Leaving on a Jet Plane

The end of the French University semester is at the end of January. Unofficially this is about a two-week break for the professors and lecturers. It was a little bit shorter for Amy because she had to finish grading her student’s presentations. She recorded them using the video feature of our digital camera. We had the joy of watching third-year English students give an oral presentation on such illustrious topics as “American Politics” and “British Immigration. Once she finished grading she had to present some research to her advisor back in Indiana. Basically, they wanted her to show that she had been doing some research during her year abroad. Even with all of this work we still managed to have a few days free. We discussed going to London, Dublin, bits of Scotland, and even Barcelona before finally settling on Rome.

Ryan Air is an ultra-cheap airline in Europe. Unfortunately, they no longer fly out of Strasbourg but have an airport about 30 minutes away in Baden Baden, Germany. Even with the added travel time we purchased tickets that were cheaper than taking a train or bus. Daniel agreed to drive us to Baden Baden. Tammy and Fabianne decided to make a trip out of it because there is a Wal-Mart in Baden Baden. If it seems strange to travel to another country for a Wal-Mart so let me explain the reasoning.

There is no Wal-Mart in Strasbourg. As I have mentioned before shopping in this city is a bit of an adventure. No store carries all the items you will need. It usually takes 2 stores for all of our grocery needs. Buying any household item will generally take a visit to 3 or more stores before we find the items we were looking to purchase. Auchan comes closest. They have a good variety of both groceries and general goods, but even they do not have everything your average Wal-Mart will have. Prices in Germany are generally much cheaper than in France because they have less taxes. Add that to Wal-Marts general low price and you have quite a bargain. Since we were already headed to Baden Baden riding along for convenience and low prices was an easy choice for the ladies.

We planned to meet at the girls apartment at 9:30 Tuesday morning for our ride out to the airport. Daniel and company arrived about half an hour late, but no matter because we still arrived at the airport over an hour early. Ryan Air has a habit of flying out of smaller airports, often taking space in old Air Force bases. Baden Bade was no exception and we got our boarding passes quickly. The flight was quick (about an hour and a half) and smooth going. We flew over some beautiful, snow-covered mountains, and then landed in Rome.

The Ryan Air Roman airport is located next to a military base. We were greeted off the plane by camouflaged men with machine guns! Inside the airport proper were roaming guards equipped with Uzis. As with most airports, it was located outside the city. We went outside where there was a bus waiting and purchased our tickets to the train station. Quite a few other people were doing this as well. Amy and I were the last two people aboard, and it was PACKED. I pushed my way onto the steps of the bus and could go no further. Driving down the road I had to lean against the door of the bus. I prayed the door wouldn’t suddenly open and send me flying into the streets. Standing on the steps of a crowded bus, leaning against the door is never the ideal travel circumstance, and in Rome, it was a nightmare.

There has seemingly never been a good city planner in the city in its 2,000+ years of existence. The roads wind, twist, and curve every which way. The bus driver apparently learned his job from a blind man. He drove fast, rarely hit the brakes, choosing rather to take wide curves nearly smashing the parked cars on the side of the road instead. My view was one of panic. The bus took us to the metro station which we took to the train station.

Our hostel was located just a block down from the train station. This is in the middle of the city. My first impression of Rome was that it is dirty. There in downtown Rome, the building are high and allow little sunlight to penetrate the streets. All sorts of people were milling about and the sidewalks were full of merchants selling magazines, sunglasses, purses, pants, and just about anything else you can imagine. I got the impression that most of it was bootlegging, but I didn’t stick around to ask.

Using our printed directions we walked the two blocks to our hostel. It was essentially a flat in a big apartment building. There was no sign outside suggesting there was a hostel inside. Luckily there was a number on the building and someone coming out of it as we approached. Two men left the building and I caught the door to let us in. As I did so one of the men in English said, “Can I help you?” I stood there a moment wondering if he was talking to me, but he continued to walk on so I figured it was part of the conversation with the other man. An odd thing to hear in downtown Rome, when in fact, I needed help. Inside we wandered about looking for some sign that would indicate a hostel. After searching the mailboxes for a sign we noticed a door with a small plaque labeled “Eden.” This was the name of the hostel so we knocked. A pleasant young man answered the door and agreed this was the hostel.

He spoke rather good English and began welcoming us with way too much enthusiasm. He brought out maps and began to describe the places we would want to see and the correct paths to see them. He brought out the keys and explained where our room was and how everything worked. I kept wishing he would shut up and let us go sit down a moment and rest. Eventually, he got to money and I whipped out my credit card. “No,” he said, “that won’t work. The credit card machine is broken.” When I asked when it would be working again he shrugged and mentioned that he had called about it, but that in Italy nothing gets fixed quickly. Having no choice I took out cash and paid the man. This was quite discouraging because we had planned to put a good deal of the trip on our credit card and only pay for a few things in cash. The hostel took nearly 1/3 of the money I had set aside to spend in Rome.

Hostel

As I said the hostel was a converted apartment. The main room had a couple of tables, chairs, and a radio. There was a real kitchen with a stove, fridge, and cabinets. The two bedrooms were fitted with four bunk beds a piece, giving a total of 16 places to sleep. There was a narrow hallway that led to the one toilet. In the hall were two cubicle-sized showers. The room we slept in (Amy on the bottom bunk, me on the top) was never completely full. There were always at least two males and two women in the room, with a couple of beds remaining empty. The other room remained mostly full with a group of college-aged girls. No privacy was the norm. Showering was quite an experience. Since there was no lock on the hall door to the showers I generally hung my change of clothes over the shower door. Squeezing into the small shower I would undress shower, and then dress while trying to not lean against the wet walls.

I Go Out Walking

After getting settled in our room we decided to go for a walk. We stopped off at a little cafe and had some supper. We, of course, ordered Italian (pizza for me, calzone for Amy). We quickly realized that recognizing the proper sights was going to be a difficult task. Many of the modern buildings are designed to look like the ancient Roman Forum. There were columns and marble steps everywhere. However, we managed to see the beautiful Ministry of Agriculture building and the Trevi fountain.

The Trevi fountain was built in 1735 as a monument to clean water being brought to Rome via the aqueduct. Legend has it that anyone who drinks the water or throws a coin into the fountain will assuredly return to Rome in the future. It was quite beautiful to behold just as the night began to take hold. Unfortunately, there were numerous gypsies hounding all the tourists to purchase toys or pay to have their pictures taken.

One man came to Amy with a rose saying it was hers for free because of her beauty. Now I believe my wife is truly beautiful, but strange men don’t offer her roses for no reason. She refused the flower numerous times but he kept shoving it into her hands and expressly claiming he wanted no money for it. Eventually, she cracked and took the rose. No sooner was it out of her hands but the man whipped out a camera asking to take her picture for a small fee. Again she repeated no, and I stepped in with a much louder NO! and the man finally accepted the rose back and left us alone.

We were there for maybe 15 minutes and were approached at least four times by people this way. We returned back to the hostel around 8:30. We found a young lady completely wrapped up in covers and sound asleep. We went to the main room and began playing cards. Soon several other ladies came in saying “hello” to us and then speaking to each other in Italian or Spanish. All of this was very disorienting. We were at the end of a long and exhausting day to find ourselves not in the comfort of our own home, but surrounded by strangers in a peculiar little home. As we prepared for bed two other Italian girls came into the room and spoke to each other quite loudly despite the sleeping girl. As the ladies left, another young man climbed into a top bunk and began preparing for sleep. There was an odd moment of me wondering whether I could turn the light off. After the young man was laying under the covers I decided if I was to sleep at all it was to be lights out. I chose the top bunk and dreamed of falling off.

The Roman Forum and Colosseum

We awoke early the next morning prepared for a full day of sightseeing. I found that someone had occupied shower number 1. The second shower was open but I couldn’t seem to make myself enter into it. You see I knew that the occupants of my room were not up yet, and that left only 1 of the girls in the other room to occupy the shower. Though the hostel left little privacy, the actual showers would not permit any indecencies themselves. But still, I felt too awkward to be showing next to some strange woman. I chose instead to sit in the main room. There I was in my pajamas with my towel and a fresh change of clothes. I caught several odd looks from the other residences.

Showered and refreshed we headed out for the Colosseum. We quickly found ourselves lost, and not for the last time. Italian streets tend to wind and curve aimlessly. We had a map, but it was for tourists and didn’t have the details of every road. Luckily there is plenty to see in Rome and we quickly found ourselves staring at the first of many Egyptian obelisks. Unknown to me Rome carries a good many obelisks. We stared in awe of the ancient wonder, turned a corner, and found ourselves in front of St John’s church.

Dating from the 17th century St. John in the Lateran is the Cathedral of Rome, the mother of all churches in Rome. It is also, quite beautiful. The structure is quite enormous, I had to stand a good 200 yards away to get a good picture.

Inside the church is ornate, intricate, and absolutely gorgeous. It is continually amazing to me to see such beauty inside a church. My own faith maintains very simple church buildings. Though I understand the purpose and intent of keeping the buildings simple and the heart beautiful, when I enter into these buildings I can see some truth in the ability of a building to bring you closer to God.

From there we found our bearings and made our way to the Colosseum. Like most people, I suppose, when I think of Rome I think of the Colosseum, and had been looking forward to viewing it since we began planning the trip. I was not disappointed. The Colosseum is located next to several preserved areas of the ancient Roman city. It was quite a feeling to realize that I was walking in pathways that men have walked for over 2,000 years. Some of the first Christians walked those very steps, stayed in those very ruins, and were killed on that very ground. The apostles Paul and Peter walked, talked, and preached where I was walking and talking. You seem to only see the Colosseum photographed from one side, but it is just as unique and interesting the whole way around.

We stopped to eat at a little stand next to the Colosseum. My advice to my readers is that if you ever go to Rome, eat before you visit this structure. One small cheese sandwich, one pastrami sandwich, and two Cokes cost us 17 Euros! And for this, we had to stand in line for 15 minutes! After walking around the structure a couple of times we debated about whether to actually go inside. Our desire was to go in and see where the fighting occurred, however, there was a long line to get in and we knew there was much more to see that day.

After talking it over and deciding not to go in we noticed that the line had actually shrunk a great deal during our debate. We paid our money and ventured inside. Again, you usually only see the inside of the Colosseum photographed from one angle. I had only seen the floor taken from above. That shot doesn’t really give a good perspective, because what you see in real life is much more interesting. Underneath what was once the floor is about three levels of pathways. It is amazing how deep the trenches go. But then there is much more to see in terms of the walls and what is left of the stadium seating. To stand where thousands of others stood and watched countless bloodbaths was quite an experience. My tour book states that contrary to popular belief the Colosseum was not a place of martyrdom for thousands of the early Christians. Apparently, this rumor started from a permanent cross set up there by Benedict XIV. He did this so the structure would be considered holy and not destroyed any further. However, there is little evidence that Christians were killed in as great a number as popularly believed. My other tour book stated that there probably were Christians killed in the arena, but not in great numbers.

From the Colosseum, we ventured to the Roman Forum and then up to Palantino. The Roman Forum consists of the ruins of various temples and governmental buildings. Palantino is, according to legend, the site of the first Roman settlements. It also later held the homes of the nobles and emperors. What remains now is the ruins of their palaces. It was very interesting to see these ruins.

A few buildings remained pretty much intact, but many were but traces of their former grandeur. While I was there I couldn’t compare this section of Rome with our trip to Paris. In Paris all of the old buildings are in pretty good shape and, of course, date back to the Renaissance and not before Christ, and thus are very beautiful. Rome, through all its history, is not nearly as pretty. The Louvre will never compare to the Colosseum in terms of history, but it wins hands down in terms of beauty and grandeur. Nevertheless, the forum and Palantino were quite spectacular in their own way. In the middle of the forum, with little fanfare, lies Julius Ceasar’s grave. Apparently, he was burned and buried in a little spot that only later received any type of monument. Now there is a bit of rock ruins built over a lump of dirt. Not too impressive for a renowned emperor. Though, I suppose, one could say the entirety of the ruins is a testament to him. Palantino is built on top of a hill and gives a wonderful view of the forum and most of Rome.

From there we headed to the Pantheon. It is pretty much like the pictures you see in guidebooks. It has big Greek columns and looks about a million years old. Inside, they were working on the dome, cleaning it inch by inch. There are a few graves inside, my favorite being of the famed painter, Raphael. Outside was another Egyptian obelisk. We grabbed a quick sandwich from a couple of nice old Italians and followed a British tour group onto the Piazza Navona. After a brief rest, we headed home for the day.

Traffic

On numerous occasions, I have complained about the traffic in Strasbourg. Well, I have been to Rome and I take it all back. The roads must have been laid out by a drunken, blind man. Rome has been sacked, burned, and remade on several occasions. The typical way to rebuild the city seems to have been to build right on top of the old city. I don’t think they ever had a good city planner working for them. What remains is a series of roads that are overpopulated, not well spaced, and wind all over creation.

In America when two roads intersect they normally do so at right angles. At the intersection, one places a stop sign or a traffic light and everything runs smoothly. In Strasbourg intersections usually become roundabouts. Each road intersects a circular road which the driver pulls into, and drives around the circle until he meets with the road needed. In Rome, roads just seem to run into each other allowing God and insane drivers to sort it out. I saw 5 or 6 major roads run into each other, twist and turn into and around each other. Creating some sort of massive highway for a brief moment before each road finds its own way, sometimes at very odd angles. The problem for a pedestrian tourist is that there are very few crosswalks with any kind of signal allowing you to safely cross a road.

In Strasbourg, this is also true, but usually you only have to wait about a minute before a nice driver will stop allowing you to cross. In Rome, no such drivers exist. We found out that to get across the street you had to just walk out in front of a car and pray it stopped, which they always did. I decided the reason the city is so religious is because everyone is praying not to get run over.

The Vatican

On our last day, we rose very early to reach the Vatican before the other tourist. Our illustrious hostel keeper had noted that if you make it later than 9 am you should plan on spending the day in line. We arrived at about 8:30 to a steadily growing crowd. Not knowing which way to go in we wound up in line to climb up the steps to the dome of St Peter’s church. The initial steps slowly sloped in circles around the elevator. By the time we reached the top of the first level, we were out of breath and knew it was going to be a long climb to the dome. We rested and managed a nice view of the famous plaza. Some more steeper, circular steps took us about midway up the dome. Here we could climb inside and look down into the church.

Unfortunately, there was a large fence designed to keep jumpers from leaping to their death. It also kept me from getting a good picture. From there the steps became much steeper. The stairwell was very small, allowing you to climb one at a time, and that only if you were relatively thin. Eventually, they began to lean to the side as well and became so steep they hung a rope down so that you could keep your balance. We finally escaped to the outside and the top of the dome.

After joining the small crowd of out-of-breath travelers we were rewarded with a truly spectacular view. You can walk around the entire dome getting a panoramic view of Rome and the Vatican City. Unfortunately, it was a little cloudy that day and my photographs didn’t come out as well as I would have liked. A trip back down the stairs led us into the church itself. Like St John’s it is absolutely gorgeous. But unlike the National Cathedral, it is much larger on the inside. There are several side areas. Many of the Popes commissioned a statue to remember them after their death. These became more and more spectacular. I managed to slip into an English tour group for about the last half of the tour, while Amy listened to her own audio guide.

My favorite part of the church was the underground. There they have a burial room where many of the popes (plus several bishops, a king, two queens, and an emperor)have their final resting place. In this area is where the Apostle Peter’s bones are supposed to lie as well.

After lunch, we headed out of the city to the catacombs. Just outside the old city walls lie thousands of underground tombs. Many of the 3rd Century Christians are buried there. According to law the Christians and other groups could not be buried within the city limits and were thus buried in several catacombs. We visited the catacombs underneath St. Sylvester’s church. It is essentially a series of underground tunnels where thousands of people were buried practically on top of each other. There still remain markings and drawings of the early Christians. We saw the Christian fish symbol etched in a stone as well as some drawings of Jonah and Noah’s Ark.

From there we walked past the Colosseum again and visited the other side of Palantino where lies the Circus Maximus. This was the sign of the old chariot races as seen in the movie Ben Hur. We finished up our sightseeing with a stop-off at the Mouth of Truth. Unfortunately, the church had closed by that time so I was unable to stick my hand inside the mouth to see if it would bite off my hand for being a liar.

The Long Road Home

Our flight was scheduled for 10:50 Friday morning. We left the hostel just after 8 am. We were assured Ryan Air had a shuttle bus from the train station to the airport. After searching all over the train station we finally gave up and decided to take the city transportation. With still over 2 hours to reach our destination we figured we were doing fine. We plotted our path and boarded the metro to the end of the line. From there we went top side and looked for a bus. After spending a few minutes trying to determine which bus would take us to the right place, we spotted numerous suitcase-holding travelers and decided they were probably going our way.

Actually, there were a lot of suitcase-holding travelers and I found myself once again smashed against the door of a crowded bus. This time there were even more travelers trying to get on. Two British tourists began screaming at a couple of Italian ladies trying to squeeze in. This went back and forth until finally, the bus driver said he had to go and made the Italians get out.

The bus made a couple of stops and each time there was another argument with passengers trying to board. Finally, after more than an hour and a half the bus reached the airport. We rushed inside only to see that our flight had been taken off the board. Being 35 minutes before our departure we were sure that we would be allowed to board. We were wrong. The Ryan Air lady said they had a policy to stop boarding 40 minutes before departure time. Saddened and irritated we were given the option of flying to Baden Baden the next day or Frankfurt at 9 that night.

A call to Tammy confirmed that Daniel would not be able to pick us up in Frankfurt and that Baden Baden might be difficult for him. She assured us that there was a bus that ran from Frankfurt to Strasbourg and that we could catch it. We bought our ticket to Frankfurt and decided to spend our time at the airport. It would be a nearly 3-hour trip to and from Rome again and we worried we might miss another flight.

Nearly 9 hours we spend sitting in that small, military airport. We read, we ate, we sighed, but we did not sleep. Finally, the time came and we boarded the plane to Frankfurt. We reached the airport only to find out it was well outside Frankfurt proper. But they kindly offered to sell us tickets to a shuttle bus. An hour and a half bus ride later and we were in Frankfurt.

At 3 am armed guards at the train station informed us that we were not allowed into the station without a ticket. We would not be able to buy a ticket until 6 am. It was cold, it was raining and we were in the seedy part of town. We began walking down the street to get away from the screaming drunks out at that hour. After passing a couple of bars and motel lobbies we finally stopped at an all-night kebob shop, right next to all the sex shops.

We nursed our one kebob and two glasses of water for 2 1/2 hours. All the while trying to ignore the loud-mouthed drunks, bums, and drinking games going on around us. Finally, at around 5:30 we had had enough and walked back to the station. To our surprise, the guards had left and we found ourselves inside. To get to Strasbourg it would take us 2 trains and about 3 hours. I couldn’t pay fast enough. After an hour wait to change trains in some other city, we were on the train home. Finally, at around 11 AM and 28 odd hours of travel we had made it home.

I'm sorry my postings have not been as frequent as they once were. I'm still not feeling 100% these days and it is difficult to write coherently. I have a couple of essays going, but I am still fine tuning them. When my head clears a little I'll polish them up and get them out. Also Amy has been diligently grading her finals and trying to do some research of her own. This is to say she has been hogging the computer. Not that I mind so much. Her work is much more important than my occasional humorous rambles in blogland.

It's been pretty dull here lately anyway. I feel like I should go places and do something exciting, but its just too cold and miserable. I look at the window and see the gray skies, feel the cold air and stay inside. My French lessons are still managing to make me feel miserable, and dumb. I've actually learned a great deal, and find myself able to understand more and more. Yet there is so much that I don't understand and forget it drives me crazy.

As an addition to my shopping story from the other day I have to ask, how hard is it to have your money ready when the cashier is ready for it? Me, I get my wallet out while I'm waiting in line. I make a good guess as to how much it will cost and get the bills out. If I am paying with a card, I get it out. That way when the time comes, BOOM, I'm ready and done quickly. But no, most people stand stupidly when the time comes fumbling through purses and pockets trying to locate their card or correct change. OOOOh that gets me so mad. Correct freaking change! Just use the bill man! I'll give you the extra ten cents if it will get you out of here!

At the local store they have started hoarding their sacks. I guess a lot of people were running off with more than their fair share of plastic bags. Now the cashier hands you 2 or 3 bags when you checkout. They don't know what a bagger is in this country so you have to bag your own groceries. Today I to sack my goods and there is only one sack available for myself. I fill it up but still have several items remaining. My cashier is turned around yacking to the other cashier and paying me no mind. I'm trying to figure out how to ask for a sack (is it "donner moi sac, or donner vous sac?") Finally the cashier turns around, but she starts checking out the next lady. I blurt out "la sac!" and the lady in line is kind enough to say something sensible so the cashier will pony up some bags. She gives me three without an apology or even a sympathetic smile.

Ah, life here isn't that bad. Since I've been feeling ill my attitude has dropped. Really, I like it here. We're actually considering staying another year. But it will take quite a miracle to find the finances to allow us to stay. As time drones on, I realize how lucky I am to be able to take a year off and live abroad. Going back to work begins to hover over the horizon and I cringe. Vivre la France!

Since my wife was busy with end-of-the-semester grading, I volunteered to do a little shopping. I made the mistake of going to Auchan on a Saturday afternoon. This is a store very similar to a Super Walmart, it’s got everything. It was absolutely packed. People everywhere looking for food, drinks, magazines, car parts, and everything else imaginable. Shopping in France is always interesting for me, even on a good day. You try reading the ingredients on the back of a package when you don’t understand the language it’s written in, and see where you get. Luckily, today I had a small list and most of the items were pretty obvious. Although I spent 20 minutes looking at vacuum bags before giving up and moving on. Unlike most Walmarts I have ever been in, Auchan actually had all of their check-out aisles open. But there were still a million people in each aisle with shopping carts loaded full. I took my place in a relatively short line full of people with only 10 or 11 items versus the 50 or 60 items per person in the other aisles.

Quickly another lady joins my line behind me. She puts her bags down behind my basket on the floor and says something. I have learned to basically ignore everyone here versus being pulled into a conversation I can’t possibly understand, or respond to, with any sense. Normally this procedure works because I can briskly walk away from whomever, and be on my way without any embarrassment or misunderstanding. But this time I was stuck in a slow-moving line and had to attempt comprehension. All I could understand from her smiling lips was “vert,” the French word for green. I quickly ran through a list of questions that could possibly contain the word green. I came up with none. Sensing I didn’t understand, the lady asked me again; this time kneeling towards her bags on the floor and pointing at my basket. Was she asking me if she could use my basket? What kind of nutball question is that? And besides my basket is most definitely red and the French word for red (rouge) sounds nothing like green. Finally, after failing to understand this poor woman’s question three times, I explained in my best French, that I didn’t understand what she was asking and spoke very little French. She smiled and proceeded to walk up to the cashier. After a quick conversation that I couldn’t hear, the lady leaned under the cashier’s counter and picked up a green basket. She smiled at the customer nearest the counter as she lifted the green basket up for him to see. As this was the answer they had all been looking for.

There are generally empty baskets laying under the counters in French markets. You pick a basket up when you walk in, fill it with your goods, and then empty the basket when you check out. Why in the world was this crazy woman asking me about the green basket? Am I the keeper of the baskets? Why does she need a basket now? We’re at the checkout counter. Surely she could keep track of her bags for a few more minutes. Presumably, she has lugged them across the store basketless, so why get one now when she’s ready to check out? The remainder of the time I waited in line, this woman continued to wander to nearby checkout aisles and browse their goods. She could not stand still. One minute she was on my left looking at candy. The next she was on the right checking out a mirror.

As I finally reached the check-out counter I lifted my red basket off the ground so that I could begin placing my items on the conveyer belt. No sooner than I had grabbed my bag of corn chips did I realize there was a snag in my plan. There was a small boy lying half his body across the conveyer belt. One can only assume his mother had been dragging him all day from store to store, while she shopped for goods, and he became exhausted. I thought I would give him a hint and began piling my chips next to his head. Any normal, self-conscience lad, I thought, would understand my need to empty the red basket, and move off the belt designed for groceries, and not little boys’ heads. But no, the boy’s head stayed. Now the mother of the conveyer belt boy begins leaning over the boy, and my corn chips, to check out some phone cards. Why she could not have perused these cards during the 10 minutes she was standing directly in front of them, nobody knows. But now that I am holding my increasingly heavy, red basket, her son is laying his head on the belt, and my chips are resting gently nearby, she has decided that phone cards could definitely be a purchase. Several minutes pass like this until she has decided to actually move around me and give those phone cards a good look-over.

By this point, I’m seeing red and don’t notice if the lady actually purchases the cards or not. What I do see is the line moving forward. Boy lifts his head off the conveyer belt and I am able to lay my goods down. Suddenly boy becomes frightened. There are several divider sticks laying near the cashier. These sticks are designed to maintain dividing points between each customer’s groceries, lest the cashier gets confused and charges my corn chips to someone else. There are several of these sticks laying near the cashier, but they are too far up the line to be grabbed by the boy. The boy is so frightened that my goods and his mothers may mix that he sticks his full right arm in between them. Excitedly, girlishly, he chatters to his mother about this problem. She seems to understand but is helpless to solve the matter. Meanwhile, crazy lady behind me begins stacking her grocers right on top of mine. I push my goods closer to the boy’s arm, but crazy lady keeps piling them right up on me. Feeling the boy’s pain I point my stare of hatred towards the cashier who is hoarding all the dividing sticks. “Why don’t you push those down here?” my mind asks. Can’t you see the problems you’re causing?

Finally, my turn arrives. “Bonjour” I say, as I sack and pay for your goods before leaving with a final “Au revoir.” Relieved that it is all over I pack my sacks into my backpack and head for the tram.

Song of the moment: “Elvis Presley Blues” by Gillian Welch

I’ve been sick again. Why do I get sick so much? I blame it on travel. During my first year in Indiana, I got very sick very often. Same thing for Alabama. Tennessee did me good though. This time it was a sinus thing. Very congested. Sinus trouble makes everything very surreal for me. Like it takes a moment for my eyes to focus on anything so I spend my day in a series of brief blurs. I was feverish Wednesday night. Go to bed freezing and piling covers on top. Wake up drenched in sweat and glad of it, for I know it is passing.

After considering London, Dublin, Scotland, and Spain we have finally decided on Rome for our February vacation. Prices all around are cheaper. Our only problem now will be in trying to fit all of the places we want to see into a few days. I’m hoping to head South as well and maybe catch the sea.

My head is too dizzy from bad sinuses and good drugs to write much more. But I wanted to check in to keep the few, the faithful from forgetting about my little piece of cyberspace.

Originally written on January 25, 2005.

Daniel and all of the AIM missionaries went to Belgium for a conference last weekend. It was decided that I should preach on Sunday. There was a time, many a year ago, when I aspired to be a minister of some sort. I gave up that aspiration for various reasons and haven’t done any type of preaching/teaching in a very long time. The last time I did anything like it was in 1999 when my parents were going to church in Grove, OK. At that time I read a few passages from Pascal and asked the audience what they thought about it.

Unfortunately, I left my Pascal in America and knew I would actually have to lead some sort of sermon. I worked a few things together and padded it with a lot of Scripture. Luckily there were only about 5 of us there. Half the congregation was in Belgium and the weather was poor enough to keep the rest at home. The funny thing was that even with so few Jean Claude was there and he doesn’t speak English. So Tammy had to translate everything for him.

We went to Laura’s home in the evening. A bunch of us ate pizza and watched a movie. The movie was French but was about a young man traveling to Spain and living with an eclectic group (I’ve since learned the title is L’Auberge Espagnole). It was difficult for me to follow. Most of it was in French, but the group that was living together all spoke English or Spanish. So I got a French soundtrack part of the time, then it would switch to Spanish with French subtitles or English with French subtitles. I would concentrate really hard on what was being spoken to understand what little French I could. Then I would have to stop listening and try to understand the French subtitles. Then it would turn to English being spoken but it would take me a minute to realize I could actually understand what was being spoken and stop reading the subtitles.

We went home around 1 in the morning. It was cold and snowing! Beautiful snow too. Big bright, fluffy, flakes coming down all around. It packed rather well as well so we had to throw a few snowballs. Suddenly I became the loud guy on the street who I am normally cursing. It didn’t last too long and now there is hardly a remnant left.

We’re trying to plan a vacation in February. Originally we thought we’d go to London and then maybe Dublin, but it is looking a little too pricey for the moment. So now the plan is to take a tour of German castles. We’ll see if that works out.

After my French lesson on Saturday my tutor, Ann, gave me a little lecture about practicing.

“You need to go over your verbs.” she said. She then brought out a little address book. The address book had English words with French definitions filling its pages. They were alphabetized in the book in the same manner you would use it for address’. On page B instead of Bowland and Bales there was a banana and beach towel.

“You should get one of these. I’ve found it very helpful with my English vocabulary.” She then asked me if I had any friends that I could speak French with. Upon admitting that, no, I tended to hang out with English speakers Ann told me to start speaking with Amy.

“You’ve been here five months and hardly speak a word of French,” she lectured. Before I could counter that I had really only been here four months and that the first one didn’t count as I wasn’t taking lessons she expressed her worry over me wasting my time and money on lessons. We agreed to meet on Monday and I promised to do better.

I mentioned Ann’s lecture in a casual conversation on the phone with my mother.

“Mathew,” she said, “you know why you aren’t doing well? You aren’t studying, are you? Are you paying for these lessons?”

Upon hearing that yes, I was in fact paying for them she increased her lecture to a feverish pitch. My mother is a world-class nagger and here she was in top form. She urged me to start hitting the books. She added a stern voice while telling me that I was wasting my money if I wasn’t practicing the language with Amy. She swore she would have no son if I didn’t get things together.

It worked. Amy and I spent an hour the next evening speaking in French. She picked an old LaRedoute catalog and chose interesting pages to talk about. At first, she would describe what the models were wearing and ask me to repeat the French words for “skirt, boots, and jacket.” Then she would quiz me on the different colors being worn or where the models were located. Soon I was making up little stories to go with the picture.

“That girl is from Lawrence, KS,” I’d say, “she came to Paris on a two-week vacation. After three days her luggage was stolen and she couldn’t afford to stay in the hotel. After 7 days she had to start prostituting herself to live.”*

I was remembering words I didn’t know I had ever learned. Suddenly I could conjugate the verb “to steal” in the third person past form. The problem with my tutoring sessions is that we are continually learning new and more difficult language use. We rarely review in class and I am supposed to remember at will any past lesson. My mind gets so tied up in unscrambling the new information that it is too scared to remember anything older than a few minutes. But now in a casual setting with nothing new keeping me occupied I was remembering three months worth of verbs, nouns, and prepositions. I was far from perfect, and I had a very limited vocabulary but it was enlightening to suddenly be able to make a complete sentence and better yet, have it understood.

Amy and I have been speaking every day since and I have started using an address book for new vocabulary and grammar. “How is your sandwich?” I’ll ask over lunch. “I like the cheese.” And Amy, with an encouraging smile will say, “Tres bien.”

* In actuality this conversation went more like this: “She is American. She go to Paris. She no have bags and money. She is prostitute.”