Tired of being the representative

I was in Caen one night at David’s house when I had had enough. One of David’s friends had come to the house to play some music with David, and the conversation that ensued was typical of first meetings, but I didn’t want to deal with it this time.
Steryotypes. They present a problem. Usually when the conversation turns to the USA there is not a whole lot of positive things said. I try to correct things where I can , but for the most part, I agree with their statements. Still, after an hour of hearing someone dog your country, and multiply that by a few times a month, I don’t care who you are, it gets old. This particular guy proceeded to talk about how he saw on TV one time a girl in the US who didn’t know where Budapest was, she thought it was the capitol of Europe. Fine, like I say here, there are unintelligent people everywhere, but he was telling this story as if I wasn’t there, and then looks at me and asks, “So is it true, Americans don’t know where Budapest is on a map?”

I wanted to say ‘Yes, it is true, we are all complete morons.’…and then punch him in his face. I told him I didn’t know, and I then proceeded to tell him how sick I was of being the mouthpiece for 260 million Americans. I don’t know all of them. But I told him that all of my family, and most of my friends know where it is. And when I told Laura about this, she made the point that if you are going to judge an entire country by the response of one girl to a geography question there is seriously something wrong. Of course for those of us who have traveled it is a no-brainer. And sure some americans don't know this one small detail, but ask Bob or Josh about brewing, Jon, BJ or Garrett about climbing, Eli about anything sportsman, Glen about nutrition, Kevin, Mark or Laura about literature, and they’ll blow your mind.

This is a microcosm of what I am facing here, what the world is facing. But what is even more shocking, and what I realized was that we believe what we see on TV. Almost every commentary I hear here about the US starts out with “one time I saw a report on the US and they said…” The funny thing is that we do the same thing. When we talk about other countries we play off what we see in films and on TV. Some less than others, but for the most part we go off what we 'know'. I would love for someone to approach me and ask me if what they saw was true, or better yet to ask me what my life looks like where I live. They are amazed when I tell them that I am super conscious about what I consume, that I bike more than drive and that I don’t eat McDonald’s or drink Coke.

I wonder about the first conversations that westerners had with people from India, from Thailand, from China. Well of course they weren’t always easy, language difficulties, but I pose the question because I wonder what it was like to have no idea what you were going to find in a place before you got there. It is almost as if there is no room to be curious or to make a cultural, social error. We shy away from asking questions that might not be intelligent not “culturally sensitive” and instead make statements as if we know how ‘it’ all works. I shied away from being myself many times since I have been here because I didn’t want to be ‘that’ American in France. Turns out I am American.

Just a quick example of how trying to be overly culturally sensitive can make you a jerk. I have a girlfriend who is American. I like her. She is funny, she is smart, and sometimes she is loud; especially when she is excited about something. Normal right? Few people are super loud, and especially when you are in the market, it is difficult to hear people’s conversations. So first day Laura is excited to see me and I have the impression that she is yelling in my ear. I let her know and she gives me a look. No less than twice more within the next few days I correct her, until she looks at me and I know I have gone to far.

When we last left our fair hero…

…he was injured, but doing well. But was in desperate need of a break from school. Well a few weeks later that break came. I was so happy to have a few weeks off just to relax and go to see some friends in the north of France. Just to keep you up to date on a few happenings that have gone on. Because of my injury I had to find a new way to keep in some shape, and since my soon-to-be sweet fixie isn’t ready, I decided to start running. A group of us from the CAF (Club Alpine Francais) got together to do a relay run. I did my first 20km (12 miles) race ever, and liked it well enough. I wasn’t so stoked however on the training part. I got real bored real quick.

Just got back from visiting up in the north of the country. I was at Martina and Farid’s house which is just north of Paris, and then for five days I was in Caen, the city where I studied in 2006. The weather was much colder, but as soon as I stepped into the house of Martina and Farid, I was home. I told them that their house is the one place outside of the US that feels like home. They are a part of a ministry here in france called Mimestry. Farid is from Algeria and Martina is from Germany. They went to the US to be trained by a guy named Todd Farley. After their one year training they came back to France to start up their own ministry.

I went up to Caen after a weekend with them, where I wanted to visit some friends who I had met when I was there earlier. The family Robidou was one I didn’t want to miss. As well as David, now having his doctorate in Psycology, and being a great cook, we had a good time just reading, relaxing, eating everything ‘à la crème freche’.

The Saga Continues

The weekend was spectacular. We went to an area called Fauson not but an hour away from Mazamet for some beautiful craging. Line after line of beautiful limestone routes. We all banned together on two 5c’s (5.10a) to start with, and then à chaqu’un son gout (to each his own). I climbed this beautiful 6b (5.10d) to start on and then up my first 7b (5.12a/b) with two big rests. I was so inspired by the movement there and excited that I didn’t have any pain in my arm that I got on a 6c (5.11b) that was super delicate and technical. You had to stay in balance the whole time, all the holds were positive, but just enough that you couldn’t rest all the way through. I was having one of my best climbing days. I could feel my technique changing, using my feet and body much better than normal. More flowing up the rock than climbing 'comme un caillou qui tombe' (like a falling rock).

Then, the morning after…disaster. The same pain, the same place, and rest for another month.
Injured once again. This elbow just continues to be giving me problems. Tendinitis that just won't go away. I haven’t lost heart just yet, I am still high off the climb, but I hope I don’t. There isn’t a lot of asking why, because I know that this isn’t a punishment, but at the same time there is still some ‘slowness’ that I am learning.

Weekend in Ariege

Ariege is in the Pyrenees mountains about two and a half hours from where I live. It was my first outing since I found out I had some tendonitis in my elbow and I was super excited to get going. A group of seven of us went down for a climbing weekend and a bouldering comp. Saturday when we got there the beautiful weather that they had announced was less than, so the multi-pitch we were going to do changed into some steep routes in half rain and the cold. We had a great time none the less, but at four in the afternoon we left to go to the indoor climbing area not but twenty minutes away.

The comp was in an old converted mechanic shop. Sixty routes were set for about as many competitors. We had a little meeting to tell us how it was going to go, and then we had two hours to do climb what we wanted. IT WAS GREAT! For two and a half hours we climbed, I did about nineteen routes, among some conversation and just the general excitement of the room. It was all on an honor system, and it was more like a bouldering session than a comp. Every once in a while a group of about five or more would get super psyched about a problem and a group would form to cheer them on and talk.

That evening we were going to camp, but a friend of a friend asked us to come back and sleep at their apartment. On a fait la fete. We had a party. It might that I am over the party scene, and this is probably the thing, but they could go all night. At about two I was out. It was fun, dancing to Buena Vista Social Club, talking, getting complements on my hat that Laura made for me, and taking pictures with one of our group who was asleep at about 1.

The next day we had blue skies and great temperatures in Calames, one of the sectors there in Ariege. We climbed for hours and hours in the sun, until we decided that we had our fill and our light jackets were not doing the job. Two and a half hours later I was in my apartment feeling much better than my last post.

This is why I call it messy

Written Friday night at 7:30

Uh. I kind of feel disgusting right now. I came home from school at 10:30, took at nap, woke up to go on a run, talked to Laura, and now, under the overhead light of my apartment, I am watching some of the movie 300. So to the group of people who have been following my blog, thanks, and here is a little of the unglamorous part of my life here. Ugh, it is moments like this, and this past week has been one of them, that I sort of feel like I am waisting my life. I have had many people tell me that I am to hard on myself, that I work to hard to be perfect, well I admit to this, but this thing in my spirit/stomach pulls at me and tells me that I was made to do more with my life than eat, sleep and watch worthless movies. Pfriem, thanks for setting an example.

Welcome to the more messy side of my life.

Clairification

I realized that the last post I put up might have sounded a little too sad, like I was counting down the days to come home or something. This was not my intention at all. I am very happy to be here. In fact I was walking to a professor’s house to return an inflatable mattress that she had lent me, thinking how much I know I am going to miss this place when I leave in four months. The conversations about whatever in French, the time alone, the mornings where it is just me and coffee and my journal and nothing to do until the afternoon, this morning for instance, the getting-to-know stages of a job and city and new people.
And with this decision of where to live for the next couple of years in the back of my mind, WA or TN, I am very thankful that I am able to think on that from a distance. Not that it is set, but it is a continual conversations within me here.

I have learned a whole lot while I have been here about myself, Jesus, family, friends, and so on (blogs about this to come soon). Thanks Garen.

The end of the vacation...

I have been back in school for almost two weeks now and i am not super stoked on it. It was so much more fun to be sipping mate with the Argentinian family in Barcelona, or waking up once again to Laura in my apartment, or bombing around in the Volswagon Golf the Loya's rented with us to go to Toulouse and Carcassonne. Or maybe even another bomb dish of something Carlie Loya made while I was at school... but no, I am in school again. Laura left last Sunday, sad, but true, and for the first time I counted up the months until I return myself and there are only four months left!

I wasn't in Barcelona actually. I was in Manresa, a city in Catalonia, not Spain, as Oriol (he is the boyfriend of the Spanish assistant in the same high-school as me) was so happy to tell me. I spent five days, including Christmas with this family, eating more meat than I could imagine, and just having a great time with them, laughing and trying to learn Spanish as I used it as incorrectly as possible. I climbed twice with her brother, Pablo, and we went to Barcelona one day to see the sights and walk around. It is really a beautiful city, especially the Gaudi buildings that are there.

Upon returning on the bus I wasn't super stoked on waiting around in Toulouse for Laura all night, and not wanting to pay for a ticket back home I hitched a ride home to sleep in my own bed, and then the next morning did the same to arrive in Toulouse to meet Laura.

We spent the new year with my friend David and his girlfriend, Cecil. She speaks english well, and David doesn't speak at all, so of course Laura and David got along splendidly through facial expressions and some small translations.

The Loya's came to the fair city of Castres for a long weekend. There were many nights of a great meal, wine, cards ( at which Laura beat us all every time), and just fun conversation.

They left to head to Spain, Laura and I hung out for another week, and then sadly she left to return to Bellingham. My apartment seemed really big and lonely when I returned.
More thoughts to come, but there are pictures galore. Go to flcker!