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 apartment.
The bookend phrase of which I was so aware back in the fall is "Life 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 énorme bisou. C'est vrai que le prochain arrêt est bien Lexington, mais je compte de garder mon passeport de Bretagne en état 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
Monday, April 21, 2008
Norman Invasion
The Star-Spangled Banner flies strongly among the flags of other nations including
I admit that I'd like to just "fit in" instead of getting weird looks from people when I open my mouth. My German friend Johannes can also relate to those feelings. However, as the two of us discovered and rediscovered sites commemorating the Second World War, I know that it was easier from my point of view as someone whose countrymen enjoyed such labels as "brave" and "heros".
Deauville is one of Lexington's sister cities. Apart from the sign in front of the grandiose
Etretat always looked like an elephant to me, but that was just from postcards. Now that I've seen it and the other beautiful cliffs surrounding the area, I ... well, I still think it looks like an elephant. And you?
I studied one summer in
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
What I do in Brittany... (Ce que je fais en Bretagne)
I enjoy the ocean (we don't have that in Kentucky)je vois la mer (y en a pas en Kentucky)
I teach English in a professional high school (uniforms are required for lab classes and otherwise black suits/skirts)
I teach English in a professional high school (uniforms are required for lab classes and otherwise black suits/skirts) je donne des cours d'anglais dans un lycée professionnel d'hôtellerie (l'uniforme au-dessus est obligatoire au labo sinon c'est un costume/une jupe)
sometimes I observe students in other classes (they made 80 of these fish - each required a lot of work)
des fois j'observe des élèves dans leurs cours de cuisine (ils ont fait 80 filet de poisson en écaille - pour chacun il fallait pas mal du boulot)
I wait at the train station in the morning for my bus
le matin j'attends le car à la gare
I visit cool places like this one (St Malo)
I appreciate the ever-changing Breton sky
sometimes I observe students in other classes (they made 80 of these fish - each required a lot of work)des fois j'observe des élèves dans leurs cours de cuisine (ils ont fait 80 filet de poisson en écaille - pour chacun il fallait pas mal du boulot)
I wait at the train station in the morning for my busle matin j'attends le car à la gare
I visit cool places like this one (St Malo)je visite de jolis endroits comme cela (St Malo)
I appreciate the ever-changing Breton sky j'admire le ciel changeant en Bretagne
I notice the influence of Catholicism in Brittany (sometimes you have to manoeuvre to get a good look) 
I learn Breton cuisine (these are crepes - eggs, white flour, sugar, milk, cinnamon, etc.)
I notice the influence of Catholicism in Brittany (sometimes you have to manoeuvre to get a good look) je remarque l'influence de catholicisme en Bretagne (quleque fois tu es obligé de tourner la tête pour bien voir)
I learn Breton cuisine (these are crepes - eggs, white flour, sugar, milk, cinnamon, etc.)j'apprends la cuisine bretonne (ce sont des crêpes - oeufs, farine de blé, sucre, lait, cannelle etc.)
Thursday, March 13, 2008
The wintry haze is lifting over Bretagne I'd say and I couldn't be happier. The pictures from below are from a little trip a few weeks ago to Vitré when a very nice friend offered me and a friend a free ride to Rennes. We decided to go just a little farther and see one of my favorite things about this region, a medieval town! Whoop whoop!
I've learned to appreciate seeing amazing things even when the weather is less than agreeable. Some of my most enjoyable mini trips were spent in the rain - picnics on park benches and all. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right?
The whole blog thing is an interesting little world of its own. I am glad to let you know about my life, but I know it can lack something personal. However, it was in reading a friends' blog a couple of weeks ago that I learned about her life in Nepal. She recently spent 2 weeks travelling around in little villages selling books (of course not alone) as a means of getting to know people and sharing her faith. I recently ate in our school's "practice restaurant" for students and had a student remove crumbs from my table with a small blade and her hand. Hmm. Does anyone else feel weird or is it just me? I wondered.
I have to admit too that this year has for me really been a year for me: to grow, learn, see new things... I am thankful for all of my experiences and the friends I have and often say this. This year is not an accident and it's not my cosmic alignment either or even the fact that it's the year of the rat. One morning this week I woke to the pounding rain and hail, I was reminded of something I had just read and had to smile: The Lord will guide you always; he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and will strengthen your frame. You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail (Isaiah 58:11).
I've learned to appreciate seeing amazing things even when the weather is less than agreeable. Some of my most enjoyable mini trips were spent in the rain - picnics on park benches and all. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right?
The whole blog thing is an interesting little world of its own. I am glad to let you know about my life, but I know it can lack something personal. However, it was in reading a friends' blog a couple of weeks ago that I learned about her life in Nepal. She recently spent 2 weeks travelling around in little villages selling books (of course not alone) as a means of getting to know people and sharing her faith. I recently ate in our school's "practice restaurant" for students and had a student remove crumbs from my table with a small blade and her hand. Hmm. Does anyone else feel weird or is it just me? I wondered.
I have to admit too that this year has for me really been a year for me: to grow, learn, see new things... I am thankful for all of my experiences and the friends I have and often say this. This year is not an accident and it's not my cosmic alignment either or even the fact that it's the year of the rat. One morning this week I woke to the pounding rain and hail, I was reminded of something I had just read and had to smile: The Lord will guide you always; he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and will strengthen your frame. You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail (Isaiah 58:11).
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Endless history
In the courtyard of a bite-sized castle in Vitré, former Breton stronghold on the now nonexistant boarder between Brittany and France
Climbing into a fortified city, bite-sized castle appearing larger in the background
The hope of spring Sunday, February 24, 2008
Dinan/St Malo
Hamilton, Johannes, & Lawrence
Buying some fish in Dinan
Hazy morning in Dinan. This street smelled like firewood - a favorite scent of mine :) 
Dinan - these unfortunate people live ... "outside the wall" 
Rampart picnic in St Malo
St Malo - like Dinan it is enlosed by a wall; unlike Dinan it also has the ocean
Friday, February 22, 2008
Magic Scarves and Ramparts
Dear the four people who read this blog,
Thank you for your continued interest in this free source of entertainment. I had a great day and would love to tell you about the funny things that happened during it. My list of blog faithful might lessen if I get too wordy, so I'll save some stories for when I see you and in the words of Galadriel, diminish the quanitity of vocabulary. (Yay, one of you is smiling.)
So the French school system has an exhorbitant amount of vacation which leaves me with the burdensome obligation of more days off work. Alas and Alack. Still having not had enough of Bretagne, I took my favorite modes of transport (bike, train, and my beloved Tibus - my daily school-transport) to a walled city called Dinan and then the renowned and later devastated by war, St Malo. Joining me on this day-long discovery were the infamous Johannes and Hamilton (not the president).
The walled city was actually very welcoming. That whole wall gig could give a bad rap to a place like Dinan. Too bad. We arrived freakishly early and after having eaten a nice pastry with the chocolate chips still melty and all, helped a lady set up her stand at the market. This is where the magic scarves come into play. If I could just take an extra second, I'll recount a joke that I made. The stand-lady had mannequin heads in her trunk to display the magic scarves and one fell out. Larry said, "Ma'm, you've lost your head." In French this expression also means something like, "You've gone a little psycho" or even "You're being a little OCD." She laughed, I laughed, and now I'm asking you to relive the joy with us. The magic scarves were our bounty for having set up the stand. If a certain Bethany B. or even Becca P. read this blog, they'll probably recall the magic scarves quite well. Sorry, they don't give actual powers, they're those weird things that turn into head coverings or shoulder coverings, or a host of other things.
Well, I said I'd try to keep your attention, so the ramparts are coming right up. You know, I continue to see that I am very easily amused and find that just about any normal activity becomes a good memory with a good friend. Johannes, the "slave" of the local youth hostel, was able to procure some goods and along with some stuff I had, we made a nice picnic for the three of us and ate it on the ramparts of St Malo. Below us 4 French preteens played soccer in the sand, a seagull with a weird orange beak mark hoped to get some crumbs, and old Mesdames and Messieurs took leisurely-paced walks to the end of the peer. Some lady even had a dog in a basket. Ahhh.
So, here's to you opportunities to talk to strangers, merit magic vestments, and eat on massive medieval boulders.
Take care friends. And PS - when I got home this evening a package from Hong Kong was waiting on me. Inside I found... the cord to make my computer work again. Lazarus lives! (He's the comp. for those in the dark on that one.) Peace.
Thank you for your continued interest in this free source of entertainment. I had a great day and would love to tell you about the funny things that happened during it. My list of blog faithful might lessen if I get too wordy, so I'll save some stories for when I see you and in the words of Galadriel, diminish the quanitity of vocabulary. (Yay, one of you is smiling.)
So the French school system has an exhorbitant amount of vacation which leaves me with the burdensome obligation of more days off work. Alas and Alack. Still having not had enough of Bretagne, I took my favorite modes of transport (bike, train, and my beloved Tibus - my daily school-transport) to a walled city called Dinan and then the renowned and later devastated by war, St Malo. Joining me on this day-long discovery were the infamous Johannes and Hamilton (not the president).
The walled city was actually very welcoming. That whole wall gig could give a bad rap to a place like Dinan. Too bad. We arrived freakishly early and after having eaten a nice pastry with the chocolate chips still melty and all, helped a lady set up her stand at the market. This is where the magic scarves come into play. If I could just take an extra second, I'll recount a joke that I made. The stand-lady had mannequin heads in her trunk to display the magic scarves and one fell out. Larry said, "Ma'm, you've lost your head." In French this expression also means something like, "You've gone a little psycho" or even "You're being a little OCD." She laughed, I laughed, and now I'm asking you to relive the joy with us. The magic scarves were our bounty for having set up the stand. If a certain Bethany B. or even Becca P. read this blog, they'll probably recall the magic scarves quite well. Sorry, they don't give actual powers, they're those weird things that turn into head coverings or shoulder coverings, or a host of other things.
Well, I said I'd try to keep your attention, so the ramparts are coming right up. You know, I continue to see that I am very easily amused and find that just about any normal activity becomes a good memory with a good friend. Johannes, the "slave" of the local youth hostel, was able to procure some goods and along with some stuff I had, we made a nice picnic for the three of us and ate it on the ramparts of St Malo. Below us 4 French preteens played soccer in the sand, a seagull with a weird orange beak mark hoped to get some crumbs, and old Mesdames and Messieurs took leisurely-paced walks to the end of the peer. Some lady even had a dog in a basket. Ahhh.
So, here's to you opportunities to talk to strangers, merit magic vestments, and eat on massive medieval boulders.
Take care friends. And PS - when I got home this evening a package from Hong Kong was waiting on me. Inside I found... the cord to make my computer work again. Lazarus lives! (He's the comp. for those in the dark on that one.) Peace.
Sunday, February 3, 2008
To the end of the world ... and back
The department in Brittany known as Finistère wins the prize for coolest department name in France I think. Finistère is Latin and means "end of the world" or "edge of the earth" - it's also the part of Brittany that boldy juts out into the cold waters of the English Channel. Ok, Eyewitness Travel Guide said something like that before me, so I need to give a little credit.
Anyway, I was really happy to spend part of my weekend on the edge of the earth, notably in Brest and Morlaix. Brest was rebuilt à l'américaine after being destroyed by the allies in World War II. Even Brestois consider their city to be, well, ugly. But it does have a nice aquarium...
Morlaix, which experienced a different history than Brest, is an old town packed with half-timbered houses, an omnipresent aquaduct, and several bakeries. We didn't find one in Brest. Sad day for those people.
Later on this weekend, I saw yet another awe-inspiring site, Cap Fréhel. When you have a bike like me going to some place like Cap Fréhel is like going from Lexington to Cincinnati in a horse and buggy. When my roommate (Nicolas) decided he wanted to go there yesterday, we hit up several sites like Cap Fréhel in one afternoon. “Hitting up” is really what it felt like too. Racing around in your car to all the "must sees" is like email versus letters but with transportation - it's quick but a little less satisfying. I’m also someone who likes to do things S...L...O...W...L...Y, so, if I haven’t had that interior “you’ve made your peace with this plant” at any given sight, I’ll probably feel hurried. In any case, I'll let you know when I make it back to Cap Fréhel on my bike...
Watching a man feed some cute penguins and watching these little kids watching the event in awe.
I learned that certain types of seals come from the North Pole to the coast of Brittany which sounded odd to me. The next day I saw one at Cap Fréhel. After watching this one here play with a rock and then getting to see the other one in the wild, I forgive the seals for eating the penguins in "March of the Penguins."
Me and my good pote, Johannes, in Brest
Charming Morlaix complete with a little man on a ladder reparing the wall (left of blue doors).
Not sure what we're going for here, but this means, "If they bite you, bite them back."
I'm still enjoying spending Friday nights with a growing group of students, etc. It's a time to hang out, eat some nice desserts, sing, study the Bible, or play homemade games like this one. Way to go, Vincent.
The blob in the center is the lighthouse at Cap Fréhel and the blob on the right is my roommate (I think).Sunday, January 27, 2008
Take a walk and meet a neighbor
A relaxing Sunday afternoon habit is a nice stroll. I've experienced this on more than one occasion after eating lunch at friends' homes. I have since made it my own little outing, rain or shine. Sadly, it's a rare moment now when ipod, cell phone, computer or general noise isn't filling my head. Taking a walk is also a great time to think or to pray.Sometimes I get to see cool stuff on such walks like in the above picture and other times I see little old ladies, students from school, and French families spending an afternoon at the equestrian center near where I live.
Well to not make a short story long, I took a walk this afternoon and a little old lady asked me where the something something something was and I said I didn't know but I thought it was this way so we eventually found it after asking one of my students whom we ran into along the way. The little old lady turned out to be originally from Poland, had married a Breton man, had nephews in the United States, etc.
So, I think I'll keep up my little walks. Give it a try, yourself, you just might make a habit out of it.
Je m'excuse, vous fidèles qui lisent ce blog en français. J'ai pas eu le courage d'écrire en français récemment, mais je reprends....
J'aime bien l'habitude que j'observe ici de faire une bonne promenade surtout le dimanche après-midi. C'était en faisant autant que j'ai développé mon appréciation pour cette habitude. Je m'en souviens d'une fois en particulière quand j'ai profité des choux de Bruxelles d'un ferme dans la compagne pendant une promenade avec des amis. C'est ce genre de souvenir que l'on garde - encore plus longtemps que d'autres choses.
Maintenant, avec ou sans pluie, je fais une promenade le dimanche après-midi et bien que j'ai du mal à laisser mon mp3 ou n'importe d'autre machin qui fait du bruit, je sais que ça me fera du bien d'avoir un peu de calme. Grâce à ces moments paisibles, je suis libre de penser, de prier, ou de faire la connaissance d'une vieille voisine qui cherche le Centre Brézillet et qui a envie de parler un peu comme était le cas aujourd'hui.
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