Rue Cler, Le Pompidou, Quiet Sunday

The first three days of my stay in Paris were hectic and full. Today is Sunday...the day of rest. And I certainly did. The whole family and I gloriously slept in till 9:45 (that's late, ok?!) and then Liat + Bryan decided to take me out to one of their favorite cafes in the area for their delicious Greek salad and French cheese blintzes. Located on Rue Cler, a street known for outdoor markets (but not like what you see in Mouffetard), Liat and I stopped at one particularly busy stand and bought her weeks' supply of produce. We continued on to Cafe Marche where it was quite an ordeal to steer the stroller through the tiny cafe...a single baby carriage is hard enough! Thankfully, the babies both fall asleep the minute you put them in the stroller, and to my surprise, they didn't wake up. Everyone in the cafe cooed and awwwed as Liat + Bryan tried not to knock over anything while pushing the babies past. It's nice to see that Parisians are kid-friendly. We sat down, ordered our food, and Liat motioned for me to observe the French children behind her with their parents. They were probably not older than 5 or 7 years old, and used their cutlery with such elan and ease (Liat: "Now compare that to American kids! I mean, have you ever??")...I mean, I have problems using cutlery! That, however, is because I didn't grow up using it very often. Eating Indian food with cutlery is not only taboo...it just looks silly. We returned home after being thoroughly stuffed with feta cheese, French cheese, and more food than I'd eaten in a long time, and...ate more food! Roasted almonds and green tea. I finally said, "Guys, I have to see the Pompidou so I'm leaving...that and if I stay, I'll probably start on chocolate next.." Armed with my copy of "Hectors Reise" in case I decided to pass some time in a cafe, I headed out to the Le Pompidou. On my way there, I passed the Hôtel de Ville (City Hall) with beautiful Gothic statues of France's great literary minds decorating the facade - I snapped a photo of Camus. The area is quite artsy, and as I wandered down Rue Renard, I admired art galleries, touristy-but-not-touristy-looking postcard and gift shops, and cafes. I arrived at the bizarre structure that is Le Centre Pompidou. Have you ever played Nintendo Super Mario Bros 3 and gotten to World 7, or Pipeworld? Well, that's what this building looks like. In front of the museum hangs a massive sign that reads, "An artist is never ahead of time, but most people are far behind theirs." ~ Edgard Varese. From the start, the motto of the place is stated quite clearly for people to either accept or be offended by. After paying for admission and being laughed at by the lady behind the desk while she looked at my passport (the photo on my German Aufenthalterlaubnis, or residence permit, is smeared across my right eyebrow because the lady who processed everything didn't wait until it dried properly...it's pretty ridiculous looking) I spent the next four hours in this amazing center for modern art. It's divided into the National Museum of Modern Art, Galerie Sud, and Espace 315 (a viewing gallery), plus some theatres, a library, and research institutes. The National Museum of Modern Art is incredible. I know that I always say, "That was the greatest modern art museum" whenever I leave a particularly famous one, but this time I mean it - this museum is certainly one of the greatest in the world. It consists of 40 + gallery rooms that are in a clearly explained (French and English) chronological order so you can actually learn about what you're viewing. I appreciated the educational approach because face it - most of us aren't art scholars, let alone modern art scholars, and the more you can educate an audience about the current trends in art, the more interest and support they'll take in our era. Half of the appreciation one develops towards modern art comes from understanding the theories behind it and how someone arrived at such a conclusion. The problem with Berlin's Neue National Galerie was that things were too chaotic and jumped around too much. This museum was perfectly spaced and timed out. Some notables were: -Matisse: Le violiniste a la fenetre -Balthus: Alice -Man Ray's collection of photography, particularly: Le violon de Ingres (cliche, I know, but hey - I'm a violinist and appreciate the picture) -Robert & Sofia Delaunay: they donated nearly 60 of their paintings to the museum. I wasn't previously aware of their work, and I'm glad that I know it somewhat better now. It's great stuff. -Kandinsky: Had about 10 paintings in the museum and was marked as the 'herald' of modern art in the west -Jean Dubuffet: La Gigue Irlandaise I also learned more about: -Picasso and Braque and how they laid the foundation for cubism. The whole movement was also furthered by Juan Gris. -France's embracing of nudity, especially the female body -Suprematism: a Russian modern art movement originating in the earlier 1900s, celebrated the usage of basic geometric shapes and in often neutral colors -COBRA: COpenhagen, BRussels, AMsterdam = COBRA. An art movement from these three cities, go here for more information (it's damn cool): http://www.cobraart.dk After my visit there, I bought some coffee coasters with prints of Degas, Modigliani, and Renoir from an Indian man on the street - I haggled him down in Hindi from 3.50 to 2.50. I struck up a conversation with a Sri Lankan man selling food on the street while buying a gaufre avec sucre (waffle w/sugar), and the man gave it to me for free. I insisted on paying because this is how he makes his living, but he said (in very broken English), "You're one of the first tourists who's been so friendly all day. Enjoy Paris." It was quite sweet :-) I took the Metro to the Marais to walk around it again, but being Sunday, things were mostly closed and quiet. Paris may be many things, but it's no New York or Mumbai in being a "city that doesn't sleep." Perhaps Parisians value their beauty sleep more. I decided to walk to the Bastille because even though Michal told me it's rather anticlimactic, the memorial site happened to be in the area. She was right; it's nothing more than a tall phallic-like structure in the middle of a somewhat busy cul-de-sac. The Opera Bastille is supposed to be a great building though (Thomas told me, as he's played there, too), but I was tired by that point and wanted to get going to Liat's. While on the Metro, I read "Hectors Reise" and noticed that an older French man was staring at me...I mean, blatantly. I finally looked up at him with a "Yes? Do you mind?" face, and he asked me in French, "D'où êtes-vous (Where are you from?)?" I replied with, "I am Indian but American and live in Germany." He blinked, and said, "Ahh, oui, un melange. (Ah, yes, a mixture)." He switched to broken English with me and explained that he just couldn't figure out where I was from - "I thought maybe British, but then you read in German...American didn't cross my mind." He asked me if I'd ever been to Vienna. I answered that I hadn't, and he said, "Well, you must go. It's the musician's city. Say hello to my friend Mozart when you visit." Then he got off at the next stop. Interesting exchange we had there. While being in Paris, so many random Parisians have just struck up conversation with me on the metro, thinking that I speak French. I don't look Parisian at all, but I guess people sometimes just can't figure out where I'm from until they hear me speak. I used to complain about it to Mom, and she just replied with, "I had the same problem...no one ever thought I was Indian, and people would insist that there was no way I could be. I was bothered by it until I realized, 'Wait, this is a wonderful thing. To be able to fit in wherever you go is a gift, and I should be thankful that people feel connected to me.' " I've said it before and I'll forever be saying it - my mother is an incredibly lady.

Louvre, Cafe Angelina, Bagnolet & interactions with the French

Alright. The last two visits I'd made to Paris were devoid of anything Louvre-related. I know, what's wrong with me, it's perhaps the most famous art museum in the world. However, in the past when I simply walked by the building facade, I'd get an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach and quickly procrastinate a visit there until next time. I don't think it was a case of not wanting to see it because "everyone already has," - for starters, I am not that condescending, and I'm also an avid Harry Potter fan. The sheer idea of viewing some of the greatest works of art in the middle of Paris in a massive building with 100,000,000 other tourists running around and screaming simply frightened me. I discussed the whole matter with Liat, and she said, "Look. I don't have patience for more than an hour there. But I think you should see it - it's like someone coming to visit you in Chicago multiple times and not seeing the Sears Tower at least once." Thus it was decided - I would see the Louvre today. After breakfasting on warm challah and chai, I practiced (that's right, you hard me...I ACTUALLY practiced while in Paris) for about an hour and a half - mostly scales and doublestops, dreading how I'd be sounding on the fiddle after not properly working for 2 weeks. I left at around 11:30 for the Louvre. The Jardin des Tuileries was full of international tourists but provided pleasant terrain for a walk, although I must say that I have been in many a prettier park - they are certainly lovelier public gardens in Paris, too, than the Tuileries. The location of the park, its history, and the views of great monuments/buildings from the Tuileries is what makes the place so famous. As I approached the Louvre, I made out the infamous glass pyramid entrance and saw a truckload of Germans spill out of a tour bus. What's a day in Paris without a daily sighting of Germans. I grabbed a map and planned my strategy. First were 15th and 16th century French sculptures (ok) and then 18th and 19th French sculptures (much better...more expressive to me). I wandered through an exhibit called Armenia Sacra, or a special exhibition done by the Louvre on Armenian Christian art. It was quite interesting, but it took me a good 15 minutes to figure out where I was and what the exhibit was even about - it wasn't very well marked, even in French. I have a love for Egyptian art so I looked at Egyptian Thematic and Chronological Art during the time of Pharaoh and was really impressed. I figured that the Louvre would have an impressive array of Egyptian art because of Napoleon's conquests and imperialism attempts in Egypt, but upon further reading, I found that most of the collection had been privately donated or obtained. Nothing, though, will top the King Tutankhamun special exhibit at the Field Museum that our family went to see last year. I headed to the ceramics section to see "Venus de Milo" - it's magnificent. The way the statute twists and spirals upwards makes it seem like it's alive and ascending. I've often wonder how an artist turns a hunk of dead stone or marble into something that breathes. I would have liked to spend more time examining it, but that was difficult to do with all the camera flashes and shrieking international tourists. The next masterpiece Hellenic statue is positioned dramatically in a stairwell - "The Winged Victory of Samothrace." For me, this work is the decidedly more 'masculine' out of the two Grecian statues. The "Mona Lisa" wasn't so far from this point so I decided to walk through the classical art gallery corridors and head to the most famous gallery in the museum. There was a group of at least 30 tourists at any given time staring at the painting, I couldn't get a good up-close views of her (his?) unsmiling (smiling?) face. Anyhow, the Mona Lisa is famous because of da Vinci himself and the theoretical reasons of why he painted the piece. For those whose aesthetic preference for beauty can be defined as being accompanied by early Mozart string quartets while eating dinner, the Mona Lisa is probably a disappointment. The painting is situated in the Louvre's biggest gallery connected to a corridor that is full of romantic large scale French paintings from the 18th and 19th centuries (mostly nationalistic, depicting bloody battles and decorated military officials), a large collection of Italian works (including a few stunning works by Raphael - controversial, though, because unlike Michelangelo, Raphael worked with a large group of assistants, so scholars aren't sure which paintings have actually been done by him), and late romantic Italian art - the section that I would have liked to see more of but ran out of time with by that point. I did see El Greco's Christ on the Cross Adored by Donors. Known for the highly emotional and expressive themes of his paintings captured in the eyes of subjects and also for his beautiful portrayals of hands, El Greco has always been one of my favorite Spanish painters. I left the Louvre around 3:45 and concluded the following: I appreciate the place but it's too big and too full and just too much. As I've been going to more art museums and reading more about European art over the past few years, I'm seeing myself gravitate towards Flemish Renaissance painters, Hellenic sculpture, and Spanish oil-on-canvas artists in general. I did appreciate the international feeling of the tourists in the Louvre, too - a group of people surrounding one painting would be speaking at least three languages. Another thought I had was on the Indian and European/American traditions of museums. Throughout most of my visits to India, I've rarely visited an art museum there. Perhaps that's because I've only recently started to become a tourist there since I'm finally old enough to travel alone within the country and am at the point in my life where I am more interested in India's classical and cultural history. Even saying, I do believe that, like religion, 'classified art' is incorporated into daily life; it's still in use. There is no reason to exhibit a murti because we pray to it every day. There's no reason to encase the gates from the Vitthala Temple in Maharashtra in a museum because they are still being used every day. We don't have to actively 'protect' our artworks because that would be like protecting a soup spoon that you'd eat with at any given meal. Perhaps I'm overdoing it a bit by making such a statement, but there's a certain amount of truth to this idea. Liat, Bryan, the twins and I met for hot chocolate at Cafe Angelina on Rue de Rivoli and Alice also joined us. It's an upscale looking place where Parisians look intimidatingly trendy and tourists try to keep up (one particularly Syosset/North Shore Chicago-looking woman with a thick Long Island accent tried to cut the line with her fur-clad daughter while uttering a wretched-sounding, "S'il vous plait, can we just get through? Geez, people."...ummmm cricket). Thankfully, the waiters didn't make us leave the baby stroller outside. Liat was wearing her rain gear and tennis shoes, and Bryan had on the same. While I mussed about whether I should have worn better shoes, they were perfectly comfortable with looking like basic working parents in the midst of a very chic scene. I like people who still remain normal while living in Paris. Here begins the people section of my entry. The interactions between Alice and Liat + Bryan were very interesting. Alice has forgotten a lot of English (we speak in only German now) and so Liat switched to speaking with her in French, and every now and then would look across the table at me and form an "F" with her fingers while mouthing the words "REALLY French". I understood completely what she meant, and honestly, I don't really know how to explain it in words. I am, however, beginning to realize that I'm quite different around Europeans than Americans, but not in a bad or artificial way. I can't joke in the same way because many of my European friends would probably not find American humor the least bit funny, and I usually need to modify the English that I speak to be more understandable and less infused with slang/trendy language. Similarly, I wouldn't have certain conversations or make jokes and word phrases in ways with Americans as I do with Europeans. I don't feel like I can't be myself; I rather like how different people bring out different sides of me. It can be awkward, though, when the two sides meet one another, because then I sometimes don't know how to act. It worked out fine in Cafe Angelina but I have to admit that I was a bit nervous. We paid after an, ahem, interesting stint involving Alice's small change (most of her money was in single, double, and five cent coins, and she was a bit short but was embarrassed to ask for more money, so I had to figure everything out discreetly in German while the waitress was stood impatiently at the table). It was also awkward because I thought I was going to hang out with Alice that night, but she had a chamber music rehearsal with her friend Jessica, a Parisian born to American parents and whom I'd met in Detmold (very nice). Jessica had told me in Detmold that I "must have dinner at her place and meet her Californian mother - she'll be thrilled to meet you!" So I said, "Well, great! I promised to see Jessica anyways, so maybe I'll just come meet you at her place, and then I can meet her mother, too?" Alice acted a bit odd about the whole thing and I realized that I'd just accidentally invited myself to someone's house. It was such a weird position, because if someone came to visit me in Chicago or Detmold or India or wherever, I'd do everything possible to hang out with that person and make their stay just fantastic. Alice was being very sweet, but didn't seem to understand that part of the reason why I decided to come to Paris was also to see her and become acquainted with her Parisian life as she'd previously invited me to do. After a few scrambling phone calls, Alice said, "Ok! No problem! We'll be finished at 8:30 so you should come then and have dinner." She gave me directions to Bagnolet, an area just outside of Paris' 20th arrondissement and the start of Parisian suburbia. In the meantime, I had a good 3 hours to do one of the Parisian Walks. I decided that while I was on the north side of the Seine, or the Right Bank (Rive Droite), I'd do the Place des Voges walk, as it's in the Marais, or a very Jewish section of the city that Liat and Michal both told me I must go see. I took the Metro to St. Paul in the 3rd arrondissement and was enchanted by the lively near-dusk scene of the Marais on a Saturday. I walked past a beautiful church (St. Paul) that seems to be falling into ruin because Paris local officials aren't properly taking care of it...I walked into the church but a mass was being held and I felt rude for interrupting, so I quietly left. The walk itself actually begins at Place des Voges, so I strolled by some fruit stands and patisseries on Rue St. Antoine until I reached a narrow street leading to Place des Voges. Basically, it's a collection of elegant old apartments that enclose the oldest square in Paris. Originally known as Place Royale, it was built by Henri IV and has a colorful history of residents including Victor Hugo (a museum is now there in his old place of residence - it was unfortunately closed by the time I arrived), the dreaded Cardinal Richeliu, various members of high class French society and important city officials, and women such as Anne de Montbazon, a precieuse (n. An affected woman of polite society, esp. a literary women of 17th century French salons) who was known for her torrid and scandalous love affairs. While you can admire the beautiful reddish-pink color of the buildings, its elegance, or the high-arch style of architecture, nothing will make it come alive to you as my Parisian Walk's explanation did. There are between 40-50 apartments here, and each one has a fascinating history that's detailed in the book. I walked from apartment to apartment and leaned against walls as I read about what had taken place in Place des Voges. It was like reading a Danielle Steele novel! Apartments went from being near-brothels to jewelry stores to synagogues to what is now a preschool today! And that's only the start of it. The book explained which doors you could push through to enter a lovely secret courtyard or an old staircase. I felt like I was holding a treasure map. If any of you go to Paris, I highly recommend that you do NOT buy a typical tourist guide (Lonely Planet, Frommers, Rick Steve's, Fodors, or whatever you fancy), but invest in any edition of Alison and Sonia Landes' "Paris Walks". Mine was 1 cent on Amazon.com and while it's the 1981 version, nothing is outdated or less interesting (except for some shops/restaurants provided in the back of the book...but it's not intended to be a guide to such places). While typical guidebooks are helpful and provide decently practical information, I think that it's more interesting to go by foot and thus forge a truly personal connection with Paris. Let me know before your trip and I will mail you a copy of the Place des Voges walk or any of the five walks in the book for that matter. If you have the patience to read and walk simultaneously, this is a great way to see Paris. The walk wound through some other streets in the area, but its main focus was Place des Voges, so I decided to wander around by myself until 7:45 when I'd take the train to Bagnolet. The Marais is full of eclectic cafes and hole-in-the-wall type places. I quietly strolled by myself, window shopping and observing and pausing to admire the decor in a particular restaurant or a tree. It is a truly fantastic neighborhood. I took the train to Gallieni which is the start of Bagnolet, and then followed Alice's scribbled out map and directions. On my way, I picked up a bouquet of yellow roses for Jessica's mother. I missed a turn, though, and found myself on a poorly lit Arab street. Feeling worried and a bit insecure, I stopped in a butcher's shop to ask for directions. Me: Bon soir, monsieur. Parle vous anglais? Butcher: No, pardon. Me: Espagnole? Butcher: No, pardon. Me: Allemand? Butcher: No, pardon. Me: Hindi?! Butcher: Oui, en fait, un petit... Apparently, he'd picked up bits from watching Hindi films! The gentleman actually proceeded to give me directions in broken Hindi + French and thanks to him, I found my way. I arrived 20 minutes late at Jessica's place where Alice sat, worried out of her mind. They didn't know I was a vegetarian, either, so Jessica had to quickly fix a cheese + bread platter for me, which was kind. I know that it is difficult for many Europeans to think of something quick that's completely vegetarian/egg-free. They don't have the benefit of knowing how to prepare delicious Indian cuisine :) There was also another Parisian couple present - Zadien and Dominique. They had a very avant garde and artistic look about them. Dominique is a pianist and was Alice's chamber music teacher while growing up, and Zadien is a composer. They don't speak a word of English, but were quite nice. I told Zadien (via Jessica as translator) that I have a keen interest in new music so if he has any compositions for violin, I'd be interested in taking a look. He actually took my email address and said he'd be in contact with me if he composes a piece any time soon for violin. Jessica's mother is a warm and welcoming lady. She grew up in San Francisco and had the choice to attend Juilliard or Stanford (she chose Stanford - didn't want a professional career in music) and although she's now a French citizen who's lived in Paris for the last nearly 40 years, her French, while perfect, is heavily American accented. Jessica was telling me that she thinks it's a pity that her mother always spoke French to her - "I could have learned perfect English from my mother!" Her English is quite decent but I understand that it could have been really good. They live in a clean and fresh house with a beautiful flower garden in the backyard. The adjoining house is rented by Jessica's mother to Jessica and her boyfriend Tristan, a horn player studying at the CNSM Paris (same school as Thomas). After visiting with Jessica's mother for some time, we headed next door to Tristan and Jessica's flat. Tristan fixed us an alfredo pasta dish complete with chocolate mousse for dessert - he's a talented chef. The three of them asked me where else I wanted to go in Paris, and I mentioned the idea of Fontainebleau. Alice was staunchly against the idea - "Es ist wirklich zu gefaerlich fuer dich wenn du bist allein! (It's really too dangerous for you when you're alone!)" Jessica was relatively ambivalent about the matter, but Tristan also whole-heartedly agreed with Alice and tried to convince me to see Buttes-Chaumont, a large public park in the middle of Paris. They didn't seem to understand that I wanted to see the residence of old French royalty and not only the forest of Fontainebleau. Zu gefaerlich, eh? Well, I'm writing this entry weeks later, still alive! Tristan put a French film on for us called Delicatessen...a sort of a surrealist dark comedy about a landlord who serves cannibalistic meals to his weird tenants (reminiscent of Sweeney Todd). There weren't any English subtitles on the DVD so we watched it in French, but because the storyline was quite figurative, you didn't really need to understand all the dialogue, only the gist of the conversations, which I didn't have so much of a problem comprehending. At around 12:30 we headed back on the Metro and I came home by 1:30ish. I was very happy to have seen Bagnolet because it took me out of tourist Paris and into a part of the city (or the near outskirts) that many Parisians told me that hadn't seen. It is always a treat to see experience something of real life when you're an ambling tourist in a big city.

Mouffetard, Musee D'Orsay, Shabbat Dinner

I woke right around the same time as Liat was tending to early morning cries from Arielli and Michaelle, her beautiful nearly-1-year-old twin babies. A bit on Liat and her family: I had never met them prior to this Paris visit, and got connected through a mutual friend, Michal, a cellist studying at NEC who I met while gigging in Boston last summer. Michal lived and studied in Paris for 2 years, thus the connection to Liat's family. Liat is married to Bryan, both of whom are Jewish Americans. Liat was partly raised in Israel, and Bryan met her while studying abroad in Israel during college years, and then didn't return to the States for 10 years. They've lived in Paris for the last four years, although Bryan actually works and lives in Brussels during the week and then comes home to Paris on the weekends. Liat is also studying for her masters at Hebrew University in Paris. They both speak Hebrew, and Liat is also well-versed in Spanish (which she speaks to the babies every other day) and French. Right when I entered their house, I felt completely welcomed. They live in a beautiful flat with an extra guest bedroom + bathroom stocked with as many guide books/Parisian-for-Dummies guides as a person would ever want or need. The guest bedroom operates as a sort of "international hostel" room for people who are direct friends of theirs or (like me) friends of friends...or even friends of friends of friends. Basically, this is one couple that loves company and providing wonderful hospitality. I have always said that Indians and Jews have many common values, and that I feel very much at home in culturally Jewish homes. My experiences in Paris convince me more of this sentiment. Although it is somewhat disappearing in modern culture, the "I am going to do everything possible to make you comfortable because you're my guest" mentality still exists and it's one of the facets of both cultures that I love. I am glad that there are still people today who preserve it. Liat and Bryan are also vegetarians and Liat is a welcoming and talented cook - another major plus in a city that a). expensive for food and b). gives you three varieties of cooked potatoes as a 'vegetarian meal' (ask my sister Neetu about that story). After eating breakfast of tea + pistachio bread (really fantastic! Dad, with your love for pista, you would have enjoyed it), I met the Colombian nanny, Marina, and then Liat and I left together. She went to the gym and I got on the Metro at Ecole Militaire to go to Mouffetard and start on the Parisian Walk of that section. In Roman times and shortly thereafter, this area was known as Bourg St. Marcel, and become populated with working class people - tanners, slaughters, skinners, dyers, and similar craftsmen. Today, the area is most famous for being one of the oldest and liveliest parts of the city. Every Saturday and Sunday, the most incredible market comes to life on the nearly pedestrian-only rue Mouffetard - most of it is alley-sized. The walk started in the churchyard of St. Medard; although it doesn't look particularly unique, the book gave some historical tidbits that are fascinating. Dating from 1163, a lot of what remains is from Gothic mid-fifteenth century renovations, and its courtyard served as a mass burial site until 1765 when a law was passed, forbidding burials within Parisian city limits due to space shortages. People continued to be buried in secret at St. Medard, though until after the Revolution in 1795, the French police wreaked havoc on anyone who broke the law. When an excavation took place in 1913, archaeologists found a layer of bones 24 inches thick! The other fascinating story took place at the grave site of a young Jansenist (dictionary.com offers this for Jansenism (n). - the doctrinal system of Cornelis Jansen and his followers, denying free will and maintaining that human nature is corrupt and that Christ died for the elect and not for all humanity) named Francois Paris, where miracles supposedly took place. A group of young girls came to be possessed by the site and started to do bizarre things, like eat the dirt on the gravestone, fall into religious fits and ecstasies, and would insist on being beaten while screaming the whole day long. The book states, "They wanted to have their tongues pierced, 25-pound-weights placed upon their chests, their bodies raked with iron combs, or their breasts, thighs, and stomachs trampled on until they fainted. Some girls had themselves tortured like this twenty times." After reading this part, I was reminded of "The Crucible" and the Salem Witch Trials. This craziness went on for 35 years and then a the church cemetery was locked and a rhyme was inscribed on the padlock: De par le roi, defense a Diu De faire miracle en ce lieu. By order of the king, God is forbidden To perform miracles in this place. Rather comical, I think! The walk continues on through the markets of Mouffetard, detailing the interesting histories of the houses in the area, explaining the history of the street signs and coat of arms markings on the houses and butcher shops, bakeries, pastry shops, perfumeries, and hotels. I bought a traditional (in boulangeries, you can have a baguette or a traditional, and everyone told me that the traditional was much better, so that's what I always ate...I think it's just bigger and requires a different baking process) arrived at Place Contrescarpe, a picturesque square with a colorful history and a frequent of local bums, and then continued down Rue Blainville to the first public library in Paris (from the 18th century). The walk ended here and I somehow stumbled upon a fantastic vegetarian/vegan cafe in the middle of Mouffetard! It was on Rue Cardinal-Lemoine and was calld Les Cinq Saveurs D'Anada and advertised as having "specialites Macrobiotique et Vegetarienne: 100% bio" (in Europe, 'bio' is organic). Alice's mother gave me a coupon for 7 euros that could be redeemed at most any restaurant in Paris, so my lunch of a brown rice + seaweed salad and a glass of red wine (which made me tipsy for the rest of the afternoon...I always forget how much of a lightweight I really am) cost me only 3 euros. Not a bad deal. I paid and left to walk around the Jardin des Plantes, a beautiful botanical garden in the Latin Quarter of Paris. It's near the Arab Institute, where you can have fresh Moroccan mint tea, something that makes me think of Mary. I have wonderful memories of drinking it with my mother at Pita Inn back home in Chicago. It started to to rain, so I took some quick photos, strolled through, and then walked on Rue Monge (literally, Food Street) until I reached Boulevard St. Germain to go to the Maison Kaiser Boulanger. Liat had read an article about the 10 best boulangeries in Paris, and Maison Kaiser was on the list. She told me that it was in the Mouffetard neighborhood, so I should hit up while on my walk. Definitely no regrets that I walked a bit out of my ways to reach it. I enjoyed a croissant d'amande, or an almond croissant (and I think mine had chocolate, too) on my way to the neighborhood where Notre Dame is. I visited Michal's favorite accessories store, Kazama, full of colorful scarves, beaded jewelry and German tourists. Germany seems to follow me wherever I go (you'll see why when you read about my trip to Louven in Belgium). I am struck by how Indian influenced fashion is today. If people only knew how much cheaper the authentic thing actually is in India than in trendy boutiques in big cities! I suppose that the expenses of a plane ticket to India do impose a financial restriction, though. I sifted through tourists while walking along the Seine River and snapped a very cool picture of a massive barge carrying tons of recyclable paper. I bought a few postcards, and then arrived at the western strip of the riverbank at the Musee D'Orsay. The line was annoyingly long, and so while I waited, a young Pakistani woman struck up conversation with me. She was very done up, new-money looking, and rather ditzy, but her husband who is a politician in Karachi was very interesting - he spoke beautiful French and explained that they were on their honeymoon in London and Paris. We finally got into the museum and I took Michal's advice to start with the third floor and work my way down (3rd - Impressionism, so the most famous collection, 2nd - Belgian/Flemish Art Nouveau, 1st - art leading up to Impressionism). I spent most of my time on the third floor and the second, and I thoroughly enjoyed the collections of Renoir, Monet, and Degas' bronzed dancers. While I do appreciate Impressionism, I am not as crazy about it at some. Nevertheless, it was just fantastic to see one great work of art presented after the other, and in such a manner where you could follow the connections/relationships that the artists' works had on one another. I left the museum at 5:45 and followed the Seine again towards the Eiffel Tower and Liat's apartment. On my way, I passed the American church, advertising a free concert of Schubert lieder on Sunday, and jotted down the information. When I arrived at Liat's, the door was opened by a very startled looking woman who had no idea who I was. I thought I had the wrong apartment, and then Liat's husband Bryan said, "No, no, it's just Geeta, it's fine, let her in" (it being Friday, he was home for the weekend). We introduced ourselves and I immediately took a liking to his easy-going and calm manner. The lady who had answered was Maja, a Russian who married a German. When she heard that I could speak German, she erupted in Bavarian German, the sort of fast and fancy-free accent that Bernhard, my cousin-in-law, speaks with me. Maja is a family friend, along with another lady who sat sipping tea - Klaudia, who is originally Argentinian but has lived in Paris for nearly 25 years. I ended up speaking English with Bryan, German with Maja, and Spanish with Klaudia. It reminded me of being in India and sometimes dealing with four languages at once. Shai, as Israeli friend of the family's who had just moved to Paris 7 months back, arrived. Shai is the boyfriend of another Maja who was good friends with Michal when she lived in Paris. I realized that they all knew each other, and that Liat + Bryan were the connection, and finally the whole circle of people made sense to me. The last person to arrive was Claire, a Canadian who has lived in Paris for the past 6 years and works as a lawyer in the international court system. Our first conversation: Me: "So, how do you like Paris?" Claire: "It's whatever, Paris. I'm trying to leave actually." Me: "Where? And why?" Claire: "London. To find a husband. But the French are, you know, [mumbles something French in a hilarious, oh-I-can't-help-you way], Latin, as they like to be called. They all marry too early here so I can't find anyone. Maybe it's the Catholic thing, I dunno." Me: "Oh." (Makes immediate connection between Claire and Miranda from Sex & The City. Mental note: this lady's damn cool). Maja and Klaudia left to go home, and after putting the kids to bed, Shai, Claire, Liat, Bryan and I sat down for Liat's incredible dinner. I noticed a big loaf of freshly baked challah cooling off on the table, and realized, hey. It's Shabbat. They're Jews. So we're having Shabbat dinner, my first one ever. This is so cool. We went through the ritual of blessing the bread, washing our hands and returning to the table without saying a word, and then everyone drank from a goblet of wine and had a piece of bread, just like our prasad ritual. Liat made an amazing Mexican corn soup, a Moroccan soup, and a bulgar (kasha) dish. Through out the meal, we all enjoyed challah with olive spread and a tomato dip. I had fixed a big feta salad, and although none of us had room for dessert, we put together a great chocolate fondue + fruit platter. It was an incredibly satisfying meal, complete with a full on explanation on my behalf of Jainism/Hinduism/how I grew up culturally. Geeta Abad the Walking Multicultural Museum Exhibit. Such is life. I spoke with Alice after dinner and we agreed to meet up the following afternoon at Cafe Angelina on Rue de Rivoli. It's supposed to serve the best hot chocolate "I've ever had" according to Liat, and while I'm sure it's good, I wonder if it can beat Burdick's. That's a tough call, as the Bostonians out there know...

The Tourist Day in Paris

I woke to the lively sounds of Paris from out the window. I miss living in a big city because you can feel the energy of the outside bustling world no matter the hour. A far cry from the silence of Detmold! Olivier and I had breakfast together which was a very funny experience. He asked if black tea was okay, and then while brewing Darjeeling black, he placed two bowls in front of us. I assumed they were for cereal, which is a bit odd because I have rarely seen anyone in Europe eat cold or hot cereal for breakfast. He then proceeded to pour the tea into the bowls, hastily gestured "help yourself" towards the bread and Nutella, and said "Bon appetit." I was so confused. The only person I know who takes his tea/chai in a bowl is my father in the mornings when he's running late, and that's only because it cools faster. As a child I used to laugh at - I still find it weird. Olivier, sensing my confusion, started to laugh and apologized, saying that many people in French culture take their tea this way in the morning so to arrive at work on time. Everyone also takes black tea straight up, another custom I'm not used to, having grown up with the British-Indian tradition of always taking a bit of milk and sugar in black tea. I understood, and realized that this was one of the many cultural differences to come my way. After Olivier left, I attempted to practice but was completely unsuccessful, and decided to arrange what time to go to Liat's place that night. I then called Thomas...actually, I woke him up at 9:30 AM. He sleepily mumbled, "Let me call you back." He figured some things out with his parents, and called me back, saying he'd come to Paris later because he needed to look at two apartments anyways. We agreed to meet up at 2:30. In the meantime, I got ready and headed out with my Parisian Walks book to embark on the first 2 hour walk, "St. Julien le Pauvre." It started at Petit Pont (the place where all geographical distances in France are measured from) near the Notre Dame and then proceeded to walk on Rue du Petit Pont (Rue = street) and Rue du St. Jacques, passing one of the oldest churchest in Paris, St. Severin and the St. Michel fountain and bridge. All along the streets outside of shops and restaurants were coquilles, or Spanish scallops from Santiago de Compostela, Spain. The tradition came from French Catholics who made the pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela and wanted to show something for it, so they brought back scallops and displayed them. These days, the scallops are not only displayed but also eaten, and I guess that people say they're quite nice. I started to wander and got a little off the book's walking path and ended up on Boulevard St. Germain. After checking the time, I hurried onto the Metro to meet Thomas at Gare du Nord (North Station). I scrambled around, searching for the platform for where trains from Lille come (I asked a woman where a train from Lille would be by saying, "J'espere pour en train pour Lille." Completely crap, but it worked, although I learned that French "esperer" is not Spanish "esperar" - it only means "to hope." One must say "J'attends" to say "I wait.") and thankfully met up with Thomas soon thereafter. We hopped on the Metro to Villiers, an area where Thomas needed to look at an apartment. He explained the history of the neighborhood to me, saying how it used to be where the old CNSM (his school, the Conservatoire National Superior du Danse et Musique, or what we know as the Paris Conservatory) was and so there were many luthier shops in the area. His father entered the old CNSM at the age of 15. Thomas' family is an unbelievably musically virtuosic family. He also pointed out his brother's flat and scooter parked outside. We then decided to see the beautiful Palais Garnier, where the Paris Opera is based. Thomas has actually performed there. We eavesdropped on a tour guide who narrated the legend of the Phantom of the Opera, the novel written by French author Gaston Leroux. Apparently the Opera Garnier inspired the novel. We took a photo of St. Augustine's Chapel and then went on to Eglise de la Madeleine, a completely gorgeous massive church in the 8th arrondissement. The serenity and majesty of the building reminded me of the B'hai Temple in Chicago. Thomas and I exchanged thoughts on faith, religion, and their appropriate institutions and I was surprised to discover that a). he actually takes the topic seriously and b). we share the same dislike for institutionalized religion. After soaking in some meditative silence, we enjoyed the view on the steps of la Madeleine straight down Rue Royale to the Obelisque and Place de la Concorde (where Queen Marie Antoinette was beheaded). Thomas and I stickied our fingers with chocolate crepes and then walked down a stretch of Rue Royale and Rue St. Florentin where many embassies (including the U.S., British, and German) stood. People are actually forbidden to photograph the American embassy; if you even so much as hold up your camera, a guard will come and yell at you. At the end of our embassy walk, we came upon the Élysée Palace, or the presidential palace. We joked about ringing the bell and asking to speak with Jacques Chirac. Somehow, I don't think the idea would go over too well. We continued onto the main part of the Champs Elysees, past the Grand Palais where there are many great exhibitions (currently there was one on Egyptian art, something I'd have loved to see) and towards the Place de la Concorde. I photographed the Jardin des Tuileries, the Assemblée Nationale where France's parliament meets, the Musee D'Orsay, Louvre, and a fancy hotel called Crillon on Rue de Rivoli - one of the oldest luxury hotels in the world. Thomas had to quickly get back to Gare du Nord to catch his train to Lille, so we took the typical romantic photo in front of the Eiffel Tower and he bade me goodbye. I wandered around la Madeleine and then got on the Metro at Palais Garnier, exited at Porte de Versailles and had dinner with Arlete (omelettes -not exactly vegetarian for me, but I appreciated her eagerness to cook for me). She helped me figure out where Liat lives (Rue Duport des Loges - 7th arrondissement, one of the wealthiest because of the Eiffel Tower and beautiful residential areas) and I made my way over to Liat's house after having to ask some Germans who were living in Paris for help (in German...good thing I can actually speak it now, otherwise I'd have been lost). I am now lying in bed after having acquainted myself with Liat and her lovely hospitality and Israeli rose chai. I think we are going to get along great. I know it seems as though I flew through the tourists spots of Paris, but I really didn't have as much interest in seeing them as I did in just wandering through the less touristy areas of Paris; besides, I'd already done tourist Paris with my parents and once alone some years before. Don't get me wrong - these places are renowned and celebrated for reasons, and they should be seen. However, there's a lot more to Paris than the Eiffel Tower.

First impressions of Paris

I am sitting in Alice's apartment with a beautiful and silent black kitty called Deneb crawling around my feet. Alice named her as a little girl for one of the stars which make up the "three beauties of Summer" in French. Alice's father, besides being a film editor, is an avid star-gazer which explains how Alice developed the hobby. Her parents' names are Olivier and Arlete and they're wonderfully nice. Olivier can speak working English but her mother speaks only broken words and half-phrases. Between madly gesturing, Spanish, and veeery slow English, we manage somehow. The journey from Germany was a bit stressful because at the last minute, a flight attendant made me check my violin into baggage claim. I was so caught off guard that after pleading for a few minutes, I started crying (which was incredibly embarrassing). The entire time on the flight, I was praying that everything would be okay. Thankfully, nothing was out of place or broken. I then took the Metro to Alice's arrondissement in southwest Paris near a big convention center. I was confused as to where the building was on the street, but after a French lady pointed it out to me on the street, I was faced with the next dilemma of entering the building. I ended up calling Olivier at home with my German cell phone - a moment of sheer irony because right as a I hung up, someone came and entered the building. 2 euros gone to waste. Timing!! Her parents served me a rice, bean, and lentil dish with three French cheeses and chocolate pudding for dessert. The apartment is a typical tiny city-sized place with only one bedroom for Olivier and Arlete. Just as I was about to do, Alice grew up sleeping on an air-mattress type of device in the living room. Nevertheless, the place is quite cozy and beautifully decorated. Olivier and Arlete are well-traveled and cultured, and are proud of it in a good way. They're already attempting to teach me bits of useful French - hot (chaud) and cold (froid). Hey, it's a start.

Goodbyes and Politics under the Sun

It's Friday, February 16, 11:42 AM in Detmold, Germany. Take careful note of this date for annual celebration because it's the first time in probably 2-2.5 weeks the sun isn't just peeking and there isn't (knock on wood) a hint of rainfall lurking in the air. So "prost" to that. This last week has been one party after another. Last Friday, our German teachers Frau Tegtmeier-Breit and Frau Capsa (still my German teacher at the Volkhochschule) held a soiree at Frau Tegtmeier-Breit's apartment. It began at 6:00 but I arrived two hours late from a lesson and I fully expected the party to be nearly wrapping up. Alas, no - we stayed until 11:30! It was great to speak so much German with ease, to hear how much everyone's German has improved, and to simply visit one another for the last time as a German class. The next day, Alice had a party to celebrate the end of the semester/passing pruefungexams/say goodbye to Thomas, who left on the following Tuesday for France. Frederika was asked to make crepes, and also grudgingly accepted the fact that she'll be known now as the "pancake lady," though I actually prefer the German, "Crepesfrau." While walking back home late at night, I felt a bit sad to say goodbye to Thomas. As nutty as he can be sometimes, he has a way of bringing fun out of people and livening up the atmosphere. I look forward to seeing him in Paris. On Sunday, I had breakfast with my Spanish friend Cristina and a rehearsal for Sarabande, the baroque ensemble I played with the following day. We played a Bach Cantata (I think #50) in the diplom recital of a trumpet player named Helmut, and afterwards, the concertmaster of Sarabande and his girlfriend, Eric and Iris, had a nice party in their beautiful apartment. At one point, I was explaining to Mariike, a German violinist, the premise of the show Sex & The City, and the moment I said the name of the show, 4 other girls perked up and exclaimed, "Ohmigod, I looove that show!" Iris jumped up and grabbed all six seasons of the Spanish subtitled version, Sexa en Neuva York, and Eric groaned, "Someone take them away from her before she makes us watch them!" Indeed it is a truly international phenomenon for women and gay men alike. I remember being 17 or 18 and not watching the show before because I'd presumed that I wouldn't like it, and a rather flamboyant man at Aspen Music Fest told me that you love the show more and more because you relate to it more and more. I scoffed at him, saying I couldn't imagine relating to an unrealistic bunch of women who appeared to me as walking STDs. However, after having gone through college i.e. meeting too many crap/childish/sex-driven/ emotionally unavailable guys, one can, in fact, relate more and more to the show... On Tuesday, Maaike (Dutch cellist), Frederika, Mathilde and I had dinner at Mathilde's place, and we ended up talking until nearly 4 AM. It was great conversation, concerning socio-political problems in each of our respective countries, growing up and breaking away from parents, Swiss trumpet players (haha for me on that one), and the fact that I know about 50 words of French (yes, we counted...although if you include all the cognates in English, then I think the figure is probably closer to 200-250). According to an article I once read in The Economist (I sound like an Extemper, geez), one needs to have at least 2,000 words in his/her active vocabulary in order to be considered 'fluent' in the language. The article didn't say anything about formulating sentences or understanding proper grammar of the language, as that's a presumably implied requirement. But on a literal basis, I only need to learn about 1950 words more in French to be fluent! Here's the one conversation I could carry in Paris: Geeta: Bonjour! Ca va? Parlez-vous anglais? (Hello! How's it going? Do you speak English?) Chic Parisian: No. (No.) Geeta: Merde! Au Putain! Au revoir! (Damn! Shit! Goodbye!) Hmm. I may think twice before I decide to use this conversation bit. On Wednesday, we had our last ever Schubert Quintet rehearsal, and then Ella & I went to our studio concert, which was really nice. It consisted of Jonathan playing the full Grieg Sonata, Liv's group playing the Beethoven c-minor Piano Trio (Op. 1 no. 3), Min Shu with a Penderezki solo violin piece, and Ingrid + Bo Yoon with Brahms' d minor Violin Sonata (No. 3). Afterwards, Frau Mathe had a party with international flair - dishes from Turkey, Taiwan, I cooked Indian, Polish, and much more. But again, I didn't get to sleep until about 3 AM for the third/fourth night in a row. Yesterday after German class, Frederika, Mathilde and I took the bus to Ella and Marek's apartment to say goodbye to them because they left for Poland today. I am so glad to have met both of them, and to have played with Ella. It wasn't always easy as we're are really completely different violinists, and I don't think it would have worked for a long-term professional level ensemble i.e. quartet. I learned a lot, though, about blending sounds and listening. I do hope to see her again, and I'm sure I will, considering that before I left Boston, Magdalena told me she'd never speak with me again if I didn't visit Poland while living in Europe. Klaus is coming in 1/2 hour to help me with my stupid telephone (damn you, TComm) and then I'm meeting my future quartet at school to photocopy music. OH! Guess which part I'm playing in the quartet? Yes that's right...VIOLA. WTF. It's because after asking nearly 6-7 people, we couldn't find a violist, and Frau Mathe has a viola she can give me by April 1, so I said, "Fine, I'll save the group and play viola." We're playing a Beethoven quartet and while I'm a bit worried about the clef/whether I'll be able to play it the part properly, I'm MORE worried about the forthcoming constant viola jokes from the group! Frederika and Simone (second violinist) are already hounding me about it...argh. I leave on a political note, as I guiltily read in English this morning (Time Magazine). Michael Kinsley's article "In Defense of Partisan Bickering" states: "It's been decades, of course, since any important politician admitted to being a liberal. In a reissue of her book 'It Takes a Village', Senator Hillary Clinton indulges in yin-yangery worthy of her husband's notable indecision about boxers vs. briefs. "Most of us would describe ourselves as 'middle of the road' - liberal in some areas, conservative in others, moderate in most, neither exclusively pro- nor anti-government," and so on. Senator Barack Obama, in his book 'The Audacity of Hope', concedes only that his mother was a liberal of the romantic, pre-1967 variety, most emotionally engaged with things like the space program. By contrast until recently there was no shortage of politicians proudly claiming the label 'conservative.' Now, the only serious presidential candidate who calls himself a conservative is former Gov. Mitt Romney - and he clings to the label because, based on his record, he obviously isn't one. Senator Sam Brownback, who calls himself a conservative and actually is one, isn't considered serious for that very reason. Meanwhile, Senator John McCain, who is serious, calls himself a 'commonsense conservative,' thus implying that most conservatives lack common sense. This is even more insulting than George W. Bush's 'compassionate conservative' of the 2000 election because common sense is considered, by conservatives, to be a specifically conservative virtue. Unlike, say, compassion." Clever article :) Historically, I've been opposed to the utter ridiculousness of Bush's administration and had yet to find any positive aspects possibly emerging in his aftermath. However, I think that there is a really interesting phenomenon in the 2008 elections (which have already begun to take way, unusually early...probably because people can hardly wait until George Bush's term is over). Party lines are being crossed more and more, thus dissolving traditionally bipartisan-based qualities/beliefs. For example, I don't understand why Republicans who aren't super Christian or religious (therefore don't make the abortion choice based on religious creed) couldn't adopt my stance on abortion, which is personally pro-life but globally pro-choice. I mean, I'm not about to tell someone what to do with their body, but I know how I feel about my own. I think that even if one was pro-choice globally and Republican, the majority of Republicans don't support being pro-choice, so in order to 'keep Republican face,' one had to go with the political flow. It's not changing for all issues (abortion is a ways away from being non-partisan), but these days, Republican doesn't necessarily mean you support the war, and the same applies for Democrats and not supporting war. One candidate is so socially conservative but is fiscally quite liberal, or one candidate is opposed to war but has a much more moderate Iraq intervention/troop withdrawal plan than someone who is staunchly anti-war. Thus I conclude that because President Bush screwed up so badly, politicians are now scrambling for brand new identities that are devoid of any relation to the President out of fear that they'll lose voters due to the association. Maybe we can start to erase the great divide between Republicans and Democrats and actually learn to cooperate on tackling the problems of America. So I thank you, President Bush, for allowing (or rather forcing) us to clear the slate in order to generate a new identity, as it's greatly needed in order to save what little international face we can. Indirectly, your ignorant and arrogant political performance managed to do some good for the future political race. On that note, have a lovely day...

Cuz Everything Is Rent

Did you know that gummi bears first came from Germany? I had absolutely no idea until Annie whipped them out (Haribo brand, the original German company) while we watched the miserable Superbowl last Sunday, and I exclaimed, "Where did you get those? You get them in Germany?" She replied with, "Umm yeah, they're German...they came from Germany originally, fool!" Gummi bears (or "Fruchtgummi" in German) make a good late night snack at times, like now. I just returned from Wuerzburg today after a three day (well, a little more than 48 hours) trip to visit my cousin and her family; her son was suffering from conjunctivitis, sinus infection, and bad fever, and she seems to have caught the sinus infection from him. It's miserable to be sick, especially when the weather is crap (it's noticeably colder in Bavaria - the south - than it is here in the north) and you've got tropical-flavored blood. Nevertheless, we had a nice visit; she made me eat too much as usual, and I left with clean laundry, kichdi, and a bag full of Indian snacks. I went to a new German class today with Frederika, and it was a fiasco. The classes are held through an adult night school here in Detmold called a Volkshochschule, and so we entered the main building and asked where class was to be held. The lady told us to walk to some other random building, and after 10-15 minutes of wandering around, we found it. We went in and waited by the room door, and met a Japanese student along the way. After waiting until nearly 6:50 (the class was supposed to begin at 6:30), I said that I had our teacher's cell phone number, so I'd call her - she was livid! We were in the wrong building, and so she immediately gave me directions and we walked to the Realschule, a different school building about 10 minutes away. We showed up at 7:20 in class - it turns out, she wasn't pissed at us, but at the lack of organization on the administrative end. Germany has this stereotype for being completely organized and almost perfect-mechanically run...COMPLETELY not true...so many things here don't run like butter, as the saying goes. Oh well. The class ended up being - we already have a reading on Thomas Mann for homework. I have a feeling that it will be a great course. Tomorrow our quintet rehearses the third movement of the Schubert and Klaus (my landlord) is coming to photograph us. He has an idea in the works for an artistic project that explores form, light, and the relationship musicians have to their instruments with the medium of photography. I can't wait to see what it turns out like. I'm also running early tomorrow with Annie, I hope I can get up on time. Two nights of utterly peaceful sleep in Scheinfeld will hopefully help me for the rest of this rather stressful week. Stressful because I have a lesson on Friday, my first in nearly one month, and the third movement of my Sibelius Concerto is nowhere near where I'd like it to be...hardly presentable enough. It's not as though I've been sitting around aimlessly the last 3.5 weeks - I've had three auditions of all different rep, three orchestra concerts, and now a gig with a baroque ensemble, not to mention a chamber music master class on the Schubert Quintet. You know it's bad when you're making excuses to your livejournal :) I ordered a book on Parisian walks today, and am hoping to get my acceptance letter/insurance information so I can file for my Visa very soon. I've also come across an amazing situation for rent come April. I have to vacate this apartment by March 31 because Anna (landylady)'s mother in law is moving back from S. Africa...was a bit worried but then through friend Dante, met a Mexican woman named Eugenia. She's married to a German and although she has a degree as an ESL teacher, she needs to re-certify next year and so has to start speaking more English. In exchange for speaking English with her for 20 minutes a day and therefore allowing her to practice, she and her husband have offered me free rent (2 rooms + private bathroom + shared big kitchen + shared common area + my own fridge + free internet) except utilities (50 euros as month) in their house, which is only a 5-6 minute walk from school. I just have to make sure I can practice there, as they were a bit reluctant to allow that because they had problems with past tenants practicing until sometimes 2 AM (ridiculously rude). I convinced them that I wouldn't do that (I don't even like practicing that late) and that it's absolutely imperative for me to be able to practice at home. If they are willing to let me practice and can provide the internet in the house, then I'm sold. The advantages of speaking English as your mother tongue are definitely visible - I've been offered teaching positions for Business English and now might possibly have a free living situation. It is, of course, a disadvantage, too - when you know English so well, you can travel mostly anywhere in the world and not have to learn a new language, thus making it more difficult to motivate oneself to learn the language of a new place. Pros and cons to both, I guess. And now, the Fruchtgummi is all done so I should go to sleep. More to come later. xo