Well, I'm back from my journey to Jerusalem, Palestine, Cairo and Alexandria... and there are so many things to write about I scarcely know where to begin! Posts on the Israel/Palestine conflict, religious tensions, muddling through al-3amiya al-miSriya (the dialect of Arabic spoken in Egypt), haggling over cab rides (and even getting assaulted in one!) to follow.
This story had to come first.
Anne-Marie and I enjoyed our days in Jerusalem visiting with Terry and seeing all of the sites. We checked everything off my list, in spite of sandstorms, wind, my persistent cough, and site closings due to Shabbat. All that remained was the Dead Sea! We planned to head out early in the morning and stop off in Ein Gedi for two hours before continuing on our epic journey across the border into Egypt. We arrived in Ein Gedi, and it seemed the plan was going to come off without a hitch.
However--the beach was empty. Not a soul in sight, except for the brave folks on staff at the Ein Gedi canteen. AMA and I took it all in and discussed our plan of attack. "Well, no one else is here to go in the water today, but WE are!" Enter mean-spirited, cowboy hat-sporting ranger fellow. "Oh no, you're not either!", he sneered. "See that black flag up there? It means you can't go in. Ouch. Have a nice day." Ouch? Followed by "Have a nice day"? My dead sea dreams were dashed. I had not noticed the black flag. So what if the Dead Sea wasn't placid and flat as usual, the wind stirring up the sand and the surf? My shoulders slumped. I was so close to completing the Dead Sea float I could taste it... but it was not to be.
AMA could tell I was visibly disappointed, and we trudged down to the water with our luggage in tow, at least to get a closer look. AMA even took a faux "floating" pic, a great camera trick involving my leaning back on a rock. Almost as good as the real thing. We stared at that ominous black flag and shook our heads, our hair whipping around wildly.
But wait! A sort of lifeguard hut loomed above next to the black flag, and there seemed to be signs of life inside it. When you're on the verge of achieving your dream, sometimes obstacles arise... and you have to overcome them. We got the guards' attention, and I approached the window and asked sweetly... "Any chance that black flag will be coming down in the next hour or so?" And they replied, "Oh you can swim. Just be careful. And it's very cold."
I leaped for joy. Take that cowboy/ranger dude! The lifeguards from above had resurrected my Dead Sea dreams. Appropriate, given our location. I was so excited I started shedding my clothes on the beach (I had worn my bikini bottoms, but I needed to figure out a way to strategically put the top on underneath my shirt.). The lifeguards called out to us and kindly offered their hut as a changing room. Oh right, modesty. They had beer and some kind of PlayStation or Nintendo system in the front room and some American eagle knicknacks in the back room (and heat!). I rolled out of the hut and went on to complete my float, as you can see here: Dead Sea Float
AMAZING!
The moral of the story? Matthew 7:7-12
Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; the one who seeks finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened. Which of you, if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him! So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you, for this sums up the Law and the Prophets.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Winter Wonderland Train Ride and RAKs
I've been meaning to write this post for a while now, and it's only today that I'm getting around to it, as the second winter wonderland train ride has already occurred (and then subsequent rides have NOT occurred due to weather).
The first winter wonderland ride occurred about a week ago... No snow in Geneva to speak of really, just a few flurries, but on the way to Bern, a field of white dotted with deer, snow-crested evergreens, just beautiful. On the return trip, I was seated across from a young girl, a student. We arrived in Lausanne, and I saw a few gentlemen pick up an abandoned scarf to return it to its rightful owner. I smiled at their kindness, then noticed that across from me, the young girl had dropped her "Abonnement Général" (a fare card for which you pay a large sum up front that allows you to take any train, tram, or bus in Switzerland, with only a few rare exceptions--I have one, and it is AMAZING!). I paused, not sure what to do, the girl had left minutes ago, but those gentlemen had done a kind service, so what was I waiting for? I glanced out the window, and the young girl was standing on the platform waiting for someone. Without thinking, I grabbed the card, dashed down the stairs, ran over to her a bit frantic for fear that the train would leave with all my belongings still aboard, screeching "I think you left this!" in French and handing her the card before dashing back onto the train. She was a bit stunned (by my screeching? by the fact that she had left the card? by the fact that I ran off the train to give it to her? I'll never know). But as I regained my seat, she gave me a grateful wave and a big smile through the window. And I was glad I had paid it forward...
The first winter wonderland ride occurred about a week ago... No snow in Geneva to speak of really, just a few flurries, but on the way to Bern, a field of white dotted with deer, snow-crested evergreens, just beautiful. On the return trip, I was seated across from a young girl, a student. We arrived in Lausanne, and I saw a few gentlemen pick up an abandoned scarf to return it to its rightful owner. I smiled at their kindness, then noticed that across from me, the young girl had dropped her "Abonnement Général" (a fare card for which you pay a large sum up front that allows you to take any train, tram, or bus in Switzerland, with only a few rare exceptions--I have one, and it is AMAZING!). I paused, not sure what to do, the girl had left minutes ago, but those gentlemen had done a kind service, so what was I waiting for? I glanced out the window, and the young girl was standing on the platform waiting for someone. Without thinking, I grabbed the card, dashed down the stairs, ran over to her a bit frantic for fear that the train would leave with all my belongings still aboard, screeching "I think you left this!" in French and handing her the card before dashing back onto the train. She was a bit stunned (by my screeching? by the fact that she had left the card? by the fact that I ran off the train to give it to her? I'll never know). But as I regained my seat, she gave me a grateful wave and a big smile through the window. And I was glad I had paid it forward...
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Oh Snow!
Well, apparently I can't get enough of the white stuff... Geneva is supposed to get 24 cm of snow in the next 24 hours, and I feel quite at home, like I never left Madison, at least from a climatic standpoint. It did put a bit of a kink in things though, as the train route from Lausanne to Geneva is blocked. For whatever weird reason, I left work a bit earlier today, thankfully, because when we got to Lausanne, a voice came over the loudspeaker and announced: "Ce train ne continuera pas jusqu'à Genève en raison d'un dérangement. Veuillez descendre du train" (This train will not continue to Geneve due to a disturbance (a.k.a. the SNOW). Please get off the train.)
Oh dear, how will I get home to Geneva, I wondered? That would be one hefty taxi fare. All of a sudden, all the people who had just gotten off the train with me were running toward platform 6... we clamored to get on the InterRegio train, which promised to bring us to Geneva, albeit an hour later than expected. All told, my commute took two hours and forty minutes on the way back today, rather than an hour and forty minutes. The plus side? I got to see lots of little villages that I wouldn't have seen otherwise (Morges, Nyon, Gland). And it felt a bit like I was riding through a Christmas card, even if I was standing up squished into the empty space between two cars like a sardine for a lot of that extra hour.
Tomorrow... SNOW DAY! Which means I will write. A lot. For the diss. And have tea while I look out my window at the falling snowflakes...
Oh dear, how will I get home to Geneva, I wondered? That would be one hefty taxi fare. All of a sudden, all the people who had just gotten off the train with me were running toward platform 6... we clamored to get on the InterRegio train, which promised to bring us to Geneva, albeit an hour later than expected. All told, my commute took two hours and forty minutes on the way back today, rather than an hour and forty minutes. The plus side? I got to see lots of little villages that I wouldn't have seen otherwise (Morges, Nyon, Gland). And it felt a bit like I was riding through a Christmas card, even if I was standing up squished into the empty space between two cars like a sardine for a lot of that extra hour.
Tomorrow... SNOW DAY! Which means I will write. A lot. For the diss. And have tea while I look out my window at the falling snowflakes...
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Interesting Sales Tactics
And now for the funniest story from the Barcelona trip. It was not the champagne-drinking birthday crew on the Easy Jet flight, nor the sweet French/Spanish bilingual little boy Maxime asking me... "Vous avez des enfants?" and "Pourquoi venez-vous en Espagne?" (though that was probably the cutest story of the journey), nor the crowds of older Spanish folks holding hands and dancing time-tested steps on a public square.
Oh no... this story is a tale of a Foot Locker employee's brilliant marketing skills. The story begins with my need to find basketball shoes cheaper than I might find them in Geneva, where everything is ridiculously expensive (i.e. $250-$300 for b-ball shoes). On Friday nights, I shoot hoops at the University's Centre Sportif Universitaire, and I am hooked. I might be a little "nulle en attaque" (horrible at offense), but I love the game. My old running shoes had me sliding all over the place when we had to do suicide sprints (oh yeah, we're core), so I knew I would want to find a pair eventually. Carina and Felipe suggested we hit a few Spanish department stores, but there were no basketball shoes for women to speak of. Felipe suggested Foot Locker--it's an American store! They are sure to have them.
I roll in the store on my own, while Felipe and Carina printed pictures. I perused the shoes on display but decided to be brave and ask a salesperson for help... starting in Spanish, then going in to English, once I knew he could handle it. I explained what I was looking for, and the transaction proceeded apace, as he asked my shoe size. 41. Interesting sales tactic number one: Raised eyebrows at the mention of my giant foot, he gently explains... well, we don't have any women's shoes in that size. The basketball shoes we have though, they're all unisex, so don't worry about that. You just want a shoe that fits. I laughed, saying I knew my feet were large, and he said, no, no, it's really the Spanish women who are the anomaly: they have really small feet. Good save, Jordi, the sale is not yet lost.
We stroll over to the selection of basketball shoes, almost all of which look decidedly masculine. I will NOT be buying the LeBron James model, thank you very much, though the Jordans are tempting, more because they promise to make me fly and score mad points than for aesthetic reasons. Then there's a pair of straight-up, practical, black Nikes... not too expensive and expressly made for basketball. Yes, we'll try those and the Jordans, gracias, and the other glaring neon green monstrosities will be for some other unwitting customer.
Interesting sales tactic number two: Jordi returns with the big honking shoes, and I try them on. Felipe has returned from photo developing and is there to offer his opinion. I'm not sure how I feel about the black ones... are they comfortable enough, can I run around and potentially slam dunk (or at least score a simple layup)? I'm not convinced. So I try the Jordans. I feel a bit like I'm an astronaut walking on the moon in these shoes... not so bad if I want to defy gravity? And this is where it gets interesting-- Jordi explains that the Jordans are not just for basketball, but really for walking the streets, a sort of status symbol... he'd go for the cheaper ones. You know, Michael Jordan, the US, F**K the US, who needs the status! The black ones, they're especially made for basketball. Wait a minute, did a salesperson just say F**K the US to an American? (And how did he NOT know I was American with my non-British English accent?) I laugh nervously, not sure if I heard correctly... a bit stunned, I look at Felipe, equally stunned, this time HIS eyebrows raised, not Jordi's. I pretend to be a Harlem Globetrotter a bit, and I'm feeling the black ones more now. I tell Jordi so, and I say, yeah, I'm American, but no Jordans for me. Interesting sales tactic number three: Jordi covers his face with embarrassment, then says... typical Spanish joke, F**K the US! You know? F**K Spain!
Well, that convinced me. I bought the shoes... and some socks, too, and as Jordi walked to the cash register with my purchases, his co-workers murmured in admiration: He's a professional... I laughed and said yeah, he's a REAL professional. Jordi sheepishly grinned. His co-workers just didn't know the code word for selling to Americans.
Post-script to this story... this is exactly why we need good language teachers. Pragmatics. What is appropriate to say and when. This guy clearly didn't get that during the slang lesson.
Oh no... this story is a tale of a Foot Locker employee's brilliant marketing skills. The story begins with my need to find basketball shoes cheaper than I might find them in Geneva, where everything is ridiculously expensive (i.e. $250-$300 for b-ball shoes). On Friday nights, I shoot hoops at the University's Centre Sportif Universitaire, and I am hooked. I might be a little "nulle en attaque" (horrible at offense), but I love the game. My old running shoes had me sliding all over the place when we had to do suicide sprints (oh yeah, we're core), so I knew I would want to find a pair eventually. Carina and Felipe suggested we hit a few Spanish department stores, but there were no basketball shoes for women to speak of. Felipe suggested Foot Locker--it's an American store! They are sure to have them.
I roll in the store on my own, while Felipe and Carina printed pictures. I perused the shoes on display but decided to be brave and ask a salesperson for help... starting in Spanish, then going in to English, once I knew he could handle it. I explained what I was looking for, and the transaction proceeded apace, as he asked my shoe size. 41. Interesting sales tactic number one: Raised eyebrows at the mention of my giant foot, he gently explains... well, we don't have any women's shoes in that size. The basketball shoes we have though, they're all unisex, so don't worry about that. You just want a shoe that fits. I laughed, saying I knew my feet were large, and he said, no, no, it's really the Spanish women who are the anomaly: they have really small feet. Good save, Jordi, the sale is not yet lost.
We stroll over to the selection of basketball shoes, almost all of which look decidedly masculine. I will NOT be buying the LeBron James model, thank you very much, though the Jordans are tempting, more because they promise to make me fly and score mad points than for aesthetic reasons. Then there's a pair of straight-up, practical, black Nikes... not too expensive and expressly made for basketball. Yes, we'll try those and the Jordans, gracias, and the other glaring neon green monstrosities will be for some other unwitting customer.
Interesting sales tactic number two: Jordi returns with the big honking shoes, and I try them on. Felipe has returned from photo developing and is there to offer his opinion. I'm not sure how I feel about the black ones... are they comfortable enough, can I run around and potentially slam dunk (or at least score a simple layup)? I'm not convinced. So I try the Jordans. I feel a bit like I'm an astronaut walking on the moon in these shoes... not so bad if I want to defy gravity? And this is where it gets interesting-- Jordi explains that the Jordans are not just for basketball, but really for walking the streets, a sort of status symbol... he'd go for the cheaper ones. You know, Michael Jordan, the US, F**K the US, who needs the status! The black ones, they're especially made for basketball. Wait a minute, did a salesperson just say F**K the US to an American? (And how did he NOT know I was American with my non-British English accent?) I laugh nervously, not sure if I heard correctly... a bit stunned, I look at Felipe, equally stunned, this time HIS eyebrows raised, not Jordi's. I pretend to be a Harlem Globetrotter a bit, and I'm feeling the black ones more now. I tell Jordi so, and I say, yeah, I'm American, but no Jordans for me. Interesting sales tactic number three: Jordi covers his face with embarrassment, then says... typical Spanish joke, F**K the US! You know? F**K Spain!
Well, that convinced me. I bought the shoes... and some socks, too, and as Jordi walked to the cash register with my purchases, his co-workers murmured in admiration: He's a professional... I laughed and said yeah, he's a REAL professional. Jordi sheepishly grinned. His co-workers just didn't know the code word for selling to Americans.
Post-script to this story... this is exactly why we need good language teachers. Pragmatics. What is appropriate to say and when. This guy clearly didn't get that during the slang lesson.
On kindreds and "âmes soeurs"... reflections in Barcelona...
This past weekend I traveled to Barcelona to reunite with two of my dearest friends from my first year abroad, Felipe Welsch and Carina Haldenwanger. It had been eight years since I had seen Felipe and four years since I had seen Carina (we reunited in Morocco a while back and had also seen each other in Montpellier before that...). In any case, the point of the story is, that while "things" change--we've all moved on in our lives, moved around, worked different jobs... and they even got married (to each other!)--some things just never change. It was such a joy to be in their presence again... we had lots to catch up on, and then there were also the contented, comfortable silences born of just being together. The weekend really wasn't about touring the city too much (Carina and I had done that when we came to Barcelona the first time when we were living in Montpellier :)), though we did some... it was lovely to see the Mediterranean and enjoy the energy of a city by the ocean. It is amazing what a temperate climate can do for the soul! It was more about enjoying each other's company (and lots of great food!) and talking about things that matter, as we always did before.
It called to mind a passage I read in Khalil Gibran's The Prophet, which I sent to my kindreds before I left Madison...
"And a youth said, Speak to us of Friendship.
And he answered, saying:
Your friend is your needs answered.
He is your field which you sow with love and reap with thanksgiving.
And he is your board and your fireside.
For you come to him with your hunger, and you seek him for peace.
When your friend speaks his mind you fear not the "nay" in your own mind, nor do you withhold the "ay."
And when he is silent your heart ceases not to listen to his heart;
For without words, in friendship, all thoughts, all desires, all expectations are born and shared, with joy that is unacclaimed.
When you part from your friend, you grieve not;
For that which you love most in him may be clearer in his absence, as the mountain to the climber is clearer from the plain.
And let there be no purpose in friendship save the deepening of the spirit.
For love that seeks aught but the disclosure of its own mystery is not love but a net cast forth: and only the unprofitable is caught.
And let your best be for your friend.
If he must know the ebb of your tide, let him know its flood also.
For what is your friend that you should seek him with hours to kill?
Seek him always with hours to live.
For it is his to fill your need, but not your emptiness.
And in the sweetness of friendship let there be laughter, and sharing of pleasures.
For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed."
As the Thanksgiving holiday approaches (tomorrow!), I'm thankful for the friends in my life to whom I give my best and who give me their best in return... for the friends who enrich my life with meaning and are willing to ponder the important questions with me (even if they don't necessarily have the answers)... for the friends I am sad to leave but whom I know are never far from my heart... for the new friends I have discovered who make me feel at home... for the friends I know I will find again, and it will be just the same as always. What a wonderful gift!
It called to mind a passage I read in Khalil Gibran's The Prophet, which I sent to my kindreds before I left Madison...
"And a youth said, Speak to us of Friendship.
And he answered, saying:
Your friend is your needs answered.
He is your field which you sow with love and reap with thanksgiving.
And he is your board and your fireside.
For you come to him with your hunger, and you seek him for peace.
When your friend speaks his mind you fear not the "nay" in your own mind, nor do you withhold the "ay."
And when he is silent your heart ceases not to listen to his heart;
For without words, in friendship, all thoughts, all desires, all expectations are born and shared, with joy that is unacclaimed.
When you part from your friend, you grieve not;
For that which you love most in him may be clearer in his absence, as the mountain to the climber is clearer from the plain.
And let there be no purpose in friendship save the deepening of the spirit.
For love that seeks aught but the disclosure of its own mystery is not love but a net cast forth: and only the unprofitable is caught.
And let your best be for your friend.
If he must know the ebb of your tide, let him know its flood also.
For what is your friend that you should seek him with hours to kill?
Seek him always with hours to live.
For it is his to fill your need, but not your emptiness.
And in the sweetness of friendship let there be laughter, and sharing of pleasures.
For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed."
As the Thanksgiving holiday approaches (tomorrow!), I'm thankful for the friends in my life to whom I give my best and who give me their best in return... for the friends who enrich my life with meaning and are willing to ponder the important questions with me (even if they don't necessarily have the answers)... for the friends I am sad to leave but whom I know are never far from my heart... for the new friends I have discovered who make me feel at home... for the friends I know I will find again, and it will be just the same as always. What a wonderful gift!
Friday, November 19, 2010
More train philosophy...
Apparently, the commute to Bern provides endless fodder for blog entries. This past week, I ran into a friend at the train station (Bernard--he's an older gentleman in my theater workshop, a retired physics professor from the Université de Genève who enjoys talking about philosophy and religion. We bond.), and this made the hour and forty minute ride fly by. Geneva is kinda like Madison in that you're sure to run into someone you know at some point throughout the day. Further reinforces the whole "I am never lost" idea.
The ride home was also interesting, as there were two people quietly reflecting on their commutes: one woman was peacefully reading the Bible, and one gentleman was peacefully reading his Qur'an. I don't know if they even noticed each other, but I did, and again, it made me smile. No conflict, no violence necessary. Just communing with God, Allah, whatever you want to call the Supreme Being out there... in peace. There's certainly a lesson in there somewhere.
As for the lesson in Wednesday's train ride home... well, I was eating an early dinner on the train because I was going directly from Bern to a university lecture by Franco Moretti, and I went to throw away my garbage in the little trash cans provided underneath the fold-out tray tables. Unseeing, I plunged my hand into a big pile of mustard, thrown away by a passenger who came before me. The gentleman next to me, obviously amused and better prepared than I, offered me two tissues to clean up the mess. Lessons from this particular encounter? Look before you leap (or throw away your trash). Think about the messes you are leaving your successors. And thank goodness for random acts of kindness.
The ride home was also interesting, as there were two people quietly reflecting on their commutes: one woman was peacefully reading the Bible, and one gentleman was peacefully reading his Qur'an. I don't know if they even noticed each other, but I did, and again, it made me smile. No conflict, no violence necessary. Just communing with God, Allah, whatever you want to call the Supreme Being out there... in peace. There's certainly a lesson in there somewhere.
As for the lesson in Wednesday's train ride home... well, I was eating an early dinner on the train because I was going directly from Bern to a university lecture by Franco Moretti, and I went to throw away my garbage in the little trash cans provided underneath the fold-out tray tables. Unseeing, I plunged my hand into a big pile of mustard, thrown away by a passenger who came before me. The gentleman next to me, obviously amused and better prepared than I, offered me two tissues to clean up the mess. Lessons from this particular encounter? Look before you leap (or throw away your trash). Think about the messes you are leaving your successors. And thank goodness for random acts of kindness.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Seeing and Blindness
Every Tuesday and Wednesday I travel to Bern, and every day the commute is different. The light seems to make Lac Léman shine a bit differently each time, sometimes there are groups of rowdy high school kids making their way to the nation's capital on a school trip, other times there are feisty jokers offering me coffee and poking fun at passengers, mouths open, softly snoring.
This past Wednesday, a blind gentleman sat down next to me in Geneva, and in Lausanne, a group of blind people and their companions joined him. First of all, I was amazed that they found each other--there are just so MANY cars on a train. I was typing away on my dissertation for a while, but I couldn't help but listen as they chattered about censorship for audio books. I had no idea this existed, but they were very emphatic as they explained the situation: many blind folks listen to books on tape rather than read them in Braille, and a certain books on tape company decided not to record a book that had erotic material in it. Fascinating. Of course, hearing a book and reading it are two very different activities. On one hand, there's a certain level of theater and performance involved; on the other, it's a very intimate, solitary activity--the voice in one's head reads all the words and characters, and no one risks hearing any racy material, since it's all enclosed somewhere in the safe confines of the skull.
Aside from this conversation, which I quite enjoyed, the woman sitting across me was sharing her delight about taming the beast of the ticket machine on her own. (Man! Delighting in such simple things--which aren't so simple, when you don't have the gift of sight. The machine is all touch screens. Imagine!) When the controller came around to check tickets, she proudly furnished hers, and the controller explained that she didn't need a ticket, since she was accompanied! Apparently there's some Swiss law or regulation that allows a blind person to ride for free, if his/her companion buys a ticket. He reimbursed her for the ticket on the spot, and she kept exclaiming how charming he was to do so! She took the majority of the refund, but she asked, ever so politely, if it would be a case of corruption if she gave him the 3CHF in change that remained in thanks for his kindness. You know, treat him to a coffee. He sheepishly smiled and accepted the gift. And it was one of those moments that made me happy I'm human. Just people being nice to other people. It happens all the time, on trains, if we can just open our eyes and look.
"On ne voit bien qu'avec le coeur. L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux."
This past Wednesday, a blind gentleman sat down next to me in Geneva, and in Lausanne, a group of blind people and their companions joined him. First of all, I was amazed that they found each other--there are just so MANY cars on a train. I was typing away on my dissertation for a while, but I couldn't help but listen as they chattered about censorship for audio books. I had no idea this existed, but they were very emphatic as they explained the situation: many blind folks listen to books on tape rather than read them in Braille, and a certain books on tape company decided not to record a book that had erotic material in it. Fascinating. Of course, hearing a book and reading it are two very different activities. On one hand, there's a certain level of theater and performance involved; on the other, it's a very intimate, solitary activity--the voice in one's head reads all the words and characters, and no one risks hearing any racy material, since it's all enclosed somewhere in the safe confines of the skull.
Aside from this conversation, which I quite enjoyed, the woman sitting across me was sharing her delight about taming the beast of the ticket machine on her own. (Man! Delighting in such simple things--which aren't so simple, when you don't have the gift of sight. The machine is all touch screens. Imagine!) When the controller came around to check tickets, she proudly furnished hers, and the controller explained that she didn't need a ticket, since she was accompanied! Apparently there's some Swiss law or regulation that allows a blind person to ride for free, if his/her companion buys a ticket. He reimbursed her for the ticket on the spot, and she kept exclaiming how charming he was to do so! She took the majority of the refund, but she asked, ever so politely, if it would be a case of corruption if she gave him the 3CHF in change that remained in thanks for his kindness. You know, treat him to a coffee. He sheepishly smiled and accepted the gift. And it was one of those moments that made me happy I'm human. Just people being nice to other people. It happens all the time, on trains, if we can just open our eyes and look.
"On ne voit bien qu'avec le coeur. L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux."
Live like we're dying...
This past weekend I visited a dear friend from college who was visiting his aunt and uncle in Basel. Unfortunately, the circumstances of his visit were not happy ones. His aunt was recently diagnosed with leukemia, and his family made a special trip to be with her while they can. As we wandered the streets of Basel, the conversation turned to the big question: If we ourselves were pronounced terminally ill, would we do anything different in terms of how we live our lives?
My friend's aunt has decided to continue to live her life as she has been all along. No need to do a million things she hasn't done yet because she has lived her life with no regrets along the way, taking advantage of everything this life has to offer.
The question gave me pause for reflection... Do the people I care about most know it on a daily basis? Am I happy with my profession, and do I feel like what I do matters? Am I living my life fully? As it stands at the moment, I think I am... and that makes me happy. I think I could always do better at the first question, but I try to let my friends and family know I am here and that I love them. And ever since I decided to do the Ph.D. in French, I've been much happier professionally--it's opened many doors for me, introduced me to lifelong friends, and in general, I love being in the classroom and thinking about how French language and literature are relevant and pertinent today.
Today of course, was a bit of a lazy day... the first in a long time. And I think that's important, too. Sometimes we need some time to just mellow out. I don't want to be so busy that I can't enjoy the life I'm living either.
My friend's aunt has decided to continue to live her life as she has been all along. No need to do a million things she hasn't done yet because she has lived her life with no regrets along the way, taking advantage of everything this life has to offer.
The question gave me pause for reflection... Do the people I care about most know it on a daily basis? Am I happy with my profession, and do I feel like what I do matters? Am I living my life fully? As it stands at the moment, I think I am... and that makes me happy. I think I could always do better at the first question, but I try to let my friends and family know I am here and that I love them. And ever since I decided to do the Ph.D. in French, I've been much happier professionally--it's opened many doors for me, introduced me to lifelong friends, and in general, I love being in the classroom and thinking about how French language and literature are relevant and pertinent today.
Today of course, was a bit of a lazy day... the first in a long time. And I think that's important, too. Sometimes we need some time to just mellow out. I don't want to be so busy that I can't enjoy the life I'm living either.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Comfort...
| It may serve as a comfort to us, in all our calamities and afflictions, that he that loses anything and gets wisdom by it is a gainer by the loss. | |
~L. Estrange Today I've been thinking a lot about things that cause discomfort and things that bring solace. Discomfort is often caused by separation from the very things that comfort us most--family, friends, and loved ones who are our rocks in times of trouble, the routines of daily life that are known commodities--whether picking up staple items at the grocery store (yes, thank you, I know exactly what brands i want, and a lip gloss will not cost me $22) or getting a document printed at the university (about 40 minutes for my first print job at the UniGe... now that I've got things down, I think I can do it in 5-10). Small, seemingly mundane things take on new meaning in an unfamiliar context. A few things that have brought me comfort in the past few days? My discovery of Lay's potato chips, peanut butter, and M&Ms available for purchase in Bern (I know--ridiculous items, horribly bad for me, but alas... I'm American. :)) Tea and real conversation with a kindred. Halloween festivities with new friends. The promise of a real, homemade Thanksgiving meal. Skype/gmail conversations with my besties. Sunset over Lac Léman. Then there's the news of the mid-term elections... Russ Feingold didn't get re-elected? The House is now dominated by the Republicans, while the Senate remains controlled by the Democrats? A country divided. Hardly comforting news, this. But maybe there is some comfort in it after all--America is founded on a democracy, and the people have spoken. I don't agree with "the people's" decision, but then again it's their right to vote, and my right to disagree with the outcome. We have a right to express our opinions freely (unlike some countries), and America has sent a message. And those of us who don't agree with the message should take heed. As Estrange says, if we lose and gain wisdom, then our loss is gain. It's change we can believe in. There are still two years to work to correct the damage wrought by previous administrations... and doing that together is the only way to succeed, really. All politics aside. On a personal note, I am continuing to embrace all that Switzerland has to offer, transforming my temporary loss of country and "dépaysement" into wisdom (hopefully! though I'm not planning on growing a white beard in the process) and indescribable benefits. The passage of time will bring me all too soon to another departure... and there will be loss and gain all over, comfort and discomfort when I return. But also the knowledge that yes, I can. :) |
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Retour en arrière... le premier jour où je suis tombée amoureuse du français.
"Ma bouche sera la bouche des malheurs qui n'ont point de bouche, ma voix, la liberté de celles qui s'affaissent au cachot du désespoir."
When I first read Cahier d'un retour au pays natal in Montpellier, France, I knew. This literature stuff really COULD move mountains, change the order of things, express what you can't express on a day-to-day basis. It could be put to good use, serving as a witness to events and experiences that otherwise go unheard.
Last night, I went to my first (of many I hope!) theater performance in Geneva, an adaptation of Cahier performed by the director of my theater workshop.... and it was a return to my initial love story with Francophone literature. I remembered why I do what I do, why I love listening to the French language, reading it and sharing it with others. It was my first night out on the town since my quarantine phase... and it was great to bring together a crew of people I adore in Geneva. On a fait trois soirées en une!, as my friend Bérengère put it (We had three parties in one!). Theater, followed by a drink at a bar, followed by the American Party. And then... we could have made it four with the Usine folks near Plainpalais, but it wasn't much of a party, so we continued along on our journey home. I must say, whizzing around Geneva at night, with all of its twinkling lights, that is pretty magical. :)
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Quarantine
Following up on the Pilgrims piece, while it was an excellent idea--in theory--to walk 25km on the Chemin de Compostelle on Saturday and to run 14.6km the following day with the Run Evasion Rhône, it was not an excellent idea in terms of my health. I have spent the last three days sick and at home. NOT my idea of a good time. I won't go in to the sordid details about my condition (one word: mucus), but let's just say it isn't pretty. I'm really not good with enforced down time. I enjoy relaxing, don't get me wrong, but I hate it when I don't have the choice to do so, and I simply must, as the world goes on outside my windows.
I know, enough of the complaining. It could be a lot worse. Still... That doesn't change the fact that I have had LOTS of time to think about all of the people I miss back home and all the fun events I've missed going on here. And it makes me sad. Even if I sound like a whiney baby, that's the truth. Quarantine sucks.
I know, enough of the complaining. It could be a lot worse. Still... That doesn't change the fact that I have had LOTS of time to think about all of the people I miss back home and all the fun events I've missed going on here. And it makes me sad. Even if I sound like a whiney baby, that's the truth. Quarantine sucks.
They say that life's a journey... Pilgrims on the road in fact.
This past weekend I walked 25km with Olga, the woman who is in charge of the Foyer International pour Jeunes Filles, where I live, and Bérengère, a new friend who also lives in the Foyer, along with 125 or so other pilgrims.
The day began with mass in Moudon--held in a small Protestant church actually that opened their doors to us (quite interesting really--it was a Catholic church pre-Reformation, has been a Protestant church ever since, and they still let us come in). The minister of the church actually gave the sermon, and the main point was "Heureux plutôt ceux qui entendent la parole de Dieux, et qui la gardent!", a statement Jesus declared to underscore the fact that faith has nothing to do with being a birthright or an inheritance. Rather, it's a personal choice that comes from within, rather than without. It's not just a family upbringing, a mindless routine, something I've been forced to do every Sunday. It's a choice... and I'm grateful that it is that.
Following the mass, there was a benediction and a prayer asking for safety for our footsteps... and we all chose to embark. We were asked to spend the first hour in meditation (and that hour flew by!). I thought about and prayed for my grandmother, who had suffered a stroke the day before, and was giving thanks for this adventure I've been granted. Lots of other friends and family were in my thoughts as I was walking... and then the hour was gone, and the walking continued, alternating between quality conversation with newfound friends and comfortable periods of reflection. We were tired at the end of the 25km, and there was a closing service at a church in Lausanne before we got on the train to return to Geneva. More time for walking and reflection would have been a good thing... but my growing cold had steadily worsened over the course of the day, and I knew the next day held 14.6km of running.
The Run Evasion Rhône race was not my best, in terms of time and comfort. But it was a beautiful trail run through the forest and countryside... I'd like to do the same route again, when I'm healthy. As the first leg of the relay though, I couldn't leave my new friends Carey and John in the lurch! I finished the 9 miles and enjoyed the race considerably, given my state! :) And I have the best European race schwag ever... a beach towel that I will surely use, as opposed to an ill-fitting race t-shirt. Proof that I survived!
Both of these journeys called to mind The Servant Song--"We are pilgrims on a journey, we are travelers on the road, we are here to help each other, walk the mile and bear the load."
I'm so grateful to have found kindreds along my way here in Geneva... people with whom I can see this journey through. :)
The day began with mass in Moudon--held in a small Protestant church actually that opened their doors to us (quite interesting really--it was a Catholic church pre-Reformation, has been a Protestant church ever since, and they still let us come in). The minister of the church actually gave the sermon, and the main point was "Heureux plutôt ceux qui entendent la parole de Dieux, et qui la gardent!", a statement Jesus declared to underscore the fact that faith has nothing to do with being a birthright or an inheritance. Rather, it's a personal choice that comes from within, rather than without. It's not just a family upbringing, a mindless routine, something I've been forced to do every Sunday. It's a choice... and I'm grateful that it is that.
Following the mass, there was a benediction and a prayer asking for safety for our footsteps... and we all chose to embark. We were asked to spend the first hour in meditation (and that hour flew by!). I thought about and prayed for my grandmother, who had suffered a stroke the day before, and was giving thanks for this adventure I've been granted. Lots of other friends and family were in my thoughts as I was walking... and then the hour was gone, and the walking continued, alternating between quality conversation with newfound friends and comfortable periods of reflection. We were tired at the end of the 25km, and there was a closing service at a church in Lausanne before we got on the train to return to Geneva. More time for walking and reflection would have been a good thing... but my growing cold had steadily worsened over the course of the day, and I knew the next day held 14.6km of running.
The Run Evasion Rhône race was not my best, in terms of time and comfort. But it was a beautiful trail run through the forest and countryside... I'd like to do the same route again, when I'm healthy. As the first leg of the relay though, I couldn't leave my new friends Carey and John in the lurch! I finished the 9 miles and enjoyed the race considerably, given my state! :) And I have the best European race schwag ever... a beach towel that I will surely use, as opposed to an ill-fitting race t-shirt. Proof that I survived!
Both of these journeys called to mind The Servant Song--"We are pilgrims on a journey, we are travelers on the road, we are here to help each other, walk the mile and bear the load."
I'm so grateful to have found kindreds along my way here in Geneva... people with whom I can see this journey through. :)
Friday, October 8, 2010
Coup de théâtre...
Soooo, today I am on a bit of a high from last night's theater workshop. Three hours of theatrical play--the first hour consisted of warm-ups and introductions. We had to walk around the room as if we were in a cemetery, then pay our respects to the person we had lost. Too morbid you say? Five minutes later, we had to pretend we were on the beaches of Bali, after a night out on the town... We could interact with other folks as much or as little as we wanted. After we were warmed up, dans le bain, si vous voulez, we were put into six groups of five. We were given some sheets of paper with elements that we had to incorporate in our scene. My group had an article about firemen selling a sexy calendar to benefit children with cancer, a sheet with horoscopes, and an ad for a live chat phone number for gays. We had to incorporate at least one element from each sheet of paper. So our scene? Three girls giggling at home, reading their horoscopes... two gay firemen come to the door, acting as if there was a fire... in reality--they were selling their calendar. The scene ended when we decided to go grab a drink somewhere. Not exactly Shakespeare--but THERE WAS NO SCRIPT.
Before we performed, we watched everyone else do so... there were some really good scenes and some not so good ones. But it was amazing to see everyone think on their feet and try to let go of their inhibitions. Improv in English always interested me, but there's something about doing it in French--I just know I'll make progress in the language this way, even if I make a fool of myself in the process. And since there's already the risk of making a fool of myself linguistically, I think I'll feel a bit freer to do so when it comes to the acting part as well.
So--the best part: after we performed the director says... Alright! I have found my heroine for the next game we're going to play, a large group improvisation. And he was talking about ME. He says to me, You're going to play the role of Doris Leuthard (WHO? I thought to myself... no idea who that is). He could tell I had no idea, and said, don't worry, not important, here's who she is: the president of the German part of Switzerland. Anyway, the scenario was this: I was coming to give a speech to a crowd of people who were pissed off about legislation passed on insurance/unemployment benefits. Journalists were there to pose questions, as well as angry citizens. I had to calm them down, and say nothing that might set them off... although inevitably, I would-someone would throw a pie at me, and my security guards would have to take me away.
Sure! No problem. A cake walk. :) Having NO background on this stuff, it was hard to improvise my way through it, but I did--I tried to be a regal presidential type, turning the crowd's questions back on them, just as any good politician would. Not an Oscar-worthy performance, but not a completely failed attempt either. The worst part? When I'm nervous, my accent and grammar kinda go down the tubes. Hopefully doing this more often will make those problems become less pronounced. I'm definitely thinking I will learn some new vocabulary.
The challenging part--LOTS of people want to participate (around 35?), and only 20 people were admitted. I had enjoyed myself so much, and I knew I was on the waiting list. After the workshop, I learned that the director is doing a performance of Cahier d'un retour au pays natal in the next two weeks (for those of you who don't know, that is one of my all-time favorite books by Aimé Césaire... I just knew I was in the right place!). So, when I got home, I wrote the director--not to harass him about letting me in, but just to say how much I really enjoyed it, and I hoped a spot might come open for me. He wrote back and said--I was thinking about you, you're in. You were great. See you next week. :) YAAAAAAAY! Oh dear... that means I have to do this again.... MERDE! (in both senses of the word... that's what you say in French in theater--it's like "Break a leg!").
Before we performed, we watched everyone else do so... there were some really good scenes and some not so good ones. But it was amazing to see everyone think on their feet and try to let go of their inhibitions. Improv in English always interested me, but there's something about doing it in French--I just know I'll make progress in the language this way, even if I make a fool of myself in the process. And since there's already the risk of making a fool of myself linguistically, I think I'll feel a bit freer to do so when it comes to the acting part as well.
So--the best part: after we performed the director says... Alright! I have found my heroine for the next game we're going to play, a large group improvisation. And he was talking about ME. He says to me, You're going to play the role of Doris Leuthard (WHO? I thought to myself... no idea who that is). He could tell I had no idea, and said, don't worry, not important, here's who she is: the president of the German part of Switzerland. Anyway, the scenario was this: I was coming to give a speech to a crowd of people who were pissed off about legislation passed on insurance/unemployment benefits. Journalists were there to pose questions, as well as angry citizens. I had to calm them down, and say nothing that might set them off... although inevitably, I would-someone would throw a pie at me, and my security guards would have to take me away.
Sure! No problem. A cake walk. :) Having NO background on this stuff, it was hard to improvise my way through it, but I did--I tried to be a regal presidential type, turning the crowd's questions back on them, just as any good politician would. Not an Oscar-worthy performance, but not a completely failed attempt either. The worst part? When I'm nervous, my accent and grammar kinda go down the tubes. Hopefully doing this more often will make those problems become less pronounced. I'm definitely thinking I will learn some new vocabulary.
The challenging part--LOTS of people want to participate (around 35?), and only 20 people were admitted. I had enjoyed myself so much, and I knew I was on the waiting list. After the workshop, I learned that the director is doing a performance of Cahier d'un retour au pays natal in the next two weeks (for those of you who don't know, that is one of my all-time favorite books by Aimé Césaire... I just knew I was in the right place!). So, when I got home, I wrote the director--not to harass him about letting me in, but just to say how much I really enjoyed it, and I hoped a spot might come open for me. He wrote back and said--I was thinking about you, you're in. You were great. See you next week. :) YAAAAAAAY! Oh dear... that means I have to do this again.... MERDE! (in both senses of the word... that's what you say in French in theater--it's like "Break a leg!").
Monday, October 4, 2010
Justifying language study's raison d'être
Today has been a great day... I've navigated the aisles of the Coop grocery store in French, listened to the news on TF1, attended a trauma theory class in English, and worked on my Arabic homework via the intermediary of French. To say nothing of discovering how to say "lint," since I failed to remove it from the lint trap and got it all over my clothes as I was removing them from the dryer (I'll need to know how to explain myself as I hit the streets covered in "des peluches").
All was going well, and then I received an email about the deactivation of the French, Italian and Russian programs at SUNY-Albany.
Needless to say, this is mildly depressing news as I embark on my second to last year of my French Ph.D. program. Seven fewer tenure-track positions to fill; seven experienced, accomplished professors back on the market. If a huge university system like SUNY can disband its foreign language programs (except for Spanish), then any university can. My reaction? Anger. Disbelief. Disappointment. For such a forward-thinking nation, our university education system--especially if it gets rid of foreign language programs--is slowly losing its mettle on the world stage. I'm currently studying in Geneva, Switzerland where everyone is raised speaking at least two, if not three languages, or more! Of the foreign students I've met from Austria, Canada, Finland, France, the Czech Republic... all of them speak more than one language, and they do it WELL. They haven't taken a language for only three years and are now purporting to be fluent... they actually are. Denying future American students the opportunity to do the same will only put them at a disadvantage on the world market. We're already behind linguistically as it is, and decisions like this will only make the situation worse, fueling the attitude that English is more than enough, especially if it is US running the proverbial show (double entendre intended--did you catch it? See? Language play!).
What has language study given me? Another perspective on how to perceive the world (make that three!). An openness to other ways of thinking. An appreciation for words and meaning. A capacity to communicate and express myself through more than one media. The ability to put people at ease when they do not speak English as well as their own native tongue. An introduction to literature in the language it was composed in (what, you mean The Count of Monte Cristo wasn't written in English?). Jobs that I am passionate about--both teaching and translation. In short, language study has dramatically shaped who I am--for the better. Moving in the direction of professional degrees only simply isn't productive! And this is not to say that I want to continue in the way of the old guard, writing articles that will be relegated to a dusty shelf and producing graduate student progeny that will struggle to make ends meet as adjuncts. I want to become like some of my most admired professors and colleagues who are doing applied humanities work, putting language to functional use in society, and inspiring students on a daily basis. There is definitely room for improvement and innovation in the humanities today, but deactivation will not allow us to do either.
All was going well, and then I received an email about the deactivation of the French, Italian and Russian programs at SUNY-Albany.
Needless to say, this is mildly depressing news as I embark on my second to last year of my French Ph.D. program. Seven fewer tenure-track positions to fill; seven experienced, accomplished professors back on the market. If a huge university system like SUNY can disband its foreign language programs (except for Spanish), then any university can. My reaction? Anger. Disbelief. Disappointment. For such a forward-thinking nation, our university education system--especially if it gets rid of foreign language programs--is slowly losing its mettle on the world stage. I'm currently studying in Geneva, Switzerland where everyone is raised speaking at least two, if not three languages, or more! Of the foreign students I've met from Austria, Canada, Finland, France, the Czech Republic... all of them speak more than one language, and they do it WELL. They haven't taken a language for only three years and are now purporting to be fluent... they actually are. Denying future American students the opportunity to do the same will only put them at a disadvantage on the world market. We're already behind linguistically as it is, and decisions like this will only make the situation worse, fueling the attitude that English is more than enough, especially if it is US running the proverbial show (double entendre intended--did you catch it? See? Language play!).
What has language study given me? Another perspective on how to perceive the world (make that three!). An openness to other ways of thinking. An appreciation for words and meaning. A capacity to communicate and express myself through more than one media. The ability to put people at ease when they do not speak English as well as their own native tongue. An introduction to literature in the language it was composed in (what, you mean The Count of Monte Cristo wasn't written in English?). Jobs that I am passionate about--both teaching and translation. In short, language study has dramatically shaped who I am--for the better. Moving in the direction of professional degrees only simply isn't productive! And this is not to say that I want to continue in the way of the old guard, writing articles that will be relegated to a dusty shelf and producing graduate student progeny that will struggle to make ends meet as adjuncts. I want to become like some of my most admired professors and colleagues who are doing applied humanities work, putting language to functional use in society, and inspiring students on a daily basis. There is definitely room for improvement and innovation in the humanities today, but deactivation will not allow us to do either.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
LOST... like the TV show. Only not at all.
I've been thinking a lot recently about the whole concept of being lost. Here in Geneva, I have found myself lost on more than one occasion. You know the feeling... you look around, nothing looks familiar, your pulse starts racing, and you revert back to those moments in your childhood when you were sure you could handle venturing away from your parents in the department store and then suddenly they are nowhere to be found? Even with map in hand, I sometimes can't figure out which way is north. I will walk along for a bit, then realize I am going in the completely wrong direction. And so it goes...
But then I got to thinking about it some more... and in the grand scheme of things, can I ever TRULY be lost? And I mean this even without the help of my iPhone--which I unfortunately don't have here. The fact is--I know exactly where I am. I'm in Geneva. In Switzerland. In Europe. On the planet Earth. In the universe. So even if I may not quite know all the landmarks yet or have trouble knowing which way is north, I know I'll eventually find my way. Comforting.
All of this reminds me of Le Renard in Le Petit Prince... Le Renard explains to Le Petit Prince that he needs to be tamed if they are to be friends, that in this way they will become unique to each other:
- Qui es-tu ? dit le petit prince. Tu es bien joli...
- Je suis un renard, dit le renard.
- Viens jouer avec moi, lui proposa le petit prince. Je suis tellement triste...
- Je ne puis pas jouer avec toi, dit le renard. Je ne suis pas apprivoisé.
- Ah! pardon, fit le petit prince.
Mais, après réflexion, il ajouta:
- Qu'est-ce que signifie "apprivoiser" ?
- Tu n'es pas d'ici, dit le renard, que cherches-tu ?
- Je cherche les hommes, dit le petit prince. Qu'est-ce que signifie "apprivoiser" ?
- Les hommes, dit le renard, ils ont des fusils et ils chassent. C'est bien gênant ! Ils élèvent aussi des poules. C'est leur seul intérêt. Tu cherches des poules ?
- Non, dit le petit prince. Je cherche des amis. Qu'est-ce que signifie "apprivoiser" ?
- C'est une chose trop oubliée, dit le renard. Ça signifie "créer des liens..."
- Créer des liens ?
- Bien sûr, dit le renard. Tu n'es encore pour moi qu'un petit garçon tout semblable à cent mille petits garçons. Et je n'ai pas besoin de toi. Et tu n'as pas besoin de moi non plus. Je ne suis pour toi qu'un renard semblable à cent mille renards. Mais, si tu m'apprivoises, nous aurons besoin l'un de l'autre. Tu seras pour moi unique au monde. Je serai pour toi unique au monde...
Instead of applying these words to a person, I'm thinking of how they apply to place. Two weeks ago, this city meant nothing to me. The jet d'eau was just a fountain, the streets all looked the same, nothing about this place was special. But little by little, as I spend more and more time here, I will tame the city and the city will tame me. It will be imbued with meaning, unique, as no other city can be. I certainly won't be getting lost any more by the end of my ten months here (I hope :)). And I'll recall those first moments of fear.... and smile. As Le Renard explained his greatest secret, "On ne voit bien qu'avec le coeur. L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux." So far I've only been looking with my eyes... Here's to "l'apprivoisement" and the many steps that have to take place in between in order to see rightly.
But then I got to thinking about it some more... and in the grand scheme of things, can I ever TRULY be lost? And I mean this even without the help of my iPhone--which I unfortunately don't have here. The fact is--I know exactly where I am. I'm in Geneva. In Switzerland. In Europe. On the planet Earth. In the universe. So even if I may not quite know all the landmarks yet or have trouble knowing which way is north, I know I'll eventually find my way. Comforting.
All of this reminds me of Le Renard in Le Petit Prince... Le Renard explains to Le Petit Prince that he needs to be tamed if they are to be friends, that in this way they will become unique to each other:
- Qui es-tu ? dit le petit prince. Tu es bien joli...
- Je suis un renard, dit le renard.
- Viens jouer avec moi, lui proposa le petit prince. Je suis tellement triste...
- Je ne puis pas jouer avec toi, dit le renard. Je ne suis pas apprivoisé.
- Ah! pardon, fit le petit prince.
Mais, après réflexion, il ajouta:
- Qu'est-ce que signifie "apprivoiser" ?
- Tu n'es pas d'ici, dit le renard, que cherches-tu ?
- Je cherche les hommes, dit le petit prince. Qu'est-ce que signifie "apprivoiser" ?
- Les hommes, dit le renard, ils ont des fusils et ils chassent. C'est bien gênant ! Ils élèvent aussi des poules. C'est leur seul intérêt. Tu cherches des poules ?
- Non, dit le petit prince. Je cherche des amis. Qu'est-ce que signifie "apprivoiser" ?
- C'est une chose trop oubliée, dit le renard. Ça signifie "créer des liens..."
- Créer des liens ?
- Bien sûr, dit le renard. Tu n'es encore pour moi qu'un petit garçon tout semblable à cent mille petits garçons. Et je n'ai pas besoin de toi. Et tu n'as pas besoin de moi non plus. Je ne suis pour toi qu'un renard semblable à cent mille renards. Mais, si tu m'apprivoises, nous aurons besoin l'un de l'autre. Tu seras pour moi unique au monde. Je serai pour toi unique au monde...
Instead of applying these words to a person, I'm thinking of how they apply to place. Two weeks ago, this city meant nothing to me. The jet d'eau was just a fountain, the streets all looked the same, nothing about this place was special. But little by little, as I spend more and more time here, I will tame the city and the city will tame me. It will be imbued with meaning, unique, as no other city can be. I certainly won't be getting lost any more by the end of my ten months here (I hope :)). And I'll recall those first moments of fear.... and smile. As Le Renard explained his greatest secret, "On ne voit bien qu'avec le coeur. L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux." So far I've only been looking with my eyes... Here's to "l'apprivoisement" and the many steps that have to take place in between in order to see rightly.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Pasta, Pinot Noir, Pensées... Patience.
Following my delicious dinner of pasta and pinot noir, I have some time to record my thoughts about the past couple of days. I forgot just how much of a whirlwind it is to get settled into a new home for a year! Thursday was a bit of a recovery day. I did a few errands--got a few grocery/kitchen items, got my demi-tarif card for the train, and my first snafu of the trip occurred. My debit card got refused at the train station, so I went to an ATM machine, thinking it must have been an error in reading the card. And then... THE MACHINE ATE MY CARD. SWALLOWED IT WHOLE, WITH NO HOPE OF RETURNING IT. Pas de panique, I went home, called the UW Credit Union from my computer and sorted the whole thing out (even though I had put a travel alert on my card, due to a large sum, they had put a hold on my account! arrrrrgh! the replacement card should be arriving in the next week). A bit of a bummer, but I knew I would get my fellowship in cash the next day, so not a huge deal.
On the whole though, I was having a bit of a sad and lonely day until I went to a practice for the Cercle Choral de Genève, a group of about 80 singers who remind me of my choir back at home--welcoming, a bit silly, not afraid to use a finger to indicate where the pitch should be on an imaginary scale suspended in the air. :) The walk there took about 45 minutes (since I got semi-lost twice--more on the whole concept of being lost later!). When I arrived they knew exactly who I was, were eager to try pronouncing my name à l'américaine (I LOVE hearing my name pronounced by French speakers--there's something about those long vowels that proposes a challenge!), and directed me immediately to the Alto section. This choir is different from the one back home in that they memorize their songs. This definitely helps with working on pitch! We practiced a few other songs, and then we took a break. During the pause, the Présidente of the Chorale introduced the two new members: me and a woman named Sandrine. I couldn't stop smiling the whole time, and I thought of my first choir practice with Jen, three years ago. I kinda had the same feeling. These are good people :) The practice ended with a little mingling over wine and snacks, and I really enjoyed speaking French with them all. The only difficult thing is that the Chorale meets 30 minutes away from where I live! The Director was gracious enough to drive me home, but I need to master the public transportation options to get there myself. Even with public transport, it will probably take around 30 minutes to get there. I need to decide if it is worth the commute and try a few other groups closer to where I live, but I think it just might be worth it.
Today was the séance d'accueil, or orientation, for international students who are here as part of a departmental exchange. After being bombarded with information (and discovering I had a 2pm meeting that I did not know about!), we were served coffee and croissants and spent time introducing ourselves to one another. The majority of students I met were there as part of the ERASMUS program--second or third-year university students, which makes me ancient by comparison. :) I did meet a girl from Johns Hopkins University who is a doctoral student, and we enjoyed chatting about our research. All of these introductions made me think back to my first year abroad--how much I absolutely loved it and how far I've come since then... I'm a lot less frightened by these types of situations now, a lot less concerned about my French (even with all its rusty edges), a lot less reticent to ask questions when I need to! After this first meeting, I had to get the first installment of my fellowship--in cold hard cash. Admittedly, I felt a bit like a baller walking around town with a 1'000 CHF note. And then some. Not a practice I plan on cultivating.
With that administrative detail taken care of, I went back to Uni Mail and ran into my new American buddy, Matt. We had lunch at a great pizza place and agreed that we were both a bit overwhelmed. Then it was on to the next orientation meeting for the Faculté des lettres, where we met our advisor and talked about course planning. Just before the meeting, I crossed paths with Patrick Chappuis--pretty much the only person I knew prior to getting here. It was a complete and utter coincidence. The world is so SMALL! And he's not even at the university anymore! He just happened to be there taking his students to see the university. Amazing.
As for the orientation meeting, about five minutes in and after some brief introductory comments, Professeur Tinguely told me I was free to leave, since the remaining information was not really pertinent for me. I was the only one who got dismissed. Everyone else is doing a certificat. I still have the option to take courses--and I plan to! "Langage des médias (arabe)," a course I've ALWAYS wanted to take and that isn't offered at the UW, and a course for exchange students called "Activité théâtrale: du texte au spectacle" where we'll be reading theater and going to see productions in town. Those classes both meet only once a week, and the rest of the time will be dedicated purely to the dissertation. Sunday will DEFINITELY be a writing day, too, since most everything is closed. My goal is to write a chapter over the course of three months, so by the time I'm done here--three chapters down, only the introduction and conclusion to go!
Freed from the meeting, I went to a stationery store bought a $9.00 notebook (yes, you read that right! but I need a notebook that has a larger surface area than an iPod!). They didn't have change for a 1000 franc bill, so I proceeded promptly to La Poste and opened my bank account. And then went back for the notebook. (Just kidding. Fortunately, I had exactly the right amount of coins to pay for the notebook.) The last errand of the day was getting my monthly bus pass and more passport photos. Next week, I'll master the TPG.
The biggest lesson from all of these things? Patience. There are often more steps than anticipated to accomplish a task. Les commencements sont toujours difficiles. I've been here less than a week, and I'm already getting a better feel for the city. The only really major errand left is the permis de séjour, which I'll take care of on Monday. Classes and writing begin in full effect on October 1st. Practicing patience until then... with the process and with myself as I get acclimated. :)
On the whole though, I was having a bit of a sad and lonely day until I went to a practice for the Cercle Choral de Genève, a group of about 80 singers who remind me of my choir back at home--welcoming, a bit silly, not afraid to use a finger to indicate where the pitch should be on an imaginary scale suspended in the air. :) The walk there took about 45 minutes (since I got semi-lost twice--more on the whole concept of being lost later!). When I arrived they knew exactly who I was, were eager to try pronouncing my name à l'américaine (I LOVE hearing my name pronounced by French speakers--there's something about those long vowels that proposes a challenge!), and directed me immediately to the Alto section. This choir is different from the one back home in that they memorize their songs. This definitely helps with working on pitch! We practiced a few other songs, and then we took a break. During the pause, the Présidente of the Chorale introduced the two new members: me and a woman named Sandrine. I couldn't stop smiling the whole time, and I thought of my first choir practice with Jen, three years ago. I kinda had the same feeling. These are good people :) The practice ended with a little mingling over wine and snacks, and I really enjoyed speaking French with them all. The only difficult thing is that the Chorale meets 30 minutes away from where I live! The Director was gracious enough to drive me home, but I need to master the public transportation options to get there myself. Even with public transport, it will probably take around 30 minutes to get there. I need to decide if it is worth the commute and try a few other groups closer to where I live, but I think it just might be worth it.
Today was the séance d'accueil, or orientation, for international students who are here as part of a departmental exchange. After being bombarded with information (and discovering I had a 2pm meeting that I did not know about!), we were served coffee and croissants and spent time introducing ourselves to one another. The majority of students I met were there as part of the ERASMUS program--second or third-year university students, which makes me ancient by comparison. :) I did meet a girl from Johns Hopkins University who is a doctoral student, and we enjoyed chatting about our research. All of these introductions made me think back to my first year abroad--how much I absolutely loved it and how far I've come since then... I'm a lot less frightened by these types of situations now, a lot less concerned about my French (even with all its rusty edges), a lot less reticent to ask questions when I need to! After this first meeting, I had to get the first installment of my fellowship--in cold hard cash. Admittedly, I felt a bit like a baller walking around town with a 1'000 CHF note. And then some. Not a practice I plan on cultivating.
With that administrative detail taken care of, I went back to Uni Mail and ran into my new American buddy, Matt. We had lunch at a great pizza place and agreed that we were both a bit overwhelmed. Then it was on to the next orientation meeting for the Faculté des lettres, where we met our advisor and talked about course planning. Just before the meeting, I crossed paths with Patrick Chappuis--pretty much the only person I knew prior to getting here. It was a complete and utter coincidence. The world is so SMALL! And he's not even at the university anymore! He just happened to be there taking his students to see the university. Amazing.
As for the orientation meeting, about five minutes in and after some brief introductory comments, Professeur Tinguely told me I was free to leave, since the remaining information was not really pertinent for me. I was the only one who got dismissed. Everyone else is doing a certificat. I still have the option to take courses--and I plan to! "Langage des médias (arabe)," a course I've ALWAYS wanted to take and that isn't offered at the UW, and a course for exchange students called "Activité théâtrale: du texte au spectacle" where we'll be reading theater and going to see productions in town. Those classes both meet only once a week, and the rest of the time will be dedicated purely to the dissertation. Sunday will DEFINITELY be a writing day, too, since most everything is closed. My goal is to write a chapter over the course of three months, so by the time I'm done here--three chapters down, only the introduction and conclusion to go!
Freed from the meeting, I went to a stationery store bought a $9.00 notebook (yes, you read that right! but I need a notebook that has a larger surface area than an iPod!). They didn't have change for a 1000 franc bill, so I proceeded promptly to La Poste and opened my bank account. And then went back for the notebook. (Just kidding. Fortunately, I had exactly the right amount of coins to pay for the notebook.) The last errand of the day was getting my monthly bus pass and more passport photos. Next week, I'll master the TPG.
The biggest lesson from all of these things? Patience. There are often more steps than anticipated to accomplish a task. Les commencements sont toujours difficiles. I've been here less than a week, and I'm already getting a better feel for the city. The only really major errand left is the permis de séjour, which I'll take care of on Monday. Classes and writing begin in full effect on October 1st. Practicing patience until then... with the process and with myself as I get acclimated. :)
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Bien arrivée... come what may!
I have been in Geneva for less than 48 hours, and I am happy to report that the flight over went without incident. Letters to Juliet and L'Arnacoeur were the two in-flight movies I enjoyed (I love Romain Duris!), and my neighbor's dad offered me some sour Skittles and Starbust to further my enjoyment of the flight. I got to London, where I awaited my next flight to Geneva, nervous about having to either get an expensive taxi or navigate the train system and walk with my copious amounts of luggage to my new home. The decision was made for me when I found out that only one suitcase had made it on the plane (the heavier one!). This was actually great news because 1) I had dealt with lost luggage before in France, so no big deal, I was a seasoned veteran on that, and 2) This helped me make my decision about how to get to the Foyer International pour Jeunes Filles! With about 40 pounds less to weigh me down, I found the train station and then hauled my luggage to my quintessential Swiss apartment (aside from the no male visitors thing!). My studio is AWESOME--kitchenette, bathroom, plenty of closet space, a sweet desk (which I anticipate will inspire some great dissertation writing), a balcony (which I anticipate will inspire some great dissertation writing distraction) and a bed that can sleep all 5'9" of me. :) Pictures for your viewing pleasure are below.
The woman who runs the residence has been such a huge help--she advised me on where to eat for cheap, gave me directions to the closest SwissCom to get my new cell phone, and even loaned me a hairdryer for the year--no purchase necessary! :) Aside from that, she's been very motherly, in a good way, and I'm looking forward to meeting the other girls who live here on Friday for our first group meeting.
My French is rusty, but the good news is I think I'll get along just fine. UniGe has cours d'appui for French, and I intend to take one to improve my spoken expression. The first gentleman I spoke to at the cell phone store couldn't place my accent, and the second one I spoke to at a different cell phone store asked me if I had lived in France before, since I couldn't have simply "just arrived" given how well I spoke. You can guess which gentleman got my business. :)
Other snafus and cultural frustrations?
In spite of my great French at SwissCom, when I installed the SIM card (not something they do for you here, like they do in the U.S.!), it was set to the German language. After some coaching with my good friends AMA who speaks German and Carina who IS German, I fumbled through and found the SIM language setting.
I went to the grocery store, located all the items I needed (GREAT! NOT TOO EXPENSIVE!) and promptly felt like an imbecile when the cashier told me that I needed to weigh the produce. :) She was very understanding and even ran over to help me as I muddled through. The other customers in the check-out line took it well, too. The guy behind me must have been American because he said, "Don't worry, it happens to everybody." Whew. At least I didn't start a riot.
I also checked out the bank to see about opening an account, but alas--no can do, until I have my student ID from the university. Unfortunately, I won't get that until our séance d'accueil on Friday. Until then, I'm working on locating a bike to get around town and exploring the town.
This evening I tried out the Geneva Runners group--I met a few people, but didn't go for the whole run, preferring instead to return and meander through (read: got a little lost) the jardin botanique. I'll need to go on a few solo runs before I'm up to their pace.
All in all, a pretty good day, given it's only Day Two. I can't believe I'm here and this is the life I'm living! Lots of changes and new things to come in the next few weeks! And I'll continue to update you all here.
The woman who runs the residence has been such a huge help--she advised me on where to eat for cheap, gave me directions to the closest SwissCom to get my new cell phone, and even loaned me a hairdryer for the year--no purchase necessary! :) Aside from that, she's been very motherly, in a good way, and I'm looking forward to meeting the other girls who live here on Friday for our first group meeting.
My French is rusty, but the good news is I think I'll get along just fine. UniGe has cours d'appui for French, and I intend to take one to improve my spoken expression. The first gentleman I spoke to at the cell phone store couldn't place my accent, and the second one I spoke to at a different cell phone store asked me if I had lived in France before, since I couldn't have simply "just arrived" given how well I spoke. You can guess which gentleman got my business. :)
Other snafus and cultural frustrations?
In spite of my great French at SwissCom, when I installed the SIM card (not something they do for you here, like they do in the U.S.!), it was set to the German language. After some coaching with my good friends AMA who speaks German and Carina who IS German, I fumbled through and found the SIM language setting.
I went to the grocery store, located all the items I needed (GREAT! NOT TOO EXPENSIVE!) and promptly felt like an imbecile when the cashier told me that I needed to weigh the produce. :) She was very understanding and even ran over to help me as I muddled through. The other customers in the check-out line took it well, too. The guy behind me must have been American because he said, "Don't worry, it happens to everybody." Whew. At least I didn't start a riot.
I also checked out the bank to see about opening an account, but alas--no can do, until I have my student ID from the university. Unfortunately, I won't get that until our séance d'accueil on Friday. Until then, I'm working on locating a bike to get around town and exploring the town.
This evening I tried out the Geneva Runners group--I met a few people, but didn't go for the whole run, preferring instead to return and meander through (read: got a little lost) the jardin botanique. I'll need to go on a few solo runs before I'm up to their pace.
All in all, a pretty good day, given it's only Day Two. I can't believe I'm here and this is the life I'm living! Lots of changes and new things to come in the next few weeks! And I'll continue to update you all here.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Work vs. Play... Oisiveté à éviter?
So this past week or so my thoughts have turned to the idea of leisure. How much work is the appropriate amount to be happy? How much leisure is enough to drive you to want to work? How does this vary from individual to individual, from person to person?
Take myself for instance... I do my most productive work when I'm busy, busy, busy. Or, even if my work isn't at it's best, I ENJOY feeling busy, since it gives me a sense of purpose. I start to feel restless if I'm idling around the house for too long, maybe because I sometimes (though more recently less so!) define myself in terms of what I DO (and if I'm idling around the house, I'm doing NOTHING, ergo, I AM nothing). In Madison, what I did was very concrete--I worked at the FBI office at least 20 hours a week, I volunteered at Domestic Abuse Intervention Services, I worked events at L'Etoile, and I served and bartended at Bellini. Frisbee Monday-Thursday rounded out the list (with occasional misses for things like Concerts on the Square or a birthday festa), or yoga/running/dancing if frisbee wasn't in season. Oh, and throw in working on my dissertation in there somewhere (right now, that is the work I am AVOIDING).
Don't get me wrong--I also enjoy taking naps and hitting the beach (or maybe both at the same time, since I am a multi-tasker :)), but too much of anything is a bad thing. Too much work? Makes Mary a dull girl. Too much play? Makes Mary a bore. This translates to my academic ideology as well--the idea of reading French literature for the rest of my life and writing academic articles about it that will simply gather dust in some journal on a back shelf in the library, well, strikes me as my anti-life-dream realized. I like my academic work to be productive and serve some kind of purpose, too. French literature does have its place in the world--it opens minds, introduces people to new forms of clarity in language, it expresses things in ways that English or other languages cannot--and it's just beautiful. Its functionality isn't just in its beauty though... Jonah Lehrer talks about how Proust's literature anticipated major leaps in neuroscience and the study of memory. It can unite, divide, provoke, or bore (though RARELY, as a Francophile :)).
The thing is, all of those work obligations are also fun for me (at least most of the time). Maybe the key is to find the kind of job that drives you to work, fulfills your passion. That's why I came to graduate school in the first place. Two quotes heavily influenced my decision and choice of field:
1. Gil Bailie, "Ask yourself what makes you come alive, and go do that, because what the world needs is more people who have come alive."
Things that make me come alive? Foreign languages, especially French; meeting new people; helping others...
2. Paolo Coelho, "You'll never be able to escape from your heart. So it's best to listen to what it has to say."
A nagging sensation haunted me a lot when I was working at Kirkland and Ellis.... what was I DOING there? I slogged through the LSAT and hated every minute of preparation. That didn't bode well for law school. The brightest days there were when I was correcting translations from an outside firm. And then--I went to a concert by Padam at the French Embassy. Rien à voir avec le travail des études supérieures... But the next day, when I was headed in to the office to put in some (non-)quality OT, and the band just happened to descend at my metro stop as I was getting on? I just didn't think that was coincidence. And I couldn't be happier with my decision... I'm not sure if my ultimate stop on the job train will be a professorship in a university (a lot depends on the job market and how picky I am geographically), but these past five years (and I'm sure the remaining year and a half to come!) have been thoroughly enjoyable. I like what I do! And that in itself is something...
The past two weeks at home have been about relaxing as much as possible before dissertation writing goes in to overdrive! The funny thing is... I needed to take on a side translation job while I was here, or I would have gone crazy. Fortunately, I have not! And have even begun to enjoy the vacation. Nine days left to squeeze out every ounce of leisure. :)
So enough about me, how about some of those questions about OTHER people and cultures? That will come in the next post.
Take myself for instance... I do my most productive work when I'm busy, busy, busy. Or, even if my work isn't at it's best, I ENJOY feeling busy, since it gives me a sense of purpose. I start to feel restless if I'm idling around the house for too long, maybe because I sometimes (though more recently less so!) define myself in terms of what I DO (and if I'm idling around the house, I'm doing NOTHING, ergo, I AM nothing). In Madison, what I did was very concrete--I worked at the FBI office at least 20 hours a week, I volunteered at Domestic Abuse Intervention Services, I worked events at L'Etoile, and I served and bartended at Bellini. Frisbee Monday-Thursday rounded out the list (with occasional misses for things like Concerts on the Square or a birthday festa), or yoga/running/dancing if frisbee wasn't in season. Oh, and throw in working on my dissertation in there somewhere (right now, that is the work I am AVOIDING).
Don't get me wrong--I also enjoy taking naps and hitting the beach (or maybe both at the same time, since I am a multi-tasker :)), but too much of anything is a bad thing. Too much work? Makes Mary a dull girl. Too much play? Makes Mary a bore. This translates to my academic ideology as well--the idea of reading French literature for the rest of my life and writing academic articles about it that will simply gather dust in some journal on a back shelf in the library, well, strikes me as my anti-life-dream realized. I like my academic work to be productive and serve some kind of purpose, too. French literature does have its place in the world--it opens minds, introduces people to new forms of clarity in language, it expresses things in ways that English or other languages cannot--and it's just beautiful. Its functionality isn't just in its beauty though... Jonah Lehrer talks about how Proust's literature anticipated major leaps in neuroscience and the study of memory. It can unite, divide, provoke, or bore (though RARELY, as a Francophile :)).
The thing is, all of those work obligations are also fun for me (at least most of the time). Maybe the key is to find the kind of job that drives you to work, fulfills your passion. That's why I came to graduate school in the first place. Two quotes heavily influenced my decision and choice of field:
1. Gil Bailie, "Ask yourself what makes you come alive, and go do that, because what the world needs is more people who have come alive."
Things that make me come alive? Foreign languages, especially French; meeting new people; helping others...
2. Paolo Coelho, "You'll never be able to escape from your heart. So it's best to listen to what it has to say."
A nagging sensation haunted me a lot when I was working at Kirkland and Ellis.... what was I DOING there? I slogged through the LSAT and hated every minute of preparation. That didn't bode well for law school. The brightest days there were when I was correcting translations from an outside firm. And then--I went to a concert by Padam at the French Embassy. Rien à voir avec le travail des études supérieures... But the next day, when I was headed in to the office to put in some (non-)quality OT, and the band just happened to descend at my metro stop as I was getting on? I just didn't think that was coincidence. And I couldn't be happier with my decision... I'm not sure if my ultimate stop on the job train will be a professorship in a university (a lot depends on the job market and how picky I am geographically), but these past five years (and I'm sure the remaining year and a half to come!) have been thoroughly enjoyable. I like what I do! And that in itself is something...
The past two weeks at home have been about relaxing as much as possible before dissertation writing goes in to overdrive! The funny thing is... I needed to take on a side translation job while I was here, or I would have gone crazy. Fortunately, I have not! And have even begun to enjoy the vacation. Nine days left to squeeze out every ounce of leisure. :)
So enough about me, how about some of those questions about OTHER people and cultures? That will come in the next post.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Inclinations...
Samuel Johnson wrote, “What we read with inclination makes a much stronger impression. If we read without inclination, half the mind is employed in fixing the attention; so there is but one half to be employed on what we read.”
This summer, I'm feeling more inclined to read neuroscience/non-fiction writers like Jonah Lehrer and Malcolm Gladwell than works in French. This is making me wonder about my life choices--comes with the territory I think when you're at the point of writing the dissertation, there's no class structure or professor telling me what I SHOULD read, I'm not teaching at the moment, so I'm not looking up interesting new snippets to inspire my students (and me! for that matter), and I'm contemplating whether or not this whole Ph.D. in French is ultimately going to land me a job at a university, given the tight academic job market. And besides, do I want to end up teaching in Wichita?
Cynical? Maybe. But the coming year in Geneva will help remind me of my original inclinations--French language/literature and "brassage culturel"--these are the things that move me, inspire me. And hopefully, it will help me get through this quagmire of doubt that is only natural as you're on the verge of realizing one of your life dreams. Once I finish and obtain the Ph.D., who knows where that dream may take me. Perhaps in a completely different direction. Perhaps to the perfect job in Witchita! :) On verra. And in the meantime, I'll read--with inclination AND without, if it means I will finish.
This summer, I'm feeling more inclined to read neuroscience/non-fiction writers like Jonah Lehrer and Malcolm Gladwell than works in French. This is making me wonder about my life choices--comes with the territory I think when you're at the point of writing the dissertation, there's no class structure or professor telling me what I SHOULD read, I'm not teaching at the moment, so I'm not looking up interesting new snippets to inspire my students (and me! for that matter), and I'm contemplating whether or not this whole Ph.D. in French is ultimately going to land me a job at a university, given the tight academic job market. And besides, do I want to end up teaching in Wichita?
Cynical? Maybe. But the coming year in Geneva will help remind me of my original inclinations--French language/literature and "brassage culturel"--these are the things that move me, inspire me. And hopefully, it will help me get through this quagmire of doubt that is only natural as you're on the verge of realizing one of your life dreams. Once I finish and obtain the Ph.D., who knows where that dream may take me. Perhaps in a completely different direction. Perhaps to the perfect job in Witchita! :) On verra. And in the meantime, I'll read--with inclination AND without, if it means I will finish.
Housing: To Worry or Not to Worry
The good news: I have received my visa! I will have no trouble staying in the country legally for 10 months. This is a small victory, since I navigated the bureaucracy on my own--with some advice from my predecessors who also studied in Geneva.
The bad news: I did not receive housing at the university. Utterly surprised about this. Hyperventilating ensued, along with some tears, since I know housing is hard to come by in Rousseau's city. Evidence of this? Every housing website has a disclaimer that goes something like this: "Avec un taux de logements vacants inférieur à 2 pour mille, le marché immobilier genevois est traditionnellement tendu. Les loyers sont donc coûteux et la recherche d'un logement souvent problématique." or "STP Dessine-moi un logement" (love the allusion to Le Petit Prince, less excited about what that means with regard to my prospects of housing) or "une grande crise de logement sévit à Genève" (we know it's serious if they're using the verbe sévir--the crisis is RAGING? Yikes!).
I've been thinking more and more about faith lately though, and how things have a tendency to work out--it's a mystery, as they say in Shakespeare in Love!--God does provide. And as someone I chatted with today said, "I don't know of any students yet who have had to sleep under a bridge." Whew! I was worried. :)
This will be my mantra until I arrive, find housing, and get settled in my new home for 10 months:
25"Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes? 26Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? 27Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?
28"And why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. 29Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. 30If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? 31So do not worry, saying, 'What shall we eat?' or 'What shall we drink?' or 'What shall we wear?' 32For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. 33But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. 34Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.
Honestly, maybe this should just be my new life mantra. Perhaps that's what this housing challenge is all about... I'm known to be a worrywart. And this is what I need to learn right now. Not to worry. (The reading at church today WAS all about how our toil and anxiety on earth is just vanity-love Ecclesiastes!)
Easier said than done, but I've done all that I can on my end to make things work... and faith can fill in the gaps! :)
.
The bad news: I did not receive housing at the university. Utterly surprised about this. Hyperventilating ensued, along with some tears, since I know housing is hard to come by in Rousseau's city. Evidence of this? Every housing website has a disclaimer that goes something like this: "Avec un taux de logements vacants inférieur à 2 pour mille, le marché immobilier genevois est traditionnellement tendu. Les loyers sont donc coûteux et la recherche d'un logement souvent problématique." or "STP Dessine-moi un logement" (love the allusion to Le Petit Prince, less excited about what that means with regard to my prospects of housing) or "une grande crise de logement sévit à Genève" (we know it's serious if they're using the verbe sévir--the crisis is RAGING? Yikes!).
I've been thinking more and more about faith lately though, and how things have a tendency to work out--it's a mystery, as they say in Shakespeare in Love!--God does provide. And as someone I chatted with today said, "I don't know of any students yet who have had to sleep under a bridge." Whew! I was worried. :)
This will be my mantra until I arrive, find housing, and get settled in my new home for 10 months:
25"Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes? 26Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? 27Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?
28"And why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. 29Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. 30If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? 31So do not worry, saying, 'What shall we eat?' or 'What shall we drink?' or 'What shall we wear?' 32For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. 33But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. 34Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.
Honestly, maybe this should just be my new life mantra. Perhaps that's what this housing challenge is all about... I'm known to be a worrywart. And this is what I need to learn right now. Not to worry. (The reading at church today WAS all about how our toil and anxiety on earth is just vanity-love Ecclesiastes!)
Easier said than done, but I've done all that I can on my end to make things work... and faith can fill in the gaps! :)
.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Consciousness
"Human consciousness is just about the last surviving mystery. A mystery is a phenomenon that people don't know how to think about - yet. There have been other great mysteries: the mystery of the origin of the universe, the mystery of life and reproduction, the mystery of the design to be found in nature, the mysteries of time, space, and gravity. These were not just areas of scientific ignorance, but of utter bafflement and wonder. We do not yet have all the answers to any of the questions of cosmology and particle physics, molecular genetics and evolutionary theory, but we do know how to think about them .... With consciousness, however, we are still in a terrible muddle. Consciousness stands alone today as a topic that often leaves even the most sophisticated thinkers tongue-tied and confused. And, as with all of the earlier mysteries, there are many who insist -- and hope -- that there will never be a demystification of consciousness." ~Daniel Dennett
So, I've been thinking more about consciousness lately... you know, like what it is that makes us who WE are in particular. Why am I the voice in my head, and not the voice in my friend's head? How did I come to have this identity that is solely mine and no one else's? Especially at the cognitive level... what part of the brain does that, anyway? And what happens to that consciousness when we die? Does it look something like this?
---------------[ EXISTENCE ]----------------
pre-birth death
It might--or that existence might just change form, and none of us can communicate what that is once we've reached it. Out-of-body experiences can be simulated with electrodes, the light at the end of the tunnel just before death may be simple oxygen deprivation--but no one has communicated from BEYOND that point, after death... although some people have reported encounters with ghosts or signs. The mystery continues. :)
And then there's the question of consciousness vs. conscience...
If we look at the etymology (thanks wikipedia), we have the following:
"The word "conscious" is derived from Latin conscius meaning "1. having joint or common knowledge with another, privy to, cognizant of; 2. conscious to oneself; esp., conscious of guilt".[12] A related word was conscientia, which primarily means moral conscience. In the literal sense, "conscientia" means knowledge-with, that is, shared knowledge."
The two terms are definitely related--in French "conscience" can be used for both meanings!--no wonder there's a lot of debate over where your consciousness goes in the hereafter based on your conscience or lack thereof.
All of these things remind me of the initial question in my Theory of Knowledge class-What if we're all just brains in vats, stimulated by a master mad scientist into believing we have a full form? The thing is, we're MORE than the sums of our synapses and neurotransmitters. Some things just can't be explained by science! Take for example the question of phantom limbs--there is no pattern in how people experience this phenomenon following amputation, but almost everyone reports feeling as though their limb is still there.
On a separate note, there's this Time article which seems to say that when my brain dies, so, too, does my soul, and every bit of consciousness we have is a gift. I agree with the latter but not with the former. But then again, my brain hasn't been damaged to the point where I am no longer self-aware. Well, except when I fell off my bike in front of my house, hit my head on the pavement, and was unconscious for a brief minute and then unable to see for several minutes afterward. The weeks following that incident, I would bump into things, had some minor linguistic challenges, and just seemed a little scrambled. Fortunately, I bounced back... intact, with my own consciousness. I lost consciousness for a mere minute (probably even less than that)... was THAT what death will be like? I'm in no hurry to find out just yet. As Albert Schweitzer put it, "I am life that wants to live, in the midst of life that wants to live."
Just how I want to live... well, that can be the subject of another blog entry.
So, I've been thinking more about consciousness lately... you know, like what it is that makes us who WE are in particular. Why am I the voice in my head, and not the voice in my friend's head? How did I come to have this identity that is solely mine and no one else's? Especially at the cognitive level... what part of the brain does that, anyway? And what happens to that consciousness when we die? Does it look something like this?
---------------[ EXISTENCE ]----------------
pre-birth death
It might--or that existence might just change form, and none of us can communicate what that is once we've reached it. Out-of-body experiences can be simulated with electrodes, the light at the end of the tunnel just before death may be simple oxygen deprivation--but no one has communicated from BEYOND that point, after death... although some people have reported encounters with ghosts or signs. The mystery continues. :)
And then there's the question of consciousness vs. conscience...
If we look at the etymology (thanks wikipedia), we have the following:
"The word "conscious" is derived from Latin conscius meaning "1. having joint or common knowledge with another, privy to, cognizant of; 2. conscious to oneself; esp., conscious of guilt".[12] A related word was conscientia, which primarily means moral conscience. In the literal sense, "conscientia" means knowledge-with, that is, shared knowledge."
The two terms are definitely related--in French "conscience" can be used for both meanings!--no wonder there's a lot of debate over where your consciousness goes in the hereafter based on your conscience or lack thereof.
All of these things remind me of the initial question in my Theory of Knowledge class-What if we're all just brains in vats, stimulated by a master mad scientist into believing we have a full form? The thing is, we're MORE than the sums of our synapses and neurotransmitters. Some things just can't be explained by science! Take for example the question of phantom limbs--there is no pattern in how people experience this phenomenon following amputation, but almost everyone reports feeling as though their limb is still there.
On a separate note, there's this Time article which seems to say that when my brain dies, so, too, does my soul, and every bit of consciousness we have is a gift. I agree with the latter but not with the former. But then again, my brain hasn't been damaged to the point where I am no longer self-aware. Well, except when I fell off my bike in front of my house, hit my head on the pavement, and was unconscious for a brief minute and then unable to see for several minutes afterward. The weeks following that incident, I would bump into things, had some minor linguistic challenges, and just seemed a little scrambled. Fortunately, I bounced back... intact, with my own consciousness. I lost consciousness for a mere minute (probably even less than that)... was THAT what death will be like? I'm in no hurry to find out just yet. As Albert Schweitzer put it, "I am life that wants to live, in the midst of life that wants to live."
Just how I want to live... well, that can be the subject of another blog entry.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Je me lance.../Je m'élance...
This marks the creation of my second blog.... the first blog was just a semester-long experiment, a creative project for my Cosmopolitanism class. You can check it out here: Mary Moves
The blog was quite the personal endeavor, so much so that when I meant to send it to my Cosmopolitanism class, I inadvertently sent it to my French 203 students. You can imagine my surprise when I learned I sent it to them the next day, as students were telling me how much they appreciated what I had written. My cheeks were cherry red for most of the class as I realized just how much of my personal life I had shared with them. Well, at least they learned that TAs have lives and thoughts, too. :)
This blog is aimed more at my friends and family, so they can keep in touch with my adventurings in Switzerland and share in my musings. They already know about my personal life and I will continue to share it here...
I'm looking forward to my ten months there, but I'm also nervous and approaching it with some trepidation as I leave behind my familiar routines here in Madison. Geneva promises to be a great experience though. After all, as Rousseau wrote, "Je ne puis vous dire, Madame, combien Genève m'a paru embelli sans que rien y soit changé... Ce qu'il y a de sûr, c'est que cette ville me paraît une des plus charmantes du monde, et ses habitants les hommes les plus sages et les plus heureux que je connaisse. La liberté y est bien affermie, le gouvernement tranquille, les citoyens éclairés, fermes et modestes, connaissant et soutenant courageusement leurs droits, mais respectant ceux d'autrui."
We shall see if Geneva lives up to that tall bill--but any city that is one of the most charming in the world, with happy, wise, respectful citizens sounds like a good place to live to me!
And the BBC and the Mercer 2010 Quality of Living Survey would agree:
Geneva ranked third in top 50 cities in the world
Here's where I'll be!
The blog was quite the personal endeavor, so much so that when I meant to send it to my Cosmopolitanism class, I inadvertently sent it to my French 203 students. You can imagine my surprise when I learned I sent it to them the next day, as students were telling me how much they appreciated what I had written. My cheeks were cherry red for most of the class as I realized just how much of my personal life I had shared with them. Well, at least they learned that TAs have lives and thoughts, too. :)
This blog is aimed more at my friends and family, so they can keep in touch with my adventurings in Switzerland and share in my musings. They already know about my personal life and I will continue to share it here...
I'm looking forward to my ten months there, but I'm also nervous and approaching it with some trepidation as I leave behind my familiar routines here in Madison. Geneva promises to be a great experience though. After all, as Rousseau wrote, "Je ne puis vous dire, Madame, combien Genève m'a paru embelli sans que rien y soit changé... Ce qu'il y a de sûr, c'est que cette ville me paraît une des plus charmantes du monde, et ses habitants les hommes les plus sages et les plus heureux que je connaisse. La liberté y est bien affermie, le gouvernement tranquille, les citoyens éclairés, fermes et modestes, connaissant et soutenant courageusement leurs droits, mais respectant ceux d'autrui."
We shall see if Geneva lives up to that tall bill--but any city that is one of the most charming in the world, with happy, wise, respectful citizens sounds like a good place to live to me!
And the BBC and the Mercer 2010 Quality of Living Survey would agree:
Geneva ranked third in top 50 cities in the world
Here's where I'll be!
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