"Love set you going like a fat gold watch:" A Week in France
Written March 9, 2010
It took me about two weeks to convince my friends that the South of France was the best destination for Spring Break. We thought about Croatia, Portugal, and Spain. Much negotiating was done, and then finally we decided on France. We have done a lot of flustered and rushed sight seeing over weekends these past few months, but this trip was for relaxing. We rented an apartment in old nice and brought books and dirty clothes to wash in the in house (and free!) washer and dryer. Of course, when I say we, I mean Natalie, Sonya, Katie Webb, Mariesa (who took multiple trains from Lausanne to meet us!!!! ), Evanne, and I.
The view from our windows was phenomenal, especially as sunset. There was a stature of a pope (not certain which one) right outside our window, nicely fastened to the picturesque church next door. The quaintness of old town was all around, including an abundance of gelato. French architecture is my favorite, although in Texas that normally shows itself in a Louisiana style house, I was still in heaven in France.
Our first meal in France was lunch on Sunday afternoon. We went out to the coastal road to eat with a view of the ocean. We could tell that there was some sort of festival going on in Old Town, but the only evidence we had been able to find was confetti. Then, a parade came slowly by. Huge floats made to looks like moving dragons (Land Before Time music was playing), smurfs, and a very beaten looking world, bandaged and with needles stuck into it—which I’ll admit looked a little disturbing. We had perfectly placed ourselves to view the spectacle.
Our first meal in France was lunch on Sunday afternoon. We went out to the coastal road to eat with a view of the ocean. We could tell that there was some sort of festival going on in Old Town, but the only evidence we had been able to find was confetti. Then, a parade came slowly by. Huge floats made to looks like moving dragons (Land Before Time music was playing), smurfs, and a very beaten looking world, bandaged and with needles stuck into it—which I’ll admit looked a little disturbing. We had perfectly placed ourselves to view the spectacle.
One of the best parts about our trip to France was that Evanne flew into London the day before we left in order to join us. Now, whether you know it or not, Evanne and I have been having some issues. For a lot of reasons, so it was good to be with her. I was really excited for her to meet my friends, and I hope that she can get closer to them next year and we can all hang out. I liked it because by the end of the week her and Katie Webb had some little inside jokes in the taxi on the way back to the airport. She had some jet lag during the week, and I know that must have been a pain, but I’m really glad she fought threw it cause it was so nice to spend time with her. I hope this trip will make things better this summer. Also, it was a little strange having her there, especially at first, mainly because I'm not used to having someone looks so much like me abroad. At home, its normal. When our cabbie dropped us off in the square in Nice I saw Evanne's reflection in the window of the car and for a millisecond I thought it was me, just because I wasn't used to having her there. That has NEVER happened before. I’m really glad she could make it. Also, she made chocolate covered strawberries, which she is very good at.
Having some time to read this past week, I came across some new poems. I'll put a few here for your enjoyment ;)
Atlas by U.A. Fanthorpe
There is a kind of love called maintenance,
Which stores the WD40 and knows when to use it;
Which checks the insurance, and doesn't forget
The milkman; which remember to plant bulbs;
Which answers letters; which knows the way
The money goes; which deals with dentists
And Road Fund Tax and meeting trains,
and postcards to the lonely; which upholds
The permanently ricketty elaborate
Structures of living; which is Atlas.
And maintenance is the sensible side of love,
Which knows what time and weather are doing
To my brickwork; insulates my faulty wiring;
Laughs at my dryrotten jokes; remembers
My need for gloss and grouting; which keeps
My suspect edifice in air,
As Atlas did the sky.
Animals by Miller Williams
I think the death of domestic animals
marks the sea changes in our lives.
Think how things were, when things were different.
There was an animal then, a dog or a cat,
not the one you have now, another one.
Think when things were different before that.
There was another one then. You had almost forgotten.
Newly Born Twins by Helen Farish
In separate incubators one of the twins was dying.
Against doctors orders, a nurse put them together.
The strong twin, the one with nothing
pulling her back, she slung
her newly born arm over
the one who was wanting to leave,
and stabilised her heartbeat, made everything
regular in the body of the one who'd already
had enough.
The strong one, she will think
she is God, that she can pull back
life from where it was wanting to go.
It will be harder for her
than for the one who already knows
about separation, loneliness, where
they can make you want to go.
Stationary by Agha Shahid Ali
The moon did not become the sun.
It just fell on the desert
in great sheets, reams
of silver handmade by you.
The night is your cottage industry now,
the day is your brisk emporium.
The world is full of paper.
Write to me.
We spent the week trying to communicate with vendors in super markets, in stores, and in train stations headed to Monaco and Cannes. One day wearing flip flops, I soon learned that my sheltered feet, having spent a whole winter under socks and boots, were not prepared for the flips flops I had brought a long with me. What resulted was about 10 blisters and at least 5 trips to the pharmacie, which luckily are dotted around France just as frequently as the Walgreens in Texas.
Some pictures from the week:
Now that I’m back in London, I miss fumbling through my high school French to speak to the butcher and the restaurant owners. I miss the warmth in Nice, and the ocean, but most of all I’m glad for the experience. I would have stayed there for three more weeks and been completely happy, but things come to an end, and when I returned, its true, I felt like London was my home. I missed my bed and the smell of the London house, and the construction on Exhibition, and lunch at Le Pain. The best thing about being here isn’t really the traveling—it’s the transformation of a place from foreign to familiar.
If I had to name my favorite moment in France, it would probably have to be the instance we turned the corner in Old Nice after following a series of signs marked “Marche Fleur.” It had rained that morning and as we turned from the ally into the square there was an abundance of flowers all around shielded by tarps and tents, but still looking happy from the dewiness resulting from precipitation. We had long awaited the flower market, and leaving it for the last day was ideal. We even snuck a bouquet home in my suitcase to give to Hannah Perrin for her birthday. It was the perfect end to the trip.
The last eventful thing that was meant to happen was a group dinner. Sometimes we do this at the house. I make a meal, and many times someone else tries to make guacamole. After France, we have all resigned ourselves to the fact that making guacamole is to no avail. The avocados are hard as rocks, and so the guacamole always fails. But we still managed to enjoy our dinner. Afterwards, we sat around enjoying some wine for a little while. At some point I had plopped on the couch, happy from the fullness of my stomach and a bit of a silly buzz from the wine when someone started knocking on our door. This is a normal enough event: people knocking on doors can even seem polite, but in a foreign country the only thought that comes to mind is how lost you are about to get in translation. We all looked at each other. I only knew I didn’t need to be in the room. I would find any spectacle that occurred much more hilarious that it actually was. So I ran upstairs. The lady held down the door bell. For a lonnng time. And then, she began to bang on the door, I am guessing with her fist. The whole wall shook. This caused Mariesa to break down in tears, partially because she speaks the best French and would have to confront the person at the door, and partially because she had a traumatic experience when she was younger when a similar thing occurred. We looked at the facts: There was an angry person at our door. We can’t speak French. And yeah, there is an angry person at our door. We didn’t answer it. They banged and yelled for 5 more minutes (we were honestly afraid the door might come down, it was rickety and old), and finally she left.
I would not be able to end this blog without including a few key quotes from this past week:
"Everything is infinitely sexier in France" -Quote courtesy of James Hicks, infamous Humanities professor
"You know what, this would look great in our APARTMENT!"
"If you love life, you'll LOVE France." -Katie Webb's proclaimation
"This is an All Star Cast." A very true statement.
Some pictures from the week:
Now that I’m back in London, I miss fumbling through my high school French to speak to the butcher and the restaurant owners. I miss the warmth in Nice, and the ocean, but most of all I’m glad for the experience. I would have stayed there for three more weeks and been completely happy, but things come to an end, and when I returned, its true, I felt like London was my home. I missed my bed and the smell of the London house, and the construction on Exhibition, and lunch at Le Pain. The best thing about being here isn’t really the traveling—it’s the transformation of a place from foreign to familiar.
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