written from a computer lab...

Hey there, everyone. The sole point of this message is to relay the information that my computer has effectively died. Specifically, it's the hard drive that's jacked up. Whatever the problem is exactly, my computer is entirely unoperable. I don't know if I'm going to buy a new hard drive or buy a new computer, or maybe just go without a computer until sometime after I get back to the states. Having gone even a couple days now without a computer has shown me how terribly dependent I am (or was, more like) on my computer. To that end, thank God it broke!

The downside is that I'll have less access to this blog and to all my friends and family in the states (or abroad). Skype will be especially difficult; I can maybe borrow a friend's computer from time to time, but I don't want to abuse my friends' generosity.

I'll keep you updated on the situation, but for now I'll just have to learn how to type on these funky French keyboards. I'm getting better already, but it certainly slows me down. So try to understand if I put a "q" instead of an "a," or a comma instead of an "m," or a "ç" instead of a "9." (Those are just a few differences between the keyboards.)

And by the way, other than that, things are going great. I finished and turned in that text explication that I talked about in my last post, and I feel pretty good but not great about it. Next week I have a real doozie (doozy? doozee? Is what I'm trying to say even a word?), a 12-pager on the poet's journey inward as represented in Philippe Jaccottet's A la lumière d'hiver. Good stuff. It's refreshing to finally do some work :)

A bientôt, mes amis!

Text Explication Explication

[started writing this post at] 12:22 am, Saturday night. Here's what I did today:

-woke up --10:30
-worked on a text explication -- 11:00-2:00
-made and ate lunch with my friend Anthony -- 2:30-5:00
-worked on my text explication -- pretty much until I started writing this post

As you can see, it really is a crazy night life here!

But let me give a few reasons why I'm not a total lamo:

1) This is the first Saturday night since I've been in France that I've worked on homework.

2) It was rainy today, not very attractive weather for going out and about. Plus, a strike on the tram has made the times rather irregular. Yesterday there was no tram at all, in fact, resulting in more people on foot, on bike, and in their cars than I've ever seen in Montpellier.

3) This text explication is due on Tuesday. I started writing at 11:00 today (see bullet item 2).

4) Apparently I have to write this thing in French. Go figure. It requires a lot of time because first of all, I have to look words up, and secondly, when I look words up I start getting curious about other words and expressions and start looking things up that have nothing to do with my paper.

Despite those four very good reasons I'm not a lamo, there still remains the fact that I worked on this paper for over ten hours today, and still haven't finished. This reminds me a little bit of the time I wrote a paper for my metaphysics class about how time might not exist. I pretty much locked myself in my room in the Duvall basement, just reading, thinking, writing. Naturally, treating the nonexistence of time and all, I lost track of time as I worked, and even started to forget about meals. And since I have the habit of running my hand through my hair when I'm reading or thinking deeply -- which poofs up my fro wall-socket style -- I emerged from my lair looking and feeling much like a mad scientist.

Today wasn't quite so drastic. The subject matter, after all, is a fairy tale by Charles Perrault.

Sadly I hadn't known the name Perrault before I started taking this class. He wrote versions of many famous fairy tales -- Cinderella, Little Red Riding Hood, Sleeping Beauty, Blue Beard, and others. And if any of you ever have a question concerning the 30 or so lines of "Le Petit Poucet" beginning at "La nuit vint" and ending at "si vous voulez bien l'en prier," I am the man to ask. Text explications don't really exist in the US. In fact, I don't think they really exist anywhere besides France. It's a literary analysis paper, but one that has to follow a passage (of no more than 30 lines) in a linear manner and focus with extreme precision on its composition. Sometimes I feel ridiculous taking notes in my literature classes, because a professor can spend a one-and-a-half hour lecture on a two-page passage. Of course, there's probably no better way to learn the intricacies of the French language than to do such a close reading, whether for native or non-native speakers.

I hope I didn't convey up there that I was complaining about writing the explication. I've really enjoyed doing it so far. Believe it or not, this essay will be the very first assignment I will have turned in this semester. There's been other homework (admittedly not very much), but we never have to turn it in. (It's the strangest thing, too: the professor will ask who has done the homework, and sometimes less than half the class raises their hands. The students don't try to fool anybody; they just sit there unassumingly, listening to their headphones or talking to their neighbors. And the teachers don't seem to care all that much, either. It's mind-boggling! And, sadly, rather contagious. It's hard not to assume that je m'en fous attitude when over half the class isn't doing the work.) So go ahead and congratulate me: after two months of classes, I'm finally turning in my first assignment!

I actually have several assignment due in the next few weeks. I need to complete or at least get a start on a commentary paper on a work by Rilke, an essay on the poetry of mourning of Philippe Jaccottet, a document analysis for my Geography of France class, and an oral presentation on a topic of my choice related to Spinoza's Ethic.

Well, I just wanted to put up a post on here before going to bed, and I also wanted to write in a language where expressions come easily to me. Recently I've decided to step up my language acquisition a bit: I'm journaling only in French, reading only in French (except for those emails and letters my friends and family keep sending me. Agh! Enough's enough already!), and trying to think and pray only in French. So this blog is a bit of a haven.

Before I couche myself, as some of my Anglophone friends are fond of saying, I should say that I found out last night that I was rehired as an RA for next year. I will be in East Hall, the newest (and easternmost) dorm on campus, having opened just last year. It'll be somewhat of a shift going from French dorms, which have no RA and where people often have wine or beer or vodka or anything else they please with their dinner, to Whitworth dorms. But don't get me wrong -- I am so excited to be RAing it up next year. (And if you're an incoming freshman to Whitworth and you're going to be living on my hall next year: No, I don't drink wine or beer or vodka or anything else that I please, and I never will. Good.)

Well if you've learned anything in reading my post, I hope it's a basic concept of a French text explication. And if I've learned anything, it's that I probably shouldn't write blog posts after midnight, especially if I've been in my room for over ten hours. Wow. I think this post is proof that I'm closer to mad-scientist status than I thought. I'm off to bed now -- church in the morning and early afternoon, and then back to my friend Charles.

Little Update: guests, Frisbee, and weather

Hey everyone, I'm keeping this update brief because, strangely enough, I have guests! Shawna McNally, Bill Thurston, and Katie Goodell from Whitworth arrived in Montpellier on Saturday and are staying here until tomorrow. They're making a nine-week tour through western Europe, an incredible and exhausting trip. Believe it or not, all four of us are managing to sleep in my one room -- my one, typically tiny, 9 square meter room. It's quite the lesson in conservation and efficiency.

Anyway, the main reason I wanted to post something was that last week I played in France's inter-regional university ultimate (Frisbee) tournament. If I have more time later this week maybe I'll include some of the more interesting details, but I wanted to let you know that there are pictures from the tournament on facebook. I was tagged in several of them, and you can click on the link to the photo album to see more pictures. It was a great time, and Montpellier, in only its second appearance in the tournament, took 7th out of 14 teams. Not bad at all!

After a freak snow storm over a week ago, spring is coming to Montpellier full force; the past three days have been sunny, slightly breezy, and warm. Life is good.

If you think of it, pray for Shawna, Bill, and Katie as they continue to travel. They're going to Italy next, and then Malta, and then who knows.

Greetings from France!

Barcelona (1 week after the fact)

So there you have it, everyone -- Barcelona, Spain. Well, tune in soon for my next post. See ya!

On second thought, maybe I should post a few more pictures than just that one. It is a nice picture, though. It shows the weather that we had all our days in Barcelona except for one -- sunny and warm with clear skies. This photograph was taken from a castle (pictured to the right) on the west end of the city. To the east was the city, and to the south and west I could see the huge ports and the Mediterranean.

But I'm getting ahead of myself; it wasn't until the third or fourth day that I went to the castle. Let's start from the beginning of my trip. And since I've done such a poor job of posting pictures on this blog, I'll try to rest my voice this week and give you lots of images of my vacation in Barcelona.

We took a bus the morning of Tuesday, February 23 from Montpellier to Barcelona. There are some great views of the Pyrenees on that ride. I'm not sure my friend, Parham, took full advantage of the scenery...

We got to the city and went out in search of our hostel. To anyone going to Barcelona, I would definitely recommend staying at the hostel we were at, the Sant Jordi Sagrada Familia, but I will say that it is extremely difficult to find. Other than a Sant Jordi sticker we saw on a newspaper kiosk about a block away, this little sign was the only indication of where the hostel was:

Parham's expression adequately captures how we felt after finally finding the place.

I went for a walk that afternoon and came across the St. Pau Hospital just a few blocks north of the hostel. I guess it's a hospital and research facility, and perhaps a school as well, because it's an entire campus of buildings, beautiful, ornate buildings.

That night we met at Catalunya, a metro stop and public square at the top of La Rambla, a famous street and shopping area. From left to right on the bench are Parham, Alexandra, and Aneta. Alexandra and Aneta are good friends from Poland studying in Montpellier for the semester. They are quite the pair. Over the course of our trip, Parham and I managed to pick up a number of Polish phrases, none of which I know how to spell. However it's spelled, though, travelling in Barcelona with Alexandra and Aneta was ziabista -- awesome.

The next day we went to La Sagrada Familia, one of the most impressive cathedrals I've ever seen. It's designed by Gaudi, an architect responsible for many of the fascinating designs in the city. Unfortunately the cathedral is still under construction. It is nonetheless awe-inspiring. In the picture on the right are Parham, the Polish girls, Sarah in purple, and behind her Patrick, a German guy Sarah met in her hostel. He ended up spending the rest of the day with us.

We then went to Parc Guell, where lots of Gaudi artwork and architecture is featured. His work really is one-of-a-kind.

The next day we went to one of the more novel museums I've ever been to -- the Museum of Chocolate. The ticket was a chocolate bar, and the displays were sculptures made entirely of chocolate. It's hard to say if it was more impressive or more appetizing!

Because Sarah had to leave later that afternoon, we hauled over to the beach and then to a tapas bar. Tapas is sort of like an appetizer or a snack, and from what I understand, a lot of people go to a bar after work to get a beer and tapas. One of the better known tapas plates is patatas bravas, which is potatoes with mayonnaise and a spicy sauce. It is really quite good, as is all the tapas we tried.

That night we returned to the beach for a picnic. Apparently there are these guys who make sand sculptures during the day and then leave them out overnight with a box asking for money. I doubt it's a very lucrative endeavor, but the artwork was almost as impressive as the chocolate museum.

The next day, Friday, was when I went to the castle shown at the beginning of this post. That morning and early afternoon we all split up and did different things. The girls went shopping, Parham went to the Museum of Catalonian History, and I went to explore that area of the city to the west of La Rambla. The National Museum of Catalonian Art is incredible even on the outside. I only had time to go into one of the temporary exhibits, but I was glad just to see the building and estate.

Between the art museum and the castle, I saw some big tower and the Olympic Stadium which was built for the '92 Summer Games. I was surprised to see how small the stadium was, and in what poor condition as well.

We met back up again and ate some more tapas. That night some people from the hostel organized an outing. They gathered up 20 or 30 people from a couple of sister hostels and went to the biggest bar I've ever seen. It was more like a dining hall, really, with long tables and lots of noise and masses of people squished together. It reminded me of an Anglo-Saxon meadhall, and it reminded Parham of Hogwarts -- both fair comparisons, I think. It's too bad I didn't bring my camera to capture it, but I think it would have ended up getting broken or dropped in a pitcher of sangria or something.

After that we went to the biggest club I've ever been to. It was crazy. There were five separate rooms with five separate DJ's or live bands, and each room had a bare minumum of 300 people. They're pulling in some dough at 15 euros a head. We stayed there until it closed at 6 in the morning, then waited for the metro to start at 7, took a nap at our hostel, packed up, and checked out by 10. Our grand plan was to spend the day at the beach and sleep under a blanket of sunlight. You may recall, however, my previous mention of one single day of bad weather during our trip. Yes, it was Saturday, our day to sleep at the beach. We were tired enough that we slept in the cold, anyway; luckily it didn't rain very much. I was too tired and we were all too haggard to make photographs worthwhile, but I did take a few. Here's the cloudy sky -- nonetheless pretty -- and our sleeping arrangements.

We kind of wondered around the city the rest of the day after we became too cold to stay at the beach. Every time we stopped somewhere, at least one of us fell asleep. Somehow we survived until our bus ride back, which left at 1:35 am Saturday night/Sunday morning. That seemed like a good time to come back when we first booked it. It turned out to be really stupid. Of course we made it back, though -- at about 8 in the morning on Sunday. Needless to say, we were pretty tired.

It's amazing that even with a good amount of pictures and text, I still have to leave out so many details about our trip. I imagine that I'll eventually have the opportunity to sit down with some of you readers and show you my pictures in person. I look forward to that day. Until then, I'll try to keep taking pictures and posting on this blog. Love,

Your man (once again) in France

In Barcelona

Hello all, I just wanted to put up a short post saying that I made it safely to Barcelona. We had a beautiful five-hour bus ride from Montpellier to Barcelona this morning, during which I was too excited to sleep more than a couple minutes. This afternoon we checked into our hostel, which, other than its name, blows the Peace and Love out of the water on all fronts -- friendliness, facilities, space, price, character. If you plan on visiting Barcelona anytime soon, I´d love to pass on the name and address.

You might be wondering who I´m referring to with this first person plural pronoun business. My American friend, Parham, and I are staying in this hostel; my two Polish friends, Aneta and Alexandra, will be staying in this hostel starting tomorrow night; and my friend Sarah is staying in another hostel in town. We´re going to hit the sight-seeing scene hard tomorrow, so I better go get some sleep -- perhaps after one more stroll around the neighborhood.

-your man in Spain

Alive and Well and Active

Okay, calm down everyone. There's no need to send me hundreds and hundreds of urgent emails at 3 in the morning (your time, not mine) pleading for me to put up another blog post. I know it's been a little while since I've posted on here, but come on, be reasonable!


Well, it's not exactly true that I've received hundreds of emails asking for more blog posts. Come to think of it, I haven't received one such email. Still, I'd like to think that there are at least a few frequent readers out there, and to those members of my audience, I apologize for the two weeks that have gone by since my last post. One of the conundrums not only of blog-writing but of writing in general is that it's an act done in solitude which concerns the world at large. The man who stays in his room writing all day won't have much to say, and the man who constantly experiences the vastness of life will never settle down and write. For someone in a foreign country for five short months that are already flying by, I am face to face with this conundrum perhaps for the first time. My blog posts have become less frequent, and so have my journal entries. I've integrated to one degree or another into a new culture, a new society, with new people to meet and new places to visit and new sights to see. If some time passes between my blog posts, then, don't worry. You can pretty safely bet that it's because I'm experiencing life in Europe, life in Montpellier -- and how much richer my blog posts will be because of that!


So what have I been experiencing? Here's my Top 5 experiences of the past several weeks, not really in any particular order:

5. Sports. I've been playing basketball a couple times a week with some people that live in Vert Bois, my dorm community. The founding fathers of these pick-up games were Parham, an American who's become one of my better friends here, and Bertrand and Sylvain, two guys from Cameroon. Parham played for a year at his college, and he's an absolute powerhouse, often driving to the hoop against three defenders. Bertrand is also good and plays quite physically. It seems like every time we play something bad happens to Bertrand. The first time, his watch broke; the second time, his shoes started coming apart. There was one day he got elbowed three times in the face, got a finger in his eye, got hit in the stomach, and to top it off, after we were done playing an errant ball landed square on his head. We all felt bad for him yet couldn't help but laugh at his unlikely misfortune.


In addition to basketball, I've also been playing Frisbee. As strange as it may sound, there's actually an Ultimate class here at the university. Apparently students have something called an "Option," kind of like an elective. A French student told me that for l'Option, they can choose between a foreign language class and a sports class. That's quite the option. Anyway, I go to the class to play, but I'm not taking it for credit. Ultimate is worlds more popular in the US than it is in France. When I tell people I play Ultimate, they usually have no idea what I'm saying, and it's not because of my accent. However, there are some decent players here, and in fact, we are going to play in France's national university tournament in Lyon in a few weeks. The university is paying for our lodging and food for two days; all we have to pay for is gas money. So I guess I'm a sponsored Ultimate player in France. Not bad.

4. People of the world. I believe I've already mentioned on my blog that Montpellier is a diverse city. While I realized this the first week I moved here, I still marvel at how many different responses I get when I ask people where they're from. The other night we had a potluck sort of dinner in my dorm, a very frequent event. We probably packed over twenty people into a kitchen with no opening windows, a social and sweaty arrangement. As usual, there were people from all sorts of countries there. In this picture are (from left to right) Bertrand the Baller from Cameroon, Rachel from Manhattan, Kansas, a French girl with a weird name I can't remember, Karien from Louisiana, and Constanza (Sp?) from Italy.








Here we have Parham making a goofy face (as he often does). I won't name everyone in the background, but there is another American, some British folks, my friend Katarina from Slovakia, a French girl, some Italians, an Iranian, and maybe my friend Anna from Mexico hiding behind Parham.

As I'm typing this, I hope it doesn't seem that I'm trying to flaunt this diversity, like the ethnic equivalent of name-dropping. It's simply delightful to know people from such diverse backgrounds, and equally delightful to be unified with all of them through the French language. And another plus is that the Italians usually do the cooking for everyone. That night Lucas made some delicious rice dish with slices of fried zucchini. Delicious!



3. Conversation. I actually feel like a decent conversationalist in French now. The typical conversation with a new acquaintance covers name, country or city of origin, if he or she is a student, year in school, mutual friends, what he or she is doing later that night, and an exchange of phone numbers. Other than exchanging phone numbers -- which is really quite common here for some reason, even with people you might not intend to call -- these are generally the same components of basic English conversation in the US. I encounter and re-encounter these same topics almost daily, yet I continue to delight in them for the mere fact that they're in French. I'm actually speaking to people in French! Sometimes I realize mid-conversation how cool that is, that years of mostly theoretical learning has become entirely practical. And I do have more significant conversations than mere chit-chat. Last weekend, for instance, I went to a house party with my friend Anthony, and I talked to the same two girls until four in the morning. By that point I was about ready to die of exhaustion, but it was certainly worth the effort and lack of sleep.


2. Funky Musak. A few nights ago we went to l'Antirouille, a bar/music venue mostly known for reggae. The first night we got there really late and missed the main act, but we stuck around and danced to the DJ's music. The next night, though, we made it for most of the show. It was a fundraiser concert for Haiti, and it featured hip-hop, reggae, folk, funk, and rock. The band in these pictures was from Senegal, and the guy on bongos was out of his mind.

Last night we went to a bar called La Pleine Lune (Full Moon) where there is a gypsy jazz night every Sunday. Gypsy jazz sounds to me like a mix between swing and Spanish or latin music. The instrumentation was bass, electric guitar (with a rather acoustic sound, though), an acoustic guitar, and a violin. Apparently some of the musicians actually are gypsies, and you can see them playing in the downtown center square sometimes. It's been fun discovering the musical side of Montpellier. I found out last night that The Cranberries are coming to town, and I know that there is an upcoming performance of Carl Orff's Carmina Burana at the opera house.



1. God. If it's not obvious, I feel much more comfortable and settled now than I did the first few weeks in France. As I alluded to earlier in this post, the turbulence of the first leg of my trip prompted a rather prolific amount of writing on my part. What's more, it prompted me to lean on God more than perhaps ever in my life. Every moment of those first weeks felt like a lesson in humility and trust, as if I was walking in utter darkness and yet could be totally sure of my steps because I knew who was with me. I have the impression now that that darkness has lifted. I do wonder, though, if it is anything more than an impression, an illusion, this restored self-confidence. I think we are wholly dependent on the Lord every single second of our lives, even if we feel in control most of the time. I believed that -- at least theoretically -- before I came to Montpellier, and I believe it more strongly now.


Yet the illusion of control is often quite convincing. Now that I know the city better, now that my French is improving, now that I know where to go to church, where to get my groceries, how to access the school intranet, now that I have contacts in my cell phone and euros in my French bank account; it seems as if I can loosen my grip on the Lord's cloak, that I can stop clinging. On the one hand I am thankful for some stability; on the other hand I am wary of trusting myself. And even as my life here has settled a bit, the Lord has continued to bless me on a daily basis. Basketball with Bertrand, friends from all over the world, legitimate French conversations, great live music -- these highlights didn't start with me or my will. Even if I don't feel the need for God as strongly as I did several weeks ago, I am no less sure of His presence and His goodness.


In just over five hours I'll be leaving to catch a bus to Barcelona. I've never been to Spain, and I hardly speak a word of Spanish; maybe I will feel once again how small and desperately dependent I am. Whatever happens there, though, count on one thing -- our Constant -- and expect some more stories on this blog once I get back. My love to all of you.

Ski Trip (no joke)

I had a rather eventful few days here in southern France this past weekend. Now that I'm sitting down to write about it, I realize that I need to get better at taking my camera with me when I do cool things. Darn. Luckily I do have a few pictures, and for those moments that went uncaptured, I guess it's a good thing I'm a writing major. Descriptive abilities, fire at will!

[first unphotographed event] Friday night a group of six or so made dinner together in my dorm. The kitchen on my floor is right across the hall from my room, which makes cooking quite convenient. It also means that I am the go-to guy for cooking supplies, a responsibility I enjoy; it's really my only way to express hospitality here. We had quite the mélange of food: some left-over soup/casserole thing I made the other night with lentils and white beans and angel-hair pasta which we affectionately dubbed "angel guts;" some spaghetti with ham, onion, and sauce; baguettes with roquefort and brie; scrambled eggs; really cheap German beer (39 cents for a half-pint; I don't know how that compares in the US, but here that is ludicrous); and hot chocolate made with actual chocolate. A savory evening by all accounts.

[second unphotographed event] We ate and talked and lounged until after 11. It's common here for a meal shared with others to take a long time. It never feels like it takes a long time, though. It doesn't feel like it takes any time at all, in fact; it feels like it gives you time, time to enjoy food, enjoy friends, enjoy life. I've heard a lot of people talk about the difference in conception of time between the US and other countries, notably those of Latin America. For the first time in my life I'm able to actually experience that difference, and it really is a special thing to enjoy the presence of others without worrying about or even considering how much time passes. And what a great word that is, "enjoy." In my opinion (or perhaps just my limited body of knowledge) there isn't a great translation of "enjoy" in French. You can say "have pleasure," "take pleasure," "profit from," "amuse yourself," "be entertained," "like," and "love," but not exactly "enjoy." The word seems incarnational to me: let joy be born into whatever you're doing.

[third unphotographed event] After all the food and conversation, my friends Rachel, David, and Romain and I decided to go out and try this place called La Couleur de Bière (The Color of Beer). It almost instantly became one of my favorite spots in the city. It's not downtown like most hangouts are, so it seemed more "local" than other bars or breweries I've been to. La Couleur features beers from all over the world -- yes, even selling Michelob, Miller, and Budweiser (yet, sorry to say, Colorado, no Coors). There were easily two hundred options. The beer expert I am, I chose a 10.5% Belgian beer on the merit that it's name translated to "Golden Dragon." Between the four of us we tasted beers from Belgium, Poland, Brazil, Australia, and -- in my opinon the best -- Quebec. The place was packed, so we drank outside among a diverse array of beer bottles and beer drinkers, including a group with a tambourine and a love for French drinking songs.

[fourth unphotographed event] My friend Sarah had arranged for a Frisbee game the next day. The five of us that went were disappointed at our low numbers, but after a while a group of about ten guys wanting to play soccer showed up and we played with them almost the entire afternoon. When I got back to my dorm I was happy and sore, and as I unlocked my door, my neighbor David asked if I wanted to go skiing with him, Romain, and Rachel (my beer buddies) the next day. And thus the fifth unphotographed event.

Actually, I did take a few pictures. That night we stayed at Romain's house in a little town called Sauve, located northeast of Montpellier. It was fantastic to stay at a French home. French television, French kitchen appliances, French art -- you can't really duplicate it in the US. You especially can't duplicate French Simpsons. The voice they use for Marge is horrendously coarse, and a good number of the jokes simply don't make sense to a French audience. Even if it was a bit strange to watch The Simpsons with French dubbing, I delighted in every little detail of that house. We could've sat around watching the weather channel all night and I would have been happy. All the commercials for perfume and cologne, the 26 old volumes on each of France's regions, the nude photographs displayed in the bathroom, the automatic yet delicate manner by which Romain rolled his cigarettes, the kitchen table next to the window looking onto the rolling hills and mountains of Les Cevennes -- I loved every bit!

Here is the kitchen. The photo doesn't capture how wonderfully quaint it is, but let me put it this way: the kitchen was wonderfully quaint. Notice the Nutella on the table. I sure did.

To the right is a picture of the house. His parents built it about 30 years ago. Their town, their street, and their property all bespeak peacefulness.

And to the left is the view from their back yard.

[fifth unphotographed event] We left on Sunday morning for the slopes. I should explain that the mountains of Les Cevennes are certainly no Alps. They're mountains, and there's snow, but in terms of grandeur they can't compare to Colorado. One big plus of its small size, however, is the effect on the price. To rent all the equipment I needed and to ski for the day cost 18 euros. That's ridiculous. On the slopes I rediscovered something that I had learned as a kid: skiing is freaking fun! When I tell people I'm from Colorado, they often ask me if I ski, and I say no, and they say, "No way!", and I say, "Well...", and they say, "Get out of town!", and I explain that I skied as a kid when my family paid for me, but that I stopped when I got to an age where I'd have to pay for myself. I'm not even sure that's true, but it's just what I've always told people. On my first run on Sunday, though, I seriously questioned why the heck I'd stopped skiing. It's beautiful, active, liberating, and thrilling. Of course, when I tried the first blue, I remembered part of the reason I might have stopped skiing: it's also freaking scary! I only fell a couple times the whole day, though, and I was so glad I'd said yes to the invitation.

[Okay, so it wasn't an entirely unphotographed event. This was where we rented our equipment. As you can see, it was a really nice day.]

[sixth and final unphotographed event] And what better way to top of a weekend with friends than to watch the Super Bowl at midnight with French commentators and no commercials? Well, that's not exactly what happened, because we were too tired at halftime to stay up for the rest of the game. The next morning, Romain and I got up before David and Rachel. We'd stayed at Romain's house one more night than we'd planned because David was too tired to drive back, but I didn't really mind missing my Grammar and Geography classes. I heard plenty of correct grammatical usage on the TV, and I had my own personal geography lesson in Les Cevennes. Romain -- who had never watched American football before this year's Super Bowl -- got out his computer to see who won the game. "Oh," he said as he read the article. "And which team was New Orleans again?"