Weekend In Normandy & Brittany

Prepare for my novel below! (photos to come when I get them downloaded, sorry!)

As I have said many times before in my writings here, every time I leave Paris, however amazing and wonderful of a city Paris may be, leaving the city and entering the countryside of France makes me fall in love all over again with France and the wonderful people who live in this country. This past weekend our academic group took a weekend trip to the western coast of France in the regions of Normandy and Brittany.

Arriving in Caen for our first stop of the day at the Museum of Peace, dedicated to preserving the past so that it is hopefully never repeated. The day’s tone was immediately set to somber and in remembrance with the visit to this incredible museum. The museum was very well designed creating a sense of spiraling downward into darkness. The music, or should I call it a soundtrack of the sounds of which can only compare to a marching army and the voices of support roaring in the background. It is hard to specifically describe the soundtrack to the exhibit, but I can for sure say that the feeling that is evoked throughout the rooms is one of unease, nerves, and sadness. Collections of photos, clothing, letters, and video all coming together in a way that truly shows the horrors of WWII, even for us, young American students in 2010. At the end of the museum was a very well made film that really took the exhibit we just saw and made it come alive. I am not an emotional person, but the film and all the photos/video down of the D-Day landing at Omaha Beach really hit hard. A reality of history that I could never in my wildest nightmares be able to comprehend.

Our next stop was a short drive away to Omaha Beach and the American Cemetery. We walked from the coach over to the perfectly manicured pine trees full of green nettles, flowers beautifully planted all around, and two very tall flag poles crowned with two American Flags dancing in the wind. Walking along the park, the first glimpse of the beach and the ocean’s horizon came into view all at once, in one amazing panoramic view. The first thought that rushed through my mind was how overwhelmingly beautiful the shore was, purely breathtaking.

The weather was perfect that afternoon; a light breeze blew softly, rustling the trees all around, bright blue skies with giant puffy cotton-like clouds around the brightly shining sun, and the sea calmly moving about with its gentle waves crashing on the shore. We stood on the lookout point and really took a moment to take it all in. Was this truly the beach where D-Day happened? Was this present day heaven sent beach really the hell on that morning in 1944? Looking at Omaha Beach today and knowing what happened on D-Day, the beach takes on a whole new beauty, that of remembrance and peace; peace and reflection for all those who fell on that early morning.

Continuing up the walkway, you come upon the American Cemetery. Over 10,000 bright white stone crosses and stars of David fill the massive green grass plot. All of the tombstones perfectly placed in a grid pattern, seemingly endless in numbers. Each tombstone has engraved on it the name of the solider, the day they died, and the state from which they came. All of the engraved names face west, towards home, The United States of America. Walking through the cemetery was just surreal, like this could not have really happened. After spending some time wandering the cemetery, we had to return to the coach to continue on our travels to the next destination, Saint-Malo, which I will blog about later this week probably.

Sitting on the bus gazing out the window I had the chance to really reflect on our morning at the D-Day landing sites. The first thought was more of a question: Why has America forgotten our Franco-US relationship? I feel as though people have no idea why they say a majority of their anti-France statements. After living here for so long, I really take offense to such ignorance, especially after visiting a place like the D-Day landing sites. After seeing endless photos from the Liberation of France, so many of them are of the French, men, women, and children welcoming with open hearts the American soldiers, their liberators. A day like D-Day should never be forgotten and neither should the gratitude the French have for America and all they did for them during WWII. It isn’t about who helped whom, or who saved whom, American or French, it is about humanity. After experiencing Omaha Beach this weekend, I wish people my age at home would really take the time to educate themselves before jumping to conclusions about the past and thing they really know little or nothing about. Spending such time here in Europe, a major part of my life here is the appreciation for history and the need for its preservation. For all those lost during WWII in order to preserve and expand a free world, we must not forget the brothers who fought next to each other. Whether French, American, Canadian, or British, their bravery should love on and so should our countries' relationships. We live in 2010 where we forget, or simply do not know, all that came before us in the history of our Western World. People may hate Bush or Sarkozy, but do not hate the people, for presidents are not the people or their culture.

Next D-Day, Veteran’s Day, or even the 4^th of July for Independence day, take a moment at your BBQ to reflect on what it really means… for here in Europe, history resonates in the people and lives as a reminder of what the world has experienced.

           

Ciao ancora Italia: Roma

Back in November, I traveled to Venice, Florence, and Pisa, which was probably one of the best travel experiences I have been on. Back in November, I fell in love with Italy and the Italians. The Italians are quite different from the French: more flamboyant with their emotions, LOUD, expressive, (less fashionable: **personal opinion**), and more open to being nice to strangers. This past weekend, my two good friends, Leslie and Kristin, and I jetted off to the city of Rome for five days of travel, culture, and well, lots of fun and memories.

Upon landing and taking the shuttle to the city, Leslie could not stop saying 'Matt! Look at the beautiful trees!'. Rome definitely, at least at the moment, has more green than Paris, but I kept mentioning that when it warms up, Paris will be one of the greenest. After being dropped off at the main train station, we walked over to our hostel, The Yellow, which was very conveniently placed in the city, near everything. It was definitely a great hostel. More like a hotel, but with the great prices and atmosphere of a hostel. Perfect combination! Kristin was not arriving until Friday (we flew in on Thursday) so Leslie and I took off for a relaxing jaunt through the city, making sure not to pay for any really important monuments or sites until Kristin arrived. Almost instantly the differences between Rome and Paris became quite apparent. First off, Rome is well, dirty. Trash practically everywhere, lots of smog and car pollution, poster advertisements glued on practically any free wall space, and just lots and lots of good ol' gypsies. Other than being dirty, you quickly get over it and start to notice the beautiful buildings with all their wonderfully warm Mediterranean colors: lots of brick reds, oranges, yellows, browns...all so very Italia! Though what I really enjoy about Paris is it really is a city of old, beautifully carved stone buildings and homes, all mostly uniform in architecture. I prefer Parisian architecture, but being able to look at Rome and find it beautiful in its own unique what counts.

Wandering around that afternoon became one of the wildest adventures of our first day. The amazing part about Rome is you will be walking along a buzzing street of cars, scooters, and modernity then all of a sudden you look up ahead of you and there is a massive clearing filled with ancient Roman ruins. So unreal. You walk around all these ancient monuments whether it be fallen pillars, old foundations, or the enormous Coloseum, your mind takes a moment to process that these structures are over 2,000-3,000 years old! All built by hand without any of the modern technologies we have today....and yet they still stand today. Really mind blowing. The first night in Rome, Leslie and I spent our evening with a bottle of wine and some dark chocolate at the beautiful Trevi Fountain. Nothing in the world like sitting with a friend, a bottle of wine, and something beautiful to look at. It really is my kind of ideal evening any day.

Kristin finally arrived the next morning and the trio was complete. We headed out to the city and took Rome by storm. We saw.....wow, I can't even begin to list all we saw but I will try: St. Therese in Extacy, tons of amazing fountains including the Trevi fountain (definitely threw a centime in it to ensure our return to Roma!), Spanish Steps, Colosseum, Forum ruins, Monument to the unknown soldier (and saw the guard change, very cool), monument of peace, Vatican Museum, Sistine Chapel, St. Peter's Basilica, The Pantheon, Jewish Ghetto, oh man, I cannot go on, pretty much we saw everrrrything. Five days in Rome is really perfect.  I left Rome really feeling a sense of satisfaction and like I had really SEEN Rome.

The second night in Rome, the first with all three of us together, we decided to get some wine and head to the Spanish steps to have our first bottle, then the second at the Trevi Fountain. That way Kristin could get a great night time welcome to the city. Though, the BEST part about our wine nights at monuments was on the Spanish Steps. After our first bottle ran out, it was sitting next to Kristin and my feet and Leslie makes a big joking statement to move it to her side to make sure we dont kick it down the stairs. Then a group of REALLY OBNOXIOUS Spanish students started doing the Macarena (90's much?) and started a conga line up the stairs holding the Spanish flag...Leslie then proceeds to say with amazing sass 'This is ridiculous, let's protest this place!'...kicks up her leg to cross it and BAM!!! Kicks the wine bottle, sending it flying down the spanish steps...picture yourself there,,,,step by step...CLINK! CLANK! CLANK! SPIN! CRASSSSSHHHH! Bottle lands in the middle and smashes open with a loud crash! There was a short pause of EVERYONE on the steps and then a huge eruption of clapping and laughter. It was really a moment to remember, so hilarious! I still get laugh pains from it. I dont see Leslie too embarrassed that often, but that night was what we call, classic! How many people can say they got a round of applause on the Spanish Steps in Rome??? That's right, Leslie did =) And like the good Roman citizens we are, we went down and picked up the broken glass...then booked it to the Trevi Fountain haha.

(Us picking up the broken bottle!)

Our last full day in Rome we left the house around 10am and took the most amazing walk around the ENTIRE city, finally returning to the hostel bar at 1030pm....literally an almost 13 hour excursion! If it werent for all the Peronis, pizza, and gelatto we ate, our feet would have been really mad at us. But we saw so much of the city that day, got to experience the Rome marathon, see the rest of our monuments, walk along the river, go to Vatican city again, see old chariot racing grounds, and the Jewish Ghetto, which for us was the Italia we were looking for in Rome all along. Small streets that resemble Le Marais in Paris (also the Jewish/Gay Quartier) tall rustic apartment buildings, warm brick color paint, ivy growing all around, and laundry drying on strings between the buildings. It really was a very beautiful area. So worth the visit. The word ghetto actually originated from Rome as a name for the place the Jews lived in. Interesting huh? In the Jewish quarter we went to a restaurant that our hostel recommended which turned out to be really quite amazing, one of the best and reasonably priced full meals I have had in Italy. I had a fettuccine pasta with a very delicious rich tomato sauce and a braised ox tail plopped in the middle. One word: amazing. I look at pictures of our lunch and start to salivate. Though if you were to ask me which is better, French or Italian cuisine, I dont know if I woul be able to pick one or the other. They are both so distinct, regionally, and generally speaking, that they are both just so amazing in their own ways. I do love coming home to wonderful French restaurants here in Paris, you cant find them nearly as easily in Southern California. Sad sad missing detail in SD. If you ever want an amazing French dinner in San Diego, make reservations at 'Bleu Bohème' off of Adams in Kensington....I go there several times a year and have never been let down or served anything less than perfection.

All in all, I am in love with France, it is my home away from home, but Italy....Italy is my secret lover ;) always so great to visit. I highly recommend it.

Until we meet again Italy.


Ciao

Everyday Life: General Studies 450

Paris, August 16th 2009 -- March 16th 2010. Exactly seven months ago, I was gathering up my life in San Diego, setting everything straight, stressing about my French Visa and countless other things that loomed over my head, burning bright on my 'to-do list' before flying off to France. Today I write this in a way as to reflect on the past seven months, my world, my life, and my personality as a whole being altered in a way that no other experience could have done.

Yesterday, my good friend Leslie and I decided to take advantage of the beautiful 59ºF/13ºC weather (I must have changed....I was wearing a light jacket and a vneck tshirt...WHAT????...anywho) and take a walk along the Seine River. We sat there, eating a snack, legs dangling over the banks, watching tour boats called Bateaux Mouches cruise by. As I sat there dreamily looking around at the beauty of what has become my city, my home. At that moment, I truly felt like a Parisian. It is very hard to put into words how I have changed because of my time in Paris, in a way, if I even tried to put myself into words, I wold only be able to express mere superficial and simple differences. Growth within my personality, and most of all my outlook on life and where I want to go in this world are the real parts of me that Paris has helped me realize throughout this year.

As the tour boats passed by filled with tourists with their cameras desperately trying to capture the beauty around them, a few of them waved at us, casting out a crude version of "Bonjourrrrr!" and this made me smile...I raised my right hand with a peace sign towards them.

The idea of daily life like this really touches me. Simply basking in the sun along the Seine being waved at by tourists made me feel like a true resident of Paris....doing what we do best on a Sunday....lounging around the city, enjoying the sun, a cigarette, and the company of a good friend.

The main differences between my life back in San Diego and my life here in Paris comes down to truly savoring my free time and actually relaxing, valuing our first glimpse of sun, a nice baguette, some wine and just all the details that create the moment. At home I really am the 300km/hour guy, constantly running about, never really taking the time to savor anything. Parisian life has shown me the beauty in taking a stroll, no matter where your destination is, just being out and about for a little jaunt through the city with a good friend. Even after seven months, Paris' beauty never ceases to amaze me.  Another wonderful aspect I love about my life here are the relationships I have made, even the small ones. Going to the same bakery almost everyday buying a baguette or something more indulgent like a strawberry tartlette (to die for!) or a bluecheese & walnut tartlette (oh yes!), the woman at the register asks how I am and knows me as the 'exact change garçon' haha. (basically French people love when you give them the exact total, they will love you for it! haha) or the amazing French friends I have made, the ones that truly got to know 'the international student' and realize that he can connect with them just as a local. I find my life here beautiful. La joie de vivre has really taken root in me, and I hope when I return home, it continues to grow and blossom. Life here has taught me that even an American from busy southern California can learn from the masters of enjoying life. Literally stopping to smell the flowers. Trust me, you should try it and make it a habit.

To sum up "everyday life" here is really quite simple. Everyday life in Paris, in reality is me waking up, looking out my window and saying to myself 'il fait beau aujourd'hui', walking out of my flat, down to the local boulangerie for a bite before class, strolling the streets of Bastille to school, going for lunch, having a glass of wine, talking with good friends, spending some of the happiest moments of this entire year with Mon Christo, watching the sun set over the Île-de-la-Cité, strolling home as the street lights come on, cooking dinner, amazingly memorable wine nights and great conversation, ending the night, falling asleep in the arms of mon amour.

Paris...can never be put on a page in the way it was experienced.

Art Gallery Opening: Paris

Yesterday evening, my friend Werner from ESSEC invited Leslie, Kristin, and myself to his good friend's Art gallery opening. It was definitely quite the fun Parisian high culture experience. Mingling with art connoisseurs, critics, and publicists....me, just a good friend, along for the ride, loving the experience of all things Paris has to offer. The theme centered around Le Jour des femmes, or the Day of Women which is a big deal here in France.

All the pieces focused on women, whether it be their body, emotions, expression, etc...all expressing the beauty and diversity of women. This week in Paris is Fashion Week...defintely would die for some passes to a show, but I think having the opportunity to attend the opening of a gallery is quite as exciting as well. One day though, I will be inside those fashion shows, admiring the work of so many great artists who come out a few times a year to show their lines and all that is French Fashion....(sorry, total tangent there.

Though, out of the entire evening, one moment sticks out to me...I was speaking with my good friend Werner, a local Parisian I met at school and we got into talking about how I am liking Paris and that it has been almost seven months living in France. I basically responded to him saying....People say there are those places where you come alive, where you can feed on the energy of the city, a place that inspires you....Paris is a city that makes me feel alive.

Bisoux

General Studies 450: Mosquée de Paris

About a week ago, our group with Madame DuParc made a little excursion over to the grand mosque of Paris, a trip for the students in 422 (which I am not in), but I definitely wanted to attend, not just for the blog assignment. It was definitely something I never thought I would ever do on my own or without an educational chaperon. It perhaps is the same as when I went to my first Catholic mass here in Paris...I went with my friend Nora, which made it all less of an uncomfortable, outsider-ish feeling if you catch my drift. For me, Islam is a relgion that I feel the farthest from. Perhaps it is the odd socialization American culture has wth Islam and Muslim culture, but going to a mosque was perhaps the most foreign of things I have done in Paris. It was definitely a great experience, one that I am thankful to have experienced.

If you did not know, France has the highest percentage of Muslims out of all of Europe, which creates a cultural influence and various issues in society such as racism and all that jazz that unfortunately plagues anything foreign and unfamiliar.

We started by taking a walk along the river Seine, which if you have seen the movie Paris Je t'aime, is the same walk the couple met when going to the mosque in one scene of the movie. We walked up to the mosque which is definitely an architectural stand-out compared to the other French buildings surrounding it. Upon entering I immediately noticed the immense detail in practically every part of the mosque, from the mosaique tiled walls, the marble floors, the ornate cleaning fountains, and the prayer room...the mosque was just so beautiful! Most of the mosque was constructed in Paris, many of its greatly detailed lanterns and wood work was hand crafted on-site in Paris by experienced artisans brought in from North African countries (culturally Islamic nations). Other parts of the mosque were crafted in North Africa, primarily in Morocco and Algeria. Upon completion, the mosque represented the great presence of Islam in Paris, as well as France.

From our tour guide, we learned much about Islam's history as well as modern presence here in France. We were described the prayer process and the immense amount of details that go into prayers....kind of overly tedious in my opinion....but all in all, interesting to hear about and see in action. I was already familiar with the pillars of Islam from other history classes, which were discussed in detail by our tour guide.

After the tour of the mosque, Kristin, Leslie, and I went to the Café at the mosque where we enjoyed very delicious pastries and some Thé à la Menthe (traditional mint tea). It was a really nice, relaxing way to end the day at the mosque, sipping on hot tea, munching on very rich sweet baked goods, and enjoying conversation.

After the tour, Leslie, Kristin, and I walked down the street to an old Roman Gladiator Stadium where we played photo shoot and pretended to fight like Gladiators....'til death! haha.

Bisoux.

Enivrez-Vous

Today in French Lit, we read this poem I really connected with. I rarely can say that I truly appreciate literature, but this one I have to post. It is titled, 'Get Drunk'. But basically, the poet expresses that it is necessary to 'get drunk on life: wine, poetry, work, truth, happiness, etc''... Live 110%

« Il faut être toujours ivre, tout est là ; c'est l'unique question. Pour ne pas sentir l'horrible fardeau du temps qui brise vos épaules et vous penche vers la terre, il faut vous enivrer sans trêve.

Mais de quoi? De vin, de poésie, ou de vertu à votre guise, mais enivrez-vous!

Et si quelquefois, sur les marches d'un palais, sur l'herbe verte d'un fossé, vous vous réveillez, l'ivresse déjà diminuée ou disparue, demandez au vent, à la vague, à l'étoile, à l'oiseau, à l'horloge; à tout ce qui fuit, à tout ce qui gémit, à tout ce qui roule, à tout ce qui chante, à tout ce qui parle, demandez quelle heure il est. Et le vent, la vague, l'étoile, l'oiseau, l'horloge, vous répondront, il est l'heure de s'enivrer ; pour ne pas être les esclaves martyrisés du temps, enivrez-vous, enivrez-vous sans cesse de vin, de poésie, de vertu, à votre guise.»

Charles Baudelaire -1869

 

Bisoux

  

High Culture: General Studies 450 Post

La vie à Paris...la vie de l'haute culture. Parisian life...the life of high culture. There are countless aspects to life in Paris, or life in a big metropolitan city for that matter, that open your eyes to another world: one of art, culture, cuisine, experiences, and all together a different way of life. One major part of being in Paris are the expositions that happen practically on a weekly and monthly basis. For this post I chose to visit the MONUMENTA Exhibit at the Grand Palais (where Chanel Fashion Shows are!!!) for an exhibit featuring contemporary artist, Christian Boltanski for this year's 2010 MONUMENTA.

Working with a space of over 13,500m2, the Ministry of Culture gave Boltanski the amazing opportunity to come to Le Grand Palais and do what he wills and create a temporary masterpiece for all of Paris to experience. Born in 1944, France, Boltanski’s international career grew and established itself with great reputation since the 1970’s renowned in the contemporary scene. This year’s MONUMENTA is said to be ‘conceived as a powerful physical and psychological experience, an episode of spectacular emotion and sensations exploring the nature and meaning of human existence’. Wow, what the statement! The exhibit featured a combination of sound and vision building on the artist’s former themes of human existence and ‘being’. The vast hall of Le Grand Palais was lined with geometrically placed squares of clothing laid out in a grid like pattern. In the back center of the gallery was a monumental pile, more pyramid-like, pile of clothing with a large iron crane hovering above.

 

 

Surrounding the hall were large speakers belting great bass from them, odd sounds that filled and echoed the hall. Upon speaking with the representatives wandering around the exhibit engaging in conversation with people about the expo, we were informed that the strong bass sounds were of a heartbeat mixed with other internal sounds of the human body. Quite interesting! It gave it such a unique feeling and atmosphere that I really cannot begin to describe (see video below to see/hear it). Though the interesting part were the squares of laid out clothing; each square was surrounded by tiny speakers on metal framing, each of which were playing sounds of individual unique heart beats. Kind of cool! The mix of the large speakers and little speakers echoing through the hall created a most one of a kind sound environment.

Drawing your eyes to the large pyramid of clothing, you begin to hear the crane lowering down its claws to the clothes. It then clothes its teeth and grabs large pile of clothes, slowly rising to the ceiling again, then dropping the clothes, each falling like confetti, swirling about landing randomly around the pyramid. I don’t quite know exactly what this had to do with, but it was definitely a stunning visual experience of well, Monumental proportions. This extension of height really took advantage of the great space Boltanski was given to work with. If you ever visit Le Grand Palais in Paris, which I feel is a must, you too will be amazed by its vastness and glass and iron lattice ceiling.

Reviewed by both French and American press, MONUMENTA and Boltanski have succeeded in creating a truly phyical and mind bending experience. As the viewer of the exhibition, I feel that the French press gave a better, more approachable description of the exhibition. Where as the American review was more of an artistic review and critique. I appreciated the French press’ way of reviewing the exhibit for what it is worth, what people can get out of it, and what they can expect to see and feel if they attend. My favorite description of the exhibit, referred to it as ‘Vivant parmi les morts…’ In English: ‘Living among the dead’. This theme of the living dead for me was practically the first feeling I got when I entered the exhibit. As if each piece of clothing, among the thousands, was like a soul, lying there, a person once inside it. It may be a tad extreme of a thought, but seeing all the clothes and the numbered tin boxes, my mind immediately thought Holocaust. Perhaps not the artist’s intentions, but one must wonder, how can thousands of ‘tossed’ clothes not reference your mind to the Holocaust, even for me, the American from SoCal? Quite profound walking amidst what feels like the souls of yesterday.

«Il faut savoir regarder l'oeuvre de Boltanski avec la naïveté qu'elle appelle, ce sentiment de devoir se plonger tout entier dans un monde qui nous dépasse, un monde qui fait de la question existentielle une expérience immédiate, pleine et entière».

Anglais: “It is necessary to know to look at the work of Boltanski with the naivety which it calls, this feeling to have to plunge itself entire in a world which exceeds us, a world which makes existential question an immediate experiment”.