My Kind of Math

Park + Raspberry tartlette = one happy girl!

Paris, Je T'Aime

Paris is hilarious. Paris is sophisticated and beautiful yet also so brusque and filthy. "I love Paris but not the Parisians" is a widely shared opinion.* Visitors who have had a good experience here would call the nation a paradox, those who've been burned by the infamous Gallic shrug**, that je ne sais quoi***, that expression of,"You're S.O.L. and I couldn't care less" would call it plain old hypocrisy.

However you want to slice your cheese you have to admit that this place is intriguing. Paris is chic yet tacky, modern and yet positively medieval in other aspects. You may have access to free education but that doesn't mean that your plumbing at home works. Attempting to be a vegetarian here would be tough. Being an animal rights activist would be even tougher considering that the nation's gourmet darling is foie gras (fat liver, literally), a product of force fed geese and ducks. (Yep, it tastes almost as good as it sounds.) Feminism? Well, if you feel up to overhauling the entire French language with its feminine, masculine, and non-gender words, go for it. Be forewarned however. The French have an entire academie of green coated intellectuals whose life's pursuit is to preserve the purity of the French language. Not only that, the members of the Academie Francaise are called "immortals". No joke.

France prides itself in its avant garde approach to new ideas and preens at the thought that the likes of Jean Paul Sartre and Picasso flourished here. However, the nation has deep race issues, especially towards North Africans. I have had lovely conversations with locals and I have been repulsed by creeps. Yes, it is part of human nature and city life, but in this case, it is Parisian style.

One moment you are thanking your lucky stars that you are in this City of Light, this pinnacle of civilization called Paris. The next, you have been hashed to pieces and feel worse than crotte (dog poop) on the sidewalk. Paris, I love you but you can sure be a pain in the cul.


*Don't worry. I've liked most of the Parisians I've met.
** The Gallic shrug will never exit your memory once you have witnessed it first hand. I don't know how they are able to shrug their shoulders up to their earlobes and simultaneously cock their head to one side and frown deeply. It must be in their DNA, probably the sequence right next to the one that keeps French women from getting fat.
*** Je ne sais quoi takes too long to explain in just a couple of words. It literally means "I don't know what" but in this circumstance it means "that extra something that you can't describe or quite put your finger on". It is often used to describe something charming, like perhaps a woman's mystery. In this case I am using it sarcastically. Who me? Sarcastic? Never.

Une de Mes Choses Preferees

(One of my favorite things) Oh wow! Why didn't anyone tell me how good the "Sound of Music" is? It was by sheer luck that I stumbled across it one night. I was tired but wanted to unwind before I conked out. "The Sound of Music?" I frowned as I perused the shelves at my host family's house. The last time I have watched that was... while I was still under four feet. Well, pourquoi pas (why not). Into the DVD player it went and I nestled in for a brainless wonder.

But Hello! The opening footage of the mountains is enough to get anyone's heart soaring and by the closing credits I longed to be Austrian and frolick around cooing "Eidelweiss".

My dad has indoctrinated me against musicals, this one in particular over the course of my upbringing by singing in a spooky tenor, "The hi-lls! Are al-iii-ve! (Run for your lives!)" This, as you may surmise, made it difficult for me to take this musical seriously.

Par hazard (by chance) this jewel of a film has been rediscovered with new eyes. Gorgeous scenery, dancing, pretty dresses, love intrigue and adventure. What more could a girl want? "I simply remember my favorite things..."

Au Revoir Maman!

Goodbye Mom!

Corrie Ten Boom

The Ten Boom's living room is still much like it was when Corrie lived there.
Today we went to see Corrie Ten Boom's house in Haarlem, Netherlands. She was an unassuming woman who never married and lived with her father who was a watchmaker. She saved the lives of countless Jews during the Nazi occupation and changed the lives of even more who have heard her story since. She and her family were hurled into concentration camps where the majority of them died. Nazi officers said to her 84yr old father, "Come, you are an old man and you should spend your last days in peace at home. Simply tell us that you will no longer help the Jews and we will let you go free." He refused, asserting, "It would be an honor to give my life for God's ancient people." He survived only 10 days in prison. Corrie survived the Ravensbruck concentration camp and began a world wide ministry. Despite the depravity she was a witness and victim to she embraced forgiveness saying, "There is no pit so deep that God's love is not deeper still." You should look up who she was. I could never begin to convey Corrie and what God did through her in any blog I write.

http://www.corrietenboom.com/history.htm

Backpacking and Such

Who ever would have guessed I would get to "backpack" Europe with my mom? Well, what do you know! There we were, packs on, wandering through an unfamiliar neighborhood in Haarlem (Netherlands) at night armed only with the word "apotheek" (pharmacy) when what we wanted to find was our hostel. Of all the words I could have retained of the Dutch language, "apotheek" was the only word that stuck. As for my mother, the words that came to mind were from high school Spanish. Que pasa? Brilliant.

However, that is just one of the many joys of exploring. You get plopped down in the middle of a new situation and you just have to deal. To convey our situation in the most apt of terms we were absolutely and utterly lost. No map, no familiarity, and as you already know, no language skills. So, we did what many travelers have done before us. We kept our feet moving and hoped that we would find someone, anyone who spoke our language.

This may be unnerving, even frightening, but in all actuality it is quite liberating. You reach that crux moment where you realize that you have no control over the situation. Once there you are able to use your eyes to perceive what you normally dismiss as irrelevant because it isn't part of your Plan. You begin to appreciate the stepped silhouettes of brick houses against an indigo night sky. It makes you think about architecture. Windows illuminate the darkness with vignettes of dutch evening life. This makes you think about cultures. You cross a quiet street punctuated by streams of light from evenly spaced lamp posts. Thus you consider existence. A subtle breeze rustles trees in the darkness. You ponder the unseen. The sound of footsteps, of yours and others, makes you think about souls. You get perspective.

That is the beauty of the voyage - you go beyond the controllable. The person who thinks that they can control what befalls them is foolish and well, bor-ing. The process of exploration delivers what you really need: the ability to consider what you may not take time to consider when you are in your own territory.

After a while things do get sorted out. A lady spotted us vagabonds and gave us directions in quasi-english on how to locate our hostel. We were way on the wrong side of town but oh well. We had a lovely walk and appreciated our bunks more by the time we finally fell into them than we would have had we taken the direct route. Perhaps that is why they call it "exploring" rather than "attaining".

London Diversion

Very Righteous

Ruthie (Friend from Nigeria who lives in Ireland and S. Africa now), Sophie (Friend from Nigeria who is a Dr. in this country), and my mom sitting in Bishop's chairs.