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.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
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.
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