pack your bags

jeudi 17 avril 2008

We've had a couple of intense discussions in class lately, again about nationality and identification.

It was interesting to hear from the Italian woman Giovanna that Italians, because their country is relatively new, generally do not consider themselves to be proud of their country.  Instead, they identify much more with the city; they would refer to themselves as Romans or proudly declare that they come from Milan.

A second topic was whether we would consider moving to a different country.  This was a very easy question for me since I moved from Taiwan to the US at the age of 10, and consequently I don't feel particularly attached to any one nation.  Sure, my passport states USA, but for me the country is just a place I live; I would have no hesitation moving from San Francisco to Paris, just as easily as someone might move from Berkeley to San Jose, if there is a compelling reason to do so.  I am certain there are many who are loyal to their countries and can't wait to lecture me on the importance of national identity and to remind me of what my country has provided for me; I respect that truly.  But...

Maybe I can illustrate with an analogy.  If you are born in New York then move to Boston at the age of 10, San Francisco at 15, then Chicago at 20, for whom do you cheer - the Yankees, Red Sox, Giants, or Cubs?  Why must you love only the first one?  Why can't you love all of them?  Why must you love any of them?

did I get lost?

mardi 15 avril 2008

Determined to get lost, I decided to do a bit of random exploration today.

A friend of mine, Rick, is here in Paris.  He just arrived a week ago and will be staying for five months.  Unlike me, who will return to work after two months, he quit his job to make a complete change.  Now that is courage.

I asked him to pick a number between 1 and 15 and a letter; I got 6 and L.  Looking on the metro map, I was to explore one of the final stops of line 6 - either Charles-de-Gaulle Etoile or Nation.  Since there is no L in Nation, we headed out toward the touristique destination in the 16ème arrondissement, home of the Arc de Triomphe.

Since the goal was to get lost, we wandered around for two hours, checking out small hidden alleyways, pointing out tourists that stick out like a sore pouce, and not making fun of them too much.  I wonder if anyone was pointing at the two of us and our cameras.

Other than the largest boulevards and avenues, Paris is built so that it is impossible to see far down any street; the view is always obstructed by some architecture several streets down.  Even the boulevards and avenues end in circular "places," which typically features monuments like the Arc de Triomphe or some famous colonne (column).

In the process of getting lost, we found Parc de Monceau, a famous park in the 8ème arrondissement.  Although tiny compared to Central Park, it was still landscaped beautifully (see the picture of the garden), with lots of joggers taking advantage of the environment.  One thing I've noticed in Paris is that in general people don't jog on the streets.  Perhaps there may be one or two çà et là (here and there), but definitely not like in San Francisco.

At the end of the day, after a satisfying exploration of the area, I wondered if we really got lost or if we just wandered.  In order to get lost, do you need to be going somewhere?  And if you don't have a specific destination, are you just exploring?  So perhaps I didn't get los, but I did explore.  And during the process, I did a strip tease in front of the Arc de Triomphe.  Don't get too excited, I stripped off my coat.

c'est fou, non?

lundi 14 avril 2008

My journey is nearly 25% over, hard to believe but true.  So what have I done?  That's the question I've been asking myself the past few days, and it has led to anxiety and doubt more than anything else.

As you know, I have the tendency to want to arrive at a solution instantaneously, like the day before the problem presents itself.  What, then, do I want at this moment?  I want to speak French fluently, to have finished the second draft of my script (that's a lie, I want to be directing the film already), to have met lots of French people, to have taken tons of amazing photos, to have walked everywhere in Paris.  In reality, what among these have I done?

In the past couple of days, I have noticed that when I'm spending time studying French or working on my script (only did it once so far), I felt guilty about not taking walks and getting lost in the city; and when I'm meeting and talking to a local Frenchie, I remind myself that I haven't studied French in two days and that I have barely touched my camera.  Yes, I know how to drive myself (and other people) crazy.

How am I going to stay out (or get out) of the cuckoo's nest?  Not sure, but I need to prioritize things a bit.  The most important things I wanted to do were to learn French and to continue work on my script.  Have I done either?  Sure, I've learned lots of French, even very useful bad words which I hope to incorporate into my daily vocabulary when I return to San Francisco, and I've also started just a little bit on my second draft - I decided that one character would be a nanny and that her boyfriend would be a photographer's assistant.

I've also met some interesting French people - Elisabeth, Thomas, Luyang, Didier's friends Patrick, Julien, Marion, Sylvain, and Isabelle.  They're not my best friends yet, but I've met them.  And yes, the camera has been used.  I haven't taken thousands of pictures yet, but I'm 50 closer.

So actually, I have done a bit of everything I've wanted to, and I've got over 75% of my time here to write a bit more, study a bit more, walk a bit more, photograph a bit more, meet a bit more, and give myself a break a lot more.  Much, much more.

Hey, I've also kept up with this blog.  I've done more than I thought.  Somebody, reach your arm across the Atlantic and give me a pat on the back.

o spring, where art thou?

dimanche 13 avril 2008

Maybe it's because I hated playing Vivaldi's Spring when I was learning the violin two decades ago.  Honestly, it isn't my favorite season in The Four Seasons; Winter and Fall are so much more interesting.

Whatever the reason, spring isn't coming to Paris.  But the tourists are.  Over the weekend there were actually two semi-dry days with temperatures in the low 50's (ouais !) - I could take off my sweater and wear just my winter coat.  Well, no, I was wearing other things besides just the coat.

I took a stroll toward Notre Dame and brought along my camera to test it out, apparently so did thousands of other people that day.  I wasn't in a straight mood (am I ever?) and took most of the pictures at an angle.  Among them you will find evidence of the protest against China's rule on Tibet.  Notice the handcuffs in the disguise of Olympic rings.  There was a second reason I took the picture, can you guess?  I already told you why in this paragraph.

getting lost

vendredi 11 avril 2008

Trying to be as active as I can during these two months without tennis, I make an effort to walk to class everyday.  The keyword is effort.  My class is in the 9ème arrondissement, which is a 25-30 minute walk from home.

Navigating through the streets of Paris isn't exactly the easiest thing, even with my handy "Paris Pratique" which maps out every street in Paris, because lots of these streets are centuries old.  Sure, there are the huge, wide avenues and boulevards, but there are also the narrow rues (streets).  One could start out on a boulevard, walk into a street, turn around the corner into another street, and then get lost in a seemingly unending maze of streets that come one after another.

Or maybe it's just me.  I do have a habit of getting lost while driving; just ask Jeni, she has received too many calls from me at random times asking for directions.

Anyway, during the first two weeks of class, I think I got lost about five or six times, usually as a result of thinking that walking into a particular street would lead to a shortcut.  Eventually, I ended up where I needed to be, and in the process I traversed yet a couple more unknown streets in Paris.

So then, getting lost might be a good thing.  One of the first things Elisabeth said to me was that it's necessary to get lost in Paris.  As a doctor, I've always felt that getting lost is the worst feeling to have when you have a concerned patient or parent sitting in front of you; the entire purpose of medicine is to find the solution as quickly as possible, as directly as possible.  There is no room for error, just ask any lawyer.

If my brain has been wired that way, how am I going to reprogram it to accept change, to embrace getting lost?  Like they say, practice makes perfect; I'll have to force myself to get lost more often (not to be confused with someone telling me to get lost).  I think I am going to take the metro, get off at a random station, walk around while avoiding stepping on the brown trails of dogs which one can find every few steps in Paris, get lost (that is sure to happen), and not consult my Paris Pratique until 2 hours later.  Certainly I'll have my camera with me.  Now if only the weather will cooperate my plan.

Will this work and allow me to embrace changes, spontaneity, getting lost?  I don't know, but it's a step.  Knowing me, I'll get lost trying to get lost.  Even better, as long as I end up there.

tongues (des langues)

mercredi 9 avril 2008

So, tongues, what could I be talking about?

Last night I was watching a porgram on TV, something like a talk show but called Magazine in French.  There are many of these on French TV every night, but they offer no resemblance to American talk shows.  On a typical French talk show, there is one host who talks to several guests about current events in the world, anything from politics to book releases and entertainment.  Some of these include "On n'a pas tout dit" (We haven't said it all), "Ce soir (ou jamais ! )" (Tonight or never), and "C'est à dire ? " (That is to say?).  Yes, much more intellectual than Oprah giving away gifts or Ellen dancing on stage.

I was surfing through the channels and came across a blond woman speaking perfect French; ten seconds later, I realized it was Jodie Foster.  I had no idea she speaks perfect French, with just a very little accent (to my ears at least).  I knew that she graduated from Yale, and a classmate just old me that she had majored in French literature.  Ok, I'm ignorant.  She was in France promoting her new movie "L'île de Nim," starring also Gerard Butler and Abigail Breslin.  One of these three stars is cute.  Guess which one I'm referring to.

This morning in class we talked about food in different cultures (again, I know - but you do know that the French love talking about politics, food, and sex, right?)  Someone brought up cow tongues (it wasn't me).  Not surprisingly, most people made a face when it came up, even more of a reaction than to grasshoppers and wasps.  It's just a muscle, people!

Tonight a Chinese friend took me to a Chinese restaurant specializing in "la mien" (pulled noodles).  The noodles were good, but the most surprising moment of the evening was hearing a song that seemed very familiar but surely a version I hadn't encountered.  It took me 15 seconds to realize it was Jackie Cheung's (not to be confused with Jacky Chan who can't sing) "wen bien" (kiss goodbye), but sung in English by an unfamiliar voice.  My friend told me the song was redone in English by a singer whose name he couldn't remember.  So there I was, eating noodles from northern China, listening to a song in English, originally sung by a guy from Hong Kong (no, don't even start with the "HK is China" thing), in Paris.  Super, hein !?

working hard

lundi 7 avril 2008

Over the weekend, Didier, his friends Alim and Patrick, and I went to a restaurnt in Le Marais called Au P'tit Canaillou.  P'tit is short for petit, meaning little.  Canaillou is a word from familiar language (you probably won't find it in a French-English dictionary) referring to a mischievous boy.  The awning of the restaurant features a cartoon drawing of a little boy making peepee like you would see in a fountain.  Lots of restaurants in France utilize non-standard words that either have familiar, literary, or historical origins.  So much more character than what one would see in the U.S., n'est-ce pas?

The restaurant was full that night, meaning the waiter was busy with about 10 tables of 30 customers.  That's right, I wrote "the waiter," not "waiters."  I don't think one would ever see that in the U.S.  All the customers spent at least two or three hours dining, with very few complaints, at least not verbally that we could hear (yes, my French is that good that I can distinguish complaints from 20 feet away).  Even though one doesn't need to leave a tip (un pourboire - literally "for a drink"), the waiter still worked very hard to please every customer.  He even remembered what everyone at my table ordered.  Quite impressive.

D'ailleurs, j'avais un autre rendez-vous avec un correspondant. Il s'appelle Falilou et il vient de Guinea. Il est en France depuis 2002 et il habite dans la banlieue parisienne avec sa femme et leur fille qui a cinq mois. Il m'a dit qu'en mars et en avril, tout le monde qui travaille dans les affaires est très occupé parce qu'il est la fin de la période fiscale.

Sa femme et lui, ils tous les deux travaillent très dur. Il faut que son anglais s'améliore parce que les gens qui peuvent parler l'anglais gagnent d'habitude plus d'argent que ceux qui ne le parlent pas. Il a dit que typiquement il n'étudie pas l'anglais souvent parce qu'il regarde le foot à la télé ou il est trop fatigué de le faire après une journée trop tongue au travail, mais ma persévérance d'apprendre le français le motive à étudier l'anglais plus intensément. Par contre, je crois que c'est lui qui me motive à travailler plus. Sa dédicace à sa famille me touche beaucoup.