Written 23 November 2009

Saturday, I went to the train station for a trip to an undecided location. Examining the train schedule, I realized I wanted to venture out a little further from Montpellier than the previous trips. I saw a train to Nice was departing soon so I went for it. Nice, I knew, is in the south of France and, with this knowledge, I expected a short train ride. Only when no information for Nice appeared in my Languedoc-Roussillon travel guide did I realize I could be going a little further than expected. Nonetheless, it seemed to be the right thing to do.

The train ride was a little more than four hours to Nice. If I had had to turn right back around and come back as soon as I got to Nice, the money and the time would have been well spent. The scenery was beautiful. Normally, on trains, I read the majority of the time. Going through Provence on the way to Nice, the book was in the bag and the head was turning from window to window. One side was mountainous, hilly countryside of vineyards, mountainside villas, red clay and rock. The colors were amazing. Sides of mountains were set ablaze by the reds, yellows, and oranges emanating from vineyards, farms, rooftops, rock and earth. It was more than the color, the earth was a beautifully formed, rugged and harsh land of dramatic slopes and rises. It was quite the show. On the opposite side of the train, I could see the Mediterranean. As mentioned above, my neck was sore by the end. Look one way to see a vineyard, turn to catch a wave crashing against the side of a cliff, and repeat again.

In Nice, I spent most of my time on the french riviera and in old Nice. I climbed to the top of a mountain/large hill to an old fort that was once the city's defenses. At the summit was the remnants of the old chateau and, what I was really there for, a panorama of the city and its harbor. The old parts of Nice looked like a spanish-tiled jungle. The rooftops canopied the streets and people below. I thought I could walk from one end of town to its opposite, never having to jump from rooftop to rooftop. The bay is crescent shaped with both tips extending rocky arms out into the sea. I could see further than the harbor and the town to the mountains that separate the city from the rest of France to the north, bays farther down the riviera to the west and east, and miles of sea to the south.

In the city itself, I walked around the old section for most of the time. There is a beautiful flower market which, in the morning, includes many products (fruits, vegetables, olive oil, soap, etc.) made and/or grown in Provence. Adding the colors and smells to a square of old, beautiful, and colorful buildings, it is tough to out-do. Old Nice is a maze of narrow streets filled with restaurants, bars, shops, markets, churches, and old government buildings. I thought if I extended my arms full length, I could touch the buildings on both sides of the street. One of the neatest shops I saw was one where you could create your own pasta from scratch. The restaurants were diverse. Being as close as Nice is to Italy and northern Africa, the culture is much less french and more of a eclectic mixture of just about anything and everything.

Saturday night, I went to a russian cathedral in town and missed my train. I had no problem missing my train, the extra night made it more of a vacation. For dinner, I wanted a good, french meal, but was lured by a fantastic, turk dinner instead. The hotel was nice, I always enjoy staying in one. Sunday morning, I awoke early and watched the sunrise on the french riviera. I started with a walk up the rocky beach and ended in a cafe for breakfast. As I ate, I watched a sail boat race in the harbor and looked out on the water, the cliffs, and the pink and blue sky. I wanted time to stop and stay the way it was forever, great vacation.

Written 8 November 2009

Wow, it is amazing how fast time flies. I see my last entry was nearly two weeks ago. What to write about? What is there I would want to share? I face not a lack of subjects, but an overflow of material. So much is done in so little amount of time, each event seems a blur. Yet, there is a design to it all. Exact events and experiences are washed away by the streams of a continuous, chaotic schedule. What is left are the remnants of past experiences in the shape of new knowledge and understanding. Not everything seems as new and strange, yet, nothing is sedentary, nothing is ordinary.  I continue to learn, continue to lose myself in what was once unknown. Looking back, it seems so much. Like reading far too many pages in a book in too short a time, you progress in understanding, yet, you strain to isolate a single event and its impact on your overall outlook. I am lost, yet, there is something detached from it all which seems to take comfort in the course of events. I can't explain it, but there is an over-arching sense of progression and satisfaction I have yet to experience. 

Three weeks ago, feeling a little fatigued from a week of school and work, I promised myself I would travel to a different city each weekend. With a friend or alone, it didn't matter. Each Saturday, go to the train station and see something new. I have done just that the past two Saturdays. Two Saturdays ago, I went to Avignon. It is a beautiful city in the south of France. I spent the afternoon in the city, most of which was taken up by a tour of the Palais des Papes. I was amazed with it all. The luxurious, voluptuous halls of the palace, the seat of the church's once all-imminent power as ruler of man and territory, seemed so foreign to the church I see back home. There is no better place to see what once was and, now, what is than Europe. The sights from the palace's terraces were amazing. I was there at sunset, the sky was lit purple, pink, orange, and gold by the fading rays. The view was expansive, capturing an entire region it seemed from one high vantage point.  I could see where the rivers ran and collided with one another, the entire river-island city of Avignon, as well as hundreds of miles of countryside, was at my viewing disposal. It was magnificent, a place and a feeling with no match.

This past Saturday, I went to Toulouse. I was surprised by the size of the city. For some reason, it reminded me of the historic district of Philadelphia. There was a big difference between Toulouse and Montpellier and Avignon. This might be obvious, Montpellier and Avignon are more "mediterranean" style (don't know enough about the style to call it anything different), stucco, romanesque style buildings. Toulouse is more colonial, red brick buildings, beautiful palaces built for le "gloire" of past monarchs. It is a beautiful town, called the "rose city" or something to that effect (it appears a pinkish color at certain times, in certain light). I, like usual, wanted to get lost in the town, see as much of the city as possible. I did indeed do just that, making it across a great portion of the city in one afternoon. The only negative was the rain. It rained very heavily shortly after I arrived. There was no way I was wasting the afternoon and the money, so I stayed out in it and got soaked. I had to walk around cold and wet for the majority of the day, but the sights were worth the efforts. I went to a beautiful park, found a very neat, outdoor antique market, and saw a couple beautiful churches. If I was to rank the cities I have been to, Toulouse would be at the top. This Saturday, I think a trip to Lyon is in order. 

25 October 2009 at 9:02 Montpellier Time

My activities this weekend were very representative of my overall experience in Montpellier up to this point. These events or experiences often involve the uncovering of new realities and the suppression of past prejudices, stereotypes, and expectations. Personally, socially, educationally, and in many other areas of my life, everything seems to take a different shape, breaking a shell of immaturity and ignorance piece by piece, allowing its contents to seep and form itself according to its new environment. It occurs in simpler environments like a Joan Baez concert or gym, as well as in the necessities of life such as school and work. I have come across so many things that tweak previously held opinions. I might not have been completely wrong before or come to find a truth in its final form, but, nonetheless, each event provides material for a much broader database of intelligence, confidence, and well-roundedness. I have not come close to reaching the full potential of my stay, but, only after this short amount of time, I take notice of immense changes to the point in which it is hard to relate to that person I was before I came. 

The change and constant revision is rampant, but not the only characteristic. Another aspect involves the senses.  Sights, smells, sounds, and touch creating a collage of the most beautiful and the most hideous things I can register to memory. Tonight, I will write of what truly disgusts me. The aspects of Montpellier I have detested from the moment of my first encounter, to each and every moment I am unlucky enough to come upon them. I have several examples and can cite many different experiences. I will only write of what occurs each Sunday morning when I walk to church. I start from my apartment down a road overhanging with trees and bordered by two stone fences, one on each side, providing the partition between the road and the park on one side, and the road and a cemetery on the other side. It is pleasant, tranquil, and set apart from the hustle and bustle of the main road which the stone-fenced road runs into. I cross a tramway line and a main road, then begin down the road leading into town. The first five to ten minutes is lovely. I pass the famous and beautiful Saint Lazare cemetery, a park, several shops devoted to creating marble tombstones and crypts, and a few boulangeries and flower shops. As I get closer into town, the scene becomes more depressing. Most of the buildings look the same as those I pass in the initial five to minutes of my walk, but the wears and tears of the night before become oppressively much more visible as I continue. I pass a night club that continues its operation until Sunday morning, serenading and infecting the early Sunday air with techno music and the sounds and smells of those who have been partying from Saturday night to late Sunday morning.  Around these parts, the passer-byers carry all the traits of extreme intoxication, the glazed eyes, the wobbly stature when walking or standing, the slurred speech, breath you want to keep your distance from, stained and unkempt clothing. The sidewalk is littered with broken bottles, bags of fast food, and torn beer boxes. Today, I saw, in the middle of the sidewalk and covering the width of the sidewalk, vomit that had, by the smell of it, been sitting there for a few hours. A few weeks ago, I saw a man much like me (by this I mean, not homeless, a student) passed out in the middle of the sidewalk. He was there sleeping when I went to church and, again, at the same spot, in the same position, using his shoe as a pillow, when I returned from church. Knowing I will arrive at a church always keeps me from feeling completely miserable. However, even a church, a place of such beauty and goodness, is not spared the over-indulgences of a very over-indulgent youth. Today, each step (there is about twelve long steps from the street to the church entrance) was littered with broken wine, beer, and liquor bottles. You could not avoid stepping on something, it covered the steps as a finishing coat of paint covers a wall. And here, the church and the walk to church, I find what I hate most about Montpellier. The aspects of life, the products of too much youth in too small of a city, I will have no problem getting away from. 

I took things fairly slow this weekend. The highlights were a wonderful Joan Baez concert, a nice evening out on the town and a couple of culinary accomplishments. Other than that, I filled the rest of my time with studying, reading, exercising and running. 

Written 15 October 2009 at 9:41 p.m. Montpellier Time

It was a regular day of school and lifting. I am happy Thursday is coming to a close, I look forward to this weekend. I have several activities planned. My roommates and I are going to the Indian festival Saturday afternoon, a nature preserve Sunday, and, of course, football on Sunday night. If the advertisement for the fair is any indication of its content, we are in for a real treat. The advertisement is of a Maharaja riding an elephant, an immediate attention grabber. I love indian food. One would think at an indian-themed fair one could find indian food. However, this is France, certainty is uncertain. I hope the weekend lives up to the anticipation. The weather has turned cool in Montpellier. I don't know the temperature, but it's long-sleeve, hands-in-your-pockets weather in the mornings and evenings, warming up slightly through the afternoon, often leaving you regretting your decision to wear the long sleeves. I am greeting the cooler weather with open arms. The crisp, cool air seems to accentuate the smells of the city. The boulangeries baking bread, homes heating their night with wood fires, the freshly cut lawns along my route to school, all pungently provide a sensuous and unique aroma one captures with the brisk wave of the breeze. It is lovely. Although it arrived later, it is not much different than autumn in Louisville, which, in my opinion, is the best time of the year. it should make my swim in the Mediterranean a little more painful. Nonetheless, let's see what I can handle. 

Written 13 October 2009 at 9:14 p.m. Montpellier Time

My language class is split into two parts. Half of the time is devoted to grammar, the other half is designed to enrich our language comprehension skills. Grammar is self-explanatory, verb tenses, relative pronouns, and every other element of the french language. The language comprehension portion of the class is most entertaining, as well as, at times, the most painful. Often, we read a text, watch a television program, or listen to a recording and discuss the meaning of the passage. Our topics range from consumer products to politics and religion. It can be very dry, like last week's discussion on e-bay and how it has revolutionized the shopping world. I prefer the deeper subjects, politics, weighing in on theoretical laws, or gay marriage. It provides what I have come to value the most from France, learning about different cultures and how their environment back home has shaped the beliefs they hold. The conversation is contained within the boundary of our language skills. Nonetheless, if you take the time to piece together the broken french, you can learn a thing or two. Of course, there are sources that provide the views of distant places and people. I knew a thing or two about many of the cultures I have come in contact with before I arrived. From my experiences, I found this to be only half the story, the sum of facts and majorities. There is no back story, no way of piecing together why one thinks the way they do. Here, through daily interactions with several different shades and sizes of people, you get the real story, the backgrounds and influences that craft the religious views of someone from China and those coming from England or Sweden. I find it incredibly stimulating, far better than the beautiful buildings and castles lining french streets across this beautiful country. We have vast differences in the United States. If we take the time to research our history, our failures and victories, we can find the roots that lead to the flowering of our diversity in all its different forms and points of emphasis. On a much grander scale, the same is true of the global population. However, there is no common starting point to draw from. Each place has its own isolated story. We might share cultural similarities, we might practice the same religion or claim the same form of government. However, what did it take to get there? How has the past shaped our minds? How does it affect contemporary social structures? Each day, I keep these questions in the back of my mind. I am lucky, in Montpellier, the opportunities to crack these queries are all around me. It might be only one person's point of view from a land far away, but they know their home. They are a product of their environment and, like me, have an educated knowledge of what paints their country's picture. We, exchange students, have the privilege of being strangers. Our loneliness leaves us receptive and giving. We want to talk about things, we want to have friends. In this environment, we have no cliques to cling to other than ourselves, no security blanket of individuals who think and act in the same manner we do. We are united by our differences and have no problems sharing the stories of what separates us. For example, today, we continued our discussion on gay marriage. Mr. Gomez provided the topic, we had to choose whether we were against it or for it and state our reasons for the opinion. The conversation highlighted our differences with each, individual stance. Most people relate their opinions to home, to how such a subject is thought of and acted on by the cultures that make up their world. At times, I found my expectations of how one would respond disappointed. At other moments, I found them supported. Once class has ended and I have the benefit of hindsight, I always wish I could have said more, could have asked more questions, could have understood more of my friends' french. However, regardless of the difficulties, the conversation is always transformative, always expansive. Each one makes a dint in a generalization or two. Each stretches the sources of your opinions and beliefs, annihilating those that lean on falsity, ignorance, and prejudice, strengthening those supported by fact and feeling, and leaving unknowns, those social mores we accept because we find them all around us, yet claim no part of our spirit, a little more questionable, a little more uncertain and changeable. We become a little less american, swedish, or ghanese in thought and adopt a much more worldly outlook. An outlook concentrated and devoted to a certain region, yet can claim the influences of a dozen places. Perhaps, this is too dramatic. Maybe, this will fade with time and distance. Nonetheless, we have the chance to understand a little more about the lot of others. It would be disappointing to misuse this gift.

Written 13 October 2009 at 9:51 p.m. Montpellier Time

I had the best morning most men could ask for. Yesterday, I subscribed to a program through NFL.com that allows me to view any game live and in high definition. I just can't live without football on Sundays. This morning, I awoke at 5 a.m. as usual to make breakfast and prepare for a small test coming up in my first class of the day. I have grown to love early mornings, but this was no ordinary morning, at least it wasn't today. I had awoken early enough to catch the final quarter of the Monday night game. I can't think of a better way to start out the day than live football, coffee, and a large bowl of fresh fruit. I was in heaven. It was a great preview of the type of access I will have each and every Sunday. Football is back!!

I strolled into my afternoon class today as usual, tired and ready to get as far away from my aesthetically challenged university as quickly as possible. Standing outside of the classroom, I talked with friends, telling them my stories of my voyage home. Patiently listening to each and every detail from my trip, my fellow pupils had news for me. During my absence, they had elected me as one of two representatives for our group.  I immediately looked for the balloons and the streamers, the band to burst out of the phonetics classroom and serenade my triumph with the Marseillaise or university fight song (if one exists). I would be disappointed, no balloons, no band, no celebration. Instead, the conversation drifted to the obligations and responsibilities of the office I was about to swear an oath to. In broken french and a little english, we patched together the duties I would be expected to fulfill. Similar to a labor union representative (on an extremely, extremely small scale), I take grievances and complaints from my constituents and report them to program directors. I am the middle man, the guy who runs between those that run the system and those that are run by the system. I still don't have a good picture of what I am expected to do but, whatever it is, I hope to satisfy those I serve. The campaign was hard fought, a lot of mud-slinging and muck-raking. I drew from my domestic situation and bribery to secure my election. We have a large asian majority in our group. I live with two asian students. Running up to the campaign, I studied my roommates' moods, memorized what made them happy and what disgruntled them. I took what I learned to the classroom, trying to place myself in cordial friendship with the majority. When the ice wouldn't break, I resorted to a warm baguette or croissant in the morning and a thirst-quenching boisson froid in the afternoons when the wears and tears of a long, hot day at school begin to show. Obviously, as my victory shows, I must have crafted quite the relationship with my asian friends. In the case of uncertainty, I thought I could use my size as an intimidation factor. On average, my asian friends barely measure up to my chest. I thought a scowl and flex on election day would secure any dissenters from my camp. I didn't even have to go that far, the impact I made was so compelling I didn't even need to be present to get voted into office. In truth, there was no campaign, no machinations or strategies to get elected. I had forgotten about the elections until I found out I had been chosen. I find the other story much more entertaining though, I might have to stick with it. 

Upon my return, I found my removed introspection had rededicated myself to experiencing everything I can in France. I am starting from the bottom, the seemingly meaningless activities that are special because I do them here. I have had several similar experiences so far. I find them so compelling and new at the time, then realize I can do the same thing in a similar fashion, yet much less satisfactory way in Kentucky. The cafe seems to be the best example of this experience. I start small this weekend, at a place I have been several times but failed to experience fully. I promised myself that I would swim in the Mediterranean this weekend. From there, a hiking trip to the Cevennes, hopefully, reaching the summit of the mountain, is next on the agenda. I want to test myself, see what I can do both physically and mentally. I will start with a swim and a french novel and continue to progress from there. 

Rep. Patrick H. Mcdonald

Written on 12 October 2009 at 9:15 Montpellier Time.

Last Wednesday, I left Montpellier for the first time since my arrival. My destination was not Barcelona or Italy, but Louisville, Kentucky. Yes, I got to go home for my sister's wedding and four days of relaxation. I had heard of the dangers of such a voyage. What can, at first, seem like a wonderful deviation from the new status quo back to the old status quo, I have heard, can make the return to your home abroad completely miserable. The old taste comes and besmirches all future encounters and the new routine you have settled into. I kept this in the back of my mind and began to worry when my stay turned out to be completely flawless. It could not have been orchestrated any better. I was lucky to spend each moment with someone I care dearly for. I could hardly contain my satisfaction and happiness, it was spewing from me each moment, in every situation. Even the eight-hour flight went wonderfully. I found myself dropping the books and thinking of the activities I had been lucky to take part in, barely containing random smiles that would have made my neighbors question my sanity. And yet, I had no apprehension, no depressive feeling about returning to Monpellier. I was actually looking forward to getting back, to putting my ideas of bettering my situation in France into action. There were so many unknowns when I first arrived. My mind was full of questions, not answers, when I made my initial journey. Did I have what it took to live in France, to thrive in a situation so far from what had become customary in my life back home? I had failed to adapt to Thomas More College, could I really handle France on my own? Through time, many failures, adaptations, growth, and some improvement, I started to find that I had an answer to these questions. I realized with effort and patience, I could do it, I could accomplish my goals. I settled into a routine of school, exercise, work, and social activities, the way of life I, at some level, doubted I could handle. With this in mind, it was not difficult to return to my sunny city. In five weeks, Montpellier had transformed itself, in my mind, from self-orchestrated, not to mention unhappy, exile into a home. I have learned to no longer fear it, to stop looking past it, and enjoy each and every situation. From sunrise to sunset, I have so much to learn, so many ways to improve myself. It is satisfying to come back to something that challenges you especially when you think it was starting to sweep you away. It is a life laboratory and you hold the chemicals and instruments in your hand. Finding which hypothesis and which combinations work the best is what is fun, what has made my time hear seem to be a blur of exhilaration, a memory mixed with several tones and patterns. Each element is not beautiful in its singularity, but they come together to create a very agreeable conglomeration of feeling and experience. I am looking forward to continuing, to correcting the faults and errors, and completing the next stage of my stay. The break was beneficial in several aspects, it offered a chance for a distant perspective, for a refreshment of energy and discipline, and time to enjoy those I love. I am happy to be back.