Repping America

Today I went to TK Maxx (yes it's called TK Maxx here, not TJ Maxx), bought some things for my new room...including a couple posters that I feel best rep America: one is a psychedelic Jimi Hendrix poster, & one is a black-and-white collage of about 25 American rappers. I also got a Bob Marley poster in Jamaican-flag colors, which I realize isn't very American, but that man makes me happy just looking at him.

Irish Slang of the Day: "chav" (=redneck)

Swim Traffic

Note to self: the Irish swim on the LEFT side of the lane.

It feels VERY awkward to do a flip-turn in that direction! Today I swam a little at the rec center, then played around on the diving boards with a Romanian-speaking family. When I started doing one-and-a-half's on the low dive (the one trick I can do), they said, "romanianromanian-WOW!-romanianromanian" and started trying to do it, too. It was hilarious, they were belly-busting in their valiant efforts. Then I went and sat in the pool-side sauna with some old men who wanted to hear all about Nashville. A lot of Belfastians (or "Belfastards," as they are sometimes affectionately known) ask us kind of incredulously why we chose Northern Ireland (pronounced "Norn Iron").

Phrase of the day: "What about ye?" (=what's up?)

Real World: Belfast!

I already knew I loved Belfast. I knew it the very first day I set foot in Ireland, in February of last yearwhen I turned to my travel-mate Laura and said, "I'm going to live here one day." I've now been in Belfast for four days, and I appreciate it more each day. The more that I learn about the atrocities that this city has had to overcome (and is still trying to overcome), the more I am amazed at its resilience, and the people's determination to move forward in peace, even in the face of fierce political & religious disagreement.

The Troubles

So...quick summary about what I mean, for those who don't know

much about Northern Ireland. The Troubles refers to the violence in N. Ireland over the past few decades:

PICTURED: Mural off Shankill Road

-1972: thirteen unarmed Catholic civilians shot dead by British police ("Bloody Sunday"...and yes that's where the U2 song came from)

-1981: IRA prisoners in N. Ireland go on hunger strike, demanding to be recognized as political prisoners instead of terrorists (ten of them die from the fast)

-1987: IRA bomb kills 11 people in Enniskillen (the Poppy Day massacre)

-1993: IRA bomb kills 10 on Shankill Road.

....and there are a lot more stories that I'm sure could be told. Altogether, 3,600 people were killed up till 1998.

6 counties make up Northern Ireland, which is part of the UK...so they're under British rule, and they use pounds for currency (as opposed to the Republic of Ireland, which is its own thing, and uses Euros as currency.) The roads up here are much better, and the accents are very different (much harder to understand!! think Brad Pitt in the movie Snatch)

Belfast Today

Today, there are about 80 gates throughout the city of Belfast, which close at 6 PM every night, so as to keep the Catholic & Protestant parts of town separated. (You can still get around the gates, but it's much more difficult...as one man explained, it makes it so people can't just run over to the over side, stab someone and run right back over to their own side.) PICTURED: Mural near bus station

This month, a policeman (remember the police is primarily Protestant/Loyalist) was seriously injured here from a car bomb. 2 soldiers and a policeman were murdered last year as well.

Yesterday, we took one of the historical Black Cab tours..which is where you pile into really old-school Irish taxis, and they take you around to the most important Shankill Road (which is protestant) and Falls Road (which is Catholic) murals and memorials. Shankill & Falls were basically battlefronts during the Troubles. There are murals all over these areas that reflect their respective religious/political sides--e.g. the sides of houses are gigantic paintings of IRA gunmen, King William's victory, and Catholics who died during the hunger strike. Very sobering.

My First Few Days: Scottish Women Know How to Swing

Ok, so all of this violence might make you wonder what on earth I'm doing here. I promise, it hasn't all been scary history lessons. The people here are crazy, hilarious, extremely friendly, and tall. And they generally love Americans. Even Americans, thousands of miles away, know that the Irish know how to have a good time, so I don't even have to really explain that part. The first night here, I danced Irishly in a "proper Irish pub" (as they say) called Fibber McGee's, where an Irish band played, and a group of female Scottish tourists (including "Aunt Carol"....whose dance moves I'll never forget) swung us around for a solid 2 hours (elbow-in-elbow...think the below-decks party that Jack took Rose to, in the movie Titanic). At the end of the night, the Scottish gave us their email addresses & insisted we contact them to stay at their B&B not far from Edinburgh. (One of the women called me "Bobbles" all night because when she came in Fibber McGee's, she asked me if I had a "bobble"--which is a hair tie, apparently--and I had no clue what she was talking about.) We are seriously considering doing it. Aunt Carol was pretty awesome.

PICTURED: Megan (US), Kelly (US), Aunt Carol (Scotland), her niece who called me "Bobbles," me, & 2 other Scots at Fibber McGee's

Originally, we were told that we would spend 3 days with a family homestay in remote parts of Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland. But the directors decided against it--Instead they are paying our hotel accommodations for 2 nights in DUBLIN for St. Patty's Day..Not a bad deal at all!

PICTURED: Belfast Opera House for a comedy show

Our first three days were spent in a hotel in the city center, mostly doing orientation-type things, going to pubs, going to the theater (saw a comedy show called "Porridge"), getting to know the other 16 students in this program.

Dr. Tim's Good Teeth

Our program director...Tim...we call him Doctor Tim (he seems to have just about every academic degree imaginable)...is this fabulous Ireland-born man who drives BMWs and always wears designer suits. He's very proper (he has a surprisingly PERFECT top row of teeth) but he's also hilarious. He sometimes comes out to the pubs with us, and he's always "good craic" (pronounced like "crack," means good fun) to be around. Today, when he dropped us off at our new dorms for the first time, we were all sad to say goodbye to him..as we said, it felt sort of like Dad dropping you off at the first day of kindergarten, "Make new friends!" We'll see him again soon, though..he'll be my professor for my Irish Studies class at Queen's University.

PICTURED: my school, Queen's University, the night of the international students dinner

Real World: Belfast

The living situation isn't half-bad. I have a single room, with my own shower and toilet! (first time in 4 years...shout-out to Margaret Choo!). The floor is co-ed, with 11 people on it, and a kitchen/dining room in the middle where everybody can hang out. I still haven't met all of the roommates...I've met 2 Irish girls & 2 Irish guys--Chris and Fergle the law student--(who I believe we're going out with, tonight) Then there are 2 girls (Sarah & Kelly) who are Americans in my program.

Gotta try to nap to catch up on this sleep before we go out to "The Bot" (the Botanic)...

Let it be known that I am happy. Love you all.

Getting Punked by a Frenchman & Sincere Motivational Speeches that Unfortunately I Can't Understand

I Live With a Frenchified Ashton Kutcher.

Frequently when I come into the room, Kevin (the French soccer player I live with) says happily, "Chi chi!" I always figured this was some form of friendly greeting. But yesterday I asked my moto-cross roommate (Renaud) what "chi chi" meant, & I discovered that it is actually a quite vulgar word that I won't explicitly say here! So I called him out on it yesterday & he got quite a good laugh out of it. I'm sure he wondered how long it'd take me! Kevin has other redeeming qualities (one of them being the fact that he plays soccer with me; the other being a divine olive-mushroom pizza he makes)...so I let his antics slide. After all, would I really be experiencing France if I didn't have a happily foul-mouthed roommate? Je pense que non.

Too bad my French classes didn't teach vocabulary like "hamstring" & "triceps dips" & "reverse abdominal crunches"...

...so it's a little hard to follow the Group Fitness classes at the gym, but I think it's more fun like

 that. Because the trainer will come right next to me & tell me a bunch of instructions for my form & just completely guess what he's saying & start adjusting myself until he says, "AH! BON!" 

Also, the trainer is really good about shouting

 encouraging, motivational things to the class. Unfortunately, I can't understand a word he says. But oddly, I still feel encouraged & motivated when he says them :) 

Prisons & Wine & 

-We went to Marseille (full of modern day pirates), the 2nd-biggest city in France. 

From there we took a ferry to Chateau d'If, which is the famous prison from The Count of Monte Cristo. It was cold & drizzling rain, & appropriately ominous & menacing. (Although the cliffs looked a LOT higher in the movie, & the prison looked a LOT smaller in person)

-I can't wait for it to get warmer so we can go to the beach, because the mediterranean sea already looks gorgeous, even in the cold & cloudy weather--it's that kind of water that is perfectly clear, but with these amazing alternating sapphire & dark blue tints.

-Last night we went to dinner at the house of a woman who teaches the cooking classes. But also, the man who teaches the wine tasting classes at the vineyard (who looks like James Bond with grey hair) also came, & he brought several different wines. So the woman made us dinner (yes, our entire school fits at 1 dinner table)..& at the beginning of each course, the man would open up a new kind of wine & tell us why that particular wine was good with that particular kind of food. One thing's for sure, the wine certainly opened up the arena for conversation topics (e.g. we had about a 15 minute conversation about the possibility of alien life forms). It was all delicious & let's just say that the group's trek back from dinner was punctuated with several slurred & nonsensical comments (e.g. non-sequitur reference to the Abominable Snowman). 

So Many Weird Things Have Happened Since My Last Post

The Gym's Toilet May or May Not Be a Star Wars Droid

Last week, I joined the gym. I went there for the first time on Friday, but I'm not sure how much of a work-out I got, because I couldn't stop laughing. Because it's very entertaining to see beefy men pumping iron, & when a friend enters the room in the middle of their set, the friend comes over & they smile & kiss (twice), then immediately go back to grimacing & looking tough.

But the thing I like best about the gym is the toilet.

Let me explain. After some time of running the treadmill/chuckling to myself about how short the men's shorts are, I went to the bathroom. When it came time, I realized this toilet didn't have a "flusher" button in its usual spot. So as my eyes scanned around searching for the "flusher,"I was totally unprepared for what was about to happen.

The toilet moved. To be specific, a claw-like, plastic blue arm (very R2D2-like) reached out from the back of the toilet. This arm proceeded to grip the toilet seat & slowly turn it 360 degrees, all the while using some sort of wet brush underneath its palm to clean the seat. When it was done, it released the seat & turned on a light that chipperly said, "Clean!" Then R2D2's claw retreated back into its home in the heart of the toilet.

Wait, WHAT?!!?

This toilet was so bizarrely delightful that I went back & watched its performance 2 more times before I left that night.

Why I Worked Out for 3 Hours (not just because of the toilet)

When I joined the gym, I also signed up to have a personal trainer named Jean-Phillippe. I figured our first meeting together, we'd just to talk about a schedule, maybe discuss some injury history, maybe drink a banana smoothie from the gym's "Health Bar." So I made sure to get in a significant work-out before my meeting with him. Unfortunately, Jean-Phillippe planned on doing some serious cardio & weights that afternoon. I could've just told him sorry, I just ran 3 miles, but (much like that toilet) he seemed so chipper about doing his job that I didn't want to disappoint him. I basically had to log-roll myself home that night.

Overconfidence is Not a Good Thing When You're Skiing for the First Time. Oh, Especially when You're in the Alps.

I went skiing for the first time ever this weekend. My friend Laura had been skiing twice before, so she was able to give me a lesson. The lesson went something like this:

*LAURA: Okay, so when skiing, you want to make an S-pattern in the snow, going back & forth.

So if you want to go to the right, stick out your left leg. And vice versa.

*JESSIE: Okay cool. Wait, I'm stuck in this snow pile. Wait, I'm going backwarrrddssssss Lauraaaa what do I dooooo--

*LAURA: I don't know!!!!!!

The solution to everything seemed to be, "Stick out your leg!" But, aside from falling off the T-Bar lift thing the first time I tried...everything on the Bunny Slopes was going wonderfully. I really wasn't even falling down that much! Sticking out my leg was working great. So after 4-5 times down the Bunny Slope, I suggested we take the chair lift to the top & take the easiest possible trail back down.

A near-fatal mistake.

Well, it turns out that I was nowhere near qualified enough to do this trail. (This should've been obvious to everyone when I accidentally stayed on the ski lift about 7 seconds too long & had to clumsily jump off at what seemed to me a significant height.) This trail was narrow & steep & surrounded by trees. (Keep in mind, for the last week, I've watched my roommate comfort her family because her father hit a tree while skiing & now has significant memory impairment. So I was more than a little apprehensive.)

*JESSIE: Laura, I've changed my mind. I'm nowhere near ready for this. I don't think I can stick my foot out fast enough to take these turns.

*LAURA: You're out of luck, kiddo, this is the only way back down.

My Dear Readers: I tried. I really did. I got through half of the course, inching along, terrified.

Wait, did I mention that I didn't have any gloves?

So I was really cold, too (except during the intervals that Laura let me wear her gloves). And about halfway down the mountain, I encountered a particularly menacing hill. Going down this hill, my skis did something so awkward, bending my legs out at 90 degree angles, & I thought for a split second I'd broken something. I was fine, but it hurt badly enough for me to realize that this was a little insane. So I took off my skis & walked the rest of the way. It took me forever, & when I finally caught up to Laura at the finish line, I felt like a soldier returning from war, with my skis slung them over my soldier like a bayonet.

Suffice it to say, overconfidence is not a good quality when you're skiing in the Alps. All that aside, the Alps is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. That's such an understatement. I felt like I'd stepped into a Planet Earth episode. And if it weren't for the fact that my ski boots were 2 sizes too small (because I don't know how to convert European shoe sizes), I could've stood up there forever.

But Wait, Did I Mention that Our Bus Crashed?

Did I Mention our Bus Crashed TWICE?

Because it did। This weekend was a particularly tricky one to be driving through the Alps because it was snowing quite hard & some roads had been blocked off. On the way to the resort, we crashed into a snow bank on the side of the mountain (thus saving our lives but making me spill my lentil soup). A piece of the front bumper broke off & I saw them pick it up & nonchalantly toss it underneath with people's luggage. Then, on the way back down the mountain, while rounding a sharp turn, we hit another snow bank. This time the door half-way broke off, & it was flapping around in the wind. A group of guys had to rig together (with duct tape) a contraption that held the door on. Then we watched a French-dubbed version of Gladiator & everyone forgot about what a terrible driver we had.

1 Week since Vanderbilt Infiltration into France

Sexism & The City

The title of this is appropriate 2 reasons:

(1) We've been watching a lot of French-subtitled Sex & The City episodes here (specifically, the portion of the series where Carrie lives in France with her Russian boyfriend.)

(2) In terms of sexism, France is apparently still really sexist.

The first time I noticed this was last week, at the end of dinner with Madame & Monsieur Bach. We'd finished eating, so we all stood up to take the dishes into the kitchen. Monsieur Bach, however, stopped Marquise (the only male in the group) with an outstretched hand & said, "No, no, no, let the girls do it." Marquise sat back down & uncomfortably gave his armful of dishes to the nearest female student, continued their conversation while we cleaned up. It was a little thing, but it definitely surprised me. When I told my roommate about it, she just said knowingly, "Yeah, it's because France is so [profanity] sexist." 

The other thing I noticed is that girls aren't active here. They don't play sports or work out or anything. I mean, a couple girls' sports teams exist, but it's definitely not common, and it's usually just basketball (says Madame Bach). Soccer in particular is considered to be a masculine sport (it'd be like a girl in the States playing American football...which explains the surprised looks I got when I told some people that I'd played soccer for 14 years). As someone who gained so much self-confidence & self-discovery through sports, I find this really sad; and as a girl, I just find that unfair! Anyways, apparently that's why French women are so famously tiny: they have zero muscle mass!

Le Fete Obama

Yesterday, I was interviewed by a local journalist about what young Americans thought about Obama. I told them about the incredible energy & excitement that's been circulating among most campuses...how I've seen a recent shift in dynamics among young Americans. A couple of years ago we were extremely polarized, sitting in our dorm rooms telling stories about the Big Bad Republican/Democrat; now it seems like people are more sane, less extreme, more cooperative in general. That's my take on it, as someone who has voted for both Republicans & Democrats.

Tonight we're having a party at the Vanderbilt Center to watch the Inauguration. All of our French roommates are coming also, & everyone's been looking forward to it, even those who didn't vote Obama. Regardless of who you campaigned for, everyone recognizes this is a milestone in history that no one -- even the French -- wants to miss.

This Week I Realized...

-I'm going to risk sounding like a Toby Keith song right now, but...America actually IS a really awesome country. For the longest time I was someone who figured Europe did everything better than we did. And maybe they do some things better, I haven't decided yet. But we are so tolerant, so diverse, so creative, so influential, so good (relatively) with women's rights & human rights in general...and, as of tonight, we will have elected a black president. I'm proud of us! 

Je suis Ratatouille

"...This is where I live?"

I finally took a good long run by myself today. I know I said I'd never try again in Aix, because everyone stares at you; but I did try again, because I realized I don't really care if people stare--maybe I'll become some sort of local celebrity if I do it enough. So I found a series of hills to run. At the top I turned around to start heading home, & what I saw literally took my breath away. I was standing in the hills of France & could see the whole city below me; & I could see (for the first time) the mountains sitting sleepily behind the city, wrapped in the warm purpleness of the sunset. I stopped running & just stood there for several minutes smiling & thinking to myself incredulously, "This is where I live." 

In a Word...

I am currently reading the book Eat Pray Love (Elizabeth Gilbert). She says that every city has a single word that defines it, that "identifies most people who live there." For example, she says New York's word is ACHIEVE, whereas Los Angeles's word is SUCCEED. Naples's word is FIGHT. (I'm referring to Italy's Naples, not Florida's Naples. Florida's Naples's word would be more like SCUFFLE.)

So I asked myself last night, "What is Aix's word?" At this point, I think Aix's word is PROTECT. They are fiercely protective of their culture. Everything here is ancient & perfectly preserved, because they protect their past. You can see the protectiveness in the people in the streets, as well: people don't make eye contact with passers-by, & (as mentioned) they certainly don't smile at strangers. (Let's be honest, the French can be a little up-tight about certain things.)

Despite Aix's word being PROTECT (for now), the individuals can be very kind, even to strangers. For example, the guy always working in my grocery store always says something friendly to me (well, God knows what he's saying, but it certainly sounds friendly) & today he became the first guy in Aix to open a door for me. (Warning to Southern girls: they aren't particularly chivalrous here!) 

I Knew I'd Find It...

Those who know me well know that I get "stuck" on certain foods--meaning, I'll eat the exact same thing every day, & I will look forward to it each time as if I hadn't eaten it in years. Past examples of this include Smoothie King, fig bars, lentils, and Special K with yogurt. Today I discovered my next food love: Ratatouille Provencale. I buy it from my new friend at the grocery store for about $1. It is both delicious & reminiscent of that adorable movie.

According to Madame Bach...

Contrary to popular belief in the States, French people like Americans a lot. In fact, my French roommate says they think we are very open-minded & accommodating of many types of people. They LOVE our music, our movies, our celebrities, etc. Rihanna is playing in the cafe. Britney Spears is playing in the drug store. So don't let anyone tell you different.

Madame & Monsieur Bach say that I've already made noticeable progress with my French. (Allison Stohl & Blair Slingerland: Madame is originally from Southern Spain, so I talked to her about you guys!) 

Madame calls me "La fille avec le grand sourire," which means "The girl with the big smile."