Shame, Success, and Solidarity....and the Crimson Tide.
The calendar would be "at pain" (ha, how the French literally say "hardly able") to express just how much I've experienced in these past 10 days. A far from comprehensive and haphazardly organized list:
1. I've been humiliated by a beautiful French bank teller for attempting to transfer money I didn't have in the proper account (though in my defense, it's hard enough to talk to a woman like that English, much less attempt to conduct business affairs in a foreign language with a frustrated queue snaking out the door behind me).
2. I've been supported immensely by Nic and Elvire Stefanni, the former lord and lady of Sewanee's Maison Française, who have helped me to set up my internet and bank account in addition to loaning me several highly useful household objects (not the least of which is the Final Fantasy VII soundtrack). They've also reminded me of the importance of Solidarity, the social consciousness and interpersonal loyalty that the French proudly uphold as their national heritage. After 8 years of studying the culture and admiring many of its principles from afar, I hardly need convincing, haha.
3. I've mistaken butter for cheese and remembered just how unspeakably vile I find unpasteurized dairy products; I'm told they're an acquired taste, but the only thing I've acquired is a renewed suspicion of all things that smell foul. Kebab on the other hand has become a staple of my diet, and my 5 days in Morocco has given me just enough conversation material---Marrakech DOES have the best orange juice on Earth--- to befriend a barber and a restaurateur near my apartment; two fine allies to have as a recent graduate still waiting for his first paycheck.
4. I've met and spent several days with my intelligent and charming co-lecteurs/lectrices and discussed---in our Irish, American, Canadian, Scottish, English, and Jamaicans accents---the different reasons we're gearing up (some for a second time) to help Nantes' university students speak our native tongue...in whichever intelligible accent they prefer.
5. I've helped to "captain" a miniature electric boat along the Erdre river (a fine idea, Louise) and become acutely aware of how much leaving Alabama behind has left me saying "y'all" a bit more frequently and taking offers to do nautical things a bit more seriously.
6. I've nearly become a legal resident in France pending a medical examination, presumably one to ensure I haven't already infected Bretagne's population with some unspeakable Americain plague...Breaking Bad has spread here with a vengeance, so I think it's safe to say that US culture is infectious (even 25 year old's with menacing glares blare "Call me Maybe" from their little Peugeots).
7. I've impressed that same bank teller with my French on my second visit, and in return received far kinder treatment that included a pointer about how to write my 7's correctly in France and a rather heart-warming smile.
8. I've stayed up all night to watch the Tide drown a whole field's worth of Wolverines, and I've spent many more hours seeing the Loire's strange little current flow through Nantes during my night runs (I take my camera with me sometimes if I find things worth taking pictures of; I'll post more shortly).
I'll stop there because the figure "8" does a fine job of illustrating the motto of my new favorite Abbey-Brewery. I've always appreciated good stories no matter their origin, so I'm not even remotely ashamed to say that the title of this post (and perhaps its theme) comes from an Abbey that functions as a brewery (I'm growing rather attached to their "Blanche" variety).
Grimbergen Abbey has burned down 4 times since its first construction several hundred years ago, and each time catastrophe struck, the monks rebuilt it. After the second burning they adopted the Phoenix as their emblem and "Ardet nec consumitur" as their motto. I've surely been burned a lot these past 10 days by the trial and tribulations of adjusting to life in another country. The French say "in forging we become forgers," so I'm working to make sure all this heat never consumes me, but rather improves me. There's still shit to pull myself from, but now I've got a dozen pairs of hands helping me do so.
From the ashes (yes, smoking is probably still France's #1 recreational activity),
John
P.S:
(Breaking Bad has at least one loyal graffiti artist)
("I AM THEREFORE I TAG" Not sure what Descartes would have to say about this one, haha...)
(I laughed out loud at the picture of this pig at a farmer's market; no explanation beyond the self-evident one)
(All of that was once water; Nantes has paved over several tributaries of the Loire; underground canal pictures to follow)
(My favorite view from the Castle of the Dukes Of Bretagne; the French know how to spend their Sundays)
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