I'm back safe and sound.
Well, safe anyway. Jury's still out on the "sound" part.
Yeah. Back in NYC after 2 months. I was alarmed at how big my computer monitor looked and how clunky my keyboard felt after just using the MacBook Air all this time. I took that feeling of looking at old things with fresh eyes outside as I walked over to the Chipotle for dinner.
And I guess...it's just funny. 2 months of seeing all sorts of neat new things, and then, walking through Times Square, I maybe looked up ONCE just to see what new billboards are up. Let the Euros drink it in. To me, it's dirty, noisy, but hey, at least I can walk everywhere.
I ran a few errands before forcing myself to
stay up until 9:30 to try and beat jet lag. It didn't work. I didn't
sleep at ALL last night. Maybe just dozing here and there, but that's it. So I'm
feeling really out of it--as you may remember, I didn't sleep terribly well the night before at the airport hotel,
and didn't sleep at all last night, and then another EARLY travel day
tomorrow. Fortunately, waking up early isn't a problem coming this
way.
Why, YES! Another travel day! You didn't think I was finished, did you? I've got one more week of pinballing around airports before I'm settled in for the fall. First up is a trip home for Labor Day weekend. Seeing the sister and just generally hoping to provide some level of moral support. Other goals include, but are not limited to:
Continuing to establish meaningful relationships with the kids
Getting over the jet lag
Going to the gym
Since it's Labor Day
weekend I wonder how crazy the airport will be tomorrow morning. At 7am. Freakin' 7am. Which means I've got to be up at something like 4am to brush my teeth, hail a cab, and get there by 5 for two-hour chicken.
Check in. Check. In.
Did I mention I haven't slept?
So what's on the docket for my 24 hour shore leave you axe?
I have to get a little haircut, and a beard trim (because I get things like beard trims), unpack France stuff and
re-pack with things to wear for the filming at Bible Study People for Life (yay pseudonyms!).
After that, I'm really
done for the day, however I REALLY want to hit the gym SOMEHOW. I'm not
sure... I thought about doing a bit of a leg workout day so I could
focus on upper body in SC. Reggie says I should avoid it altogether, as working out heavily the day after an overseas trip + jet lag is a recipe for certain sickness.
The thing is, things have gone just a little bit past "soft" and have moved slightly into the "I'm glad I brought my fat pants." I think what I may do, instead of freaking about losing all this vacation weight, is to see if I can't balance it out by focusing my workouts mostly on gaining size and just try to hulk out a little bit, particularly as I'm about to be locked in with rehearsals for CAROL'S 2012 CHRISTMAS PLAY (another pseudonym! I swear I'm not crazy!).
But before you start to worry that I MIGHT ACTUALLY BE crazy, take heart. I have an October modeling gig at GeeCeeAee and I'm not planning on
being a mess for that. But still, I've got to get to work NOW to regain
much of what I lost this past two months.
I know it's the jet lag and the amount of travel, but I really think I
do miss Europe. I REALLY wish there was something else I could
do...another skill I could take with me to places like that. And not live here anymore. Or at least for a while. Longer than just the 6 weeks. Like a YEAR or two. I actually really really
enjoyed Holland, in spite of its pervasive superficiality and population of young,
beautiful blondes who don't actually BELIEVE in anything. It was
nice.
Okay. Time to start stressing out about my day. More later.
Friday, August 31, 2012
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Still Up
I'm still up.
What am I still doing up?
I've been wanting to go to sleep since 5:30. But I'm still awake.
I feel a little bit lame. The plane ticket was originally booked to go in and out through Charles de Gaulle. I thought about trying to change it to leave out of Amsterdam, but it didn't take much to realize it was going to be a major headache. Booking a train ticket and a hotel at the airport was WAY more straightforward. So here I am.
Re: Lameness. I didn't see anything of Paris. I feel kind of bad about that. Like I should have just hopped on the train, snapped a picture of Notre Dame, and come back to the hotel. But you know, I'm feeling a bit drained.
Drained partly from the goodbye party last night. It was just me, Forko, and Waffelle, but Forko was dead-set on me having a "good time" with all those fancy Belgian beers, and he wouldn't take no for an answer. And at some point we got to talking about the family. Until 2am.
What a summer. What a freakin' summer.
There's a bit too much personal stuff to post here. Suffice it to say, people aren't doing at all well. It's been a long two months of family drama, friend drama, and personal drama. On one hand, I'm glad the summer is "ending" with my return to NYC, but at the same time, it's really just getting started. It's going to be a long, hard fall. I can tell.
It's only been two weeks since leaving Argenton, where the art school is, but it already feels like a far-distant memory. Looking at pictures on the MyFace or things I snapped with my phone...I have those moments of, "Oh, I remember that!" when I see them.
Those ten days in the Netherlands. Shewww... It was like being on another planet. And yes, the rumors are true. I put on a ridiculous amount of vacation weight these two months here in Europe, what with the food and no gym and stress and a subconscious desire to feel "bigger" and more solid in the face of Hurricane Life and all that she brings. I think I really am crazy.
Having a hard time focusing on the computer screen. I swear, I really do have deep thoughts about what it means to have experienced all this and to be returning to boring old NYC, but they're just not coming at the moment. Maybe because it's back to the slog, the noise, the dirt, and all the excitement.
Okay then. Let's do it this way. Things I really remember:
The Argenton town square, particularly on hot days
The house I stayed in and it's creepy bedroom
The view from the kitchen window
Daily baguettes
Walking down those narrow streets
Practicing French diligently
The Orchard walk
Getting the opening song from "Beauty and the Beast" stuck in my head every morning (Bonjour!)
Restaurant du Lac and their excellent cheeseburgers
The Friday Farmer's Markets
The Town Festival - pigeon, ostrich, snails
Catan games
Nutella on buttered baguette. I mean seriously
The Shopi grocery store jingle
And then the Netherlands. Good grief. This one's easy:
The Van Gogh museum
The canals in Amsterdam
Bubbles the French Bulldog
Amsterdam in general
Eating
How awesome Leiden actually is
Rembrandt
Rembrandt
Rembrandt
The Rijksmuseum
Rembrandt
The Girl With the Pearl Earring being in Japan
The MC Escher museum
The Hague...the old part of town with the castle-y things
Meeting up with my old High School Youth Group leader in the Hague
The awful grocery store in the Hague
Dutch Masters
Belgian beer
Eating
Windmills
The one night on my own in which I played my American Card and got crummy Italian food because at least I knew what it was.
And there you go. The trip in a nutshell. Okay. Bed!
What am I still doing up?
I've been wanting to go to sleep since 5:30. But I'm still awake.
I feel a little bit lame. The plane ticket was originally booked to go in and out through Charles de Gaulle. I thought about trying to change it to leave out of Amsterdam, but it didn't take much to realize it was going to be a major headache. Booking a train ticket and a hotel at the airport was WAY more straightforward. So here I am.
Re: Lameness. I didn't see anything of Paris. I feel kind of bad about that. Like I should have just hopped on the train, snapped a picture of Notre Dame, and come back to the hotel. But you know, I'm feeling a bit drained.
Drained partly from the goodbye party last night. It was just me, Forko, and Waffelle, but Forko was dead-set on me having a "good time" with all those fancy Belgian beers, and he wouldn't take no for an answer. And at some point we got to talking about the family. Until 2am.
What a summer. What a freakin' summer.
There's a bit too much personal stuff to post here. Suffice it to say, people aren't doing at all well. It's been a long two months of family drama, friend drama, and personal drama. On one hand, I'm glad the summer is "ending" with my return to NYC, but at the same time, it's really just getting started. It's going to be a long, hard fall. I can tell.
It's only been two weeks since leaving Argenton, where the art school is, but it already feels like a far-distant memory. Looking at pictures on the MyFace or things I snapped with my phone...I have those moments of, "Oh, I remember that!" when I see them.
Those ten days in the Netherlands. Shewww... It was like being on another planet. And yes, the rumors are true. I put on a ridiculous amount of vacation weight these two months here in Europe, what with the food and no gym and stress and a subconscious desire to feel "bigger" and more solid in the face of Hurricane Life and all that she brings. I think I really am crazy.
Having a hard time focusing on the computer screen. I swear, I really do have deep thoughts about what it means to have experienced all this and to be returning to boring old NYC, but they're just not coming at the moment. Maybe because it's back to the slog, the noise, the dirt, and all the excitement.
Okay then. Let's do it this way. Things I really remember:
The Argenton town square, particularly on hot days
The house I stayed in and it's creepy bedroom
The view from the kitchen window
Daily baguettes
Walking down those narrow streets
Practicing French diligently
The Orchard walk
Getting the opening song from "Beauty and the Beast" stuck in my head every morning (Bonjour!)
Restaurant du Lac and their excellent cheeseburgers
The Friday Farmer's Markets
The Town Festival - pigeon, ostrich, snails
Catan games
Nutella on buttered baguette. I mean seriously
The Shopi grocery store jingle
And then the Netherlands. Good grief. This one's easy:
The Van Gogh museum
The canals in Amsterdam
Bubbles the French Bulldog
Amsterdam in general
Eating
How awesome Leiden actually is
Rembrandt
Rembrandt
Rembrandt
The Rijksmuseum
Rembrandt
The Girl With the Pearl Earring being in Japan
The MC Escher museum
The Hague...the old part of town with the castle-y things
Meeting up with my old High School Youth Group leader in the Hague
The awful grocery store in the Hague
Dutch Masters
Belgian beer
Eating
Windmills
The one night on my own in which I played my American Card and got crummy Italian food because at least I knew what it was.
And there you go. The trip in a nutshell. Okay. Bed!
Sunday, August 19, 2012
In Leiden!
Okay, I guess I have to give up on the French for now. Because NOBODY speaks it here.
It feels like I'm on another planet, actually. There's something NOT French about this place. Something fun and slick and old but new at the same time... it feels like Ikea.
Here with Forko and Waffelle and their cats. Nena had a bit of a run-in with a scooter so she's on house rest for the next several days. She's also a leopard cat, which are known for their surprising ability to communicate with humans due to their very unique and distinctive meows. She's been demonstrating them all morning, letting us all know things like, "I'm hungry" and "I want to go outside" and "please let me go outside" and "I REALLY REALLY want to go outside NOW PLEASE."
Yesterday we revved my engines a bit for the trip to Amsterdam today. And by "revved my engines" I mean "drank a lot in anticipation of drinking more once we get to Amsterdam." I'm actually a bit grateful for the accrual of the last six weeks' pastry pudge as I think it gave me about 4 or 5 free gulps before the canal started spinning.
And now that it's almost noon, everyone is up with their coffee, bracing themselves for madness in Amsterdam. Lawd, Lawd, am I ready for the red light district?
It feels like I'm on another planet, actually. There's something NOT French about this place. Something fun and slick and old but new at the same time... it feels like Ikea.
Here with Forko and Waffelle and their cats. Nena had a bit of a run-in with a scooter so she's on house rest for the next several days. She's also a leopard cat, which are known for their surprising ability to communicate with humans due to their very unique and distinctive meows. She's been demonstrating them all morning, letting us all know things like, "I'm hungry" and "I want to go outside" and "please let me go outside" and "I REALLY REALLY want to go outside NOW PLEASE."
Yesterday we revved my engines a bit for the trip to Amsterdam today. And by "revved my engines" I mean "drank a lot in anticipation of drinking more once we get to Amsterdam." I'm actually a bit grateful for the accrual of the last six weeks' pastry pudge as I think it gave me about 4 or 5 free gulps before the canal started spinning.
And now that it's almost noon, everyone is up with their coffee, bracing themselves for madness in Amsterdam. Lawd, Lawd, am I ready for the red light district?
Friday, August 17, 2012
Packing
Woke up somewhere around 4:45 this morning and could NOT go back to sleep.
We had the End of the Summer potluck last night. Food was eaten. Beer was consumed.
There's something about beer that makes me wake up bright and early.
And also the little niggling anxiety of packing.
See, tomorrow is departure day. Wake up at 7, hike up the hill to the student dorm and catch the specially-rented shuttle bus to the train station at Angers. From there it's a hike across Paris and off to the Netherlands for the final part of the trip.
The final part?
Yep. It's already been 6 weeks.
It's time to go around this little place I've been calling home for the past two months and gather up all the things that have gradually moved farther and farther away from the suitcase. I guess that means I feel like I live here or something.
It's a really funny feeling. On one hand, I feel like I just got here, and on the other, I DON'T.
Part of the anxiety, I think, comes from what the end of this MEANS. It means I'm about to not have a house to live in. It means I'm about to not have a gig again. It means I'm about to go back to a stressful life in NYC, wondering how I'm gonna make it and what I'm really supposed to be doing. It means I'm not going to say, "Desolee, je suis American. Je ne comprond pas" NEARLY as much as I do now.
It also means leaving a bunch of people who have become a kind of...oh my goodness. I can't say it. No. Not a FAMILY. But...something LIKE a family, I guess. All the stability and security and peace and quiet... say goodbye folks.
Another part of the anxiety is that, when the timer went off at the end of the last set yesterday, something felt so FINAL about it. Like, "That's it, Forky. Let's do something else now." And that has me a little bit scared. Because if I took the path of least resistance, I'd probably just do this for the rest of my life. The problem is, I don't think I OUGHT to do this for the rest of my life. This modeling thing has become a crazy career that I didn't mean to fall into. It's safe, I'm good at it, and I enjoy working with extraordinary talents and having .jpegs of portraits I can print off and give to my family at Christmas.
But is that all that this little Forky is destined for? Hey, not knocking it. There are worse things. But are there OTHER things?
Yesterday I guess I unofficially decided that, when I get back to NYC, I'm not going to model for a while. Go back to temping, focus on Christmas Carol rehearsals, work on these long put-off illustrations for these little stories I've written... As long as the modeling is there, why do I need to explore? Why do I need to ask myself, "What else is out there that you'd really like to do?"
So the Nutella gut may be here a little while longer if it keeps me from leaping back onto the model stand.
Is this unwise? Is this stupid?
I just re-read "when I get back to NYC, I'm not going to model for a while" and I suddenly felt really really SAD. Okay, how about I put it THIS way instead:
When I get back to NYC, I'm going to focus heavily on creating something resembling a 5 year plan...no. Just 2 year plan. Yeah, that's the ticket.
Okay. I'll shut up now. This suitcase isn't gonna pack itself.
:^\
We had the End of the Summer potluck last night. Food was eaten. Beer was consumed.
There's something about beer that makes me wake up bright and early.
And also the little niggling anxiety of packing.
See, tomorrow is departure day. Wake up at 7, hike up the hill to the student dorm and catch the specially-rented shuttle bus to the train station at Angers. From there it's a hike across Paris and off to the Netherlands for the final part of the trip.
The final part?
Yep. It's already been 6 weeks.
It's time to go around this little place I've been calling home for the past two months and gather up all the things that have gradually moved farther and farther away from the suitcase. I guess that means I feel like I live here or something.
It's a really funny feeling. On one hand, I feel like I just got here, and on the other, I DON'T.
Part of the anxiety, I think, comes from what the end of this MEANS. It means I'm about to not have a house to live in. It means I'm about to not have a gig again. It means I'm about to go back to a stressful life in NYC, wondering how I'm gonna make it and what I'm really supposed to be doing. It means I'm not going to say, "Desolee, je suis American. Je ne comprond pas" NEARLY as much as I do now.
It also means leaving a bunch of people who have become a kind of...oh my goodness. I can't say it. No. Not a FAMILY. But...something LIKE a family, I guess. All the stability and security and peace and quiet... say goodbye folks.
Another part of the anxiety is that, when the timer went off at the end of the last set yesterday, something felt so FINAL about it. Like, "That's it, Forky. Let's do something else now." And that has me a little bit scared. Because if I took the path of least resistance, I'd probably just do this for the rest of my life. The problem is, I don't think I OUGHT to do this for the rest of my life. This modeling thing has become a crazy career that I didn't mean to fall into. It's safe, I'm good at it, and I enjoy working with extraordinary talents and having .jpegs of portraits I can print off and give to my family at Christmas.
But is that all that this little Forky is destined for? Hey, not knocking it. There are worse things. But are there OTHER things?
Yesterday I guess I unofficially decided that, when I get back to NYC, I'm not going to model for a while. Go back to temping, focus on Christmas Carol rehearsals, work on these long put-off illustrations for these little stories I've written... As long as the modeling is there, why do I need to explore? Why do I need to ask myself, "What else is out there that you'd really like to do?"
So the Nutella gut may be here a little while longer if it keeps me from leaping back onto the model stand.
Is this unwise? Is this stupid?
I just re-read "when I get back to NYC, I'm not going to model for a while" and I suddenly felt really really SAD. Okay, how about I put it THIS way instead:
When I get back to NYC, I'm going to focus heavily on creating something resembling a 5 year plan...no. Just 2 year plan. Yeah, that's the ticket.
Okay. I'll shut up now. This suitcase isn't gonna pack itself.
:^\
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Trop Beaucoup de Vin
I guess the fact that the room is still spinning a little bit--just a little after noon--means that we had a really good time at the town festival last night.
Seriously...the Frogs throw back a TON of wine. I don't know how they do it, but the would-be alcoholic in me probably needs to be a bit more vigilant the next time I go to a party and wine is flowing like a river. I mean, a stranger saw that my glass was empty and just filled it right on up from his own bottle.
All good sense just goes right out the window. And yet, all I can think about is the Wedding at Cana. I feel like we ought not kid ourselves. The implication in the text is that people were getting HAPPY thanks to the wine.
I dunno what that means for me today. I guess just that the Lord had been to parties like the one last night, so in a funny way, I don't feel quite so guilt-ridden for telling myself, "Have another glass! Party time!!"
But still.
We're about to begin the last week of the summer class. Friday is Departure Day. I CANNOT believe it's been 6 weeks already. Actually...as I look at my beard, which has been growing this whole time, I kind of can. It's feeling substantial again. Just the way I like it. On the road to Christmas Carol 2012.
But back to the town festival. It was sort of a local thing, where people from the area come to sell their wares, everyone eats a ton, drinks more than is good for them, and watches a surprisingly impressive fireworks show. And yes, everyone Oohs and Aahs in the same language.
Sampled some rather odd things... Ostrich sausage, pigeon fillets, and my very first escargot. At first I was resolved to never EVER eat a googly-eyed slug-in-a-shell, but then someone said they were basically oysters. Flashback to Cousin Billy's oyster roast and I thought, "Okay. Maybe I can do this."
Gotta start getting ready for an afternoon modeling session. One of the instructors is bound and determined to finish this portrait this afternoon. More later!
Seriously...the Frogs throw back a TON of wine. I don't know how they do it, but the would-be alcoholic in me probably needs to be a bit more vigilant the next time I go to a party and wine is flowing like a river. I mean, a stranger saw that my glass was empty and just filled it right on up from his own bottle.
All good sense just goes right out the window. And yet, all I can think about is the Wedding at Cana. I feel like we ought not kid ourselves. The implication in the text is that people were getting HAPPY thanks to the wine.
I dunno what that means for me today. I guess just that the Lord had been to parties like the one last night, so in a funny way, I don't feel quite so guilt-ridden for telling myself, "Have another glass! Party time!!"
But still.
We're about to begin the last week of the summer class. Friday is Departure Day. I CANNOT believe it's been 6 weeks already. Actually...as I look at my beard, which has been growing this whole time, I kind of can. It's feeling substantial again. Just the way I like it. On the road to Christmas Carol 2012.
But back to the town festival. It was sort of a local thing, where people from the area come to sell their wares, everyone eats a ton, drinks more than is good for them, and watches a surprisingly impressive fireworks show. And yes, everyone Oohs and Aahs in the same language.
Sampled some rather odd things... Ostrich sausage, pigeon fillets, and my very first escargot. At first I was resolved to never EVER eat a googly-eyed slug-in-a-shell, but then someone said they were basically oysters. Flashback to Cousin Billy's oyster roast and I thought, "Okay. Maybe I can do this."
Gotta start getting ready for an afternoon modeling session. One of the instructors is bound and determined to finish this portrait this afternoon. More later!
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Routine
Today is one of our "weekend" days. Because of something having to do with public transportation not running on Sundays (and because the big Farmer's Market in the next town over is on Friday), the school makes the weekend Friday and Saturday.
No big plans for today. Woke up with a leftover migraine and made some instant coffee to try and shake it. Then went to the café and got the real deal. Also went to the pharmacy to see the selection as, in spite of my setting aside the bottle of Motrin specifically for the purpose of relieving the post-migraine pain, I must've left it in my bathroom in NYC.
However, the place was pretty crowded (I like speaking my broken French when there aren't a lot of people to point and laugh "hau hau hau!"-style at me) and none of the boxes looked familiar (that is, no "Advile" or "Tylonelle" or some sort of French extra-E variation on an obviously American brand).
So I bought some bread instead. But I DID run into the wife of the owner of the school on my way back home. She was just leaving the house and was kind enough to run back inside and grab me a handful of headache pills.
Thrilling update, I know. But you take the excitement when you can get it here in Argenton.
Tomorrow is the beginning of week 3/6. Already getting close to halfway! Feels like I just got here. Things are very routine and there's not a whole lot of variety. Breakfast, morning pose, buy bread, nap, lunch, afternoon pose, dinner, email, French lessons, bed. And throw a couple of trips to the Barn in there for good measure. That's about all. It's a nice change of pace. And, as much as I sort of miss New York, I'm kinda glad to not be there. I see why people move out to the middle of nowhere France.
That's all for now! All I'm doing today is working on more French and possibly working out at the Barn if this leftover headache goes away by the afternoon.
No big plans for today. Woke up with a leftover migraine and made some instant coffee to try and shake it. Then went to the café and got the real deal. Also went to the pharmacy to see the selection as, in spite of my setting aside the bottle of Motrin specifically for the purpose of relieving the post-migraine pain, I must've left it in my bathroom in NYC.
However, the place was pretty crowded (I like speaking my broken French when there aren't a lot of people to point and laugh "hau hau hau!"-style at me) and none of the boxes looked familiar (that is, no "Advile" or "Tylonelle" or some sort of French extra-E variation on an obviously American brand).
So I bought some bread instead. But I DID run into the wife of the owner of the school on my way back home. She was just leaving the house and was kind enough to run back inside and grab me a handful of headache pills.
Thrilling update, I know. But you take the excitement when you can get it here in Argenton.
Tomorrow is the beginning of week 3/6. Already getting close to halfway! Feels like I just got here. Things are very routine and there's not a whole lot of variety. Breakfast, morning pose, buy bread, nap, lunch, afternoon pose, dinner, email, French lessons, bed. And throw a couple of trips to the Barn in there for good measure. That's about all. It's a nice change of pace. And, as much as I sort of miss New York, I'm kinda glad to not be there. I see why people move out to the middle of nowhere France.
That's all for now! All I'm doing today is working on more French and possibly working out at the Barn if this leftover headache goes away by the afternoon.
Friday, July 20, 2012
Sleep
I sent out a rather cryptic prayer request to some of you a few nights ago that has left a lot of you guessing as to what in the world is going on out here.
I've been hesitant to talk about it, as I already tend to lean toward the more sensational explanation of things. Except when something sensational DOES happen--then I become a bit of a skeptic.
When I was a kid, I thought I saw a halo around this man who was preaching during our Mexico mission trip. I decided it was a miracle and told everybody about it with an air of saintly piety that would have made Joan of Arc blush. But then I learned that if you look at something too long, your eyes get tired and you start seeing all sorts of blurry colors and things.
So, for fear of this being a similar sort of thing, I've restrained myself until I could get a little more information.
We'll start with the most basic part of this story.
Regardless of what conclusion we land on about what REALLY happened, Sleep Paralysis is, apparently, a THING.
So that's at least something. If the rest of this turns out to have been a dream or my imagination, okay. The main thin is, this is something that DOES happen to people and my experience fits the description.
What is Sleep Paralysis, you ask? It's basically when your mind wakes up, but your body is still in "sleep mode" and hasn't caught up with your brain. So you can think lucidly, but you can't move.
Okay. Great. Fine. It's annoying, but eventually your mind and body get it together and you wake up for real. Nothing wrong there.
Oooh, but that's usually not ALL that happens during these episodes.
It seems that most people do not have pleasant experiences when they awake in this state. That is, they don't feel cozy and snug in their beds. Rather, they virtually always describe feeling an intense evil or dangerous presence in the room WITH them.
This has happened to me twice since arriving in France. The first time I just remember THAT it happened. I don't remember anything else. The second time, however, was a bit of a different story.
But before I go into the details of what happened, let me give you a little background.
I had unwittingly learned about Sleep Paralysis--what it is and how to stop it--while doing some research in the Internet Rabbit Hole that is the UFO phenomena. Scoff if you like, but this, like Sleep Paralysis, is also a THING. People want to know about them. Christians want to know what they are and if their faith in YHWH and Jesus Christ could survive if one day they turned on the news and saw ships in the sky.
Sleep Paralysis is also connected with what is commonly known as alien abductions. Again, people are sleeping, they are unable to move, they feel something in the room with them... only they may actually SEE things and feel the things touching them, etc.
Seems like a pretty awful thing. You're lying there in the dark. You can't move. You can't defend yourself. Looks like you're stuck.
Aha, but there is one thing you CAN do. You can call on Jesus Christ. Yeah, I know. It's crazy. But it's true. There is a spiritual side to all this.
The first time this happened to me this past spring, I remember feeling there was something in the room that hated me and wanted to eat me. No joke. I remembered in a FLASH what I was supposed to do. I SCREAMED the Name with every fiber of my being--but I remember vividly that I wasn't just calling a name. I was calling TO HIM because I knew He was the ONLY ONE who could help me at this point. My mouth wasn't working and the only thing I could get out were the vowels ("EE-UHH!!!") but that apparently was enough.
It stopped INSTANTLY and I could move again. A feeling of peace such that, after I thought about what had just happened, I was able to go back to sleep.
Fast forward to a couple of nights ago.
I was asleep. The first thing I remember in the sequence of events was waking up ALREADY SHOUTING the Name.
I could hear footsteps in the house, in the room outside mine. I could somehow FEEL that something was in the house. Then there was the sound of the door downstairs opening and closing. Impossible, I thought. I locked the door and left the keys in it. There's no WAY someone could just open the door and come inside!
Then I heard the floorboards in my bedroom creak, right by the foot of my bed. At that point, I really began to panic, and I redoubled my efforts to say the Name as clearly as I could.
There was another sound of the front door somewhere below me, and more creaking on the floorboards in the room outside my bedroom. Then my eyes snapped open and I saw a red glob disappearing into the ceiling. You see weird colors in the dark all the time--it's what our eyes do as they search for something to SEE. But I can't EVER remember seeing RED before. Red, oval-ish shape. I could move again and I rolled over and snapped on the lamp.
Just like the first time this happened, the feeling of panic and fear melted away with my ability to move again. In other words, whatever I thought was in the house with me had gone. I sang a verse of "Jesus, Name Above All Names" (what else do you do?) and I fell asleep again.
The next day was kinda bad. I was angry and crabby the whole morning. I kept thinking about things that made me upset. Maybe some sort of PTS. I don't know.
As the day went on, I decided that I must have dreamt the whole thing. That it was probably just a neighbor coming in late (uhh...4am? Hey, it's the only logical explanation).
I couldn't even remember the floorboards upstairs ever creaking. It was probably just in my head. I was ready to go with the scientific explanation--that these sounds or things people see are just a normal, physiological response to finding yourself vulnerable and unable to move. Hallucinations.
So I went upstairs to my bedroom and walked around for a minute. No creaking anywhere...except...
Yep. That spot by the foot of my bed. Creaked nice and loud when I put my weight on it.
Still, I couldn't quite believe what happened wasn't all just in my imagination. I mentioned it to a friend of mine who is a relatively new Christian who had been involved in attempting astral projection (don't worry, you don't need to know) and he assured me that the "limbo" between waking and dreaming is a kind of glimpse behind the veil. That these things are very real.
Last night, however, as I was brushing my teeth around midnight, I heard the sound of a door shutting. It sounded EXACTLY like what I'd heard a couple of nights ago. But now I knew what it was. It was a neighbor who had just come in (we even exchanged "bon soirs").
So okay. We've got the fact that Sleep Paralysis is a real thing. And the sound of doors opening and closing was probably just this neighbor who came home at 4am. Sure, why not?
This morning after our trip to the farmer's market, I sat and had coffee with one of the students. She asked how I was liking the place and we talked about the view of the valley and the little gardens and river.
She's been living here taking classes for two years. She told me that, when she first moved here, she had the bungalow downstairs (the house is divided into an upstairs area and downstairs) and that, while her view was good, she knew the upstairs one was even MORE amazing.
I thought I'd ask her...
"Hey, when you stayed here, did you find that when your neighbors would open and close their doors it would sound like YOUR door? It's so weird. I find it kind of alarming, actually, because it sounds like it's coming from MY apartment. Like someone just let themselves in and are walking around inside my apartment. It really freaked me out the other night around 4am."
She gave me a funny look. Took me a second. Then I realized it was a look of recognition.
"How easily freaked out are you?" she asked.
"I'm good," I said.
She then went on to explain that there's something very ODD about this house. That people who stay here for any length of time consistently report having had "visitors" in the night, usually little things, like children. I got the impression that's actually why she requested a move. But the owners of the art school--who are aware that funny things happen here--continue to rent it from the landlady because she gives them a good deal.
Then I remembered something. The owner of the school told me, the day after the night of the second occurrence, that he had received a letter from the landlady asking if I liked the house. But he asked in such a curious tone that my response was, "Why? Should I NOT like the house...?"
The girl I was talking to went on talking about new agey things--suggesting I use sage to ward off evil spirits or try "making a deal" with them. She suggested I mention it to the owners of the school. She seemed curious as to why I wasn't more frightened. I guess I could point her to the part in Matthew where Jesus gives His followers power over demons and spirits?
So that's what happened. I feel like I can post about this now because I have more information.
1. Sleep Paralysis is a Thing. It happens.
2. The floorboard in the middle of my room creaks when you stand on it.
3. Weird things involving demonic ghost children are said to happen here on a regular basis.
I've been hesitant to talk about it, as I already tend to lean toward the more sensational explanation of things. Except when something sensational DOES happen--then I become a bit of a skeptic.
When I was a kid, I thought I saw a halo around this man who was preaching during our Mexico mission trip. I decided it was a miracle and told everybody about it with an air of saintly piety that would have made Joan of Arc blush. But then I learned that if you look at something too long, your eyes get tired and you start seeing all sorts of blurry colors and things.
So, for fear of this being a similar sort of thing, I've restrained myself until I could get a little more information.
We'll start with the most basic part of this story.
Regardless of what conclusion we land on about what REALLY happened, Sleep Paralysis is, apparently, a THING.
So that's at least something. If the rest of this turns out to have been a dream or my imagination, okay. The main thin is, this is something that DOES happen to people and my experience fits the description.
What is Sleep Paralysis, you ask? It's basically when your mind wakes up, but your body is still in "sleep mode" and hasn't caught up with your brain. So you can think lucidly, but you can't move.
Okay. Great. Fine. It's annoying, but eventually your mind and body get it together and you wake up for real. Nothing wrong there.
Oooh, but that's usually not ALL that happens during these episodes.
It seems that most people do not have pleasant experiences when they awake in this state. That is, they don't feel cozy and snug in their beds. Rather, they virtually always describe feeling an intense evil or dangerous presence in the room WITH them.
This has happened to me twice since arriving in France. The first time I just remember THAT it happened. I don't remember anything else. The second time, however, was a bit of a different story.But before I go into the details of what happened, let me give you a little background.
I had unwittingly learned about Sleep Paralysis--what it is and how to stop it--while doing some research in the Internet Rabbit Hole that is the UFO phenomena. Scoff if you like, but this, like Sleep Paralysis, is also a THING. People want to know about them. Christians want to know what they are and if their faith in YHWH and Jesus Christ could survive if one day they turned on the news and saw ships in the sky.
Sleep Paralysis is also connected with what is commonly known as alien abductions. Again, people are sleeping, they are unable to move, they feel something in the room with them... only they may actually SEE things and feel the things touching them, etc.
Seems like a pretty awful thing. You're lying there in the dark. You can't move. You can't defend yourself. Looks like you're stuck.
Aha, but there is one thing you CAN do. You can call on Jesus Christ. Yeah, I know. It's crazy. But it's true. There is a spiritual side to all this.
The first time this happened to me this past spring, I remember feeling there was something in the room that hated me and wanted to eat me. No joke. I remembered in a FLASH what I was supposed to do. I SCREAMED the Name with every fiber of my being--but I remember vividly that I wasn't just calling a name. I was calling TO HIM because I knew He was the ONLY ONE who could help me at this point. My mouth wasn't working and the only thing I could get out were the vowels ("EE-UHH!!!") but that apparently was enough.
It stopped INSTANTLY and I could move again. A feeling of peace such that, after I thought about what had just happened, I was able to go back to sleep.
Fast forward to a couple of nights ago.
I was asleep. The first thing I remember in the sequence of events was waking up ALREADY SHOUTING the Name.
I could hear footsteps in the house, in the room outside mine. I could somehow FEEL that something was in the house. Then there was the sound of the door downstairs opening and closing. Impossible, I thought. I locked the door and left the keys in it. There's no WAY someone could just open the door and come inside!
Then I heard the floorboards in my bedroom creak, right by the foot of my bed. At that point, I really began to panic, and I redoubled my efforts to say the Name as clearly as I could.
There was another sound of the front door somewhere below me, and more creaking on the floorboards in the room outside my bedroom. Then my eyes snapped open and I saw a red glob disappearing into the ceiling. You see weird colors in the dark all the time--it's what our eyes do as they search for something to SEE. But I can't EVER remember seeing RED before. Red, oval-ish shape. I could move again and I rolled over and snapped on the lamp.
Just like the first time this happened, the feeling of panic and fear melted away with my ability to move again. In other words, whatever I thought was in the house with me had gone. I sang a verse of "Jesus, Name Above All Names" (what else do you do?) and I fell asleep again.
The next day was kinda bad. I was angry and crabby the whole morning. I kept thinking about things that made me upset. Maybe some sort of PTS. I don't know.
As the day went on, I decided that I must have dreamt the whole thing. That it was probably just a neighbor coming in late (uhh...4am? Hey, it's the only logical explanation).
I couldn't even remember the floorboards upstairs ever creaking. It was probably just in my head. I was ready to go with the scientific explanation--that these sounds or things people see are just a normal, physiological response to finding yourself vulnerable and unable to move. Hallucinations.
So I went upstairs to my bedroom and walked around for a minute. No creaking anywhere...except...
Yep. That spot by the foot of my bed. Creaked nice and loud when I put my weight on it.
Still, I couldn't quite believe what happened wasn't all just in my imagination. I mentioned it to a friend of mine who is a relatively new Christian who had been involved in attempting astral projection (don't worry, you don't need to know) and he assured me that the "limbo" between waking and dreaming is a kind of glimpse behind the veil. That these things are very real.
Last night, however, as I was brushing my teeth around midnight, I heard the sound of a door shutting. It sounded EXACTLY like what I'd heard a couple of nights ago. But now I knew what it was. It was a neighbor who had just come in (we even exchanged "bon soirs").
So okay. We've got the fact that Sleep Paralysis is a real thing. And the sound of doors opening and closing was probably just this neighbor who came home at 4am. Sure, why not?
This morning after our trip to the farmer's market, I sat and had coffee with one of the students. She asked how I was liking the place and we talked about the view of the valley and the little gardens and river.
She's been living here taking classes for two years. She told me that, when she first moved here, she had the bungalow downstairs (the house is divided into an upstairs area and downstairs) and that, while her view was good, she knew the upstairs one was even MORE amazing.
I thought I'd ask her...
"Hey, when you stayed here, did you find that when your neighbors would open and close their doors it would sound like YOUR door? It's so weird. I find it kind of alarming, actually, because it sounds like it's coming from MY apartment. Like someone just let themselves in and are walking around inside my apartment. It really freaked me out the other night around 4am."
She gave me a funny look. Took me a second. Then I realized it was a look of recognition.
"How easily freaked out are you?" she asked.
"I'm good," I said.
She then went on to explain that there's something very ODD about this house. That people who stay here for any length of time consistently report having had "visitors" in the night, usually little things, like children. I got the impression that's actually why she requested a move. But the owners of the art school--who are aware that funny things happen here--continue to rent it from the landlady because she gives them a good deal.
Then I remembered something. The owner of the school told me, the day after the night of the second occurrence, that he had received a letter from the landlady asking if I liked the house. But he asked in such a curious tone that my response was, "Why? Should I NOT like the house...?"
The girl I was talking to went on talking about new agey things--suggesting I use sage to ward off evil spirits or try "making a deal" with them. She suggested I mention it to the owners of the school. She seemed curious as to why I wasn't more frightened. I guess I could point her to the part in Matthew where Jesus gives His followers power over demons and spirits?
So that's what happened. I feel like I can post about this now because I have more information.
1. Sleep Paralysis is a Thing. It happens.
2. The floorboard in the middle of my room creaks when you stand on it.
3. Weird things involving demonic ghost children are said to happen here on a regular basis.
There's a lot more to this--thoughts as to WHY this happened (these sorts of things are not "supposed" to happen to Christians)--but I won't go into it. The big thing I learned from this one was this:
When the episode was going on, I remember saying the name "Jesus" as a magic word. I wasn't calling TO HIM, I was just throwing the Name out as if it, by itself, would do something. Since coming here, I have not had much contact with my Christian friends, I haven't prayed almost at all, my Bible study time has dwindled, and I've indulged heavily in France, France, France, and haven't thanked God ONCE for any of it.
The thing is, I haven't really been walking with the Lord. Not closely anyway.
At some point in all our lives, we're going to die and we're going to call out to Jesus. That name is not a magic word. It's the name of a PERSON. And if you are using that name as a magic word to save you, you need to be careful. Because He even said that lots of people would use His name to do all sorts of things, but He will turn to them and say, "I'm sorry. I have no idea who you are."
It's not enough to SAY you're a Christian. You have to actually BE one. You have to KNOW HIM and WALK with Him. If you don't, THAT'S when you're truly vulnerable. You have to throw yourself at His feet and acknowledge that there is nothing you can do to save yourself--that it's all HIM.
Saturday, July 14, 2012
Bastille Day
Today was Bastille Day! Slept in a bit, then headed to the grocery store to get a few items before they closed at noon. Then I went back to the studio and the instructors and I set the pose for the coming weeks. Then it was back to the house to cook!
I made Dad's Tomato Casserole out of all the Frenchy things I had lying around, plus some tomatoes and onions I picked up at the Farmer's Market yesterday. They don't have cheddar cheese in France, so you wind up using something that's sharp...but distinctly flavorful! It turned out really well. I'll have to double the recipe next time though as it made about enough for me to eat all by myself!
There was a bonfire set up in the backyard of the student's house. Someone suggested we burn an effigy of a political figure in honor of Bastille Day. I suggested Ben draw his greatest fear--a spider--with a powdered wig playing a harpsichord. Humor won.
That's not a margarita.
There's the bonfire!
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Je travaille.
I don't know if I spelled that correctly. The important thing is that I think it would be correct if I spoke it.
I've been taking a French language course that I downloaded for my iPhone. It's based on making logical associations with what you already know about English and I'm learning a TON. It's become part of the routine.
Ah, routine. I need one. And I have one.
Morning:
Make breakfast (usually farm-fresh eggs, cheese, yesterday's baguette, and honey)
Go to the barn for workout #1 (depending on the day--otherwise I sleep in later)
Go to the studio and climb the stairs up to the third floor where the studio is (hence the name ... studio stairway)
Drink coffee
Model for the Drawing Session. This pose is a seated one very similar to the "Ezekiel" sculpture, only I'm holding a pole. They're going nuts over it. Drawing session is 3 hours long.
Lunch:
Lunch break is two hours. I usually go to the bakery and buy a fresh baguette at this point and begin eating it on the walk home as I'm usually pretty hungry by now.
Once home, I check a few emails (not usually very many as it's 6:30am in New York) and then go upstairs for the pre-lunch 25 minute power nap.
Lunch lately hasn't been anything as involved as breakfast or dinner. Bread, peanut butter, fruit, cheese, water, and maybe a bite or two of leftovers from the night before.
Afternoon:
Head back up the hill, past the ruins of the chateau, and back to Les Escaliers.
Model for the Painting Session. This is a different pose. I opted for a standing pose that I'm not just nuts about. It's a LOT of work and pain for something that isn't really all that dynamic. The students like it though, as they've had little else but reclining females for a long time. Standing male feels new. Fortunately, tomorrow is their last day with this pose so I can change it. We'll give them something even better in the next go-round.
Evening:
Lately, it's been a trip to the Shopi (show-pee...the one grocery store in town) for more foodstuffs.
Followed by a trip home...
Then maybe another trip to the Barn for workout #2
Either way, then it's back home to make dinner. Since the kitchen is so big and well-equipped, I've been getting back into cooking and eating a bit more of a balanced diet. I'm sort of holding off on the veggies until the farmer's market on Friday. More on that as it comes.
Oh, and it's the local rosé before, during, and a little after dinner. When in Rome...
Night:
Email, email, email
Followed by French lessons on my iPhone
Read a chapter of the Gospel of Matthew
And lights out.
That's what's been going on of late! Things may change a little here and there, but that describes the past week pretty well. I'm super-tired from the 6 hours of poses and when I get home, I switch on the classical music, open the wine, and just want to crash right there. But it's wonderful and the more French I learn the more determined I am to stay here FOREVER.
We'll see if I change my mind by the end of six weeks. But so far, life in the idyllic little French town is pretty awesome.
I've been taking a French language course that I downloaded for my iPhone. It's based on making logical associations with what you already know about English and I'm learning a TON. It's become part of the routine.
Ah, routine. I need one. And I have one.
Morning:
Make breakfast (usually farm-fresh eggs, cheese, yesterday's baguette, and honey)
Go to the barn for workout #1 (depending on the day--otherwise I sleep in later)
Go to the studio and climb the stairs up to the third floor where the studio is (hence the name ... studio stairway)
Drink coffee
Model for the Drawing Session. This pose is a seated one very similar to the "Ezekiel" sculpture, only I'm holding a pole. They're going nuts over it. Drawing session is 3 hours long.
Lunch:
Lunch break is two hours. I usually go to the bakery and buy a fresh baguette at this point and begin eating it on the walk home as I'm usually pretty hungry by now.
Once home, I check a few emails (not usually very many as it's 6:30am in New York) and then go upstairs for the pre-lunch 25 minute power nap.
Lunch lately hasn't been anything as involved as breakfast or dinner. Bread, peanut butter, fruit, cheese, water, and maybe a bite or two of leftovers from the night before.
Afternoon:
Head back up the hill, past the ruins of the chateau, and back to Les Escaliers.
Model for the Painting Session. This is a different pose. I opted for a standing pose that I'm not just nuts about. It's a LOT of work and pain for something that isn't really all that dynamic. The students like it though, as they've had little else but reclining females for a long time. Standing male feels new. Fortunately, tomorrow is their last day with this pose so I can change it. We'll give them something even better in the next go-round.
Evening:
Lately, it's been a trip to the Shopi (show-pee...the one grocery store in town) for more foodstuffs.
Followed by a trip home...
Then maybe another trip to the Barn for workout #2
Either way, then it's back home to make dinner. Since the kitchen is so big and well-equipped, I've been getting back into cooking and eating a bit more of a balanced diet. I'm sort of holding off on the veggies until the farmer's market on Friday. More on that as it comes.
Oh, and it's the local rosé before, during, and a little after dinner. When in Rome...
Night:
Email, email, email
Followed by French lessons on my iPhone
Read a chapter of the Gospel of Matthew
And lights out.
That's what's been going on of late! Things may change a little here and there, but that describes the past week pretty well. I'm super-tired from the 6 hours of poses and when I get home, I switch on the classical music, open the wine, and just want to crash right there. But it's wonderful and the more French I learn the more determined I am to stay here FOREVER.
We'll see if I change my mind by the end of six weeks. But so far, life in the idyllic little French town is pretty awesome.
Saturday, July 07, 2012
En France
Well, I'm here. Arrived at Argenton les Vallees (aka Argenton-Chateau) yesterday afternoon. It was quite a journey.
I left my hot little studio apartment at about 3:30 and caught a cab to JFK. My light was Delta operated by Air France, so I thought telling the driver I was going to the Delta International flights would suffice.
Nope. I wound up at the Delta terminal when I NEEDED the terminal that had the Air France flights. No worries. One stop further down on the air tram and I was right where I needed to be.
The International terminal is definitely the place to be. It felt like Ellis Island or something. It was nuts. Very modern with all kinds of people speaking all kinds of languages. The Air France automated check-in was (unsurprisingly) in French, although you could select "Anglais" (which I did).
Flew on the A380 which is the enormous double-decker jumbo jet. I arrived almost two hours early (which was nice as I got to chill and sit listening to my Michel Thomas "Learn French in 8 Hours" app), and even though the plan was there the entire time, we boarded more than 30 minutes late because they were still cleaning it and loading it with food.
When we finally boarded, there was one line for the lower deck and one for the upper deck (where I was sitting). There were four classes of seating and starting at the front really sold the premium packages well. Of course, I wasn't thinking clearly at first, so when I saw the enormous chairs that looked fully reclinable, with TVs and magazines and huge arm rests and your own personal book light, I thought, "THIS is going to be an AMAZING flight." But the further back we went, the smaller the seats got until we got back to "steerage class" which looked like a normal plane, only crammed with seats (including those dreadful four-seat rows in the middle).
I booked my seat in the very last row by the window. The window seats were, fortunately, only two-seaters, so if I wanted to get up and go to the bathroom, I only had to crawl over one person.
The map of the plane on the Internet gave the impression that the bathroom was actually a little bit removed from the seats.
Nope. Every time someone flushed the pressurized toilets, it sounded like someone opened one of the plane windows and all the air was being sucked out. That is to say, it was loud and startling every time. The lady I had to climb over was not terribly attractive... older, frumpy, and pretty sour, actually. She looked annoyed the entire flight.
We were delayed even more before we could take off because of all the traffic on the ground. So even though our flight was at 7:15, we didn't leave until about 8:35. Which meant there was a huge rush for the bathroom once the captain turned off the seatbelt sign.
I became just a little nervous when I saw that my iPhone battery was pretty low. I wanted to keep going with my French lessons, but didn't want to completely drain it in case I needed to access my email or something once in France. Fortunately, the TV on the seat back in front of me (we may have been traveling 4th class, but everyone still had a TV and pretty fancy tray table) had a USB port and I JUST HAPPENED to bring my iPhone USB cable with me. So I plugged in and charged up.
The flight itself was actually really smooth. Even when we hit turbulence, it felt more like a rocking than a lurching. Don't know how they did that.
Sleeping didn't really happen. I was a bit too wired from trying to take in all this new stuff, language included--the staff on the plane would initially speak to you in French and when it became clear that you were American, they'd switch. I wanted so badly to TRY speaking some French, but my vocabulary is still pretty limited and I didn't want to give the impression that I was ready to talk about their favorite part of Les Miserables au francais.
It was very strange to see how short the night actually lasted. The French passenger in front of me opened his window shade just a few hours after closing it and WHOA. Broad daylight. It made me think that, while the premium seats looked comfortable, the plan to sleep on the plane and wake up refreshed at 8:30 just before landing wouldn't actually work, since you lose so much time. You'd still only get something like 4 hours of sleep anyway.
We landed and de-planed in Paris (or outside of Paris, I guess. I didn't actually see the city at all). Went through customs, got bags (which took forever), got some more Euros, and walked down to the train station to catch my TGV to Angers Saint Laud (pronounced Anschay San Lau). Even though we were very late coming in and getting our bags took forever, I still had about two hours to wait in the station...and then even MORE because the train was 30 minutes late! Some bullet train.
So then began the next leg of the journey, the almost 2.5 hour train ride westward toward Spain. Riding through RURAL France. The people on the train and the places we passed looked like something out of my high school French textbook. The young men all were trapped in some sort of fashion time-warp. Something I've noticed with European fashion, in general, is that the styles are some strange mix of early 90s with an 80s color palette. And NOBODY works out. That much was obvious. Not that there were lots of overweight people, but rather, all the men are a bit on the slender side and the bodies tend to have a bit more of a softer, average quality. VERY different from New York City.
The beginning of the train ride was probably the most nerve-wracking part of the trip. By now I had figured out that I was totally cut off. If I wanted WiFi in the airport/train station, I needed to pay for it. I decided I could probably manage without it, since I knew my stop and had my ticket with the train number and seat assignment. Once on the train, I couldn't use WiFi even if I wanted to--and in taking in all my surroundings, I forgot to take my brother's advice and buy a prepaid cellphone at the airport.
The problem with the train ride was that if I missed my stop, I didn't know what I would do. And there were no maps or signs on the train indicating the order of the stops, and the first few stations were only sparsely marked with the name of the stop. I envisioned pulling away from one of the stations, only to spy the one sign that read "Angers Saint Laud" and then having to figure out how to ask someone for assistance ("Assistance!" is actually not a bad place to start!).
Fortunately, that didn't happen. The stops became better-marked and I managed to hear the conductor over the loudspeaker SAY the name of the town when he apologized for the fact that we would be about 20 minutes late to this town and this town and this town. That was very comforting to know that I would understand him when he said the name of the town, because he spoke so fast I was afraid I wouldn't understand. He also repeated some of the information in English, but his accent was so thick and he switched without any sort of preamble (no "Ladeez and gentlemen") that you just had to hold on until you caught some English words.
Also, I knew I could figure out which stop was mine because it was clear the train was NOT making many stops. Angers was supposed to be the 3:08 stop (9am in New York and really starting to feel it!) so if I added 20-30 minutes to the trip because of the delay, that meant wherever we stopped around 3:30 would be where I needed to get off.
But if things got even dicier, I managed to cobble together some French so I could ask the lady to voulez-vous ditez-moi quand(?) nous arrivons en Angers parce que je suis American et je parle francais un peu, mais il parlent trop vite pour moi. (Will you tell me when we arrive in Angers? I am American and I speak a little French, but he speaks too fast for me.) I was busting with pride over my ability to put that together, but I never had to use it.
It was a BIG stop. Lots of people got off. I hadn't found my contact yet, but I was so relieved to know that my part of the journey was pretty much over. Someone was picking me up and would drive me the rest of the way. My brain started to decompress as SOON as I set foot off the train.
It didn't take long for me to spot Tim, one of the teachers and owners of the school. We'd never met before and I didn't know what he looked like, but I was trying to make eye contact with every man just standing in the station--figured one of them would say, "John?" at some point. And sure enough.
I paid 50 cents to use the bathroom and then we hopped into his car and we were off on the FINAL part of the journey, the 45-60 minute drive even FURTHER out into the country. So yes. Planes, trains, and automobiles.
We had a good conversation and I got to know more about the school and ask questions about its history. The country we drove through was VERY Europe. Everything was old and had a settled, cultivated feel to it. Old stone crosses were scattered here and there.
I was starting to wonder if I was ever going to make it to this town after non-stop travel. But we made it and I got settled in (more on the house and town later). We went to the grocery store to stock me up on a few basic things--thus relieving me of the final "unknown" of the trip; what I was going to EAT. Once that was done, I took a picture of the view from my window, emailed it to friends and family as a way of wordlessly saying, "I'm here" before taking a BRIEF nap around 6:00.
Around 8, Tim and Michelle, the owners of the school and its instructors, came to my house and we walked to the one restaurant in town and had a big "welcome to France" meal.
Came home, emailed a bit, and crashed.
So that's where things are now! I've taken loads of pictures, but this memory card is the "bad one" that has problems being read by the one SD card reader I brought with me. So pictures may not be uploaded for a while, but I'll keep taking them in the meantime!
I left my hot little studio apartment at about 3:30 and caught a cab to JFK. My light was Delta operated by Air France, so I thought telling the driver I was going to the Delta International flights would suffice.
Nope. I wound up at the Delta terminal when I NEEDED the terminal that had the Air France flights. No worries. One stop further down on the air tram and I was right where I needed to be.
The International terminal is definitely the place to be. It felt like Ellis Island or something. It was nuts. Very modern with all kinds of people speaking all kinds of languages. The Air France automated check-in was (unsurprisingly) in French, although you could select "Anglais" (which I did).
Flew on the A380 which is the enormous double-decker jumbo jet. I arrived almost two hours early (which was nice as I got to chill and sit listening to my Michel Thomas "Learn French in 8 Hours" app), and even though the plan was there the entire time, we boarded more than 30 minutes late because they were still cleaning it and loading it with food.
When we finally boarded, there was one line for the lower deck and one for the upper deck (where I was sitting). There were four classes of seating and starting at the front really sold the premium packages well. Of course, I wasn't thinking clearly at first, so when I saw the enormous chairs that looked fully reclinable, with TVs and magazines and huge arm rests and your own personal book light, I thought, "THIS is going to be an AMAZING flight." But the further back we went, the smaller the seats got until we got back to "steerage class" which looked like a normal plane, only crammed with seats (including those dreadful four-seat rows in the middle).
I booked my seat in the very last row by the window. The window seats were, fortunately, only two-seaters, so if I wanted to get up and go to the bathroom, I only had to crawl over one person.
The map of the plane on the Internet gave the impression that the bathroom was actually a little bit removed from the seats.
Nope. Every time someone flushed the pressurized toilets, it sounded like someone opened one of the plane windows and all the air was being sucked out. That is to say, it was loud and startling every time. The lady I had to climb over was not terribly attractive... older, frumpy, and pretty sour, actually. She looked annoyed the entire flight.
We were delayed even more before we could take off because of all the traffic on the ground. So even though our flight was at 7:15, we didn't leave until about 8:35. Which meant there was a huge rush for the bathroom once the captain turned off the seatbelt sign.
I became just a little nervous when I saw that my iPhone battery was pretty low. I wanted to keep going with my French lessons, but didn't want to completely drain it in case I needed to access my email or something once in France. Fortunately, the TV on the seat back in front of me (we may have been traveling 4th class, but everyone still had a TV and pretty fancy tray table) had a USB port and I JUST HAPPENED to bring my iPhone USB cable with me. So I plugged in and charged up.
The flight itself was actually really smooth. Even when we hit turbulence, it felt more like a rocking than a lurching. Don't know how they did that.
Sleeping didn't really happen. I was a bit too wired from trying to take in all this new stuff, language included--the staff on the plane would initially speak to you in French and when it became clear that you were American, they'd switch. I wanted so badly to TRY speaking some French, but my vocabulary is still pretty limited and I didn't want to give the impression that I was ready to talk about their favorite part of Les Miserables au francais.
It was very strange to see how short the night actually lasted. The French passenger in front of me opened his window shade just a few hours after closing it and WHOA. Broad daylight. It made me think that, while the premium seats looked comfortable, the plan to sleep on the plane and wake up refreshed at 8:30 just before landing wouldn't actually work, since you lose so much time. You'd still only get something like 4 hours of sleep anyway.
We landed and de-planed in Paris (or outside of Paris, I guess. I didn't actually see the city at all). Went through customs, got bags (which took forever), got some more Euros, and walked down to the train station to catch my TGV to Angers Saint Laud (pronounced Anschay San Lau). Even though we were very late coming in and getting our bags took forever, I still had about two hours to wait in the station...and then even MORE because the train was 30 minutes late! Some bullet train.
So then began the next leg of the journey, the almost 2.5 hour train ride westward toward Spain. Riding through RURAL France. The people on the train and the places we passed looked like something out of my high school French textbook. The young men all were trapped in some sort of fashion time-warp. Something I've noticed with European fashion, in general, is that the styles are some strange mix of early 90s with an 80s color palette. And NOBODY works out. That much was obvious. Not that there were lots of overweight people, but rather, all the men are a bit on the slender side and the bodies tend to have a bit more of a softer, average quality. VERY different from New York City.
The beginning of the train ride was probably the most nerve-wracking part of the trip. By now I had figured out that I was totally cut off. If I wanted WiFi in the airport/train station, I needed to pay for it. I decided I could probably manage without it, since I knew my stop and had my ticket with the train number and seat assignment. Once on the train, I couldn't use WiFi even if I wanted to--and in taking in all my surroundings, I forgot to take my brother's advice and buy a prepaid cellphone at the airport.
The problem with the train ride was that if I missed my stop, I didn't know what I would do. And there were no maps or signs on the train indicating the order of the stops, and the first few stations were only sparsely marked with the name of the stop. I envisioned pulling away from one of the stations, only to spy the one sign that read "Angers Saint Laud" and then having to figure out how to ask someone for assistance ("Assistance!" is actually not a bad place to start!).
Fortunately, that didn't happen. The stops became better-marked and I managed to hear the conductor over the loudspeaker SAY the name of the town when he apologized for the fact that we would be about 20 minutes late to this town and this town and this town. That was very comforting to know that I would understand him when he said the name of the town, because he spoke so fast I was afraid I wouldn't understand. He also repeated some of the information in English, but his accent was so thick and he switched without any sort of preamble (no "Ladeez and gentlemen") that you just had to hold on until you caught some English words.
Also, I knew I could figure out which stop was mine because it was clear the train was NOT making many stops. Angers was supposed to be the 3:08 stop (9am in New York and really starting to feel it!) so if I added 20-30 minutes to the trip because of the delay, that meant wherever we stopped around 3:30 would be where I needed to get off.
But if things got even dicier, I managed to cobble together some French so I could ask the lady to voulez-vous ditez-moi quand(?) nous arrivons en Angers parce que je suis American et je parle francais un peu, mais il parlent trop vite pour moi. (Will you tell me when we arrive in Angers? I am American and I speak a little French, but he speaks too fast for me.) I was busting with pride over my ability to put that together, but I never had to use it.
It was a BIG stop. Lots of people got off. I hadn't found my contact yet, but I was so relieved to know that my part of the journey was pretty much over. Someone was picking me up and would drive me the rest of the way. My brain started to decompress as SOON as I set foot off the train.
It didn't take long for me to spot Tim, one of the teachers and owners of the school. We'd never met before and I didn't know what he looked like, but I was trying to make eye contact with every man just standing in the station--figured one of them would say, "John?" at some point. And sure enough.
I paid 50 cents to use the bathroom and then we hopped into his car and we were off on the FINAL part of the journey, the 45-60 minute drive even FURTHER out into the country. So yes. Planes, trains, and automobiles.
We had a good conversation and I got to know more about the school and ask questions about its history. The country we drove through was VERY Europe. Everything was old and had a settled, cultivated feel to it. Old stone crosses were scattered here and there.
I was starting to wonder if I was ever going to make it to this town after non-stop travel. But we made it and I got settled in (more on the house and town later). We went to the grocery store to stock me up on a few basic things--thus relieving me of the final "unknown" of the trip; what I was going to EAT. Once that was done, I took a picture of the view from my window, emailed it to friends and family as a way of wordlessly saying, "I'm here" before taking a BRIEF nap around 6:00.
Around 8, Tim and Michelle, the owners of the school and its instructors, came to my house and we walked to the one restaurant in town and had a big "welcome to France" meal.
Came home, emailed a bit, and crashed.
So that's where things are now! I've taken loads of pictures, but this memory card is the "bad one" that has problems being read by the one SD card reader I brought with me. So pictures may not be uploaded for a while, but I'll keep taking them in the meantime!
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