Insane on The Seine

This is how it is supposed to look. Pretty, huh? The photo will give you a reference for post below : ) Beginners have a coxain, too, so there's 5 total.


At a Friday evening party-type event at the boathouse, there was an activity announced that we decided not to participate in. The members who signed up would row an hour and a half to Elbouef to eat boef bourguignon and drink the new 2008 Beaujolais. We didn’t go because it was a little out of our budget this month but really.. the truth was...it's really really cold here...and…and…they don’t seem to think it's cold or hard to eat and drink outside in the freezing cold.. and I hate eating when I’m freezing...because you're nervous system gets all f*#&ed up trying to decide on fight or flight or rest and digest. It seemed festive and fun in theory. In reality, I'm from SoCal and its really just too damn cold.
I’m sure they had a blast, though. They don’t hold back here – at all-and they don't really show their fear or concern either. They just go for stuff. I like it and I'm scared of them too.

Speaking of spontaneity, this past weekend, we rowed to our halfway point and stopped. The coxain, Jean Jacque and Karin exchanged some fast French which I didn’t understand. I didn’t care either because I was trying to breathe hot air into my hands that had developed 4 nicely plump blood blisters and was wondering if my thumb would ever thaw out or would it need to be amputated because of frostbite. When I came back mentally, I asked the Italian, sitting in front of me, what they said.
He glanced back to me and said…“They’re going to switch seats.”
“Oh.”
Whoa.?! Is what I was really thinking. The last week we came to the boat house, Sophie, our organizer, gave us like a 30 second lesson on how this would happen, should we need to switch seats in the boats. I let out a very American sounding “NO WAY!!” when I saw what it entailed. They laughed at me and sounded very sure of themselves and of our beginner abilities, like they always do, and then pushed the boat away from the dock, waving with confident parental smiles. They really do have the sink or swim mentality.

But here we were. It was going to happen right now! It was sprung on us just like most everything has at the boathouse, because otherwise I probably wouldn’t have tried much of what we’ve been asked to do so far. The sink or swim style of coaching has been good for me here, since I over-think most everything I try : )

And so the process of switching began!
The coxain was switching seats with the three seat – behind me. How did they do that, you ask? In the middle of the river? I know. I was scared too. Because what that particular activity entailed… was the girl behind me….beginning rower… not having ever made a switch like this before….was moving out of her seat, while we, the others, balanced the boat…(there’s only room for you to put one foot on thin wooden plank in front of you, which is about the length of your foot, in order to get in and out of the boat. The boat would be damaged if you step anywhere else inside the boat.) Okay.

So she had to put one foot there on the thin wooden plank in front of her and place the other foot- ever so very gingerly on the side of the boat (about ½ an inch of wood..aaah) while holding onto the other side to balance the weight of her body.
(By the way,her feet were clothed with a clunky pair of sneaks with rubber bottoms– slippery looking, I thought)
Next ..my heart beats faster as I remember this….she must trust the process enough to take the other foot, replace her hand with this foot, so that she is straddled, with her slippery soled sneaks, balanced precariously on either side of the boat and each hand gripping for dear life on each side too. Oh, but that’s just the beginning, my friends.

Next, she must inch walk her way along the boat from the three seat to the coxain’s seat. Okay, which means, she must inch walk over my crouched body as I let out little whimpers of excitement and fear and encouragement and then over Matthew’s 6’5” crouched body and he’s big no matter how he folds himself.

I nearly passed out just thinking about it. I did the "tuck and hope". She made it over my head and placed her ever large looking tennis shoe on the left side of the boat. Whew. One down. As I glanced up from my tucked position, Karin’s bum was nearly resting on my forehead as I could feel her hesitance to lift her right foot from its oh so stable position and move forward with it. You know how you always have one side that works better than the other? Well, for Karin, I think her left worked better, because she gave it the "fling and hope". She picked up her right foot and flung it forward hoping it would all work out. That clunker of a sneak, though, slipped and the shoe and the right leg slid down the side of the boat and into the freezing cold Seine.
I tucked and squealed into my leggings. It’s been a while since I’ve felt so out of control of a situation. At the same time, I was thanking the universe with extraordinary guilt and ever so profusely. “Thank you for that not being me. Thank you for not letting that be me. Oh thank you so much.” I was never so happy to be freezing cold numb in my life because it wasn’t me having to walk my crotch over people’s heads in the middle of the river on a frigid Saturday morning.

And it wasn’t over yet. I looked up again and Karin was bravely making her next move over Mati’s head. Good Luck. Please get her there. She was smart too. She lifted that weak ass right foot first. Good Girl. Do that. Yeah. She carefully lifted the hypothermic foot over Mati’s head and meticulously placed it on side of the boat. She landed it and I turned back to Melanie, in the 4 seat, and we exchanged worried glances. I looked up again and Karin had taken the left, more confident foot and successfully managed it. A couple more steps and she was in. I was exhilarated with endorphins, adrenaline, dopamine..you name the stimulating hormone, it was pumping through my veins. When she finally sat and Jean Jacque made his experienced way with sleek looking grippy rock climbing type shoes – no less- up and over our heads and into the seat Karin had left. I nearly jumped in the river with exhilaration.

We made our way back to the boathouse. The strokes I took felt stronger, I squarred my blades better than I had been in the previous weeks and I was in better harmony with my boatmates. Thank you, Karin, for taking one for the team. Thank you.

When we hit the dock, I had four bleeding blisters on my hand and a smile on my face. Mati and I completed our boat chores. We were giggling at the craziness of it all - the ‘grip and rip style’ which Mati calls it, and our joyful harmless risk taking adventurous Frenchie friends on the Seine.
“That was INSANE.” I can’t believe that just happened. How are you?” I was shivering more with excitement than cold, probably.

“That was Crazy. They’re Crazy…We’ve could’ve just gone to the dock” The logical Italian said through icy lips.

I thought back to the river and our location where we 'made the switch'and the dock was indeed just on the other side. He was right. They are Crazy.

“I’m sooo cold and happy right now.” I blurted.
“How are your hands baby?” He knew about my blisters because I showed them to everyone in the boat during the rest period.

“They’re great. I couldn’t actually feel my hands until they started bleeding all over themselves.” I stated.
We laughed a worried kind of laughter as we hurried down the street, happy to have made it through another Saturday and heading for the Bakery Man with the good Quiche.

Giving Thanks From Rouen ~ 11.27.08

We are here in Rouen and thinking of everyone we love on Thanksgiving.
We are thankful and we miss you.



LOVE IS IN THE MUNDANE DETAILS




The Rouen sky has a crush on me and shows off each time I look up. I'm grateful and empty handedly humbled. The sky wants nothing from you here. Just your attention. I can PAY attention. It's the best kind of currency, don't you think? - and I am thankful.





SEE WHAT I MEAN??

When I call across the world, to chirp with some of my favorite people in the whole world, it sounds like we're right next door to each other. - Thank you technology brainiacs for making it all possible, despite my skepticism, I love the phone and the computer.



We live on 1300 euros a month and I still feel like a feasting velvety queen every day of my modest life - Thank you for the good life despite the challenges.



My ears stick out like little satellite dishes and the frigid Normandy air bites them if I am without a hat, but when I walk inside our apartment and all three electric heaters are cranking, I could not be happier - Thank you heater people who give electricity to us.

I married my best friend on the planet and I'm madly in love. He is the funniest, smartest, most gentle, brilliant, forgiving, patient, complimentary, athletic, graceful, well rounded, artistic, sincere person I have ever met in my life. - I am beyond grateful everyday to share a life with him. - Thank you Italian Mati.



Every Saturday and Sunday morning, we have the strangely masochistic pleasure of rowing on the Seine River in France! The boathouse is the second oldest in France but I bet its the most beautiful and afterwards we eat Pan au chocolate and Quiche Lorraine -Thank you Mr. Bakery Man and the nice toothless girl who helps me every time I go in - Bon Soir et Merci, Merci beaucoup.







Our French Press, The Bright Red Soup Pot that always beggs for veggies and The Yellow Water Carafe I found at the Sunday Market - I give thanks for the good belly filling assistants in my world.







The Butter Tower beacons and beckons day and night wherever you are, whoever you may be. - Thank you for landmarking my journey here, beautiful Monet painted Cathedral.





To the man who plays the accordion from the depth of his big heart with frigid fingers and a big love and who plays the most quintessentially French music. He has passed his love for his city to me through his music in the Cathedral Square. He makes eye contact with me and we both smile a thankful smile....me for him and his being the best French outdoor city host and he for me, emptying my pockets of everything I have to show my thanks...Thank you, Mr. accordion, man..thank you for making my day beautiful.


Happy Thanksgiving.

La Folie Obama

Mati is back with his impressions on life in France and beyond.

Culturally, the past few weeks here in Rouen have been fascinating. Interest in the American politics has been and continues to be very high in France. Everyone is of course ecstatic about Obama's victory, having now settled into a pattern of firm and continuous debate about the future implications of his presidency for the US and our planet. TV, newspaper, magazine--it is literally Obama mania.





I've even noticed that Segolene Royal, the Socialist Party candidate who finished second to Sarkozy in last year's presidential election, has latched onto Obama's coattails so to speak in her message to French voters as she prepares her future candidacy. The tone and call for change in her speeches has been eerily similar to the Obama style, which is especially surprising given the more reserved nature of French political discourse. She's an interesting figure in France who seems to represent, much like Obama, new segments of the population so-long excluded from the political process.



Indeed, the whole experience of being abroad at a time like this has been unique. It's a fascinating time to be a citizen of the world and it's nations. I learned with dismay that Prop 8 passed in California, which called into question my own non-participation in the political process. In fact, it was the first time I really considered voting in an election. I'm half sorry I didn't. It's especially ironic when you hear of how some two-thirds or more of the African-American vote was in favor of this discriminatory legislation. One barrier falls and another goes up it seems, fashioned expressly by the newly enfranchised.



I'd love to know how the past few months have shaped your, our reader's, relationship to politics. Personally, I know it's changed my idea of what politicians represent. Years prior in Boston, I was struck when visiting the Kennedy museum by the difference in language and tone between the black and white newsreel images of JFK and the simplistic black and white world-view of the Bush presidency. The eloquence and inspiration of Camelot was so keenly lacking in the banal drone of terror level pronouncements. If Obama does nothing else than reintroduce the notion of civic duty into the American vernacular, he will have delivered the revolution in which this nation is of such need.

On a more personal level, I don't know if this election has much changed how I see myself fitting into that massive patchwork of American society. My work visa allows me to work in France for one-year. At this point, I'm really not sure though if I'll want to return right away to finish my degree at Long Beach or look to extend my visa for another year. I've enjoyed teaching here at the university. The students are good, the classes small and I have a pleasant variety of subjects from literature to history. And teaching in my native language once again invests me with a new respect and pride for my culture. It's been an interesting experience to say the least.

we ride the bus

the eight rounded the turn, inched up hill
the Butter Tower stable
poking through the affectionate mist
a beacon to all moving about the city below
or anywhere.

I saw a man today with twinkling eyes
of someone who has been happy here forever.

That's the train station behind me.
We walked to that train station from our flat in 5 minutes.
To get on a train.
In the morning.
In the dark.
I love that.






We got off the train an hour later.
In Paris.
To spend the weekend watching master's tennis.
And found a Starbucks.
Remember back in the day 3 months ago when I so desperately craved a venti brew?
Well, there it was in all its forest green sign glory.
The motherlode of American coffee bars .
We stopped in front of it and I stared in disbelief.
And then the Italian looked at me and asked, "Well, do you want to go in, baby?"
I hesitated. I didn't think so. I didn't Think SO?? What??
I had been wishing for this very moment for over two months and I didn't THINK SO??
But it was weird.
I haven't seen a chain coffee bar in what seems like forever.
It was cold that day, though and I really wished I had wanted to go in.
So we did. Because it was what I had, after all, been wishing for.
Walked right up to the counter. I looked in the glass case and recognized the names of all those Starbuck's pastries I never ate but felt comfortable knowing were there:
Carrot Passion Cake
Marshmello Twizzle
Starbucks trademarked granola bar packed with papaya, raisins, pecan nuts, heavy corn syrup....etc.
Tazo Teas
and the one thing I'd been asking for since I'd arrived here in France.
The Choice
- small, medium, or large
- tall, grande, or venti
- meaning: big, bigger or biggest.
That's how we Americans like to roll.
All big like.
Aaah Starbucks
Everything so uniform.
So familiar.
As I gazed over the counter, though, the venti suddenly appeared like the most giant vat-like container I'd ever seen.
Ridiculously large.
Could I seriously drink all that?
I felt myself freaking out inside a little, noticing it appeared that I'd had a change of heart.
Had I changed my mind? Was I fickle?
I Finally got the one coffee thing I'd asked for and I was rejecting it.
Weren't my 20's over?
I mean, the Venti was always a little much, admittedely,even in the states, but now even the grande looked gigantic.
I wasn't ready to admit anything yet, however.
We ordered a tall house brew.
and paid.
and walked outside with the awkward feeling "to go" cup in hand.
Now, understand that, "to go" coffee is not really part of cafe' culture here.
Cafe' culture - by the way - which I'd previously been giggling at the absurdities of - I accidentally wholeheartedly find myself participating in.
Anyway, the "to go" cups aren't common here as they are in our neck of the Starbucks infested woods and when you see them you really do have to laugh because they're just so damn tiny. (see for yourself-and its only half full, BTW)
It doesn't make any kind of sense to drink from them, since by the time you leave the coffee bar, with your miniture "to go" cup, you've either tossed the shot back or it's cold.



Not to mention that I've become fond of sitting with the Italian in the cafe' and the espresso in the porcelain cup and sip sip sipping, after watching the barista pack the grounds just so and the crema just ever so perfectly dense atop the delicious noir nectar.
mmm mmmm mmmm. deelish


So I was paralyzed standing outside the Paris Starbucks with my grande brew. I should have been ready "to go". It was pretty early still, I hadn't had a coffee yet that day. I wasn't fully awake for the day, either. It should have been the perfect coffee scenario. To go cup in hand, will walk.
"Let's Go. On y Va!"
I couldn't move. I was paralyzed.
It was all wrong.
Why were we going to "walk" with the coffee?
Why weren't we going to sit and sip, again?
Out of a real cup?
So we stood outside Starbucks and tried to drink the slightly bittered brew.
And it wasn't the same.
I'm not the same.

Who Are the People in Your Neighborhood?

He's too damn cute, I think.




Oh, Reaally.




Seriously, those are leather.
And the strut, I am happy to say, actually translates to photo. Thank God.
Notice, it is daytime - business hours, no less. I love it. I do.



They both had cigarettes. Just kidding. Only mom.


















She has fresh flowers hanging out of her purse.
How can you not feel happy when you see this?

November 5, 2008

“Yes we can.”
And I believe him.
In a sea of analysis, prediction and recollection of the night, the campaign, the meaning and the man, I am without words to describe the affection and hope I feel for a country I was never soulfully connected to before this election.
And today, I wish I were home.