Groupe Biblique

Tonight I went to a Bible study with Groupe Biblique Universitaires at the university here in Tours. People were more friendly than they were last week (i.e. they actually talked to me this time). I keep having to remind myself that French people aren't accustomed to thinking of engaging people they don't yet know in conversation. However, they are accustomed to greeting them with kisses on the cheeks (two times in Tours...it changes by region) even if they hardly know them.

Many have heard me say (pettily) that when it comes to getting to know churches or people, I give out extra points for their affinity for 2 Corinthians. God seems to honor this. The first time I went to a knew church in Lancaster this summer, the pastor preached from 2 Corinthians. I nearly fell in love with a girl freshman year because she indicated that she liked the epistle. I once had quite a spiritual experience in a forest in Massachusetts while reading 2 Corinthians. I could go on and on.

Well, tonight we studied 2 Corinthians 5:12-21. We met in a the back of an Irish bar, and with the music and the fish tank (?) and the football match on the TV, I struggled to understand everything that was said. I did speak a few times, at the encouragement of a girl named Marie who always seemed to notice when I had a thought.

Some anecdotes:
- They expressly asked me to explain where Corinth was...TWICE because people walked in late...was this just the easiest question or did I give off l'air d'une grande connaissance géographique? I told them it was in the middle of Greece, by the sea.

- Someone asked what a Pharisee was, and the guy next to me concluded: So, Pharisees are just like the French. There's a law for everything. "En effet," I said under my breath.

- French people like argumentation. In fact, the way you say, "Okay" in French is "I agree with you." Well, one of the times I spoke, two people commented on the clarity of my argument (I suggested that vs. 13 is linked to vs. 12, that Paul's sanity or lack of sanity are "appearances," and that the Corinthian church and his devotion to God are where his "heart" is. Verse 12 ends by distinguishing between those who concern themselves with appearances and those who care about the heart.) The guy next to me said, "That is very nice." The French may be Pharisaic with regard to their administrative prowess, but they are equally vigilant to test and approve what a good argument is.

- To conclude the Bible study, they talked about people they loved (family, friends, etc.) who they wanted to know how good God is. This conversation reminded me greatly of what Christian students say in the States. It was a good to be there tonight.

Well, I leave tomorrow at dark fifteen for Provence in the South of France. They whether has been so exceptionally warm that my host brother averred that it was like California. (He's never been to California). I'll be there till Sunday night. I'll update when I get back.

French sauerkraut

I just had possibly my favorite meal so far in France, cabbage, four kinds of sausage, and pork (i think), of course with a course of cheese, and a gateau de riz rice pudding. My host mom is in Florida right now, and her good friend came to cook for me. Apparently its a specialty of the Alsace region, which is probably why it struck me as being Germain.
What made this meal so special was the conversation. We talked about the food, about the recent victory of the Left in the French Sénat, about the elections of next year in France and the U.S., and about the corrupt nature of many politicians. But slowly, and cautiously, she began to incorporate here and there her beliefs in "physique-chemie." I went with it, and we had an unexpected and sincere discussion of spirituality and change in the world. Although I may not adhere completely to her New Age beliefs (at first I thought she said, "New Edge" ... the most trouble I have understanding French is when they use English words), we were in agreement about many things, and she was very interested in my own spiritual beliefs and faith. I could tell being able to talk about these things was meaningful for her too. She described our conversation, and any such thinking about these things as an offering to God. I thought that was a nice way to put it.
It was equally refreshing for me to have such success speaking French. It's often hit and miss for me. Apparently tonight was an "on" night. It's like left pirouettes in dance. However, despite my ability to engage in more sophisticated conversation, I had trouble understanding her when she told me to put the plates in the cupboard. I still have a lot to learn.

two days in Paris

I just let out a deep sigh as I made it back to my neighborhood in Tours. The sun had come back out, and I could see the familiar gothic cathedral (the one I practically live in) polking through the trees of the park I walk through on my way home. It does feel good to be able to say, after a weekend away, that Tours is home.

Some highlights from Paris:
1. I returned to my favorite hostel, the Hôtel Caulaincourt, at the top of one of many gigantic staircases wedged into the hills of Montmartre. I was here two and half years ago. This time, I spoke French while checking in, and the guy at the desk (I think the same guy) spoke French back. As I arrived before the rest of my Bucknell friends, I explored the neighborhood a little bit, stopping at a café for awhile to try to write. When people say they like to people watch, I never understand what they mean...I don't really ever find pleasure in that sort of thing. But I can say that Montmartre is one of the few places that draws me out of my inwardly focused reflection, so that I see the breeze flicker in the trees, the moms with their children in hand stumble up the giant stairways, the locals at the cafés jet their cigarettes into the gutters, and the autumn sky shift through the clouds.

2. My first time at the Musée d'Orsay was worth the long line. It's fun and refreshing (for someone who doesn't really enjoy museums) to see a painting and not only know what it's called in English and French, but which history textbook I remember it from, and what I said about its significance in a paper or speech somewhere along the way. Comme par exemple, "Le déjeuner sur l'herbe," controversial because of the naked woman sharing a picnic with two fully dressed men with no thought of being allegorical. Or the Renoir that also hangs in my dining room. I remember trying to pronounce the painter's name when I was 5 and just learning how to read. I don't think I believed my mom when she told me, "Renwah." I must have been a precocious child.

3. After a long Saturday walking around, my friends and I were snacking in one of the hostel rooms and thinking about bed. But I persisted: "Let's go to a jazz club." So Katrina and I braved the rainy streets and the metro system, crossing the town to get to the Caveau de la Huchette in the thriving Latin quarter. What unexpected fun! It was so worth the trip. An American 40s and 50s jazz band played down below in the old stone cellar that dates to the middle-ages (Robespierre even liked to hang out there). It was packed. Many were dancing. Everyone was moving to the music. Katrina and I danced many numbers, bumping into everyone on the tiny dance floor. We realized quickly that closed positions and a vertical, jumpy motion served best for navigating the music in this space. And the band was bright, punchy, and soulful. I'm going to try to return every time I go to Paris in the future. There might not be a better way finish a long day of sight-seeing than to sweat it out and groove to the music under Paris' streets. Yesterday, my brother asked me whether jazz was a particularly Parisian pursuit. From a historical perspective, certainly. And from my own experience, bien sûr.

4. I ended my time in the Jardin des Tuileries. The trees were just losing their rusty leaves, and I crunched my way to one of the chairs that rest in the middle of the garden. I love fall. It reminded me of the Grove at Bucknell and my first New England autumn when I was four. In fact, as I was reflecting on how much fun I had in Massachusetts as a kid, a little boy approached, dragging one of the chairs across a stretch of the garden. Then he and his little brother started climbing and throwing rocks at one of the sculptures. It must be very fun to be a child in Paris. I wrote in my journal: "Fall teaches me to belong."

I made my way up the Seine to the train station (about an hour walk) and I slept most of my way home.

Soyez actifs

New class number 2: Mise en scène, Acting Workshop

I arrived early and chatted with Katrina (another Bucknell student) and this French girl named Claire. Of course, when we filed into the classroom, we had no idea what to expect. I didn't even really know I was taking a theatre class. You see, in order for my classes to get Bucknell credit, I have to have four hours of class...so they pair the French 2-hour classes together. Apparently it made sense to pair acting with French-English translation. In any case, I don't complain, it was a fun class.

Most of our work was on an excerpt from the French play "Hart-Emily" (about Hart Crane and Emily Dickenson...It took me awhile to figure this out...just IMAGINE how the professor pronounced their names.) Today's text featured a robust juxtaposition of passionate American verse and details about the poets' lives, chronicling their devastating suicides in order to demonstrate the tragedy, insanity, and torment that seems to await all American poets. When we finished reading as a class, the professor asked us, "What makes this text funny?"...Well I agree that there is a certain amount of irony to it all, but I was moved in quite the opposite direction, especially as a result of the play's treatment of Anne Sexton.

Hopefully the rest of the play doesn't hit so close to home. Or if it does, I'll find some truth that is waiting to be uncovered. I look forward to further reading and performing.

Some memorable quotes from my professor:

"Be ACTIVE. It's called acting. The work of an actor is acting. Therefore, we need to be active."

"We need to find characters outside of ourselves, and in order to present them, we need to be them completely."

"John, how do you pronounce 'oh-ee-oh?' Oh, ooOHIO. Listen to that. Say Ohio like it's the most fascinating place on earth."

So that was acting. More new classes next week. I leave for Paris early tomorrow morning. So many options to choose from. I'll be sure to blog about that.

À toute à l'heure!

Lost in translation

Today I had my first class at the university: Traduction. Right before the class, I had a meeting with the other Bucknell students, and I remarked to my Bucknell professor that I was nervous to start. He said not to worry, that I was the only Anglophone. Seeing that this didn't reassure me (quite the opposite), he said I would be a veritable dictionary in that class.

Well, class took off on a quick start as we began to learn some principles and methods of French-English translation. We will be alternating between "version" which is English to French and "thème," French to English. Which do you think would be harder?

For me, it is version, with which we spent most of our time today. I was comforted a little by the difficulty other students were having (because it was certainly hard for me), and I take pride in my considerate nature towards the French students' butchering of the English sentences we were asked to translate. However, in the end, the professor could get them to generate the right French translation, which often consisted of new vocabulary for me!

Each student was asked to make a translation, or at least give an idea. When my turn came around, I had to translate: "I'm going to have a quick wash." (We don't even speak like this in America.) So I said in French, "I'm an Anglophone, so this is a little hard for me." Seeing everyone's ears perk up and my struggling French, I offered, "Je vais me baigner vite" (I'm going to bathe quickly.) Well, it turns out, the better translation is "Je vais fair un brin de toilette." Interesting. Hmm.

I am excited for the rest of this class though. It's a good challenge, and I know I'll keep learning a lot of new vocab. It's also a very practical pursuit, translation. Today I visited the cathedral and had to read the signs in the original French because the meaning of the English was impossible to decipher.

I introduced myself to the professor afterwords, and although he began speaking English, with his posh southern English accent, I insisted on speaking French. We discussed where I came from, my studies this semester, and his previous travel in California.

So things are a little scary still, but I think it'll be ok. I just need to learn not to beat myself up or feel inferior when I struggle a little at something new.
À bientôt!

P.S. No joke, we had to translate this sentence today: "The Wetbacks swam across the Rio Grande." I felt slimy. "Les clandestins méxicains ont traversé le Rio Grande en nage."

Ronsard and rain

Pour obsèques reçois mes larmes et mes pleurs,
Ce vase plein de lait, ce panier plein de fleurs,
Afin que vif, et mort, ton corps ne soit que roses.

Yesterday my host mom took me and another student living in the house to the home of the 16th century poet Ronsard, "the prince of poets, the poet of princes" (or vice versa). None of us knew until we arrived that it was his birthday. It was also good timing with regards to the weather. It had been raining hard all day (I got drenched running back from church), but when we arrived, the sun broke out. I remember from England how amazing it is when the rain stops and the sun shines on all the glistening leaves and grass. In England, this would have lasted fifteen minutes. Here, it lasted the whole time we spent at the old house, the ruins of the church next door, and the ruins of even older chapels. It was pretty to see the garden full of roses, with bits of Ronsard's poetry on signs throughout. He wrote a lot about roses and young women whose love he couldn't share. I remember learning about him last fall, and he was introduced with a quotation from a critique who wondered why a poet who only wrote about girls and flowers would be considered one of the nation's best poets - and not just any nation, but France, a country whose lasting contributions to the world have been mostly literary. I kind of agree, but it was nice to see the home of a poet I had studied, on his birthday, and to know that he was a Tourangeau!

Speaking of girls and flowers, I saw a very sad, very confusing, mildly entertaining, musical movie today at the movie theatre. Another Bucknell friend and I concluded afterwards that French films are unnecessarily awkward and that they have no plot, maybe kind of like life, but not a life anyone would desire. We couldn't talk for long because the rain began to pour. "A demain!" I shouted as I ran up the cobble-stone street to my house. Luckily I live right around the corner.

Debussy, September 9th

(a poem without editing)

Today I played the piano
when I dropped all my affaires
and all my trucs
and some of my old fears
at the whispering end
of a hot exhausting day

when my back slumped into
the chair my fingers
reached for air and sunk
into the frosty softened
keys. They sang
proud murmurs
the sounds of dogs stretching
for a walk, the breaths
of pages turning in a book
crisp as leaves, yes,
always leaves with Debussy.

I could hear the chatter
bavardage of teenagers
in the courtyard and the cathedral
chimed four c naturals
to cloud my chords
and the sun entered with the wind
in the old fenêtres (windows)
left and right of me
but I just stayed in the shadow
or lingered...settled under
this tree, and let just the music
peer out
and coil back into itself
and me, and the branches overhead.
This is France, and this is me.
And this is the neglected piano
with only one voice
as clear as morning rain
and fresh as bright pavement
as ancient as dry afternoons.

"Debussy existed before Debussy. He was a building that moves upside-down in the water, clouds that form themselves and collapse, branches that put themselves to sleep, the rain on the leaves, plums that fall, that die and bleed gold. But all that murmured...stammered, did not find a human voice with which to express itself. A thousand vague marvels of nature have finally discovered their interpreter." -Jean Cocteau (my translation)

petite liste

Some things I've learned so far in Tours:
(not numbered. numbered lists are either funny or important.)

- It's hard to study abroad in a place one can't really pronounce. (I can't even say with certainty, "I'm new to Tours." Mon cours et toujours à Tours. Bonjour.

- Not all cheese in France is good, especially if it only costs €1,30. I should have known, right? Apparently it doesn't all come from the same goat.

- According to the French, there are only six possible formats for an essay or piece of writing, and each is meticulously defined.

- The French resist speaking English at all costs, by all means, de toutes façons.

- Despite the great lengths our French teacher goes to encourage us not to accept stereotypes about the French, when I walk down the street, I still see that 2 out of 3 people are carrying baguettes under their arms, often smoking, and wearing scarves. I used to joke, "See that person? They don't really exist. They're a stereotype." I guess you had to be there.

- It's perfectly normal to go out and party. In fact, it's dinnertime conversation with French family. It's also perfectly normal to shut oneself up in one's room to study all night. Sounds a lot like Bucknell.

- Cat poop smells really bad. I encountered it on the doorstep and it stayed with me the whole day. My host mom left a big red note on the door for the cat-owning people who live below: NE PAT LAISSER ENTRE LE CHAT LE NUIT (Don't let the cat come in at night). It's also a very scary cat, who waits for me to come home and appears in my face when I enter through the gate.

- You can go a whole day in France using just three phrases: "Bonjour," "Ça va," and "C'est pas grave." And I suppose I should add, "Bon appetit." It is necessary to eat while in France.

- My English got really bad, really quickly within days. I have to listen to American music and concentrate on thinking in English for awhile before writing anything that makes sense. I think, therefore, that the blog is good for me.

- French school children scream a lot at recess. (There's an elementary school right next to my language school. My fellow students are all like, "I hate the sound of kids." And I'm like, "I LOVE young learners!")

Well that's all for now...I might go to a discothèque for the first time tonight. I'll be sure to post about that!
Bon courage to all the Bucknellians surviving the flood.

3 random stories

We saw a castle this weekend, but that's all I'm gonna say about that. Call me whatever you want, but if you've seen one castle, there isn't much to be gained by seeing another one. (Now this is the same rhetoric Reagan used in a comment about California redwoods, so take my comments with a grain of salt). What made my Saturday enjoyable was the time we spent in the Villandry gardens. I didn't spend much time, however, in the elaborate flower gardens, but I went marching into the woods on a hill overlooking it all. I guess I was pretty wiped out and needed some time alone, but I think I was also missing home, as the trees reminded me both of Pennsylvania and California. I thought about simplicity when I was sitting on a wood bench in the tranquil forest, the thunder rolling across the canyon. Were the royal gardens and baroque palaces really necessary? What did the French who lived in poverty think of all this? What are the gardens of our current society? What are the gardens in my life? Nevertheless, it was refreshing to sit under the trees, and wander through the old paths.

I bought a galette at an outdoor market yesterday, and I met a friendly old man at the stand. When he asked where I was from, he told me he had an American cat, that it was from Florida, and that he kept it's passport. When I ordered, he joked that they were fresh out of galettes-complètes. Also, when our crêpes were being made, he told me that THAT one was his, and that he had seen my eyeing it. Only time will tell if I become the kind of old man who jokes like that.

We played theatre games this morning to help us learn French. Our teacher was a member of a local theatre troupe who does this sort of things in schools often. She said, "You need to engage your body in the words." My favorite was when we learned conversations from a Becket play and performed them for each other. We did this dialogue (my translation):
A: So you're going to leave me then?
B: I'm trying to.
A: You don't love me?
B: No.
A: You used to love me!
B: Used to.
We will continue to work with her throughout the semester, and one night we will go see her company's play. It was a good way to start the day.

Church

This morning I got up early (again) to go to church. I received a text at breakfast from a Bucknell friend here saying he wouldn't be able to go with me. So I was extremely nervous to go alone. I prayed a lot as I made the twenty minute walk down past the train station to have the courage to walk in. It turned to be a pretty good morning.

The usher who handed me a bulletin was friendly and even tried to welcome me in English. There were about a couple hundred people in the church, and a diversity of age and ethnicity. The service started with one of the many prolonged periods of prayer that we would have that morning. Many people prayed similar things "thank you Lord, for saving us, Lord, for washing away our sins, Lord, for forgiving us Lord, for raising us, Lord..." so I was able to get used to the new vocabulary. I had trouble joining in worship at first, I think because I was so nervous about being new AND not being able to speak my language. This didn't last long, fortunately, because after the first song, many words of thanks to God flooded my mind. This sometimes happens in English. I'm glad it happened in French, and at a time where I was feeling very vulnerable.

This reassuring feeling of comfort didn't last long, however, as we were told to form groups and pray! (I didn't actually understand the worship leader when he directed us to do this, but it's easy to figure things out when two hundred people are all doing the same thing.) I kinda just stood there awkwardly...it didn't last long.

Many of the songs we sang I have sung before in English, so that was cool, and the musicians were talented. Usually a band with a saxophonist knows what they're doing. And the sermon was great...based in Psalm 84...about loving the church, where God's presence is, and finding our strength in God.

At the end of the service, the pastor asked if there was anyone new this morning. I raised my hand slightly, not knowing what was to come. Then he passed a microphone around...to everyone who was new, and had them stand and introduce themselves to the church! I actually had a good accent as I said, "Bonjour, je m'appelle John. Je viens des Etats-Unis, je reste à Tours pour quatre mois."

So, church was great today. It gave me another opportunity to practice French. It gave me a lot to think about concerning my relationship with God, the reasons I go to church, and also - very compellingly - what it is like for newcomers to a church, especially if they are foreigners. And above all I got to worship "the master of the univers" with two hundred "brothers" and "sisters." This is what we all need.

"You are the branches."

Thursday night is when all the students "sortent" to hang out in Old Tours. My Bucknell group and I went out, and we even met a couple French people, who were really nice to talk to (especially because I was feeling insecure beforehand about my French). As much fun as we had, it was all the more difficult to get up this morning at 7h30 to participate in the time-honored French activity of extraordinary significance: les vendages. Grape picking.

After pulling up to the vineyard Père Augustine, we practically filed out the bus straight into the vines. At once, we were surrounded by Cabernet, Gabay, Cabernet-Sauvignon, and (my favorite) Côt. The seasonal employees, a small group of friendly français with lots of croissants to share, awaited our arrival, enjoying their coffee break. Clippers and baskets were distributed among us, and we set to work. My professor remarked that this was the sort of thing one couldn't learn in a literature class. "Certainly not," I said, "The Princesse de Clèves would not pick grapes."

It was sort of a competition among us to see who could pick the most before lunch. Of course, I won, working alongside one of the proprietors of the vineyard. We talked a little about wine in California. Of course, I don't know a lot about the harvesting of grapes and maintenance of vines. I do know, however, what Jesus had to say on the subject: "I am the vine; you are the branches." When I had time to work alone, I repeated this scripture to myself with each clip of the vine. Ask me sometime what I learned about that verse thanks to this meditation in the vineyard.

Then we had a spectacular lunch of mushrooms à la crème, pork and pickles, roast beef, and a pear flan, with four kinds of wine and some white grape juice. I brought back a bottle of Côt 2009 for my host-mom. And I slept and slept on the way home.