Monday 7 December 2009
It’s beautiful. Absolutely beautiful outside. It’s 8:20 am, the sky is clouded with light gray overcast cloud cover but it is still bright and the sun is brightly shining through an open patch. Sitting at my dining room table, I can see out to the sea which is dark and deep blue grey, foggy and hazy so that I can’t see out until eternity as I usually can. It’s warm-ish (of course…) but there’s a great cooling breeze. The past few nights, I’ve been cold. Yes, cold. Chilly. Saturday night I slept outside in my hammock and woke up at 4 in the morning to quest for my sleeping bag.
Yesterday was a typical Sunday in Martinique. Florence came by and picked me up after going grocery shopping and when we got to the house, I helped carry them inside and re-arrange the fridge. Then while she cooked lunch and had Paul recite verb conjugations (I don’t envy French children) and yelled at Lucas when he messed up the song he was supposed to learn by heart for school (I really don’t envy French children!) I sat in the living room and studied for my exam today. Then we ate lunch together. Florence was super pissed at herself in the car when she found out I don’t eat shrimp which she was planning to make. So she made me fish with the same sauce- coconut milk with onions and peppers. So delicioussssss. Interesting thing I read in the Omnivore’s Dilemma which is definitely true here: the French regard it as impolite to have dietary restrictions. Look French people, I made the compromise to eat fish sometimes but I am going to keep being vegetarian, okay? After lunch, we had our usual coffee and chocolate (I love this. I love this. I love this!) and then we went to the beach and hung out. I didn’t feel like swimming too much so I hung out on my towel with Florence and the kids swam and goofed off and at a certain point Florence and I went in but it was cold. Yes, I just said the Caribbean was cold. I mean, it wasn’t Emily and I running into the Atlantic at the beach house in two piece b-suits the first weekend in April (THAT WAS COLD) but it was, you know, chilly.
All I can say is that I am probably going to die at the airport in Chicago. Dad: if you could be so kind as to bring one of those magical thermal blankets they give to people with hypothermia for when I go into shock… in the terminal before I even step outside. The other night, December 4, it was 26 degrees Celsius and Kristen took a picture. I was wearing jeans and a long sleeve shirt.
Saturday was kind of a wicked bummer and pain in my butt. Thursday night, I got 3 hours of sleep thanks to my quality procrastination skills. Big push at the end of the semester time right now because I’ve spent the last three and a half months doing nothing and doing everything. I like to think I’ve spent my time here living my life to its fullest by going to the beach on Sundays and doing dance and exercising? I don’t know exactly what I’ve been doing but I do know that it’s been fun, alright? Oh, and I’ve been sleeping. I get like 8 hours of sleep a night. How great does that sound? I am going to die when I get back to Willamette. Anyway, Friday was killer. On a good note, I got my paper back from my class which I have a final exam in today, Francophone Literature of the Antilles (and by that, she meant Martinique) with the professor who’s a politician and doesn’t show up half the time. The first paper, I got a 10 on (out of 20. Side note: this is average here. It was like a b minus or a c, I think???) and on my second paper, which I spent an entire day sitting in my room working on and then went upstairs to have Youma help me with the language and after each sentence in the introduction, she said “ce n’est pas bien. Ce n’est pas bon” or in English “this is no good. This is terrible.” Maybe I wanted to cry. Maybe. But after we worked on it for an hour or so working on the language and style, it turned out well enough to merit a 14. A 14 is pretty damn good considering she read the paper in about 3 minutes and I didn’t deal with the subject we were “supposed” to write on and of the books we were writing about, I had read 1 of them entirely, 120/300 pages of the next and 60/300 pages of the most important one. Oops. There’s something terribly wrong with being able to BS. I don’t think it’s fair. And it’s certainly not “right.” And I certainly don’t pull things like that back when I have teachers who are invested in being teachers. But I have trouble investing myself in a class if my professor can’t show up.
Friday night we went to a Chanté Noël which was fun… sort of. It was really loud and interesting to see but I was super tired and not super into it. I did get to hang out with a cute kid, though. He’s like 2 and I can remember his name but he’s the grandkid of the woman who cleans the house for Youma. Youma has taken this family under her care because she likes to help people (one reason we sort of get each other, I think?) and so Mag-d (Magdalene) comes over and cleans and Youma got her son an apprenticeship/schooling and whenever we go out, Mag-d comes along and brings her grandson. Her two year old grandson who her daughter (his mother) doesn’t care about or take care of AND she’s pregnant again. Yay for awful family situations. But he’s super cute so at the Chanté Noël, I put him up on my shoulders and we danced around and bounced. I said to Kristen “I told you I usually like kids” in response to me having really NOT liked the little girl when we went to Fond St Pierre for my birthday.
But that doesn’t change the fact that people don’t buckle their kids up and I FREQUENTLY see rear facing car seats in the passenger seat. Sweet.
Saturday started around 6 30 or 7 and ended 12 hours later when I crawled into my hammock and stayed there for another 12 hours. I was picked up at 7:30 to go babysit all day. One nice thing about this situation was access to a washing machine since ours is broken and the laundry mats cost 7 Euros a load. SERIOUSLY. However, I was dealing with 2 little girls who are cute and fun but the older one is super dramatic and going through a tough phase in her life because her mom, who negotiated a year off of work while her military husband was stationed here, is going back to Paris mid-January to go back to being a lawyer. The kids are going to stay in Martinique until July when the whole family is coming back.
Florence and I talked about it yesterday in the car because the families we hang out with and who do sports with Seb are very interesting. The mom’s put a lot of pressure on the kids to be proper all the time and they’re just sort of up-tight and the husbands seem sort of in the same boat as the kids. Florence explained to me that she found out recently that a Colonel, which the two husbands in mention are, gets between 8 and 10 thousand Euros a month. Not so bad, huh? Florence, hilariously, threw her hands in the air and said something about a totally different lifestyle she takes no part in.
As a lawyer, Hélene (who I was babysitting for) gets at least 8 thousand Euros a month back in Paris. The down side of this is that she mandatorily works until 8 pm. No wonder Chloé, her daughter who I got to spend a day yelling at in French then comforting when she threw on the dramatic water works, was so difficult. She’s in a tough spot but she also just has a negative, pessimistic humour, personality, whatever you want to call it. She asked me like a million times all day if they could watch TV which their mom had said was limited but anything else they did created problems. Riding her bike, she got pissed trying to pedal up the hill, freaked out and started crying when a stupid, useless piece of rubber tore a tiny bit and was yelling “merde” and “putain” and saying it was “chiant,” all very strong, swear words. She’s going to be 7 in a week. NOT okay. But that’s for her mom to deal with. I told her to stop, told her it’s not okay and tried to tell her that she should freak out about her bike and little things in life because there’s too much that’s not going to be easy to let these things take her head but I’m 1. Not a child psychologist and 2. She doesn’t listen to me half the time and doesn’t respect me half the time because I’m not French. But they like me! We also had a really fun fight when I tried to correct her pronunciation working on homework and she didn’t believe me. BELIEVE ME KID. I HAD TO LEARN THE SAME THING. You said un œuf, but when it’s plural, des œufs, you don’t pronounce the f. And she refused to listen to me. Until mommy got home and backed me up. Sure, it doesn’t make any sense but that’s just how it is, kid. It didn’t help that I was super exhausted. But I got her to do her homework! And the younger one, Romane, is much more good natured and sweet and happy so she was a breeze except that she only took a half-hour nap.
But, I made 80 Euros. Not too bad for 9 hours of playing with/yelling at kids. And I got to do my laundry fo’ free!
Okay, I’ve got to finish up my last dossier and take a final in a few hours. As of the moment I turn in my dossier sometime after 4 pm, I will have two finals in a week and two weeks left here. Kristen and I are going to rent a car for a week (take a guess as to who is going to be driving, considering it’s all stick down here) and we’re going to be FREEEEEEEEE to explore and move and get out of the house and do things. I’m super excited. This week is going to be a breeze of studying and relaxing and beaching and running and dancing and getting my stuff organized for leaving. Weird thought. But it’ll all work out delightfully and I’m looking forward to being home. Just not to leaving.
Love to all, Bethany
Monday, December 7, 2009
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
december?
Sunday Dec 1 2009 20:45
December already!? Geez. Where do the days go?
I’ll tell you where they go. Here and there and everywhere. Friday I didn’t leave the house all day. I worked on homework, among other things. Other things including epic letter writing. I also had Florence over for a “thé” which was fun. We hung out and talked about family and life and her work and Martinique and the people we go to the beach with, etc. It was fun. Saturday was insane. It started at 8 am and ended in the wee hours of Sunday. The morning was spent in Voclan doing who knows what- wandering aimlessly and taking pictures and waiting for Youma to get back from some sort of rendez-vous she had with someone to get a friend’s son an apprenticeship… typical Youma trying to help people things. This aimlessness, lack of liberty, early morning, hot ferocious sun and the stress of having a lot of work to do put me in a pretty sour mood. We went to a beach and swam a little bit but I wasn’t feeling it too much. Then we went to a contemporary art market in Marin (which is why I went along on the morning adventure- to get a ride to the southern part of the island) and thankfully ran into a friend who I was hoping to see and we walked around and goofed off. She lives in Marin and goes home every weekend because the residences at school are lame. Plus, it’s only an hour away. After a while of hanging out with her friends and taking silly pictures (I’m not so good at being serious for photos), I left and the original crew of Youma, Mag-d (her friend) and two of mag-d’s seven children and I went to Trois Illets for a Bélé class! It was SO FUN to dance. I also learned a lot in the class and feel super great about that. Bélé dancing is amazing. I love love love love love love love it.
We got home around 7 or 7 15 and I had just enough time to take a shower and get my things together before I was picked up to go baby sitting for Hélene and Luc, taking care of Romane and Chloé. I had the pleasure of eating dinner with the kids which was pretty annoying because they’re supposed to stay at the table and I don’t like being an authority figure and saying if you kids don’t stop goofing off you’re not going to get desert or get to play or get a bed-time story. But, of course they ended up getting all of those things and I still had 3 hours to sit around on the interwebs. Baby sitting is a sweet gig except for getting home at 1 am.
Today was spent studying. Reading in French. Reading in my bed, outside in the sun, laying in a hammock, standing around the kitchen… you get the point. A lot a lot of reading. And I successfully buckled down with a little concentration which is pretty hard for me, often. I just have to make myself do it. But when I do, man, it happens.
I still have quite a bit of work to do. In general. I can’t wait for Friday to come. Two final projects turned in and all I’ll have to worry about is studying the American/British governments and political systems for one final exam, finishing reading the books I was reading all day today and reviewing a bunch for another final exam (this is the only one I’m worried about) and reviewing my Camus notes for my other exam. That’s it. And I have a week or so before my finals. Come Dec 15 and I’ll be done with school and have 6 days to explore, adventurize, pack my bags and get my business together. Weird.
Tonight, I needed to rest my brain from studying. I was writing in my notebook, uploading my photos from my camera and thinking about things. Still brooding on the question of whether I could stay. Except I already answered whether I could. For the past few days, it’s been whether I want to. I’ve sort of been feeling like I don’t want to leave. Of course I don’t- leaving is always hard and don’t I know it oh so well… oh too well, I think. But whether I want to stay is a whole different topic. And tonight I realized, no, I don’t. I am so looking forward to being back. Not looking forward to it enough that I don’t want to leave, not looking forward to it enough that I want these next 3 weeks to go any faster than I know they are going to, not looking forward to it enough that I would want to be home now, but looking forward to it nonetheless. It’ll be nice.
Of course, it’ll be super hard. Thermal shock, culture shock, family shock, life shock, big changes and big unchanges. I’ll come back different and the same and my life at home (in the US) will be different and the same. Normal sorts of things. But there are some things I am really looking forward to, other than the big things I always mention.
1. Silence. Oh sweet, melodious silence. The silence of a snowy, freezing cold night when everyone has already gone to bed and I’m wandering around the house in IL wearing sweatpants and a wool sweater and there are lights up on the Christmas tree and twinkling lights outside, reflecting blue on the icy white surface of the snow which is covering everything and the cats are sleeping in the living room, wearing staring at me with one half-open eye and the quiet is so encompassing that with each small sound of creaking floorboards I worry about disturbing the soft breathing sounds of people, animals, trees, walls, streets and my own beating heart.
Silence I haven’t heard for too long. My life constantly filled with barking dogs ALWAYS BARKING, screaming, chirping bugs at night, blowing fans, passing cars, my own mind spinning and whirring.
2. Darkness. The kind of darkness seen only in the middle of nowhere in the Midwest when driving across the country alone. The darkness which is punctuated by street lamps, head lights, the kind of darkness where you can see your own turn signal in the nighttime. The kind of darkness where the sky is as close to black as it gets and the stars are blindingly bright. The kind of darkness I haven’t seen in months thanks to light pollution. The kind of northern hemisphere stars I haven’t seen for months. THE BIG DIPPER!!!
3. Warming showers instead of cooling showers. Down comforters and pillows with some sort of neck support. Hardwood floors instead of tile, no more mosquitoes, no more cockroaches, a lot less sweat, no more worrying about sunburns, no more heat rash (after 4 months of bumps!)
Yeah, there’s a lot to look forward to. And a lot I’ll miss. Such is life, life goes on, so it goes, etc.
Love, bethany
December already!? Geez. Where do the days go?
I’ll tell you where they go. Here and there and everywhere. Friday I didn’t leave the house all day. I worked on homework, among other things. Other things including epic letter writing. I also had Florence over for a “thé” which was fun. We hung out and talked about family and life and her work and Martinique and the people we go to the beach with, etc. It was fun. Saturday was insane. It started at 8 am and ended in the wee hours of Sunday. The morning was spent in Voclan doing who knows what- wandering aimlessly and taking pictures and waiting for Youma to get back from some sort of rendez-vous she had with someone to get a friend’s son an apprenticeship… typical Youma trying to help people things. This aimlessness, lack of liberty, early morning, hot ferocious sun and the stress of having a lot of work to do put me in a pretty sour mood. We went to a beach and swam a little bit but I wasn’t feeling it too much. Then we went to a contemporary art market in Marin (which is why I went along on the morning adventure- to get a ride to the southern part of the island) and thankfully ran into a friend who I was hoping to see and we walked around and goofed off. She lives in Marin and goes home every weekend because the residences at school are lame. Plus, it’s only an hour away. After a while of hanging out with her friends and taking silly pictures (I’m not so good at being serious for photos), I left and the original crew of Youma, Mag-d (her friend) and two of mag-d’s seven children and I went to Trois Illets for a Bélé class! It was SO FUN to dance. I also learned a lot in the class and feel super great about that. Bélé dancing is amazing. I love love love love love love love it.
We got home around 7 or 7 15 and I had just enough time to take a shower and get my things together before I was picked up to go baby sitting for Hélene and Luc, taking care of Romane and Chloé. I had the pleasure of eating dinner with the kids which was pretty annoying because they’re supposed to stay at the table and I don’t like being an authority figure and saying if you kids don’t stop goofing off you’re not going to get desert or get to play or get a bed-time story. But, of course they ended up getting all of those things and I still had 3 hours to sit around on the interwebs. Baby sitting is a sweet gig except for getting home at 1 am.
Today was spent studying. Reading in French. Reading in my bed, outside in the sun, laying in a hammock, standing around the kitchen… you get the point. A lot a lot of reading. And I successfully buckled down with a little concentration which is pretty hard for me, often. I just have to make myself do it. But when I do, man, it happens.
I still have quite a bit of work to do. In general. I can’t wait for Friday to come. Two final projects turned in and all I’ll have to worry about is studying the American/British governments and political systems for one final exam, finishing reading the books I was reading all day today and reviewing a bunch for another final exam (this is the only one I’m worried about) and reviewing my Camus notes for my other exam. That’s it. And I have a week or so before my finals. Come Dec 15 and I’ll be done with school and have 6 days to explore, adventurize, pack my bags and get my business together. Weird.
Tonight, I needed to rest my brain from studying. I was writing in my notebook, uploading my photos from my camera and thinking about things. Still brooding on the question of whether I could stay. Except I already answered whether I could. For the past few days, it’s been whether I want to. I’ve sort of been feeling like I don’t want to leave. Of course I don’t- leaving is always hard and don’t I know it oh so well… oh too well, I think. But whether I want to stay is a whole different topic. And tonight I realized, no, I don’t. I am so looking forward to being back. Not looking forward to it enough that I don’t want to leave, not looking forward to it enough that I want these next 3 weeks to go any faster than I know they are going to, not looking forward to it enough that I would want to be home now, but looking forward to it nonetheless. It’ll be nice.
Of course, it’ll be super hard. Thermal shock, culture shock, family shock, life shock, big changes and big unchanges. I’ll come back different and the same and my life at home (in the US) will be different and the same. Normal sorts of things. But there are some things I am really looking forward to, other than the big things I always mention.
1. Silence. Oh sweet, melodious silence. The silence of a snowy, freezing cold night when everyone has already gone to bed and I’m wandering around the house in IL wearing sweatpants and a wool sweater and there are lights up on the Christmas tree and twinkling lights outside, reflecting blue on the icy white surface of the snow which is covering everything and the cats are sleeping in the living room, wearing staring at me with one half-open eye and the quiet is so encompassing that with each small sound of creaking floorboards I worry about disturbing the soft breathing sounds of people, animals, trees, walls, streets and my own beating heart.
Silence I haven’t heard for too long. My life constantly filled with barking dogs ALWAYS BARKING, screaming, chirping bugs at night, blowing fans, passing cars, my own mind spinning and whirring.
2. Darkness. The kind of darkness seen only in the middle of nowhere in the Midwest when driving across the country alone. The darkness which is punctuated by street lamps, head lights, the kind of darkness where you can see your own turn signal in the nighttime. The kind of darkness where the sky is as close to black as it gets and the stars are blindingly bright. The kind of darkness I haven’t seen in months thanks to light pollution. The kind of northern hemisphere stars I haven’t seen for months. THE BIG DIPPER!!!
3. Warming showers instead of cooling showers. Down comforters and pillows with some sort of neck support. Hardwood floors instead of tile, no more mosquitoes, no more cockroaches, a lot less sweat, no more worrying about sunburns, no more heat rash (after 4 months of bumps!)
Yeah, there’s a lot to look forward to. And a lot I’ll miss. Such is life, life goes on, so it goes, etc.
Love, bethany
Thursday, November 26, 2009
avocado magic and reflections on 3 1/2 weeks left.
25 November 2009 Wednesday 3 pm
About an hour ago, as I was cutting into a perfect, vibrantly green avocado, firm and ripe and creamy like butter, I wondered to myself, why I am leaving this place? Granted, I can answer that question easily, come up with a grocery list of reasons why life here is really difficult and frustrating and often just sort of absurd. But there are moments when I wonder if I could live here- really live her. I am going to be honest and say that no, I don’t think I could. Maybe for a year or two but not my whole life. And that’s exactly what all the metropolitans (from mainland France) say. A few years but they can’t imagine staying here. It’s such an interesting paradox, living in a place where life is fun and good and beautiful and easy and yet so unbelievably frustrating and difficult and exhausting. Furthermore, I have to keep in mind that my life here is great because it is temporary and I’m making the most of as much of it as I can. But, thinking about it, I think if I had a car and no financial concerns, I could probably stay here for a while… but isn’t that the story everywhere?
I have it so easy here: my housing and food are paid for; I live with an amazing family yet have my own kitchen, bathroom, bedroom and privacy; I have a veggie vendor who gives me lots of free fruits and veggies- I fill my bag up and he won’t let me pay. I am friends with a few great French families who take me to the beach on the weekends and invite me to parties and pay me to hang out with their kids or use their internet while the kids sleep. Seb (Florence’s husband) lets me come to his exercise classes; thanks to the campus athletic department, I learned how to body board and even tried surfing last Friday. I’m learning both African dance and traditional Martiniquais bélé dance. Granted, I had to jump through a few hoops (like getting a doctor’s note to say I am healthy) and pay 45 Euros… for the entire year. Seriously. Sure, it’s hot and there are bus strikes and I don’t have internet access at home and there are these dogs that eat my clothing and gnaw on me in the morning and I have huge time final papers and projects coming up… but I’m content. Tranquille, we say. Tranquille le chat. Tout cool.
Please don’t misunderstand- I am not at all trying to brag. More, I’m just saying that for all the difficulty and aggravation and bureaucratic nonsense and how damn expensive life here and whatever else, life is beautiful. 3 ½ weeks left and I am going to bask in it while I can. And then when I get back to the US, I will make a conscious effort to keep this all in mind. Sometimes things are rough but no matter what, there are always things to appreciate.
I just realized the irony of the fact that I am going to post this tomorrow at school- on Thanksgiving. So if you’re wondering what I’m thankful for, it’s everything. Because even if the sun is hot and I’m sweating profusely and walking to school, I know that I would rather the sun rise in the morning and be hot than eternal nighttime. It’s a bummer getting a sunburn at the bus stop… but I know that Sunday I will be at the beach jumping into the ocean, hanging out with 4-11 year olds and their parents, speaking French and chatting about whatever, eating cheese sandwiches and orange juice and buttery rich cake. That’s right. I love French people.
This weekend was amazing and ridiculous. Friday afternoon, as I said, I tried surfing. And I assure you I was no good. It’s really exhausting and uses a lot of upper body strength- something I seem to be lacking. I came out of it with bruised hips and sternum, a lot of salt water in my sinus, tired and hungry but I was content. It was fun! Saturday I spent studying and working on things until about 4 and then went and saw a typical French film with Youma and Kristen- “Le Petit Nicholas.” It was cute and funny and French. Afterwards, Florence picked me up, and with the whole family, we went to the birthday party of a friend’s husband. It was absurd. We drank planteurs (the men drank beers- but not the women), ate pasta with shrimp and mussels and chicken (I found out afterwards they were all cooked together. Woo for being a vegetarian), danced and ate obscenely rich cake and I don’t even know what else. It was fun but we were definitely tired yet stayed super late. I slept over at Florence’s house for conveniences sake because Sunday was kayaking. 4 hours of sleep later, and I was up, eating a typical French breakfast and watching Lucas eat the most phenomenal breakfast I had never before imagined. I’m sitting there drinking coffee and eating bread with butter and jam and a super adorable 7 year old is sitting across from me, half asleep, eating white bread- crust cut off- folded in half with a fat slather of nutella and dipping this sandwich into a bowl of milk. He probably had 3 slices. It was amazing. I wish I could eat like that.
The funny thing is- picture an American child sitting next to him eating a fat bowl of lucky charms or capt’n crunch of whatever sugary cereal kids eat. The American child is significantly more likely to be obese later in life, if not already. I’ve been trying to understand this phenomenon for the past month or two. And we can say it’s because of the preservatives and crap we put in our food, but like I explained with the nutella label, the food their eating isn’t necessarily better. The white bread we were eating at Florence’s house was filled with words I don’t know (no high fructose, thankfully) aka shelf stabilizers, in their cupboards they have cookie packets and chocolatey breakfast cereals and they eat cheese and full cream yogurt and ham and salami and things like that. When I had dinner at Florence’s house, she made fish cooked in a creamy sauce. Then, there’s the chocolate. French people love chocolate (and who can blame them). I apologize if this is making you hungry- the point of what I’m getting at is that as far as I can tell, what the French have that we Americans don’t is the idea of where and when to stop. Sure, they might have crème fraiche (which is like yogurt but made with cream) and foie gras and other gross things but they don’t eat it everyday. Coca Cola is reserved for Sundays at the beach- same with the butter cake-and after eating three fat nutella sandwiches with milk, Lucas didn’t eat again until lunch time around 1 pm. Exercising and being active definitely help- most of the women in the group are in Seb’s exercise classes, and the men gendarmes (like state troopers?) but above all I think it’s just portion control. Which we American folk don’t have.
To finish with Sunday, we drove to Francois, about an hour away on the Atlantic coast and rented kayaks. Being the lone wolf, I got to kayak solo which was really exciting on 4 hours a sleep with tired arms from surfing through mean waves against the wind. But I did it and most of the time enjoyed it. I practiced my determination and stubbornness, things which I clearly need to work on (…). We kayaked out to a sandbar between these two islands off the coast- îllet Theirry and îllet Oscar. There, the person who runs the kayak rental service had driven his motor boat and we all hung out and drank juice for the kids and rum (juice optional) for the adults who chose to. One drink plus the previously mentioned circumstances and I was down for the count, sleeping in my kayak in the sunshine while everyone hung out and the kids played. Result: a nice sun burn on the tops of my legs, New Hampshire from Concord south is nice and red, and other random burnt patches where I missed with the sunscreen.
Paul, Florence’s 10 year old, super wanted to kayak by himself and since the wind was on our side going back, I let him take my kayak and caught a ride on the boat. After a relocation to a really nice grassy beach, we ate lunch together and I sort of tried to take a nap but ended up playing with Romane and Chloe, the children of Hélene and Luc, who I’ve babysat for a few times. They also had some American friends come visit last week and I cared for an 18 month year old all day last Monday- looks like I didn’t write about it and for good reason. It was a terror. It was the first time she had been left alone without her sisters and she didn’t know me and was in a totally foreign place and spent most of the morning either crying or cowering away from me in her crib because I obviously was the enemy. We eventually got along alright but it was still terrible. Plus, I was sick. Less than fun.
But I had a super awesome weekend and my week is going pretty well, too. I have a fat stack of work to do so I am going to get back to it but I hope Thanksgiving is delightful and filled with things to be thankful for. No matter what, there are always things to appreciate. Feel free to tell me that when I’m freezing cold playing Frisbee in the pouring rain at 8:30 on a Saturday morning on a muddy field somewhere in Oregon with the full knowledge I have 4 games to play in the rain all day and some sort of gigantic paper due on Monday. Because at that point, I will just realize I could be walking to the bus stop at 11 am in 35 degree Celsius sunshine with my sweat dripping down my spine and my laptop and a few schoolbooks in my bag with the full knowledge I have a lot of work to do and with absolutely no desire to do anything except go to the beach and sleep.
Perspective.
About an hour ago, as I was cutting into a perfect, vibrantly green avocado, firm and ripe and creamy like butter, I wondered to myself, why I am leaving this place? Granted, I can answer that question easily, come up with a grocery list of reasons why life here is really difficult and frustrating and often just sort of absurd. But there are moments when I wonder if I could live here- really live her. I am going to be honest and say that no, I don’t think I could. Maybe for a year or two but not my whole life. And that’s exactly what all the metropolitans (from mainland France) say. A few years but they can’t imagine staying here. It’s such an interesting paradox, living in a place where life is fun and good and beautiful and easy and yet so unbelievably frustrating and difficult and exhausting. Furthermore, I have to keep in mind that my life here is great because it is temporary and I’m making the most of as much of it as I can. But, thinking about it, I think if I had a car and no financial concerns, I could probably stay here for a while… but isn’t that the story everywhere?
I have it so easy here: my housing and food are paid for; I live with an amazing family yet have my own kitchen, bathroom, bedroom and privacy; I have a veggie vendor who gives me lots of free fruits and veggies- I fill my bag up and he won’t let me pay. I am friends with a few great French families who take me to the beach on the weekends and invite me to parties and pay me to hang out with their kids or use their internet while the kids sleep. Seb (Florence’s husband) lets me come to his exercise classes; thanks to the campus athletic department, I learned how to body board and even tried surfing last Friday. I’m learning both African dance and traditional Martiniquais bélé dance. Granted, I had to jump through a few hoops (like getting a doctor’s note to say I am healthy) and pay 45 Euros… for the entire year. Seriously. Sure, it’s hot and there are bus strikes and I don’t have internet access at home and there are these dogs that eat my clothing and gnaw on me in the morning and I have huge time final papers and projects coming up… but I’m content. Tranquille, we say. Tranquille le chat. Tout cool.
Please don’t misunderstand- I am not at all trying to brag. More, I’m just saying that for all the difficulty and aggravation and bureaucratic nonsense and how damn expensive life here and whatever else, life is beautiful. 3 ½ weeks left and I am going to bask in it while I can. And then when I get back to the US, I will make a conscious effort to keep this all in mind. Sometimes things are rough but no matter what, there are always things to appreciate.
I just realized the irony of the fact that I am going to post this tomorrow at school- on Thanksgiving. So if you’re wondering what I’m thankful for, it’s everything. Because even if the sun is hot and I’m sweating profusely and walking to school, I know that I would rather the sun rise in the morning and be hot than eternal nighttime. It’s a bummer getting a sunburn at the bus stop… but I know that Sunday I will be at the beach jumping into the ocean, hanging out with 4-11 year olds and their parents, speaking French and chatting about whatever, eating cheese sandwiches and orange juice and buttery rich cake. That’s right. I love French people.
This weekend was amazing and ridiculous. Friday afternoon, as I said, I tried surfing. And I assure you I was no good. It’s really exhausting and uses a lot of upper body strength- something I seem to be lacking. I came out of it with bruised hips and sternum, a lot of salt water in my sinus, tired and hungry but I was content. It was fun! Saturday I spent studying and working on things until about 4 and then went and saw a typical French film with Youma and Kristen- “Le Petit Nicholas.” It was cute and funny and French. Afterwards, Florence picked me up, and with the whole family, we went to the birthday party of a friend’s husband. It was absurd. We drank planteurs (the men drank beers- but not the women), ate pasta with shrimp and mussels and chicken (I found out afterwards they were all cooked together. Woo for being a vegetarian), danced and ate obscenely rich cake and I don’t even know what else. It was fun but we were definitely tired yet stayed super late. I slept over at Florence’s house for conveniences sake because Sunday was kayaking. 4 hours of sleep later, and I was up, eating a typical French breakfast and watching Lucas eat the most phenomenal breakfast I had never before imagined. I’m sitting there drinking coffee and eating bread with butter and jam and a super adorable 7 year old is sitting across from me, half asleep, eating white bread- crust cut off- folded in half with a fat slather of nutella and dipping this sandwich into a bowl of milk. He probably had 3 slices. It was amazing. I wish I could eat like that.
The funny thing is- picture an American child sitting next to him eating a fat bowl of lucky charms or capt’n crunch of whatever sugary cereal kids eat. The American child is significantly more likely to be obese later in life, if not already. I’ve been trying to understand this phenomenon for the past month or two. And we can say it’s because of the preservatives and crap we put in our food, but like I explained with the nutella label, the food their eating isn’t necessarily better. The white bread we were eating at Florence’s house was filled with words I don’t know (no high fructose, thankfully) aka shelf stabilizers, in their cupboards they have cookie packets and chocolatey breakfast cereals and they eat cheese and full cream yogurt and ham and salami and things like that. When I had dinner at Florence’s house, she made fish cooked in a creamy sauce. Then, there’s the chocolate. French people love chocolate (and who can blame them). I apologize if this is making you hungry- the point of what I’m getting at is that as far as I can tell, what the French have that we Americans don’t is the idea of where and when to stop. Sure, they might have crème fraiche (which is like yogurt but made with cream) and foie gras and other gross things but they don’t eat it everyday. Coca Cola is reserved for Sundays at the beach- same with the butter cake-and after eating three fat nutella sandwiches with milk, Lucas didn’t eat again until lunch time around 1 pm. Exercising and being active definitely help- most of the women in the group are in Seb’s exercise classes, and the men gendarmes (like state troopers?) but above all I think it’s just portion control. Which we American folk don’t have.
To finish with Sunday, we drove to Francois, about an hour away on the Atlantic coast and rented kayaks. Being the lone wolf, I got to kayak solo which was really exciting on 4 hours a sleep with tired arms from surfing through mean waves against the wind. But I did it and most of the time enjoyed it. I practiced my determination and stubbornness, things which I clearly need to work on (…). We kayaked out to a sandbar between these two islands off the coast- îllet Theirry and îllet Oscar. There, the person who runs the kayak rental service had driven his motor boat and we all hung out and drank juice for the kids and rum (juice optional) for the adults who chose to. One drink plus the previously mentioned circumstances and I was down for the count, sleeping in my kayak in the sunshine while everyone hung out and the kids played. Result: a nice sun burn on the tops of my legs, New Hampshire from Concord south is nice and red, and other random burnt patches where I missed with the sunscreen.
Paul, Florence’s 10 year old, super wanted to kayak by himself and since the wind was on our side going back, I let him take my kayak and caught a ride on the boat. After a relocation to a really nice grassy beach, we ate lunch together and I sort of tried to take a nap but ended up playing with Romane and Chloe, the children of Hélene and Luc, who I’ve babysat for a few times. They also had some American friends come visit last week and I cared for an 18 month year old all day last Monday- looks like I didn’t write about it and for good reason. It was a terror. It was the first time she had been left alone without her sisters and she didn’t know me and was in a totally foreign place and spent most of the morning either crying or cowering away from me in her crib because I obviously was the enemy. We eventually got along alright but it was still terrible. Plus, I was sick. Less than fun.
But I had a super awesome weekend and my week is going pretty well, too. I have a fat stack of work to do so I am going to get back to it but I hope Thanksgiving is delightful and filled with things to be thankful for. No matter what, there are always things to appreciate. Feel free to tell me that when I’m freezing cold playing Frisbee in the pouring rain at 8:30 on a Saturday morning on a muddy field somewhere in Oregon with the full knowledge I have 4 games to play in the rain all day and some sort of gigantic paper due on Monday. Because at that point, I will just realize I could be walking to the bus stop at 11 am in 35 degree Celsius sunshine with my sweat dripping down my spine and my laptop and a few schoolbooks in my bag with the full knowledge I have a lot of work to do and with absolutely no desire to do anything except go to the beach and sleep.
Perspective.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
18 November 2009, Wednesday, 13:45
Being Sick has this amazing ability to take any and all desire to do work and throw it out the window. Unfortunately, the world doesn’t pause while I’m hanging out in my bed for a few days sleeping. It keeps going on, papers are still due, time still passes and on Sunday, I will have exactly four weeks until I leave. Strange, very strange. On the one hand, it will be so nice to be home and I have so much to look forward to about getting back. On that same hand, there will be lots of things that irritate me about Martinique which I will no longer worry about it. In some cases, like the heat, I will be dealing with the exact opposite. Illinois in December- everyone’s favorite. But on the other hand, there are things I like here. The laid back attitude is great when I accept it and never feel pressed to get anything done. The heat is great when I’m not walking to school at noon and sweating like crazy. It’s fun to be able to go to the beach on the weekends with a bunch of French families and do crazy things like body boarding and kayaking (okay- maybe it’s not that crazy) and African Dance and eat delicious fresh fruit all the time and baguettes. There’s always that moment of “oh man, I’m leaving here?” and I don’t have that reassuring “oh, you’ll be back in the fall/spring” response. It’s more like, “yes, you are leaving. How do you feel about that?” And I can’t really answer myself. I feel sick and hungry. I feel whatever it is that I am feeling in moments of time and trying not to get too caught up in my head because it’s so easy to get lost there. And then the bus passes me.
So, remember how I got to present at a meeting of international students? Turns out a lot of people either saw me on the television, heard me on the radio or both. And they all keep telling me. And then I get embarrassed.
I don’t even know what I’ve done for the past week. Other than lay around in bed all weekend… except for Saturday night! A short film in which Joby played the main character screened in Fort de France so we all went together. It was well done and a super interesting depiction of a father-son relationship in which the father is a béké and the son, Constant, is illegitimate, (mixed blood), and is never acknowledged by him. (Shoot- I still need to explain Béké!) We never meet the father in the film but Joby played the Constant who, on his deathbed, hears the priest mention the name of his father, asks if he (father) mentioned him (son) and when the answer is no, he jumps out of his deathbed and refuses to die before his father. Joby played the role excellently and as well as being a sort of serious story about race relations and the culture in Martinique, it was also a comedy and included a really great, hilarious fart. Can’t go wrong with farting in a movie.
Afterwards, Joby and Kristen went home after dropping Youma, a friend of hers and I off to see a performance of Bélé, the traditional dance of Martinique which I am learning. It was really awesome. It was less of a “performance” and more of a public show- the “stage” was open to those who knew the dances and a variety of singers and drummers (le tambour) played. Like I said, it was super rad. Afterwards, Joby picked us up and we went to get crêpes since they hadn’t eaten yet. Being the sucker I am and refusing to listen to my sick stomach, I got a crêpe with nutella and banana. It was sooooooo good.
19:45
I have a nutella problem. It’s just way too delicious. I find this strange because I would never but nutella in the states. It has at least 2 ingredients I definitely don’t consume including whey powder and vanillin, plus skimmed milk powder. But I think what takes the cake on the ingredients list is the order. 1. Sugar 2. Vegetable oil 3. Hazelnuts (13%)! Hah! That’s so wrong. And so delicious.
Today sees the victorious completion of my birthday jar of peanut butter. I successfully milked it for an entire month and now I have a jar of organic almond butter for the next month. Life is great when you have parents who spoil you (minimally).
Yesterday, I visited the doctor. It was alright, minus waiting for an hour and a half. She was actually really nice and prescribed me homeopathic remedies for being sick. Furthermore, she prescribed them to Youma so that it would be free thanks to French social security. I need to figure out how to get reimbursed for the money I paid upfront to see her, but even there, she cut me a deal. Youma said she costs 60 Euros- she only asked me for 30 and saw me without an appointment. Waiting for an hour and a half isn’t so bad when you look at it that way. Hopefully I’ll get better soon or else I have to switch from homeopathic remedies to conventional. But seriously, how awesome is it that 1. She knew what to prescribe, 2. She was down with it and 3. Homeopathy is covered under French social security.
Sure, the post office might be closed for two hours in the middle of the day, but the French have some things right.
Being Sick has this amazing ability to take any and all desire to do work and throw it out the window. Unfortunately, the world doesn’t pause while I’m hanging out in my bed for a few days sleeping. It keeps going on, papers are still due, time still passes and on Sunday, I will have exactly four weeks until I leave. Strange, very strange. On the one hand, it will be so nice to be home and I have so much to look forward to about getting back. On that same hand, there will be lots of things that irritate me about Martinique which I will no longer worry about it. In some cases, like the heat, I will be dealing with the exact opposite. Illinois in December- everyone’s favorite. But on the other hand, there are things I like here. The laid back attitude is great when I accept it and never feel pressed to get anything done. The heat is great when I’m not walking to school at noon and sweating like crazy. It’s fun to be able to go to the beach on the weekends with a bunch of French families and do crazy things like body boarding and kayaking (okay- maybe it’s not that crazy) and African Dance and eat delicious fresh fruit all the time and baguettes. There’s always that moment of “oh man, I’m leaving here?” and I don’t have that reassuring “oh, you’ll be back in the fall/spring” response. It’s more like, “yes, you are leaving. How do you feel about that?” And I can’t really answer myself. I feel sick and hungry. I feel whatever it is that I am feeling in moments of time and trying not to get too caught up in my head because it’s so easy to get lost there. And then the bus passes me.
So, remember how I got to present at a meeting of international students? Turns out a lot of people either saw me on the television, heard me on the radio or both. And they all keep telling me. And then I get embarrassed.
I don’t even know what I’ve done for the past week. Other than lay around in bed all weekend… except for Saturday night! A short film in which Joby played the main character screened in Fort de France so we all went together. It was well done and a super interesting depiction of a father-son relationship in which the father is a béké and the son, Constant, is illegitimate, (mixed blood), and is never acknowledged by him. (Shoot- I still need to explain Béké!) We never meet the father in the film but Joby played the Constant who, on his deathbed, hears the priest mention the name of his father, asks if he (father) mentioned him (son) and when the answer is no, he jumps out of his deathbed and refuses to die before his father. Joby played the role excellently and as well as being a sort of serious story about race relations and the culture in Martinique, it was also a comedy and included a really great, hilarious fart. Can’t go wrong with farting in a movie.
Afterwards, Joby and Kristen went home after dropping Youma, a friend of hers and I off to see a performance of Bélé, the traditional dance of Martinique which I am learning. It was really awesome. It was less of a “performance” and more of a public show- the “stage” was open to those who knew the dances and a variety of singers and drummers (le tambour) played. Like I said, it was super rad. Afterwards, Joby picked us up and we went to get crêpes since they hadn’t eaten yet. Being the sucker I am and refusing to listen to my sick stomach, I got a crêpe with nutella and banana. It was sooooooo good.
19:45
I have a nutella problem. It’s just way too delicious. I find this strange because I would never but nutella in the states. It has at least 2 ingredients I definitely don’t consume including whey powder and vanillin, plus skimmed milk powder. But I think what takes the cake on the ingredients list is the order. 1. Sugar 2. Vegetable oil 3. Hazelnuts (13%)! Hah! That’s so wrong. And so delicious.
Today sees the victorious completion of my birthday jar of peanut butter. I successfully milked it for an entire month and now I have a jar of organic almond butter for the next month. Life is great when you have parents who spoil you (minimally).
Yesterday, I visited the doctor. It was alright, minus waiting for an hour and a half. She was actually really nice and prescribed me homeopathic remedies for being sick. Furthermore, she prescribed them to Youma so that it would be free thanks to French social security. I need to figure out how to get reimbursed for the money I paid upfront to see her, but even there, she cut me a deal. Youma said she costs 60 Euros- she only asked me for 30 and saw me without an appointment. Waiting for an hour and a half isn’t so bad when you look at it that way. Hopefully I’ll get better soon or else I have to switch from homeopathic remedies to conventional. But seriously, how awesome is it that 1. She knew what to prescribe, 2. She was down with it and 3. Homeopathy is covered under French social security.
Sure, the post office might be closed for two hours in the middle of the day, but the French have some things right.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
the house of nonsense
Wednesday 11 November 2009 9:20 AM
MORNING TIME… is so interesting at this house. I woke up rather late this morning, somewhere in the eight o’clock region but I have a sneaking suspicion I might have needed it. I passed a “nuit blanche” (white night- all-nighter) Monday night working on the most glorious dissertation/presentation, came home and slept for 4 hours yesterday between 2 and 6 pm, woke up, had dinner with everyone then went back to bed around 10:30ish. Not too shabby. Last night we had a really great couscous together with a big bowl of boiled veggies (carrots, zucchini, eggplant, cabbage, squash, etc…) with couscous and chickpeas in a rich tomato sauce and a spicy sauce on the side. Some sort of Algerian spice. It was really great and nice to share a meal with everyone. Kristen showed everyone her Montreal pictures and I can’t wait to be back in sweatpants and a sweater in Illinois, playing in the snow in New Hampshire/Vermont and then playing Frisbee at 11 pm on a rainy Monday night. I love life. I said to Youma that she has a beautiful life here but she’s been sort of bummed about a lot of stuff lately, bogged down and generally dissatisfied. What’s the fun in having a balcony with a view of the ocean if you can’t actually go to the beach and swim? (She recently had surgery on her knee which isn’t healing well…) While thinking about this, and thinking about all the silly things I miss about my life back north, life in general is a beautiful thing. I can be grumpy about not having internet access at home and having to lug my laptop to school and then it overheats and freezes up on me and I don’t like studying at the library, etc or I can realize that I am walking distance to the beach, I live with two amazing artists, two amazing people who I love.
I take comfort in knowing that despite my little sabbatical/leave of absence from my life in North America, it’s waiting for me when I get back. Sure, things will be different. Ford Hall will be up and kicking on the Willamette Campus, who knows who will be dating whom when I get back, the Frisbee team will have new members, a new name and a new dynamic, my friends will have had crazy adventures that I wasn’t part of, my baby (niece) will be walking and talking like no one’s business, but such is life.
And in the meantime, I have a life here, too. This life involves different habits and daily rituals (although drinking coffee is still a part of it), a different education system and studying pattern, mosquito nets, sweating constantly and daily showers. It involves a different language, different friendships, different manners of communication, getting hit on (a lot) and going to the beach. But, it still involves smiling and laughing and frowning and crying and being alive. Sure, I might have potentially had to pull an all-nighter to finish an amazing paper but I would rather do that than have missed Joby performing Monday night or not have gone to Carbet/St. Pierre with Job y and Youma Sunday. I could easily die tomorrow (and I probably wouldn’t be surprised but I would definitely be pissed!) and I would hate to have passed up opportunities to meet and get to know people and see things because I had to “study.” Maybe this isn’t the greatest rational, but it’s all about finding balance, right?
In other news, I went to the study abroad coordinator yesterday to talk about my professor and apparently this is the first time something like this has come up. Which, in my mind, means it’s probably the first time someone has said something about it. Sorry to be the party-pooper Martinique but this lady doesn’t let things like that slide. I would hate for 1. The professor to think that’s acceptable behavior and 2. This to happen to another student or study abroad student, someone who is potentially less… I don’t know I guess more vulnerable than I am? Someone who would have been too intimidated to look their professor in the eye with a very strongly expressive facial expression. But, maybe I’m just super American. Oh well. Wouldn’t be the first time.
So as I said, mornings here are hilarious. I woke up, stumbled out of bed to find Kristen studying or working on something (the usual), some random child running around, and Youma apparently invited the whole town over to clean the house. Which is to say, one person is ironing the clothes and another person is cleaning and now there’s some guy cutting the grass with an electric weed whacker because the ground is way to uneven for lawn mowers. That’s how it’s done all over Martinique. Once a month or so, when the grass is about knee-height, chopitty chop chop. Things grow fast here- including hair. Magical vitamin D. Gotta love it.
So. Five and a half weeks left. I was thinking at some point yesterday that I am going to miss Martinique a lot. I am going to miss Youma a lot. This past week, we spent a lot of time sitting around laughing and being silly and getting to know each other. She’s a great woman. She and Joby are two fantastic people. Seeing Joby perform Monday night was amazing. I can’t even begin to explain. He has 4 musicians who play and he performs spoken word which is a combination of singing and speaking in rhythm. I used my fancy digital camera and recorded a video. It was so cool! Plus, there was free food afterwards- and a surprising amount of vegetarian things. If I can figure out how to upload the video, I will.
UNLIKE Saturday morning. So, I had the exciting opportunity to present, in French, for a meeting for international education or something like that. I still don’t know exactly what it was, but I was asked to just give a 5 minute presentation about myself and where I come from, my home and my school, how I find Martinique, etc. Youma helped me prepare for it and I got dressed up all nicely (I clean up well) and wore heels and it was fun. I also appeared briefly on the Martinique national news Sunday night, no big deal. I’m just some sort of celebrity.
I’ve learned to take the getting hit on in good stride, too. Yesterday, close to the house, while descending the hill, I walked past a guy, said bonsoir and he said to me “Comment elle est belle!” to which I replied, “Ouais, je pense ça aussi!” Which, in English means “wow, isn’t she pretty?” and I said, “yeah, I think so too!”
Sassy and hilarious.
Well, studying approaches as the sun mounts the sky with the full beating down heat. All I really want to do is go back to bed and nap some more but there’s this guy with a weed whacker so I don’t think that’s going to happen too soon…
Happy Armistice day! Let’s end some more wars soon, shall we?
MORNING TIME… is so interesting at this house. I woke up rather late this morning, somewhere in the eight o’clock region but I have a sneaking suspicion I might have needed it. I passed a “nuit blanche” (white night- all-nighter) Monday night working on the most glorious dissertation/presentation, came home and slept for 4 hours yesterday between 2 and 6 pm, woke up, had dinner with everyone then went back to bed around 10:30ish. Not too shabby. Last night we had a really great couscous together with a big bowl of boiled veggies (carrots, zucchini, eggplant, cabbage, squash, etc…) with couscous and chickpeas in a rich tomato sauce and a spicy sauce on the side. Some sort of Algerian spice. It was really great and nice to share a meal with everyone. Kristen showed everyone her Montreal pictures and I can’t wait to be back in sweatpants and a sweater in Illinois, playing in the snow in New Hampshire/Vermont and then playing Frisbee at 11 pm on a rainy Monday night. I love life. I said to Youma that she has a beautiful life here but she’s been sort of bummed about a lot of stuff lately, bogged down and generally dissatisfied. What’s the fun in having a balcony with a view of the ocean if you can’t actually go to the beach and swim? (She recently had surgery on her knee which isn’t healing well…) While thinking about this, and thinking about all the silly things I miss about my life back north, life in general is a beautiful thing. I can be grumpy about not having internet access at home and having to lug my laptop to school and then it overheats and freezes up on me and I don’t like studying at the library, etc or I can realize that I am walking distance to the beach, I live with two amazing artists, two amazing people who I love.
I take comfort in knowing that despite my little sabbatical/leave of absence from my life in North America, it’s waiting for me when I get back. Sure, things will be different. Ford Hall will be up and kicking on the Willamette Campus, who knows who will be dating whom when I get back, the Frisbee team will have new members, a new name and a new dynamic, my friends will have had crazy adventures that I wasn’t part of, my baby (niece) will be walking and talking like no one’s business, but such is life.
And in the meantime, I have a life here, too. This life involves different habits and daily rituals (although drinking coffee is still a part of it), a different education system and studying pattern, mosquito nets, sweating constantly and daily showers. It involves a different language, different friendships, different manners of communication, getting hit on (a lot) and going to the beach. But, it still involves smiling and laughing and frowning and crying and being alive. Sure, I might have potentially had to pull an all-nighter to finish an amazing paper but I would rather do that than have missed Joby performing Monday night or not have gone to Carbet/St. Pierre with Job y and Youma Sunday. I could easily die tomorrow (and I probably wouldn’t be surprised but I would definitely be pissed!) and I would hate to have passed up opportunities to meet and get to know people and see things because I had to “study.” Maybe this isn’t the greatest rational, but it’s all about finding balance, right?
In other news, I went to the study abroad coordinator yesterday to talk about my professor and apparently this is the first time something like this has come up. Which, in my mind, means it’s probably the first time someone has said something about it. Sorry to be the party-pooper Martinique but this lady doesn’t let things like that slide. I would hate for 1. The professor to think that’s acceptable behavior and 2. This to happen to another student or study abroad student, someone who is potentially less… I don’t know I guess more vulnerable than I am? Someone who would have been too intimidated to look their professor in the eye with a very strongly expressive facial expression. But, maybe I’m just super American. Oh well. Wouldn’t be the first time.
So as I said, mornings here are hilarious. I woke up, stumbled out of bed to find Kristen studying or working on something (the usual), some random child running around, and Youma apparently invited the whole town over to clean the house. Which is to say, one person is ironing the clothes and another person is cleaning and now there’s some guy cutting the grass with an electric weed whacker because the ground is way to uneven for lawn mowers. That’s how it’s done all over Martinique. Once a month or so, when the grass is about knee-height, chopitty chop chop. Things grow fast here- including hair. Magical vitamin D. Gotta love it.
So. Five and a half weeks left. I was thinking at some point yesterday that I am going to miss Martinique a lot. I am going to miss Youma a lot. This past week, we spent a lot of time sitting around laughing and being silly and getting to know each other. She’s a great woman. She and Joby are two fantastic people. Seeing Joby perform Monday night was amazing. I can’t even begin to explain. He has 4 musicians who play and he performs spoken word which is a combination of singing and speaking in rhythm. I used my fancy digital camera and recorded a video. It was so cool! Plus, there was free food afterwards- and a surprising amount of vegetarian things. If I can figure out how to upload the video, I will.
UNLIKE Saturday morning. So, I had the exciting opportunity to present, in French, for a meeting for international education or something like that. I still don’t know exactly what it was, but I was asked to just give a 5 minute presentation about myself and where I come from, my home and my school, how I find Martinique, etc. Youma helped me prepare for it and I got dressed up all nicely (I clean up well) and wore heels and it was fun. I also appeared briefly on the Martinique national news Sunday night, no big deal. I’m just some sort of celebrity.
I’ve learned to take the getting hit on in good stride, too. Yesterday, close to the house, while descending the hill, I walked past a guy, said bonsoir and he said to me “Comment elle est belle!” to which I replied, “Ouais, je pense ça aussi!” Which, in English means “wow, isn’t she pretty?” and I said, “yeah, I think so too!”
Sassy and hilarious.
Well, studying approaches as the sun mounts the sky with the full beating down heat. All I really want to do is go back to bed and nap some more but there’s this guy with a weed whacker so I don’t think that’s going to happen too soon…
Happy Armistice day! Let’s end some more wars soon, shall we?
Monday, November 9, 2009
from one to the other
8 November 2009 half past eleven- or as the Brits say, half eleven. (AM)
Dear life,
This place bothers me un peu, tu vois? For example, there are these two puppies. One of them fell and broke its femur in multiple places and is, as a consequence, really sweet. The other one is getting huge and more annoying than ever. It jumps and bites my ankles and eats the cat food and is underfoot all the time. Then, there’s the kitten who is also underfoot and when I wake up in the morning, it jumps into my room and it eats my computer cord and peed in the cupboard under the sink and man. Man.
But, the one thing that really bothers me is going to the grocery store. It appears as though I left one of my bags at the store and since Joby left with the car, I don’t really know what to do about it. I hate losing things. Like my Kleen Kanteen. Still mourning the loss of that guy. But, back to the grocery store. It’s always really crowded and full of aisles and aisles of prepackaged, processed food which has been shipped from across the world. American cereal on the shelves, carrots, grapes, plums, pears, nectarines from France, and all the fish from who knows where- Asia, maybe? I am in the middle of the Caribbean and the fish at the grocery store is from the stinking Pacific Ocean. That’s not right. I don’t like buying avocados from Mexico when I’m in Oregon, I think it’s probably clear how I feel about buying food from France and Spain when I’m oceans and seas and lands and time zones away. But the absolute pire, the worst, is the plastic bags. The cashiers put about two things in each bag. And totally get offended when I try to bag things myself. Because, clearly it means I think I can do their job better than them…
9:15 (PM)
Alright, so I can always find things to complain about (the grocery store, for example) but I had an awesome day. I had a really great chat with Youma until Jobi came home around 1:30. He had been performing in Francois for a hot second and then had a family reunion planned with all of the siblings who live in Martinique… about 6 of 9. We got all our stuff together and headed to his brother’s house in Carbet, where I met his family. Big families are great. We had a great lunch together, of potatoes and fish (which I ate some of and it was pretty good minus the skin and bones and tail still there… cooking whole fish freaks me out) and red wine and fresh made juice (prune de Cynthère, which I can’t begin to explain) and then Youma, the sister-in-law who cooked lunch, and the best friend of the youngest and I took the car and went to the beach while they all discussed money and potential death. It was glorious. We just laughed and relaxed and got along swimmingly and my comprehension is an infinite million times better than it was before. SERIOUSLY. The water was a little chilly (I know, I know) but fresh and we had a spectacular view of Mount Pelée. For a late afternoon snack, we had some chocolate with peanuts in it. Typical French. Love it.
It was so nice passing a day relaxing, not worrying about the gigantic final files I have due. My head was super distracted and I wasn’t even able to concentrate on anything and I was organizing my room and washing my hands and brushing my teeth and, you know, going crazy. So I wasn’t getting anything done anyway. But I have spent most of today talking to Youma and she’s helped me a lot thinking through all the weight on my shoulders. The most important thing I can say is that “je suis un cocotier.” Which is to say, I am a coconut tree. Tall, magnificent, strong, I have my coconuts (my goals and dreams) and my leaves which are freely dancing in the breezes blowing my way. Youma is great. She cracks me up all the time and is understanding and caring. I am unbelievably fortunate to have been able to move here from my initial residence. Seriously.
Well, about that presentation I am doing Tuesday on Post-Colonial theory in Jamaica Kincaid’s The Autobiography of my Mother…
Dear life,
This place bothers me un peu, tu vois? For example, there are these two puppies. One of them fell and broke its femur in multiple places and is, as a consequence, really sweet. The other one is getting huge and more annoying than ever. It jumps and bites my ankles and eats the cat food and is underfoot all the time. Then, there’s the kitten who is also underfoot and when I wake up in the morning, it jumps into my room and it eats my computer cord and peed in the cupboard under the sink and man. Man.
But, the one thing that really bothers me is going to the grocery store. It appears as though I left one of my bags at the store and since Joby left with the car, I don’t really know what to do about it. I hate losing things. Like my Kleen Kanteen. Still mourning the loss of that guy. But, back to the grocery store. It’s always really crowded and full of aisles and aisles of prepackaged, processed food which has been shipped from across the world. American cereal on the shelves, carrots, grapes, plums, pears, nectarines from France, and all the fish from who knows where- Asia, maybe? I am in the middle of the Caribbean and the fish at the grocery store is from the stinking Pacific Ocean. That’s not right. I don’t like buying avocados from Mexico when I’m in Oregon, I think it’s probably clear how I feel about buying food from France and Spain when I’m oceans and seas and lands and time zones away. But the absolute pire, the worst, is the plastic bags. The cashiers put about two things in each bag. And totally get offended when I try to bag things myself. Because, clearly it means I think I can do their job better than them…
9:15 (PM)
Alright, so I can always find things to complain about (the grocery store, for example) but I had an awesome day. I had a really great chat with Youma until Jobi came home around 1:30. He had been performing in Francois for a hot second and then had a family reunion planned with all of the siblings who live in Martinique… about 6 of 9. We got all our stuff together and headed to his brother’s house in Carbet, where I met his family. Big families are great. We had a great lunch together, of potatoes and fish (which I ate some of and it was pretty good minus the skin and bones and tail still there… cooking whole fish freaks me out) and red wine and fresh made juice (prune de Cynthère, which I can’t begin to explain) and then Youma, the sister-in-law who cooked lunch, and the best friend of the youngest and I took the car and went to the beach while they all discussed money and potential death. It was glorious. We just laughed and relaxed and got along swimmingly and my comprehension is an infinite million times better than it was before. SERIOUSLY. The water was a little chilly (I know, I know) but fresh and we had a spectacular view of Mount Pelée. For a late afternoon snack, we had some chocolate with peanuts in it. Typical French. Love it.
It was so nice passing a day relaxing, not worrying about the gigantic final files I have due. My head was super distracted and I wasn’t even able to concentrate on anything and I was organizing my room and washing my hands and brushing my teeth and, you know, going crazy. So I wasn’t getting anything done anyway. But I have spent most of today talking to Youma and she’s helped me a lot thinking through all the weight on my shoulders. The most important thing I can say is that “je suis un cocotier.” Which is to say, I am a coconut tree. Tall, magnificent, strong, I have my coconuts (my goals and dreams) and my leaves which are freely dancing in the breezes blowing my way. Youma is great. She cracks me up all the time and is understanding and caring. I am unbelievably fortunate to have been able to move here from my initial residence. Seriously.
Well, about that presentation I am doing Tuesday on Post-Colonial theory in Jamaica Kincaid’s The Autobiography of my Mother…
Thursday, November 5, 2009
It's not just strangers on the street, man.
4 Nov 2009 Wednesday
What a day, what a day, what a day. And it’s only 7 pm- I still have lots of HW to do! But at least I am eating a super delicious salad filled with cantaloupe, almonds, cucumber, fried eggplant, couscous and strange things we don’t find in the US like bananas that must be cooked. Now, where to start?
When’s the last time you considered, just for a brief moment, killing a kitten. Now, I may be exaggerating, but this kitten is driving me insane. It cries and cries and cries and cries. I feed it and it eats and then cries. I pet it and then set it down and it cries. The second I pick it up it starts purring and the second I set it down, it starts crying. Right now, for example, it is curled up in my lap, purring and keeps looking at me and meowling. It just doesn’t stop. Youma was super right- don’t take the pity kitten. Point taken.
So onto my absurd day. It started off delightfully with me forcing myself out of bed and going running. Skip ahead a few hours and I had a really great conversation with Youma. We talked about the Martiniquais and the French and the different manners of thinking and humanity in general, making a difference in the world, etc. She told me a little Martiniquais story: All of a sudden, a fire starts in the forest and all the animals start to run, fleeing from it, except the little Kolibri (hummingbird). One of the animals stops and asks, “What are you doing?” as the Kolibri plunges it beak into the heart of a flower and pulls a tiny “goutte” of water and drops it on the fire. “Je fais ma part,” Kolibri responds.
“I am doing my part.”
That story stuck with me today and will come in to my day, but later. So, I left the house at 11:20 for an 11:30 class and was promptly picked up by a very nice woman who 1. Picked me up from hitchhiking and 2. Was nice enough to drop me off all the way at campus even though it was out of her way. Did I mention the bus driver’s strike last time I wrote? It’s been over a week now.
Class was interesting- today was my last Camus course and we had an interesting lecture with a little discussion. After the class I started a conversation with my professor on the book and some of the different ways of analyzing Meursault in the context of literary theory (for example Freud or Althusser/ Derrida). It was very engaging and we talked about the book in the context of humanity and in the context of Camus’ life, etc. Part way through the conversation, we moved from the noisy outdoor walkway to his office and continued the conversation. Normal, right? I should mention that this is the same professor who is unreasonably touchy-feely with students and gives bisous (which no other professor does) to his students and just is sort of too affectionate. Well, today was the worst. In fact, I might ask you, the reader, when the last time you were pretty sure a professor tried to sleep with you. Yes, I am 107% serious. In his office we continued talking and he asked me about what I study and my family and all that nonsense which is normal for me, as an international student. People are interested. What is not normal is putting your hand on my face and caressing my cheek with your thumb, Monsieur. What is also not normal is taking my arm, standing up and pulling me up across from you with your arms on my shoulders and your hands clasped behind my head. But, I assure you, I stood at my full height (which is pretty damn tall) and stared him right in the eye (which is hard because he wears darkly tinted glasses- but I noticed a week or two ago that even though he is very darkly black, he his VERY light blue eyes. Strange, huh?). Where was I? Stared him right in the eyes with the most confused/horrified/”you are so making me uncomfortable and crossing a big line” look I could come up with. There was the classic sort of “bon” and the “well, I have to go study at the library now.” He said two or three times “on va manger” which is ambiguous in that “on” as a subject can mean “people” the sort of royal “we” or literally “we.” I assured him I had already eaten and was going to study at the library so he walked me there and I asked him if he was going to eat lunch with his wife (since he wears a wedding band) and he said he was going to check something out at some house in Fort de France and asked me if I was coming with him. For the final time, I assured him I was going to study at the library.
I talked to Youma about it tonight and she surprised me by telling me it’s not unheard of at the University, one of the reasons she doesn’t like it. I cracked a classic “guess I passed up an automatic A” joke but she said it was good I didn’t play his little game. In regards to him asking if I was coming to Fort to France, she said that in this game “if you said yes, you won’t say no.” It was interesting and hilarious but I’m still feeling pretty uncomfortable by the whole thing. It just shook me up and took me by surprise. He’s my professor, you know? I’m just not okay with that.
Thanks to the continued bus strike, I walked home from Campus after FREEZING in the library due to air conditioning. I guess I shouldn’t complain because I love it when it’s super hot outside but sometimes it’s just way too cold in there. On my walk home, within the last 10 or 15 minutes, I was charging my way up the big hill that leads to the homestead and passed an older woman struggling with a huge sack and using her umbrella as a cane. She was going very slowly and clearly struggling so I asked her if I could help her out. After assuring her I was going up the hill, too, she let me carry her bag and we slowly made our way up the hill, complaining about the bus strike, talking about how she had to go down to Shoelcher and she told me about her tendonitis in both legs, etc. I carried her bag all the way to her house (after assuring her it wasn’t out of my way and I didn’t mind at all) and she was kind enough to give me a few bananas (that require cooking) as a way of saying thank you. She had a pretty garden with lots of plants and really cute chicks running around chirpring. Precious. I was in a super good mood so that when I passed the usual punks on the street corner and they asked me who was accompanying me (on my walk), I told them “moi-même” with a big smile. “Pourquoi?” they asked and I assured them, “parce que j’ai pas besoin des autres” and continued walking, laughing. It was funny. I’ll leave it to you to translate because I really need to read this speech by Obama, his inauguration speech and catch up on the second article of the constitution and the civil rights movement. Plus, I have this kitten sleeping on my lap.
I will end with saying that I was fortunate enough to be volunteered by Youma to help Youma clean up the dog shit everywhere and you know I loved that. Plus, my continued quest to kill as many mosquitoes as possible continues as they continue to bite me all the time…
But, life is hilarious and pretty alright. Plus, I’m going body boarding Friday- although I’m thinking about trying Surf instead. We’ll see!
Love,
Bethany
p.s. I forgot to mention the dog harassing me on my walk home from school. It was sort of funny but also scary because I couldn't tell if it had rabies and it wouldn't let me pass and kept jumping on me. GAH.
What a day, what a day, what a day. And it’s only 7 pm- I still have lots of HW to do! But at least I am eating a super delicious salad filled with cantaloupe, almonds, cucumber, fried eggplant, couscous and strange things we don’t find in the US like bananas that must be cooked. Now, where to start?
When’s the last time you considered, just for a brief moment, killing a kitten. Now, I may be exaggerating, but this kitten is driving me insane. It cries and cries and cries and cries. I feed it and it eats and then cries. I pet it and then set it down and it cries. The second I pick it up it starts purring and the second I set it down, it starts crying. Right now, for example, it is curled up in my lap, purring and keeps looking at me and meowling. It just doesn’t stop. Youma was super right- don’t take the pity kitten. Point taken.
So onto my absurd day. It started off delightfully with me forcing myself out of bed and going running. Skip ahead a few hours and I had a really great conversation with Youma. We talked about the Martiniquais and the French and the different manners of thinking and humanity in general, making a difference in the world, etc. She told me a little Martiniquais story: All of a sudden, a fire starts in the forest and all the animals start to run, fleeing from it, except the little Kolibri (hummingbird). One of the animals stops and asks, “What are you doing?” as the Kolibri plunges it beak into the heart of a flower and pulls a tiny “goutte” of water and drops it on the fire. “Je fais ma part,” Kolibri responds.
“I am doing my part.”
That story stuck with me today and will come in to my day, but later. So, I left the house at 11:20 for an 11:30 class and was promptly picked up by a very nice woman who 1. Picked me up from hitchhiking and 2. Was nice enough to drop me off all the way at campus even though it was out of her way. Did I mention the bus driver’s strike last time I wrote? It’s been over a week now.
Class was interesting- today was my last Camus course and we had an interesting lecture with a little discussion. After the class I started a conversation with my professor on the book and some of the different ways of analyzing Meursault in the context of literary theory (for example Freud or Althusser/ Derrida). It was very engaging and we talked about the book in the context of humanity and in the context of Camus’ life, etc. Part way through the conversation, we moved from the noisy outdoor walkway to his office and continued the conversation. Normal, right? I should mention that this is the same professor who is unreasonably touchy-feely with students and gives bisous (which no other professor does) to his students and just is sort of too affectionate. Well, today was the worst. In fact, I might ask you, the reader, when the last time you were pretty sure a professor tried to sleep with you. Yes, I am 107% serious. In his office we continued talking and he asked me about what I study and my family and all that nonsense which is normal for me, as an international student. People are interested. What is not normal is putting your hand on my face and caressing my cheek with your thumb, Monsieur. What is also not normal is taking my arm, standing up and pulling me up across from you with your arms on my shoulders and your hands clasped behind my head. But, I assure you, I stood at my full height (which is pretty damn tall) and stared him right in the eye (which is hard because he wears darkly tinted glasses- but I noticed a week or two ago that even though he is very darkly black, he his VERY light blue eyes. Strange, huh?). Where was I? Stared him right in the eyes with the most confused/horrified/”you are so making me uncomfortable and crossing a big line” look I could come up with. There was the classic sort of “bon” and the “well, I have to go study at the library now.” He said two or three times “on va manger” which is ambiguous in that “on” as a subject can mean “people” the sort of royal “we” or literally “we.” I assured him I had already eaten and was going to study at the library so he walked me there and I asked him if he was going to eat lunch with his wife (since he wears a wedding band) and he said he was going to check something out at some house in Fort de France and asked me if I was coming with him. For the final time, I assured him I was going to study at the library.
I talked to Youma about it tonight and she surprised me by telling me it’s not unheard of at the University, one of the reasons she doesn’t like it. I cracked a classic “guess I passed up an automatic A” joke but she said it was good I didn’t play his little game. In regards to him asking if I was coming to Fort to France, she said that in this game “if you said yes, you won’t say no.” It was interesting and hilarious but I’m still feeling pretty uncomfortable by the whole thing. It just shook me up and took me by surprise. He’s my professor, you know? I’m just not okay with that.
Thanks to the continued bus strike, I walked home from Campus after FREEZING in the library due to air conditioning. I guess I shouldn’t complain because I love it when it’s super hot outside but sometimes it’s just way too cold in there. On my walk home, within the last 10 or 15 minutes, I was charging my way up the big hill that leads to the homestead and passed an older woman struggling with a huge sack and using her umbrella as a cane. She was going very slowly and clearly struggling so I asked her if I could help her out. After assuring her I was going up the hill, too, she let me carry her bag and we slowly made our way up the hill, complaining about the bus strike, talking about how she had to go down to Shoelcher and she told me about her tendonitis in both legs, etc. I carried her bag all the way to her house (after assuring her it wasn’t out of my way and I didn’t mind at all) and she was kind enough to give me a few bananas (that require cooking) as a way of saying thank you. She had a pretty garden with lots of plants and really cute chicks running around chirpring. Precious. I was in a super good mood so that when I passed the usual punks on the street corner and they asked me who was accompanying me (on my walk), I told them “moi-même” with a big smile. “Pourquoi?” they asked and I assured them, “parce que j’ai pas besoin des autres” and continued walking, laughing. It was funny. I’ll leave it to you to translate because I really need to read this speech by Obama, his inauguration speech and catch up on the second article of the constitution and the civil rights movement. Plus, I have this kitten sleeping on my lap.
I will end with saying that I was fortunate enough to be volunteered by Youma to help Youma clean up the dog shit everywhere and you know I loved that. Plus, my continued quest to kill as many mosquitoes as possible continues as they continue to bite me all the time…
But, life is hilarious and pretty alright. Plus, I’m going body boarding Friday- although I’m thinking about trying Surf instead. We’ll see!
Love,
Bethany
p.s. I forgot to mention the dog harassing me on my walk home from school. It was sort of funny but also scary because I couldn't tell if it had rabies and it wouldn't let me pass and kept jumping on me. GAH.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
bite marks in my wrist...
Monday, October 26, 2009 Noon
Everyday of my life is a hilarious adventure. I know I say this just about every time, but it’s true. Sometimes I get aggravated at the adventures when they’re not what I want them to be and sometimes I become overwhelmed because there are too many adventures happening and I just want to relax and do nothing sometimes. I often miss the familiar comfort of the adventures I’m used to having but the fact of the matter is, complacency, as much as people seem to think it does, doesn’t exist. That being said, I have had a hilarious morning and only now, sitting at the library am I getting grumpy because of yet another misplaced stitch in the quilt known as Martinique. I’m a little pissed off because I forgot my wireless key and since my the one built into my laptop stopped working the day before I left, I don’t have the interwebs. Great.
So, my hilarious morning: It started off great with a run and plenty of relaxation and eating breakfast seated on the island our recently completed kitchen. Sunlight was pouring through the windows and these birds kept flying in and out of our apartment. I have a super view of the ocean from the kitchen window and was drinking my local coffee and eating fruit. Life can’t go wrong with a morning like that. When I went upstairs to grab the clean laundry, Youma asked me to help her get the kittens into a cage. No problem- I happen to have a lot of experience with that. The first four were an easy success. She lured them with food- brilliant. Then, there are the two “savages” who don’t like people one bit and wouldn’t come out. After a bit of running around, I finally grabbed one of them by the scruff of the neck and dropped it in with the others. The last one was a total disaster. We finally cornered it and I reached through an ivy-like plant growing over a stationary exercise bike which looks like it hasn’t been used in at least ten years and got a hand on it. Well, that hand was quickly destroyed. The bastard not only scratched me but sunk its jaw into my wrist twice. Quick evacuation to the kitchen and Youma poured clear rum over my hand. Brilliant, classic old-time medicine with all the perks of smelling like an alcoholic. So, we resumed the mission and Youma tried this time but it kitten literally jumped off the balcony, down at least 15 feet and made its escape. Back to the wild with your ancestors, wild thing. If you were wondering where the wild things are, they’re in Martinique.
Youma is letting me keep a kitten and when I leave, she plans to give it away. Of course, I fell in love with the scrawniest, ugliest, smallest most pathetic looking of all the kittens. She reminded me this morning not to have the same mentality when falling in love with a man. Practical woman. After this excitement, I went back to hanging my laundry up and had a fun time navigating the piles of puppy shit laying around everywhere. After getting all my affairs together, I walked 5 minutes and realized I forgot my bus pass. Back up the big hill in the full, warm sunshine of 10:30, unlock door, find pass, relock door, down the hill again to wait at the bus stop for hours and hours and hours of my life. Wish I’d remembered my wifi key, too. Oh well.
Ran some errands (pharmacy to get some sort of cream to get rid of my heat rash? It’s all a little sketchy… then the post office to buy more stamps and find out it will cost 35 euros to send a 1 kilo package with a 2-4 day guarantee. Daieee) and then a bus to campus. French people infuriate me, sometimes. Walked over to say hi to a friend and when I cut across the slightly damp grass, she looked at me like I was crazy and said (in French), “why couldn’t you walk on the concrete path like everyone else.” Turns out, kid, I’m not like everyone else. But you’re not the first one to note it… In fact, kid, it’s what makes most people I know like me. Oh well.
Tell me how I am supposed to study when my mind is constantly reeling with all the insanity of my daily life? Beats me.
I had a great Sunday and a decent weekend. Thanks to babysitting until 2:30 am Friday night, I was super exhausted Saturday and decided not to go kayaking at 8:30 in the morning. Being tired made me super grumpy and when Youma entertained a friend downstairs in our space, my patience was on end. When she cooked steak in our kitchen filling my bedroom with the smell, I almost lost my sanity. But all turned out well. We went to a sweet tropical garden, le Jardin Balata where Kristen and I took lots of silly and rad pictures and Youma spent quality time with an old friend. Old and old. As in, they’d known each other for a long time and the guy was super old. . It was really tough for her to say goodbye when we dropped him off for the bus. He said “adieu” and refused to see “au revoir.” As Kristen said to me, Old people are sometimes depressing. True fact.
Sunday was awesome. Florence picked me up at 7:30 with Lucas in the car and we met up with another family and went for a 3- 3 1/2 hour hike on the coast. It was on the Atlantic coast, super beautiful and we could even make out Dominica in the distance. Hiking with kids is hilarious and something I greatly look forward to later in life. On the drive to the hike, Florence told me they’re going to miss me a lot when I leave. She told me next time I come to Martinique, I know where to go and who to call. She also said that if she goes to France, even, we could meet up there and I could stay at her parents house with her. Super!
So, after hiking, we went to the beach and met up with everyone else. It was sunny and beautiful, as usual. It was Helène’s birthday so we celebrated with Champagne and rum-cream filled éclair-like puffs. So good. I love my Sunday’s with Florence and company. They’re all really good natured and friendly and share and it’s fun to be immersed in French and even though I’m sort of the odd one out in so many ways, I feel welcome.
Weekend a success, morning kind of iffy but it’s pretty hilarious that I was bit by a kitten. Well, back to being a student. I need to figure out how to be a student without the stress part…
Love, Bethany
An important amendment to my post: When we went to the tropical garden, we stopped to get gas and the old German man bought a beer at the gas station. I wished I had my camera when the greatest thing of my week happened (better than being bitten by a savage cat and then pouring rum on the wound): he opened the beer and was drinking it with a straw but wasn’t buckled in so he handed the beer to Youma, who held it in her right hand WHILE DRIVING as he took forever to buckle in. It was amazing. Driving with a beer in hand. Oh, that Martinique. Almost as good as the two year old standing on the floorboards of the backseat of the car in which one out of 6 people was buckled in. LIVE FREE OR DIE. I’m going to say that here, dying is the more likely of the two options.
Everyday of my life is a hilarious adventure. I know I say this just about every time, but it’s true. Sometimes I get aggravated at the adventures when they’re not what I want them to be and sometimes I become overwhelmed because there are too many adventures happening and I just want to relax and do nothing sometimes. I often miss the familiar comfort of the adventures I’m used to having but the fact of the matter is, complacency, as much as people seem to think it does, doesn’t exist. That being said, I have had a hilarious morning and only now, sitting at the library am I getting grumpy because of yet another misplaced stitch in the quilt known as Martinique. I’m a little pissed off because I forgot my wireless key and since my the one built into my laptop stopped working the day before I left, I don’t have the interwebs. Great.
So, my hilarious morning: It started off great with a run and plenty of relaxation and eating breakfast seated on the island our recently completed kitchen. Sunlight was pouring through the windows and these birds kept flying in and out of our apartment. I have a super view of the ocean from the kitchen window and was drinking my local coffee and eating fruit. Life can’t go wrong with a morning like that. When I went upstairs to grab the clean laundry, Youma asked me to help her get the kittens into a cage. No problem- I happen to have a lot of experience with that. The first four were an easy success. She lured them with food- brilliant. Then, there are the two “savages” who don’t like people one bit and wouldn’t come out. After a bit of running around, I finally grabbed one of them by the scruff of the neck and dropped it in with the others. The last one was a total disaster. We finally cornered it and I reached through an ivy-like plant growing over a stationary exercise bike which looks like it hasn’t been used in at least ten years and got a hand on it. Well, that hand was quickly destroyed. The bastard not only scratched me but sunk its jaw into my wrist twice. Quick evacuation to the kitchen and Youma poured clear rum over my hand. Brilliant, classic old-time medicine with all the perks of smelling like an alcoholic. So, we resumed the mission and Youma tried this time but it kitten literally jumped off the balcony, down at least 15 feet and made its escape. Back to the wild with your ancestors, wild thing. If you were wondering where the wild things are, they’re in Martinique.
Youma is letting me keep a kitten and when I leave, she plans to give it away. Of course, I fell in love with the scrawniest, ugliest, smallest most pathetic looking of all the kittens. She reminded me this morning not to have the same mentality when falling in love with a man. Practical woman. After this excitement, I went back to hanging my laundry up and had a fun time navigating the piles of puppy shit laying around everywhere. After getting all my affairs together, I walked 5 minutes and realized I forgot my bus pass. Back up the big hill in the full, warm sunshine of 10:30, unlock door, find pass, relock door, down the hill again to wait at the bus stop for hours and hours and hours of my life. Wish I’d remembered my wifi key, too. Oh well.
Ran some errands (pharmacy to get some sort of cream to get rid of my heat rash? It’s all a little sketchy… then the post office to buy more stamps and find out it will cost 35 euros to send a 1 kilo package with a 2-4 day guarantee. Daieee) and then a bus to campus. French people infuriate me, sometimes. Walked over to say hi to a friend and when I cut across the slightly damp grass, she looked at me like I was crazy and said (in French), “why couldn’t you walk on the concrete path like everyone else.” Turns out, kid, I’m not like everyone else. But you’re not the first one to note it… In fact, kid, it’s what makes most people I know like me. Oh well.
Tell me how I am supposed to study when my mind is constantly reeling with all the insanity of my daily life? Beats me.
I had a great Sunday and a decent weekend. Thanks to babysitting until 2:30 am Friday night, I was super exhausted Saturday and decided not to go kayaking at 8:30 in the morning. Being tired made me super grumpy and when Youma entertained a friend downstairs in our space, my patience was on end. When she cooked steak in our kitchen filling my bedroom with the smell, I almost lost my sanity. But all turned out well. We went to a sweet tropical garden, le Jardin Balata where Kristen and I took lots of silly and rad pictures and Youma spent quality time with an old friend. Old and old. As in, they’d known each other for a long time and the guy was super old. . It was really tough for her to say goodbye when we dropped him off for the bus. He said “adieu” and refused to see “au revoir.” As Kristen said to me, Old people are sometimes depressing. True fact.
Sunday was awesome. Florence picked me up at 7:30 with Lucas in the car and we met up with another family and went for a 3- 3 1/2 hour hike on the coast. It was on the Atlantic coast, super beautiful and we could even make out Dominica in the distance. Hiking with kids is hilarious and something I greatly look forward to later in life. On the drive to the hike, Florence told me they’re going to miss me a lot when I leave. She told me next time I come to Martinique, I know where to go and who to call. She also said that if she goes to France, even, we could meet up there and I could stay at her parents house with her. Super!
So, after hiking, we went to the beach and met up with everyone else. It was sunny and beautiful, as usual. It was Helène’s birthday so we celebrated with Champagne and rum-cream filled éclair-like puffs. So good. I love my Sunday’s with Florence and company. They’re all really good natured and friendly and share and it’s fun to be immersed in French and even though I’m sort of the odd one out in so many ways, I feel welcome.
Weekend a success, morning kind of iffy but it’s pretty hilarious that I was bit by a kitten. Well, back to being a student. I need to figure out how to be a student without the stress part…
Love, Bethany
An important amendment to my post: When we went to the tropical garden, we stopped to get gas and the old German man bought a beer at the gas station. I wished I had my camera when the greatest thing of my week happened (better than being bitten by a savage cat and then pouring rum on the wound): he opened the beer and was drinking it with a straw but wasn’t buckled in so he handed the beer to Youma, who held it in her right hand WHILE DRIVING as he took forever to buckle in. It was amazing. Driving with a beer in hand. Oh, that Martinique. Almost as good as the two year old standing on the floorboards of the backseat of the car in which one out of 6 people was buckled in. LIVE FREE OR DIE. I’m going to say that here, dying is the more likely of the two options.
Friday, October 23, 2009
bodyboarding and babysitting
I am writing in real time, which rarely happens. I happen to be babysitting at a house which has internet access and have been taking full advantage of it... by facebook chatting with my sister. Il faut profiter, they say in Martinique. I am doing just that. Internet and nutella. The essentials...
Well, on to the other part. BODY BOARDING! Kristen and I went today with the athletic department of the university. There were about 8 of us total and we could choose between body board and surf (I think I might try surf next time...). The waves were big and, if not frequent enough, fun. I actually succeeded at doing it a few times but most of the other times I was swept underwater and all the force of a wave rushed up my sinuses and felt pretty terrible. But it was soooooooo funnnn. And I don't think I did too badly for my first time.
21 October 2009 Wednesday evening
Can someone please tell me when I became so laid back? And passive? And shy in classes? It’s so strange.
Well, as usual, every day is an adventure. Today’s adventure was a little more exciting than usual. I’ll skip past the waiting half an hour at the bus stop and two terribly boring hours of class and then our professor who is unreasonably physically affectionate talking to Kristen and I with his arms around my shoulders and asking me why I took my braids out, they were so pretty while sort of stroking my pony tail. Yes, strange things like this are a weekly occurrence. No, we’re not comfortable with it. He is, in fact, married. He’s just a touchy-feely sort of guy but as a professor definitely crosses a line. But, like our politician professor, I don’t think there’s much we can do about it. Oh well.
But on to the good part where it started dumping buckets this afternoon. It did the same thing yesterday mid-day. I guess it’s a good thing that it’s been raining because it’s the season for it and it’s been unreasonably warm recently. Or so they say. Yesterday, as I was running to the “country club” for a work out class at Sebastian’s studio, there was a flash and a crash and 5 minutes later, half way there, the sky opened up and in 15 seconds I was soaked. It was hilarious. So I did the class soaking wet with bare feet because I was running through rivers where I usually find sidewalks. I was laughing up a storm. (get it because there was a storm…)
So, I waited it out this afternoon and headed towards Fort de France to buy running shoes and stop to see my marchand. He was starting to pack up on account of the rain when I got there, so I gave him a hand loading oranges and avocados and bananas and whatever else into boxes. I have no idea how long I was there for, helping him and chatting about things but the relevant part of the story is what I walked away with. A quarter watermelon, a small cantaloupe, 3 tomatoes, 2 avocados, a baguette, a bunch of bananas, a handful of small peppers, 5 oranges, maybe 8 pommes cannelles, and a bag of farine de manicot which is a flour made from a root plant of some sort, and 3 red onions. Two FULL, heavy plastic bags full of food and he wouldn’t let me pay him.
As I started climbing the mountain I live on to get to the house, a very kind woman stopped and gave me a ride up the hill. I thanked her at least half a dozen times. Boy, my bags were heavy. Then, I get home to a further adventure. The downstairs, thanks to the insane rain (and the gigantic hill), had entirely flooded. Jobi worked all afternoon to mop it up but my bedroom door was locked and it was like a Christmas surprise you’re not looking forward to. I unlocked the door, turned the latch and stepped into an inch of water. Fortunately, I don’t keep anything on my floor. Jobi, while Kristen and I made/ate our dinner worked away mopping and sweeping. After my absurd house this summer which broke about a million times, it was nice to have a proprietor who does his job and then some.
So that was my fun for the day. Yesterday, as I said, was fun as well. I have a terrifying amount of reading/school work to do and very little motivation to be studious. If all goes as planned, tomorrow is African Dance and then Friday I am going to do body boarding (through the school athletic department) and then baby sit in the evening. If it’s nice Sunday, Florence, Sebastian, the kids and the same crowd (how I got hooked up with babysitting… many of the women take Seb’s exercise classes) are going to a beach on the Atlantic coast and I was invited along.
Not bad, eh?
Can someone please tell me when I became so laid back? And passive? And shy in classes? It’s so strange.
Well, as usual, every day is an adventure. Today’s adventure was a little more exciting than usual. I’ll skip past the waiting half an hour at the bus stop and two terribly boring hours of class and then our professor who is unreasonably physically affectionate talking to Kristen and I with his arms around my shoulders and asking me why I took my braids out, they were so pretty while sort of stroking my pony tail. Yes, strange things like this are a weekly occurrence. No, we’re not comfortable with it. He is, in fact, married. He’s just a touchy-feely sort of guy but as a professor definitely crosses a line. But, like our politician professor, I don’t think there’s much we can do about it. Oh well.
But on to the good part where it started dumping buckets this afternoon. It did the same thing yesterday mid-day. I guess it’s a good thing that it’s been raining because it’s the season for it and it’s been unreasonably warm recently. Or so they say. Yesterday, as I was running to the “country club” for a work out class at Sebastian’s studio, there was a flash and a crash and 5 minutes later, half way there, the sky opened up and in 15 seconds I was soaked. It was hilarious. So I did the class soaking wet with bare feet because I was running through rivers where I usually find sidewalks. I was laughing up a storm. (get it because there was a storm…)
So, I waited it out this afternoon and headed towards Fort de France to buy running shoes and stop to see my marchand. He was starting to pack up on account of the rain when I got there, so I gave him a hand loading oranges and avocados and bananas and whatever else into boxes. I have no idea how long I was there for, helping him and chatting about things but the relevant part of the story is what I walked away with. A quarter watermelon, a small cantaloupe, 3 tomatoes, 2 avocados, a baguette, a bunch of bananas, a handful of small peppers, 5 oranges, maybe 8 pommes cannelles, and a bag of farine de manicot which is a flour made from a root plant of some sort, and 3 red onions. Two FULL, heavy plastic bags full of food and he wouldn’t let me pay him.
As I started climbing the mountain I live on to get to the house, a very kind woman stopped and gave me a ride up the hill. I thanked her at least half a dozen times. Boy, my bags were heavy. Then, I get home to a further adventure. The downstairs, thanks to the insane rain (and the gigantic hill), had entirely flooded. Jobi worked all afternoon to mop it up but my bedroom door was locked and it was like a Christmas surprise you’re not looking forward to. I unlocked the door, turned the latch and stepped into an inch of water. Fortunately, I don’t keep anything on my floor. Jobi, while Kristen and I made/ate our dinner worked away mopping and sweeping. After my absurd house this summer which broke about a million times, it was nice to have a proprietor who does his job and then some.
So that was my fun for the day. Yesterday, as I said, was fun as well. I have a terrifying amount of reading/school work to do and very little motivation to be studious. If all goes as planned, tomorrow is African Dance and then Friday I am going to do body boarding (through the school athletic department) and then baby sit in the evening. If it’s nice Sunday, Florence, Sebastian, the kids and the same crowd (how I got hooked up with babysitting… many of the women take Seb’s exercise classes) are going to a beach on the Atlantic coast and I was invited along.
Not bad, eh?
Monday, October 19, 2009
A weekend well spent
Monday October 19, 2009 10:30 am
Now that is what I call a weekend. Seriously. Srsly.
So, Friday afternoon, I went to the step Aerobics class I take with Sebastien (because I am definitely that cool…) and during the class, all of a sudden the sky darkened and it started dumping. It was like the entire Mississippi river emptied itself on Schœlcher for about 20 minutes.
Side note: one of the cats just caught a bird outside the sliding glass door and sauntered past with it, feathers ruffled, in her mouth. The cats here are hilarious. I spend soooo much time in the morning just watching the kittens play. Sadly, they’re getting rid of them and all we’ll be left with are two puppies barking at midnight and 5 in the morning, biting my ankles as I stumble outside in the morning. That is, until they get the leash/chain to attach them to a tree in the side yard where their motion will be left… potentially for the rest of their lives…
Back to my glorious weekend: Gilbert picked me up and, along with 3 English assistants (who teach a few days a week at the not-university schools (primary and secondary? I’ve started forgetting how to articulate some things in English… gah!) and we drove, through the on and off rain to the southern part of the island (Marin) to check out a Catamaran for the Créole World Music Festival in Dominica we’ve been talking about going to for over a month, now. After a visit to an office (where I struggled to listen to Gilbert and the woman discuss the situation while the 3 English assistants bavarded (bavarder= to chat/talk and sort of just blah blah blah) loudly in English which I found super rude and obnoxious) and a little walk on the pier, I was beyond hungry and Gilbert offered to take us out so we checked out a nice little restaurant near the boardwalk where we ordered a bunch of food. We each got a Créole sangria (Créole because of the rum) and split for the not vegetarians: foie gras raviolis (grosssssss) and Haitian fish (which I tried and felt ambivalent about, like most fish) and for everyone: roasted red pepper/chevre salad and an amazing vegetarian pizza with mushrooms and artichoke hearts and onion and I don’t remember what else. It was delicious. Then we split a couple of desert and I got a coffee. When I got back, I went out on an awkward dinner with Kristen and her friend (it totally would have been way more awkward for her without me… the things you do for friends…) and got home super exhausted. However, I was feeling stressed and anxious but after a much necessary really long late night phone call with a close friend, I decided that this weekend I needed to do absolutely nothing. And I did.
No alarms all weekend, no stressing about things, relaxation and self-allowed freedom to bum around. To start off, I slept in. I haven’t slept in since who knows when and, hilariously, I woke up at 8:45 of my own account. Saturday morning/day involved my usual breakfast and coffee on the balcony, watching distant boats drift across the Caribbean stretching into the infinite horizon, watching kittens fight and play and snuggle and all the cute things kittens do, feeding my favorite kitten my cereal (which I do every morning because it is the smallest and ugliest) and writing an obscenely long letter… which took all day to write. I also received the greatest birthday package OF MY LIFE with organic almond butter and peanut butter and my favorite cereals and my beautiful green birks and Red Rose tea, the smell of which will always mean home. So, I enjoyed an amazing peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwich and in the evening, Kristen and I ran laundry and I watched a silly movie with Youma and Jobi and just enjoyed myself and just sort of did things for the sake of doing them. It was absolutely necessary and I feel 100 million percent better after just relaxing my mind and my body and being okay with doing nothing… call it assimilation, if you want. Martiniquais love doing nothing. Let’s hope this doesn’t kill me when I get back to WU. Shoot.
ALSO ON SATURDAY: a carpenter/builder was downstairs ALL DAY and the kitchen is almost ready! We have a working convection oven (anyone know anything about them? I have NO idea how they work) and cupboards and a sink with running water and hopefully the stovetop will have gas hooked up today and we have a beautiful wooden peninsula and a wooden counter (aka gigantic cutting board?).
!!!!!!!!!!!
Sunday was a glorious continuation of Saturday. Again, no alarm but after nearly 2 months of waking up around 6 (and definitely at least before 8), I was up at 6:45. Strange business. Around 10, Florence picked me up and we headed back to their house where I got my other package from Mme Mitrail- I finally have a book for a class and my dictionary! We packed up the car and a cooler and drove to the southern coast, near Marin, Cap Macré to a super beautiful beach where we met up with 3 other families with kids around the same age as Paul and Lucas and everyone in the group was from the Metropole (France).The water was cooler than up here and the waves vicious and ferocious. They repeatedly tried to kill me but I resisted and usually just ended up with sand in my suit. I played with the kids and we all had lunch together. I had a gin and tonic and Florence made a rice salad with tomato, corn, carrot and tuna (“there’s no meat in it!”), and everyone shared. I brought grapes and guavas and was also smart enough to bring my Leatherman (thanks dad!) which turned out to be the only knife anyone brought. There was lots of cake, too. I did some reading for school on the beach, took lots of pictures and walked the length of the beach with all the ladies.
I even arranged some baby sitting deals, starting this Friday! All in days work. When I got home, I ate dinner, hung out with Kristen and did some more studying. I successfully did not get sunburned, but a day in the sun is always exhausting and I did not wake up to my alarm at all this morning. Oh well. Another relaxing morning is nothing to complain about. I have a lot of studying to do this evening but feel alright about it. I think tomorrow I am going to present in my Masters course on Iconography and Myth in the Art and Literature of the Anglophone Caribbean (seeing as we only have 2 courses left). Hopefully the kitchen is ready when I get back tonight.
It’ll be interesting to see whether my professor shows up for class today (seeing as on Friday she decided not to have class after sitting in front of us for 10 or 15 minutes on her laptop while we waited) and I sort of hope she doesn’t. It will give me more time to study and work for my other classes in which the professor is invested in the course, shows up every time and comes prepared with a written out lecture plan, a firm idea in their head of what we’re going to do and the book. If I’m expected to have the book with me, you should too, Mme Maignan. Oh well.
Now that is what I call a weekend. Seriously. Srsly.
So, Friday afternoon, I went to the step Aerobics class I take with Sebastien (because I am definitely that cool…) and during the class, all of a sudden the sky darkened and it started dumping. It was like the entire Mississippi river emptied itself on Schœlcher for about 20 minutes.
Side note: one of the cats just caught a bird outside the sliding glass door and sauntered past with it, feathers ruffled, in her mouth. The cats here are hilarious. I spend soooo much time in the morning just watching the kittens play. Sadly, they’re getting rid of them and all we’ll be left with are two puppies barking at midnight and 5 in the morning, biting my ankles as I stumble outside in the morning. That is, until they get the leash/chain to attach them to a tree in the side yard where their motion will be left… potentially for the rest of their lives…
Back to my glorious weekend: Gilbert picked me up and, along with 3 English assistants (who teach a few days a week at the not-university schools (primary and secondary? I’ve started forgetting how to articulate some things in English… gah!) and we drove, through the on and off rain to the southern part of the island (Marin) to check out a Catamaran for the Créole World Music Festival in Dominica we’ve been talking about going to for over a month, now. After a visit to an office (where I struggled to listen to Gilbert and the woman discuss the situation while the 3 English assistants bavarded (bavarder= to chat/talk and sort of just blah blah blah) loudly in English which I found super rude and obnoxious) and a little walk on the pier, I was beyond hungry and Gilbert offered to take us out so we checked out a nice little restaurant near the boardwalk where we ordered a bunch of food. We each got a Créole sangria (Créole because of the rum) and split for the not vegetarians: foie gras raviolis (grosssssss) and Haitian fish (which I tried and felt ambivalent about, like most fish) and for everyone: roasted red pepper/chevre salad and an amazing vegetarian pizza with mushrooms and artichoke hearts and onion and I don’t remember what else. It was delicious. Then we split a couple of desert and I got a coffee. When I got back, I went out on an awkward dinner with Kristen and her friend (it totally would have been way more awkward for her without me… the things you do for friends…) and got home super exhausted. However, I was feeling stressed and anxious but after a much necessary really long late night phone call with a close friend, I decided that this weekend I needed to do absolutely nothing. And I did.
No alarms all weekend, no stressing about things, relaxation and self-allowed freedom to bum around. To start off, I slept in. I haven’t slept in since who knows when and, hilariously, I woke up at 8:45 of my own account. Saturday morning/day involved my usual breakfast and coffee on the balcony, watching distant boats drift across the Caribbean stretching into the infinite horizon, watching kittens fight and play and snuggle and all the cute things kittens do, feeding my favorite kitten my cereal (which I do every morning because it is the smallest and ugliest) and writing an obscenely long letter… which took all day to write. I also received the greatest birthday package OF MY LIFE with organic almond butter and peanut butter and my favorite cereals and my beautiful green birks and Red Rose tea, the smell of which will always mean home. So, I enjoyed an amazing peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwich and in the evening, Kristen and I ran laundry and I watched a silly movie with Youma and Jobi and just enjoyed myself and just sort of did things for the sake of doing them. It was absolutely necessary and I feel 100 million percent better after just relaxing my mind and my body and being okay with doing nothing… call it assimilation, if you want. Martiniquais love doing nothing. Let’s hope this doesn’t kill me when I get back to WU. Shoot.
ALSO ON SATURDAY: a carpenter/builder was downstairs ALL DAY and the kitchen is almost ready! We have a working convection oven (anyone know anything about them? I have NO idea how they work) and cupboards and a sink with running water and hopefully the stovetop will have gas hooked up today and we have a beautiful wooden peninsula and a wooden counter (aka gigantic cutting board?).
!!!!!!!!!!!
Sunday was a glorious continuation of Saturday. Again, no alarm but after nearly 2 months of waking up around 6 (and definitely at least before 8), I was up at 6:45. Strange business. Around 10, Florence picked me up and we headed back to their house where I got my other package from Mme Mitrail- I finally have a book for a class and my dictionary! We packed up the car and a cooler and drove to the southern coast, near Marin, Cap Macré to a super beautiful beach where we met up with 3 other families with kids around the same age as Paul and Lucas and everyone in the group was from the Metropole (France).The water was cooler than up here and the waves vicious and ferocious. They repeatedly tried to kill me but I resisted and usually just ended up with sand in my suit. I played with the kids and we all had lunch together. I had a gin and tonic and Florence made a rice salad with tomato, corn, carrot and tuna (“there’s no meat in it!”), and everyone shared. I brought grapes and guavas and was also smart enough to bring my Leatherman (thanks dad!) which turned out to be the only knife anyone brought. There was lots of cake, too. I did some reading for school on the beach, took lots of pictures and walked the length of the beach with all the ladies.
I even arranged some baby sitting deals, starting this Friday! All in days work. When I got home, I ate dinner, hung out with Kristen and did some more studying. I successfully did not get sunburned, but a day in the sun is always exhausting and I did not wake up to my alarm at all this morning. Oh well. Another relaxing morning is nothing to complain about. I have a lot of studying to do this evening but feel alright about it. I think tomorrow I am going to present in my Masters course on Iconography and Myth in the Art and Literature of the Anglophone Caribbean (seeing as we only have 2 courses left). Hopefully the kitchen is ready when I get back tonight.
It’ll be interesting to see whether my professor shows up for class today (seeing as on Friday she decided not to have class after sitting in front of us for 10 or 15 minutes on her laptop while we waited) and I sort of hope she doesn’t. It will give me more time to study and work for my other classes in which the professor is invested in the course, shows up every time and comes prepared with a written out lecture plan, a firm idea in their head of what we’re going to do and the book. If I’m expected to have the book with me, you should too, Mme Maignan. Oh well.
Friday, October 16, 2009
15 October 2009 21:10
The average day in the life of person in Martinique, as I have come to understand, involves the minimal amount of work. As someone who was already good at procrastinating, the general sort of work ethic here is doing some sweet damage to my ability to concentrate. All I really want to do is sit around and read my book. I don’t have much desire to write a (what I consider to be) cheesy 5 paragraph essay on the Habitation/Plantation as shown in L’esclave vieil homme et le molosse par Patrick Chamoiseau. Or in English, the old man slave and the large dog. I don’t know if we have a word in English for a big dog… I like the name better in French.
The French style of writing is tedious. Maybe I’m too closed minded but I learned how to write a 5 paragraph essay in the tenth grade as a model and have become accustomed to writing 3-12 page papers with freedom in form. Here, writing dissertations or commentaires is a strict, scientific form from which I cannot stray. Very un-American, I say. I’m about ready to boycott. If I can’t have freedom in my essay writing, I want freedom in my fries. And to drink, Peru. But, it’s interesting to learn about a different system and more interesting to apply the idea of how students are taught to write to how students are taught to live and be. Martinique is at once so laid back, un-organized, lackadaisical and on its own schedule. Most professors show up late and sometimes not at all. Yet, you are expected to always be there, prepared. You are expected to be patient even though no one is patient with you.
It’s nearly impossible to finish a sentence here- someone is always there to interrupt and finish it for you even though they have no idea what you are actually talking about. It’s very annoying.
Culture shows itself in many ways, its many faces. In terms of saying hello and having a specifically polite form of you (vous), the French are certainly more polite than Americans. Yet, it’s more of a cold, distant sort of politeness. I feel like as Americans, part of our informality lays in politeness. Things like saying “bless you” don’t happen here. Merci is said ambivalently and bonjour/bonsoir automatically without any feeling. Employees at stores don’t want to help you and certainly don’t offer to. At a shoe store, I felt badly for asking if they had my size because the employee seemed so impatient about it. I’ve been told a number of times, the Martiniquais don’t like to work. I guess it’s just that. But there are definitely people who smile back at me without suspicion or coldness, and sometimes even without devouring me with their eyes! That one’s always exciting. My marchand who always gives me lots of free fruits and veggies is legitimately friendly and knows everyone in the neighborhood. He’s always happy when I stop by to say hi. He pulls up a chair and we sit among the tables of oranges and tomatoes and cucumbers and avocados (so many avocados) and we talk about Obama and healthcare reform and the good old days and he asks me at least 4 times if I’m doing well and I talk about the US and he talks about his daughter and wife and Martinique. And then I walk away with a fat bag of food. Not a bad deal. Plus, he has hair growing out of his ears which is at once gross and hilarious.
Apparently strikes continue which means that packages and letters aren’t being delivered. I wonder, sometimes, if people strike because there is something legitimately wrong or if its because they just don’t want to work. Down here, mostly. I just want my stinking packages. Geez.
Today, for the first time, I was sitting in class and I legitimately didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want to be here at all. This hasn’t happened before and it was a strange feeling which took me by surprise. I wasn’t expecting the sentiment, for sure. It is most certainly not a waste of time but sometimes it feels like it and every once in a while it feels like a big waste of money… But money isn’t everything. It’s just expensive. But, the idea was mostly lifted after my head when a friend from Willamette asked me what exciting things I had done here. Emily also asked me for an island adventure story. What to come up with?
-Hiking Mt. Pelée
-Scuba diving
-some of my classes are really awesome and interesting and I actually enjoy going to them
-African/Traditional dance. Thank you, France, for having a good public works program. I paid 45 Euro for a years inscription to take traditional dance. We go twice a week but could go more. Today the teacher was in a terrible mood and was beating us up. African Dance is extremely physically strenuous and for a class of beginners, she was demanding way too much.
-The other day I fell over while walking. I have no idea how it happened but I was walking with Florence’s son, Lucas, who is 8, and all of a sudden I was on the ground. While hiking Pelée I fell multiple times, too. Super clumsy. Some of my friends in the English program refer to me as the little girl from Little House on the Prairie who apparently falls over in the opening credits? I know nothing about this, but the idea strikes me as hilarious. The other day I fell while walking up the stairs.
Some of the highlights of my daily life include getting letters from my friends, not having to wait half an hour for the bus, days that aren’t a million degrees and I can walk home without sweat dripping down my back, watching kittens play on the balcony as I eat breakfast and hummingbirds feed from flowers (I see one every morning, almost!), eating delicious food, showering (seriously. It’s soooooooo hot here), greenness and colorful beautiful flowers, drinking coffee, and killing mosquitoes.
Yeah, life is pretty alright. Could be better, could be worse but it is what it is.
October 16, 2009
Correction to previous sentiments: I am such a negative nancy. Life is good. seriously. Dur, but good. Dur meaning hard/difficult (at times).
The average day in the life of person in Martinique, as I have come to understand, involves the minimal amount of work. As someone who was already good at procrastinating, the general sort of work ethic here is doing some sweet damage to my ability to concentrate. All I really want to do is sit around and read my book. I don’t have much desire to write a (what I consider to be) cheesy 5 paragraph essay on the Habitation/Plantation as shown in L’esclave vieil homme et le molosse par Patrick Chamoiseau. Or in English, the old man slave and the large dog. I don’t know if we have a word in English for a big dog… I like the name better in French.
The French style of writing is tedious. Maybe I’m too closed minded but I learned how to write a 5 paragraph essay in the tenth grade as a model and have become accustomed to writing 3-12 page papers with freedom in form. Here, writing dissertations or commentaires is a strict, scientific form from which I cannot stray. Very un-American, I say. I’m about ready to boycott. If I can’t have freedom in my essay writing, I want freedom in my fries. And to drink, Peru. But, it’s interesting to learn about a different system and more interesting to apply the idea of how students are taught to write to how students are taught to live and be. Martinique is at once so laid back, un-organized, lackadaisical and on its own schedule. Most professors show up late and sometimes not at all. Yet, you are expected to always be there, prepared. You are expected to be patient even though no one is patient with you.
It’s nearly impossible to finish a sentence here- someone is always there to interrupt and finish it for you even though they have no idea what you are actually talking about. It’s very annoying.
Culture shows itself in many ways, its many faces. In terms of saying hello and having a specifically polite form of you (vous), the French are certainly more polite than Americans. Yet, it’s more of a cold, distant sort of politeness. I feel like as Americans, part of our informality lays in politeness. Things like saying “bless you” don’t happen here. Merci is said ambivalently and bonjour/bonsoir automatically without any feeling. Employees at stores don’t want to help you and certainly don’t offer to. At a shoe store, I felt badly for asking if they had my size because the employee seemed so impatient about it. I’ve been told a number of times, the Martiniquais don’t like to work. I guess it’s just that. But there are definitely people who smile back at me without suspicion or coldness, and sometimes even without devouring me with their eyes! That one’s always exciting. My marchand who always gives me lots of free fruits and veggies is legitimately friendly and knows everyone in the neighborhood. He’s always happy when I stop by to say hi. He pulls up a chair and we sit among the tables of oranges and tomatoes and cucumbers and avocados (so many avocados) and we talk about Obama and healthcare reform and the good old days and he asks me at least 4 times if I’m doing well and I talk about the US and he talks about his daughter and wife and Martinique. And then I walk away with a fat bag of food. Not a bad deal. Plus, he has hair growing out of his ears which is at once gross and hilarious.
Apparently strikes continue which means that packages and letters aren’t being delivered. I wonder, sometimes, if people strike because there is something legitimately wrong or if its because they just don’t want to work. Down here, mostly. I just want my stinking packages. Geez.
Today, for the first time, I was sitting in class and I legitimately didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want to be here at all. This hasn’t happened before and it was a strange feeling which took me by surprise. I wasn’t expecting the sentiment, for sure. It is most certainly not a waste of time but sometimes it feels like it and every once in a while it feels like a big waste of money… But money isn’t everything. It’s just expensive. But, the idea was mostly lifted after my head when a friend from Willamette asked me what exciting things I had done here. Emily also asked me for an island adventure story. What to come up with?
-Hiking Mt. Pelée
-Scuba diving
-some of my classes are really awesome and interesting and I actually enjoy going to them
-African/Traditional dance. Thank you, France, for having a good public works program. I paid 45 Euro for a years inscription to take traditional dance. We go twice a week but could go more. Today the teacher was in a terrible mood and was beating us up. African Dance is extremely physically strenuous and for a class of beginners, she was demanding way too much.
-The other day I fell over while walking. I have no idea how it happened but I was walking with Florence’s son, Lucas, who is 8, and all of a sudden I was on the ground. While hiking Pelée I fell multiple times, too. Super clumsy. Some of my friends in the English program refer to me as the little girl from Little House on the Prairie who apparently falls over in the opening credits? I know nothing about this, but the idea strikes me as hilarious. The other day I fell while walking up the stairs.
Some of the highlights of my daily life include getting letters from my friends, not having to wait half an hour for the bus, days that aren’t a million degrees and I can walk home without sweat dripping down my back, watching kittens play on the balcony as I eat breakfast and hummingbirds feed from flowers (I see one every morning, almost!), eating delicious food, showering (seriously. It’s soooooooo hot here), greenness and colorful beautiful flowers, drinking coffee, and killing mosquitoes.
Yeah, life is pretty alright. Could be better, could be worse but it is what it is.
October 16, 2009
Correction to previous sentiments: I am such a negative nancy. Life is good. seriously. Dur, but good. Dur meaning hard/difficult (at times).
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Happy Birthday! Today has nothing to do with you!
Sunday 11 October 2009 9:45 pm
Well, I told myself I’d be better at writing so here’s a try. I’m absolutely exhausted right now in a great way and a not so great way. Kristen is upstairs having a talk with Youma about some of the problems we’ve run into this weekend (many of which circulate around our “familial” sort of situation). Some things are going a lot better: for example, we are allowed to use the laundry machine on our own with tepid water, the right amount of soap and no fabric softener (for those of us (me) with sensitive skin). That’s nice. Plus, the kitchen is as close to clean as it gets right now which is always enjoyable. On to the weekend:
Saturday morning Kristen and I did our “courses” (grocery shopping) at the market and then grocery store. We also hit up a pharmacy/natural goods shop where I spent an obscene amount of money on cashews (12 Euros for 500 g of organic raw cashews isn’t too much, right?), bought lozenges for my throat and also some sort of talcum powder for my sweet heat rash. Youma checked it out and assessed it as “les bourbouilles,” something infants have when it’s too hot out. Baby skin, geez. We left at around 8:30 and got home a little after 11:30 to Youma and Jobi telling us “change of plans, we’re already an hour late.” For what? Well, a friend called and invited them over to go to Fond St Dennis and a rivière. The “birthday surprise” had been going to the south for a picnic on the beach. Going to a river? Sounds super great… until Martinique sneaks up, punches you in the face and says “bienvenue!”
One of the problems was the suddenness of the whole situation. We got home hungry, hot and tired to being rushed, Youma and Jobi in a hurry- which we thought was impossible- off to who knows where to do who knows what with who knows who. An hour away in the “compagne” (rural farm lands), the road to Fond St Dennis almost killed me. Drivers in Martinique drive very fast and take curves less than sweetly slamming on the brakes and then maximizing acceleration for the 100m of straightaway. So, we get to some stranger’s house, feel generally uncomfortable and the super fantastic ‘repas’ (meal) we were promised is no where to be found. Oh, but there is rice and fish soup. So, I tasted a little more fish. Still ambivalent about it. At this point, Kristen is freaking out because we have no stinking idea what is going on, where we are and when we can be comfortable again. To make it all worse, Jobi’s friend (Jean-Luc), his family, Jobi and Youma are all talking in Creole so Kristen and I can’t even participate in the conversation. We’re both aggravated, I’m sick to my stomach and all we can think about is all the studying we should be doing. And all I can think about it how this is my birthday surprise, this is the fun little celebration we had planned. Call me selfish and self centered, I won’t disagree, but it was really effing upsetting.
I thought Americans are bad about only thinking of themselves, but Martiniquais are worse, but sometimes contradictorily. You’re supposed to chill out and go with the flow if you have to wait for something (such as a kitchen, screens in the windows, a washing machine, a finalized class schedule, and other such things you’re promised weeks ago) but if someone else is waiting (or if you might potentially be late for a movie) it’s rush rush rush freakout time.
So, a few hours later, we leave the house to go to the river. We being Jobi, Jean-Luc, Kristen, Youma, Jean-Luc’s 34 month old and I. If you do the math, you will discover that is 6 people in a 5 person car. Fortunately, no one in Martinique wears seat belts, not even children apparently. Kristen (being like 5 feet tall) in seated in the middle back seat and can’t find the seat belt thing. She’s trying to dig down and saying we need to push the seat forward to find it and everyone is laughing cheerfully telling her it’s not a big deal, just relax, she doesn’t need it. So for the drive to the river (on crazy country/mountain roads) I was the only one wearing a seat belt. Did I mention the 2 year old?
But of course, on the way, we have to stop so Jean-Luc can introduce Jobi (and Jobi only) to his entire extended family- also known as the entire town. We only stopped at one house but that’s thanks to Jobi telling everyone “we’ll stop on the way back.” At this one house, however, the 4 ladies in the back were left in the car, where we were expected to stay. Youma told us it’s impolite to exit the (very hot) car because it will seem like we’re impatient. So we open the doors, but it’s still hot and did I mention the obnoxious child crawling all over us? Usually I like children (for example, my niece), but the heat/lack of seatbelt/lack of knowledge about what was going on/lack of personal space resulted in complete disinterest bordering on extreme dislike of having a child clinging to me. When we eventually got to the river, it was better. There’s a super jovial, happy, laughing old woman with not very many teeth and who I could hardly understand who lives right next to it and she let us park the car in her driveway. She was in her late 80’s but lives alone and just laughs and smiles all the time. The water was cool and refreshing (chilly for down here) and not very deep but I was happy to be in fresh water and other than the child who wanted me to hold her all the time, I was very happy. Kristen went for a run and was able to chill out. I left the group swimming, changed at the car and the jovial woman told me she had something to show me. It was a book with pictures and a brief description of all the towns in Martinique. We had some sort of a conversation which was a lot of her talking and me smiling and saying “oui?” and her saying “mais, oui” as if whatever she was telling me was evident. Again, understood very little but she was sweet and made me smile. While I waited to read, I read awhile. Youma called me lazy for reading a book in English and the kid kept trying to take my book from me. We only spent maybe an hour at the river and afterwards, we got to stop somewhere else for Jobi and Jean-Luc to say hi to someone else while we waited in the car. At this point, 2 year old is tired, sitting/standing on the floor next to me with a wet bathing suit and getting crumbs on my leg. When I removed her hand from my leg and brushed the crumbs away, Youma told me “she’s just a child” and basically to give her a break. If she’s just a child, why isn’t she wearing a seat belt? I didn’t say anything, just swallowed it (like so much discontent here) but I’m still wondering the same question.
We eventually left and got home, seven hours after we left the house, and I basically just made a rockin’ spicy stir fry and Kristen and I de-fragged and voiced our frustration to each other. We also ran laundry, made lunches and packed bags in preparation for today.
Today, Sunday, in opposition to yesterday, was pretty awesome. Kristen, two Germans Hanna and Philippe and I hiked Mt Pelée! When we got to the parking area to meet, it was cold and brisk and windy and super foggy. I was beyond happy to be cold and wore my underarmor again! Hiking was also amazing. The path started off with stairs built into the ground but eventually turned into rock and regular path. There were quite a few people in the group but not too many. It was “guided” but we were mostly left alone to hike at our own rate. Other than some mysterious knee pain ( I have a sneaking suspicion it’s left over from a nice fall I took at the farm Nate works out in August when I was classy and tripped over myself running up the two steps into the kitchen), I felt AWESOME and destroyed the uphill which involved a lot of scrambling (rock climbing term meaning running up rocks and using a lot of hands but not actually needing to rock climb or boulder) and there was plenty of flat. I feel no fewer than 3 times (because I’m clumsy) but only one of them had any consequence- a little scraped knee, no big. Other than that, a sun burnt face, and a sore knee, 7 ½ kilometers left no damage. I took tons of pictures, many of which came out well, and thoroughly enjoyed myself. We didn’t hike to the highest summit (Le Chinois) which is 1395 meters but stopped at the next highest, which was formed by the eruption of 1902. It’s weird to think I was standing on a part of a mountain which is just over 100 years old. It was cold, very very foggy and a fierce Mt. Washington style wind was blowing but I couldn’t do much other than smile.
Other than a bit of an issue getting home (Youma and Jobi weren’t home so we couldn’t get to the kitchen upstairs), it was a very successful day. I did some studying (not enough), ate a bunch of food, hiked a mountain, took a shower, did some laundry, AND Youma promised us we’ll have a kitchen by the end of the week. We can go on hoping. Hiking, being cold and hiking Pelée (finally!) was enough of a fantastic day that I can try to let go of my shitty birthday surprise… almost. I feel very hurt. Cry me a river, sure, but I was really looking forward to something fun, getting out a little bit and feeling special for a little while, instead of a face on the bus, an object to be enjoyed or a stranger to be weary of. Yes, I did just end that sentence with a preposition.
But, tomorrow commences a new week of courses, lots of studying to catch up on, African Danse, getting better at French (I’m pretty damn good at this point), continuing to try to understand and- more important at times- accept and appreciate a foreign culture, mosquito bites, tropical fruit, emotional roller coasters and sweating profusely. All in a day’s work. Plus, tomorrow, we’re (planning) to get wifi at the house! This is especially important because my laptop battery decided to die. So much for cordless, eh?
Love, Bethany
(Or as Gilberte has decided to call me, much to my irritation, MacKenzie. Youma prefers Kenzie. Yes, it’s a pretty name and easier to say than Bethany (there is no “th” sound in French) but it’s also not my name. I am Bethany. Or Bessany, Beffany, Betany, I guess. I’ll even settle for an occasional Bess. But never Beth, please)
Well, I told myself I’d be better at writing so here’s a try. I’m absolutely exhausted right now in a great way and a not so great way. Kristen is upstairs having a talk with Youma about some of the problems we’ve run into this weekend (many of which circulate around our “familial” sort of situation). Some things are going a lot better: for example, we are allowed to use the laundry machine on our own with tepid water, the right amount of soap and no fabric softener (for those of us (me) with sensitive skin). That’s nice. Plus, the kitchen is as close to clean as it gets right now which is always enjoyable. On to the weekend:
Saturday morning Kristen and I did our “courses” (grocery shopping) at the market and then grocery store. We also hit up a pharmacy/natural goods shop where I spent an obscene amount of money on cashews (12 Euros for 500 g of organic raw cashews isn’t too much, right?), bought lozenges for my throat and also some sort of talcum powder for my sweet heat rash. Youma checked it out and assessed it as “les bourbouilles,” something infants have when it’s too hot out. Baby skin, geez. We left at around 8:30 and got home a little after 11:30 to Youma and Jobi telling us “change of plans, we’re already an hour late.” For what? Well, a friend called and invited them over to go to Fond St Dennis and a rivière. The “birthday surprise” had been going to the south for a picnic on the beach. Going to a river? Sounds super great… until Martinique sneaks up, punches you in the face and says “bienvenue!”
One of the problems was the suddenness of the whole situation. We got home hungry, hot and tired to being rushed, Youma and Jobi in a hurry- which we thought was impossible- off to who knows where to do who knows what with who knows who. An hour away in the “compagne” (rural farm lands), the road to Fond St Dennis almost killed me. Drivers in Martinique drive very fast and take curves less than sweetly slamming on the brakes and then maximizing acceleration for the 100m of straightaway. So, we get to some stranger’s house, feel generally uncomfortable and the super fantastic ‘repas’ (meal) we were promised is no where to be found. Oh, but there is rice and fish soup. So, I tasted a little more fish. Still ambivalent about it. At this point, Kristen is freaking out because we have no stinking idea what is going on, where we are and when we can be comfortable again. To make it all worse, Jobi’s friend (Jean-Luc), his family, Jobi and Youma are all talking in Creole so Kristen and I can’t even participate in the conversation. We’re both aggravated, I’m sick to my stomach and all we can think about is all the studying we should be doing. And all I can think about it how this is my birthday surprise, this is the fun little celebration we had planned. Call me selfish and self centered, I won’t disagree, but it was really effing upsetting.
I thought Americans are bad about only thinking of themselves, but Martiniquais are worse, but sometimes contradictorily. You’re supposed to chill out and go with the flow if you have to wait for something (such as a kitchen, screens in the windows, a washing machine, a finalized class schedule, and other such things you’re promised weeks ago) but if someone else is waiting (or if you might potentially be late for a movie) it’s rush rush rush freakout time.
So, a few hours later, we leave the house to go to the river. We being Jobi, Jean-Luc, Kristen, Youma, Jean-Luc’s 34 month old and I. If you do the math, you will discover that is 6 people in a 5 person car. Fortunately, no one in Martinique wears seat belts, not even children apparently. Kristen (being like 5 feet tall) in seated in the middle back seat and can’t find the seat belt thing. She’s trying to dig down and saying we need to push the seat forward to find it and everyone is laughing cheerfully telling her it’s not a big deal, just relax, she doesn’t need it. So for the drive to the river (on crazy country/mountain roads) I was the only one wearing a seat belt. Did I mention the 2 year old?
But of course, on the way, we have to stop so Jean-Luc can introduce Jobi (and Jobi only) to his entire extended family- also known as the entire town. We only stopped at one house but that’s thanks to Jobi telling everyone “we’ll stop on the way back.” At this one house, however, the 4 ladies in the back were left in the car, where we were expected to stay. Youma told us it’s impolite to exit the (very hot) car because it will seem like we’re impatient. So we open the doors, but it’s still hot and did I mention the obnoxious child crawling all over us? Usually I like children (for example, my niece), but the heat/lack of seatbelt/lack of knowledge about what was going on/lack of personal space resulted in complete disinterest bordering on extreme dislike of having a child clinging to me. When we eventually got to the river, it was better. There’s a super jovial, happy, laughing old woman with not very many teeth and who I could hardly understand who lives right next to it and she let us park the car in her driveway. She was in her late 80’s but lives alone and just laughs and smiles all the time. The water was cool and refreshing (chilly for down here) and not very deep but I was happy to be in fresh water and other than the child who wanted me to hold her all the time, I was very happy. Kristen went for a run and was able to chill out. I left the group swimming, changed at the car and the jovial woman told me she had something to show me. It was a book with pictures and a brief description of all the towns in Martinique. We had some sort of a conversation which was a lot of her talking and me smiling and saying “oui?” and her saying “mais, oui” as if whatever she was telling me was evident. Again, understood very little but she was sweet and made me smile. While I waited to read, I read awhile. Youma called me lazy for reading a book in English and the kid kept trying to take my book from me. We only spent maybe an hour at the river and afterwards, we got to stop somewhere else for Jobi and Jean-Luc to say hi to someone else while we waited in the car. At this point, 2 year old is tired, sitting/standing on the floor next to me with a wet bathing suit and getting crumbs on my leg. When I removed her hand from my leg and brushed the crumbs away, Youma told me “she’s just a child” and basically to give her a break. If she’s just a child, why isn’t she wearing a seat belt? I didn’t say anything, just swallowed it (like so much discontent here) but I’m still wondering the same question.
We eventually left and got home, seven hours after we left the house, and I basically just made a rockin’ spicy stir fry and Kristen and I de-fragged and voiced our frustration to each other. We also ran laundry, made lunches and packed bags in preparation for today.
Today, Sunday, in opposition to yesterday, was pretty awesome. Kristen, two Germans Hanna and Philippe and I hiked Mt Pelée! When we got to the parking area to meet, it was cold and brisk and windy and super foggy. I was beyond happy to be cold and wore my underarmor again! Hiking was also amazing. The path started off with stairs built into the ground but eventually turned into rock and regular path. There were quite a few people in the group but not too many. It was “guided” but we were mostly left alone to hike at our own rate. Other than some mysterious knee pain ( I have a sneaking suspicion it’s left over from a nice fall I took at the farm Nate works out in August when I was classy and tripped over myself running up the two steps into the kitchen), I felt AWESOME and destroyed the uphill which involved a lot of scrambling (rock climbing term meaning running up rocks and using a lot of hands but not actually needing to rock climb or boulder) and there was plenty of flat. I feel no fewer than 3 times (because I’m clumsy) but only one of them had any consequence- a little scraped knee, no big. Other than that, a sun burnt face, and a sore knee, 7 ½ kilometers left no damage. I took tons of pictures, many of which came out well, and thoroughly enjoyed myself. We didn’t hike to the highest summit (Le Chinois) which is 1395 meters but stopped at the next highest, which was formed by the eruption of 1902. It’s weird to think I was standing on a part of a mountain which is just over 100 years old. It was cold, very very foggy and a fierce Mt. Washington style wind was blowing but I couldn’t do much other than smile.
Other than a bit of an issue getting home (Youma and Jobi weren’t home so we couldn’t get to the kitchen upstairs), it was a very successful day. I did some studying (not enough), ate a bunch of food, hiked a mountain, took a shower, did some laundry, AND Youma promised us we’ll have a kitchen by the end of the week. We can go on hoping. Hiking, being cold and hiking Pelée (finally!) was enough of a fantastic day that I can try to let go of my shitty birthday surprise… almost. I feel very hurt. Cry me a river, sure, but I was really looking forward to something fun, getting out a little bit and feeling special for a little while, instead of a face on the bus, an object to be enjoyed or a stranger to be weary of. Yes, I did just end that sentence with a preposition.
But, tomorrow commences a new week of courses, lots of studying to catch up on, African Danse, getting better at French (I’m pretty damn good at this point), continuing to try to understand and- more important at times- accept and appreciate a foreign culture, mosquito bites, tropical fruit, emotional roller coasters and sweating profusely. All in a day’s work. Plus, tomorrow, we’re (planning) to get wifi at the house! This is especially important because my laptop battery decided to die. So much for cordless, eh?
Love, Bethany
(Or as Gilberte has decided to call me, much to my irritation, MacKenzie. Youma prefers Kenzie. Yes, it’s a pretty name and easier to say than Bethany (there is no “th” sound in French) but it’s also not my name. I am Bethany. Or Bessany, Beffany, Betany, I guess. I’ll even settle for an occasional Bess. But never Beth, please)
Friday, October 9, 2009
not weird; different
First of all, thanks for the birthday wishes. They were (are) much appreciated.
October 6 2009, 22:30
Well, I haven’t been so good about that whole writing thing. But it’s not because nothing has been happening. If I were to think up an excuse, I would probably say it’s because I’ve been feeling a little sick this past week. I took a few very necessary mid-afternoon naps this week and have been ODing on vitamin C in hopes that I can battle whatever it is that is causing my throat to feel swollen when I wake up in the morning. Whatever it is, I’m not pleased.
Tonight, Kristen and I had a much needed de-frag in English. We sat downstairs and just talked out our frustrations and the walls we’re running into navigating through the different cultural system and our own different experiences in the states. Anywhere from the classroom, to homework expectations, making friends and what it is that people do here. As far as we can tell, a lot of students don’t do much. They study and work but don’t go out. For us, that’s weird. Even as studious people, there’s something to going out/ hanging out with friends sometimes and not being cooped up all the time.
We both, separately, had very frustrating days. The African dance class was cancelled (there’s some sort of strike going on, again) and the system continues to be really annoying. One thing we’ve noticed is that Martinique has adopted a lot of the western culture, but it hasn’t retained all the good parts (organization) and has instead lost some of its own creole culture. I have the pleasure of seeing McDonalds and KFC on street corners but it took 3 days of searching to finally find the right place to get the student bus passes. Sometimes it just seems absolutely absurd.
Another thing I personally find really difficult is some of the formality that comes from the [older] French culture. I find that, for example, Florence (who lived downstairs at Mme Mitrail’s house) is very informal, comfortable and conversational with me. She’s laid back and very friendly. Hence, the older French culture. But in situations like the classroom, students are usually very hesitant to answer professor’s questions, are almost intimidated (it seems) and when they do speak, it’s in a very formal way. Coming from a Willamette classroom which is at once more informal and more engaging, this is uncomfortable for me. Students copy what the professors say as if they are dictating. They take “notes” in paragraphs and sentences. Weird. Not weird; different.
9 October 2009
To continue on that thought, for example, Kristen and I use the “vous” (formal) form of you when addressing Youma. It feels funny. We live together, share a kitchen (which might drive Kristen and I insane at some point soon) and interact on a personal level. Yet, we address her formally and will do so until such point as she tells us it’s okay to use the informal “tu-toi.” Returning to the kitchen, however, addresses another minor discomfort. And I say minor because I am beyond happy to be living here with hot water, privacy and a friend. Sharing a kitchen with upstairs is like having a really bad roommate except that you could sit down and talk to a roommate about leaving food out overnight and rarely doing their dishes and the massive amounts of ants crawling all over the counters, floors, into my food and up my arms and legs as a result of the food everywhere. Furthermore, Youma had the brilliant idea to trade 7 kittens for two puppies. Maybe I’m confused but outdoors cats are a lot easier (and cheaper) to take care of then puppies who are going to grow to mid-thigh height. A fact she bragged to us about. The logic of this evades me but the annoyance comes from them living downstairs and outside and constantly trying to come in our door- where they are absolutely not allowed, according to her.
But it’s nice to sit back, reflect and remind myself that this is life. Some of the frustration I’m dealing with is purely Martiniquais culture shock and other parts are just frustration that I’d feel anywhere. But, oh culture shock. I thought it’d be a quick “wow this is different” and then accept it, adjust accordingly and get on with my life. Except that my life is here. And a month and a half in and I’m still sitting back and saying “god, it’s just SO different.” This afternoon, I feel great but it’s after a week or so of being really frustrated and angry at the situation. Not regret at being here, per se, but a general sort of disappointment in myself for being unprepared and shocked and upset. I was also disappointed in Martinique for not being everything I expected and wanted it to be, upset at Martinique for being so frustrating and irritating.
But, a professor I have for English Civilization, while explaining the French system of analyzing articles and writing dissertations, replied to my shocked face (it’s very strict and dry) by reminding me that I’m not just here to learn the language, and that this will help me learn how the French think and it will help us to understand them as people. It’s so easy to forget my goals when everyday is a roller coaster ride of emotions, frustration, irritation, confusion, boredom, pure happiness and contentedness, stress and anxiety about how I am going to get through this. But then again, I knew going into it that it wasn’t going to be easy. I just forgot what that meant.
Classes are going pretty well, though, and causing their fair share of stress. An interesting difference between the system here and back at Willamette is that there is not necessarily more coursework expected outside of the classroom, but that the coursework is purely voluntary. There is very little “homework” given in the sense that a professor will tell you to read a book and that’s it. It’s up to the student to look up more information, read criticism, analyze, etc. In my course on English civilization, which is really just a history/politics course on the US and UK, we learn a bunch of stuff in the 2 hours of lecture but then, as I learned, it’s up to us to actually learn and KNOW the entire UK government system. There’s a bibliography given of recommended books but since books are so hard to get ahold of (especially in English!), there’s no one book assigned. Students are expected to be way more motivated here, but for the most part, aren’t! The professor I mentioned earlier regularly gets aggravated in class because no one seems to want to be there. And she told me that many of them don’t want to. It’s so cheap to go to college, and many students even receive scholarships for living expenses, that students can go for 5 years (it’s a 3 year program down here) and never get anything done. It costs 300-500 Euros a year to go there. When I explain to other students what we pay in the states, their jaws hit the ground. “thousand!?” they ask. Yes, thousand.
My birthday, as well, went pretty well. It was a day here, like any other day, with ups and downs but I decided the day before that I was going to enjoy it and that it was going to be a good day and it was. It started off gloriously, raining, dreary and barely chilly. I went for a run and finally had a use for the underarmor I brought “just in case.” Then I made myself “pain perdu” (“freedom” toast) and enjoyed it with sliced banana and a little bottle of maple syrup I brought “for emergencies.” Given the slightly “chilly” weather (and the bit of sickness I’ve felt coming on), I took the opportunity to wear leggings and a long sleeve shirt: things I miss. I had 4 hours of class which was less than fun but the German exchange students gave me big birthday hugs. After hours of class, I was exhausted, by this time very hot and feeling pretty down and bummed about celebrating my 21st birthday in Martinique. When I got home, Youma said we were going to the movies to celebrate my birthday. It wasn’t a huge deal but it was really nice and turned out fun. We saw the new Quentin Tarantino movie, Inglorious Basterds which was great (but gory) and almost entirely in French (thanks to dubbing). Or it was in English or German with subtitles.
Today is Friday and tomorrow there is some sort of “surprise” planned for me (I think we’re going on a hike?) and then maybe we’ll have a little party at the house? Nothing huge. Sunday, Kristen and I are planning to hike Mt Pelée. She’s extremely motivated and on top of things and found out that this Sunday (and this Sunday only!) we can get a guided hike of Pelée and learn about all the flora and geology for 12 Euros. Totally a snag. So that’s the plan.
I’ve spent the past few days consuming massive amounts of vitamin C, which is extremely easy here thanks to oranges, mandarins, goyaves (guava), melon (cantaloupe) … and orange juice. My lymph nodes were unreasonably swollen but seem better today. I continue to be eaten alive by mosquitoes, but thanks to a mousticaire (mosquito net) surrounding my bed, I’m not devoured in my sleep. Plus, I have a gigantic fan. Living here is way better.
As much as I’m offended by all the jerks- for example the other morning at the bus stop a man who was probably in his mid-40s told me about 5 times in a 3 minute conversation that he lives alone- there are occasionally people who renew my faith in humanity and the people of Martinique. On my birthday, as I got ready to run up the big gigantic hill that leads to the house, an older man, as I passed and said “bonjour” replied with “Bonjour, bon courage!” As I was walking to school one day last week, all of a sudden the sky started dumping water and a woman who lives down the street from me pulled over and gave me a ride to campus. The marchand (fruit and veggie vendor) up the street from Mme Mitrail’s house is always nice. I had to go by Mme Mitrails house for a letter and walked up the block to say hello to him and pick up some fruit. He had me sit down and we talked about Martinique, the history of slavery, healthcare reform in the states and apparently Obama is winning the Nobel Prize for peace? I love how the average Martiniquais knows more about what’s going on in my country than I do. Not having internet access makes it sort of hard to keep in touch with the world… When I went to leave, he told me to close my wallet and tried to let me walk away with a bunch of bananas, some little plums, 2 tomatoes, 5 pomme cannelles and an avocado for free. I bought some sort of pie things for 2 Euros and threw in an extra one for good measure. He’s awesome.
Such is life in Martinique. Being a little sick is definitely a bummer but my French is progressing beautifully and everyday is a learning experience. I’m still waiting for a lot of packages which will probably arrive sometime around December, if I’m lucky…
Thanks for all the love and support. I would have gone completely insane by now if it weren’t for it. All my love in return,
Bethany
October 6 2009, 22:30
Well, I haven’t been so good about that whole writing thing. But it’s not because nothing has been happening. If I were to think up an excuse, I would probably say it’s because I’ve been feeling a little sick this past week. I took a few very necessary mid-afternoon naps this week and have been ODing on vitamin C in hopes that I can battle whatever it is that is causing my throat to feel swollen when I wake up in the morning. Whatever it is, I’m not pleased.
Tonight, Kristen and I had a much needed de-frag in English. We sat downstairs and just talked out our frustrations and the walls we’re running into navigating through the different cultural system and our own different experiences in the states. Anywhere from the classroom, to homework expectations, making friends and what it is that people do here. As far as we can tell, a lot of students don’t do much. They study and work but don’t go out. For us, that’s weird. Even as studious people, there’s something to going out/ hanging out with friends sometimes and not being cooped up all the time.
We both, separately, had very frustrating days. The African dance class was cancelled (there’s some sort of strike going on, again) and the system continues to be really annoying. One thing we’ve noticed is that Martinique has adopted a lot of the western culture, but it hasn’t retained all the good parts (organization) and has instead lost some of its own creole culture. I have the pleasure of seeing McDonalds and KFC on street corners but it took 3 days of searching to finally find the right place to get the student bus passes. Sometimes it just seems absolutely absurd.
Another thing I personally find really difficult is some of the formality that comes from the [older] French culture. I find that, for example, Florence (who lived downstairs at Mme Mitrail’s house) is very informal, comfortable and conversational with me. She’s laid back and very friendly. Hence, the older French culture. But in situations like the classroom, students are usually very hesitant to answer professor’s questions, are almost intimidated (it seems) and when they do speak, it’s in a very formal way. Coming from a Willamette classroom which is at once more informal and more engaging, this is uncomfortable for me. Students copy what the professors say as if they are dictating. They take “notes” in paragraphs and sentences. Weird. Not weird; different.
9 October 2009
To continue on that thought, for example, Kristen and I use the “vous” (formal) form of you when addressing Youma. It feels funny. We live together, share a kitchen (which might drive Kristen and I insane at some point soon) and interact on a personal level. Yet, we address her formally and will do so until such point as she tells us it’s okay to use the informal “tu-toi.” Returning to the kitchen, however, addresses another minor discomfort. And I say minor because I am beyond happy to be living here with hot water, privacy and a friend. Sharing a kitchen with upstairs is like having a really bad roommate except that you could sit down and talk to a roommate about leaving food out overnight and rarely doing their dishes and the massive amounts of ants crawling all over the counters, floors, into my food and up my arms and legs as a result of the food everywhere. Furthermore, Youma had the brilliant idea to trade 7 kittens for two puppies. Maybe I’m confused but outdoors cats are a lot easier (and cheaper) to take care of then puppies who are going to grow to mid-thigh height. A fact she bragged to us about. The logic of this evades me but the annoyance comes from them living downstairs and outside and constantly trying to come in our door- where they are absolutely not allowed, according to her.
But it’s nice to sit back, reflect and remind myself that this is life. Some of the frustration I’m dealing with is purely Martiniquais culture shock and other parts are just frustration that I’d feel anywhere. But, oh culture shock. I thought it’d be a quick “wow this is different” and then accept it, adjust accordingly and get on with my life. Except that my life is here. And a month and a half in and I’m still sitting back and saying “god, it’s just SO different.” This afternoon, I feel great but it’s after a week or so of being really frustrated and angry at the situation. Not regret at being here, per se, but a general sort of disappointment in myself for being unprepared and shocked and upset. I was also disappointed in Martinique for not being everything I expected and wanted it to be, upset at Martinique for being so frustrating and irritating.
But, a professor I have for English Civilization, while explaining the French system of analyzing articles and writing dissertations, replied to my shocked face (it’s very strict and dry) by reminding me that I’m not just here to learn the language, and that this will help me learn how the French think and it will help us to understand them as people. It’s so easy to forget my goals when everyday is a roller coaster ride of emotions, frustration, irritation, confusion, boredom, pure happiness and contentedness, stress and anxiety about how I am going to get through this. But then again, I knew going into it that it wasn’t going to be easy. I just forgot what that meant.
Classes are going pretty well, though, and causing their fair share of stress. An interesting difference between the system here and back at Willamette is that there is not necessarily more coursework expected outside of the classroom, but that the coursework is purely voluntary. There is very little “homework” given in the sense that a professor will tell you to read a book and that’s it. It’s up to the student to look up more information, read criticism, analyze, etc. In my course on English civilization, which is really just a history/politics course on the US and UK, we learn a bunch of stuff in the 2 hours of lecture but then, as I learned, it’s up to us to actually learn and KNOW the entire UK government system. There’s a bibliography given of recommended books but since books are so hard to get ahold of (especially in English!), there’s no one book assigned. Students are expected to be way more motivated here, but for the most part, aren’t! The professor I mentioned earlier regularly gets aggravated in class because no one seems to want to be there. And she told me that many of them don’t want to. It’s so cheap to go to college, and many students even receive scholarships for living expenses, that students can go for 5 years (it’s a 3 year program down here) and never get anything done. It costs 300-500 Euros a year to go there. When I explain to other students what we pay in the states, their jaws hit the ground. “thousand!?” they ask. Yes, thousand.
My birthday, as well, went pretty well. It was a day here, like any other day, with ups and downs but I decided the day before that I was going to enjoy it and that it was going to be a good day and it was. It started off gloriously, raining, dreary and barely chilly. I went for a run and finally had a use for the underarmor I brought “just in case.” Then I made myself “pain perdu” (“freedom” toast) and enjoyed it with sliced banana and a little bottle of maple syrup I brought “for emergencies.” Given the slightly “chilly” weather (and the bit of sickness I’ve felt coming on), I took the opportunity to wear leggings and a long sleeve shirt: things I miss. I had 4 hours of class which was less than fun but the German exchange students gave me big birthday hugs. After hours of class, I was exhausted, by this time very hot and feeling pretty down and bummed about celebrating my 21st birthday in Martinique. When I got home, Youma said we were going to the movies to celebrate my birthday. It wasn’t a huge deal but it was really nice and turned out fun. We saw the new Quentin Tarantino movie, Inglorious Basterds which was great (but gory) and almost entirely in French (thanks to dubbing). Or it was in English or German with subtitles.
Today is Friday and tomorrow there is some sort of “surprise” planned for me (I think we’re going on a hike?) and then maybe we’ll have a little party at the house? Nothing huge. Sunday, Kristen and I are planning to hike Mt Pelée. She’s extremely motivated and on top of things and found out that this Sunday (and this Sunday only!) we can get a guided hike of Pelée and learn about all the flora and geology for 12 Euros. Totally a snag. So that’s the plan.
I’ve spent the past few days consuming massive amounts of vitamin C, which is extremely easy here thanks to oranges, mandarins, goyaves (guava), melon (cantaloupe) … and orange juice. My lymph nodes were unreasonably swollen but seem better today. I continue to be eaten alive by mosquitoes, but thanks to a mousticaire (mosquito net) surrounding my bed, I’m not devoured in my sleep. Plus, I have a gigantic fan. Living here is way better.
As much as I’m offended by all the jerks- for example the other morning at the bus stop a man who was probably in his mid-40s told me about 5 times in a 3 minute conversation that he lives alone- there are occasionally people who renew my faith in humanity and the people of Martinique. On my birthday, as I got ready to run up the big gigantic hill that leads to the house, an older man, as I passed and said “bonjour” replied with “Bonjour, bon courage!” As I was walking to school one day last week, all of a sudden the sky started dumping water and a woman who lives down the street from me pulled over and gave me a ride to campus. The marchand (fruit and veggie vendor) up the street from Mme Mitrail’s house is always nice. I had to go by Mme Mitrails house for a letter and walked up the block to say hello to him and pick up some fruit. He had me sit down and we talked about Martinique, the history of slavery, healthcare reform in the states and apparently Obama is winning the Nobel Prize for peace? I love how the average Martiniquais knows more about what’s going on in my country than I do. Not having internet access makes it sort of hard to keep in touch with the world… When I went to leave, he told me to close my wallet and tried to let me walk away with a bunch of bananas, some little plums, 2 tomatoes, 5 pomme cannelles and an avocado for free. I bought some sort of pie things for 2 Euros and threw in an extra one for good measure. He’s awesome.
Such is life in Martinique. Being a little sick is definitely a bummer but my French is progressing beautifully and everyday is a learning experience. I’m still waiting for a lot of packages which will probably arrive sometime around December, if I’m lucky…
Thanks for all the love and support. I would have gone completely insane by now if it weren’t for it. All my love in return,
Bethany
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
A long post... sorry
Sunday 27 September 2009 21:50
Three quotes can sum up this weekend. In chronological order:
Kristen: “I think African people are A LOT stronger than I am!”
Joby: “il faut pas grossir. C’est bon comme ça”
Paul : « laisse tomber, laisse tomber »
And now, to explain. Friday night, Kristen and I had our second Traditional Dance class: African Dance. Holy crap, was it hard. I was literally dripping sweat. It fell from my face, rolled down my arms and burned my lips. And I loved every moment of it. The movements were difficult, required serious endurance and raw in a way that is completely unfamiliar to my westernness. After the course, I had the scariest car ride of my life with the instructor who was nice enough to drive us home. From the backseat, I sent Kristen a text message “great dancer, terrible driver.” I was 1. Afraid for my life 2. Afraid for the lives of other people on the road 3. Worried about getting whiplash and 4. Crying on the inside for the poor transmission and brakes in her car. She literally went 40 km/h in first gear. The car was screaming in pain and I wanted to ask her if I could please just drive. I didn’t, though, and I made it home in one piece, thankfully.
Saturday morning, Kristen and I went to rent a car. The woman, the afternoon before had promised me I could rent a car for about 20 euros a day and then when I went back, said we must have had some sort of misunderstanding and wouldn’t let it happen. Instead, the best we could get was 80 Euros for two days. Helllllll no. So, the hike was scrapped for Sunday, our plans, of course, altered (as always, thank you Martinique). So, we went to the beach. Sadly, I got my second sunburn. However, it wasn’t from the beach. It was from the morning, waiting around at the car rental place (“opened” at 8, the woman who runs the counter arrived maybe at 8:30, probably later). But, it wasn’t bad and has already faded from red to brown. Early afternoon, caught a bus home and instead of studying, I sat around downstairs with Florence and Sebastien. Drank a beer, had some bread with nutella, had some coffee, chatted sports. Ran upstairs, showered and caught the last bus to Kristen’s house for a birthday party for Gilbert, Jobi’s cousin who is always there for Kristen and I when we need a ride (or anything, really) , took us on a tour of the island, has been super pro-active about getting internet at the house and has driven me home countless times. Fortunately, as of tomorrow, he won’t need to drive me home because I am going to be living downstairs with Kristen!
The fête was awesome. Pour la plus part, it was just Kristen, Jobi, Youma (Jobi’s wife), Gilbert, another friend of the family and I. Kristen and I made grilled cheese and tomato soup, Youma made these avocado/farine (flour) de Manicot (a root)/onion/garlic/piment (like baby bell peppers) balls which usually have fish in them (she made half without for us) and an amazing, super rich cake. Gilbert brought champagne. The second quote took place in the kitchen when I exclaimed to Jobi, after having eaten a lot of food and delicious cake, “je vais grossir ici,” “I am going to get fat here” to which he said, basically (it’s a tough phrase to translate) "Don’t get fat, you’re great as is.”
Thanks, Jobi!
And so we are brought to Sunday.
29 September 2009 22h00
Continuing on that vein. Sunday was a particularly long day, in some ways. I woke up early and walked most of the way to the Schoelcher beach to go kayaking with Kristen. From my previous residence, it’s about 4-5 Kilometers, or 3 miles. As I was walking, someone pulled over and asked if I was heading to the beach. When I said yes, he offered me a ride. I assessed the situation and decided it was okay, and it was. I spend a lot of time being weary of the people here but there’s a certain point, I am finding, where it’s okay to accept kindness from strangers. My dad always gives people the benefit of the doubt and there are times when I take his example to heart and it’s usually not a problem. Many people are actually quite nice here, despite how much I complain about getting hit on constantly. But like my friend said to me today “you’re a beautiful, white girl. You’re like a trophy to them.” Well, sort of. But to continue, I accepted the ride to the beach and turned down the invite to a concert/party in the southern part of the island that night.
Kristen and I kayaked a bit but the wind was rough and the waves pretty choppy. It was nice to be out on the water and actually doing something. Afterwards, I walked back to the house where Florence invited me to go to the beach with her and the kids. Definitely. And this is where Sunday went downhill, sort of. The beach was glorious and the black, volcanic sand burned my feet. Sebastien didn’t come with us so I split my time between swimming and playing with Paul and Luc and laying on my towel with Florence and chatting. At the beach we went to, there’s a pier where the water is deep enough to jump into. There were some teenage looking kids (16-20 ish) lounging and the boys and I. It was really fun to play around and jump into the water and throw the kids in and be pushed by them in turn. The teenage kids were showing off and, one specifically, was doing back flips and making huge splashes. More than once, he sauntered past me and pushed me in. Whatever. 13 year old flirting is super classy, dood. Some of the other kids were pulling their shorts down and showing off their underpants. Again, classy. Again, whatever. It got shitty, however, when they started trying to get my attention. I was clearly occupied with my much more interesting 8 and 10 year old friends but they addressed me “je te parle, je te parle, I speak to you.” One consequent of my time here is that I have gotten really really good at ignoring people- to the point of being deaf. I have no idea what they said before and after “je te parle” but after a certain point, I said coldly, without looking at them “je peux comprendre le français, merci beaucoup.” I told Paul I was going to swim back to the beach to hang out with Florence and he decided to come with me. A note about Paul: he is probably the kindest and most sensitive 10 year old I have ever met. When the kids were showing off their skivvies, he called them “cochons” or “pigs” and told them it was stupid. Well, when I dove into the water to swim away, it became clear they were mocking and tormenting me. I continued to occupy myself with watching the kids but couldn’t ignore when they told me to “casse-toi dans la mer avec l’autre poubelle” which roughly translates to break yourself in the water with the other trash. The also laughed at me as I swam away and had something to say about that. Paul yelled something at them in French and said to me “Laisse tomber, bessany, laisse tomber” – let it fall, let it go. The rest of the time at the beach passed uneventfully, thankfully, and I didn’t get sunburnt at all. My swimming skills are improving, too.
One thing that surprised me about the kids at the pier is that it wasn’t racism. In the group, they were black, white, and somewhere in between. It had more to do with not being from around here. regionalism, maybe? Florence and I talked a lot about it and she has the same problem. Being from the Metropole, many people automatically hate her. Being white, many people assume we are Béké. More on that later, but don’t forget that term. It’s VERY important in Martinique. Very.
Monday, yesterday, I moved!!!! I’m writing, presently, from my room with a fan (didn’t have that at Mme’s house) and a Mousquitaire (mosquito net) to protect me from the monsters, my own private shower/sink (Kristen and I share a toilet-room) and a much nicer space in general. We have our own downstairs apartment, with an unfinished kitchen (maybe someday it will be done…) and a dining room table to study at and privacy, glorious privacy. AND! This morning I took a hot shower for the first time since August 31. A month with no hot water… “I didn’t know you were travelling in time to the middle ages” my friend from Willamette said today. Youma and Jobi are super nice and the house is absolutely beautiful. There is art everywhere- wood carvings and sculptures outside and I love it. There is also a litter of 6 baby kittens (maybe a month old) upstairs and I’m in love with them. Kristen and I talked about it and she said it’d be okay if we had maybe one down here but we don’t want to have to clean up after them all the time. Kittens!
Today I had 5 hours of class consecutively, with the same professor, in the same class. Two different classes, fortunately, but by the end of it, I was losing spent. Both are English classes but conducted frequently in French (unless she is lecturing) and both are very engaging. The latter is my masters course (4th year of schooling, though) on myths, interculturality and iconography in Anglophone Caribbean literature. It’s definitely difficult, but I think it will be well worth the effort. Tonight, I did more than two hours of intense physical activity and know I will feel it tomorrow.
Sebastien works as a personal trainer and also leads classes on “renforcement musculaire” and “step” (aerobics). Florence invited me to come to a class, so tonight, I went to the “muscular reinforcement” and immediately afterwards, Seb dropped me off in Fort de France (with his Vespa) for my second Bélé dance course. Not to be confused with Béké. Dancing is really fun and I’m beyond glad that Kristen and I went through the trouble of signing up for the class. It’s state run- anyone can sign up for a course in things like dance, ceramics, basket weaving (underwater left handed basket weaving), drawing, etc. It costs 45 euros per activity but it lasts until May. And with the traditional dance courses, we get to go to 3 different courses a week. So… 45 Euro divided by 3 courses a week divided by 12 weeks (until I fly home)… you do the math. Plus, when I asked Sebastien how much the class costs, he said “gratuit” (free for me), so I told him I can watch the kids whenever they need. Sounds like my kind of deal.
So, after a very shitty homesick feeling Monday, made especially worse by a professor who is too busy being a politician to show up for class, today was exhausting but in a worthwhile sort of way. Martinique continues to surprise, frustrate, amaze and confound me. It at once leaves me breathless with its vibrant colors, natural, green beauty, warm, clear ocean water (which I can, cruelly, see from the library) but I am frequently upset by some of the people and especially by the political situation. I promise next time to explain more on that, and also Béké but for now, it is time to rest in the comfort of my new home and look forward to another hot shower tomorrow.
All my love, Bethany
Three quotes can sum up this weekend. In chronological order:
Kristen: “I think African people are A LOT stronger than I am!”
Joby: “il faut pas grossir. C’est bon comme ça”
Paul : « laisse tomber, laisse tomber »
And now, to explain. Friday night, Kristen and I had our second Traditional Dance class: African Dance. Holy crap, was it hard. I was literally dripping sweat. It fell from my face, rolled down my arms and burned my lips. And I loved every moment of it. The movements were difficult, required serious endurance and raw in a way that is completely unfamiliar to my westernness. After the course, I had the scariest car ride of my life with the instructor who was nice enough to drive us home. From the backseat, I sent Kristen a text message “great dancer, terrible driver.” I was 1. Afraid for my life 2. Afraid for the lives of other people on the road 3. Worried about getting whiplash and 4. Crying on the inside for the poor transmission and brakes in her car. She literally went 40 km/h in first gear. The car was screaming in pain and I wanted to ask her if I could please just drive. I didn’t, though, and I made it home in one piece, thankfully.
Saturday morning, Kristen and I went to rent a car. The woman, the afternoon before had promised me I could rent a car for about 20 euros a day and then when I went back, said we must have had some sort of misunderstanding and wouldn’t let it happen. Instead, the best we could get was 80 Euros for two days. Helllllll no. So, the hike was scrapped for Sunday, our plans, of course, altered (as always, thank you Martinique). So, we went to the beach. Sadly, I got my second sunburn. However, it wasn’t from the beach. It was from the morning, waiting around at the car rental place (“opened” at 8, the woman who runs the counter arrived maybe at 8:30, probably later). But, it wasn’t bad and has already faded from red to brown. Early afternoon, caught a bus home and instead of studying, I sat around downstairs with Florence and Sebastien. Drank a beer, had some bread with nutella, had some coffee, chatted sports. Ran upstairs, showered and caught the last bus to Kristen’s house for a birthday party for Gilbert, Jobi’s cousin who is always there for Kristen and I when we need a ride (or anything, really) , took us on a tour of the island, has been super pro-active about getting internet at the house and has driven me home countless times. Fortunately, as of tomorrow, he won’t need to drive me home because I am going to be living downstairs with Kristen!
The fête was awesome. Pour la plus part, it was just Kristen, Jobi, Youma (Jobi’s wife), Gilbert, another friend of the family and I. Kristen and I made grilled cheese and tomato soup, Youma made these avocado/farine (flour) de Manicot (a root)/onion/garlic/piment (like baby bell peppers) balls which usually have fish in them (she made half without for us) and an amazing, super rich cake. Gilbert brought champagne. The second quote took place in the kitchen when I exclaimed to Jobi, after having eaten a lot of food and delicious cake, “je vais grossir ici,” “I am going to get fat here” to which he said, basically (it’s a tough phrase to translate) "Don’t get fat, you’re great as is.”
Thanks, Jobi!
And so we are brought to Sunday.
29 September 2009 22h00
Continuing on that vein. Sunday was a particularly long day, in some ways. I woke up early and walked most of the way to the Schoelcher beach to go kayaking with Kristen. From my previous residence, it’s about 4-5 Kilometers, or 3 miles. As I was walking, someone pulled over and asked if I was heading to the beach. When I said yes, he offered me a ride. I assessed the situation and decided it was okay, and it was. I spend a lot of time being weary of the people here but there’s a certain point, I am finding, where it’s okay to accept kindness from strangers. My dad always gives people the benefit of the doubt and there are times when I take his example to heart and it’s usually not a problem. Many people are actually quite nice here, despite how much I complain about getting hit on constantly. But like my friend said to me today “you’re a beautiful, white girl. You’re like a trophy to them.” Well, sort of. But to continue, I accepted the ride to the beach and turned down the invite to a concert/party in the southern part of the island that night.
Kristen and I kayaked a bit but the wind was rough and the waves pretty choppy. It was nice to be out on the water and actually doing something. Afterwards, I walked back to the house where Florence invited me to go to the beach with her and the kids. Definitely. And this is where Sunday went downhill, sort of. The beach was glorious and the black, volcanic sand burned my feet. Sebastien didn’t come with us so I split my time between swimming and playing with Paul and Luc and laying on my towel with Florence and chatting. At the beach we went to, there’s a pier where the water is deep enough to jump into. There were some teenage looking kids (16-20 ish) lounging and the boys and I. It was really fun to play around and jump into the water and throw the kids in and be pushed by them in turn. The teenage kids were showing off and, one specifically, was doing back flips and making huge splashes. More than once, he sauntered past me and pushed me in. Whatever. 13 year old flirting is super classy, dood. Some of the other kids were pulling their shorts down and showing off their underpants. Again, classy. Again, whatever. It got shitty, however, when they started trying to get my attention. I was clearly occupied with my much more interesting 8 and 10 year old friends but they addressed me “je te parle, je te parle, I speak to you.” One consequent of my time here is that I have gotten really really good at ignoring people- to the point of being deaf. I have no idea what they said before and after “je te parle” but after a certain point, I said coldly, without looking at them “je peux comprendre le français, merci beaucoup.” I told Paul I was going to swim back to the beach to hang out with Florence and he decided to come with me. A note about Paul: he is probably the kindest and most sensitive 10 year old I have ever met. When the kids were showing off their skivvies, he called them “cochons” or “pigs” and told them it was stupid. Well, when I dove into the water to swim away, it became clear they were mocking and tormenting me. I continued to occupy myself with watching the kids but couldn’t ignore when they told me to “casse-toi dans la mer avec l’autre poubelle” which roughly translates to break yourself in the water with the other trash. The also laughed at me as I swam away and had something to say about that. Paul yelled something at them in French and said to me “Laisse tomber, bessany, laisse tomber” – let it fall, let it go. The rest of the time at the beach passed uneventfully, thankfully, and I didn’t get sunburnt at all. My swimming skills are improving, too.
One thing that surprised me about the kids at the pier is that it wasn’t racism. In the group, they were black, white, and somewhere in between. It had more to do with not being from around here. regionalism, maybe? Florence and I talked a lot about it and she has the same problem. Being from the Metropole, many people automatically hate her. Being white, many people assume we are Béké. More on that later, but don’t forget that term. It’s VERY important in Martinique. Very.
Monday, yesterday, I moved!!!! I’m writing, presently, from my room with a fan (didn’t have that at Mme’s house) and a Mousquitaire (mosquito net) to protect me from the monsters, my own private shower/sink (Kristen and I share a toilet-room) and a much nicer space in general. We have our own downstairs apartment, with an unfinished kitchen (maybe someday it will be done…) and a dining room table to study at and privacy, glorious privacy. AND! This morning I took a hot shower for the first time since August 31. A month with no hot water… “I didn’t know you were travelling in time to the middle ages” my friend from Willamette said today. Youma and Jobi are super nice and the house is absolutely beautiful. There is art everywhere- wood carvings and sculptures outside and I love it. There is also a litter of 6 baby kittens (maybe a month old) upstairs and I’m in love with them. Kristen and I talked about it and she said it’d be okay if we had maybe one down here but we don’t want to have to clean up after them all the time. Kittens!
Today I had 5 hours of class consecutively, with the same professor, in the same class. Two different classes, fortunately, but by the end of it, I was losing spent. Both are English classes but conducted frequently in French (unless she is lecturing) and both are very engaging. The latter is my masters course (4th year of schooling, though) on myths, interculturality and iconography in Anglophone Caribbean literature. It’s definitely difficult, but I think it will be well worth the effort. Tonight, I did more than two hours of intense physical activity and know I will feel it tomorrow.
Sebastien works as a personal trainer and also leads classes on “renforcement musculaire” and “step” (aerobics). Florence invited me to come to a class, so tonight, I went to the “muscular reinforcement” and immediately afterwards, Seb dropped me off in Fort de France (with his Vespa) for my second Bélé dance course. Not to be confused with Béké. Dancing is really fun and I’m beyond glad that Kristen and I went through the trouble of signing up for the class. It’s state run- anyone can sign up for a course in things like dance, ceramics, basket weaving (underwater left handed basket weaving), drawing, etc. It costs 45 euros per activity but it lasts until May. And with the traditional dance courses, we get to go to 3 different courses a week. So… 45 Euro divided by 3 courses a week divided by 12 weeks (until I fly home)… you do the math. Plus, when I asked Sebastien how much the class costs, he said “gratuit” (free for me), so I told him I can watch the kids whenever they need. Sounds like my kind of deal.
So, after a very shitty homesick feeling Monday, made especially worse by a professor who is too busy being a politician to show up for class, today was exhausting but in a worthwhile sort of way. Martinique continues to surprise, frustrate, amaze and confound me. It at once leaves me breathless with its vibrant colors, natural, green beauty, warm, clear ocean water (which I can, cruelly, see from the library) but I am frequently upset by some of the people and especially by the political situation. I promise next time to explain more on that, and also Béké but for now, it is time to rest in the comfort of my new home and look forward to another hot shower tomorrow.
All my love, Bethany
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