Nine down, none to go...

The dead cat that is lying stiff at the bus stop on my route to school is still there, after four weeks now. The first time I saw it, I almost cried. Now, I have stopped being shocked, and have starting placing internal bets on how long it will be there. Shouldn't someone have moved it by now? Shouldn't the sanitation department have picked it up and disposed of it? Isn't it a safety hazard? Why didn't it get blown around in the Category 2 hurricane that happened this weekend?

France is so gross sometimes. Four. Weeks.

A Change is Gonna Come

Every morning this week, I have woken up and thought to myself, “George Bush is not going to be the president today, even a little bit”. And I can let out a little sigh of relief. A slight loosening of those tense neck muscles that have gotten progressively worse over the last eight years. I think it might be a morning ritual for the next four years.

This week I have often felt the need to kick myself for being out of the country during this year (not only did I see only 3 of the movies up for Oscars, I was not in the country for Obama’s election or Inauguration!). Luckily everyone else in the world cared about D.C.’s January 20^th events, so I was able to watch news coverage of the Inauguration on French television. While I would have preferred watching the ceremonies online or in America (the voice-over translation of Obama’s speech was mind-splitting. It’s not so bad when you can hear the original speaker’s voice and the translator’s voice when one of them is speaking English, and one of them is speaking, say, Swahili, but when you understand both languages, it’s like the two sides of your brain are duking it out over which language should reign supreme. It turns out that neither one does, because Obama’s speech came out sounding something like this: “I would like to vous remercie, President Bush, pour les services you provided for our notre patrie”. I had to rewatch that one on Youtube a few days later.)

The coverage of the day was, well…French. Really French. The show started at 4:30 pm (10:30 DC time) with a feature on how Michelle and Barack met, fell in love, and then married, complete with voice-over translation of Michelle’s initial disdain for the name that has captured millions. Later in the program, during the endless procession of old politicians, when Michelle Obama, America’s new First Lady, walked onto the stage (stairs, whatever…) the male reporter remarked on her dress, stating that she was “wearing an elegant gown of…I couldn’t even say what color”.

Another French oddity regarding the coverage was the (mostly) inexplicable presence of Miss France 2009 at the Inauguration ceremony in D.C. side-by-side with a French reporter. I suppose, given her American mother (and thus her dual French-American citizenship) she had every right to be there. What I couldn’t understand was the French news’ habit of constantly tuning back in to hear Miss France 2009 weigh in on the events as they unfolded. “What do you think, Miss France 2009?” “What does Barack Obama’s race mean to you, Miss France 2009?” At one point, the French news anchor was incredibly confused and disappointed because when they cut to her position in D.C., only the reporter was there—the beauty queen having gone out to mingle with the crowd. The best part was after Obama’s speech, when they cut back to her clutching her tiny American flag, bawling her eyes out.

The banter of the news anchors throughout the introductions and processionals including a joke that the new American president has already broken his first promise, as he and his family are moving into the white house sans new puppy.

After Roberts and Obama stumbled through the oath, after Aretha sang her heart out (it was not, incidentally, over when the *big-boned* woman sang), after sermons were spoken by a gay woman minister and a righteous (in the totally awesome sense of the word) old black man, when the French credits were rolling, Seal’s cover of “A Change is Gonna Come” filled my tiny little studio in southern France. The aptly (although cheesy at the same time) chosen tune, sung with so much soul in a voice that most people were sure had withered with that 15 year old Rose, was not made less meaningful by my certainty that a French executive producer was sitting in a room somewhere in Paris, congratulating himself on his cleverness. He shouldn’t be too quick to congratulate, in my opinion. The song is amazing, of course, as is Seal’s rendition. But the title is all wrong. The change isn’t gonna come. The change has already come. It has been a long time coming, and I am sure more is to come, but it’s here. It’s now. Three days into office, and President Obama has begun the steps for closing down the 7 year old facility at Guantanamo Bay, he has proposed plans for pulling troops out of Iraq in under two years, he has taken steps towards building a better economy, towards improving environmental conditions in the US, blah blah blah. You know the rest. Barack Obama is not a miracle cure—he won’t fix the world, or even our country, overnight. But that change is here. And I won’t apologize for my idealism, because for the first time in my life, I feel proud to be an American, and I’ll hold onto that feeling, that hope, that faith that I have in a better world, until you pry it out of my cold, dead (probably from nuclear holocaust or something that happens as a result of Obama’s election) fingers.

Missing Swiss Miss

I miss Swiss Miss. Now, I know that Swiss Miss isn’t the best of hot chocolate mixes. I know that. And I would, if given the choice, prefer a hot chocolate made from Ghiradelli’s to one made from some bastardized version of Swiss chocolate. But it comes in those handy little packets, and you just dump the powder in, and add hot milk or water, and you have hot chocolate. Delicious, perfect, hot chocolate. I miss that.

Don’t get me wrong—the hot chocolate in the cafes in France is undeniably better than any I have ever had before. It is the perfect ratio of chocolate to milk, any where you buy it, whether it is at the seedy looking brasserie hidden in the corner of Perpignan’s Place de la Republique, or at a posh café in Paris’ 16^th district. It is served hot, but not scalding, it needs no frills of whipped cream on top, and it is always in a wide mug that feels perfect in your hands.

The problem with this hot chocolate is that it is not at home. I cannot curl up on my bed with a book and a cup of this café hot chocolate. And that is where Swiss Miss comes in. In an effort to recreate my tea/hot chocolate/general warm drinks cupboard at home, I have purchased several boxes of tea, borrowed an electric kettle from a colleague, and searched in vain for a substitute for Swiss Miss. No quick, easy, just-add-water packets of hot chocolate to be found in France. I was not about to let this small obstacle prevent my snugness on a Sunday evening, so I bought a box of unsweetened cocoa powder (even Nestle brand, although Hershey’s would have felt more home-like) and prepared to get cozy.

The problems started when I read the instructions on the box for “chocolat chaud”. The recipe called for 400ml of milk. Who measures in milliliters? Well, the rest of the world, it turns out. No problem, it’s for two people, I’ll just divide everything else by two and use the amount of milk that can fit into a mug. But honestly, what the fuck is a “coffee spoon” worth of cocoa powder or sugar? Nobody, I mean nobody, measures anything in coffee spoons but T.S. Elliot.

The result of this bizarre, backwards form of measurement (why can’t they just use a teaspoon?) is sludge. Pure and simple, sludge. Every time I try to make hot chocolate, I make chocolate soup. Thick, far too rich to drink, chocolate flavored soup. And I try. I try changing the amounts of cocoa powder, adding more milk if it’s too thick. But it never works. I have not yet had that perfect cup of hot chocolate chez moi. And so, in the midst of the best hot chocolate on earth, I find myself yearning for that artificial powdery-ness of Swiss Miss.

Best. Week. Ever.

You know that one VH1 (I think, anyway) program called Best Week Ever, where they (every week) go over the week’s events, and talk about why it was the best week ever? But usually, it wasn’t the best week ever, it was just a normal week? Or, alternatively, it was actually a really crappy week, and all of the events that they talk about are really horrible tragedies that mark the week’s main events (like a natural disaster or the Israeli military invading Palestine)? That was like my week.

Let me tell you why this week was the Best Week Ever. I should preface this by saying that two weeks ago, when I got back from Christmas vacation, I had internet. Three months of waiting, and I finally get a service that apparently isn’t as easy to come by as I had assumed. The first week was great—youtube videos in my pajamas in bed, not having to make lists of things I wanted to look up on the internet, finding out the weather without having to open my window. It was perfect.

Two weeks later, my computer died. Straight –up died. We’re talking Blue Screen of Death and nothing else. After four days of freaking out, crying, and fretting over the $350 price quote that Dell gave me, Ian’s mom figured out (by having me run some diagnostics that were way over my head) that it is most likely just a problem with the memory, which I can easily (and hopefully cheaply) have fixed in France.

Until I call computer repair stores at random from the Pages Jaunes (Yellow Pages) and ask if they can switch out my mémoire, I am stuck using Karen’s (graciously donated) piece of shit laptop. That’s really the only reason why I had the Best Week Ever. The irony gods show me no mercy, and my string of bad luck in France continues: two weeks of internet before being left computer-less.

Six Degrees of Separation

The stars are in the wrong places here. Orion is shooting his arrow far too high up, and Pleiades is off-kilter and wonky. I won't even start on the Big Dipper.

The sun doesn't rise until around 8:30, but we have daylight until 5:30 in the evening.

Bellingham is at 48.75 degrees North latitude, and Perpignan rests slightly lower at 42.73. It's amazing what a difference six degrees of separation can make.

More Photos, Again

I ran out of space in my Picasa account, and it costs $20 A YEAR to add more space, so I decided to continue adding photos online to a Snapfish account. When I run out of space there, I'll switch to Kodak gallery. I believe that you have to have a Snapfish account in order to view photos, but it's free and they don't spam you. The problem is, I have to send people an email to share the albums this way...if you want to see pictures from now, I'll have to share them with you. Send along an email if you want me to send you the email/link. Sorry, guys!

I didn't quite fit all of the Paris trip into Picasa, so the last two days of vacation are on the new photo account.

So this is the New Year....

Saturday, January 3rd, 2009. I wish it were two weeks ago again. Ian left yesterday to head back to the good old U. S. of A. , and Scarlet and Carl headed back the day before. Being around friends and family from back home kind of makes me miss home that much more, and also makes me itch for my other visitors to start coming. Only 46 more days until Messy gets here. It's all downhill from this point.

I've decided that I like France best when I am visiting it. Whether I am traveling around with my boyfriend, or my sister and her husband, or even the other assistants, I love it here. It's the living part that isn't so much fun. Unfortunately, I am only able to do the traveling bits because of the living here bits, so I will just have to tough it out. I'm gonna go ahead and say that Cookie Monster and I are on the same level--like cookies, France is a sometimes food.

The past two weeks have probably been the best two here, mostly because Ian was here, but also because of the things we did and saw. Ian arrived on the Thursday before vacation, jetlagged and hungry. Friday I had to work, so Ian had most of the day to rest up and sleep off his jetlag. We had a Christmas dinner with some of the other assistants on Friday night, and it was hilarious to watch Ian speak broken French to people. Ian and I rented a car for that first weekend, and drove over to Arles. Since visiting there in October, I was sure that Ian would love it. We did everything that I did the first time over again (the Roman amphitheatre and other ruins, the aquaduct, etc) but it was just that much better to watch Ian running around excitedly taking pictures of the old buildings and structures. The weekend we were in Arles was also the start of their annual Christmas festivities, so not only was the city completely covered in Christmas lights, but we also saw an aerial performance (complete with fake snow falling from the performers) and some crazy light shows in the Place de la Replublique, too. Before we returned the car on Monday, we drove out to Collioure, where Ian was able to fulfill his life-long dream of seeing a castle. He was so excited!

The next day we did some Christmas shopping and then met Scarlet and Carl at the train station. On Christmas Eve, we discovered that more stuff is open in France than in the States (oh my God! It's a miracle! France's business hours, better than America's? No way!), so we did some site-seeing (or is that sight-seeing? I guess it could be both, right?) in Perpignan. We went to the Palais des Rois de Majorque (the Palace of the Kings of Mallorca), which was really amazing, actually. It was used as a fortress/bunker during WWII, because of its position on the hill above the city, too, which also means that we had a beautiful view of all of Perpignan. From way up there, you can't see the dog poo on the sidewalks, so it was quite nice, actually. We had some lunch, went to the Christmas market and had some mulled wine, and did some grocery shopping for our Christmas dinner. When we got home, we pulled a branch off of a pine tree, tacked it to the wall, and put all of our Christmas presents under it. It was very Charlie Brown.

This definitely was the weirdest Christmas I have ever spent, stuck in a tiny studio apartment with my boyfriend, one of my sisters, and her husband. It was good, though, and I was really happy to have company from back home. We got up in the morning and opened presents, which was kind of awkward because most of them were for me. Thank you, by the way, to everyone for everything I got for Christmas! You all should be getting your presents by way of Scarlet or Ian soon! We watched some Christmas movies that I downloaded (Muppets' Christmas Carol, How the Grinch Stole Christmas, the usual) and then started cooking for dinner. We had pretty standard fare, except that I couldn't find any turkey, so we had delicious roast beast. Yum! We also bought a buche de noel (a real French one, not the kind that Scarlet and Vanessa and I tried to cobble together for culture points in high school French classes) and a cheese platter that the nice French woman behind the cheese counter at the grocery store helped us put together ("You need a hard cheese," she said emphatically). Scarlet and I played at least an hour of Spit after dinner, and we went to bed. Nice and relaxing Christmas, we all agreed. The most exciting part was when Ian found out he's going to be an uncle! His brother and sister-in-law gave everyone back home an amazing Christmas present in the form of pee! Woohoo! I am so excited!

The next morning we got up early to pick up the car rental, and started our drive to Avignon. It snowed on the way there for a while, and I was so excited! I finally got to have some of the winter storm that people were (not) enjoying back home. Woohoo! We also drove out to the aquaduct again, so that Scarlet and Carl could see it (it's not too far away from Avignon, so it was definitely worth the drive). We went to the Pope's Palace, which was cool even the second time for me. Afterwards, we checked into our tiny, adorable little bed and breakfast (if ANYONE goes to visit Avignon, stay at Le Jardin de la Livree), and then headed back to Avignon for dinner, where we had the most disgusting food of all time. After visiting the Christmas market, we were walking around looking at outdoor menus to find a place to eat. We stopped at a place called Jacquemart to look at the menu, and the waiter who was standing just inside the door came outside and asked us if we wanted to come in (come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly....) and it would have been awkward to refuse at that point. Never, ever go to Jacquemart. Awful.

We woke up early the next day to begin our drive to Paris, which was long but beautiful. Part of the drive took us through one end of the Loire Valley, so we saw a few awesome castles just off the side of the road. Breathtaking. Although the drive was cool, I will never ever drive to Paris again. We got so lost, and so confused, and it took us almost two hours to get from outside Paris to our apartment. Ian and I started to use landmarks as a means to find our way within the city (thank you, Cecile, for hammering in Parisian monument placement during our Paris class!) because the original directions we found were not helping. By getting lost, we did manage to see several things that we had wanted to see, so I suppose it could be considered a really stressful way to sight-see. We found the apartment, unpacked our stuff, and then went to return the car. On the walk back, we found the Place des Vosges, and a cute little restuarant called Nectarine for dinner. Exhausted from the drive and from getting lost in Paris, we decided to call it a night and went to bed early.

I won't do a blow-by-blow for out time in Paris, because we saw sooooo much, but needless to say it was amazing. I love that city. Sure, it was really effing cold (I had gotten used to the weather in Perpignan, where it hasn't gotten below 50 degrees for the most part. It never got above 35 degrees in Paris. Yikes!) and kind of stinky, but I got over the smell after about an hour. Scarlet and I had planned out an itinerary, which we managed to stick to pretty well. Also, Rick Steves was an invaluable companion, especially when it came to finding restuarants. We saw the usual things, the Louvre, Notre Dame, the Eiffel Tower, Versailles, etc. Notre Dame was amazing, as was the Louvre (although a little crowded around the Mona Lisa). Versailles was a huge let-down, unfortunately, but I think that was the only thing I was kind of disappointed in. We couldn't climb the Eiffel Tower because of the weather, which was also unfortunate, but an easy way to save like 18 euros. We did one of those boat cruises along the Seine, which was really cool, although kind of chilly. My favorite was probably the Pere Lachaise cemetery, which we did on the 1st, after Scarlet and Carl had gone home. I got to see Jim Morrison's grave, Proust's grave, kiss Oscar Wilde's grave, and pay homage to Heliose and Abelard. It was really cool. Proabbly the best way for you all to see what I did in Paris is to check out my photos, which I am in the process of uploading now. Of course we couldn't fit everything into our six days we had in Paris, so I am really looking forward to going back to continute exploring. Hopefully I will be able to make it to the Musee d'Orsay, the Centre Georges Pompidou, and the National Middle Ages Museum (yeah, I am a huge dork).

So that's the update for now. I had a lot of fun this vacation, but I feel like another week would be good before I have to start teaching again. Unfortunately, I start bright and early Tuesday morning. Blegh. Anyway, here's the link to my photos again: http://picasaweb.google.com/ashley.j.benson Enjoy!