Next stop: Lexington. After an academic year away from the Bluegrass, I am officially taking pictures off my wall, attempting to say how much I appreciate my friends, and realizing how awesome this time in my life has been.
I remember asking myself, "what have I done?" during my trans-Atlantic flight at the end of last September. Was this really what I wanted? wouldn't a nice little vacation fulfill the same interests?
Now on the other end of things, I can confidently say that nothing could have replaced these months I've spent as an *Armorican. I've readily accepted adjustments to daily life as I enjoyed a fresh, new perspective on things, and I don't just mean the view from my treehouse-style appartment.
The bookend phrase of which I was so aware back in the fall is "God is good." However, just as I felt insufficient to express my gratitude to friends during a recent "Go get'em, Lawrence" party, these three little words are again too short. Thanks France, thanks friends, thanks Kentucky for staying in touch. I'll see you just after the Tour de France :). Oh, and Happy (belated) Birthday America!
Je vous fais tous un enorme bisou. C'est vrai que le prochain arrêt est bien Lexington, mais je compte de garder mon passeport de Bretagne en etat parfait car j'ai déjà hâte de vous revoir! Tschüss!
(*Amorica is the ancient and literary name for Brittany.)
Saturday, July 5, 2008
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Returning to "real life"
I think I'm required to put this picture on a blog when I visit Rome, right? The catacombs are cooler but you can't take pictures :)
I had heard the renown of Italian "gelato" but we hadn't met until this day.
Above - the "800 dollar view" of Siena / Below - winning some extra money in front of the Parthenon
Well the bro/sis trip that was just beginning the last time I wrote has now come to an end leaving me with 600+ pictures, a lighter wallet and a postcard of Michelangelo's "The Birth of Venus" among other souvenirs.Every now and then I think, "That'd be a good picture, story, anecdote, whatever to share with the blogosphere." I'm not, however, always able to pass these treasures onto you. Before the thoughts become as scattered as the ruins of Roman Forum, I want to tell you a few of my feelings about Italians. Put all you know about over-generalizing and stereotyping in a little box to the side.
So I'll just get it out there: I like Italians. I met one that really says, "Momma mia," several who gave me shoulder pats, squeezes or other friendly jabs, and an equally large number who greeted me with smiles. What's not to love? I was so encouraged to talk to people, er, say "scuzi," point to something on a map and then say, "grazie!" I onced stopped dead on the sidewalk with my sister and Rick Steves (our personal guide) and with a perky "scuzi" halted a small hord of Italian adolescents who were happy to show us with lots of hand gestures where the Piazza Michelangelo was.
I could go on, but you get the idea. Lawrence gives Italy two thumbs up.
Deutschland, Das ist gute!
Lawrence and Sarah in a state of pre-football match, face-painted vigor.
Preparing for Germany's victory over Portugal in the European Championship
Livin' it up earth-friendly style in Offenbach with Sarah and our friend Martin
Sarah snapped this scenic photo of the Frankfurt skyline as we cruised across the Mein river which meanders in and around the ultra-modern German city nicknamed "Meinhattan." We were told that the city is very American and experienced it for ourselves. We did feel at home there, but not due to imposing man-made structures.We were happy to be with "family" in Germany where we stayed with good friends. They showed us generous hospitality and introduced us to some great German meals (no, we didn't have Frankfurters), sights, and ways of life. Thank you Herr und Frau Badzura, Martin and Jane too :).
We eased our way back into France through the Alsatian city of Strasbourg, a pleasing mix of French and German cultures. Sarah and I decided to do something BIG for the end of our time together. Providentially, France was having it's "Fete de la Musique" on the last night of our trip. We listened to everything from duling bagpipe bands in front of the beautiful, clay-rose colored cathedrale to Euro dance club mix with fog machine and everything in between.
What an unforgettable way to end Sarah and Lawrence's "Europe '08" Ich liebe dich, Sarah :)
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Level Ground
Time is not going by any slower these days and I recently set off on "Europe '08" with my sister whom I met up with in Paris last weekend. Being able to show her Paris followed by the wildness and beauty of Brittany was a great pleasure. She was able to meet my best friends and we made some great bro/sis memories.
Sarah is here on vacation and vacationing we are. We're trying not to lose our minds in an attempt to see every last old rock or piece of artwork or whatever. I think we're doing a decent job of it. So far my most memorable moments have been a Sunday morning market in Saint Brieuc, a long sit at one of my favorite little spots overlooking the water called the "Pointe de Roselier," seeing my sister laugh with my friends, and now, in Italy using "Scuzi Senora...Grazi" with a lot of gestures in between while trying to communicate a question about apples in a supermarket :).
I know that English is very useful everywhere, but I am sad that I can't communicate with people the way I'd perhaps like to. Sarah and I are on equal ground now. We're both dependent on English speakers, hand gestures, and a bit of vocabulary. It's ever growing though. Tonight I learned "Saluda!" At least I think that was it. It meant "eat."
Ciao!
Sarah is here on vacation and vacationing we are. We're trying not to lose our minds in an attempt to see every last old rock or piece of artwork or whatever. I think we're doing a decent job of it. So far my most memorable moments have been a Sunday morning market in Saint Brieuc, a long sit at one of my favorite little spots overlooking the water called the "Pointe de Roselier," seeing my sister laugh with my friends, and now, in Italy using "Scuzi Senora...Grazi" with a lot of gestures in between while trying to communicate a question about apples in a supermarket :).
I know that English is very useful everywhere, but I am sad that I can't communicate with people the way I'd perhaps like to. Sarah and I are on equal ground now. We're both dependent on English speakers, hand gestures, and a bit of vocabulary. It's ever growing though. Tonight I learned "Saluda!" At least I think that was it. It meant "eat."
Ciao!
Friday, May 16, 2008
Carnac, It's Prehistoric!
There was perhaps something in the air in the mysterious region where the infamous megaliths of Carnac are found. One satiated day spent in the south of Brittany had generous amounts of adventure, old things, and good memories.
I’ll just narrate the pictures I’ve chosen to share with you. As you began to glance at the first picture you see someone with a hammer ready to smash any available part of an old, foreign vehicle. Said person decided against this and instead finished his lunch alongside his two travel companions. You must know that two of us, to whom the vehicle does not belong, were feeling as free as something that feels free since we had motorized and non-public transport. “What luck!” I thought to myself. This was before something went wrong between gear #3 and gear #4 and the poor, exhausted Citroën (the car) puttered to a depressing halt. To make a long story short, some police came and helped the hammer-holder push the car whilst the non-hammer holder steered. The car owner stood aside with her cane. The police did NOT offer any help and were quickly on there way. (It was near noon – They were hungry I guess.)
I mentioned that several old or aged things were a part of this day and one was a little old lady named Lucienne. She’s the car owner and quite a character. My friend Johannes has become her new chauffeur since she’s unable to drive. Lucy’s insurance came to the rescue in record-breaking time and made us all feel like fools when just after lunch their representative popped the car’s hood, stripped some wires, reattached them to something important and the engine happily decided to restart. And we were off again.
SELAH
In part two our hero is standing in front of some really big, old rocks. Exceptionally old even for Europe, these rocks are known by Breton names which you’ve probably heard like “dolmen” and “menhir” meaning more or less “rock table” and “long rock” respectively. Breton is quite a descriptive language, eh? Though I’m not usually one to take my own picture in front of a bunch of important stuff that everybody wants to see, this was an unordinary incident. These rocks range from about knee high to really big and the biggest weigh about 40 tons (because someone picked one up???!).
SELAH
As the sun set on our day-long journey, we sat peacefully on a deserted beach. No longer at Carnac we spread out our copious feast (er, leftovers from lunch plus a new baguette) ahem, and we ate to our hearts delight on the savage coast of Quiberon, extreme southern tip of Brittany.
Inspired by the accomplishments of this day, I layed aside my hammer of hate and gazed into the distance with peace and contentment.
SELAH
Though not pictured, we did meet up with our friends, la police, again. I was in the middle of my most extensive French car driving experience when we were waved to the roadside by a slow gesture from a flashlight-clad hand. In the blinding light of man-made electricity accompanied by a few authoritative phrases, I began to feel around the car for my backpack. Offering a driver’s license marked “Kentucky, It’s That Friendly,” my resident papers, and an short explicatory anecdote, I hoped for a favourable outcome. “It’s ok,” was my response and with two false starts and more than one “Thank You/Goodbye’s” I breathed a few more prayers of gratitude as my eyes kept their focus on the road in between swipes from my uni-wiper windshield apparatus.
FIN
I’ll just narrate the pictures I’ve chosen to share with you. As you began to glance at the first picture you see someone with a hammer ready to smash any available part of an old, foreign vehicle. Said person decided against this and instead finished his lunch alongside his two travel companions. You must know that two of us, to whom the vehicle does not belong, were feeling as free as something that feels free since we had motorized and non-public transport. “What luck!” I thought to myself. This was before something went wrong between gear #3 and gear #4 and the poor, exhausted Citroën (the car) puttered to a depressing halt. To make a long story short, some police came and helped the hammer-holder push the car whilst the non-hammer holder steered. The car owner stood aside with her cane. The police did NOT offer any help and were quickly on there way. (It was near noon – They were hungry I guess.)
I mentioned that several old or aged things were a part of this day and one was a little old lady named Lucienne. She’s the car owner and quite a character. My friend Johannes has become her new chauffeur since she’s unable to drive. Lucy’s insurance came to the rescue in record-breaking time and made us all feel like fools when just after lunch their representative popped the car’s hood, stripped some wires, reattached them to something important and the engine happily decided to restart. And we were off again.
SELAH
In part two our hero is standing in front of some really big, old rocks. Exceptionally old even for Europe, these rocks are known by Breton names which you’ve probably heard like “dolmen” and “menhir” meaning more or less “rock table” and “long rock” respectively. Breton is quite a descriptive language, eh? Though I’m not usually one to take my own picture in front of a bunch of important stuff that everybody wants to see, this was an unordinary incident. These rocks range from about knee high to really big and the biggest weigh about 40 tons (because someone picked one up???!).
SELAH
As the sun set on our day-long journey, we sat peacefully on a deserted beach. No longer at Carnac we spread out our copious feast (er, leftovers from lunch plus a new baguette) ahem, and we ate to our hearts delight on the savage coast of Quiberon, extreme southern tip of Brittany.
Inspired by the accomplishments of this day, I layed aside my hammer of hate and gazed into the distance with peace and contentment.
SELAH
Though not pictured, we did meet up with our friends, la police, again. I was in the middle of my most extensive French car driving experience when we were waved to the roadside by a slow gesture from a flashlight-clad hand. In the blinding light of man-made electricity accompanied by a few authoritative phrases, I began to feel around the car for my backpack. Offering a driver’s license marked “Kentucky, It’s That Friendly,” my resident papers, and an short explicatory anecdote, I hoped for a favourable outcome. “It’s ok,” was my response and with two false starts and more than one “Thank You/Goodbye’s” I breathed a few more prayers of gratitude as my eyes kept their focus on the road in between swipes from my uni-wiper windshield apparatus.
FIN
Friday, May 9, 2008
Up the coast from my school in Saint Quay Portrieux is the maritime village of Plouézec (a great, Breton name) and its amazing windmill. Look closely and notice the scaffolding and the little guy in his blue uniform (this is the universal blue collar gear - talk about stigma!). As I cruised along on my borrowed bike a lost couple in their beautiful Mercedes asked me where the road to Paimpol was. I said I was lost too, but humorously we were both coming from the desired destination of the other. "It's just that way a bit," said the lady while pointing. I found the windmill; hope they found Paimpol.
Just outside the city of Verdun in the Lorraine region (in the East of France) is "the Red Zone" where the 10-month Battle of Verdun was fought in 1916. On this site alone rest 15 thousand known French soldiers and 130 thousand unidentified ones.
The lesser known Saint Remi's Basicila in Rheims (Champagne). This is where King Clovis was baptized by the Bishop Remi in the 5th c. AD thus making France a Christian nation.
Little village in Champagne - Sainte Menehould. A local monk born in 1639 named Dom Perignon is reputed to have created the mixture which resulted in the creation of Champagne. (Thanks for letting me visit, Reba.)Why 2 months don't bother me
First of all you all must know that I’m officially unemployed! But don’t worry, I wasn’t fired; no, I finished my contract at the end of April with my school. Finishing at La Closerie gave me a wonderful feeling of completeness. It was somewhat like when you finish a good, long book. You’re happy to have read it, learned great things from it, it’ll stick with you, and you might just revisit it in the future. I’m also asking myself, “What do I read now??!” But for the next two months I’ve got plenty of quality things to do.
I’ve really put down some roots here in Bretagne. There’s no doubt about it that this year I’ve been flat out BLESSED with a big ‘ole B. With all the good things that have come my way, there’ve been several occasions where I’ve been reminded of how much I receive that I don’t merit. Make’s me quite thankful for all the free things I receive, and I mean this from the tritest to the deepest of graces I benefit from.
One of those smaller things which I’ve appreciated is welcoming bus drivers. I know that I’ve sung my ballads of thankfulness to the T-bus before, but bear with me. I see the same couple of bus drivers almost every day and one of them looks like Santa Claus before his hair went white. He’s really kind in a grandfatherly sort of way. Upon my last descent from the large green bus I told him thanks for his kindness. Really not a big deal. He responded, “It was a pleasure” (normal) and after added a very un-French response of giving me a little shoulder pat. I think that often we don’t realize what we’re doing for other people on a daily basis through our smiles and our hello’s.
Besides thanking bus drivers one thing I feel is a valuable use of my time is singing with a very informal choral called “Let’s Gospel.” We’re the students from Sister Act II only we don’t have their talent. I guess the only similarity is that we sing “Oh Happy Day.” Among things I didn’t know I’d do in France, singing Gospel songs in a bar is one of them. I guess that willingness to invest oneself in creative ventures can lead down some interesting paths.
Well this is not a “What I do in Bretagne” blog (that’s been done). I just wanted to let you know that I’m feelin’ good, France decided I could stay longer than it originally wanted me to, and I’m happy to have time to ride in buses, sing in bars, and eat as many baguettes as humanly possible.
God bless.
Lawrence
I’ve really put down some roots here in Bretagne. There’s no doubt about it that this year I’ve been flat out BLESSED with a big ‘ole B. With all the good things that have come my way, there’ve been several occasions where I’ve been reminded of how much I receive that I don’t merit. Make’s me quite thankful for all the free things I receive, and I mean this from the tritest to the deepest of graces I benefit from.
One of those smaller things which I’ve appreciated is welcoming bus drivers. I know that I’ve sung my ballads of thankfulness to the T-bus before, but bear with me. I see the same couple of bus drivers almost every day and one of them looks like Santa Claus before his hair went white. He’s really kind in a grandfatherly sort of way. Upon my last descent from the large green bus I told him thanks for his kindness. Really not a big deal. He responded, “It was a pleasure” (normal) and after added a very un-French response of giving me a little shoulder pat. I think that often we don’t realize what we’re doing for other people on a daily basis through our smiles and our hello’s.
Besides thanking bus drivers one thing I feel is a valuable use of my time is singing with a very informal choral called “Let’s Gospel.” We’re the students from Sister Act II only we don’t have their talent. I guess the only similarity is that we sing “Oh Happy Day.” Among things I didn’t know I’d do in France, singing Gospel songs in a bar is one of them. I guess that willingness to invest oneself in creative ventures can lead down some interesting paths.
Well this is not a “What I do in Bretagne” blog (that’s been done). I just wanted to let you know that I’m feelin’ good, France decided I could stay longer than it originally wanted me to, and I’m happy to have time to ride in buses, sing in bars, and eat as many baguettes as humanly possible.
God bless.
Lawrence
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