´s husband) brought out a bottle of champagne and Franck turned to me and asked if I had ever had champagne. Knowing there was a catch I replied ¨Well, I´ve had champagne but I´ve never had...French champagne.¨ Both men let out a loud scoff and Franck said ¨Well zen you ´ave never ´ad REAL champagne.¨ AHA! I knew you had some French tude in you Franck, I knew it! Anyways, the night continues on and the third round of glasses have been poured. Someone makes a comment on how I must be feeling a little drunk; these French...always underestimating me. I being the polite American girl that I am refrained from scoffing and replied that we are not strangers to drinking in Colorado; hugely understating the fact that if I was in college drinking shape I could probably drink all of these Frenchies under the table...not that I´m boasting of course. Upon hearing this Henrik jumps to his feet and trods off across the room. He returns and hands me a glass of almond cognac that aged for 20 years(!) and was easily the best drink I have ever had. Needless to say, I had a great night.
The next day we packed up the caravan and headed to the birthday party of a 3 years old named Esteban. However, before the party Franck and Karine gave me a quick tour of the Chateau de Nantes. As brief as this tour was it reminded me of one very very important reason for coming to France: to see cool old stuff. I also decided that I want to live in a castle when I grow up.
Anyways, we get to Esteban´s birthday party and I am immediatley engulfed in personal-space-invading-cheak-kissing French people, all of whom are speaking so quickly that I litterally didn´t catch one name...except for Esteban who tugged on my shirt and requested a kiss; adorable but a bit slobbery. Esteban´s father quickly befriended me and chatted me up about America. He attended NYU where he studied things he ¨did not believe in¨ and then lived in New York for another 10 years and met his wife there. New Yorkers, thank god. He was a vibrant fellow, I liked him....didn´t catch his name though. Lunch was this crazy good spanish rice dish (the name escapes me) with rabbit (yeah, more rabbit) which me, Shanna and Iris made once but it wasn´t nearly as good as this stuff. After 2 servings of that the cheese plate was brought out. Now, I am a fan of cheese and would normally claim to ¨know¨ good cheese, however I have never in my life had GOOD cheese until today. I mean, wow. I can´t even describe to you how incredible it was...on top of homemade bread, yum. My new yorker friend stressed to me that good cheese must come with good wine and pointed at a bottle of red merlot made in 1994. I can´t help but chuckle a little thinking about $14 bottles me and Shanna bought all last semester and how we considered it an upgrade from the $9 bottle. At this point I was stuffed to the brim and couldn´t imagine consuming more until....they brought out the cake. The most perfectly subtle chocolate cake that somehow went perfectly with the wine, cheese and company.
I´ve been complaining about France up until this weekend; I´ve been wining about hauling rocks and being filthy, lonely and bored. But now that I´ve stretched my legs around a chateau and stretched my stomach around an excellent meal I can´t help but revel in the fact that I love France. I could shout it from the rooftops!
Something that should not be forgotten:
I am missing all of you and think of you often (believe me, I have a lot of time to think)
The next day we packed up the caravan and headed to the birthday party of a 3 years old named Esteban. However, before the party Franck and Karine gave me a quick tour of the Chateau de Nantes. As brief as this tour was it reminded me of one very very important reason for coming to France: to see cool old stuff. I also decided that I want to live in a castle when I grow up.
Anyways, we get to Esteban´s birthday party and I am immediatley engulfed in personal-space-invading-cheak-kissing French people, all of whom are speaking so quickly that I litterally didn´t catch one name...except for Esteban who tugged on my shirt and requested a kiss; adorable but a bit slobbery. Esteban´s father quickly befriended me and chatted me up about America. He attended NYU where he studied things he ¨did not believe in¨ and then lived in New York for another 10 years and met his wife there. New Yorkers, thank god. He was a vibrant fellow, I liked him....didn´t catch his name though. Lunch was this crazy good spanish rice dish (the name escapes me) with rabbit (yeah, more rabbit) which me, Shanna and Iris made once but it wasn´t nearly as good as this stuff. After 2 servings of that the cheese plate was brought out. Now, I am a fan of cheese and would normally claim to ¨know¨ good cheese, however I have never in my life had GOOD cheese until today. I mean, wow. I can´t even describe to you how incredible it was...on top of homemade bread, yum. My new yorker friend stressed to me that good cheese must come with good wine and pointed at a bottle of red merlot made in 1994. I can´t help but chuckle a little thinking about $14 bottles me and Shanna bought all last semester and how we considered it an upgrade from the $9 bottle. At this point I was stuffed to the brim and couldn´t imagine consuming more until....they brought out the cake. The most perfectly subtle chocolate cake that somehow went perfectly with the wine, cheese and company.
I´ve been complaining about France up until this weekend; I´ve been wining about hauling rocks and being filthy, lonely and bored. But now that I´ve stretched my legs around a chateau and stretched my stomach around an excellent meal I can´t help but revel in the fact that I love France. I could shout it from the rooftops!
Something that should not be forgotten:
I am missing all of you and think of you often (believe me, I have a lot of time to think)
life in France
Once again, I apologize for any misspellings (ha) etc, French keyboards are STILL hard to navigate around. Le sigh.
Every morning I wake up to a ¨Bonjour Alina¨from downstairs at around 8. Typically I am already awake and just lying in the warmth while Hugo and Mattis (their other son who was away on a ski trip...yes I seem to be forever surrounded by skiiers) rummage around in the dark. I have yet to master the stairs in the morning but when I finally make it down I see the Deboutes sitting around a small table with a large jar of jam, a huge stick of butter and some form of bread. I should note several things about breakfast: they drink a strong type of instant coffee with a small spoonfull of brown sugar, they never use plates and they typically dont toast the bread. Hugo and Mattis eat a completely different breakfast than us ¨adults¨ which consists of hot coco and cereal. 9 o´clock rolls around and I go to work. The last few days my project has been scrubbing clean hundreds of hard wood floor boards that Franck inherited from a friend whose house recently burnt down (3 days after being built, mind you, c´est domage!). I´ll work until around 1 and then get called inside by Hugo ¨on mange!¨ Its weird but in France I feel like I´m always anxiously awaiting the meal. Lunch is an array of random foods. For example, today we ate leftover rice, eggs from the chicken PuPu and spinach. I know that may sounds gross but no matter how odd the food is, it is always good and I´m always left wanting more. After lunch everyone rests for a while. Hugo is always protesting a nap but eventually gives in. I´m not really used to taking a nap after lunch yet, so I´ll just read for a bit. When everyone is done with their petite nap we go back to work for a couple of hours. Dinner is served at some point in the evening and is pretty similar to lunch. After dinner I will read or write for a few hours and roll into bed.
So besides my everyday activities I´m sure some of you (well, dad at least) are curious to know how I´m doing personally. I´m good. Its kind of strange not having an ipod or a computer....or a television for that matter, but once they are gone you realize how distracting they are. I was pretty bored my first few days. The only ¨entertainment¨I have is my brain (strange thought, I know) and a couple of books that I´m zooming through. I´ve noticed that the French are always mentioning the importance of ¨having time for contemplation.¨ Well, scrubbing hundreds of soot-covered wooden boards by yourself for 7 hours a day is PLENTY of time for contemplation, believe me. I thought I was big on ¨thinking¨ before, now all I do is think; no distractions, just the sound of things clinking inside my head. I´m lucking I enjoy my own company. Its funny though, the more I think about things the more they start to make sense. Shocked?!?!? haha. I feel like my life in America is so noisy compared to here; I can´t imagine that I did much contemplating with T-Swift belting my ears off everyday.
The other day I went for a walk alonng the coastal cliffs with my favorite new companion Segue the sheep dog. It was warm and sunny for the first time since I had arrived; I just sat on the edge of this massive cliff that dropped straight down to the ocean and...I contemplated. With the wind blowing salty air all around my senses I couldn´t help but grin; I´m alone in France with nothing but my thoughts for company and life (somehow) is still sweet.
Every morning I wake up to a ¨Bonjour Alina¨from downstairs at around 8. Typically I am already awake and just lying in the warmth while Hugo and Mattis (their other son who was away on a ski trip...yes I seem to be forever surrounded by skiiers) rummage around in the dark. I have yet to master the stairs in the morning but when I finally make it down I see the Deboutes sitting around a small table with a large jar of jam, a huge stick of butter and some form of bread. I should note several things about breakfast: they drink a strong type of instant coffee with a small spoonfull of brown sugar, they never use plates and they typically dont toast the bread. Hugo and Mattis eat a completely different breakfast than us ¨adults¨ which consists of hot coco and cereal. 9 o´clock rolls around and I go to work. The last few days my project has been scrubbing clean hundreds of hard wood floor boards that Franck inherited from a friend whose house recently burnt down (3 days after being built, mind you, c´est domage!). I´ll work until around 1 and then get called inside by Hugo ¨on mange!¨ Its weird but in France I feel like I´m always anxiously awaiting the meal. Lunch is an array of random foods. For example, today we ate leftover rice, eggs from the chicken PuPu and spinach. I know that may sounds gross but no matter how odd the food is, it is always good and I´m always left wanting more. After lunch everyone rests for a while. Hugo is always protesting a nap but eventually gives in. I´m not really used to taking a nap after lunch yet, so I´ll just read for a bit. When everyone is done with their petite nap we go back to work for a couple of hours. Dinner is served at some point in the evening and is pretty similar to lunch. After dinner I will read or write for a few hours and roll into bed.
So besides my everyday activities I´m sure some of you (well, dad at least) are curious to know how I´m doing personally. I´m good. Its kind of strange not having an ipod or a computer....or a television for that matter, but once they are gone you realize how distracting they are. I was pretty bored my first few days. The only ¨entertainment¨I have is my brain (strange thought, I know) and a couple of books that I´m zooming through. I´ve noticed that the French are always mentioning the importance of ¨having time for contemplation.¨ Well, scrubbing hundreds of soot-covered wooden boards by yourself for 7 hours a day is PLENTY of time for contemplation, believe me. I thought I was big on ¨thinking¨ before, now all I do is think; no distractions, just the sound of things clinking inside my head. I´m lucking I enjoy my own company. Its funny though, the more I think about things the more they start to make sense. Shocked?!?!? haha. I feel like my life in America is so noisy compared to here; I can´t imagine that I did much contemplating with T-Swift belting my ears off everyday.
The other day I went for a walk alonng the coastal cliffs with my favorite new companion Segue the sheep dog. It was warm and sunny for the first time since I had arrived; I just sat on the edge of this massive cliff that dropped straight down to the ocean and...I contemplated. With the wind blowing salty air all around my senses I couldn´t help but grin; I´m alone in France with nothing but my thoughts for company and life (somehow) is still sweet.
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