Football, Volley Ball, whatever

Summer has arrived. And by summer I mean the summer NH never experiences. The 37 degrees C type of summer. It actually isn't toooo bad yet, but I'm not sure I can even go running today for fear of heatstroke. Better join the gym. At the very least it will give me an hour or two of air-conditioned relief from the weather. Funny how in a year my perspective can change... instead of wanting to spend every free minute lying in the sun, I want to avoid it. I guess I know I'm going to get plenty of sun this summer... Which brings me to a point: I'm becoming Greek. Or, maybe not exactly... but I've managed to LOOK just a little bit American until recently... but yesterday I saw my reflection in the train windows when it went by and I could barely distinguish myself from the other girls. My hair was wavy, I was wearing too much makeup, twisted-leather Greek sandals, European-clothing (my little What Not To Wear In Europe personal shopper... aka my boyfriend... recently took me on a little shopping spree)... no one can tell I'm not Greek until I open my mouth or use my ipod. The guy at the train ticket booth that morning told me I looked like Kalomoira. This is getting a little strange because I'm not sure I see the resemblance. Anyway... what else is new...? Alex and I bought a football (soccer ball) the other day! We haven't had a free minute to use it, but I'm psyched. Like, reallyyyy excited. When I got home yesterday there was a volleyball next to the football. The moment I saw it I knew what had happened. Alex's mom had seen the football and said 'Alex! You already have one!' And found his volleyball in some deep dark closet. Then Alex tried to explain the difference but she still thought it was silly to buy a FOOTBALL when a VOLLEY BALL is so similar. (I confirmed my guess with Alex and it went pretty-much exactly like that.) 

Cheers to MY mom for not only knowing the difference between soccer balls and volleyballs but ALSO being a decent player herself. (Find THAT in Greece...) 

Day 365

One year ago Erica and I boarded a plane to Europe with no idea what we were doing and no idea what we would be doing in a year. And here I am, unable to comprehend the passage of time or even the fact that I'm the same person I was back then. In one year I left the comfort of life at home (now I realize how comfortable that life was) and jumped headfirst into a completely different world. Looking back I can't remember A) Why I came here in the first place or B) How I imagined I would ever survive. It seems more courageous in hindsight... no, not courageous, stupid, silly, crazy. But, somehow, it all worked out. I wrote a Personal Statement (I've written about 600) for law school admission the other day discussing this story Meyrowitz once told us about someone taking a music lesson and the music teacher always giving the student really difficult homework (so difficult the student could never complete the homework) and finally the student confronted the teacher and the teacher had the student try to play the first piece of music he couldn't play... and the student could play it brilliantly. My point was, maybe this trip to Greece was difficult enough to put everything else in perspective.

And by difficult, I just mean that everything is a teeny bit more difficult. Enough more difficult to make a difference. For example, my Greek. For every success I have 5 failures. For example. I just left to go to the grocery store. On my way out (feeling confident since I'd just managed a whole day out without using English when I should have been using Greek) this old lady in the hallway says to me "Poo ine ado?" (where is here?) "ti?" (what?) "poo ine ado?" I SWEAR that is what she said.  I had to tell her I don't speak Greek which took my confidence way down a few pegs. But then I go to the grocery store and have an actual conversation (okay not a very complex one) with the checkout girl. See what I mean? I'm everywhere at once. ANYTHING could present a problem. But at the same time, anything could be a huge success. I absolutely cannot explain the feeling I get when I manage something in Greek. Baby steps. Give me 5 years and maybe I'll speak a little Greek. 

I'm a little wired right now because Jessica and I just had freddos with too much sugar. I'm beginning to live for coffee dates. And we sat there for two hours sipping on one coffee each, which is getting closer to the four hour norm around here. And a little girl told me I looked like Kalomoira. Alex agrees if I "didn't look so much like a fish." I love my boyfriend. 

Okay more coffee, like I need it. 

Unproductive ligo me

I just read Natalie's blog (http://www.itsallrealtive.blogspot.com/) and found it amusing/interesting at her use of Greeklish. It is something about this language. Certain words and phrases stick into your mind. I no longer think the phrase "I don't know" I think "Then ksero".  Maybe the way Greek works is you slowly start incorporating Greek words and phrases into your lexicon and suddenly your English is gone! All I know is everyone in American is going to be incredibly annoyed at me for like a year after I get back. Either that or they're going to accidentally learn some Greek. 

The reason I am blogging right now is because I am, for some reason, really incredibly unable to be productive today. Everything I do takes like twenty times longer than it should and I spent like three hours writing different beginnings for Personal Statements for law school (fuckkkk). And then I did some more law school research since I still haven't made any decisions about schools. (I have a list about 45 long at this point.) I can't figure out where to aim. I read stuff online and it totally intimidates me... it seems like some people spend their LIVES trying to get into law school... and the numbers don't look good. Things like, we admit 250 students out of 4,000 applications. And then I think: OK so I will never get into any law school. I guess I just don't understand the whole deal. I mean, OK, my GPA is good and my resume is decent... so if I do well on my LSATS (we'll see...) then I should be OK, theoretically... but how many BILLIONS of people out there have BETTER grades and BETTER resumes? Someone help me out here... 

Okay the boy woke up finally. Time to drink some biera. 

yasou

Perspective

The contents of his suitcase, the whispered phone conversation, the shouts of a mother, the giggles of friends: Hints of lives much deeper than I see. Only the surface; somewhere infinitely deep. 

Her strawberry blonde hair was neatly braided down her back. She wore a yellow cardigan and a white shirt, fabric stretching over her rounded stomach. She already had two children, dark-haired and close in age, circling around her and speaking in high-pitched French. She spoke to them calmly while staring, distracted, into space. Her face was less tired than it seemed it should be. The smooth white skin of youth made her look almost angelic, virginal if not for the baby inside.

When I looked at the man—the boy—somewhere in between—I thought of old movies or advertisements for expensive cologne. His pudgy, child’s face was partly hidden behind an old man’s grey hat placed crooked on his head. His shoes were black and pointed and his suit matched the hat—grey and knit and oddly unexpected.

Two young girls sat close together. They were both dressed in sweatpants and jackets and had the wily presence of those set out on their own for the first time. They carried similar bags—black cloth with leather handles—and both held their phones, new-age security blankets, as they spoke in low voices to each other and giggled over a French phrase book one of them held. 

As the plane took off I watched the airport, the city, the country, shrink. Each block, each house, each room, each soul inside told a different story, saw a different life. Each legacy holds weight to one or few or many and yet, here I sat, and watched it disappear. 

name days & recording studios

Tourist season has arrived. Yesterday I wandered around Monisteraki for a bit and tried to pick out the subtle things that distinguish tourists. (Which means I was not including those tourists wearing "HELLAS--GREECE" t-shirts or carrying huge cameras.) I decided on two things: 1.) tourists are usually dressed very badly and 2.) tourists are often sun burned or at least slightly red. This must be because tourists get to Greece and sit in the sun from 12-3. Greeks sit in the sun from 4-7. Big difference, and understandable when you live here. Of course I enjoy the sun, but at the moment I have no need to go lie outside at peak hottness until my skin sizzles. A year ago, I wouldn't have said that.

Wednesday was my name day (as I mentioned in my previous post). We went out to watch Manchester v Chelsea and I had one of those nights that makes me appreciate being here. Good soccer, good beer, good people, and the thing about name days is everyone (who is anyone) KNOWS it is your name day. I was very flattered when the guy who owns the bar (who has decided Alex and I need to get married) jumped out when I came in and said "Ah Eleni! Xrona Pola!" and then showered me with spitting-worthy compliments. In contrast the next day my boss said, "Oh yeah, you know it was your name day yesterday, did anyone tell you? Do you know what that is." (No, I live under a rock. Please explain.) 

Which brings me to yesterday. I had to go into Athens to do a recording for "Cracking ECCE" which means some people cram into a recording studio and read listening exercises to be put on a CD and sold with a book. This book is Michigan (an American test) so the group was all from America and Canada. And Ian from Ireland who is just a good actor and doesn't have an accent. Usually these recording sessions are pretty small. There are three or four of us and we do a few sections of a book. Yesterday there were loads of people. This strange mix of ex-pats all shoved into a tiny studio. It was fascinating both to people-watch and to talk to all these people who had somehow ended up in Greece. "You're a newlywed here" one woman told me. And I was thinking a year was a long time. It was an enjoyable session. I'm getting really good at it. Lawrence even called me "Amazing" which is the biggest compliment he's given me, ever, hands down. I think second would be something like, "That was okay." Thank you mommy, for teaching me how to read. (Which is really a big chunk of recording and the part I'm best at.) 

I feel like all of this should have some kind of conclusion, but I have none. I'm still kind of exhausted. I somehow didn't get home until 11 last night. After work I drank freddos with Laura, which was lovely, and then the train from wasn't until 9 pm so I had to wait around for an hour in the less-than-beautiful Larissa Station. The ride back was really strange. Apparently they've done more line-changing/schedule-changing than I was aware of because, ok, the Prostiako line is in the shape of a triangle. One end is Piraeus. Partway up that side is Larissa Station. The point is the airport. You usually have to switch lines to get to the airport, though, and typically the train goes from Piraeus to Larissa to Naz(blahblahcan'tpronounceit) and then goes backwards, cutting towards the other point of the triangle which ends at Kiato (and Korinthos, where I live.) BUT, yesterday, somehow the train went straight to the Korinthos side of the triangle. I was terribly confused. And the train was one of the older, bigger trains that doesn't announce stops so I was even more confused. (HOW ARE WE AT KINETTA ALREADY??) To make it worse, I was exhausted, no one was on the train and the blue-interior and semi-mirrored windows were kind of creeping me out. How would anyone who didn't know the stops by heart know when to get off? Public transportation is not made for tourists. 

OK... time to start my day. 

PS:

(Interesting NYT article about blogging)

Ελενι Μερα

Today is my name day in Greece.  So far only Alex's mom has wished me xronia pola. But that's okay, I didn't even know it was today until she said something. I still don't quite get the whole name day thing... it seems to me it is bigger than birthdays around here... but so much less personal. I have to share my day with Constantine. I remember when it was Alex's name day (and I was still new to this whole Greek thing) he texted me: "I drink beers! It is the day of my name. Alexander-day!" 

So, in honor of the day of my name (which for these purposes is Eleni), we're going to watch football (okay, so we'd be watching it anyway...) with some people who speak ENGLISH (yay!) 

Also, I spilled nail polish all over my keyboard today and somehow managed to fix it. I'm an idiot and a genius all at once. 

ya

Alex Quote #1

"I'm never eating meat again." -Me

"Are you going to be a vegetable?" -Alex

9:40 PM, May 20th 2008

It must have started with the chicken...

Since yesterday I've been feeling homesick and I blame the chicken. You see, Alex's mom is working two jobs. She leaves at 8, comes back at 1, goes to another job at 3:30 and comes back and midnight. Yuck, I know. And Alex works early to about 4-5. And I work at home, unless I happen to be working in Athens. So the duties of housewife sometimes fall on me. Yesterday I worked, cleaned the house, went running, and came home just as Alex's mom arrived back from her first job. She had vegetables and chicken with her. (The chicken was not nice clean AMERICAN chicken where you aren't even sure it is chicken, it was the kind of chicken where you cannot avoid the fact that it is chicken.) So she looks at me tap typing away and asks me if I could make lunch. Sure, I say. (I was planning on it. I was thinking pasta. One of the two things I can cook.) Can you make this? She asks. This? I ask. She explains me how to make a sort of baked chicken casserole thing. Incredibly, I understand.  (This was done in Greek, for those of you who have forgotten my situation.) Anyway, I'm a little annoyed because I only like cooking if I can be creative (perhaps why I'm not the best cook) and it scares me to try to recreate one of her dishes. But I say yes, and she goes to take a nap. (Poor dear she is ALWAYS exhausted.) Then I push my work away (again, this is difficult, this working from home thing.) and take out all the ingredients I'll need. We don't have any potatoes. I go to the store and end up spending 20 euros on god-knows-what. I come back. I cut up vegetables, peel potatoes (with a KNIFE) and throw some spices in. (That was what she said to do, pointed to the spice rack and said, "eh, afto" Now that I think about it, perhaps she meant something specific...) Then comes the chicken. It is soaking in a bowl in the sink. I take a piece out. It has a strange congealed blood-like substance on it. I bring it over to the cutting board (remember kids, never cut chicken on a wooden cutting board) and try to cut the thigh from the leg. But there is a BONE in there. Should I break the bone? Do knives CUT bone? I AM NOT A SURGEON HERE. (And if I was the chicken would be very dead anyway.) I start to panic. I'm already borderline vegetarian and I cannot handle raw meat. The skin begins to peel from the leg. I want to throw it away. It doesn't look edible, anyway. Finally I take out our biggest knife and hack at it until the bone breaks. Then I do that two more times. Somehow I don't cut off any of my fingers. I put the chicken in the casserole dish and shove it in the oven. Now the vegetables are ruined with the gross chicken on top. I leave it in the oven and refuse to look at it. Alex gets home about an hour later. I tell him the story. He says "my princess cut CHICKEN?" I'm not sure if he was being sarcastic or not. 

Anyway, turns out the chicken was good, even though I refused to eat it. I might not ever eat chicken again, actually. 

And how does this relate to being homesick? I have no idea, but after the chicken incident I kept thinking about two things. A) cooking at home with the family and how most of the time we ate what I wanted when I was home and no one ever made me cut up chicken or onions and B) cooking with Shannon and being afraid TOGETHER of things like chicken. Which is why we ate a lot of salads. Which led to me thinking about home and how long it has been since I've seen anyway (nearly a year now) and then I got worried that everyone is going to forget me. So, uh, don't forget me, loves.

(that was very therapeutic.)

Also, story Alex just told me. The guy who was is in Eurovision from Russia was in Greece a few years ago and all the girls loved him and told him to say, "Ego poli oraeo pethi." And he said, "Ego poli oraeo pedi." 

How do you write the dth sound in English? 

"And even though we ain't got money, I'm so in love with ya honey"

On the way home from the airport.

Instant wedding invitation: courtesy Olympus u830.

(And dedicated with much love to Joanna Tzenis) 

No such thing as a free... anything.

We're broke. As always, but it starts to get stressful. I mean, OK, I just found out I'm owed a good sum of money which I should be getting next week. Yay, right? Problem solved. Except the second I get any money it disappears. Just like that. Rent. Groceries. The occasional beer. I am not joking at all when I say I have yet to purchase an item of clothing (including shoes) for myself since July. And, I mean, come on... that's ridiculous.  Most of my shirts are literally fraying away to nothingness. Last night Alex and I had a little "money discussion". He pointed out that ONE night out can easily equal and entire day's work here. Everything is just incredibly expensive. (And plus, wages are worse than terrible.) On Saturday we went to the beach. That's cheap, right? We packed a picnic lunch (total cost, 20E). Took the bus to Kiato and back (10E). Alex bought cigarettes (3E). We bought water (1E). When it got too hot we went to a taverna and had a beer each (8E) and some calamari (10E). There you go, 52E... more than I make most days... gone in 5 hours of "outdoor fun". And, okay, you can't live life counting pennies like that, but around here it seems like we're always working for the next day. Just barely staying afloat. Praying nothing tragic happens... hoping the washing machine doesn't break... mending the broken bathroom window with duct tape... rigging the coffee machine with a toothpick. 

I can handle this for now, I just hope life isn't ALWAYS like this. 

And with that in mind: America, here we come. 

Sunshine & Clean Streets

Yesterday at approximately this time (5:30 pm) a guy walked down the street with a rolling trash can and a broom and did an exceptional job of hand-sweeping the road. I was very impressed, since it doesn't seem like the Greeks clean their streets very often. At least in Corinth. A sure sign summer (aka tourist season) is coming. Anyway, it is 24 hours later and I just looked from the balcony onto the street and in a section of street 4 cars and one motorcycle wide I counted 24 pieces of fairly large trash as well as several cigarette butts, candy wrappers, etc. In 24 hours. And this isn't some huge busy street. We're almost at the end of it and besides Beyond (a bar on the OTHER side of the road) there are just apartments and some small shops. Is this normal? Are people SO inconsiderate?

I needed to look up a word today and for some reason I pulled out a tourist guide instead of my dictionary and ended up paging through it because it had nice pictures. It was absolutely a dirty lying book obviously published by the Greek tourism industry. My favorite was the line, "Greeks are incredibly careful, slow drivers who pay attention to road rules."

The book also mentioned nothing about the horrible pollution here. If I were them I'd issue a warning to anyone asthmatic to go somewhere else.

So last night Alex came home from English lessons (I was in bed working expecting him to come home with a DVD) and said "You have five minutes, we're going out." I'll spare you the quotations but we ended up going bowling (and then playing billiards and then eating chinese book) with Peter Beech (for those of you who don't know Peter, he is the owner of the course I took to become certified to teach English), Petra and a few current students at the school. At first it was incredibly awkward (Here I would like to publicly announce that I WON in bowling, even beating Alex which I've never done before) but it ended up being a really nice night. I enjoyed being around a group of English-speaking people. It makes me look forward to being home.

Anyway, I'm going to go because I'm uncomfortable writing from the kitchen which, today, is the only place the Internet works.

FIN

Do I speak Greek?

Today was a good day. Or at least compared to what I thought it was going to be. I had to go into Athens to pick up some work and before I left I sort of panicked. I think it had something to do with the fact that I haven't had to navigate Greece alone (read: speak Greek) in quite a long time now. Oddly, though, instead of forgetting Greek this last month my comprehension seems to have improved. In fact, I managed an entire taxi/metro/train fiasco ALL in Greek AND without any total screw ups. (Apparently on Tuesdays and Thursdays now the Kiato-Piraeus train goes to the aerodromio, not Piraeus. Totally logical. And extremely inconvenient for those of us who want to go to Piraeus from Korinthos. (On the way back I had to take the metro to Larissa Station to buy a Prostiako ticket, get back on the metro, switch lines, go to the Naza****** [insert here name of station I cannot pronounce] station and then wait for another train instead of the usual "buy ticket. get on train".) Anyway, I was pretty shocked at how much Greek I was understanding throughout this, which is a pretty amazing feeling. (Like: Oh hey maybe I'm not THAT dumb.) But I sort of realized that the stage of language-comprehension I'm at is kind of like those vocabulary exercises we did when we were kids. As if parts of sentences just aren't there. "Is this where the _____ store is?" "Please _____ me go _______ tomorrow." I've just gotten decent at filling in the blanks. Sometimes. Other times I can't understand a bloody word of Greek. I haven't figured out why. Part of it is that sometimes I just don't listen, or, well, try at all. 

So anyway, besides functioning like a semi normal person (which it seems I feel the need to brag about) on my journey to Athens, I also picked up a decent amount of work, got some copies of "Summer on The Island" and "Easter in The Village" (the books I wrote that I will never get credit for) AND had my first freddo of the season with Laura. AND Laura brought me SALSA, coriander seeds and some other food-stuffs I can't seem to find around here. (Thank you again agapi mouuuu!) And then I went home to my boyfriend. 

The End.

Just One Little Comment About Americans

With tourist season coming up (especially in Greece) I thought I'd share a little story about American tourists and why we have such a bad image.

Last week I visited Versailles. (The chateau) We walked through the main building and then decided to take this little train to some of the outer gardens and buildings. We got off at the first stop and realized we wouldn't be able to spend too much time there because the last train back was at 6:30. So we wandered around a bit, drank some Versailles orange juice and caught one of the last (crowded) trains back. On our way back we stopped at the next two stops where the driver of the train got off and explained that there was no more room on this train BUT that there would be another train coming along momentarily.

At the front of the line was an American family. I could tell because I'm getting very good at spotting Americans, but also because they LOOKED that kind of trashy-American that doesn't belong in France, except maybe at Euro-Disneyland. ANYWAY, the (overweight, cartoon-character-t-shirt-wearing) mother says "WHY CAN'T WE GO ON THE TRAIN???" The train driver explains to her (in very good English) that there isn't any room (and let me tell you, from the perspective of someone already smushed on the train: there was no room) but another train will be coming by soon. "There IS room!" she said, pointing to a space roughly the size of her sausage-like finger. "Desole" the driver said. "At most ten more minutes." The woman scowled and crossed her arms. Her chubby husband, daughter and two young boys did the same. (How DARE they not have enough room on this train?) Everyone is staring at them, dumbstruck that they're upset about this. (What can you do? The French think. Have a glass of rose while you wait!) Finally the driver shrugs and gets back in the train. At this point we can hear the other train in the distance. As we pull away the roundest of the sons steps out of line and points at our train and hisses, "RUDE RUDE YOU'RE RUDE RUDE RUDE RUDEEE." I could have ripped up my passport then and there.

And the moral of this story is, well, don't act like that. And the thing is: most Americans DON'T... but that tiny percentage that does... well, that's where our bad reputation comes from.

(When I told Alex this story he said: If they were Russians they would have just pushed their way onto the train and refused to leave. Perhaps, then, I'm just overly critical of Americans... )

SPITI

So I'm home (although I barely know what that means anymore) and although I was sad to leave France, I had a pretty amazing homecoming. As I was sitting on the plane (next to one of those adorable couples you can't help be jealous of regardless your marital status) and thinking: "Okay... so I haven't seen Alex in a month and a half. The feeling I get when I DO see him is going to be infinitely telling." When I arrive in cloudy Athens I see Alex walking towards me. The first thing I think is "Wow he's cute." And then we get close and it was... perfect. That's the only way I can describe it. I just never wanted to leave his arms. I finally got the airport moment I've been waiting for all my life. (I really have...) So then we went out to the car (I thought he was picking me up by train but he convinced his friend to drive) and Alex's friend spent 20 minutes telling me how much Alex missed me. In the car we couldn't stop holding hands even though I was in the back seat. When we got home Alex gave me a welcome-home rose. (It took quite a while to get home because we needed gas and there is a truck-drivers strike right now so none of the gas stations have any gas left.) And then Alex's mom made me Borsh (spelling?) which was delicious. And then well... it was a good night. I'm happy to be back and looking forward to the summer and figuring out my life a little bit. 

Thank You Grandpa and Ellen

It is 11:30  on Saturday night. Tomorrow I head to Greece. By tomorrow I mean I have to wake up in 4 and a half hours. It seems the only decently cheap (EasyJet obvi) flight from Orly to Athens is at 6 am... since the last three times I've made the trip it has been at that time. 

Anyway, I am really sad. Like, crying right now sad. It's funny how fast you can grow accustomed to something, to someplace, some people. I feel like I'm being drawn and quartered. I want to be so many different places at once. I want to be here with my family, in Greece with Alex, home in NH with my (immediate) family and back in the states with my friends. Even this summer I want to somehow dash between France and Greece. 

If the life of the traveler is a lonely one, I know why. 

I would also like to thank, via-my-blog my grandpa and Ellen for taking better care of me than I could have ever asked for. Greece is going to seem quite the downgrade from life here. They've taught me a very important lesson though, one that I'm not sure I can articulate but I'll try:

Ellen said to me the other day, "In the world there are givers and there are takers." (She is, clearly, a giver.) The way the world works smoothly is not by everyone insuring their survival or happiness by TAKING what they feel is theirs, but by everyone GIVING what they can. (Alex and his mom also demonstrate this.) In this way, you begin a cycle. When I grow up you can bet I will spoil the hell out of my granddaughter if she shows up on my doorstep impoverished and far from home. Or even if she doesn't. 

In the world there are givers and there are takers, but everyone should strive to be a giver because in they end it is only they who are truly rich. 

Anyway... thank you two for:

-taking me to Corsica

-feeding me better than I've ever been fed (continuously) before (including sushi several times)

-buying me nice things

-giving me intellectual conversation every night (including a new understand of nuclear energy) 

-taking me to Versailles 

-putting up with me talking about Alex all the time

-supporting any crazy plans I may have in my head involving the future

-getting me an LSAT book

-and about a billion other things but I'll stop here because now I only have 4 hours and 10 minutes to sleep...

Paris in that time between spring and summer

JE NE PARLE PAS FRANCAIS

Much to say. Sometimes blogging is like homework you don't want to do. Other times it is not. 

Mmmm Sailors

I was walking along La Siene the other day and decided I should be a better photographer than I am. I mean how hard can it be? If I can appreciate nice photographs, why can't I TAKE nice photographs? (Mr. I-hate-Elena photoshop teaching junior year of high school might have had an answers to this question.) So anyway, I was playing with the settings on my camera... you know the MANUAL ones... and I was totally engrossed in the act of photographing a pretty tree jutting out into the river. I was leaning over the barrier adjusting my camera just so when someone came up behind me and said (in French) something like "photographing those men?" I turned around. "Uhh..." And then I saw it. Directly in front of me (but a centimeter below where I had been looking) was a boat. And on the boat were men. Half naked men. Men in Speedos. Men in Speedos lifting heavy objects. My jaw dropped, mostly because I honestly had no idea they were there. "Uhhh um non, non..." The man who had come up behind me laughed and smiled. I giggled and blushed and started to walk away. Just then the man leaned over towards the men and called to them (in French)

"This little girl was taking pictures of you!" He pointed at me and I fled.  

A Psalm of Life: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Tell me not in mournful numbers,

Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou are, to dust thou returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each tomorrow
Find us farther than today.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act, - act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sand of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us then be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.

In The Direction of America

Home is beginning to seem intangible. As if it never really existed. I am trying desperately to keep in touch with people and yet I become more and more estranged every day, seemingly soon only to exist in stories or gossip. I am fading into European life and part of me is terrified I am going to disappear. Life is going on without me, and when I return things aren't going to be the same. (A concept that takes some getting used to.) My version of reality right now is a sharp deviation from the American norm. I'm living in a temporary world. Liminality. Once upon a time there was someone writing songs about me, but now I'm just a memory. A college fling. A song on an external hard drive that no one ever listens to. Some invisible entity across an ocean. 

Time is intersecting highways and I can't always tell if I'm heading the right way. 

Are you BIKING?

Why is it that when I'm riding a bike strangers I pass make "biking" gestures to me? Do they think I am not aware that I'm riding a bike? Are they impressed with themselves for identifying the vehicle I am on? Are they attempting a backwards game or charades? On a bike ride today from the apartment to Notre Dame (Ah Notre Dame. Jeff & Rich, shout out to you here. I can't even say the name of it without thinking of 6th grade romance) I had THREE people make "biking" gestures to me. Thank you, people I passed, because of you I was ultra-aware of the fact that I was on a bike. Significantly more than if you hadn't made those gestures. 

[end rant]

Anyway, I love biking in Paris. Although it can be a bit of a challenge for the unexperienced. Like, how do you cross three lanes of traffic on a bike? And when is it appropriate to squeeze yourself in front of traffic? Only experience will tell. Unless I ask someone. Which I won't do since I don't bike in Paris very often, anyway. 

I did some thinking while I was biking and I decided my biggest problem in life right now is there are simply too many options. I want to DO everything. I want to SEE everywhere. I want to BE everyplace. There are too many things I'm interested in doing and so it all gets jumbled in my head and I end up with a crappy job in Corinth, Greece. (Not that I regret that, but it has almost opened up my range of opportunity TOO wide.) How do people choose their paths in life? Is it like positioning yourself in a nice part of town, slapping on a blindfold, spinning and choosing to walk down the road you face when you stop? How can anyone be sure of what they want if they realize the whole WORLD is at their disposal? 

If you have an answer, let me know. 

IqbalPleaseDon'tSueMe

(The music I used for this video of Corsica is courtesy of Iqbal Birdi. I do NOT have his permission to use it so I hope he doesn't sue me but I don't think he will. In fact, I'm not even sure the name of the song because I don't have the CD with me... but the fact is that Iqbal is an amazing musician and you can visit his current band's MySpace page by clicking here: the No Sorrows.)

This is some video I took in Corsica all smushed together and, really, of very poor quality but it gives you an idea of the place. 

Runner's High

So we're back in Paris and I've decided it is my favorite city. Not that I've been to that many cities, but I think Paris pretty much has everything you could want from a city. The only problem is everyone seems to speak French... but that's something ONLY an American would have issues with. My French is improving a little bit which is nice except that my mind will get crowded again with Greek and Russian soon enough that it won't make a difference. 

Now regarding the blog title: I love running in France. This morning I went to the park and half of Paris was running. There were even little kids running! And there were yoga classes... and it was all just very nice. I think I'd drop dead from shock if I saw something like that in Greece. (Funny how perspective changes so quickly.) 

Anyway, we've been in Paris since Friday night with Murielle and Auguste (spellings butchered I'm sure: sorry). It was Auguste's birthday yesterday and he took us out to a reallyyyy nice restaurant where just an entree (little rant: entree means APPETIZER not MAIN COURSE you stupid stupid American restaurants) cost more than I usually spend on food for a week. 

I promise I will write more when I have something more exciting to say.