Tonight, I met up with a dear French friend named Aurore. We sat ourselves at a cafe on the Place Capitol in the evening sunlight and gave our orders to the waiter. Then we dove into conversation.
I hadn't seen Aurore for probably over a month and had missed her a lot. She wanted to hear about Easter. I wanted to hear about her past and upcoming travels (she's been SO many places!). Our ice cream sundaes disappeared somehow; our beverages also. Before we knew it, an hour had gone by and we decided to move our meeting to her apartment.
When we got to her apartment, the first thought that sprinted into my head was, "WE ARE THE SAME PERSON" !!! Albeit, in two different bodies, living two different lives, residing in two different countries of course. As I looked around Aurore's apartment I realized that she and I had such similar taste. Rich fabrics in purples and oranges, candles, souvenirs from her travels, books and more books, were all arranged beautifully around the space. Her furniture was low and comfortable. There were great mismatched tables holding things from the computer, to the TV, to books. Even the arrangement of the furniture and the kitchen utensils was just as I would have arranged them had I moved in. Aside from just a couple of souvenirs that she had displayed, the space was me all over. She even had the pillows to match the bedspread that I had all throughout college!!!
Aurore turned on some Spanish music and helped me make fresh guacamole. After she served up some apple juice for both of us and arranged our Mexican snack on her gorgeous wood in-lay coffee table, we sat down (or rather, sunk into) her comfy furniture. While we ate our guacamole and tortilla chips, we talked about the difficulties of pronunciation in both languages and our favorite words in each other’s native tongue. We talked of education, religion, and racism. We talked about dance. I talked about cheerleading. We traded boyfriend anecdotes. The conversation flowed organically till long past the sun went down. For the second night in a row, I was treated to someone else’s cooking; Aurore prepared a simple pasta and hamburger meal with Provençal herbs. As she took our dirty dishes into the kitchen, I stole a glance at her cell, noting that it was already 10:30. Where had the past four and a half hours gone? Had she and I really been talking almost continuously since we met for the café at 6?
Following these thoughts was the feeling of disappointment. I didn’t want the night to end. I felt so at home in her apartment. I almost felt like I was back in America just hanging out with one of my closest friends – except that I obviously don’t speak French with my friends like I do with Aurore– I was so at ease and happy. The hours had slipped by while our friendship and understanding of one another’s culture had grown. Unfortunately, I knew that I had better go before the metro closed; besides, Aurore was leaving the next morning on a week-long trip and hadn’t packed. Around 11 we headed for the metro station, traded hugs and cheek kisses and more hugs, wished each other well for the upcoming week and weekend, and then parted ways. As I rode the escalator down into the metro, I thought to myself that I might just be as sad leaving France this year as I was when I left after study abroad my junior year. There may not be the same desire to stay and live the ‘French life’ as there was junior year, but there was the same feeling that I was leaving ones I loved behind; and this time that feeling was magnified. What an amazing night it was indeed.
~Tam in Toulouse
Monday, May 16, 2011
Good Times prt 1
I've had an amazing two evenings! I wanted to write them down before I was so far removed from then that the 'new' rubbed off and blogging about them seemed silly. At this crucial time here, aka my last week and a half, such evenings are what I'll remember probably better than most things. They'll be some of the last memories I make here... and so they are worthy of being blogged about.
Sunday evening I met two Americans for some food and conversation. I'd previously (and randomly) met them on the plane on my way to London. The friendship basically started upon finding out that they were from Austin, TX (and I love TX) and that we were all headed to London, and all living in Toulouse studying abroad. Instantaneously I liked these southern gents (Nick and Michael) with the same adoration of France/french.
So finally, after my exams and all their travels, we were meeting to really hang out. Inside Michael's apartment we settled in for a weird snack fest. I had brought the wine and cookies, they provided salsa, guacamole, and chips. The pairings were definitely off; rose wine with cheap cookies, then with salsa and guacamole, BUT we didn't care. The snacks were yummy and the wine was refreshing. As we munched through the cookies and finished off the salsa and guacamole it became apparent that we needed actual dinner. Michael graciously fixed "Michael's Meal" (aka rice, zucchini, onion, garlic, and bell pepper with a little bit of tomato sauce). Nick and I jumped in to chop things and feel helpful. The conversation continued through the chopping, through the simmering, and through the eating of Michael's Meal. Afterward, I washed dishes, Nick dried, and still the conversation continued. Frankly, I was quite surprised that these two guys were not only letting me ramble on and on, but they weren't complaining about me changing subjects every five minutes and they were keeping up with me as far as talk time went. Neither one lacked for words. After a few days to myself in my apartment I think I was on talk overload, binging on the English and the camaraderie.
From clean dishes we moved to Texas Hold 'Em. We played with centimes, mostly the euro one cent coins. It was ridiculous for me to be blissful. I was simply sitting in a studio apartment, playing an easy card game, talking about nothing important with new friends. Yet, I was blissful. By eleven thirty I was back in my own apartment thinking back on what a great time I'd had just hanging out with people sharing food, playing a game, and making conversation.
Sunday evening I met two Americans for some food and conversation. I'd previously (and randomly) met them on the plane on my way to London. The friendship basically started upon finding out that they were from Austin, TX (and I love TX) and that we were all headed to London, and all living in Toulouse studying abroad. Instantaneously I liked these southern gents (Nick and Michael) with the same adoration of France/french.
So finally, after my exams and all their travels, we were meeting to really hang out. Inside Michael's apartment we settled in for a weird snack fest. I had brought the wine and cookies, they provided salsa, guacamole, and chips. The pairings were definitely off; rose wine with cheap cookies, then with salsa and guacamole, BUT we didn't care. The snacks were yummy and the wine was refreshing. As we munched through the cookies and finished off the salsa and guacamole it became apparent that we needed actual dinner. Michael graciously fixed "Michael's Meal" (aka rice, zucchini, onion, garlic, and bell pepper with a little bit of tomato sauce). Nick and I jumped in to chop things and feel helpful. The conversation continued through the chopping, through the simmering, and through the eating of Michael's Meal. Afterward, I washed dishes, Nick dried, and still the conversation continued. Frankly, I was quite surprised that these two guys were not only letting me ramble on and on, but they weren't complaining about me changing subjects every five minutes and they were keeping up with me as far as talk time went. Neither one lacked for words. After a few days to myself in my apartment I think I was on talk overload, binging on the English and the camaraderie.
From clean dishes we moved to Texas Hold 'Em. We played with centimes, mostly the euro one cent coins. It was ridiculous for me to be blissful. I was simply sitting in a studio apartment, playing an easy card game, talking about nothing important with new friends. Yet, I was blissful. By eleven thirty I was back in my own apartment thinking back on what a great time I'd had just hanging out with people sharing food, playing a game, and making conversation.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
The Countdown begins at 10
Ten days. Starting tomorrow, I have just 10 days left in France. When I think about it, I visited London in 5 days, so 10 days in Toulouse should be plenty of time (on top of the 8 1/2 months I've been here already) to soak up the city and pull into myself wonderful memories to cherish always. But 10 days seems alternately like too little time and like the never ending home stretch.
Today I begin to pack. The weather is gorgeous outside, but I won't be venturing out to appreciate it. No, today is the day that I stay inside and begin to sort through my stacks of papers. I will put all my clothes into my suitcase. I will sort books into those that go and those that need to be sold second hand. I will do laundry so that it can be packed. I will finally send those post cards that I bought way back in October.
Why am I packing if I have ten whole days left? Well, my apartment is a mess. I like to think that I'm subconsciously 'spreading out' my things to make it seem like I still live here for a while. That 'spreading out' consists of piles of dirty clothes and dishes and school books and papers. The 'spreading out' only makes it look like a very messy frat boy lives in my place...not the intended effect. So, now I'm going to face reality. I am going to pack my things as much as I can - toiletries will stay out and a few electronics - and I'm going to make my apartment reflect the fact that I'm leaving in ten days.
Aside from packing, I've been asking myself what in the world I'm supposed to do with ten days of no obligations. Do I sleep in, relax outside in the sun each day and have a picnic lunch? Do I spend my evenings in cafe's or restaurants sipping French wine and watching the people? Perhaps I should go to the English book shop and buy some classics, spend some afternoons in the park, transported into scenes from Jane Austen? What does one do when one is trying to hold tightly to a place?
I know that I will tutor this Tuesday and next. I know that I will see three year old N. and her sweet mother, K. I know that I will treat myself to a movie at the cinema. I know that I will meet with a Miral professor or two. I'll pay some bills and shut down some accounts. I'll visit the bakery, the pizza shop, and the mini supermarket multiple times. Maybe the key to holding tightly to a place is just living out the days as normal. Maybe in doing the mundane I'll be engraving my way of life here into my memory.
~Tam in Toulouse
Today I begin to pack. The weather is gorgeous outside, but I won't be venturing out to appreciate it. No, today is the day that I stay inside and begin to sort through my stacks of papers. I will put all my clothes into my suitcase. I will sort books into those that go and those that need to be sold second hand. I will do laundry so that it can be packed. I will finally send those post cards that I bought way back in October.
Why am I packing if I have ten whole days left? Well, my apartment is a mess. I like to think that I'm subconsciously 'spreading out' my things to make it seem like I still live here for a while. That 'spreading out' consists of piles of dirty clothes and dishes and school books and papers. The 'spreading out' only makes it look like a very messy frat boy lives in my place...not the intended effect. So, now I'm going to face reality. I am going to pack my things as much as I can - toiletries will stay out and a few electronics - and I'm going to make my apartment reflect the fact that I'm leaving in ten days.
Aside from packing, I've been asking myself what in the world I'm supposed to do with ten days of no obligations. Do I sleep in, relax outside in the sun each day and have a picnic lunch? Do I spend my evenings in cafe's or restaurants sipping French wine and watching the people? Perhaps I should go to the English book shop and buy some classics, spend some afternoons in the park, transported into scenes from Jane Austen? What does one do when one is trying to hold tightly to a place?
I know that I will tutor this Tuesday and next. I know that I will see three year old N. and her sweet mother, K. I know that I will treat myself to a movie at the cinema. I know that I will meet with a Miral professor or two. I'll pay some bills and shut down some accounts. I'll visit the bakery, the pizza shop, and the mini supermarket multiple times. Maybe the key to holding tightly to a place is just living out the days as normal. Maybe in doing the mundane I'll be engraving my way of life here into my memory.
~Tam in Toulouse
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Texas meets Toulouse
I have never cooked texmex before. I guess technically what I attempted for one of my adopted French families Tuesday night was mexican. I'm not entirely sure what it was... but I know that it turned out surprisingly well for my first foray into western food !
In the tiny five ft. by five ft. "U" shaped kitchen, lacking many of the American utensils and appliances that I was used to, I managed to prepare an enchilada casserole, quesadillas, and fresh guacamole that I was proud of. I'm skipping over the preparation part because it was sheer madness trying to fix the three at once with only one cutting board, one skillet, and a teeny tiny oven the size of a microwave. Adding to the craziness was a lack of counter space or preparation space. About one foot on the table was free and about a foot on the counter. I never thought non-cooking me would care about kitchen space, but this french enchilada experience taught me that a tiny kitchen is a hindrance. It amazes me (and annoys me) that the French, renowned for their cuisine, stick with teeny tiny kitchens.
Anyhow, luck was with me Tuesday evening, and the end result was delicious. The guacamole needed more spice (jalepenos would have been perfect), the quesadillas needed more cheese, but the enchilada casserole (complete with red enchilada sauce from TX and sharp cheddar cheese) was perfect ! My french student, his girl friend, my adopted French mother, and the father all chowed down on their foreign food with moans of 'happy tummy' pleasure and many compliments to me.
They tried unsuccessfully, but with much humor derived on my part, to memorize the names of the dishes. The poor little girl was gulping water throughout the meal because the food was so 'spicy'. (In truth it was no spicier than something from Taco Bell, which as an American knows, isn't spicy at all) I felt slightly bad for her when she decided on a second helping. I think she liked it though, despite the spice, and the guacamole helped tone it down for her. The father bravely tried the store bought, Ole el Paso brand salsa. He couldn't handle the heat, instead choosing the guacamole to dip his quesadillas into. Everyone cleaned their plates (even their second helpings) !!! I couldn't have had a prouder moment here I think... good times indeed!
~Tam *texmex chef in residence* in Toulouse
In the tiny five ft. by five ft. "U" shaped kitchen, lacking many of the American utensils and appliances that I was used to, I managed to prepare an enchilada casserole, quesadillas, and fresh guacamole that I was proud of. I'm skipping over the preparation part because it was sheer madness trying to fix the three at once with only one cutting board, one skillet, and a teeny tiny oven the size of a microwave. Adding to the craziness was a lack of counter space or preparation space. About one foot on the table was free and about a foot on the counter. I never thought non-cooking me would care about kitchen space, but this french enchilada experience taught me that a tiny kitchen is a hindrance. It amazes me (and annoys me) that the French, renowned for their cuisine, stick with teeny tiny kitchens.
Anyhow, luck was with me Tuesday evening, and the end result was delicious. The guacamole needed more spice (jalepenos would have been perfect), the quesadillas needed more cheese, but the enchilada casserole (complete with red enchilada sauce from TX and sharp cheddar cheese) was perfect ! My french student, his girl friend, my adopted French mother, and the father all chowed down on their foreign food with moans of 'happy tummy' pleasure and many compliments to me.
They tried unsuccessfully, but with much humor derived on my part, to memorize the names of the dishes. The poor little girl was gulping water throughout the meal because the food was so 'spicy'. (In truth it was no spicier than something from Taco Bell, which as an American knows, isn't spicy at all) I felt slightly bad for her when she decided on a second helping. I think she liked it though, despite the spice, and the guacamole helped tone it down for her. The father bravely tried the store bought, Ole el Paso brand salsa. He couldn't handle the heat, instead choosing the guacamole to dip his quesadillas into. Everyone cleaned their plates (even their second helpings) !!! I couldn't have had a prouder moment here I think... good times indeed!
~Tam *texmex chef in residence* in Toulouse
Friday, April 22, 2011
Shopping 2
French girls shop like it's their job! In the stores here they are always waiting in line for the dressing room and for the cash registers, arms loaded with clothes. And, unlike in America where I can shop during the week without much competition, here in France you must arrive when the stores open to have a hope of scoring your correct size and moving about freely. Once lunch time hits, from then until closing, EVERY day of the week, the stores are loaded with french females acting like they are in a race for the new items.
*This is also one of the reasons I hate shopping; the disorder of clothes all messed up and out of size and color order, added to the inconsiderate other shoppers pushing past me or grabbing the exact item i was reaching for, fatigues me.
I haven't really shopped here (I nabbed 5 new things, all in the same store, close to the end of winter when the sales were starting) so I don't feel guilty for picking up 6 more new things for the summer. I shopped around for a few days, comparing prices and making sure I wasn't going to have buyer's remorse, then I purchased two casual summer dresses, a pair of daring heels, a pair of cute flats, a hippy tank top, and a denim skirt. Oh, and, at the market I finally bought a little, leather, hand made satchel that I have been eyeing since I arrived here in September.
I suppose that I am offically fahionably prepared for when I return in May and have days and days without anything to do but soak up the sun and walk the city enjoying the sites. Well, and I'm more prepared for summer in general.
~Tam in Toulouse
*This is also one of the reasons I hate shopping; the disorder of clothes all messed up and out of size and color order, added to the inconsiderate other shoppers pushing past me or grabbing the exact item i was reaching for, fatigues me.
I haven't really shopped here (I nabbed 5 new things, all in the same store, close to the end of winter when the sales were starting) so I don't feel guilty for picking up 6 more new things for the summer. I shopped around for a few days, comparing prices and making sure I wasn't going to have buyer's remorse, then I purchased two casual summer dresses, a pair of daring heels, a pair of cute flats, a hippy tank top, and a denim skirt. Oh, and, at the market I finally bought a little, leather, hand made satchel that I have been eyeing since I arrived here in September.
I suppose that I am offically fahionably prepared for when I return in May and have days and days without anything to do but soak up the sun and walk the city enjoying the sites. Well, and I'm more prepared for summer in general.
~Tam in Toulouse
Shopping 1
In the one day of complete freedom this week, in between my last exam and leaving tomorrow morning for Easter in the States, I decided to go shopping. Let me go ahead and say that I don't particularly like shopping. I LOVE looking in windows and online, imagining myself in all the pretty clothes, but when it comes time to try different sizes and drag myself from store to store in order to score the best deal, I'm just left with a fatigue and self-doubt that I will in fact look pretty in the things I purchased.
Anyway, a few weeks ago, I decided that I've never had a jean skirt and that I want one before I'm too old to wear one. Technically, I guess you are never too old to wear a jean skirt, but I wanted a shorter jean skirt, and short skirts DO have an age limit. See, I never went through that phase that most kids go through in their early teenage years where they want to don belly baring shirts and barely-cover-the-bum shorts. Outside of dance team, cheerleading, and prom, I was also more of a tom boy until I hit college. Now that I've realized I have curves and I like dresses and skirts, I want things above my knees (a RESPECTABLE distance above my knees mind you). So priority one was a good ole denim skirt.
I went to the store, found a size 6 and tried it on. Although it fit perfectly, with about an inch to spare, in the waist...the skirt seems to 'hug' my legs and bum a little to tight for my self-consciousness to bear. I'd come back in a few days when they had a size 8 in stock.
Today I went back and tried that size 8 only to find that it was severely too big in the waist and would need a belt every time I wanted to wear it. The skirt was also loose enough for me to turn it all the way around, meaning that any movements in the skirt would misalign it. Decisions, decisions...get over my self-consciousness or buy the 8....
I bought the 6, then walked up and down the road about three times alternately telling myself the size 6 wasn't a scandalous purchase and telling myself perhaps I could shrink the 8 if I went back and got it instead.
As I walked, I thought to myself, "How come I can look at other girls in shorter skirts or form fitting clothes or wearing a back baring top and they look perfectly put together and not scandalous at all? But then I put on something even a little form fitting and I constantly worry that everyone is staring at me and thinking in their heads I should be wearing more clothes?"
See why I hate shopping???
~Tam (needs a fashion consultant) in Toulouse
Anyway, a few weeks ago, I decided that I've never had a jean skirt and that I want one before I'm too old to wear one. Technically, I guess you are never too old to wear a jean skirt, but I wanted a shorter jean skirt, and short skirts DO have an age limit. See, I never went through that phase that most kids go through in their early teenage years where they want to don belly baring shirts and barely-cover-the-bum shorts. Outside of dance team, cheerleading, and prom, I was also more of a tom boy until I hit college. Now that I've realized I have curves and I like dresses and skirts, I want things above my knees (a RESPECTABLE distance above my knees mind you). So priority one was a good ole denim skirt.
I went to the store, found a size 6 and tried it on. Although it fit perfectly, with about an inch to spare, in the waist...the skirt seems to 'hug' my legs and bum a little to tight for my self-consciousness to bear. I'd come back in a few days when they had a size 8 in stock.
Today I went back and tried that size 8 only to find that it was severely too big in the waist and would need a belt every time I wanted to wear it. The skirt was also loose enough for me to turn it all the way around, meaning that any movements in the skirt would misalign it. Decisions, decisions...get over my self-consciousness or buy the 8....
I bought the 6, then walked up and down the road about three times alternately telling myself the size 6 wasn't a scandalous purchase and telling myself perhaps I could shrink the 8 if I went back and got it instead.
As I walked, I thought to myself, "How come I can look at other girls in shorter skirts or form fitting clothes or wearing a back baring top and they look perfectly put together and not scandalous at all? But then I put on something even a little form fitting and I constantly worry that everyone is staring at me and thinking in their heads I should be wearing more clothes?"
See why I hate shopping???
~Tam (needs a fashion consultant) in Toulouse
Friday, April 15, 2011
Already?
As I sit in my apartment tonight, switching back and forth between a movie in youtube installments, cruising facebook, obsessively checking my email and visiting various other webpages, every so often glancing about my extraordinarily messy apartment, I cannot believe that this chapter of my life is about to end. What chapter exactly? The chapter of France. My time here has changed me in so many ways, some of which I probably won't discover till I am removed from the experience, and I think this year deserves the title of 'chapter' in my life.
I completed all my courses today. No more class meetings to go to. By the end of this week I will have had all my exams except the one reserved for May, which the professor has assured us won't be torturous. My time here, at least academically, is swiftly coming to a close, and I never expected I would feel anything but joy about that. Except that I do feel something other than joy, I feel a bit sad. I can't even begin to start recounting or summing up everything I've learned here academically. I can't believe that my professors like me and that, language barriers and misunderstandings aside, I liked each and every one of them in some way too. I passed all my courses first semester, though I do not imagine I will pass them all this semester (thank you French grammar ugh), but the two semesters together, aka my year here, still counts as one of the greatest academic achievement of my life - right alongside senior year of high school and senior year of college. I cannot imagine coming back from Easter and NOT going to class.
I don't want to...to sit down tonight and study for a few hours. I don't want to wake up tomorrow and Sunday and study for both days. I certainly don't want to take my exam on Monday and push through this week studying all day and night, every day and night, until the week is over. I can't imagine anyone would want to, but there's a very bright side. I know that this is it. These are my last opportunities to show my French professors that I have progressed with their language. This is my last week of homework and exams and studying for a good long while. So, if I can just stay in this frame of mind, remembering all I've accomplished this year, and thinking of the deserved rest from school that I'm about to get, then I can power through and end this chapter (at least end it academically, since I don't leave till late May) on a very very positive note.
~Tam in Toulouse
I completed all my courses today. No more class meetings to go to. By the end of this week I will have had all my exams except the one reserved for May, which the professor has assured us won't be torturous. My time here, at least academically, is swiftly coming to a close, and I never expected I would feel anything but joy about that. Except that I do feel something other than joy, I feel a bit sad. I can't even begin to start recounting or summing up everything I've learned here academically. I can't believe that my professors like me and that, language barriers and misunderstandings aside, I liked each and every one of them in some way too. I passed all my courses first semester, though I do not imagine I will pass them all this semester (thank you French grammar ugh), but the two semesters together, aka my year here, still counts as one of the greatest academic achievement of my life - right alongside senior year of high school and senior year of college. I cannot imagine coming back from Easter and NOT going to class.
I don't want to...to sit down tonight and study for a few hours. I don't want to wake up tomorrow and Sunday and study for both days. I certainly don't want to take my exam on Monday and push through this week studying all day and night, every day and night, until the week is over. I can't imagine anyone would want to, but there's a very bright side. I know that this is it. These are my last opportunities to show my French professors that I have progressed with their language. This is my last week of homework and exams and studying for a good long while. So, if I can just stay in this frame of mind, remembering all I've accomplished this year, and thinking of the deserved rest from school that I'm about to get, then I can power through and end this chapter (at least end it academically, since I don't leave till late May) on a very very positive note.
~Tam in Toulouse
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