My life is ridiculous

What the flying fuck, my school is blocked for another week. That makes a month, and according to rumors flying around classes won't start until april 14th, which is technically our spring break that they're planning to cancel. Being foreign students, we're not even responsible for that week of class, which means that I'll basically have had a 2 month vacation in the middle of the semester. What the hell?! I have absolutely no structure in my life right now. My brain has dwindled to the size of a pea. Nay, the size of a...wow I can't think of an inanimate object smaller than a pea right now. THIS IS WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT. Brain activity = 0.

Today we had a meeting with one of our professors to hand back our papers that we turned in a while ago. Seeing as how no one did spectacularly, she let us know that we can either redo the papers or write on another subject. "When do we turn it in?" "Whenever you want." "Uhhh...meaning?" "When you finish it." "Okay..."

The problem is that I'm not taking any initiative to counter this lack of productivity on my own. I've got a house full of French novels, and I've read 10 pages of one. I've got online news sources and blogs at my fingertips, and I spend all day watching America's Next Top Model. The reason I haven't blogged in so long is because I do nothing all the time. If I actually blogged every day, every single entry would look something like this:

Today I woke up at 1 in the afternoon. Had lunch, then watched ANTM for the next 5 hours, only interrupted by occasional bouts of Facebook stalking. Dragged my ass out of bed at 7 pm for dinner and barhopping. Told everyone I wanted a quiet night out, but ended up coming home at 5 in the morning on the first tram.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

I suppose this whole ordeal is a test of motivation for me, one that I am failing miserably. In fact, as of right now, I'm going to get out of bed and pick up some Voltaire.

Or maybe I'll just catch up on the new Gossip Girl.

Get low

Tonight, I danced from the hips up and the hips down, both feet on the floor.

Love life.

Bordelais holiday

The weather at Bordeaux has been perfect these last few days - sunny, mid-70s, cool breezes clearing the air once in a while. Stepping out in a t-shirt has been a refreshing change from bundled scarves and wet umbrellas. We decided to capitalize on this probably short-lived string of blue skies by having a picnic at jardin public this afternoon, a public park near downtown Bordeaux. I'd never been there before, but fellow-EAPers had staked out sunny patches of grass ever since the sun came out. 

Since the school is still on strike and blockaded, our translation professor's guilty conscience decided to invite the handful of foreign students in the class to her home this morning. It was actually delightful - her house is charmingly set away in a narrow side street, filled with sunlight from the beautiful stone garden in the back. She's Canadian, too; I found out after she remarked on the flag sewn on my backpack (yes, I am still using that backpack). We had class in the kitchen, and between discourses on the present perfect her French husband and her adorable teenage daughter stopped in to give her messages.  I think a bit of wishfulness passed through all our heads. Gorgeous French home? A French husband and French kids? Yes, please.

After class we grabbed sandwiches and headed over to the park, which is beautiful - and gigantic. I didn't even explore all of it but already there was a pond filled with ducks and swans, towering leafy trees, a botanical garden, and yards and yards of sprawling green lawns. The grass was packed with people. The thing I found the funniest was the blatant self-segregation - on one side of the park was the older crowd, more or less quiet and subdued. Towards the back, where we sat, were all the young people. Look around and you'd see hookahs, smell weed in the air, hear acoustic guitar being strummed by a guy rocking dreadlocks. There were jugglers throwing pins and lovers cuddling in the shade. Alexa arrived, toting a 12-pack of Kronenbourg, chips, salsa and guacamole, which we demolished in no time. When our shoulders turned pink from sunbathing, we strolled to a snack shack and found relief in fruity popsicles and Coca Cola. Laura said something like, "I can't believe this is our life now, eating popsicles and picnics in the park."

She's right - this entire semester has felt like a suspesion of time and reality. To be sure, things aren't perfect all the time and frustrations with France crop up frequently - but even still, I have no desire to go back home. This afternoon especially was as carefree as I've ever felt on the other side of the Atlantic. I can't believe this is my life either, and I'm certainly not complaining.

Click for full size.

And for good measure:

Warning: Don't read this if you have a weak stomach

I could mold another cast out of the amount of dead skin I'm scraping off the bottom of my foot right now.

Grossed out? I don't give a shit. BECAUSE NO MORE CASTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Random observations:

1. I was obviously too doped up on anaesthesia and painkillers a month and a half ago to notice, but my surgeon is HOT. Like, Movie Star Real Life Version of Derek Shepherd Hot, good hair and all. He could have his own show revolving around the tragic interpersonal relationships of orthopedic surgeons. I'd play his emotionally distant but irresistibly charming intern.

Seriously though, Laura and I both checked out his left ring finger (gold band and all, unfortunately) so I'm not alone in this.

2. Casts smell. A lot.

3. My foot looks really weird right now. The joints are still really stiff so it looks all awkward and rigid - on top of that my ankle is weirdly swollen from the lack of movement. On top of THAT is the 6 weeks worth of dead skin. I feel sexy.

4. Walking definitely hurts, mostly because of the joint stiffness - it kind of feels like I'm stepping on a milder version of pins and needles every time I take a step. On the other hand, walking isn't as hard as I thought it would be - my nurse freaked me out with stories of another kid in a cast who is still using crutches 2 weeks after he got it removed. My verdict? Pussy. I've already taken a few steps sans crutches, and it's day one! It's far from comfortable but I know that 80% of it is just fear in my head. So fuck you joints, I WILL CONQUER YOU.

5. I have to do physical therapy 3x a week for 5 weeks. This kind of blows.

6. I am determined to be able to walk at a respectable speed by the time Erin gets here next Monday. Ideally, I'd like to go back with her to Paris that Thursday as well...but that might be pushing it.

7. You know how when you were little, you'd spread a drop of Elmer's glue on your finger, wait for it to dry, and then slowly peel it off? Remember the warm sense of satisfaction you got when it all came off in one continuous piece? ...No? Just me? Well, that's how I felt today when I pulled a 2 square inch piece of skin off my leg.

7. I took a shower without a trash bag and tape. This is much more glorious than it sounds.

A series of non sequiturs

Right now, I am trying to do 50 things at once - book my flight to Lisbon in May, find something green to wear for St. Patrick's day tonight, make an excel spreadsheet of my medical expenses, feel warm and fuzzy from the "j'aime's" on my facebook satus, skype Dow-li, write a blog entry...

Alright, wrote the above about an hour ago. I just booked my flight to Lisbon with Sam! We're spending a day in Toulouse on the way there and stopping over in Madrid overnight, so hopefully I'll have enough energy to go night sightseeing in Madrid without passing out on the streets of Lisbon the next day.

Nothing really of note has happened lately...I did go to the radiologist's yesterday to get my ankle screened before my meeting with the surgeon (TO GET MY CAST TAKEN OFF. Can't say that enough) tomorrow. Dude. I had no idea the screw was that long. Also it looks like a mascara brush. A mascara brush that is really fucking long. So long that after I got home, I had to hobble to the window and shove my xray in a crack so I could take pictures of it while awkwardly balancing on one foot. I trust that most of you have seen my facebook photo by now, but here's another angle - 

Whooooo that thing is big.

The other semi-eventful thing that happened a while ago is that I sprained my other ankle. Why yes, I may actually be retarded. I woke up, stood up and started hopping to the window to open my curtains. I thought I'd mastered the skill of hopping on one foot; it is after all necessary in the fine art of moving and carrying shit in one's arms at the same time. Well, this time, I failed. Miserably. I lost my footing, rolled my ankle, fell to the ground. This definitely isn't my first time falling - wet cobblestone and crutches do not mix well - but it was the first time I fell on my ankle. On the plus side, I got my meals in bed. On the minus side, I was freaking out that I broke it. As Billy put it, I had no desire to make my way up the cast ladder to this guy: http://www.amazon.com/Family-Guy-Action-Figure-Seamus/dp/B000ILGI20

Other funny events include having the Frenchies sign my cast (favorites: "I risk, I lost, that's the fall" and "Good times rolls") and having Boris serenade me with a song called "Peggy Leg" set to Led Zeppelin chords. It went something like this:

Peggy leg

I want go hold you, peggy leg

I want to make you another leg

I want to buy you a new leg

Peggy leg!

It was the highlight of my life.

Okay this blog entry sucks. Sorry guys. I will put out something more substantial soon. Probably tomorrow after I get the cast off and get completely grossed out by what my leg looks like. Also I've wanted to do an entry on the art of French cheek kissing for months, but I have to figure out a way to do it justice.

À la prochaine.

My brain is The Waste Land

Am now scrambling to finish a paper comparing (IN FRENCH) the salient poetic characteristics of Apollinaire, Ezra Pound, and T.S. Eliot , while simultaneously trying to shoot myself in the face.

That'll teach me to complain about lack of mental stimulation. Karma's a bitch. A wet, black, bitch.

That's a reference, just in case you thought I was being a racist pervert.

Going on strike: the solution to everything!

Let's not lie here, quality of education was not high on my list of concerns when I was picking where to study abroad. In fact, I had a hard time deciding between a semester here or in Paris, where I could study at the world renowned Sciences-Po political science institution. I picked Bordeaux because I wanted to really soak in French language and culture, and I knew it would be easier in a small, intimate city rather than a sprawling cosmopolitan metropolis. I don't regret sacrificing a stimulating academic environment for a more authentic experience of la vie francaise, but all the same...

This is fucking ridiculous. 

Let's backtrack, shall we?

There's a reason I've kept entries about my classes to a minimum. Mostly because the overwhelming majority of them have been a complete and utter waste of time. Unimaginative curriculums aside,  strikes and demonstrations at the school began within a week of classes starting. I have to admit that I know embarassingly little about the rationale behind the strikes, but it has to do with educational reforms at the national level. Sarkozy is notoriously unpopular in the southwest of France, and teachers and students alike stopped showing up to class as a protest against his measures. The French word for strike is grève, and the first week or two we laughed it off as another French idiosyncracy. "The professors are grève-ing!" We'd joke in Franglais at this charming, unapologetically fulfilled stereotype. No school? Cancelled classes? It seemed like a sweet deal; all it meant was an extra night of staying out late.

Our amusement quickly subsided as the grèves began in earnest. There was no way of knowing if your professor was a gréviste, a striker, so we had to trek to school and find out through trial and error. We'd show up to our classes and find them empty (keep in mind that some of us have 45 minute commutes to campus). Professors would spend two hours discussing the protests instead of going through the course material. We'd step into our lecture halls, only to find them taken over by general assemblies voting on various measures. Few of us have any idea what kind of work we're supposed to be doing outside of class, when to turn it in, how we're being graded. We'd try to get into classrooms and buildings, only to find them blockaded by students waving banners.

Recently they have been voting on a blocage total, which would barricade all university buildings and effectively halt classes completely. Today, it passed.

Look, I can appreciate the French sentiment of political activism. It certainly can be a refreshing change from the apathy that's so ubiquitous in America. I know there are nuances in the organization of educational institutions in France that I don't fully understand, but somehow I find it hard to believe that PHYSICALLY BARRING students from their classes is the best solution to dissatisfaction with the government. One of the reasons these reforms are being implemented is because France is lagging internationally in higher level education. It seems a little ironic that the prevailing reaction is to halt it altogether. 

On a personal level, I am starting to get really annoyed that I'm paying out-of-state tuition to sit on my ass. Sure, going out all the time is great, but even I have a limit - and my brain is reaching its rotting threshold. I have not once felt mentally stimulated since I've been here. I didn't come here looking for the same caliber of education as Cal, but this is just too much. I have to say I expected a little more from the country that gave us Descartes, Rousseau, Sartre, Montaigne (and Camus, for Jacob). Unfortunately, all I've been served is a healthy dose of waste-of-time.

--

Tiff's take on the subject here:

http://whereyouvelanded.blogspot.com/2009/02/by-way-school-is-joke.html

http://whereyouvelanded.blogspot.com/2009/03/french-universities-for-win.html

Things I am excited about

1. Garorock!! If you want to see the website in English, there's a small icon to the right. Basically this is the stoner French equivalent of Coachella - a grungy three-day music festival of reggae, rock, and electro. It's taking place in early April at Marmande, a nearby city. Everyone camps out and we've already got our three-day passes (which only cost 60 euro by the way...why can't American music festivals be like this?) I'm going with Alexa and Laura and my three host sisters, Anna, Lisa, and Sarah, along with all of their friends. I ran into Anna at school today and we walked home together while she painted me a scene from her last time at Garorock - she and her friends clustered around a fountain, knocking back drinks in the early afternoon until everyone was drunk enough to jump in and frolic. It definitely appealed to the Berkeley in me, and even though I am now deeply averse to fountains, I loved this story...and plan to be drunk for three days straight.

2. Willow, our new French dog. He's a husky-golden retriever mix and fucking ADORABLE. Just look at that mug:

He's only two years old and incredibly energetic. I was actually scared when he first got here because he runs around like a bullet and I was afraid he was going to topple me over. He's like a big furry teddy bear and gets along incredibly well with people (stick your hand out and he'll shake it - kills me every time). The problem is that he's attacked poor Billou (the other dog) on almost a daily basis and no one can figure out why. I think it must be some alpha male power play, but if he doesn't get his shit together he's going to be sent away. Sadface.

3. My photography class is proving to be one of my favorites. I almost never know what's going on in terms of assignments and due dates, but there's a studio we get to play with and we've had pretty interesting projects so far. The one due today was on "Folds," and our next assignment is to photograph images of the economic crisis. Some of the other kids are really talented, and it's inspiring to see all the stuff they come up with. Here are a few of my photos from the folds project:

4. Last but certainly not least, 14 MORE DAYS!!!!

Sun, sand, waves, and...oysters?

(edit: fixed a minor glitch and now you can click to enlarge all photos)

Yesterday, I went to the beach.

My fab host mom.

Necessary.

This is not a random creeper photo! I swear I actually know this guy.

Specifically, I went to Cap Ferret with my host mom, Cedric, Ricardo, and Bin, three high school boys who are staying with my host family for 2 weeks during their vacation from boarding school. It's a peninsula that separates the Atlantic Ocean and the Arcachon Bay, and from the beach you get a nice view of the Dune du Pyla, the largest sand dune in Europe. 

View Larger Map

I'm not gonna lie, it is a bitch trying to walk on a beach with crutches. You have to deal with them sinking halfway into the sand while simultaneously balancing one leg precariously so that your cast doesn't fill with sand. All the same, it was a beautiful, sunny day, and it felt so liberating to leave the house in a t-shirt. The beaches here are gorgeous; all fine sand and clear waves. I also got to take some photos for the first time in a long time, which was great even though I could only do it sitting down (which is why all my pictures are from the exact same angle). There were a ton of people out and I took a shitload of stalker photos of little kids.

After the beach my host mom drove us to L'Herbe, a little fishing village nearby. The houses were incredibly precious, each one painted a different bubblegum color. My host mom bought a bagful of huîtres, oysters, which are a specialty of the southwest of France.

A few photos from L'Herbe:

An oyster selling stand

Crates of fresh oysters

...I do not know.

We had the oysters for lunch today and I was honestly scared to try one. I once googled "What do oysters taste like?" and the predominant response was "snot." But I'd also heard from a Bordelais friend that they taste the way the ocean does when you're facing it and drops of seaspray hit your face from the crashing waves. Romantic, those French. Anyway, you're supposed to eat them raw out of the shell with an optional squeeze of lemon juice. I sucked it up and tried one and surprisingly loved it. The first thing that hits you is the saltiness of the liquid, which I suspect is mostly seawater, and you taste little else. But go for a few soft chews and you really get the flavor of the oyster, which is strong and briny but inexplicably delicious. Definitely not the last time I'll be eating them. 

(Chuck, this is the best I can do for now as far as food porn goes. I'll bust out the camera when I'm on my feet again, promise).