The fog splits…

 

"Un chocolat chaud, s'il vous plait!"

Sunday, February 22^nd

 

            I had drooped along in a cloud of French angst for a few weeks: missing my friends, missing Burlington, missing my life back in the states, wondering why I wasn’t assimilating as quickly as I thought I would. I decided to try to start over.

           We had just had a seminar on the imagination that I thought went quite well. Our class had really clicked and trusted each other in the discussion, and spirits were high. 

            We started filing out of the studio to start the thirty minute trek back into town. I found Tucker in the line and walked back a ways with her. She mentionned something about her host mom would be driving out to visit a friend in Nice… something about her cousins… there’s skiing not far from there… wanna come? I’d been looking for a weekend out of Aix and agreed to come along. Who turns down a free trip to go skiing in the Alps?

  

Driving out from Aix- Mount Sainte Victoire

          The next Friday, we set off at six in her little red car. The sun was setting behind us and it felt good to be in a car driving toward a weekend. Her host mom was a crazy driver. She drove so fast. I couldn’t tell how fast because the speedometer was metric. We flew past Cannes and found our way into the center of Nice.

         The car died as we reached the apex of  this hill and I was sure we were going to die as we zoomed down it. At the bottom of the hill we found a gas station and came to an abrupt stop right in front of the gas tanks. The gas attendant let us keep the car there all night.

        For some reason I assumed her host mom’s friend would be a woman. I was surprised to find a tall French man step out of the car. It was her cousin, René. When he introduced himself he asked if I spoke French, I said “No”. Tucker corrected me and said, “She does speak French, she’s just tired.” I thanked her.

            René lives on the top two floors of this amazing apartment looking over Nice. He has a 360 degree view of Nice and you can see the Mediterranean in the distance from his living room. It was so nice. I couldn’t believe that he didn’t mind feeding and housing two American students for the weekend. At the dinner table I was a bit nervous, trying to be as polite as possible but he made us feel welcome. He told us all about his life and stories of Tucker’s host mom when she was little. Turns out he’s an international pharmaceutical conference planner and opera singer. He’s half French, half Sicilian. It all made sense. He’s obviously really in the mafia.

            The next morning we caught a bus to Isola, two hours north of Nice. The way up was a bit treacherous on such a large bus and little winding mountain roads. We finally made it there in one piece. The view was incredible. It looked like a movie backdrop had been put up it was so unreal. 

I thought any minute now, Arnold Swarzenagger was going to fly out of woods and expose the movie set-up.  We rented some skis and if it hadn’t been for my all-consuming fear of instant death, skiing would have gone smoothly. This one slope had to be at least seventy-five degrees steep. I took off my skis and sled do

wn it on my butt. I thought I was going to die.

           

I stopped skiing after that slope and found a nice seat to soak ujp some sun and some hot chocolate. I’ll never forget how clear the air was up there. I wanted to bottle it and take it back with me.

            After another treacherous ride back to Nice, we showered, eat dinner, and headed out for Carnivale. The floats and lights were spectacular.

La Grande Roule

After the show, René offered us a ride on the Ferris wheel. He got a kick out of how many photos I took (900 in total for the whole weekend). I couldn’t believe how hospitable he was. He really restored my faith in the French as a people. After we got off of the Ferris wheel Madame Lefay offered to get us cotton candy. I didn’t understand what she was asking and said sure, going along with whatever I thought everyone else wanted. Then I realized that she was getting cotton candy and no one else wanted any. I offered to pay knowing she has just lost her car and was struggling financially, but she wouldn’t let me. I was touched at her kind gesture but at the same time, I felt like she and René were treating us like children. I decided to embrace it because they were being so kind and I figured this is one of the last times I’ll be able to think of myself as a kid.

            The next morning we walked around old Nice and got to see the markets, the seaside, the ports, and the view from the castle.

It was unforgettably beautiful.

It was so sunny and the air was warm and comforting. We sat outside at this beautiful café, eat pizza with anchovies, olives, and capers, sipped rosé, and had coffee ice cream desserts with chantilly and whipped cream. René’s treat! I was in heaven. I pinched Tucker and we laughed about how unreal the weekend was.

            I realized. I’m in a country that loves film, wine, art, and eating just as much, if not more than I do. It’s forty degrees warmer here than it is in Vermont. I’m painting almost everyday. How did my little life get so lucky?

 

 

 You can see more photos of our adventure at:

http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=34392613&l=6d2da&id=6912703

 

Dejection

Me, outside my apartment complex in Aix

Wednesday, February 18^th

 

            For some reason when I was preparing to leave for Aix I had the idea that studying abroad was some kind of automatic makeover. When I arrive I’m a stumpy, ignorant American, and during my stay here I miraculously transform into this French globetrotting bombshell. I would remember to floss everyday, I would enjoy numerous pastries that wouldn’t have any affect my figure, and I would automatically understand how the world works- just by being abroad. Well so far I’ve learned that I have an affinity for chocolate covered waffles, and after eight years of studying French, I could use another year… so much for globetrotting bombshell. 

La Chambre d’Isabella

Sunday, February 15^th

            Friday night I took advantage of the “free” show at Le Grande Theatre, Le Chambre d’Isabella. It was one of the best nights I’ve had here, so far. I sat waiting for the show to begin I realized how little I knew what to expect. They called it a “modern comedic musical tragedy with contemporary dance.” The stage was littered with tables covered in ancient African artifacts. I wondered how they were going to dance.

            After a few minutes, the writer presented himself and introduced the cast. Everyone, including the writer, was on stage at all times throughout the whole piece regardless of whether the character had been introduced yet or whether they had died; they were present and participating all the time. It was very existential and chaotic.

            The story line is based on this one woman’s extraordinary life experiences. It starts with her parents and describes her childhood with specific memories played out between the two actors who play her mother and father and at other times she talked directly to them. The dialogue between them went back and forth between French and English with corresponding subtitles. At the same time there would be interpretive dance on another part of the stage. It was a sensual overload but made sense and really worked with the story. The dancing and singing were so amazing and I still have one of their songs stuck in my head. “Allons, allons, allons…we just go on… allons, allons, allons…”

            This was truly an experience I wouldn’t have easily found in the United States. The story was so tragic but the actors presented certain situations with a comedic air, like when her lover shoots her in the arm.

             It was so outrageously french, too. In the story she has an affair with her grandson who is in love with David Bowie, she believes her father is an African prince, and her parent’s relationship starts when her father rapes her mother. One of the actresses played her right brain, one her left. She’s left with all these artifacts in this room in Paris and becomes an anthropologist of African artifacts but she only gets to go to Africa for six hours in her lifetime. It was so tragic.    

                There were moments that felt like improvisation they were so genuine and organic.  It was outrageous, scandalous, abstract, existential, and so original. I loved it so much and the rest of the audience (or those around me) seemed to love it, too. 

It’s a small world, after all

Wednesday, February 11^th

 

            At Marchutz (the art school I’m attending here, in Aix) we’ve been working off of a model, practicing figure drawing. It’s been a wonderful and intensive exercise that has been really rewarding.

            After class the other day I was talking to the model, Pauline, about my life in Burlington. She told me her boyfriend goes to UVM and I faintly recognized the name. It’s a big school so I assumed I didn’t know him and continued to reminisce about my favorite restaurants in Burlington. Later on that afternoon she was saying something about her boyfriend wearing a baseball cap and I immediately thought of a photo project my friend had done of his housemates last year, all in baseball caps. I asked to see a photo of him and it indeed was one of the housemates who lived in my college house before me! She couldn’t believe that I lived at 9 Booth! Of course, I travel all the way to France and find someone who practically lived in my house back in the states! The world has never seemed so small.

Start Over

 

One of the many fountains in Aix.

Unfortunately, I’ve neglected this dear blog of mine when I should have been using it to it’s fullest. 

To update: these past few months I’ve been studying studio art in Aix-en-Provence, France.

In order to spare you from a pile up of journal entries about my experience here I’ll share the highlights, then move on.

 

Sunday, January 25^th

Day two in Aix

 

            I made it. After fourteen hours of traveling I had made it to the Marseille airport in Provence, France: “La Cote d’Azur”. It was grey and rainy but I could see the water clearly- hovering uncomfortably low to it in the little jet piloted by the Irish mafia. It looked like the water you find in a mini golf course that’s been died blue. I wondered if it was actually safe to swim in.

            After the most turbulent landing I’d ever survived all five of us onboard climbed out of the plane to find unmarked hallways leading to what I hoped was the exit. I found the waiting area where a cheerful man waited waving a sign that read “American students”. He smiled and said “Bonjour! Liz? My name is Leigh Smith, I am the director of IAU. You can go grab a seat with everyone right over there!” I sat down next to ten other students who looked as tired as I was and equally miserable. Each person clung to their baggage like they clung to the US. I did not, however, have anything to cling to.

 

            I had left my bag in the airport terminal.

 

            Mortified, I walked over to Leigh and admitted I forgot to stop at baggage claim. Within 30 seconds I was running through the back-way into customs with a French customs officer. The first bag on the rotunda? Mine. It wasn’t the best start to the trip but all was not lost. In America, it would’ve taken me hours to get my bag back. I wondered if French customs was that lenient of if Leigh was that good.

            We filed into the shuttle bus with sloping shoulders and tired eyes. The bus driver was sprite and cheery and French. He made fun of my large suitcase and apologized for leaving it last.

            After an uneventful bus ride from Marseille to Aix, I was introduced to Madame Le Rouge. In my jet-lagged, nervous, anxious state- I immediately became frustrated with the language barrier there was between us. I became even more anxious when she forgot the name of my roommate and started mumbling things. She asked me a few questions and I struggled to answer them in broken French. After 30 hours of travel, I wasn’t ready to articulate my life story for her. So she kept rambling on about the right time to take a shower, random things about her life, and how she was going to run things around the house. I immediately felt suffocated and out of place. Did she really just say her son is in Polynesia or is she asking me if I have allergies?

            After settling in a little, I took a short nap then awoke to find an apple on my bedside table. I had told Madame that I liked them. It was such a nice little gesture.

            I got out of bed and was finishing to unpack when my new Swedish roommate Katrine invited me to come along to a café with her and her Swedish friends. I thought “This is the new me who takes full advantage of everything France has to offer. Why not?”

            Minutes later I’m sitting at a wonderful café with seven Swedish girls explaining the American education system. They all spoke English but were studying French so the table toggled between our three languages. They were so lovely and so down-to earth. I was happy to have found such great European friends on my first day. So I naturally accepted when they invited me to go out with them again later that night.

            Now, this was a very important night because Sweden was playing France in handball. After learning I had never heard of handball, the Swedes refused to let me stay home. Apparently Sweden needed my support- face paint and all. I couldn’t believe that less than 24 hours ago I was eating lunch in a restaurant in the city and now I was in the middle of Southern France at a random bar with a Swedish flag on my face. Despite my jet lag, I ventured on into the night with the crazy Swedes, hopping from bar to bar to discothèque. I experienced what felt like the entire club scene of Aix in one night. I’ll never forget how freeing it was to dance in a club completely filled with foreign strangers who I may never see again. The night was a blur of French slang, flashing lights and walking arm and arm down cobblestone alleys with an amazing group of new girlfriends. I walked home at what was eight a.m. U.S. Eastern time completely euphoric but somewhat delusional with exhaustion.

      

            You can find more of my photos of the weekend market on facebook here:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2131894&id=6912703&l=90b5

 

More posts and photos to come…

Curiosity at it’s finest.

I’ve avoided posting for a while because I don’t enjoy the idea of posting out of necessity or habit. 

Nothing ever seemed really “post-worthy” lately. 

Well, now…

 

I just went to see “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button” and I couldn’t wait to get home and tell the world about it. 

Honestly, it is one of the most beautiful movies I’ve ever seen. 

Earlier tonight, David and I decided to grab dinner, get some coffee and shakes at Muddy’s, then see a movie. Even with the stop at Muddy’s, we arrived at the movie theatre quite early. We were first in line to wait for the previous showing to get out.

When the movie ended and the crowd filed out of the theater, I noticed a few people had been crying. I said to David, “Oh, boy… And it’s two and a half hours long!” thinking I had made the wrong choice. “Doubt” had crossed my mind, literally.

I was still uneasy about the movie choice when the previews ended and the movie began.

I will never doubt David Fincher again.

The story is of a man who is born aged and instead of growing older, grows younger. It’s told flashing back and forth between scenes of his life and scenes of a daughter next to her mother’s death bed. 

It’s like watching a past life unfold before you. You know the characters from your soul. The plot, however strange, is gripping and heart-warming. 

It was a combination of “Forest Gump”, “Big Fish”, ” The Notebook”, “On Golden Pond” and “Peter Pan”, if that’s possible. 

It feels momentous, not at all tiring or long-winded. 

The make-up, the editing, the photography, the casting- glorious. Cate Blanchett and Tilda Swinton were absolutely lovely. The cinematography was as grand as “Titanic”, but artsier. There were definitely a few moments I enjoyed the movie for pure visual aestheticism. 

The only distraction I had during the first part of the movie was the CGI relating to the baby and the first few years of Benjamin’s life. I kept waiting for the real Brad Pitt to emerge out the make-up. That’s probably because I know how great he looks in reality. I can’t call it a casting fault because Pitt really worked the role well. 

I also wished I could’ve lingered a bit longer in a few of the scenes but I think the way the movie was edited really gave a good sense of a lot of time passing and a lot of memories made along the way. It felt like a full-fledged novel, even though it was based on a short story by F. Scott Fitzgerald.

While the screen-writing could’ve thrown in a few more one-liners, they were able to carry a complicated, and production-heavy plot for two and a half hours seamlessly. Bravo.

 

Not even kidding, when the lights came on, a French Canadian who had sat next to us in the beginning of the show stood up and actually said,

“I love life.”

Another who sat in front leaned over to his wife and whispered,

“Assez beau.” (“Really beautiful.”)

Truth is, I don’t know if I could watch it again. I don’t want to sink the cloud it put me on. Well done.

 

UPDATE:

-Movie-goer shoots another audience member for talking during this movie:

http://www.firstshowing.net/2008/12/27/angry-moviegoer-shoots-man-for-talking-during-movie/

Pageant of the bizarre…

Have the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade Floats always been so odd?

Tweenie popstars singing about lost love on floats about trucks?

Scantily-dressed little ones dancing provocatively to songs about their high school clique on a day of thanks and sharing?

Can you imagine a float like this hoppin’ down 34th street to “Clique Girlz”?

 

Macy's Day Parade 1938 "Sea Serpent"

Gotta love the T.V. anchors’ cheesy comments.

 

I definitely was not expecting the parade to get “Rick Rolled”, either!

 

Happy Thanksgiving, all!

Cynic flag re-design options

The Cynic, UVM’s award-winning student newspaper is in the process of redesigning it’s layout.

A miss Casey Manning, a miss Joanna Benjamin and myself put together a few ideas for the new Cynic flag.

 

They are as follows:

 

Liz's left-aligned

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Casey’s sans serif

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jo's classic rendition

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’d love some feedback on them.

Keep in mind- they are works in progress.

 

 

I love videojug.

I just recently stumbled upon videojug.com- “Life explained. On film.”

They’re not kidding.

Absolutely everything you could ever need to know is played out step by step for you in cute short how-to films.

How to eat sushi? check.

How to know you’re in love? check.

How to give a man hug? check.

How to do the moon walk? Smokey eye effect? Tie a tie?

How to get out of a car without showing the world your undies? Aw, poor Britney.

They’ve got videos on health, pets, love, sex, sports, technology, and food. Yep, everything.

Check it out (unfortunately I had to paste this video through youtube but please find the original site here) :

Maid Marion

If ever there were a female equivalent to “man crush” – I’d have it on Marion Cotillard.

Wondering why you haven’t heard of her?

To sum up, she’s French. In order to be famous in France you must not be famous. Tres complique.

Basically, the French have kept her hidden all these years.

You may have seen her in full gorgeous glory in “A Good Year” with Russell Crowe. Even though the best part of that movie was the setting, you have to consider they shot it in Southern France in the summertime.

Her serious role was playing the substance-abusing singer Edith Piaf in “La Vie en Rose”.

I didn’t even recognize Marion as the same actress from “A Good Year” until I pulled her up on imdb.

In both roles, she steals the show. Somebody get this girl a movie she can shine in for America.

Her recent interview in T magazine.

Marion as Edith Piaf in “La Vie en Rose” (Attr: www.villagevoice.com)