The Metro: “Normal”?

Even though I have not in the 7 months so far learned to full on “love” the Metro here in Paris--or public transport for that matter--I’ve come to at least appreciate the importance and fact that the Metro takes considerable part in Parisian culture and daily life. I also have to say that frequenting the rail-like animal (indeed depending on it) has given me different perspectives on a lot, as well as prime people watching. :)

The “Metro” consists of 14 main lines within just the city itself, a couple of shorter off-shoots ("bis" lines) and then the “RER” trains that run in both Paris central and the “banlieues”--the immediate area outside and surrounding Paris proper. Also, there are a few peripheral “trams” that have begun to spring up (which I like because they are above ground) and then some other banlieue trains that have letters that I haven’t figured out yet.... Anyway, all of this ends up looking something like this:



Then, across the Channel, London, England has it’s own counterpart to the Metro known as the “Tube”. (This might seem a random statement, but please bear with):



My point: I particularly enjoy the contrast between the two systems. I find that these two maps are prime examples of A) an Anglophone approach and way of thinking (the camp to which, come to realize, I most decidedly belong) vs. B) the Francophone approach and/or way of thinking. Or the other way around if you so wish. In sum: if Anglophones are a “grid” the Francophones are a “web”.

I find this fascinating. There has been so much about this culture that I has taken me by surprise and I’ve found myself “judging” it in a way, almost immediately. “That’s weird” I’ve thought, so often. It's painful to admit.

I remember saying once, it kind of popping out of my mouth (coming from who-knows-where) that there was “No such thing as 'weird' or 'normal'. Only ‘customary’ and ‘uncustomary’ according to what one is ‘accustomed’ to.” I said this and then thought about it for a long time! I really think this is true.

There have been so many times when I’ve experienced situations or happenings or interactions here across the pond after which I’ve struggled in my "Anglophone" or more precisely American mind to not write off as “weird”. Even though I think it will take a long time to erase the word from my vocabulary, I am beginning to wonder if the word “weird” isn’t often a slightly (or not so slightly) arrogant judgment call. To call something “weird” and i.e.“not normal” is so alarmingly subjective.

I look at these Metro maps and smile. Indeed, both are effective. I’ve experienced and used both of them. I know they both work, and well. In just about every way they behave according to the same principles and both accomplish the same thing--just through completely different approaches and each with their own particular nuances. Both approaches work, they're just different.

I love this these graphics because they put so succinctly something I’ve learned a lot about this year: if I think that something is “weird” it’s probably because it’s different than what I’m used to and outside of either 1) my comfort zone or 2) my realm of experience or 3) my cultural paradigms. I’ve also found that I learn so much more and appreciate my circumstances here and this deep run culture more if I stop and take the time to appreciate how the “weird” thing might just be “different” and “uncustomary” to me instead of just stopping at “weird”. And sometimes I find out I actually prefer the "weird" way. Interesting. :)

This is an approach I want to take home with me. It's not as easy as the former approach. I think it'll be a life-long journey integrating this mentality into life, but it's a good one, methinks. Indeed, the approach I’ll take with me, but I’ll be excited to see my car too. Me and the Metro are OK with each other now, but I love my Subaru. I’m looking forward to sleeping in the back of it out in the woods. :)

Update: May :)

I took a look at my “France” blog yesterday and remarked two things about my last entry: first, that it was over a month ago, and second that it was about some philosophical/emotional parallel about tears and rain. Uh, I remember very well what I felt like when I wrote it, but I decided that maybe it was time to update for both of the above aspects mentioned. My disposition has changed a lot, even in the last week.

For Easter vacation at mid-end of April Jake and Lydia Larson were here in Paris for a few days (we had a BLAST) and Abby joined up with us and then she and I took off to Italy and Greece for a 10 day cruise. Being over here in Europe has truly afforded me some really cool opportunities to see the continent, and I feel that I’ve been able to take decent advantage of that. I love that part so much. I made sure to post pictures of all of said adventures, though there are many of them--I ended up taking about 800 pictures in two weeks! I’m LOVING my new camera and figuring it out. :) Here are just a few:











Also, the cruise was apparently just what I needed as far as rest. I slept so much. I have never been one to nap, and I napped every day, slept in every day....apparently I was more exhausted that I thought. As a result, in coming back to Paris, I have felt so much better physically, and even mentally! I say mentally, because another thing I’ve noticed coming back to Paris this time, is that my French has very much improved. It has been coming to my mind and tongue so much easier and I’m feeling, really, really rewarded by that. (After all, that was what this whole experience was supposed to be about in the first place!) I had a French friend compliment me the other day, saying I had almost “no more accent”. This was an overstatement, but still made my week, even if she exaggerated. :) Anyway, I was trying to imagine why all of the sudden something had clicked, and I think that, once again, it was just a matter of rest. Wow, I’ll never understate the power of “repos” again!

I’m back to school and I’m back to nannying, but one thing that has changed at home is that the woman in whose home I reside has left for the summer. She left on Saturday. I’ve mentioned her before and have probably characterized her as a little eccentric and quite particular. Overall, something that I’ve learned about French culture is that it is not particularly encouraging and verbally affirmative--but I didn’t realize how much of a presence she was for me until she left. Until now, home has been more stressful than I was aware because I was rather living on tiptoes and in fear of getting scolded by her. Now I can use the oven and microwave to my heart’s content and do as much laundry as I desire and even leave my computer plugged into the wall when I’m gone. This dynamic too, surprisingly, has added to my state of feeling a lit bit more relaxed and rested. Amazing. It’s just me and Nicolas now, and we get along great. :)

Also, I think I’ve mentioned it before but, if I didn’t already know that I’m a relationally oriented individual, this experience has confirmed it. The hardest part of this experience is being so far away at such a time difference from everyone I love. What’s really cool about these last couple of months here, is that I’m now beginning to enjoy some relationships that it’s taken a bit to build and it just makes me smile to look at my calendar and see it fill up with my old friends that are coming and my new friend’s incredibly kind and increasingly ubiquitous invitations. I’m loving this stage. And this home stretch is going to be busy. In a good way.

On Sunday I spent a really wonderful day with a friend from school and her family. She and her husband had just gotten back from New York City over Easter break and surprised me by bringing out these treats, which I hadn’t seen in a long time! :D


Also, here are some pics that me and the kids that I babysit took one day when we were goofing off with my computer. They make me smile.




Oh yeah! One more thing. Today I got a new pair of shoes. And it feels really good to be smiling. Here’s to May!

To My Sister

Sometimes in Paris it’s a relief when it rains.

Spring often means a tempestuously emotional season for the “Sacré Bleu” above. C’est vrai. Even in Paris.

The clouds move in and out, here and away with such swift agility that it takes but a veritable blink of an eye to witness a change in immediate climate. Morning to afternoon to evening a springtime day may bear witness to an entire--though unique all the same--gamut of manifest and seasonal “emotion”.

Sometimes it seems just a relief when the sky lets down after a duration of weighty and cloudy disposition. As if he were trying so hard to hold it back, but in the end some kind of aquatic catharsis was due him as well.

“To furnish symbols for spiritual experiences may be one of the functions of the mineral and vegetable worlds” (C.S. Lewis The Problem of Pain) Perhaps that big blue wonder covering us takes part in that metaphor too. I tend to think so.

This remembered, I can gaze upward in empathy at the rain, rather than dread. An unspoken understanding between my own journey and the season that written in they sky during the Spring--indeed a resounding and empathetic nod might be all to express. I do understand, and he me. "I know how you feel."

Today, Paris, I begrudge not--rather appreciate your light deluge. Cry on, friend, I need it too sometimes....

To Shelli, often the catcher of my tears. This came to me today. :)

Soul Boxes

Soul boxes. That’s the sum of us. Our corporeal dimension anyway....We’re souls held captive by the bodies that surround them.

Lately, Michelangelo’s renowned "The Captive Slave” which and whom I find utterly riveting has been on my mind. It itself is not here in Paris, however his accompaniments, the other Captive Slaves, are actually here at the Louvre:



Michelangelo’s approach to “sculpting”--his preferred medium of expressing the art within himself--was that he was merely the vessel and means by which the sculpture inside the marble with which he worked with was to be released and revealed. “The Captive Slave” was one of his favorites and one with which he most identified as he felt too that he was a soul stuck inside his body. He empathized with the captive slave that wanted to be released from the marble case that housed him....

The sculpture is considered to be unfinished. But then, aren’t we all? Michelangelo knew he was a Soul encased. A Soul inside a Box. It’s easy for me to lose perspective and sight of this principle.

This "Soul Box" comes to mind when, out amongst the busy and ever milling public in Paris I find myself once again and occasionally squeezing my eyes shut for an instant trying to maintain perspective on the depth--or shall I say extent--of human interaction going on around me. I suppose there isn’t always a lot of “depth” going on, but certainly a lot of extent. It’s hard not to become calloused to it. It takes effort. People are infinitely more that what we see of them. I see the cover, a case, but the housed and intangible entity inside is what is most beautiful and relevant.

I think this has been the most challenging part for me, living in a true “city” (besides the inordinate amount of NOISE). And Paris is a city of cities to be sure....She boasts of--for whatever duration of time, each and every one--circa 5,000,000 persons, Soul Boxes in a moment.

I’m not used to that, so I still feel like a little girl sometimes, staring around me wide-eyed at all there is to see and the juxtaposition of just about everything around me. It’s fascinating, but exhausting too. Yet another juxtaposition to be noted. But however far my mind may wander exploring the "nouveauté" around me, I come back to Michelangelo. There's something to that slave wanting ever since his Renaissance origin to come out of that marble, to which we can all perhaps relate. And I don't ever want to lose sight of the priority that the intangible has over what is seen in the arena of humanity. For we are not but the sum of our corporeal makeup. We are so much more.

It’s beautiful, powerful, oppressive and invigorating all at once. Depending on what mood I’m in I guess....

Holland

In December, before my trek home to Oregon for weddings and holidays my friend Kellie came to visit me in Paris for an all too short weekend from Amsterdam, where she’s working/living as a nanny.

Last weekend, it was my turn to repay her the visit. :)

On Friday afternoon I hopped on a train again and bypassed Belgium to arrive at Amsterdam Centraal Station...

...to then get on another train to Hilversum, Holland, the lovely suburb where Kellie abides and looks after 2 little Dutch boys of 8 and 4 years old. Her host family was incredibly welcoming and warm, and very kind to let me crash the futon in Kellie’s adorable loft of a bedroom for the weekend.

Friday evening we had the privilege of dining with the boys’ parents and passed the evening comparing notes on Dutch, American and French cultures. It was fascinating and Kellie’s African soup was wonderful to boot!

The next morning we braved the cold but clear weather and headed to Amsterdam itself to do all sorts of tourist things. First we navigated a couple of downtown markets, purchasing bread and cheese to supplement leftover soup:





And admired the canals and bicycles, both of which quintessentially Dutch:




And then ate Dutch Apple Pie at Cafe Winkel, which is supposed to be the best in Amsterdam. It was packed, but the taste certainly delivered. We ate it standing and scrunched up in the corner against other customer’s coats and scarves. And, true to Traci form I was not successful in avoiding dropping a few ungraceful morsels on the floor of the establishment....so me, unfortunately. :(


Next, as I was very anxious to do so, we visited the long-awaited Van Gogh Museum--which lived up to every expectation and was absolutely wonderful, and perfectly informative.

We headed home fairly early that evening as Kellie in particular was FREEZING and we dined...

...and retired early to get up and repeat our regime the next day. :) This time we decided to hit up the museum first, taking the route through the Bloommarkt and Dam Square to see the city centre properly and then finally the Rijksmuseum--

--wherein is on display many Northern Renaissance paintings and other Dutch treasures. I do love museums.... *nerdy sigh*

After immersing ourselves in the rather moralistically didactic Dutch Renaissance (yet another nerdy *snicker*) I had an intense thirst that could only be sated by a quality brew and we ended up spending a few hours over a couple of drinks at a lovely pub that a apparently many ex-pats of Holland tend to frequent. The libation and conversation was not to be surpassed. I love you, Kellie Marie Jones. :)

On the way back, we admired the city at night, the lights reflecting off the watery canals:

We had every intention of watching a French film that evening, one that we vowed in Paris that we’d watch together, but we were both tired girls and fell asleep pretty much at the beginning of it! Desolée, Améle Poulain!

The next morning, as the boys did not have school, we all went for a bicycle tour of the neighborhood. I loved it, but unfortunately Mr. 4 years old was not as keen on it and we turned around. We’d planned on finding a windmill, but it will have to wait for next time! That afternoon I left Kellie in Hilversum, after a little bit of unplanned sale shopping and headed back to Paris. Funny how just 4 hours later I was back in my bedroom in France, two completely different worlds--even so geographically close. It was a wonderful weekend and wonderful company.

Hopefully Kellie will soon be coming back to Paris to visit again...je l’attend avec impatience.... :)

England

So, one of the perks of being over here in Europe and my work schedule (I got LUCKY) is that I can travel on weekends--pocketbook permitting. This weekend, I had booked tickets on the Eurostar (far enough in advance to be affordable) to bullet train over to England for a couple of days to see Ken & Lynn Wilson; who are, best explained, like my "other" parents Honestly, being in there home feels like being back in Oregon a bit, and even knowing that I would get to see them two weeks after coming back to the continent made it a lot easier leaving my own.

Ken is midway through a theological doctoral program there at Oxford, University. I arrived Friday afternoon and we promptly went to check out The Eagle & the Child, a well-known pub in Oxford. I’ve wanted to visit this pub for a long time because it is the place where the “Inklings” met every Tuesday evening for some 20 years. The “Inklings” were a group of well known men and literary minds of Oxford ca. 1930-40s, most notable JRR Tolkien and CS Lewis. I had my first British ale there. :)



The next day, we got in the car and drove to Stratford-upon-Avon. I was giddy about this because I have studied a lot Shakespeare’s work in the past as well as his life and even the “authorship debate” surrounding his existence. I have wanted to visit this town for over 10 years. Which is a lot of my life, actually.... First we visited the church where he was baptised, married and buried, and snuck around the back of it as well to peek at the Avon river itself:





Then, we visited his birthplace and childhood home.



Outside this home, were some actors in the courtyard, eager to entertain and offered us an outdoor impromptu rendition of the Gravedigger’s scene of Hamlet. It was, to put it in British terms, lovely.



After downing lunch and another wonderful British ale (the French have nothing on the beer to be found across the Channel....) at the oldest pub in Stratford, welcoming its visitor with the sign:



We then took off to catch a glimpse at Warwick (pronounced “Warrick”) Castle, the best preserved castle in England. We took a tour and poked around until after sunset. The most fascinating part was that each level of the castle was dedicated to a different time period, and so each era of the castle’s existence is well represented. I particularly loved the armour....






The next day, we set off for the windy locale of Stonehenge. I have to laugh because I have wanted to see this also for a very long time, ever since the days of “GeoSafari” in my childhood. There was a card for the GeoSafari for the Wonders of the World (and other monuments too) and Stonehenge was on it. As a child I vowed to visit all of the places and I have been checking them off as I travel. It’s awesome.

Stonehenge was amazing. We listened to a highly speculative tour on the matter and I took a billion pictures. Which, is not highly characteristic of me, but I’m trying to get better at it.





That afternoon, I had the idea to go see the newest of the Narnia films. I’d been wanting to see it and cannot find it shown in English in Paris. Also, Narnia was born there in Oxford....it was in utterly American terms this time “way cool” to see it there. (I was particularly impressed by the sea serpent in the film, wow!) Then, we went to an evening service at an Anglican church where the Bishop of Oxford cameo-ed in scripture reading, and a boy’s choir sang. It was beautiful! The next morning, as I had to leave around Noon, we walked around Oxford a bit and climbed the infamous tower, where Bloody Mary’s Christian prisoner’s where kept before martyrdom and looked out on the city....



We stood before the oldest tower in Oxford,



Walked by the church where John Wesley preached,



And I got to buy a book in English at Blackwell’s well-known bookstore. :)



And by that time, I’m sure the Wilson’s were tired from showing me around so well! I came back to Paris the way that I went and returned "chez moi" physically tired but in all other ways refreshed. I got to see some wonderful things, but most importantly had a really, really wonderful weekend with Ken and Lynn. I didn’t know it, but I needed it. Thank you!!