Departure in three days

No time to lose, making last memories of Aix, home for four months Spring 2009.

May 8th : World War II = closed book

Today is holiday. I appreciate holiday.
No school, a spring breeze in the window, no complaints here.

On this day 64 years ago, Germany surrendered to bring the War to a close, and an era was over. And Europe rejoiced. They still do, and everything 8th of May, there are large military demonstrations throughout France.

I, too, am glad the war was ended.
And I like a day off.

Arles : The Stuff That Dreams Are Made Of

Arles. 70 km west of Aix-en-Provence. Saturday 11 april, three friends and myself make the trip: we are going to see a bull-fight. Can't wait, it will be so cool. This is the sort of thing you do not see everyday, get ready.We arrive in Arles to a steady rain-fall. This was previewed, jackets, umbrellas, etc. But I mean, nothing stops the bulls from going ; a little mud, no problem, they're used to it.

After a casual jaunt through center-city, voila the coliseum. It is old, it is authentic, this ought to be good. Tickets now in hand, we walk around the city a bit more. We see the Van Gogh cafe, otherwise known as cafe terrace at night



On returning to the coliseum, we find our gate ; a trailer drives past us, smelling distinctly of bulls, this is reality ; but wait, a delay of 1/2 hr due to weather. Well that is odd, but oh well, as long as they take care of business.

Return yet a third time, find our gate again, only to receive the loud speaker : the worst of news : cancelled. The event is cancelled today due to incliment conditions. Merde, this is not possible.

Spirits dashed, we make our way out of there, we walk some more of the city, rain soaking both body and heart. One does not make the day-long occasion here on a rainy day, and nothing more. But that is essentially what is happening.

Oh well, we take a cafe ; the 1230 bus ought to work out, the day is not lost. We try to get the bus where they normally take off, no luck. As this is a special weekend in Arles, they are not here. We ask a traffic-man, who informs us of the Gare Routiere, next to Gare SNCF across town (bus and train stations). Okay, we have 10 mins to get there, but we have to try. On arriving all the way across town, we ask one more time for the station, which we are certain is nearby, but this is a crossroads, caution do not be wrong. The traffic-sir is ignorant, the passer-bys ignorant, but finally we are pointed there. Once there, it is clearly closed. I ask the woman at the train-station, who has no idea, other than the bus is closed. There is only one choice : the original location. We go back and find that the point of depart had been moved, but the postings are found at the new place, not where we ought to have left. Right there, logic in motion. Now 1pm, next bus : 4:40. Terrific. Two cafe hrs later, one under the awning in the rain, and we are on our way, successful day at the bulls.

Chilling, just chilling

I enjoy the fact that I have had work to do lately.
The first portion of my semester was rather sterile academically.
I am a firm proponent in work. He who works not, eats not. Taking it back to Colonial America. Remembering my roots from afar.

The French language is worthwhile. By that I mean it is a good one. Il vaut la peine de l'apprendre. Yesterday, I stood in front of my class for one hour, no less. My only weapon: French. Scary proposition, given my oft-evident ineptitude on that. But the point is, I begin to learn a French habit, downright indispensible: talk, whether or not you have the slightest idea of what you speak. Anyone can be an expert on anything. Quickest step to brilliance? Pretend.

Other than that, I am chilling.

a thought, just a thought

These days I have had to learn to be content where contentment is easily had. This is partially a French phenomenon I believe. It could be said that the French have problems being satisfied. Who am I to start with throwing the cultural blanket, I know, but I think this is a safe remark. In France, we crave to lead the most chill life possible, stress-free, well-cared-for from the external sources, i.e., l'Etat. Okay, this is not a critique, simply an observation, and when these things are off-kilter, when everything does not go down as smoothly as anticipated, there'll be hell to pay. That is a fact. The contradiction arrives when these criteria are indeed fulfilled, when "tout va bien", is it true that all is well ? Debatable. I think there is a little cover-up going on. Personally, I do not feel sufficiently adept to imply the reasons, I think you could write a book on it, pulling hundreds of examples from French history, litterature, philosophy, etc. Maybe I undertake that project ? Well, not in this blog entry, I lack the courage. What I wonder is where do I fit in ? A bit pretentious, of course, as if I make part of French society, American passing through. Four months. Furthermore, I live in one corner of a large country. Bien entendu, mais je continue, cela ne peut pas m'arreter de mettre en evidence ce que je me sens.
I think for me, this feeling has special significance, given my location, Aix-en-Provence. Bourgeois. To the T. There exists not a rough part of town, all is extremely expensive, domesticated, etc. And so I breathe the "we have what we need" part of France, i.e., we ought to be content, don't ask questions. And me, it is impossible to avoid the sentiment, I have to share it. This place is nice, everything is well arranged, no problems. Contentment is easily had (well, unless you take into account that going for cafe is hardly affordable). Ahem. Contentment is easily had. Yet, I always have a hard time accepting this so quickly. So I prefer be malcontent, right ? I do not want to exaggerate, as if I have been complaining all my days here. Not true I hope. It is in arriving at a state of general well-being -- generally defined as sunny days free of schoolwork -- that you feel required to come to the other side, the too-content or otherwise the reflection on what is lacking. For me, what is lacking is the usual, that I ought to have several close french friends, my level of the language nearly maternal, writing works of literature, reading everything, understanding, etc. Maybe growing in wisdom mixed somewhere in there.
In short, I want my four months in this place -- France -- to be filled with perfection, laziness and malcomprehension strictement interdits.
I run instead. Good trade-off ? Depends on who you'd ask.

Critical contentment.
Reflective dissatisfaction.
Always something better, always on the move.
I have arrived, no. Just another stop, get ready to move.
Aller. Rester. Autre part. Ici.
Vivre.

A sunny day in Provence

Hmm, well, most every day is sunny here in Aix, so it goes without say.
Very pretty going out today. I took a couple pictures, as I have rarely done in this city, my home city for a brief while.

This is the "rotonde" which is I suppose the most well-known landmark of Aix, though I could not tell you what it signifies, neither I imagine could 90% of the people who live here.

On the right is a typical street here, between my appartement and school.

A stitch in time saves nine

Never understood this Franklin axiom, but I always loved it. Guess that's why they say, ignorance is bliss.

How I see it, if I pass four months away from the states, never stopping to filter my thoughts into a blog (so much more feasible than a little moleskin, and easily shared), (a) I will regret it later on when I am overflowing with generalizations and vague sentiments, and (b) I will fail to give my friends an opportunity to see what is up. I could probably add letters, but a simple a-b ought to suffice.

The question, comme toujours chez moi, do I actually post here... or heaven forbid, NEGLECT.

Welcome to Part 2 of Daniel in France.