Between this post and last week's post, I became a French student. I've been looking forward to my studies in a French university since I was a junior in high school, and given all that anticipation, French classes are turning out to be just okay. After all, school is school. A student has to go to class, listen, read, absorb, work hard; for the most part it's neither exciting nor novel, two words that aptly describe all the other aspects of my trip so far.
I think part of the let-down stems from the general indifference of French students and even professors. Most (or perhaps all?) French students go to university with significant financial support from the government. While this may help university enrollment numbers, it also means that a lot of French students don't care all that much about their studies. (I suppose the same phenomenon of indifference happens in the US, but it seems to occur even when the students' or the students' families are paying for college from their own pockets. I've never been able to understand how someone could pay 15, 20, or 30 grand a year just to slack off, party, and drop out.) People show up late pretty regularly, and only the students near the front of the class listen attentively to the professor; the ones in the back feel free to talk to one another, occasionally even picking up a cell phone call as if class were taking place at a bus stop. The weirdest thing is that most professors don't do anything about it. They simply keep on talking, apparently unperturbed by the many conversations going on among the audience members. Of course I take the students' talking as a sign of disrespect, but based on the professors' reactions, it's completely normal.
All that to say, I have not entered into the most serious or competitive of academic environments. And that's fine with me. I've decided to take only integrated courses, that is, courses that French students take. There were some other options: a set of classes taught in French but designed for exchange students; some basic French grammar classes also created with non-native speakers in mind; and, as some exchange students have opted to do, I could have enrolled in an English class here. Always in pursuit of cultural and language immersion, though, I knew the best experience would be in the integrated courses. Since these will be fundamentally challenging because of language difficulties, I'm perfectly okay with a somewhat less rigorous university setting.
Due to an odd registration system that allows students to try out courses for the first two weeks, I actually don't know for sure which classes I'll be taking this semester. A few that I'm pretty sure of are a comparative literature class focusing (separately) on the fairy tales of Charles Perrault and the story of the return of the prodigal son; a poetry class about contemporary French poets, namely Philippe Jacottet; a grammar and phonetics class; and a philosophy class on Spinoza's Ethics (l'Ethique). The last slot could be Geography of France, History of Music: The Modern Period, or maybe something else entirely.
One convenient feature of French classes is that there is a small amount of reading and an even smaller amount of homework. Besides my grammar class, I will probably only have one or perhaps two assignments for the whole semester, in addition to a test. On the one hand, this will allow me to take the time to understand what I'm reading. On the other hand, it will require a good deal of discipline on my part to continue studying in the face of so little accountability. I think it could be quite easy to let my classes go by the wayside in exchange for a leisurely semester in Montpellier, or in exchange for more communication with friends back home, or in exchange for all sorts of things. I recently wrote in my journal (in which I've been writing almost every day -- my thanks to Hanna Griffing for making it for me. Of course, that journal is one reason I don't write more on this blog; it harbors the majority of my reflective and creative impulses.) about what sort of experience I want in the next four months: "Do I want the European experience, traveling as much as possible, seeking out adventure? Do I want the French academic experience, excelling in my classes? The international student experience, bonding with other foreigners and making all sorts of transnational ties? The Montpellier experience, becoming an expert of the city and a friend of French folk? Sometimes I feel torn."
If my life -- or just life in general -- were as simple as one of Perrault's fairy tales, I would either make a bad decision or a good one as to what kind of experience I wanted, and after all was said and done there would be a neat little moral in verse. I'll be sure to post that moral once I figure it out.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Boring Stuff
Don't worry -- there's a reason for the smiley cookies. Those little guys, as seen on the package, are called BN. I have no idea what BN stands for ("Biscuit National?" -- National Cookie?), but I am certain of one thing: they are quite tasty. Not only are their strawberry jelly insides delicious and nutritious, but they also represent my welcome to Montpellier. The first night I got here I was starving, so I got a quiche (another food I've found I really enjoy) and a box of these from a store down the street. They provided the sustenance and comfort that I needed so badly after a tough day of travel. Furthermore, I appreciated their weird little smiles. Some of them even wink at you.BN cookies are rather plain -- not the flavor of BN cookies, mind you, but the subject matter of BN cookies. It is, however, largely in the plain things of life that life takes on meaning. In my displacement the last two weeks I have found this to be true over and over again. The way people drive is different here, the hats they wear, their mannerisms on the tram, their method of grocery shopping. It's all boring stuff to them, I'm sure, but to me every detail of normal French life warrants the closest of examination. Their culture consists almost entirely of boring stuff! (So, too, does ours. I think I will have a much greater appreciation for the little idiosyncrasies of our culture when I return to the states.) In light of this newfound appreciation for the great value of normal things, I want to dedicate this post mainly to explaining what my normal, day-to-day life is like in Montpellier.
First of all, you should know where Montpellier is. It's almost directly south of Paris, all the way to the Mediterranean Sea. It's located in the Languedoc-Roussillon region of France. I believe Montpellier is the 8th-largest city in France, with somewhere between 500,000 and 600,000 people in the metropolitan area. It doesn't feel like a big, bustling city, but it does sprawl a good deal. There are two tram lines and many bus routes, and I bought a pass to use either mode of transportation as much as I want. The city is home to the three branches of Montpellier University -- the law and business school, the school of science, and the school of arts, letters, and humanities -- which have a total of about 50,000 students. Because of this high number of students, demographically speaking it's a very young city. Taking the tram at night, people 40 and over are typically a minority.As you can imagine, then, this is a lively place. The night life especially is very active. I've gone out a number of times, and I've had fun on every occasion. "Going out" is not something I'm accustomed to doing. At Whitworth, especially having been on leadership the past two years, most activities seem to take place on campus. And in Denver, my friends usually prefer hanging out at someone's house rather than going out. The drinking age makes a big difference, too. Up until this year, the adult night life has been mostly off-limits to me and my peers. Here, however, bars are the place to be at night. I'd guess there are 50 bars downtown, in addition to cafes and clubs or discotheques where people would drink.
And people sure do drink. Every time I've gone out at night I've seen at least a couple people totally drunk, stumbling down the streets or falling face-first onto them. Two nights ago I went out with some Americans, my neighbor David and his French friend, and some other French people. This guy, Thomas -- who was already drunk before we left -- kept telling me how much he loved alcohol. As we got off the tram at La Comedie, the downtown tram stop, he smiled stupidly and pronounced proudly in very French-sounding English, "I am an alcoholic." Thomas was quite funny, actually, and I didn't mind at all hanging out with him. On the other hand, I am completely unattracted to the lifestyle he leads. I asked my American friend, Anthony, how often he and his friends went out last semester. "Pretty much every night," he told me in all seriousness. My immediate reaction to such a notion is a financial concern. The cheapest beer usually costs at least 3 euros, and any other drink will be more like 6 or 7 euros; that's 10 euros a night (if you drink conservatively), times 7 nights a week, times twenty-some weeks in Montpellier; then you think of the dollar-euro exchange right nowadays, and you have yourself quite the investment. But even if it was all free, I know that I don't want to go out to the bars every night. It makes me wonder, though: What will I do instead? A difference between the dorms here and the dorms at Whitworth is that people really don't hang out in the dorms in France. Indeed, people in the dorms don't talk to each other much at all. That's quite the shift for me as a recently retired RA at a community-focused university. All that to say, I predict that I'll have many a social decision to make during the semester, trying to balance my social life with my moral convictions and general introversion.At the same time, I should reiterate that I've had lots of fun when I've gone out. I went to a club where the dance floor was raised a good two or three feet off the regular floor, and there were ledges and barrels to dance on that were raised another two or three feet above that. I got up on one of the ledges and danced in full view of everyone. It felt like I was in a movie or something ("Order 'Chris Gone Wild' while you can!!!"). Another time we went to a bar that was so packed with people that my friend had to take off his glasses because they fogged up. It was kind of gross, but wonderfully novel as well. I also heard of this pirate bar called Redbeard (well, Barberousse, actually) that is shaped like a pirate ship and only serves rum. In honor of Whitworth, I'd say it's a must for me to check it out.
During the day I lead a rather simple life. I eat most of my meals in my room or in the dorm kitchen. For breakfast I have croissants and Nutella, a combination to which I am utterly addicted. Actually, I think it's just the Nutella I'm addicted to, because every morning I finish a croissant or two and then get impatient and just start spooning Nutella into my mouth. That stuff is simply too good. For lunch I either make something simple on my own like a ham sandwich, or I go to the dorm cafeteria. The food isn't bad, and it costs less than four euros. I almost always make my dinners, usually either pasta or rice. I've come up with some pretty tasty dishes (last night was rice with onion, yellow pepper, ground beef, and salami in a mushroom marinara sauce), but I've also had some far less successful culinary experiences (such as forgetting to remove the sticker from the bottom of the pan I bought. Yep. I actually did that).
Of course, now anyone reading this blog thinks that all I do is eat and party, which isn't the entire truth. It's remarkable how a whole day can go by while tending to everyday business. I go shopping for food, I walk around and explore, I play soccer on Saturdays with some Africans, I research classes I can take. It's all pretty normal stuff (perhaps with the exception of playing soccer with the African guys; that's a bit out of the ordinary). But, like I said at the beginning of this post, it's the normal stuff, the boring stuff, that makes up the majority of life. And perhaps the most important difference between my life in the states and my life in France is that I appreciate the normal and the boring much more here.
For some more normal and boring stuff, here are a few pictures from around campus:
Here's my dorm, the back side of it, anyway. There are several dorm communities ("Cites Universitaires" or "Cites U" here) which all contain many buildings. I live in Vert Bois (that's my Cite U, pronounced kind of like "vair bwa," which means "Greenwood"), and the building pictures above is one of seven in Vert Bois.
This is my room. It really is about as narrow as it looks in the picture. It's simple, but sufficient. The door on the right goes to the bathroom (also small, simple, and sufficient), and behind the main door is a closet. In front of the chair with the jackets on it is my desk, where I'm typing this post and where I do much typing, reading, and even eating.
To the right is la laverie, or the laundry room/shack. I'm including this picture mainly because I think it's a funny little building, just how dumpy it looks. I haven't even used it yet. In order to save money and to up my resourcefulness, I recently started washing my clothes by hand in the shower. The first batch is still drying; I'll have to give another update as to how it turns out.
What you're looking at here is indeed a ping pong table, and it is indeed outside. This indicates two things. One, the weather must be pretty nice in Montpellier all year round. Two, these people must take ping pong pretty seriously. This second conclusion was further validated when I saw a couple playing outside my dorm last week. They were table tennis maniacs! I think I have some training in order...
And finally, pictured to the right is, perhaps surprisingly, a soccer field. It's called a terrain stabilise (stabilized field), and it's basically made of sand. I don't particularly enjoy playing on it, largely because I fell on it and scraped my leg playing rugby, and both times I've played soccer I've fallen again and reopened the wound. I've yet to see a grass soccer field, though, so I hope one of these weeks I can manage not to fall on my knees.
Well, it takes about thirteen years to upload each of these pictures, so I'm ending here for now. Thanks for making it all the way to the end of this post, and I'll be sure to put up some more boring stuff sometime soon!
Monday, January 18, 2010
Un Melange: Sleep, Friends, Americans, and Prayer
The internet has been down for a few days, or else I probably would have posted something since last Monday. In the last week I've had plenty of free time. I've been sleeping a ridiculous amount -- I suppose because of all the new input I'm processing -- typically going to bed a little after midnight and getting up around noon. I feel lazy, but I guess it's what my body and mind need. Besides, once classes start next week, I imagine I'll fall into a more regular rhythm, hopefully one that won't allow me to sleep away half of every day.
I've continued to get to know some of the people I mentioned in my last post. Chadie is always very polite and says hi when he walks by my room (he seems rather intentional in his use of the formal "vous" address). David (my neighbor) and I talk a couple times a day, and he even showed me around downtown when I told him I needed to go shopping for a coat (I just had to buy a black coat. As I mentioned in an earlier post, almost literally no one wears white coats in France, at least not in winter. Plus, French clothes are generally much cooler than American clothes). And Clemence invited me the other night to play rugby, of all sports, with a couple of her friends. In typical French fashion, she smoked on the way to the field and smoked after we were done playing. I found that pretty funny.
I've also continued going to the church/house down the street, and, amazingly, that place already feels like home. That church is a bunch of characters! On Sunday evenings there is an English service so the French-speakers can practice their English, and what a backwards experience that is, to speak my native language to a bunch of francophone people in France. I can't get over how strange it feels.
I don't mind speaking English with them; I sort of see it as a way of thanking or repaying them for being patient with me when we speak French. What I have very little tolerance for, however, is extensively speaking English with Americans. In the past week I've met a number of American exchange students. The first ones I met, I enjoy quite a bit. Anthony, Sarah, Rachel, and I had a great time making dinner and going downtown for a few drinks on Friday night. But as the week went on and I met more Americans, I started to feel more and more hesitant to reach out to them at all, to the point where I think I'd rather act aloof when I meet them so that they don't really want to hang out with me. My hesitation stems from my reason for being here: I want to learn French, not just the language but the culture, too. Hanging out with a bunch of Americans will hinder that. It has come as a totally unexpected challenge, not knowing how to distance myself from the people with whom I'd probably fit in best. And the stereotypes that the French hold about Americans, while by no means absolutely true, find their origins in actual observation. Today I came across a group of about ten American girls, standing outside the entrance to my dorm, talking loudly about where they were going to go shopping. It was an innocent enough conversation, but even before I heard them speaking, I thought to myself that they must be Americans. There's something about us taking up space, or congregating conscpicuously, or perhaps our ignoring that some of the world doesn't speak English, that simply doesn't sit well in France. It was really the first time on this trip I felt embarrassed to be an American.
If you feel at all inclined to pray for me, this situation with my American identity would be a great thing to pray about. I don't want to be mean to anyone, but I'm really not here to make friends with Americans or English-speakers at all. At the same time, I also don't want to feel embarrassed about my country. Ask that the Lord will guide me in whom I spend time with, and in whom I meet in the first place. You can also pray for the registration process here. I'm pretty sure we're choosing classes tomorrow, and those choices could shape the upcoming semester in a variety of ways. Pray that the Lord directs my choices, so that I can learn what I am supposed to learn and gain what I am supposed to gain.
And one last thing you could pray for is something I don't often ask prayer for. However, recently I've been feeling like I should share the gospel with people. It's kind of funny timing for such a feeling to arise, since most people I know speak French, and I'd have to explain the gospel in a second language. Then again, I don't think God typically bases His will off of what would fit conveniently into our particular stages in life. I've already seen potential for sharing with David, my neighbor, and Sarah, one of the Americans. Pray that I enter these relationships humbly, knowing that I am a visitor in this place and that I just recently met them. And pray that I would follow God's leading hand in full confidence of His goodness, knowing that my vision is nothing next to His vision. And if it is God's will that I share with them about His love, pray that He gives me the right words. It makes me think of Moses, actually, when God first tells him to free the Israelites from Egypt. In the Message translation (my only English Bible here), Moses objects to God's plan, saying, "Master, please, I don't talk well. I've never been good with words, neither before nor after you spoke to me. I stutter and stammer." God: "And who do you think made the human mouth?...I'll be right there with you -- with your mouth" (Ex. 4). So pray that God would be right there with my mouth should the time come to testify to His goodness, because, as far as I can tell right now, I will have no Aaron to speak for me :)
I've continued to get to know some of the people I mentioned in my last post. Chadie is always very polite and says hi when he walks by my room (he seems rather intentional in his use of the formal "vous" address). David (my neighbor) and I talk a couple times a day, and he even showed me around downtown when I told him I needed to go shopping for a coat (I just had to buy a black coat. As I mentioned in an earlier post, almost literally no one wears white coats in France, at least not in winter. Plus, French clothes are generally much cooler than American clothes). And Clemence invited me the other night to play rugby, of all sports, with a couple of her friends. In typical French fashion, she smoked on the way to the field and smoked after we were done playing. I found that pretty funny.
I've also continued going to the church/house down the street, and, amazingly, that place already feels like home. That church is a bunch of characters! On Sunday evenings there is an English service so the French-speakers can practice their English, and what a backwards experience that is, to speak my native language to a bunch of francophone people in France. I can't get over how strange it feels.
I don't mind speaking English with them; I sort of see it as a way of thanking or repaying them for being patient with me when we speak French. What I have very little tolerance for, however, is extensively speaking English with Americans. In the past week I've met a number of American exchange students. The first ones I met, I enjoy quite a bit. Anthony, Sarah, Rachel, and I had a great time making dinner and going downtown for a few drinks on Friday night. But as the week went on and I met more Americans, I started to feel more and more hesitant to reach out to them at all, to the point where I think I'd rather act aloof when I meet them so that they don't really want to hang out with me. My hesitation stems from my reason for being here: I want to learn French, not just the language but the culture, too. Hanging out with a bunch of Americans will hinder that. It has come as a totally unexpected challenge, not knowing how to distance myself from the people with whom I'd probably fit in best. And the stereotypes that the French hold about Americans, while by no means absolutely true, find their origins in actual observation. Today I came across a group of about ten American girls, standing outside the entrance to my dorm, talking loudly about where they were going to go shopping. It was an innocent enough conversation, but even before I heard them speaking, I thought to myself that they must be Americans. There's something about us taking up space, or congregating conscpicuously, or perhaps our ignoring that some of the world doesn't speak English, that simply doesn't sit well in France. It was really the first time on this trip I felt embarrassed to be an American.
If you feel at all inclined to pray for me, this situation with my American identity would be a great thing to pray about. I don't want to be mean to anyone, but I'm really not here to make friends with Americans or English-speakers at all. At the same time, I also don't want to feel embarrassed about my country. Ask that the Lord will guide me in whom I spend time with, and in whom I meet in the first place. You can also pray for the registration process here. I'm pretty sure we're choosing classes tomorrow, and those choices could shape the upcoming semester in a variety of ways. Pray that the Lord directs my choices, so that I can learn what I am supposed to learn and gain what I am supposed to gain.
And one last thing you could pray for is something I don't often ask prayer for. However, recently I've been feeling like I should share the gospel with people. It's kind of funny timing for such a feeling to arise, since most people I know speak French, and I'd have to explain the gospel in a second language. Then again, I don't think God typically bases His will off of what would fit conveniently into our particular stages in life. I've already seen potential for sharing with David, my neighbor, and Sarah, one of the Americans. Pray that I enter these relationships humbly, knowing that I am a visitor in this place and that I just recently met them. And pray that I would follow God's leading hand in full confidence of His goodness, knowing that my vision is nothing next to His vision. And if it is God's will that I share with them about His love, pray that He gives me the right words. It makes me think of Moses, actually, when God first tells him to free the Israelites from Egypt. In the Message translation (my only English Bible here), Moses objects to God's plan, saying, "Master, please, I don't talk well. I've never been good with words, neither before nor after you spoke to me. I stutter and stammer." God: "And who do you think made the human mouth?...I'll be right there with you -- with your mouth" (Ex. 4). So pray that God would be right there with my mouth should the time come to testify to His goodness, because, as far as I can tell right now, I will have no Aaron to speak for me :)
Monday, January 11, 2010
Big Update
Well I feel like I could write for pages and pages about this trip, and I've only been in France five days! This conundrum makes me realize in advance one of the inevitable frustrations of studying abroad: it's simply impossible to relate an entire experience to people who don't share in that experience. Then again, I should have no excuses as a writer; writers are supposed to condense, select, eliminate, elaborate, and so on and so forth in order to make even the broadest of experiences readable. I'll see what I can do here...
I arrived in Montpellier on Saturday sometime around 6 or 7 pm (which in France is 18h00 [dix-huit heures] or 19h00 [dix-neuf heures], a conversion with which I still have much difficulty. I'm becoming more comfortable with people speaking a language other than the one I'm used to, but when they say the time, it's as if they're speaking yet another language, some third and totally foreign language. The metric system also seems just about impossible in my mind. In theory these conversions really aren't that difficult, but when I'm trying to do them in French they might as well be thermodynamic physics.). Overall it was probably my most stressful day so far. I mentioned in my previous post that I became quite comfortable with the metro, but trains are, for some reason, another story. I got on the train in plenty of time, but only after a few moments of mild panic and three visits to the info booth. What was far more stressful, however, was that the southbound TGV was experiencing delays of up to three hours due to snowy weather all over the country. I usually wouldn't care about a delay, but I had arranged to pick up the key to my dorm at a certain time, since the residential offices were closed on Saturday. Thus, I spent a long ride on the TGV not knowing if I'd have a place to stay once I arrived in this completely unfamiliar city.
My train arrived after dark, and I got off with my huge suitcase, backpackers' backpack, briefcase, and school backpack (the combined bulk and weight of which made me feel equally foolish, annoying, and conspicuous). I managed to find the tram, painted blue with white doves, and packed to the brim with young people. Nearly everywhere I looked, on the tram and in the city, young people abounded, shopping, strolling, laughing. A place for students, it seemed to me. And already I could tell people were a bit less tightly wound than Parisians.
I got off the tram so I could take a shuttle bus to my dorm. I asked a young man how much it cost to ride, and we got into a bit of a conversation, really my first one with a total stranger in France. Vincent was his name, and he was also a student at Montpellier III. Eventually I got around to telling him about the pickle I was in, i.e. that I wasn't sure I'd have a place to stay. Then he did something totally unexpected: he gave me his phone number and offered me a place to stay if I couldn't get in the dorms. After two and a half days among the seemingly frantic and antisocial people of Paris, I was amazed, and so very grateful.
Thankfully I didn't end up having to call Vincent; there was someone at l'Acceuil (Reception) who could give me my key. Vincent's kindness toward me, however, was indicative of the sort of guidance and security that God has given me on this trip on almost countless occasions (indeed, so was the fact that someone was working at l'Acceuil that night). It's amazing how many times I've had no idea where to go, no clue as to which street to turn on, which person to ask, and then direction suddenly comes out of nowhere. Or maybe not direction per se, but rather a directive intuition. I simply go one way or the other, choose a street to turn on, or spot a person to ask, and nearly every single time, this intuition has led me to the right place.
What happened yesterday is perhaps the outstanding example of this intuitive force, the guiding hand of God. Saturday night when I got into the dorm, I noticed a flyer for an Evangelical Protestant Christian church service. France, as with most of Western Europe, is considered by most if not all Christians to be spiritually dead. Over half of the people are Catholic, but less than half believe in a god. Catholic World News estimates that 3% are Protestant. That I should find a flyer for an Evangelic Protestant church just a few blocks from my dorm was therefore highly unlikely. But it gets even more unbelievable. I followed the directions and ended up at a row of houses. I didn't write down the exact address because I figured the church building would be obvious, but I did recall seeing the number 18 somewhere on the flyer. On the patio of house #19 was a woman smoking a cigarette. Before I'd finished asking the question, she told me to go next door. Sure enough, a ten minute walk away from my dorm, there was a group of Christians meeting in someone's house. As I met the four or five people already there, I learned that they had posted the flyers months ago, and that they were under the impression that students had torn them down almost immediately. Philippe, the pastor, called it a miracle that I'd seen one of their flyers. Then I learned that Philippe and his family were from Michigan, and that they'd been leading a church in France for 20 years. And soon after that Philippe, his wife, Sally, and I realized we had a mutual friend: Jerry Sittser! (For those who don't know, he's a theology professor -- a very beloved one, at that -- at Whitworth.) The three of them had gone to college together (Hope College, perhaps?) back in the day. The whole situation was utterly implausible.
I ended up spending almost nine hours at their house yesterday -- four and a half for the morning service and the subsequent lunch, and then again almost four and a half in the evening for their English service and subsequent dinner. On Wednesday I am going to help their family unload some donated kitchen supplies into their house, and on Saturday I think I might play soccer with a guy I met named Jonas who goes to Montpellier III. And this coming Sunday, I'm pretty sure I know where I'll be for most of the day. The whole day was a huge blessing and a magnificent answer to prayer. I'd suspected that getting involved with a church would be a great way to connect with people and to remain grounded in Christ while abroad, but I never imagined I would find one so quickly or so fortuitously. An absolutely stunning day.
I could go on and on about my church experience or about how good God has been, but instead I'll phrase it this way: rest assured that I am in good hands, with this church, yes, but more importantly, with an almighty God.
As for some more practical details, my dorm room is a single on a co-ed floor in a building of about 150 people. It includes a bathroom, bed, desk, closet, mini-fridge, sheets, and this weird cylindrical pillow. Right now I just have wireless Internet (this guy named Chadie down the hall let me borrow his access code), and it's a pretty weak connection, but I plan on buying a cable so I can plug in and make Skyping a possibility.
The dorm is really quiet right now because most students are still gone for break. Some have finals this week or next, and then, two weeks from today, Spring Term classes will begin. I have yet to register for classes, I have no idea which ones I'm going to take, and in fact I don't even know where the academic buildings are. Some research is in order, I suppose.
Because of my extended stay at church yesterday, I have only begun to explore the city today. I went out on foot, and to be honest I'm not really sure where I went. I did, however, find a Carrefour, which sells just about everything. I bought some food and a cell phone. Unfortunately, international calls outside of Europe cost almost 3 Euros a minute, or about $5/minute. In other words, don't expect a call from me until June.
The dorms being quiet as they are, I've only met three people on my hall: Chadie (whose name I don't know how to spell whatsoever), Clemence (a girl who probably thinks I'm a total idiot because I couldn't figure out how to open the door to the building), and David (my immediate neighbor who is from Poland and who I just met tonight). People have been very kind to me, both in the dorm and out in the city (and certainly in the church as well). It seems to me that they find it novel or charming or something that an American can speak French as well as I do. While this is flattering in a sense, I also feel extremely inarticulate pretty much all the time. For a guy who loves to communicate, this is frustrating. But heck, that's why I'm here -- to improve my French language abilities.
Well, this post is becoming outrageously long. (Kenny Dill, only you can say that sentence as it ought to be said.) I'll put up some pictures sometime soon. Until then, friends, teachers, mentors, family -- I miss you all. Lots of love from your Montpellier man.
I arrived in Montpellier on Saturday sometime around 6 or 7 pm (which in France is 18h00 [dix-huit heures] or 19h00 [dix-neuf heures], a conversion with which I still have much difficulty. I'm becoming more comfortable with people speaking a language other than the one I'm used to, but when they say the time, it's as if they're speaking yet another language, some third and totally foreign language. The metric system also seems just about impossible in my mind. In theory these conversions really aren't that difficult, but when I'm trying to do them in French they might as well be thermodynamic physics.). Overall it was probably my most stressful day so far. I mentioned in my previous post that I became quite comfortable with the metro, but trains are, for some reason, another story. I got on the train in plenty of time, but only after a few moments of mild panic and three visits to the info booth. What was far more stressful, however, was that the southbound TGV was experiencing delays of up to three hours due to snowy weather all over the country. I usually wouldn't care about a delay, but I had arranged to pick up the key to my dorm at a certain time, since the residential offices were closed on Saturday. Thus, I spent a long ride on the TGV not knowing if I'd have a place to stay once I arrived in this completely unfamiliar city.
My train arrived after dark, and I got off with my huge suitcase, backpackers' backpack, briefcase, and school backpack (the combined bulk and weight of which made me feel equally foolish, annoying, and conspicuous). I managed to find the tram, painted blue with white doves, and packed to the brim with young people. Nearly everywhere I looked, on the tram and in the city, young people abounded, shopping, strolling, laughing. A place for students, it seemed to me. And already I could tell people were a bit less tightly wound than Parisians.
I got off the tram so I could take a shuttle bus to my dorm. I asked a young man how much it cost to ride, and we got into a bit of a conversation, really my first one with a total stranger in France. Vincent was his name, and he was also a student at Montpellier III. Eventually I got around to telling him about the pickle I was in, i.e. that I wasn't sure I'd have a place to stay. Then he did something totally unexpected: he gave me his phone number and offered me a place to stay if I couldn't get in the dorms. After two and a half days among the seemingly frantic and antisocial people of Paris, I was amazed, and so very grateful.
Thankfully I didn't end up having to call Vincent; there was someone at l'Acceuil (Reception) who could give me my key. Vincent's kindness toward me, however, was indicative of the sort of guidance and security that God has given me on this trip on almost countless occasions (indeed, so was the fact that someone was working at l'Acceuil that night). It's amazing how many times I've had no idea where to go, no clue as to which street to turn on, which person to ask, and then direction suddenly comes out of nowhere. Or maybe not direction per se, but rather a directive intuition. I simply go one way or the other, choose a street to turn on, or spot a person to ask, and nearly every single time, this intuition has led me to the right place.
What happened yesterday is perhaps the outstanding example of this intuitive force, the guiding hand of God. Saturday night when I got into the dorm, I noticed a flyer for an Evangelical Protestant Christian church service. France, as with most of Western Europe, is considered by most if not all Christians to be spiritually dead. Over half of the people are Catholic, but less than half believe in a god. Catholic World News estimates that 3% are Protestant. That I should find a flyer for an Evangelic Protestant church just a few blocks from my dorm was therefore highly unlikely. But it gets even more unbelievable. I followed the directions and ended up at a row of houses. I didn't write down the exact address because I figured the church building would be obvious, but I did recall seeing the number 18 somewhere on the flyer. On the patio of house #19 was a woman smoking a cigarette. Before I'd finished asking the question, she told me to go next door. Sure enough, a ten minute walk away from my dorm, there was a group of Christians meeting in someone's house. As I met the four or five people already there, I learned that they had posted the flyers months ago, and that they were under the impression that students had torn them down almost immediately. Philippe, the pastor, called it a miracle that I'd seen one of their flyers. Then I learned that Philippe and his family were from Michigan, and that they'd been leading a church in France for 20 years. And soon after that Philippe, his wife, Sally, and I realized we had a mutual friend: Jerry Sittser! (For those who don't know, he's a theology professor -- a very beloved one, at that -- at Whitworth.) The three of them had gone to college together (Hope College, perhaps?) back in the day. The whole situation was utterly implausible.
I ended up spending almost nine hours at their house yesterday -- four and a half for the morning service and the subsequent lunch, and then again almost four and a half in the evening for their English service and subsequent dinner. On Wednesday I am going to help their family unload some donated kitchen supplies into their house, and on Saturday I think I might play soccer with a guy I met named Jonas who goes to Montpellier III. And this coming Sunday, I'm pretty sure I know where I'll be for most of the day. The whole day was a huge blessing and a magnificent answer to prayer. I'd suspected that getting involved with a church would be a great way to connect with people and to remain grounded in Christ while abroad, but I never imagined I would find one so quickly or so fortuitously. An absolutely stunning day.
I could go on and on about my church experience or about how good God has been, but instead I'll phrase it this way: rest assured that I am in good hands, with this church, yes, but more importantly, with an almighty God.
As for some more practical details, my dorm room is a single on a co-ed floor in a building of about 150 people. It includes a bathroom, bed, desk, closet, mini-fridge, sheets, and this weird cylindrical pillow. Right now I just have wireless Internet (this guy named Chadie down the hall let me borrow his access code), and it's a pretty weak connection, but I plan on buying a cable so I can plug in and make Skyping a possibility.
The dorm is really quiet right now because most students are still gone for break. Some have finals this week or next, and then, two weeks from today, Spring Term classes will begin. I have yet to register for classes, I have no idea which ones I'm going to take, and in fact I don't even know where the academic buildings are. Some research is in order, I suppose.
Because of my extended stay at church yesterday, I have only begun to explore the city today. I went out on foot, and to be honest I'm not really sure where I went. I did, however, find a Carrefour, which sells just about everything. I bought some food and a cell phone. Unfortunately, international calls outside of Europe cost almost 3 Euros a minute, or about $5/minute. In other words, don't expect a call from me until June.
The dorms being quiet as they are, I've only met three people on my hall: Chadie (whose name I don't know how to spell whatsoever), Clemence (a girl who probably thinks I'm a total idiot because I couldn't figure out how to open the door to the building), and David (my immediate neighbor who is from Poland and who I just met tonight). People have been very kind to me, both in the dorm and out in the city (and certainly in the church as well). It seems to me that they find it novel or charming or something that an American can speak French as well as I do. While this is flattering in a sense, I also feel extremely inarticulate pretty much all the time. For a guy who loves to communicate, this is frustrating. But heck, that's why I'm here -- to improve my French language abilities.
Well, this post is becoming outrageously long. (Kenny Dill, only you can say that sentence as it ought to be said.) I'll put up some pictures sometime soon. Until then, friends, teachers, mentors, family -- I miss you all. Lots of love from your Montpellier man.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Man of the Metro
Since my last post, I have learned that there is free wireless internet here at the Peace Love. My message was so brief yesterday because I paid a euro for fifteen minutes of internet on this very odd computer attached to a wall; the keyboard was all metal and the buttons were spread apart, so that short post was about all I had time to write.
Well, I've been spending my time in Paris on the go. I've spent some time at the Peace and Love -- primarily to recooperate between outings -- but for the most part I've been exploring on foot and on the metro (an extensive subway system, for those who don't know). The metro is incredible. You really can use it to get just about anywhere in Paris. I think I've bought five tickets the past two days (for a total cost of 8 euros), and with that I've seen all sorts of different Parisian neighborhoods. A few highlights: Pere Lachaise (a huge cemetery), Pont Neuf (famous bridge), Notre Dame (very cool and less crowded at night), Eifel Tower (pretty cool but very crowded during the day), and le Cite d'Architecte (or something like that; it's an architecture museum that happens to grant free entry right now).
While those places are highlights, my absolute favorite thing to do in Paris has been traveling, eating, and living among actual, normal French people. Because people don't really talk to anyone else on the streets, I haven't spoken all that much French yet. Despite the slight disappointment at not being able to test my language capabilities, one advantage of people not talking to each other is that no one really knows if I'm American or Canadian or Russian or what. As far as anyone can tell, I'm as French as the next guy on the metro. (Of course, they might have some idea I'm not from around here; I've counted literally only four other people wearing a white jacket. Apparently the other 11, 999, 995 have black ones.) Filing in among the city's anonymous, I have felt rather at home -- as at home as a wanderer can feel, that is. If any of you end up in Paris, I'd encourage you to hop on the metro without a particular destination in mind and just ride. It has to be one of the most real cross-slices of Parisian life. Men in suits on their way to work, chatty women just done with shopping, high schoolers going to school, weird guys who seem to be thinking of stabbing someone, men with guitars or violins expecting spare change for their unsolicited musical performances, pretty young women by themselves who will never, ever look at you, people on their cell phones, people absorbed in their mp3's, people who stare at nothing, people who bustle, people who apparently can't wait to get off the metro, who stand at the door with their hand on the latch well before the train stops, who get off as if they're characters in an action movie, people who make you wonder (always without answer) what they're moving to or running from, why they move with such purpose.
So, just in two days I've grown accustomed to walking fast wherever I go, even when I don't know where I'm going. I walk fast off the metro, I walk fast onto the sidewalks (usually choosing a direction at random), I walk fast past a street that looks interesting, so then I walk fast to the next cross-walk, cross the street fast, and walk fast back to the place of interest. Maybe everyone thinks I am just another Parisian fast on his way to some engagement of utmost importance. Or maybe they see an American tourist who simply walks unusually fast. Either way, like most in this city, I'm now a man on the move.
Next stop: Montpellier. I leave tomorrow by train. It's been a good visit in Paris, but I'm ready to get somewhere where I can stay still for a while.
Well, I've been spending my time in Paris on the go. I've spent some time at the Peace and Love -- primarily to recooperate between outings -- but for the most part I've been exploring on foot and on the metro (an extensive subway system, for those who don't know). The metro is incredible. You really can use it to get just about anywhere in Paris. I think I've bought five tickets the past two days (for a total cost of 8 euros), and with that I've seen all sorts of different Parisian neighborhoods. A few highlights: Pere Lachaise (a huge cemetery), Pont Neuf (famous bridge), Notre Dame (very cool and less crowded at night), Eifel Tower (pretty cool but very crowded during the day), and le Cite d'Architecte (or something like that; it's an architecture museum that happens to grant free entry right now).
While those places are highlights, my absolute favorite thing to do in Paris has been traveling, eating, and living among actual, normal French people. Because people don't really talk to anyone else on the streets, I haven't spoken all that much French yet. Despite the slight disappointment at not being able to test my language capabilities, one advantage of people not talking to each other is that no one really knows if I'm American or Canadian or Russian or what. As far as anyone can tell, I'm as French as the next guy on the metro. (Of course, they might have some idea I'm not from around here; I've counted literally only four other people wearing a white jacket. Apparently the other 11, 999, 995 have black ones.) Filing in among the city's anonymous, I have felt rather at home -- as at home as a wanderer can feel, that is. If any of you end up in Paris, I'd encourage you to hop on the metro without a particular destination in mind and just ride. It has to be one of the most real cross-slices of Parisian life. Men in suits on their way to work, chatty women just done with shopping, high schoolers going to school, weird guys who seem to be thinking of stabbing someone, men with guitars or violins expecting spare change for their unsolicited musical performances, pretty young women by themselves who will never, ever look at you, people on their cell phones, people absorbed in their mp3's, people who stare at nothing, people who bustle, people who apparently can't wait to get off the metro, who stand at the door with their hand on the latch well before the train stops, who get off as if they're characters in an action movie, people who make you wonder (always without answer) what they're moving to or running from, why they move with such purpose.
So, just in two days I've grown accustomed to walking fast wherever I go, even when I don't know where I'm going. I walk fast off the metro, I walk fast onto the sidewalks (usually choosing a direction at random), I walk fast past a street that looks interesting, so then I walk fast to the next cross-walk, cross the street fast, and walk fast back to the place of interest. Maybe everyone thinks I am just another Parisian fast on his way to some engagement of utmost importance. Or maybe they see an American tourist who simply walks unusually fast. Either way, like most in this city, I'm now a man on the move.
Next stop: Montpellier. I leave tomorrow by train. It's been a good visit in Paris, but I'm ready to get somewhere where I can stay still for a while.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Arrivee!
Just a quick note to anyone wondering: I have safely arrived in Paris and at the Peace and Love hostel. Now it's time to explore! I'll put up another post once I get a chance in Montpellier, probably sometime on Saturday.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Peace and Love
The weather forecast for Denver, Colorado: a high of 45 and low of 19 today, partly cloudy; high of 21, low of 0 tomorrow, cold with light snow; and on Thursday, a high of 11 and a low of -8, "COLD!" according to the Denver Post. I think I've chosen the perfect time to leave.
Tomorrow's the big day. I'll fly to Detroit, hang out there for a few hours, then fly to Paris. I'll be staying at the Peace and Love Hostel in Paris for a few nights -- you can definitely expect a blog post or two about that place -- and then I'm off to Montpellier. Even once I get there, I'll still have over two weeks until classes start on the 25th. I plan on getting used to the new time zone, exploring the city a little bit, and maybe taking a short trip somewhere in France, perhaps to see my friend, Audrey, in Aix-en-Provence.
As you may be able to tell, I'm looking forward to the independence I'll have while abroad. I am going to be totally on my own, no one there to tell me where to go, when to go there. This is, imaginably, both exciting and scary. I will say, however, that when people have asked me over the past few weeks if I'm nervous or scared about this trip, my honest first reaction is to say no; I'm ready for an adventure.
And I shouldn't say that I'll have no one there to tell me where to go and when to go there, or at least to give me some sort of helping hand. I'm not journeying to the center of a desert or the depths of the Amazon; I will be surrounded with people nearly all the time. Granted, I won't know most of them, but even asking in French for help or directions from a stranger is a sort of adventure. What's more -- quite a bit more, in fact -- is that God is here with me as I type this, and He will be with me as I fly to Detroit, and as I take the train from the Charles de Gaulle airport to Paris, and as I talk with other travellers at the Peace and Love, and at literally every single moment of this trip. It's a tad funny that some people try to escape their pasts or find themselves or start totally anew by fleeing to a different country; I wonder if they realize that there is no escaping God, who does not change, not even when our messy lives move from one place to another. And, somewhat similar to my impending independence being a source of both excitement and fear, I think the ever-present nature of God can be both a comfort and a sort of burden. You can read Psalm 139 as the greatest of love letters or the most distressing of stalker notes. Just one day away from my departure, I am taking the assurance of God's closeness as absolute comfort.
I hope others realize that wherever they are, even if after Christmas and New Year's they find themselves in the same place they were before the holidays, that God is with them, ever with them. I have the fortune of facing great displacement in my life and therefore see with greater clarity than I usually do that hardly anything in life is constant, immovable. In a constantly moving world, we should cling to those constants -- or, I think more accurately, to the one Constant.
Tomorrow's the big day. I'll fly to Detroit, hang out there for a few hours, then fly to Paris. I'll be staying at the Peace and Love Hostel in Paris for a few nights -- you can definitely expect a blog post or two about that place -- and then I'm off to Montpellier. Even once I get there, I'll still have over two weeks until classes start on the 25th. I plan on getting used to the new time zone, exploring the city a little bit, and maybe taking a short trip somewhere in France, perhaps to see my friend, Audrey, in Aix-en-Provence.
As you may be able to tell, I'm looking forward to the independence I'll have while abroad. I am going to be totally on my own, no one there to tell me where to go, when to go there. This is, imaginably, both exciting and scary. I will say, however, that when people have asked me over the past few weeks if I'm nervous or scared about this trip, my honest first reaction is to say no; I'm ready for an adventure.
And I shouldn't say that I'll have no one there to tell me where to go and when to go there, or at least to give me some sort of helping hand. I'm not journeying to the center of a desert or the depths of the Amazon; I will be surrounded with people nearly all the time. Granted, I won't know most of them, but even asking in French for help or directions from a stranger is a sort of adventure. What's more -- quite a bit more, in fact -- is that God is here with me as I type this, and He will be with me as I fly to Detroit, and as I take the train from the Charles de Gaulle airport to Paris, and as I talk with other travellers at the Peace and Love, and at literally every single moment of this trip. It's a tad funny that some people try to escape their pasts or find themselves or start totally anew by fleeing to a different country; I wonder if they realize that there is no escaping God, who does not change, not even when our messy lives move from one place to another. And, somewhat similar to my impending independence being a source of both excitement and fear, I think the ever-present nature of God can be both a comfort and a sort of burden. You can read Psalm 139 as the greatest of love letters or the most distressing of stalker notes. Just one day away from my departure, I am taking the assurance of God's closeness as absolute comfort.
I hope others realize that wherever they are, even if after Christmas and New Year's they find themselves in the same place they were before the holidays, that God is with them, ever with them. I have the fortune of facing great displacement in my life and therefore see with greater clarity than I usually do that hardly anything in life is constant, immovable. In a constantly moving world, we should cling to those constants -- or, I think more accurately, to the one Constant.
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