Frog Legs

I am supposed to address this post to my mom. The idea being that it would give my reader a solid state, and avoid confusion. I would love to, really, but my mom confessed that she Imagines I'm in Iowa City. I hate to disillusion anyone, especially my mother, so:

Dear Grandma,

Check out my new photos. Some of Bruge, some of the metro, and more of France.

This last month has been strange for me. I'm still learning about the culture, and am always surprised by what can happen in a new country. For example, I haven't been able to attend classes for a month, because the student union is blocking the doors. There is a strike against a law that Sarchozy passed, a president as infamous as Bush, for similar reasons, called the LRU. Every Monday the student body on the campus votes on whether or not the strike should continue. I have voted against, mostly for selfish reasons. The law would make public universities autonomous. The benefits are more freedom with spending, the downside is that funding could easily be reduced, and public universities could become a thing of the past. Considering the disparity between US and France tuition, there's reason for them to worry. Most students could not afford to attend school at US prices. For example, about 40% of students have need based scholarships, and pay about 40€ a semester to go to school here. It's 400€ without a scholarship. Not that the government is breaking its back to accomplish this. It's the universities that suffer from lack of money, and the condition of the campus facilities, as I've tried hard not to complain about, are nearly dire. Private donations, which are now illegal, will become legal if the law is sustained. The reputation of the French as "proud," is mostly correct. Few students are willing to sacrifice their financial independence for a shinier library named after Colonal Sanders. I guess that's the difference between us and them.



This gets me to a point that I've wanted to talk about for awhile. Waiting. Waiting in France is a serious past time. The mass of students doing nothing right now, except waiting for school to start again. Granted, their are demonstrations that students are encouraged to attend, but for the average student, a sort of haze settles on a life style. It was in considering this haze that glossed over my daily lifestyle that I realized how logical it is that existentialism started in France. And as I said to my friend, why no one in America can understand it, amongst the hustle bustle of ten minute lunches and yoga class. It is something inspired by cigarettes, coffee, and long afternoons. The sun has started setting at 6 PM. What are we to do? Let's wait until tomorrow, we'll have fruit for breakfast, and make a spectacle of the sun. If it is cold, I think I'll stay inside, and maybe watch the wind blow through my window. A base instinct begins to dictate my actions, its not so hedonistic as I once said in my 11th grade essay. It's more the necessities of human existence, the modern kind, where there's seagulls eating bread on the roof, and an inevitable puddle in front of the mall. I'll save surrealism for another day.



I visited Bruge since the last post. It was my favorite European city so far. It is in Belgium, and it's called the Venice of the north. It was small enough to get around by myself, and it wasn't as crowded as Brussels or Amsterdam. I would describe the city as quaint. It's got a lot of famous churches, and displays inside the churches. I visited three, and say Michaelangelo's Mary, a bunch of old women sitting making lace, and the holy relic of Jesus' blood. My favorite thing in the world, windmills, lined the east canal. Giant, archaic, I should have been reminded of Don Quixote, but alas, I haven't head it. There was a small store like Surplus back in Iowa City, were I found a small lamp for my room, better than reasonably priced. I assumed at first it was a pawn shop, but everything was too cheap. I regretted not asking where the junk came from, but people in Belgium don't always speak French, they prefer English. Nonetheless, I tried not to betray my French disguise. I saw a draw bridge and a big yacht. I saw the sunset on the canals, and felt full of color. There was ice-skating in the square, and I bought some snail soup, and a crepe, so I could tell my dad I'm tasting cultural food. They were delicious!



My friend Karl asked about transportation. I tried to take terrific photos, because I think the metro has some terrific stations, but I was stopped nearly every time by a control-man/woman. They encouraged me to get a press pass, and I didn't feel like admitting I wasn't with the press. I can certainly explain system in my region. The buses mostly work within cities. They have a reputation for being late, and seldom arrive spontaneously to save you from walking. Like an untrained French poodle, it promenades through more detours than convenient. The metro, on the other hand, stops usually every five minutes. It is fast, and stops everywhere I want to go. Most spaces are standing, and it is sometimes crowded. I amuse myself by trying to stand suavely without holding the bars. The trains are also expedient, from what I hear. Two of my friends commute every day on the train, one and a half hours. The distances range from local, regional, to continental. The cost is fairly expensive. 1.50€ a ride, 300€ for nine months, and about 20% off for students.



As far as traveling southern France, as sweet Rachel plans, I don't have much advice, as I've never been there. I know it is known for its mountains--the Pyrenees, and the Mediterranean coast. If you like to ski, check out the resorts. I would visit the cities, Marseilles for sure. And the city/country(?) of Monoco has a reputation for being, sweet. Posh might be a more realistic word. It would be fun to waste 20€ in Monte Carlo casino. I imagine the king and queen live in a giant palace, so take some photos to show your grandma. Don't worry about anti-Americanism. Everyone is reasonable about stereotyping, and you'll receive the benefit of the doubt. There are conservatives here, too! Be prepared to be another tourist. To escape, rent a bike and ride into the country side. If you're as lucky as Danny Valentine, you'll find a vineyard and cheap lunch. If it's too cold, or you're out of shape, walk to the outskirts of the city, and you'll find shops that cater less to souvenirs-shoppers. Here's a site that should help you.


Stay warm.



Love,
Elias

On International Affairs

As promised, I've visited Brussles, Belgium, and Amsterdam, Holland. I took some pictures, jotted a few notes, and will devote most of my post to these two, one-day adventures.
See pictures here http://www.flickr.com/photos/14678278@N02/ (the same page) They are big, and took a long time to upload, for what that's worth.

These trips are organized by the International Student group at the school. The students pay a fee for the bus, and it's a free for all once we get to the city. It took four hours to get to Amsterdam, which made for a long day, and not enough visiting time. Anyway, it's cheap travel, and an option I don't have at U of I.

Brussels

Brussels is a city of chocolate, and so, logically, happy people. A pleasant relief from the stern outlook of the French, the merry Belgiums and their capital city, capital, in fact, of the European Union, host flocks of tourists among the unpredictable assortment of new and old architecture. Aside from chocolate, spheres were a dominant theme. Obviously Atomium, the tourist trap that dominates the city's skyline, composed of enormous steel balls. The iconic sphere is repeated throughout the city, from its fountains, to doorstops, and even the plump cheeks and chocolate truffles propogated the sphere. Perhaps it signifies the nation's belief in compromise, and distaste for pointed comments.



The weather was terrific, sunny with fluffy clouds, but the wind was cold. I accompanied, or was accompanied by, two German girls, and two Greek girls. We spent the most of our day atop a double decker tour bus, either shielding ourselves from the wind, or taking photos to show our friends, or put on various under-read blogs. Churches and cathedrals in Europe, contrary to the midwest, where they resemble, well, churches in cornfields, display majestic spires hidden around corners, and remain an inspiring sight, as they must have been for the populations of men so many centuries ago, that walked the same streets hauling carts filled with horse manure. We made a special expedition to find the pissing fountain boy, who was remarkable small, yet detailed, and I suppose proportionate to a real boy.



Amsterdam.

Holland marks my 6th country I have stepped foot in, in my lifetime. Perhaps someday it will mark the 6th planet that an E.T. has visited, but I saw no such aliens on my visit, despite the plethora of legal hallucinogens available (mushrooms, liquid X, marijuana) for anyone with more than 18 years of age. It was three Canadian girls I tagged along with this time, fearing that my directional skills would be insufficient in the city of overambundant landmarks--it took time to adjust to the multitude bell towers, and bridges, and the recurring sense of deja-vu they incurred. I prefer this city to Brussels, the architecture is consisitent in period, and beautifully colored and ornate, and because of the plethora of bikes, of pretty women with brown hair, and because I find the sound of bells soothing.



We stopped at the Anne Frank museum, but it had been sufficiently touriturized to merit a block-long line, and time was too limited to wait in line. We stopped by the highest bell-tower, which would have provided a beautiful view of the city, had it not closed half an hour before we arrived. Another well-known lookout spot costed too much, so we vistited the mall next door, which was disappointingly only two stories high. I did buy a wool sweater, and the Canadian girls taught me how to tie my wool scarf, and with my wool gloves, I'm ready for winter in France. My French has become strong enough to speak French in non-speaking countries, to a cashier who will revert to Englsih, and I will reluctuntly, full of posh, pretend that it is my second language, in which I am very fluent. I must say a few things about the prostitutes, who sat poised behind windows in the red-light district, in lingerie, tapping on the glass at me. Sorry, there's no pictures, it seems like it would have been rude.



It's difficult to walk through Amsterdam without imagining being a famous painter. The highlights of the canals in the crepuscule, the orange and brown tints in the dresses of women carrying bundles wrapped in brown paper, the corner houses made with windows, and the boats, the cars, the bikes, the people, the trolleys, and the possibility of existing as a recluse amongst all of this, the rouge pommetes of the girls, red cheeks of the women, the vibrancy of earth leaking through the flowers, trees, and the feathers of a swan. Home to more art museums than any other city, I recommend a week visit devoted to visiting them, particuliarly the Van Gogh museum, living peacefully, and maybe bringing a scratch pad to capture the essence in the lines of the cobblestone walks.



Shortcomings of the Residence
The nice thing is it costs 165€ per month. The downside is it has one computer available six hours a day, that is probably ten years old. The recreation room consists of three ping-pong tables with floppy paddles, the weightroom of one tread-mill and one pull-down machine. There are two washers, and one dryer, there is no elevator, and the showers have pressure comparable onle to those of 630 Bloomington.


Other News

Granting all goes well, my status as uncle will be fortified in November, and my dear sister Darci is due on the 14th.

My sister Theresa is going to visit me for Christmas, so I have much to prepare for before then: making my room less of a baren place, more like a home.

I won a $4000 scholarship, for being Iowan, and having a 3.5.

Visits to London and Bruge and the future, but not for one month, so I expect to post before then. Possible subjects include: "The new French revolution, wool, leather, and stainless steel for all," and "How to ignore that really annoying American girl by pretending that you don't speak English."

Lille

I haven't had a blog since high school, and at that time it was more an alternative to being cool, or smoking cigarettes, than communicating. Today I revamp my career as a blogger, having a genuine desire to share my experiences with those who care about where I am, or what I am doing. This first post covers the quotidian bases: lifestyle, my city, a few intelligent or witty phrases. It lacks the gnitty gritty private details that would perhaps be more interesting.

There are pictures too. See them at http://www.flickr.com/photos/14678278@N02/ If you want a high resolution photo, just ask me to email it to you.

Feel free to comment, ask questions, or give suggestions. If you don't want to be on the e-mail list for updates (about once a month), or if you are not on the list and want to be, email me--ep.simpson@gmail.com. Or if you feel like writing a letter, my address is
407 Robespierre
1 Rue Lavoisier
59370
Mons en Baroeul
France

For those with facebook, there is a link to this website on my account. I plan on adding two sections, one about the culture, and one about my excursions out of Lille. In the next three months I have guided day-trips planned for Amsterdam, Brussels, Bruges, and London. Cultural subjects include "Waiting," and "Eating."



The University
In french, the campus is called the fac. The fac in Lille III is moche—a little ugly, with imposing faux-cliff facades. It has a reputation for being factory-like, in terms of education, but I've found the students to be genial, and the professors empathetic. Only the english teachers speak english. In general the proffesors are more arrogant, and a little snobby towards the students. Perhaps as retaliation, the students take classes more lightly than those in the states. Fun is made through mockery of the teachers, and safety is found in numbers.

The attitude towards international students is warm and welcoming. My translation teacher, who moved to France from Washington 20 years ago, expressed her appreciation for my acuteness with the language. The students take the same courses together, for the three years of school, but as a foreigner I am able to pick my classes from any department. This semester I'm taking a few classes in english (Shakespeare, British history) partly because I need the credit, and partly to lighten the stress of not understanding my professor. My French classes are translation, art and literature, Latin, a tandem class with a french studnet, and literature and geopolitics.



The Food
Charles Simic titled his poems on popular subjects, and wrote about ideas no one expected. I don't have anything breath-taking to say about the food, and will most likely confirm your suspicions. The food in France is better, but I'm afraid it doesn't live up to its reputation. Two nights ago I was chatting with a French student who says that the American view of France is based on 30 years ago—a much more romantic and propserous time, perhaps even in the States. Back then a baguette cost 5 cents, and you could get a gourmet, full course meal for 10 dollars. The situation has changed; the food still has more butter, more cream, more chocolate, more sugar, than in the States, and so it tastes better. My first night dining in town I ordered escargo, served in argentine butter, and I savored dipping my bread in the sauce as much as swallowing the clam-like creatures. I also ate a pot of mussels, a specialty in the town, and was nothing less than elate at the delicousness.

The Residence
Brimming with internationals, and real frenchies, the nightly gatherings in the residence are diverse in language and culture. Students from Spain, Romania, Germany, Italy, Australia, and Britain all talk in various degrees of broken French—and some are lucky to have been taken under the wing of a French student. The room size leaves on wishing for more, although they supply a mini-fridge and two burners, a kitchen sink, and a vanity sink. The view from my 4th floor room is terrific. I can see the cranes of downtown Lille on the horizon, and I wake up to see a world full of fog. The leaves are changing colors, and the courtyard is well kept. There is a swimming pool nearby, and a supermarket. The bus stop is across the street, and it's a ten minute walk to the metro. It takes about thirty minutes to get to the campus.



Lille
The city of Lille, lively, busy, cheerful, is home to 200,000 inhabitants, and is surrounded by cities of noteable size. Its « Old Town » offers a manifold of shopping options, at aristocratic prices. The ancient town is beautiful for its European architecutures, palaces, and churches. It has two reputable art museums, which I made a point to visit: The Musée de Beaux Arts, and The Piscine, which is French for the swimming pool. It's centered around a Roman bath house, and it's more modern collection of statues and paintings lead to my resolution to visit every Friday, when it is free for students. The open air market, every Sunday at Wazemmes, is an awe inspiring sight. Among the thousands of shoppers, and hundreds of vendors, you can find anything from batteries, to vases, to grilled chicken.



Something about the city's high latitude, and proximity to the ocean means that it's always cloudy, and usually raining. In fact, this dreary region is notorious for it's high number of alcoholics, and alcohol related accidents. On the other hand, the city of Lille has a reputation as friendly, open, and cheerful. Even for the internationals with incoherent French, they will be more than happy to direct anyone to the nearest boulangerie, where you can find fresh baked bread, croissants, or pains aux chocolats. It's an expensive city, and continent for that matter. Books, clothes, and restaurants are more expensive, and considering the exchange rate, I'm paying more at the grocery store as well. It's not impossible to live cheaply, my newest resolve; two kilos of tomatoes at the market costs only two euros, and yes, they always use the metric system.