is it all bull?

dimanche 27 avril 2008

Second day in Provence - Nîmes.  I was transported back to my high school days when I ruled the world like Julius Caesar.  Actually, it was more like when I studied Latin, except I don't remember much of it now.

Nîmes is a very old city.  Proof?  There is a coliseum built by the Romans 2,000 years ago.  Les arènes (the arenas) isn't as large as the Coliseum in Rome, but it is a bit better preserved in my opinion.  It was built for spectacles involving gladiators and more recently has been used for bullfighting.

We also visited an ancient temple (again, built by the Romans) called La Maison Carrée in which we saw a short film in 3D depicting the history of Nîmes.  The title was Heros, and after recounting the stories of past citizens, it ended with the victories of a bullfighter whose name I cannot remember (not that I tried).  Someone explain to me why a bullfighter is a hero.  That's like saying Russell Crowe is a hero for making movies.  As much as the French criticize Hollywood and other American customs such as worshipping athletes, an act which I also find despicable, they themselves are also guilty of glorifying entertainers.

Nevertheless, to be in the midst of these monuments that date back to the Romans two millennia ago is truly astounding.  Just think I walked on the same stones that Augustus once graced with his sandals.  My Latin teacher Mr. Shickle (RIP) would be proud.  Well, maybe not, since I've forgotten most of my Latin.

After Nîmes, we headed to Le Pont de Gard, also a remnant from the Roman era.  It has three tiers, and it is truly magnificent to behold.  Didier tells me that because of the frequency of visits by French citizens who probably weren't taking their Prozac (or Paxil, Zoloft, Celexa - take your pick, I am not endorsing any of them, nor do I own stocks in any company that makes them) - meaning they jumped - the top tier was permanently closed to visitors.  I am a bit surprised since I think jumping off the lowest tier would probably produce the same result.

A demain (until tomorrow).  I'm too tired to write in French, so that will have to do for now.

far above, but not too far away

samedi 26 avril 2008

I woke up early this morning to make sure I would get to Gare de Lyon on time.

To have major train stations accessible by a short metro ride is simply marvelous.  Certainly that doesn't exist in San Francisco.  Gare de Lyon, by the way, isn't in Lyon; it is in the heart of Paris, and it is beautiful.

There is something about arriving at a train station and watching and hearing the hustle and bustle of adults and children all around, the adults scrambling to track their trains and validate their tickets, the children chasing each other and seemingly finding every way to annoy their parents.  The smell of croissants and pains au chocolate permeate the entire station.  Lines of TGV trains extend beyond what the vision can perceive as it is temporarily blinded by the rising sun peeking out behind them.  The senses are stimulated beyond what a visit to the airport can conjure.

By the way, a few of you have asked if I am eating croissants everyday.  No.  I've had exactly one croissant in the past month.  Typically, I prefer pain au chocolate (I'm not a masochist nor do I have a strange fetish for sweets; pain is in French), roulé au myrtille (a very delicious blueberry roll), or viennoserie au chocolat.

But back to my journey that was about to begin at Gare de Lyon.  The ride at about 300-350 km/hr from Paris to Avignon would take a little under three hours.  There was no point in taking pictures; the speed of the train was too great.

Alim and I met Didier at the TGV station in Avignon, after which we drove into the ancient town of Avignon, which is surrounded by a "rempart," which, as you may have guessed, is a rampart.  Avignon is famous for a few things "Les demoiselles d'Avignon" by Picasso, "Sur le pont d'Avignon," which is a famous French folk song (notice my not so clever alliteration); and the papacy.

The Palace of the Pope was constructed in Avignon in the 14th century; it was the center of Christianity prior to its settling in the Vatican City.  Now you all know I'm not a religious person, but after a visit to the palace, it was even harder to contain myself.

The Pope and his entourage really lived in luxury beyond perhaps the king.  There were several towers and "treasure rooms" in the palace, conveniently located above and below the pope's chamber.  God only knows what kind of treasures these people held.  I couldn't help but repeatedly ask myself:  If Jesus Christ suffered for humanity and is a symbol of the religion, why do people so blindly accept that the Christian leaders should live in luxury?  Even if they don't accept it, why do they allow it?  Yes, I use the present tense correctly.  My classmate Giovanna, who comes from Rome, tells me that many residents of Rome scramble to make ends meet while the select few (or many in this case) are living luxuriously in the Vatican; unfortunately, this isn't something that Italians from other cities experiences.  Additionally, a classmate from Berlin revealed that Germans who identify themselves as Christians must contribute a percentage of their income tax to the church.

But then I thought: perhaps people don't want to wake up.  Perhaps they know very well what they are paying for their so-called religion.  We are, after all, only human.  We all make mistakes.  We all know we do things that we shouldn't.  Perhaps some of us feel that by paying and contributing, these mistakes can be erased and we can then deny that these mistakes were ever made.  After which, of course, we can do the same things over and over again.  Maybe that's why some of us proudly march on the streets telling one group they are sinners and another they are going to hell.  Is this the price and the message of Christianity?

I know not all Christians conduct their lives this way, and I know that the people I've described exist under all religions; it's just that the power and wealth of Christianity is simply incredible and... unreligious and anti-Christ.

After exiting the palace, I got the feeling that it was really a big closet.  I gladly walked out of it into a warm spring afternoon.  The spirits of the past, however, seem to have trapped themselves inside.

Not too far away in a foreign city, there is a far grander closet whose residents continue to trap, continue to control the present, the past, and very likely the future.

P.S. In the pictures, you see images taken from and around the Palais des Papes as well as Le Pont d'Avignon.  You are also blessed with picture of Saint Didier - notice the halo above him.

aiming high

jeudi 24 avril 2008

By tomorrow, I will have been in Paris for four weeks, and my first session of French class will be over.  I am in the process of making a few changes to make better use of my time in Paris.

First of all, I am dropping the evening class.  Up to now, I've had both the morning and evening classes; I was ambitious.  Trop.  For May, I will only be attending the morning class, which I believe will bu sufficient to improve my grammar in French.  That means I will have two additional evenings available.  Quoi faire?  As planned, I have been meeting lots of French people interested in language exchange.  It has been great, but that also needs some adjustment.

When you meet someone for such a purpose, the topics of conversations typically revolve around "why are you in Paris," "how long have you been studying English," "where have you visited," etc...  I can honestly say I can answer these questions more than adequately in French.  Sure, when you meet the same person repeatedly, the topics change, but the context doesn't vary much.  So an important goal for the second month is to immerse myself into the daily lives of French people.

I don't know exactly yet how I will accomplish this, but an idea is to join a running club; exercise, French practice, explore more neighborhoods in Paris - I'll be killing three French oiseaux with one Taiwanese-American pierre.  I don't know what that means; it sounded better in my head.

I have a week to relax (me, relax?), as if spending two months in Paris isn't relaxing enough.  I'll be traveling to Provence and the Alps with my friends Didier and Alim.  This would be the first time that I travel to the south of France.

Jealous much?  No worries, I'll keep you all updated with photos, it will be as if you were there yourselves.  Reach out into the screen and it's like touching the snowy Alps.  That is, if my brain will still function at an altitude of 4,000 meters.

what happens at night

dimanche 20 avril 2008

Julien and Hermine invited me over for lunch today.  They made a quiche Lorraine for me, with eggs, cream, and lardon - from scratch, even the pastry.  It was to die for.  C'était bon à en crever.

Our sublime feast was accompanied by a mundane discussion of our plans.  Evidently, I'm not the only one struggling about my future.  Both of them are tired of life in Paris and long for a more tranquil life with less artificial conveniences and greater natural stimuli.  A recent failure in Hermine's negotiation of a job transfer has led to some misery for both.

Since I'm an expert in quitting a comfortable job to seek a life less certain but more fulfilling (I'm an expert in quitting things as well), I was glad to offer some advice.  We decided that it is best to have several plans in case one doesn't work out.  On paper, plan A is the best, where she would renegotiate for the transfer to make the move they wanted.  Plan B is to quit their jobs, take a long trip to Spain, Japan, and the US, then return to a new city in France to look for new jobs.  The same trip is also the main component of plan C, but they would settle in a foreign city along their journey to establish a new life there, possibly opening a quiche boutique if I offer enough of a financial investment (interest-free, of course).

I can't say I know for sure which plan would eventually work out, but I do think it's always a good plan to step back from your problems, take a restful siesta, then return with fresh ideas.  The French say "la nuit porte conseil" (Night brings council), and the Chinese "take one step back and you see the wide open sea and sky ahead of you."

I imagine them running their quiche store by the sea, very much like the friendly couple in Miyazaki's "Kiki's delivery service;" how romantic would that be!  They would wake up every morning, prepare the secret ingredients for their quiches, complain that the cream isn't fresh enough that day (they are French after all, they have to complain about something), greet their customers, and finish work by mid-afternoon to entertain their guest (that would be me).  I don't think I'll show up on a flying broomstick (Kiki is a teenage witch in training), but maybe I'll bring along a DVD of my latest film.  Maybe I'll even autograph it.

Speaking of my film career, it's time for me to take a step back and have my own siesta.

all souffléd out

samedi 19 avril 2008

Who loves a soufflé?  The fluffy and warm chocolate flavor that dangles on your tongue, teasing you to hold on to its magic, then when you are certain you are in love with it, it disappears.

Last night, Didier, Alim, Patrick, and I dined at "Le Soufflé" in le 1ème arrondissement behind Le Louvre.  Soufflé, by the way, comes from the French verb souffler, meaning to blow.  Obviously, the specialty of the restaurant is the soufflé, so I tried the menu, which consists of an entrée, plat, and dessert, all soufflés.

Each dish was well prepared, the texture light and smooth, and the flavor delicate and fine.  For the entrée, soufflé aux epinards; le soufflé Henry IV à la volaille for the plat, and soufflé noix de coco for dessert.  Here, I confess I made a mistake.  I read very quickly thinking I was ordering a chocolate soufflé - i.e., cocoa - but instead I got a coconut soufflé, which I don't like at all.  Nevertheless, the point is that by the end of the meal, I had enough of soufflés.  There is too much of a good thing.

Ce matin, j'ai eu un rendez-vous avec un correspondant qui s'appelait Sylvain.  On a marché dans le cimetière Père Lachaise.  J'étais là pour la première fois.  Bien sûr beaucoup de gens connus y reposent, mais je connais seulement Chopin.

On a discuté de plusieurs choses, et je lui ai dit que je suis en train d'écrire un scénario et qu'il raconte mes expériences à Paris il y a deux ans, surtout les histoires des gens que j'ai rencontrés.  Si on parlait de ses problèmes, ça peut-être m'inspirerait.  Fais attention !

Enfin, on a discuté de l'âme soeur et de l'amour idéal.  Est-ce qu'il existent ? Si oui, est-ce qu'il y a une seule âme soeur pour chacun, ou bien est-ce qu'il y en a plusieurs ? En plus, comment sait-on que la personne que l'on rencontre est l'amour idéal ? Est-ce qu'un amour idéal dure pour toujours ? Je suis certain qu'il n y a pas de réponses et que je me prends la tête avec ces questions stupides (merci à Didier pour sa contribution); quand même c'est un suject qui a inspiré des tas de poésies, de films, et de l'art en général.

Pourtant, comme dit Didier en faisant une grimace de désapprobation, est-ce qu'il y a quelqu'un que je connais dans la vraie vie qui a déjà rencontré son amour idéal ? Je ne sais pas. Peut-être que non. Je vais trouver mon "true life" et pas mon "true love."

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.