Life in France

The chalet is situated just below the highway that runs through these parts. The chalet itself is part of a group of little cabins that are meant more as vacation spots than regular apartments, and the 'road' that they are on, which is really a walking path, is called Montana. So we live at 315 Montana; this seems appropriate since we are three Montanans living in France. (Me, my best friend Christina from Bozeman, and her boyfriend from Eureka.) There is a wonderful view of the whole city just below it extending back into the mountains on the other side and the cliffs that border Millau on the right side. Far to the left is the Viaduct, which is visible from just about everywhere in town. In the middle of town are these bizarrely gnarly trees that probably look like totally normal trees in summer but right now just look like something out of a stylized horror film. We went to Roquefort, where they make the cheese and age it in caves-I personally think this cheese tasted rancid. There are these giant posters of butterflys everywhere and you are supposed to follow the butterfly, which if you look closely is made of roquefort cheese, to the caves.


They were closed when we found them, but the countryside was pretty.

Then we went to St. Afrique (pop. approx 7000) last week to visit one of Christina's fellow assistants, and friend Justin (Ohio, 22). (Roquefort, Millau, and St. Afrique are all within 30 minutes of each other, so this was easily achieved because we still had the Super U car at this point...) After getting the grand tour (consisting of 5 minutes and the church - not a cathedral, just a church) Justin commented on a French park on the 'main drag' (St. Afrique is very small, so I use the term main drag loosely) and how the French really keep everything really manicured because they really like to try and control nature. I must also point out at this time that this tendency seems to mostly apply to large trees, because this French park, 'like most French parks,' had no grass.

Justin came and stayed with us last weekend here in Millau. He is the only assistant, and only American, in St. Afrique, so needless to say, he was happy to hang out with us. We all had dinner then went out and drank some beer. We didn't get back to the chalet until 4am (I was shocked by the time) and then Justin and I stayed up talking until 6 am. He is 22, from Ohio, and I pretty much love him. Justin and I walked back from town together on Saturday together, discussed the celebrities we saw in Chrisitna's French Glamour magazines, and talked about books and philosophy. I love this whole traveling thing, because everywhere I go I stay up late at night like I am back in college and discuss current events, global politics, philosophy, and the endlessly entertaining world of famous people. Dana and I did it about language and culture shock; Dana's friend Kostya and I did it about history and Russia in general; Dana, her friend Maxim (who was kind enough to put us up a couple of time in Moscow at his apartment) did it about Russia and the world economy and our generation's place in it; and Christina and Jed and I have had some of the same conversations, revolving around history, the American economy, the English language, and how much we love creme fraise (French sour cream). Anyway, we were all pretty tired on Sunday, and it was the only truly nice we've had so we went to the park (which has free wi-fi) and played on the internet and read some more bad magazines in French.

This weekend I am going to go to Nimes (Neme) with Justin and maybe Christina and Jed also. It should be cheap, and I am looking forward to it.

How is water so many different colors?

I was walking to the Super U tonight to buy a couple of things for dinner. But rounding the corner and coming over the hill, I noticed that the giant U was not lit up in its bright red Super U glory, nor were there any cars in the parking lot. Alas, the Super U was closed because I forgot that it is Sunday in Europe. Much like the two hour lunches and how things close at 8 pm on a normal day anyway, I am once again reminded that I am in a foreign land, and I am spoiled by living in America. Spoiled by having access to whatever I want at almost any time of day, and also in thinking that it I should have that access.

(Which brings me to a quick comment about Wal-Mart. I know that we all have our own opinions about Wal-Mart; many of us hate it as one of the big box stores which is no good for independent business, and most of us shop there anyway. I would just like to point out that Wal-Mart exists as a by-product of our economic system, one which allows competition and supplies a demand in product, cost, and time. While there are obvious draw backs to the big box store model, it exists because of our economic system, which I will stand by as one of the best in the world. I mean who wants to buy underwear outside in the winter?)

Anyway, instead of turning around, or even being disappointed, I walked a little bit further to the bridge that crosses into Millau proper and down to the river bank. In the misty, foggy, evening, I was staring at the water amazed that it is yet another color of water I have come across. Is it the day, the time, the fog? I don't know, but the more-blue-then-green teal color of the water had me staring at it for a while. I am attaching a picture, but unfortunately the evening darkness effects the coloring in the photo, and even photoshopped it doesn't come out quite right. (Also, my camera seems to be on the fritz...as soon as it dies that is every single that I brought me, broken or gone; it's amazing what you think you need that ou don't really...)

Millau is a little smaller than Bozeman in population. The buildings are all a pinky tan color, with mostly red rooves dotting the densely built skyline from our view here on the hill overlooking the town. With the fresh, wet, green of this early and rainy spring, Millau is certainly a better place to be than Russia or Montana (if only for weather). Most of the cars stop for me as a pedestrian, but I wonder if they can tell by looking at me, or perhaps just because I am walking where they are driving, that I am a foreigner, an American. I imagine that my shoes or my coat give me away. Still, I try to blend in by saying Bonjour, and Au Revoir when I walk in and out of shops. I can figure out the French well enough to buy groceries so far. And we have a coffee maker here, though I have been drinking just as much (or more) tea over the last month, and dare I say that I even like it!

(And just to put your minds at ease, I had a lovely dinner anyway; a French-bacon and potato "scramble" with garlic and cream, topped with melted cheese and Creme Fraise (a sour cream like substance) and of course, a little French red wine. I may become something a cook after all.

Arriving in France

Upon arriving in Paris, I was so happy to be met by friends and English speakers!! We went to the catacombs in the afternoon, see the new link. It was pretty much creepy all the way around. But Paris is beautiful in the spring, I didn't really even need a coat. We walked to a park and up this beautiful little street which had an early building of a famous architect at the end. The building itself isn't famous, but with two "architecture boys" (as Dez and Christina like to call them) we were kept well informed about what we were looking at and entertained by the sheer number of pictures they take of all the buildings around here. It gives a person new eyes when looking at things, following these guys around. It was also nice to feel like I recognized something. I went with Mark and Dez (Christina's friends from Bozeman) to the Champs-Elysees and upon seeing the Arc de Triomphe at the end, I felt happy to be somewhere I have a memory of. Plus, it's Paris. Maybe not my favorite city in the world, but a beautiful one, just entering springtime.

We drove across France the next day, five people and 10 bags, just barely fitting in the tiny tiny car that Jed and Christina rented from the grocery store. France gets more beautiful the farther south you go, and it is nice weather. If not sunny, at least it isn't snowy. It rains every couple or hours, but I can handle that. I have been here in the chalet by myself for the last couple of days (everyone else went to Barcelona, which I decided to forego for now in order to rest and put my mind back together.


This picture was taken from the front porch of the chalet. It is Millau as seen from our front door. I feel like I am walking in the picture I had on my computer desktop. If I walk just down the driveway, I can see the bridge also. It's pretty much amazing.

Pictures

These are a few pictures, finally. My new backpack. It looks a little sad in this picture, but it's great. Also, me and Tonya, Dana's friend & fellow English teacher. Her boyfriend Kostya and Dana are there too, at the party we were at on the Saturday before I left. And me, on my first night in Moscow (and in Russia) standing in front of St. Basil's church. That was a good thing about Moscow, and an impressive first night there (though freezing, freezing, freezing...) Also seen, Dana and me in front of a giant statue of Lenin and me in front of Patriot's Park, which is in The Master and Margarita, one of my favorite books by the Russian writer Mikhail Bulgakov.

Russian Impressions...

Kostya told me the other night, that Moscow is not Russia, and that St. Petersburg is also not Russia. Well, I didn't go to St. Petersburg, but I am glad that a Russian told me that Moscow is not Russia because I didn't like Moscow. Not even a little bit. It is huge, gray, dirty, chaotic, covered in dirty slush and snow, wet, and cold. The only thing I liked about it was the Metro system, which is the only efficient think I saw in Russia in two and a half weeks, and even that a series of escalators and stairs, crowded train cars (some with fake wood paneling) and hallways, and just far too many people. How much of this has to do with the weather, probably a lot, but I am not sure that I would like it more in the summer time. And it is because of this, this intense dislike of Moscow, that I had such a good time in Russia.

My Russia trip was not a tourist trip. I was a visitor, staying with a friend, meeting her friends, attending her classes, living a very short Russian life in provincial Russia. I only spent a couple of days in Moscow total, and did see the major Moscow sights: the Kremlin and Red Square. We attempted to see some other stuff, but somehow time just gets away from you there. We stayed up late talking, discussing what we saw the essential Russian problem and attempting to think of ways to fix it. We made broad generalizations based of the details of our problems there, trying to define Russia and what appears to be her broken system. We drank a lot of tea, which I think I can say that I like now, and almost as much coffee, which was consumed while sitting in cafes because Russia hasn't grasped the concept of coffee to go yet.

I attended two of Dana's classes and helped to 'teach' them, which means that I particpated in the discussion of english vocabulary and the differences between Russian and American culture. We also had an American Club meeting, something Dana does weekly for any students that want extra practice speaking English.

I attended two parties with Dana's friends, one in Tula and one Moscow the night before I left. These parties entail much food and much vodka, and on Saturday I found out that Russia also has an equivalent of box wine. Most of the people at these parties do not speak English, so I was left to Dana's translating, her friend Tonya, who speaks excellent English and teaches at the University that Dana works at, my very few words, and after much vodka, Tonya's boyfriend Kostya would begin speaking to me in English. It was broken, but he tried and I think that we mostly understood each other. Incidentally, Kostya is the most animated Russian I met. He used voices and large arm movements every time he told a story, and each was usually followed by his laughter.

In Moscow, the people seem brooding and morose, and little wonder with how crowded it is. People crowd one another, pushing through lines and pushing you aside if you let them. However, once you know someone, it seems that the hospitality is overwhelming. They give you directions, help you problems or questions, use what little english they have, feed you, offer you more, make toasts to you, offer you tea and vodka etc. I am very grateful to Tonya for taking time from a busy schedule to help us with my registration and also to invite us to Moscow for her best friend's birthday party on my last night there, where we also spent the night. We weren't sent away until we had a good breakfast, tea, and they made us sit for a moment and 'have one for the road' (a drink of white wine) which is a tradition in Russia. Then, Tonya's friend Anya's boyfriend walked us to the transportation spot and hailed and then paid for our cab to the metro so we could get to the airport. I never even got his name.

Yesterday, Today...

Yesterday was my day of Russian culture. Dead Lenin, check. Kremlin, check. St.Basil's cathedral, check. Exhausted, we finished the day off with a meal at the Yalki Palki and then a beer at a pub on the main tourist street, Arbat. Back to russian life as usual this week, and I think I prefer it; small town life in the provinces is much easier to deal with than the crazy speed of Moscow. Small town, of course, is near 600 million people. More later, but all is well and the food is still great. I am going to buy a Russian cookbook now, and all who really know me well know that I don't really cook. But I think Russian food has inspired me. Who knew?

There are, however, many police in the metro stations today. We aren't sure why, but suspect it has something to do with the new registration law, and it makes us nervous. We are totally legal at this point, but it seems that it doesn't always help here to have everything in order. And you may not know it, but the police aren't the most trustworthy group to deal with. Dana won't even ask for directions from them on the streets...imagine then how we felt when we were told to go there for help with registration...

I was not deported, and somehow everything has worked out...

I have only been in Russia for six days and I have spent five of those day afraid of being deported.  You see, when you come to Russia, you must register with the Russian government within three days so that they can track your whereabouts.  Well, I am going on day seven, and still no registration. But it's not like we haven't tried...we go one place, they tell us to go somewhere else, and they tell us to wait before they tell us to go somewhere else. Today, I finally got to the point that it has been so much trouble I would buy another ticket to leave early, but alas, neither can I leave this country without first being registered.  This is a really long story, which really includes far too many police stations and too many overly made-up women saying No.  I have never been so rejected in my life; I mean, I've been rejected, but never so often in so little time and over and over again.  And the thing is, I can't even take it personally, because there is this new Russian law that we really don't understand.  The real problem is that none of the Russian officials or tourist agencies understand it either, and they are passing us around from person to person, from office to office, from agency to agency in order to avoid responsibility for fixing my problem, even though they created in the first place.  

I have learned a few words, particularly 'spasiba' which means thank you.  At the end of the day when the man helping us (the only man, incidentally-i don't know what this means since every person who rejected us was a woman) after Dana had translated what he said, I stopped before I left and called to him through his office door, Spasiba, Spasiba.  He looked up and laughed, nodding.  (I think he really wanted to help us.)  Dana laughed also, and then said to him, "This is her only Russian word so she wanted to use it, but she is very, very grateful."  And I am.  

I could go on and on, trying to explain the days and hours spent worrying and working on this; I could try and count the number of people that we have tried to talk to (9 in 5 days) but I don't want to bore you with the details.  And actually, it is a fascinating story filled with the philosophy of and our personal theories surrounding the Russian bureaucratic system, but it is a long, varied, complicated story.  Suffice it to say, once I am officially 'in' this country I will have a truly Russian story under my belt. And the story ends with me, after having so much trouble with a simple problem, ready to give the Russian government anything they want...copies of my passport, my visa, my customs card...my picture! my money! my books! Anything anything anything to get them to register me and then leave me alone until I leave the country; and it is in this moment, this moment of utter desperation, ready to do anything to be left alone, that I realize the power of a police state.

The rest of my Russian experience has been very Russian as well.  I have eaten much Russian food, ridden on all three of kinds of public transportation used here in the provinces, including the marshuke (a mini-van that you ride in with abut 14 other people) bought food and gloves and an orange hat at the outside market...each day and experience is truly a story in itself.  At the market, for example, they sell shoes, sweaters, socks, and underwear.  And can I tell you, it is snowing.  It is below zero.  I cannot imagine buying a bra outside in the middle of rural Russina.  When I commented on this to Dana, she said, yeah, I realized that I was really comfortable living here when I tried on a bra at one of the markets last year.  I do not know how this works, and I did not ask for details, but I guess it just goes to prove that acclimation to any situation is possible.  

Denver, really?

I will not repeat it here due to length, but there is a Chinese folk tale about a man and his son and their horse and a broken leg...well, it's a long story. But the moral of the story is that sometimes when something happens it may seem like it is bad, but really it is good. And when it looks good, it may be bad. I guess this sounds like the moral of the story is that you cannot take anything at face value, or that you should always be optimistic, unless something good happens, then maybe negative is ok. Or perhaps it is about contradiction, how it exists and we should just accept that. Really, the story is about a horse, but in any case, disregarding the horse, I have learned in the last five days that all these things apply to Russia.

My story is about a lost bag. A beautiful blue bag, filled with all kinds of essential items, all picked out meticulously to meet my needs on this particular trip. But with that bag, I would have missed my flight, not fit on the first marshuke ride to Tula (where Dana teaches and lives) and would have altogether a harder time getting around, as it weighs far more than twice the one I now carry. So I guess my horse with a broken leg has turned out in my favor after all. I can only hope that if the bag has made it all the Denver in the last two weeks, it will make it back home unharmed.

Perhaps the most important thing a person needs when attempting to survive in a police state is optimism. I have never considered myself to be an optimist; a cynic at best. However, I have found myself saying things like, 'maybe today' or 'it's bound to work out somehow,' over and over here. Weather or not I believe these things when I say them, is evern unknown to myself. But it is a mark of the country's effect on me that I say them.

I do however love the food.