Listening to: "A Map of New York" from If / Then
Urgh. I've been trying to recharge my Navigo transportation card from home because, you know, going outside is so hard. Anyway, the site is driving me crazy every time it translates the French word carte into "map." We learned in French I that a carte in the classroom setting is indeed a map, but nowadays, the French use carte to refer to a credit card (or "bank card," as Europeans prefer to say). So sometimes Google Translate gets this right, and sometimes it doesn't. More frustrating is trying to turn Google Translate on and off. My computer is so confused with me right now, given that I view most of my sites in English, but now a lot of the website names have French domains.
Grrr.
I am unsuccessfully trying to map out how I plan to spend my time in Paris. However, I keep getting sidetracked on Google Maps. Then there's the frustration of remembering a place mentioned in French class or in a movie and being unable to find it online, no matter how specifically or vaguely I search through Google. Then there's the constant reminder to pay up for trips to Brussels and Giverny through the school... Oh, I have to set up the calendar that the FYI (First-Year Initiates) coordinator gave us...
Saturday, January 31, 2015
Friday, January 30, 2015
Day 22: City of Lights (but not open museums)
Listening to: "Snow" from White Christmas
Much to my mother's chagrin, I called her at 12:00 pm (6:00 am in CT) to announce that it was snowing outside!
Now, this was the first snow I've seen since March 2014, so I was excited. Except it was incredibly short-lived because when I stepped outside, the magical dandruff was gone. :(
Anyway, it was a class day, but when class got out, I was like, "Why not head to the Modern Art Museum? It's only across the bridge." Yeah, except all these damn museums close at 6 pm! I came to Paris to go out later than 6 pm.
So thankfully for all of you, this is going to be a post of pictures.
Much to my mother's chagrin, I called her at 12:00 pm (6:00 am in CT) to announce that it was snowing outside!
Now, this was the first snow I've seen since March 2014, so I was excited. Except it was incredibly short-lived because when I stepped outside, the magical dandruff was gone. :(
Anyway, it was a class day, but when class got out, I was like, "Why not head to the Modern Art Museum? It's only across the bridge." Yeah, except all these damn museums close at 6 pm! I came to Paris to go out later than 6 pm.
So thankfully for all of you, this is going to be a post of pictures.
So on the Metro this morning, I hear this noise, and suddenly, there's a puppet show going on behind me. I have no idea what it was about. Hopefully it was more appropriate than Avenue Q. It definitely woke me up.
Good for you, Wilson. You may not have gotten the League of Nations, but you did get your own street in Paris!
Oo, pretty sunset.
Flame of Liberty, an informal commemoration for the late Princess Diana.
Now let's get flashy:
Good night, Eiffel Tower. :)
Thursday, January 29, 2015
Day 21.95833: French KFC
Listening to: "Cruella De Vil" from 101 Dalmatians
Love the feedback. But I know that "interesting" is code for "pretentious." :)
Anyway, just one last entry to let you know about my dinner.
So, I know I'm in France and I'm supposed to be eating brie and bread for every meal with a nice bottle of Merlot. But since I was having one of my sick days, I decided to go for some old-fashioned, fattening American cuisine: KFC. It's also right down the street from me. And being a good documentarian, I just had to enlighten you guys about the differences between KFC at home and KFC here.
Love the feedback. But I know that "interesting" is code for "pretentious." :)
Anyway, just one last entry to let you know about my dinner.
So, I know I'm in France and I'm supposed to be eating brie and bread for every meal with a nice bottle of Merlot. But since I was having one of my sick days, I decided to go for some old-fashioned, fattening American cuisine: KFC. It's also right down the street from me. And being a good documentarian, I just had to enlighten you guys about the differences between KFC at home and KFC here.
What they call the "Double Krunch." Yes, with a K. Anyway, it was quite delicious. It had this peppery mayonnaise sauce. And the chicken was truly crunchy, like how fried chicken is supposed to be.
This is the "Kreme Bowl." (They're really into replacing C's with K's, not unlike middle schoolers discovering AIM for the first time.) This was mango-flavored, and there were nutty crunchies on the bottom. Delicious.
They must not like mashed potatoes in France because they offer fries as a side instead. Strangely, this makes the meal much more like something you would get at a McDonald's in the United States than at a KFC.
I headed out to get this unhealthy meal in sweats and moccasins. I think when I dress up one day, I have to compensate by dressing like a slob the next day. Anyway, I need to sue the Weather Channel application, as they told me there was 0% rain, while walking outside showed me a very different report. But I was too lazy to get an umbrella, so...
On the way back, I spotted the dalmatian I had seen last week. I took a page out of The Bell Jar and decided to go up and just pet the dog. (Sylvia Plath details how when you casually act like what you're doing is acceptable, people will just assume it is even when it totally isn't. Like eating caviar by smearing it on chicken slabs and rolling them up like scaloppine, which is what Esther Greenwood does.) The owner informed me that his name was Clovis (pronounced like Cloh-veeeeeeessss, in that supremely French way), and indicated that he was named after "le premier roi de France" by miming a circle around his head.
Anyway, question: what the hell is this? It was in the bathroom. (And yes, a gender appropriate bathroom.) It wasn't a hand dryer or paper towel dispenser or soap dispenser, as all those things were present. So... I don't know. Once again, perplexing random things I find in French public places.
Day 21: Ketchup
Listening to: "Little People" from Les Misérables
Following thoughts I forgot to cover in my zeal:
1. Matt and I have been discussing whether or not it's fair for the plaques in the Louvre to only be in French. I countered that the Smithsonian and Metropolitan Museums, Meccas for art and history lovers, appear to only have English offerings. Matt argued that the Louvre hosts many more cultures, and they expect many other language-speakers simply from being in Europe.
I do wish I had been able to understand some of the plaques. For instance, there was a giant metal ring/wheel thing, and the caption appeared to say something along the lines of "circle made of six elements." What did that mean? I searched the description for mentions of silver, gold, aluminum--but then what if "elements" meant something more symbolic, like fire or water? So was it spiritual in purpose? Or a feat or combining literal metal elements? I don't know.
2. Related to that subject, I was very impressed with the guards. They were strategically placed around all the rooms, sitting in chairs. Some were dressed officially, while some appeared at first glance to be well-dressed tourists. I guess it may be easier to approach someone who's not wearing a suit. Anyway, a poor Japanese fellow was trying to convey something to one of the guards, and the guard responded in Japanese. The Japanese man seemed delighted. I wanted to congratulate the guard for doing his job so well. I wonder if that's a requirement among all Louvre personnel? The scene reminded me of Miracle on 34th Street when Santa Claus speaks Dutch (I believe?) to a little girl who couldn't speak anything but. It warmed my heart. (Note: It was Dutch.)
3. Seeing the men even cleaning the rooms in the Louvre, I felt a pang of jealousy. Sweeping floors only to look up and see angels on the ceiling? I hope it's at least a nice surprise on a crappy day: Oh yes, this is what King Louis VIXII would've looked at. (As you can tell, I just gave up on the Roman Numerals back there.)
4. Tangent! When I was walking down the street one day, a man sweeping the street asked me what time it was. I showed him my watch, and I tried my best to say, "Treize heures et cinquante minutes?" I must've been failing, as he looked at me perplexed. Then, considering me for a moment, he says in English, "Oh, ten to two?" This guy knew better English than I knew French, and I'm paying (well, my parents are) a lot of money to say that I am a student at a university. But next to this guy, I was like one of those sign language gorillas who knows how to ask for grapes. Well, I tip my hat to you, good sir. You are much more culturally aware than I am.
5. There were maps in French, English, Spanish, German, Chinese, Japanese... even more in languages I couldn't identify. They're prepared at the info desk. Much of their job appears to be asking each other, "Where's the one who can speak [some obscure language]?"
6. I chose to wear flats to the Louvre, as I suspected my kickass but clunky boots would not make other museum-goers very happy. Unfortunately, my feet were incredibly blistered by the end of the night, and I was half-running, half-hobbling on the Metro and on the way back to my apartment. People were looking at me. They probably thought it was some weird way that Chinese girls run, much like how my classmates in gym class in middle school would make fun of me. Nope, it's just pain. I may be very critical of China, but I don't want these people to get the impression solely from me that they do whatever weird thing I am doing at the current moment. I guess the same goes for representing America.
7. My cousin Brian reminded me to check my pockets. It was the same situation when visiting in the Sistine Chapel, but I found that I was able to enjoy myself more in the Louvre. It wasn't as crowded, and many people had better cameras than I did, so why would they steal mine? I am taking a page out of Mad-Eye Moody's handbook and practicing constant vigilance, but I'm not going to let paranoia destroy me. Let's hope I don't jinx myself...
8. Matt, I think we should get Chaves to get on this "no Chinese artwork" thing. And if people think they should focus on French art because the Louvre is in France, well, I say: who painted the Mona Lisa?
9. In French, the Mona Lisa is called La Joconde. Why? Beats the hell out of me. Oh, wait: her name was Lisa del Giocondo. But I thought we didn't know who she was? Why am I so ill-informed? I'm going to pull a Chaves here and blame my past teachers, but specifically my fourth grade teacher (because I am snotty student who refuses to take responsibility for the fact that I should know my own damn facts myself).
10. Did you know the Mona Lisa was stolen? Lately I've taken to going back and watching these YouTube videos detailing facts about Paris. For instance: Molière totally died during a staging of his play titled The Imaginary Invalid, as the audience thought his coughing fit was just really good acting. Annnnddddd... Franz Reichelt was way too over-confident in his invention. Seriously, go watch these. They make me seem much more in tune with French culture than I actually am. All I basically do is regurgitate these random facts that mostly no one cares about, hence all the crap about Akhenaten yesterday.
11. Non-English speakers are very fascinated with how we pronounce "th." Like in Katherine. Lots of Europeans want to say "Kah-TER-in." I am totally okay with this. If I had only started learning French, I wouldn't have had to deal with the horror of counting aloud through the 30's in first grade as everyone giggled and my mom bemoaned that my speech would be impeded for the rest of my life.
12. Well, David Sedaris had a speech impediment too. In fact, he pronounced the "th" instead of "s." Kind of the opposite of my problem. Anyway, go read some of his stuff. Seriously. his essay "Me Talk Pretty One Day" from the same-titled book is a hilarious account of learning French as an older person. He really gets reamed out for not knowing that the word "typewriter" in French is a feminine noun. It's hysterical. And since he lived in France for several years, he has more entertaining stories about life here. Apparently you can buy a taxidermied owl here in France, whereas it's illegal in the US. Just in case you really wanted to know. ;)
(P.S. Typewriter = la machine à écrire. If your French teacher ever asks you, so you don't have to suffer the same humiliation as Mr. Sedaris.)
(P.P.S. I wonder if his theory on desserts applies to European men?)
(P.P.P.S. I'm keeping a journal like him. Oh no. I'm going to become completely twisted.)
Following thoughts I forgot to cover in my zeal:
1. Matt and I have been discussing whether or not it's fair for the plaques in the Louvre to only be in French. I countered that the Smithsonian and Metropolitan Museums, Meccas for art and history lovers, appear to only have English offerings. Matt argued that the Louvre hosts many more cultures, and they expect many other language-speakers simply from being in Europe.
I do wish I had been able to understand some of the plaques. For instance, there was a giant metal ring/wheel thing, and the caption appeared to say something along the lines of "circle made of six elements." What did that mean? I searched the description for mentions of silver, gold, aluminum--but then what if "elements" meant something more symbolic, like fire or water? So was it spiritual in purpose? Or a feat or combining literal metal elements? I don't know.
2. Related to that subject, I was very impressed with the guards. They were strategically placed around all the rooms, sitting in chairs. Some were dressed officially, while some appeared at first glance to be well-dressed tourists. I guess it may be easier to approach someone who's not wearing a suit. Anyway, a poor Japanese fellow was trying to convey something to one of the guards, and the guard responded in Japanese. The Japanese man seemed delighted. I wanted to congratulate the guard for doing his job so well. I wonder if that's a requirement among all Louvre personnel? The scene reminded me of Miracle on 34th Street when Santa Claus speaks Dutch (I believe?) to a little girl who couldn't speak anything but. It warmed my heart. (Note: It was Dutch.)
3. Seeing the men even cleaning the rooms in the Louvre, I felt a pang of jealousy. Sweeping floors only to look up and see angels on the ceiling? I hope it's at least a nice surprise on a crappy day: Oh yes, this is what King Louis VIXII would've looked at. (As you can tell, I just gave up on the Roman Numerals back there.)
4. Tangent! When I was walking down the street one day, a man sweeping the street asked me what time it was. I showed him my watch, and I tried my best to say, "Treize heures et cinquante minutes?" I must've been failing, as he looked at me perplexed. Then, considering me for a moment, he says in English, "Oh, ten to two?" This guy knew better English than I knew French, and I'm paying (well, my parents are) a lot of money to say that I am a student at a university. But next to this guy, I was like one of those sign language gorillas who knows how to ask for grapes. Well, I tip my hat to you, good sir. You are much more culturally aware than I am.
5. There were maps in French, English, Spanish, German, Chinese, Japanese... even more in languages I couldn't identify. They're prepared at the info desk. Much of their job appears to be asking each other, "Where's the one who can speak [some obscure language]?"
6. I chose to wear flats to the Louvre, as I suspected my kickass but clunky boots would not make other museum-goers very happy. Unfortunately, my feet were incredibly blistered by the end of the night, and I was half-running, half-hobbling on the Metro and on the way back to my apartment. People were looking at me. They probably thought it was some weird way that Chinese girls run, much like how my classmates in gym class in middle school would make fun of me. Nope, it's just pain. I may be very critical of China, but I don't want these people to get the impression solely from me that they do whatever weird thing I am doing at the current moment. I guess the same goes for representing America.
7. My cousin Brian reminded me to check my pockets. It was the same situation when visiting in the Sistine Chapel, but I found that I was able to enjoy myself more in the Louvre. It wasn't as crowded, and many people had better cameras than I did, so why would they steal mine? I am taking a page out of Mad-Eye Moody's handbook and practicing constant vigilance, but I'm not going to let paranoia destroy me. Let's hope I don't jinx myself...
8. Matt, I think we should get Chaves to get on this "no Chinese artwork" thing. And if people think they should focus on French art because the Louvre is in France, well, I say: who painted the Mona Lisa?
9. In French, the Mona Lisa is called La Joconde. Why? Beats the hell out of me. Oh, wait: her name was Lisa del Giocondo. But I thought we didn't know who she was? Why am I so ill-informed? I'm going to pull a Chaves here and blame my past teachers, but specifically my fourth grade teacher (because I am snotty student who refuses to take responsibility for the fact that I should know my own damn facts myself).
10. Did you know the Mona Lisa was stolen? Lately I've taken to going back and watching these YouTube videos detailing facts about Paris. For instance: Molière totally died during a staging of his play titled The Imaginary Invalid, as the audience thought his coughing fit was just really good acting. Annnnddddd... Franz Reichelt was way too over-confident in his invention. Seriously, go watch these. They make me seem much more in tune with French culture than I actually am. All I basically do is regurgitate these random facts that mostly no one cares about, hence all the crap about Akhenaten yesterday.
11. Non-English speakers are very fascinated with how we pronounce "th." Like in Katherine. Lots of Europeans want to say "Kah-TER-in." I am totally okay with this. If I had only started learning French, I wouldn't have had to deal with the horror of counting aloud through the 30's in first grade as everyone giggled and my mom bemoaned that my speech would be impeded for the rest of my life.
12. Well, David Sedaris had a speech impediment too. In fact, he pronounced the "th" instead of "s." Kind of the opposite of my problem. Anyway, go read some of his stuff. Seriously. his essay "Me Talk Pretty One Day" from the same-titled book is a hilarious account of learning French as an older person. He really gets reamed out for not knowing that the word "typewriter" in French is a feminine noun. It's hysterical. And since he lived in France for several years, he has more entertaining stories about life here. Apparently you can buy a taxidermied owl here in France, whereas it's illegal in the US. Just in case you really wanted to know. ;)
(P.S. Typewriter = la machine à écrire. If your French teacher ever asks you, so you don't have to suffer the same humiliation as Mr. Sedaris.)
(P.P.S. I wonder if his theory on desserts applies to European men?)
(P.P.P.S. I'm keeping a journal like him. Oh no. I'm going to become completely twisted.)
Wednesday, January 28, 2015
Day 20: Day at the Museum
Listening to: "Morning Glow" from Pippin
My life is CRAZY.
But let me calm down. From the beginning...
Class at the Louvre! Art History class AT THE LOUVRE! I can say it very casually, like, "Oh, yeah, I totally go to the Louvre all the time to look at Renaissance painters and the oldest pieces of ancient artwork." But really, I was freaking out! DC has its privileges, and going to the Smithsonian to study is one of them. But I've never actually had a class in a museum, so this was definitely a first for me.
Coming in from the Palais Royale Metro stop, all I could think was, Is this Grand Central Station? Because walking in is like walking into Grand Central. There were shops all around me, restaurants above, and people milling about. As I advanced further down the hall, I came to an upside-down glass pyramid like the one on the outside. Except I was down below, and I could see the sides of the outside building above me.
I had gotten there early, and so I wandered around looking for the vaguely defined "group entrance." In a stroke of luck, while I was attempting to explain my situation to a worker in very terrible French, my professor came up to me. She instructed me to meet the rest of the group at two o'clock at the entrance for Richelieu, where all the ancient Mesopotamian, Egyptian, and Persian art was housed. In my excitement, I arrived early. The guards seemed surprised that I didn't have a coat. Psh. I'm from New England. I used the coat check.
Anyway, it was a frenzied day of note-taking, but not out of frustration. There was just so much information I wanted to know, wanted to remember. We first looked at a Mesopotamian stele, or a slab of limestone that depicted a war victory. It was even double-sided. There were about four pieces total of this giant slab, and they were strategically placed so you could imagine that they were part of a gravestone-shaped stone. I mean... How on earth did they figure it out? Archaeologists, man.
I felt like the cliché kid in the candy store. My eyes were bulging out of my head, I was grinning like a combination of the Mona Lisa, Cheshire Cat, and Joker. I may have looked slightly insane. I kept scurrying along, occasionally pausing to stand dumbfounded at all the artwork before me. Gawking is for tourists, they say. Well, too damn bad. If you're not gawking at the incredible history before you, then you need to get your head examined. It needs to be appreciated and awed at.
When we came to the Egyptian statues of pharaohs, my Cheshire Cat smile grew wider and wider, especially when our professor started talking about Akhenaten. I've read way too much about him, and my smile was so large and enigmatic that my professor allowed me to blab about potential genetic disorders, exaggerated propaganda, and why King Tut is only famous because his tomb was extremely well-hidden. I could see the other kids rolling their eyes, but I didn't care. My facts were oozing out of me, and I wanted everyone to know because they make me excited. They make me excited about history and about life in general. I want to know everything. I want more information.
When we reached the Persian wing, I felt an enormous sense of pride. It's ridiculous to most of you, but I feel more in touch with my Persian side (that is nonexistent biologically) than my Chinese-ness. I wished I had known my great-grandfather so he could tell me more about this art, about King Darius, about the temples with the half-horse, half-bull animals on the columns. It meant so much to me, to feel connected to a person I never knew but really wish I had the chance to meet. I feel like I was discovering more about him.
We found ourselves in the bowels of the Louvre: the crypt. It was slightly scary, but the crowds and the good lighting made it less so. Class ended there, and I could hear sighs of relief. I wanted to smack them all. Strong reaction, but for goodness sake, you're in the Louvre! You're seeing things some people never get to see! And you're counting down the time till class is OVER?
Why do people grow accustomed to beauty? This wasn't the time to be cool or jaded. So I left the group, as my new Art History student badge will get me into lots of museums for free. When I returned to the beginning to trace my way through, the guard who commented on my lack of coat pulled me over and asked me out. Ahhhhhh. I guess my enthusiasm for the art was mistaken.
I was acting like a child. I climbed up the stairs with abandon, swinging my arms and huffing so I felt impressed when I reached the top. I circled back around all the sights we covered during class, stopping to take better pictures and to examine pieces that I had to leave behind earlier. When I reached the end, I decided "what the hell" and headed up the stairs to see all the opulent reconstructions of French palaces as well as diamond-studded snuffboxes. I just kept walking, walking, walking.
I heard more noise, and a simple sign with just the Mona Lisa and an arrow made me realize that she was ahead. I hadn't thought about seeing the Mona Lisa, but I decided to go look. Well, the Italian painting wing is a labyrinth. I could not find it, despite all the helpful signs. I was also getting sidetracked by other artists I remembered reporting on in our infamous "Time Travel" video for World Survey class in high school. So I got lost. But it was okay because I was lost in the Louvre. I saw more and more art, and finally I reached the ancient African art wing. I peeked into the Asian section but was disappointed to see that it focused solely on Indonesian and Filipino sculptures. So, sorry, Matt, but no Chinese art. :(
And now getting lost was problematic. How the heck was I supposed to make my way back? Every turn I made just brought me to a new section. The Art Gallery at the Smithsonian is the same way. Luckily, the guards are obviously trained to spot lost tourists, because many came to my aid without me having to say two words. I mean, I did find my way back, conveniently exiting through a wing that was not near the guard who randomly asked me out.
My stomach was growling. Ooo, there was lots of food. On my way out, I had some Italian to-go pasta. While I was eating, a man sat down across from me. A few awkward French exchanges told me that he was an Iranian professor of philosophy. So we started talking about that. We talked about it for a loooooong time. That's why I love going to places seule: I always meet interesting individuals. I worked on my French with him, and he worked on his English with me. There was a lot of defining words and throwing synonyms out there, but it was an engaging conversation. (See, I'm not completely surly, despite what some people seem to think. But really, it's only people my age. So unfair.)
What an incredible day! So amazing. So unexpected. Some more highlights:
1. Okay, so we were walking by in a line down this narrow hallway. Coming in the opposite direction was a younger school group, and one boy looked at me and said, "Ni hao!" My mouth popped open, and I couldn't help but feel slightly affronted. Even surrounded by completely white Americans and an English-speaking professor, people still think I don't understand a lick of English.
2. And then it happened again! This time it was an older man. At least he had the decency to ask me if I was Korean. Nope. Japanese? Nope. Chinese? Yes. Oh. Ni hao. I wanted to feel offended again, but it's much harder to feel offended when someone is politely prejudiced. So I said "goodbye" to him in Chinese and headed off.
3. I saw a lot of selfie sticks. Like, a lot. Three. That's three too many. Whatever happened to the good old fashioned method of interacting with another human?
4. When I was walking through the entrance, I wasn't talking about run-of-the-mill stores. I saw Apple, Lacoste, Pandora, several expensive-looking clothing stores, and lots of bookstores.
5. A brief jonesing through the map solved many questions. The Tuileries? Those are the gardens of the Louvre. There are four floors, with the main floor being underground. The map makes it look doable to walk through, but trust me, that's like thinking you can walk from the Capital to the White House in 10 minutes. It's just not going to happen. And things are pretty much divided by time period, and then each time period features artwork in chronological order, for the most part. There are audio tours available on Nintendo DS's (no, I'm not kidding), and the place is open till 9:30 pm on Wednesdays and Fridays. But it's closed completely on Tuesdays. Yeah, it's a mystery to me too.
6. They never told us that Egyptians didn't just use hieroglyphics! They developed text that looks more like writing today... How is it we make it out of elementary school without cool knowledge like this?
7. Mesopotamians used cuneiform. NOT hieroglyphics. If another Art History student makes that mistake, I'm going to go all Hammurabi on them.
I always moan about the Smithsonians closing early, but being there while it grew dark made me apprehensive: I was reminded of the unfortunate almost-locked-inside-the-Natural-History-Museum night, which would have not been like Ben Stiller Night at the Museum fun but scary because we were surrounded by animal skeletons. So I'm not really ready to repeat that again.
I guess my pictures say more than I can... I'm just posting the ones I really like here. I apologize, I only had my iPod camera. I didn't want my big camera clunking around while I was taking notes. I still go to school, after all.
My life is CRAZY.
But let me calm down. From the beginning...
Class at the Louvre! Art History class AT THE LOUVRE! I can say it very casually, like, "Oh, yeah, I totally go to the Louvre all the time to look at Renaissance painters and the oldest pieces of ancient artwork." But really, I was freaking out! DC has its privileges, and going to the Smithsonian to study is one of them. But I've never actually had a class in a museum, so this was definitely a first for me.
Coming in from the Palais Royale Metro stop, all I could think was, Is this Grand Central Station? Because walking in is like walking into Grand Central. There were shops all around me, restaurants above, and people milling about. As I advanced further down the hall, I came to an upside-down glass pyramid like the one on the outside. Except I was down below, and I could see the sides of the outside building above me.
I had gotten there early, and so I wandered around looking for the vaguely defined "group entrance." In a stroke of luck, while I was attempting to explain my situation to a worker in very terrible French, my professor came up to me. She instructed me to meet the rest of the group at two o'clock at the entrance for Richelieu, where all the ancient Mesopotamian, Egyptian, and Persian art was housed. In my excitement, I arrived early. The guards seemed surprised that I didn't have a coat. Psh. I'm from New England. I used the coat check.
Anyway, it was a frenzied day of note-taking, but not out of frustration. There was just so much information I wanted to know, wanted to remember. We first looked at a Mesopotamian stele, or a slab of limestone that depicted a war victory. It was even double-sided. There were about four pieces total of this giant slab, and they were strategically placed so you could imagine that they were part of a gravestone-shaped stone. I mean... How on earth did they figure it out? Archaeologists, man.
I felt like the cliché kid in the candy store. My eyes were bulging out of my head, I was grinning like a combination of the Mona Lisa, Cheshire Cat, and Joker. I may have looked slightly insane. I kept scurrying along, occasionally pausing to stand dumbfounded at all the artwork before me. Gawking is for tourists, they say. Well, too damn bad. If you're not gawking at the incredible history before you, then you need to get your head examined. It needs to be appreciated and awed at.
When we came to the Egyptian statues of pharaohs, my Cheshire Cat smile grew wider and wider, especially when our professor started talking about Akhenaten. I've read way too much about him, and my smile was so large and enigmatic that my professor allowed me to blab about potential genetic disorders, exaggerated propaganda, and why King Tut is only famous because his tomb was extremely well-hidden. I could see the other kids rolling their eyes, but I didn't care. My facts were oozing out of me, and I wanted everyone to know because they make me excited. They make me excited about history and about life in general. I want to know everything. I want more information.
When we reached the Persian wing, I felt an enormous sense of pride. It's ridiculous to most of you, but I feel more in touch with my Persian side (that is nonexistent biologically) than my Chinese-ness. I wished I had known my great-grandfather so he could tell me more about this art, about King Darius, about the temples with the half-horse, half-bull animals on the columns. It meant so much to me, to feel connected to a person I never knew but really wish I had the chance to meet. I feel like I was discovering more about him.
We found ourselves in the bowels of the Louvre: the crypt. It was slightly scary, but the crowds and the good lighting made it less so. Class ended there, and I could hear sighs of relief. I wanted to smack them all. Strong reaction, but for goodness sake, you're in the Louvre! You're seeing things some people never get to see! And you're counting down the time till class is OVER?
Why do people grow accustomed to beauty? This wasn't the time to be cool or jaded. So I left the group, as my new Art History student badge will get me into lots of museums for free. When I returned to the beginning to trace my way through, the guard who commented on my lack of coat pulled me over and asked me out. Ahhhhhh. I guess my enthusiasm for the art was mistaken.
I was acting like a child. I climbed up the stairs with abandon, swinging my arms and huffing so I felt impressed when I reached the top. I circled back around all the sights we covered during class, stopping to take better pictures and to examine pieces that I had to leave behind earlier. When I reached the end, I decided "what the hell" and headed up the stairs to see all the opulent reconstructions of French palaces as well as diamond-studded snuffboxes. I just kept walking, walking, walking.
I heard more noise, and a simple sign with just the Mona Lisa and an arrow made me realize that she was ahead. I hadn't thought about seeing the Mona Lisa, but I decided to go look. Well, the Italian painting wing is a labyrinth. I could not find it, despite all the helpful signs. I was also getting sidetracked by other artists I remembered reporting on in our infamous "Time Travel" video for World Survey class in high school. So I got lost. But it was okay because I was lost in the Louvre. I saw more and more art, and finally I reached the ancient African art wing. I peeked into the Asian section but was disappointed to see that it focused solely on Indonesian and Filipino sculptures. So, sorry, Matt, but no Chinese art. :(
And now getting lost was problematic. How the heck was I supposed to make my way back? Every turn I made just brought me to a new section. The Art Gallery at the Smithsonian is the same way. Luckily, the guards are obviously trained to spot lost tourists, because many came to my aid without me having to say two words. I mean, I did find my way back, conveniently exiting through a wing that was not near the guard who randomly asked me out.
My stomach was growling. Ooo, there was lots of food. On my way out, I had some Italian to-go pasta. While I was eating, a man sat down across from me. A few awkward French exchanges told me that he was an Iranian professor of philosophy. So we started talking about that. We talked about it for a loooooong time. That's why I love going to places seule: I always meet interesting individuals. I worked on my French with him, and he worked on his English with me. There was a lot of defining words and throwing synonyms out there, but it was an engaging conversation. (See, I'm not completely surly, despite what some people seem to think. But really, it's only people my age. So unfair.)
What an incredible day! So amazing. So unexpected. Some more highlights:
1. Okay, so we were walking by in a line down this narrow hallway. Coming in the opposite direction was a younger school group, and one boy looked at me and said, "Ni hao!" My mouth popped open, and I couldn't help but feel slightly affronted. Even surrounded by completely white Americans and an English-speaking professor, people still think I don't understand a lick of English.
2. And then it happened again! This time it was an older man. At least he had the decency to ask me if I was Korean. Nope. Japanese? Nope. Chinese? Yes. Oh. Ni hao. I wanted to feel offended again, but it's much harder to feel offended when someone is politely prejudiced. So I said "goodbye" to him in Chinese and headed off.
3. I saw a lot of selfie sticks. Like, a lot. Three. That's three too many. Whatever happened to the good old fashioned method of interacting with another human?
4. When I was walking through the entrance, I wasn't talking about run-of-the-mill stores. I saw Apple, Lacoste, Pandora, several expensive-looking clothing stores, and lots of bookstores.
5. A brief jonesing through the map solved many questions. The Tuileries? Those are the gardens of the Louvre. There are four floors, with the main floor being underground. The map makes it look doable to walk through, but trust me, that's like thinking you can walk from the Capital to the White House in 10 minutes. It's just not going to happen. And things are pretty much divided by time period, and then each time period features artwork in chronological order, for the most part. There are audio tours available on Nintendo DS's (no, I'm not kidding), and the place is open till 9:30 pm on Wednesdays and Fridays. But it's closed completely on Tuesdays. Yeah, it's a mystery to me too.
6. They never told us that Egyptians didn't just use hieroglyphics! They developed text that looks more like writing today... How is it we make it out of elementary school without cool knowledge like this?
7. Mesopotamians used cuneiform. NOT hieroglyphics. If another Art History student makes that mistake, I'm going to go all Hammurabi on them.
I always moan about the Smithsonians closing early, but being there while it grew dark made me apprehensive: I was reminded of the unfortunate almost-locked-inside-the-Natural-History-Museum night, which would have not been like Ben Stiller Night at the Museum fun but scary because we were surrounded by animal skeletons. So I'm not really ready to repeat that again.
I guess my pictures say more than I can... I'm just posting the ones I really like here. I apologize, I only had my iPod camera. I didn't want my big camera clunking around while I was taking notes. I still go to school, after all.
There's only one way to describe what I felt today: mysterium et tremendum fascinans.
It's the Latin phrase for seeing something so awe-inspiring, so incredible that you feel... You don't even know how to describe it. The song "Morning Glow" captures that wondrous feeling the best for me. That's why I sing it shrilly for everyone to hear. I wanted to perform it on the Metro, but I suspected that the Parisians wouldn't have appreciated it.
By the way, Ligne 1 of the Metro is high class. It has special opening glass doors. There's also a stop named after Franklin D. Roosevelt. I wonder why? Now that I think of it, I saw an Ella Fitzgerald stop on the Tramway line. So strange... Anyway, automatic opening train car doors are really posh because we plebeians on Line 12 have to pull a lever to open the doors ourselves. How barbarous.
Oh: iconoclasm. That's the destruction of famous, ancient artifacts in the name of protest or revolution. The Egyptians did it to Akhenaten because he tried to change too many things. Chinese students did it during the Communist Revolution because they were idiots who couldn't appreciate their history. (It still makes me very angry.) How I feel about this is like Professor Langdon in Angels and Demons:
Not Tom Hanks: "Are you anti-Catholic, professor?"
Tom Hanks: "No. I'm anti-vandalism."
Tuesday, January 27, 2015
Day 19: Methinks I Doth Read Shakespeare Too Much
Watching: She's the Man
Man, I am Shakespeared out for tonight. I finished Love Labour's Lost--a very amusing tale with a very amusing Katherine character, so I approve--and now just finished Twelfth Night. She's the Man is a modern remake of that play, so pursuing academic interests, I am now going to sit down with a bag of popcorn and watch Amanda Bynes with short hair.
I blame Twelfth Night for my earlier embarrassment today. Hanging out in my hipster place of choice, Café Roussillon, I scooted off to go to the bathroom (because drinking four cups of tea in an effort to remain at the table as long as possible can do things to your bladder). Went in, "powdered my nose," thought, This is weird. Ah, well, at least it's not a squatter. (One of the many reasons I'm glad that I don't live in China.) Anyway, I go out to wash my hands, only to find a man waiting outside, doubled over in laughter. I kind of wanted to do that whole Travis Bickle thing with the "You talkin' to me?" but then I glanced behind me. What I thought was a gender neutral bathroom was actually the men's bathroom.
Oooohhhhhhh.
I blame you, Shakespeare! Reading Twelfth Night put me in the gender-reversal mindset, I'm guessing. More likely, I'm probably just getting blinder by the day.
So anyway... France. I do like sitting in a café without feeling the heat of the server's glare. I have since perfected my knowledge on tipping in France, but I do round out my total to an even amount, i.e., no change. Those one euro coins are tiny! But I'm getting sidetracked.
Also, people here are much more in tune with my emotions. Whenever I express some confusion or disbelief, my British Modernism professor is like, "You look like you have something to say." I think people at home are too scared to say anything, which made me wonder briefly if I was the only one experiencing those emotions. Because Chinese literature, Dante's Inferno, and creative writing classes... Those get really strange. How can you not express surprise?
What really perplexed me today was this painting by Virginia Woolf's sister. It's called "Studland Beach." I do not see the beach. I hate when this happens, when the whole class is looking at a piece of art and saying, "It's very peaceful and moving, and the people are very connected." I guess I feel like Morales: nothing. I don't hate it, and I don't love it. I just don't know what to think.
Hopefully, this blank opinion on art will go away, as I will be spending my second class of Art History visiting the Louvre! The teacher has yet to send an email. I think she said we should go to the group entrance? Oh, I should probably look that up. I got to pick up my Art Student ID. It's not very fancy, but it will apparently get me into more museums. I feel like I'm masquerading as an art student, but I like free museums, so bring it on!
Je souhaite qu'il neige. :(
...That reminds me. (I know, you thought you got rid of me, right?) Apparently the only thing I really appear to know is French grammar, and I don't even know that much. It's unfortunate because it gives professors the impression that I can speak French really well, but ten minutes in our early class and you'd know that isn't the case. It would actually be much better not to be a Grammar Nazi and be able to speak without pausing for painfully long stretches of time, as no one in real life cares whether you should use the imparfait/subjunctive/conditional. I would make a far better impression as a mute with a whiteboard.
Man, I am Shakespeared out for tonight. I finished Love Labour's Lost--a very amusing tale with a very amusing Katherine character, so I approve--and now just finished Twelfth Night. She's the Man is a modern remake of that play, so pursuing academic interests, I am now going to sit down with a bag of popcorn and watch Amanda Bynes with short hair.
I blame Twelfth Night for my earlier embarrassment today. Hanging out in my hipster place of choice, Café Roussillon, I scooted off to go to the bathroom (because drinking four cups of tea in an effort to remain at the table as long as possible can do things to your bladder). Went in, "powdered my nose," thought, This is weird. Ah, well, at least it's not a squatter. (One of the many reasons I'm glad that I don't live in China.) Anyway, I go out to wash my hands, only to find a man waiting outside, doubled over in laughter. I kind of wanted to do that whole Travis Bickle thing with the "You talkin' to me?" but then I glanced behind me. What I thought was a gender neutral bathroom was actually the men's bathroom.
Oooohhhhhhh.
I blame you, Shakespeare! Reading Twelfth Night put me in the gender-reversal mindset, I'm guessing. More likely, I'm probably just getting blinder by the day.
So anyway... France. I do like sitting in a café without feeling the heat of the server's glare. I have since perfected my knowledge on tipping in France, but I do round out my total to an even amount, i.e., no change. Those one euro coins are tiny! But I'm getting sidetracked.
Also, people here are much more in tune with my emotions. Whenever I express some confusion or disbelief, my British Modernism professor is like, "You look like you have something to say." I think people at home are too scared to say anything, which made me wonder briefly if I was the only one experiencing those emotions. Because Chinese literature, Dante's Inferno, and creative writing classes... Those get really strange. How can you not express surprise?
What really perplexed me today was this painting by Virginia Woolf's sister. It's called "Studland Beach." I do not see the beach. I hate when this happens, when the whole class is looking at a piece of art and saying, "It's very peaceful and moving, and the people are very connected." I guess I feel like Morales: nothing. I don't hate it, and I don't love it. I just don't know what to think.
Hopefully, this blank opinion on art will go away, as I will be spending my second class of Art History visiting the Louvre! The teacher has yet to send an email. I think she said we should go to the group entrance? Oh, I should probably look that up. I got to pick up my Art Student ID. It's not very fancy, but it will apparently get me into more museums. I feel like I'm masquerading as an art student, but I like free museums, so bring it on!
Je souhaite qu'il neige. :(
...That reminds me. (I know, you thought you got rid of me, right?) Apparently the only thing I really appear to know is French grammar, and I don't even know that much. It's unfortunate because it gives professors the impression that I can speak French really well, but ten minutes in our early class and you'd know that isn't the case. It would actually be much better not to be a Grammar Nazi and be able to speak without pausing for painfully long stretches of time, as no one in real life cares whether you should use the imparfait/subjunctive/conditional. I would make a far better impression as a mute with a whiteboard.
Monday, January 26, 2015
Day 18: Thoughts
Listening to: Obama's State of the Union Address
I feel like a bad American for being behind on my country's current events, but admittedly, last week I was a wee bit stressed out. (WSC, except not as grudgingly.) Since this week really marks the beginning of monotonous school days (well, not really for me, but for you), I'll just share several thoughts bouncing around in my head.
1. In Paris, they don't do that flashing hand when the crosswalk is about to turn. And don't even expect a handy countdown. So sometimes the red hand appears, but it's still okay to cross. I find this activity risky, so I usually go with the crowd on this one. If I am alone, and even if I'm given the right of way, I find it's helpful to stare the car down. People will feel worse about hitting you if they see your face, I discovered.
2. AUP doesn't have classes before 9:00 am. I mean, I'm sure every college student in America would like this measure to be implemented.
3. Everyone wants to sign up for a Shakespeare class to go to a study trip to London and Stratford-upon-Avon, but no one seems interested in reading the plays they're going to be seeing. Shakespeare isn't Old English; it's comprehensible. With concentration, it's easy to read one.
4. Virginia Woolf isn't so bad. I think Edward Albee's clever titling made me nervous. When Woolf isn't writing about dying moths in excruciating poetic detail, she's actually quite enjoyable. Kind of a throwback to Sylvia Plath.
5. It is possible for a dignified college class to discuss poems like this (WARNING: NOT SAFE FOR WORK) in an academic, intelligent manner, but I still laugh like a hyena because I guess I'll never grow up.
6. Does it ever snow in Paris? I miss it, though I am from New England. And I only miss it because I'm not hunkering down in preparation for a storm of the century.
7. Do people really shower more than twice a day? That was a question on our French worksheet. (Actually, it was technically phrased Est-ce qu tu te douches plusieurs fois par jour? And yes, "se doucher" is the reflexive French verb for "to shower," a lesson impossible to teach to high school boys without some crude comment.)
8. When is Chinese New Year? The Oscars? The Superbowl? Even though I have a computer and a cell phone, I feel like I'm very behind on these things.
9. Also, wow, with The Imitation Game just coming out on January 28th here in France, I wonder if everyone in other countries even sees all these movies before they're awarded at the Oscars.
Bonne soirée, mes chéris!
.
I feel like a bad American for being behind on my country's current events, but admittedly, last week I was a wee bit stressed out. (WSC, except not as grudgingly.) Since this week really marks the beginning of monotonous school days (well, not really for me, but for you), I'll just share several thoughts bouncing around in my head.
1. In Paris, they don't do that flashing hand when the crosswalk is about to turn. And don't even expect a handy countdown. So sometimes the red hand appears, but it's still okay to cross. I find this activity risky, so I usually go with the crowd on this one. If I am alone, and even if I'm given the right of way, I find it's helpful to stare the car down. People will feel worse about hitting you if they see your face, I discovered.
2. AUP doesn't have classes before 9:00 am. I mean, I'm sure every college student in America would like this measure to be implemented.
3. Everyone wants to sign up for a Shakespeare class to go to a study trip to London and Stratford-upon-Avon, but no one seems interested in reading the plays they're going to be seeing. Shakespeare isn't Old English; it's comprehensible. With concentration, it's easy to read one.
4. Virginia Woolf isn't so bad. I think Edward Albee's clever titling made me nervous. When Woolf isn't writing about dying moths in excruciating poetic detail, she's actually quite enjoyable. Kind of a throwback to Sylvia Plath.
5. It is possible for a dignified college class to discuss poems like this (WARNING: NOT SAFE FOR WORK) in an academic, intelligent manner, but I still laugh like a hyena because I guess I'll never grow up.
6. Does it ever snow in Paris? I miss it, though I am from New England. And I only miss it because I'm not hunkering down in preparation for a storm of the century.
7. Do people really shower more than twice a day? That was a question on our French worksheet. (Actually, it was technically phrased Est-ce qu tu te douches plusieurs fois par jour? And yes, "se doucher" is the reflexive French verb for "to shower," a lesson impossible to teach to high school boys without some crude comment.)
8. When is Chinese New Year? The Oscars? The Superbowl? Even though I have a computer and a cell phone, I feel like I'm very behind on these things.
9. Also, wow, with The Imitation Game just coming out on January 28th here in France, I wonder if everyone in other countries even sees all these movies before they're awarded at the Oscars.
Bonne soirée, mes chéris!
.
Sunday, January 25, 2015
Day 17: Mesure pour mesure
Listening to: "Thenardier Waltz of Treachery" from Les Misérables
This is probably going to be VERY boring for those of you who aren't into theater, I'm just saying. So consider yourselves warned.
Anyway, I got up at an ungodly hour (7 am--actually early even for a normal, working human being) to do my laundry. I like to have my clothes clean, what can I say? I made the very smart decision to go to the laundromat down the street, so now my jeans are warm and soft and not weirdly stiff and wet at all. Wonderful. We've got to look for the small victories here.
Now, I went and saw Measure for Measure today, and boy, getting to that theater was a hassle. First of all, the Metro app that has been a godsend so far has now failed me. :( I had to take the RER B2 line to get to this town on the outskirts of Paris called Sceaux. ("Sceaux" is just pronounced like "so." Kind of like how "scion" is "sigh-on." I learned that one that hard way.) I spent the time waiting for the laundry to stop spinning looking up where all the possible transfers were. Finally, I mapped out my route, and things were going perfectly--until I tried to leave the Sceaux RER station.
This horrible "aaaahhhhnnnn" sound came out of the turnstile, and a giant red X appeared, which is a universal sign for not-letting-you-through-missy. Now, normally this is not a problem, as you can just go to the recharge station and put some more money on your card. Except... all the stations were on the other side. My father always feared this would happen to us in DC, except the DC Metro people are smart enough to put money machines on both sides of the turnstiles. So yeah, it happens. I had also thought that weekends included all zones on your Navigo, but maybe that's just for the student ImagineR card. Ugh.
Anyway, while thoughts of becoming a train station hobo flickered through my mind, a young gentleman noticed my distress and tapped his card to let me out. Thank goodness. It was very, very appreciated, especially since that station was very empty. I know suburbia is not as crowded as the city, but even Plainville has people out and about on Sundays.
Getting to the theater--called Les Gémeaux, or "The Gemini (Twins)"--was a journey of twists and hills and avoiding canine excrement. Then I got to the theater! Then it was locked. And the sign on the door said it was closed on Sundays. Fearing that I had gotten punked, I checked my email, and I nearly fainted when I saw a message from Professor Gunn. Thankfully, it wasn't, "Oh, haha, I gave you the wrong date. Oops." But that still didn't solve my problem.
I headed to a small little sandwich shop for my typical cheese-and-tomato on a baguette sandwich, at a bargain with a 7-Up and a pear tart for €6,50. That's how much just a sandwich is in Paris. Anyway, wandering back to the theater, I was glad to see that it was indeed open. I sat down to some Virginia Woolf while waiting for my professor, worried I'd forgotten what he looked like.
So... the show. I enjoyed it. It was very different. It's one of Shakespeare's "problem plays," which I define as some asshole in the beginning decides to cause a random problem. Lots of chaos ensues, and when you're reading/watching, you're thinking, Wait, how on Earth is this going to get resolved in 30 pages/minutes? Then, Shakespeare does it. I don't know how, but he does. We could call it deus ex machina, but he thinks of stuff that no author would ever think of.
Since this was a Shakespeare show, there was a lot of mention of sex. And even though all that visual stuff isn't part of reading the play, in performances, the directors really go all out with turning up the sexual tension. It seems dirty, but I think Shakespeare would be delighted. His plays do involve a lot of jokes about the male anatomy and characters cross-dressing to impress their love interests. (Wow, he was ahead in some ways.)
This production had some uncomfortable scenes that I think were more artistic license than conveying the plot. I guess it raised the stakes, as my impression while reading was that nothing felt too serious. But this show was really into the thing where the entire cast is onstage pretty much all the time. The characters in the scenes are doing what they do in the play, but the other characters watch on as some creepy, omnipresent psuedo audience. They also seemed to break the fourth wall a lot, and they also would appear in the audience as part of a crowd. I guess that's not uncommon nowadays. What is uncommon, however, is random nudity that you were totally NOT expecting. This guy onstage was stripping down, and I was thinking, Well, I guess this is implying that he's going to be strip-searched. But unlike in movies where they cut away or pretend that underwear doesn't come off, he just totally stepped out of his, which had me thinking, Wait, did I miss something? I think of my theater buddy Kate McLellan and how horrified she would've been with this surprise. I always liked to surprise her with nudity in shows because I am a cruel friend, but since this surprised me, I guess karma is coming back for me.
Anyway... What can you say after mentioning a naked man? There was lots of dancing and ethereal music. At one point, I think a cell phone went off. Why why why??? I felt disgruntled. When the show ended, the cast came out for one, then two... whoa they just kept running back onto the stage again and again. They bowed a total of five times--10 actually, since they bowed, reshuffled, and then bowed again each round. And people stood up, which I was happy to see, since I think the Brits are too stuffy about not standing up for good productions.
I tried to avoid looking at the subtitles to immerse myself in the Russian. I'm guessing iambic pentameter is out the window for these actors, so they were just really into their roles. Sadly, I did not pick up any Russian. I chuckled at some French translations, like how "adulterer" is translated to what sounds like "fornicator" in English. Ha ha. I'm okay without the English. I'm used to alternative productions. I just saw my first opera in November, and we once (mistakenly) attended an ASL production of The Secret Garden. (We learned how to say "house," "hill," and "wick," given that those words were repeated in a few songs over and over.)
Glad to be back with the theater. :)
Oh, the song choice was because the dance they would begin to do randomly is the waltz. I don't really have a lot of waltzes on my iTunes account, which I'm sure would disappoint my old piano teacher, Maryjane, but I had to give you a bit of an impression.
This is probably going to be VERY boring for those of you who aren't into theater, I'm just saying. So consider yourselves warned.
Anyway, I got up at an ungodly hour (7 am--actually early even for a normal, working human being) to do my laundry. I like to have my clothes clean, what can I say? I made the very smart decision to go to the laundromat down the street, so now my jeans are warm and soft and not weirdly stiff and wet at all. Wonderful. We've got to look for the small victories here.
Now, I went and saw Measure for Measure today, and boy, getting to that theater was a hassle. First of all, the Metro app that has been a godsend so far has now failed me. :( I had to take the RER B2 line to get to this town on the outskirts of Paris called Sceaux. ("Sceaux" is just pronounced like "so." Kind of like how "scion" is "sigh-on." I learned that one that hard way.) I spent the time waiting for the laundry to stop spinning looking up where all the possible transfers were. Finally, I mapped out my route, and things were going perfectly--until I tried to leave the Sceaux RER station.
This is a very nice view when you're not trapped in the station.
This horrible "aaaahhhhnnnn" sound came out of the turnstile, and a giant red X appeared, which is a universal sign for not-letting-you-through-missy. Now, normally this is not a problem, as you can just go to the recharge station and put some more money on your card. Except... all the stations were on the other side. My father always feared this would happen to us in DC, except the DC Metro people are smart enough to put money machines on both sides of the turnstiles. So yeah, it happens. I had also thought that weekends included all zones on your Navigo, but maybe that's just for the student ImagineR card. Ugh.
Anyway, while thoughts of becoming a train station hobo flickered through my mind, a young gentleman noticed my distress and tapped his card to let me out. Thank goodness. It was very, very appreciated, especially since that station was very empty. I know suburbia is not as crowded as the city, but even Plainville has people out and about on Sundays.
Getting to the theater--called Les Gémeaux, or "The Gemini (Twins)"--was a journey of twists and hills and avoiding canine excrement. Then I got to the theater! Then it was locked. And the sign on the door said it was closed on Sundays. Fearing that I had gotten punked, I checked my email, and I nearly fainted when I saw a message from Professor Gunn. Thankfully, it wasn't, "Oh, haha, I gave you the wrong date. Oops." But that still didn't solve my problem.
I headed to a small little sandwich shop for my typical cheese-and-tomato on a baguette sandwich, at a bargain with a 7-Up and a pear tart for €6,50. That's how much just a sandwich is in Paris. Anyway, wandering back to the theater, I was glad to see that it was indeed open. I sat down to some Virginia Woolf while waiting for my professor, worried I'd forgotten what he looked like.
Sorry. This kid had a very big head. Kind of like every person who sits in front of you in math class or at the theater.
So... the show. I enjoyed it. It was very different. It's one of Shakespeare's "problem plays," which I define as some asshole in the beginning decides to cause a random problem. Lots of chaos ensues, and when you're reading/watching, you're thinking, Wait, how on Earth is this going to get resolved in 30 pages/minutes? Then, Shakespeare does it. I don't know how, but he does. We could call it deus ex machina, but he thinks of stuff that no author would ever think of.
Since this was a Shakespeare show, there was a lot of mention of sex. And even though all that visual stuff isn't part of reading the play, in performances, the directors really go all out with turning up the sexual tension. It seems dirty, but I think Shakespeare would be delighted. His plays do involve a lot of jokes about the male anatomy and characters cross-dressing to impress their love interests. (Wow, he was ahead in some ways.)
This production had some uncomfortable scenes that I think were more artistic license than conveying the plot. I guess it raised the stakes, as my impression while reading was that nothing felt too serious. But this show was really into the thing where the entire cast is onstage pretty much all the time. The characters in the scenes are doing what they do in the play, but the other characters watch on as some creepy, omnipresent psuedo audience. They also seemed to break the fourth wall a lot, and they also would appear in the audience as part of a crowd. I guess that's not uncommon nowadays. What is uncommon, however, is random nudity that you were totally NOT expecting. This guy onstage was stripping down, and I was thinking, Well, I guess this is implying that he's going to be strip-searched. But unlike in movies where they cut away or pretend that underwear doesn't come off, he just totally stepped out of his, which had me thinking, Wait, did I miss something? I think of my theater buddy Kate McLellan and how horrified she would've been with this surprise. I always liked to surprise her with nudity in shows because I am a cruel friend, but since this surprised me, I guess karma is coming back for me.
Anyway... What can you say after mentioning a naked man? There was lots of dancing and ethereal music. At one point, I think a cell phone went off. Why why why??? I felt disgruntled. When the show ended, the cast came out for one, then two... whoa they just kept running back onto the stage again and again. They bowed a total of five times--10 actually, since they bowed, reshuffled, and then bowed again each round. And people stood up, which I was happy to see, since I think the Brits are too stuffy about not standing up for good productions.
I tried to avoid looking at the subtitles to immerse myself in the Russian. I'm guessing iambic pentameter is out the window for these actors, so they were just really into their roles. Sadly, I did not pick up any Russian. I chuckled at some French translations, like how "adulterer" is translated to what sounds like "fornicator" in English. Ha ha. I'm okay without the English. I'm used to alternative productions. I just saw my first opera in November, and we once (mistakenly) attended an ASL production of The Secret Garden. (We learned how to say "house," "hill," and "wick," given that those words were repeated in a few songs over and over.)
Glad to be back with the theater. :)
Oh, the song choice was because the dance they would begin to do randomly is the waltz. I don't really have a lot of waltzes on my iTunes account, which I'm sure would disappoint my old piano teacher, Maryjane, but I had to give you a bit of an impression.
Saturday, January 24, 2015
Day 16: Gatsby le Magnifique
Listening to: "Take It Like a Man" from Legally Blonde: The Musical
Whoa. I thought Monoprix was cool.
Well, after yesterday's mortifying incident, I wasn't about to head back to Monoprix anytime soon. So I decided to go to FNAC, a department store recommended by online reviewers and French bookstore keepers alike. I didn't really know what to expect.
And WOW. FNAC is like Borders on steroids. I say Borders because Borders had all the cool stuff: a coffee area, CDs, DVDs, stationery, etc. But then FNAC had all this Borders stuff, plus four floors of other things. Apple, Windows, Google, Samsung--so many brands. Each floor was like walking into a new store. First floor: Best Buy. Second floor: Best Buy II. Third floor: Borders. Fourth floor: Borders II. I take back my first statement. But it wasn't a department store, or a mall, or a megabookstore, or anything I can think of in English to describe.
I'm probably making it sound more mythical than it actually is, but it was just really different.
Poking around on the third and fourth floors led me to some interesting new cover art and translations of books I love(d).
The Theorem of Katherines = An Abundance of Katherines. Actually, I like this French title. I also like the cover art--same goes with the French Paper Towns artwork. And of course I'm able to find the Christmas/holiday book I was looking for all of December: Let It Snow. Except I really found Flocons d'Amour, and I would never be able to read it. Curse you, book gods!
Whoa. I thought Monoprix was cool.
Well, after yesterday's mortifying incident, I wasn't about to head back to Monoprix anytime soon. So I decided to go to FNAC, a department store recommended by online reviewers and French bookstore keepers alike. I didn't really know what to expect.
And WOW. FNAC is like Borders on steroids. I say Borders because Borders had all the cool stuff: a coffee area, CDs, DVDs, stationery, etc. But then FNAC had all this Borders stuff, plus four floors of other things. Apple, Windows, Google, Samsung--so many brands. Each floor was like walking into a new store. First floor: Best Buy. Second floor: Best Buy II. Third floor: Borders. Fourth floor: Borders II. I take back my first statement. But it wasn't a department store, or a mall, or a megabookstore, or anything I can think of in English to describe.
I'm probably making it sound more mythical than it actually is, but it was just really different.
Poking around on the third and fourth floors led me to some interesting new cover art and translations of books I love(d).
Now, Perks of Being a Wallflower was my anthem as a high schooler, probably because I was very dramatic. But this picture above... Agh. First, movie cover titles should be banned. I hate them so much. Second, the title translates literally to Charlie's World. Now that just sounds like a theme park. One of the most important parts of the book is when Patrick toasts Charlie for being a "wallflower," so how do we pull out that significance? Gah, but what do I know about translating books? (I'll tell it: zero.)
Here we have The Hidden Face of Margo standing in for Paper Towns. I think we can decide which title is cooler. On the left is Who Are You, Alaska? for Looking for Alaska. I guess that's fine, but one of the cool parts (SPOILER ALERT) was finding out that Alaska was a person, not the state. Now that mystery is spoiled. And now I just spoiled it as well. Oh jeez. Maybe I need to be easier on these translators.
Now, another question: Hunger Games just remains Hunger Games. Why? Is the concept too hard to translate? I mean, it's not like an English speaker knows what the "Hunger Games" refers to when he or she picks up the book for the first time. This question then requires me to ask why Les Misérables got to stay French (and thus lead to the most-botched title of all time by Americans) but Hunchback of Notre Dame required an English title. So mysterious. Incidentally, Catching Fire is translated to...Flashover? No, that can't be right. Ah, Google Translate fails again: the better translation is Unrest. And La Révolte... I think you guys can figure that one out. :)
But once again: very boring.
This is just a bonus for my parents and myself, since I read these books the entire two weeks we spent in China. Did I look out the train at the beautiful Guilin countryside? Nope. Buried in a book. Ah, 10-year-old Katie. And yes, these books are about talking cats who live in clans or tribes. Hey, it's cool when you're in fifth grade. (Admittedly, I still think talking cats is a great literature subcategory, but I'm supposed to be into Fitzgerald and Hemingway...)
Speaking of Fitzgerald...
Now I have the chance to read a French Gatsby! So cool. I want to see how they translate the last lines.
A most satisfactory day for linguistic learning. This'll sure appease the book nerds, but I can see the rest of you thinking, That's it?
Sadly, I don't have a magical picture to pull out of nowhere. But tomorrow--tomorrow I go to the theater. I can't wait to see that. In the meantime, I get the chance to get all up in Virginia Woolf's To the Lighthouse. Lucky, lucky me. I've got the banana!
And my soup-making was satisfactory this evening. I was too scared to serve anybody face-to-face, but it's on the back burner, since I realized that I don't have Tupperware, or whatever French Tupperware is. I say satisfactory because French people don't seem to believe in selling chicken stock--either that or I've completely missed it, which I'll admit happens a lot. So I had to buy vegetable bouillon--no way I was taking the chance with the chicken bouillon--but the soup was saved by my mirepoix: the carrots, celery, and onions that are the base of most soups.
Another observation: French people are very good about holding open the Metro exit doors. The person in front of me ALWAYS stops. It's very considerate. But outside of there, it seems to not exist. Maybe the Metro is a magical land where everyone uses their manners.
Oh, I got asked for directions AGAIN. This happens a lot. This guy and girl came up to me, and they were speaking something--it certainly didn't sound like French to me. I made my well-this-is-awkward face and said sheepishly, "Uh, I... Je ne comprends pas."
"Do you speak English?" they asked.
"Oui--I mean, yes. Where do you want to go?"
Why does everyone assume I don't speak English? That's a rhetorical question, folks. I guess it's better not to assume anything of anyone, but I thought it was obvious due to my lack of any Asian-sounding accent and my constant mutterings under my breath in English. They always seem pleased and surprised. Sorry, it wasn't that big of an accomplishment. Thankfully, no one has come up and started speaking Chinese or Japanese or Korean to me--yet.
I'm pretty sure even though I gave those two perfect instructions in my American (specifically Connecticut) voice, they probably still thought English was my second language. Oh man. Do French people know what a Chinese accent sounds like? It's one that's hard to lose--and some French people actually lose their French accent when they speak English. I mean, we're supposed to adopt their accent when we speak, but it just seems painfully obvious to me when someone English-speaking tries to Frenchify things. We don't have the capacity to control our nasally voice or our soft palate that much.
Actually, I feel like my phone case should give it away. But then again, American girls wear shirts that say Oui, oui on them, even though that's probably not a good idea. Don't wear anything that's in another language. Our family learned that the hard way...
But that's a story for another day. :)
(BONUS: I was most satisfied with this translation. Wish we could keep all titles this simple.)
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