30 August, 2007
I crawled out of bed this morning a little after 6am, stumbled towards the kitchen (where we nearly always keep the window cracked open for fresh air in the apartment) to grab my mug for some coffee. I shivered a little as I walked back to my bedroom (where I keep the coffee pot). My first thought was: it's crispy this morning. My next thought was: that's something I love about Europe. A lack of central heating means when it's cold (even in August), the air is fresh and crisp and cool...and you must find alternative means for warming up. Like sleeping with a hot water bottle. Like curling up under a blanket. Like drinking hot tea all day long until you think you might float away. And I love all those things.
The lack of summer and now it seemingly going straight into autumn has brought this small inner smile to my heart this week as I realized I'm getting to have my favorite season come a bit early. Leaves are already changing and falling. I wore a long sleeve shirt and a sweater today--and froze the whole day. I've awoke to early morning fog several days recently (and supposedly will tomorrow). I do love autumn, and I love it in Europe.
The only bloggable story of the week: I met a Swiss guy this week, and he thus asked me my name. When I told him, "Soj"aley, he said, "Oh la la! Quoi?!" (Quoi means "what?") It was one of those "you have to have heard it moments" but oh my was it ever funny. I think I giggle more and more every time I hear a francophone say "oh la la." It's just too much.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Who kidnapped summer?
August 26
According to this article, this summer in Paris has been the worst summer weather France has seen in 30 years, but that it has not deterred the tourists from coming. I would agree with both points.
Yesterday, the sun broke out of the morning fog, and by the afternoon the skies were clear and blue and oh-so-warm. Several of us sat around talking about the summer weather as we soaked up the very-welcomed-rays. Honestly, I can only recall two days since APRIL that it had been as beautiful as yesterday...and those days were back-to-back in July. It has rained...and rained...and rained some more. There were several days in July--and last week--where I wore sweaters! The trees have already begun to change colors and drop leaves. It honestly feels like someone has kidnapped summer and sent us straight into autumn...do not pass GO and do not collect $200.
But yesterday and today! Oh the glory of sunshine! I love me some rainy days, and so I have actually enjoyed this summer (for the most part). But I also love sunshine and know that it is good for the soul. Here's the kicker about the ransomed sun that is finally coming out of hiding this weekend and all this next week: I am taking an intensive class where I have to sit inside from 8:30am until 5:30pm. As if listening in French for 9 hours straight wasn't enough strain on my concentration...it has to be beautiful outside for the first time in months.
I humbly ask for your prayers for me, Sue-Wee, Svia, and one of the MMTAT's as we try to learn this next week. The class is important and we want to concentrate. But oh...the overtaxing of the brain combined with sunshine finally being returned to us...
And off I go. P.S. Probably no blogging until next week.
According to this article, this summer in Paris has been the worst summer weather France has seen in 30 years, but that it has not deterred the tourists from coming. I would agree with both points.
Yesterday, the sun broke out of the morning fog, and by the afternoon the skies were clear and blue and oh-so-warm. Several of us sat around talking about the summer weather as we soaked up the very-welcomed-rays. Honestly, I can only recall two days since APRIL that it had been as beautiful as yesterday...and those days were back-to-back in July. It has rained...and rained...and rained some more. There were several days in July--and last week--where I wore sweaters! The trees have already begun to change colors and drop leaves. It honestly feels like someone has kidnapped summer and sent us straight into autumn...do not pass GO and do not collect $200.
But yesterday and today! Oh the glory of sunshine! I love me some rainy days, and so I have actually enjoyed this summer (for the most part). But I also love sunshine and know that it is good for the soul. Here's the kicker about the ransomed sun that is finally coming out of hiding this weekend and all this next week: I am taking an intensive class where I have to sit inside from 8:30am until 5:30pm. As if listening in French for 9 hours straight wasn't enough strain on my concentration...it has to be beautiful outside for the first time in months.
I humbly ask for your prayers for me, Sue-Wee, Svia, and one of the MMTAT's as we try to learn this next week. The class is important and we want to concentrate. But oh...the overtaxing of the brain combined with sunshine finally being returned to us...
And off I go. P.S. Probably no blogging until next week.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Why can't tourists take touristy photographs?
August 21
There is a mystery in life that I just cannot comprehend. Tourists, who like to have their picture taken with famous things behind them, seem unable to take such photos themselves. Why is this? In the past week, I've had Notre Dame disappear from behind me, the Eiffel Tower chopped in half, and now... the story of the feet picture.
My friend Bria is here and I thus took her straight away to meet Eloise (ie, the Eiffel Tower). We were up in the area across from it that is known for being the spot for a perfect picture with Eloise behind you. Bria and I see a nice elderly lady and I ask her in French if she would mind taking our photo. I even made photo snapping hand motions.
The elderly lady responded, "llsdka;sdifupoibnadsfoi." I took that to mean, "I don't speak French." But for all I know, she could have said, "Stupid tourist...why must you take the cheesy typical photo with a big piece of brown metal behind you to prove that you've been here?" Or she could have said, "I understood you, but I'm SO tired of taking photos for tourists and I just want to enjoy myself--I am not YOUR personal photographer, and thus I am pretending to not understand you."
I pressed on in my annoying tourist self so that Bria could have the obligatory photo op. I continued making photo hand motions. The lady nodded that she understood (or yielded), and said, "a;lsdkfjalsidjufpaosid9uf." When I handed her Bria's camera, she prepared herself to take the photo that very instant, without even looking at the Eiffel Tower. I made a motion that we wanted the tower to be in the photo.
She stood in front of us, we smiled big. Bria resisted the urge to say, "FROMAGE." The lady clicked and moved the camera the minute that she'd clicked the button. We realized that she was not exactly camera savvy, and to just let it go. Here is the result of her picture.
I said "Danke schon," to which the lady smiled very big. Either she was a sweet old lady who was so happy I'd guessed her language (and then butchered it with my terrible pronunciation), or she was a mean old lady who purposely took a picture of feet with no view whatsoever of the Eiffel Tower behind us. I'll choose to believe she was a nice old lady who can't shoot pictures to save her life. I am so thoroughly amused by this photograph. I'm still laughing right now.
There is a mystery in life that I just cannot comprehend. Tourists, who like to have their picture taken with famous things behind them, seem unable to take such photos themselves. Why is this? In the past week, I've had Notre Dame disappear from behind me, the Eiffel Tower chopped in half, and now... the story of the feet picture.
My friend Bria is here and I thus took her straight away to meet Eloise (ie, the Eiffel Tower). We were up in the area across from it that is known for being the spot for a perfect picture with Eloise behind you. Bria and I see a nice elderly lady and I ask her in French if she would mind taking our photo. I even made photo snapping hand motions.
The elderly lady responded, "llsdka;sdifupoibnadsfoi." I took that to mean, "I don't speak French." But for all I know, she could have said, "Stupid tourist...why must you take the cheesy typical photo with a big piece of brown metal behind you to prove that you've been here?" Or she could have said, "I understood you, but I'm SO tired of taking photos for tourists and I just want to enjoy myself--I am not YOUR personal photographer, and thus I am pretending to not understand you."
I pressed on in my annoying tourist self so that Bria could have the obligatory photo op. I continued making photo hand motions. The lady nodded that she understood (or yielded), and said, "a;lsdkfjalsidjufpaosid9uf." When I handed her Bria's camera, she prepared herself to take the photo that very instant, without even looking at the Eiffel Tower. I made a motion that we wanted the tower to be in the photo.
She stood in front of us, we smiled big. Bria resisted the urge to say, "FROMAGE." The lady clicked and moved the camera the minute that she'd clicked the button. We realized that she was not exactly camera savvy, and to just let it go. Here is the result of her picture.
I said "Danke schon," to which the lady smiled very big. Either she was a sweet old lady who was so happy I'd guessed her language (and then butchered it with my terrible pronunciation), or she was a mean old lady who purposely took a picture of feet with no view whatsoever of the Eiffel Tower behind us. I'll choose to believe she was a nice old lady who can't shoot pictures to save her life. I am so thoroughly amused by this photograph. I'm still laughing right now. Bria and I tried on our own...and here's what we came up with.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Castles Redeemed
Saturday, August 18
After the disasterous day at Versailles last weekend, I felt that I had to give Jules and France a chance to reconcile their differences as far as castles went. (She had a fab time in Paris, and in Normandy--post to come--the famous castle being the only bad experience here.) I had already planned on taking her to the "candle castle," which made me nervous, because I'd never been. What if it turned out like Versailles? What if her last night in France was just terrible because castles were meant for the centuries past? While walking through the Metro a few days before our scheduled trip to the candle castle, I saw an advertisement hanging about it. It convinced me to check out the website, which convinced me to give castles a second chance.
Here's what the website said. "On August 17th 1661, in order to celebrate the end of the construction of his beautiful castle, Nicolas Fouquet gave, in the honor and presence of the King Louis XIV, one of the most prestigious party of the seventeenth century." This is the castle where "the Man in the Iron Mask" was filmed (and where it's story comes from). It's supposedly the castle that inspired King Louis XIV (the Sun King) to build Versailles--he wanted to outdo the beauty of this chateau.
So every August 17th, they recreate the party that Nicolas Fouquet threw...people dress up in 17th century costumes, they light the entire house and gardens by candlelight (as it would have been that night way back when), there is a parade of the royal court and the Sun King, a Moliere play, and fireworks. Jules and I dressed up pretty and went to the royal gala.
There are no words for how amazing this night was! I thought back through all my experiences in Europe, and think I can say--nothing else compares. I almost cried when it was time to leave. Jules shot a short video of the presentation of the royal court (in which you can hear the music that was playing all over the grounds), and took a few pictures. They don't do justice.
Photo Sharing - Video Sharing - Share Photos - Free Video Hosting
After the disasterous day at Versailles last weekend, I felt that I had to give Jules and France a chance to reconcile their differences as far as castles went. (She had a fab time in Paris, and in Normandy--post to come--the famous castle being the only bad experience here.) I had already planned on taking her to the "candle castle," which made me nervous, because I'd never been. What if it turned out like Versailles? What if her last night in France was just terrible because castles were meant for the centuries past? While walking through the Metro a few days before our scheduled trip to the candle castle, I saw an advertisement hanging about it. It convinced me to check out the website, which convinced me to give castles a second chance.
Here's what the website said. "On August 17th 1661, in order to celebrate the end of the construction of his beautiful castle, Nicolas Fouquet gave, in the honor and presence of the King Louis XIV, one of the most prestigious party of the seventeenth century." This is the castle where "the Man in the Iron Mask" was filmed (and where it's story comes from). It's supposedly the castle that inspired King Louis XIV (the Sun King) to build Versailles--he wanted to outdo the beauty of this chateau.
So every August 17th, they recreate the party that Nicolas Fouquet threw...people dress up in 17th century costumes, they light the entire house and gardens by candlelight (as it would have been that night way back when), there is a parade of the royal court and the Sun King, a Moliere play, and fireworks. Jules and I dressed up pretty and went to the royal gala.
There are no words for how amazing this night was! I thought back through all my experiences in Europe, and think I can say--nothing else compares. I almost cried when it was time to leave. Jules shot a short video of the presentation of the royal court (in which you can hear the music that was playing all over the grounds), and took a few pictures. They don't do justice.
Photo Sharing - Video Sharing - Share Photos - Free Video Hosting
This is the back of the house, from the gardens. I could have strolled around there all day long.
The castle, called the Chateau of Vaux le Vicomte, has a moat! With big fish in it! I've never seen a moat before!
The next picture is of Louis XIV, the Sun King, entering. It was really neat. The music changed, everyone started clapping...very cool!
There was a reflection pool 400 meters away from the castle...it was so neat! All the gardens are between this pool and the castle, and yet it reflects the building. Wow. Can I be a princess, please?
Monday, August 13, 2007
Lest anyone think otherwise
Monday, August 13, 2007
Sometimes I wonder if my blog gives off the impression that I only ever have these awesome, exciting, wonderful cultural experiences. Yesterday's disaster of a day will set the record straight. It was all SO BAD that all we could do was just laugh (while we grumbled).
My friend Jules is here on a vacation, and I am so thrilled! She arrived in Paris the day before I'd returned from Marseilles, and had 36 hours of relaxation and the Louvre. We spent all day Saturday just wandering around Paris talking, catching up, me pointing out touristy things along the way. It was wonderful--the best vacation day anyone could dream of.
We'd decided to go to Versailles on Sunday, because Sunday is the only day that the fountains are turned on in the massive gardens that make Versailles so famous. (For those who don't know, Versailles is claimed to be one of the most world famous castles, with acres and acres of gardens and fountains and such as it's back yard.) I figured, if you're going to pay money to see these gardens, you might as well see them with the fountains on, right?
Well, two American ladies that I'd worked with down in Marseilles were arriving in Paris for three days of vacation before returning to the US, and so we'd arranged to meet them at their hotel on Sunday morning so we could all go to Versailles together. They were supposed to be there by 11am. At 12:30, when they still hadn't shown up, we decided to go ahead and leave. (We found out later that they didn't make it in until 2pm!)
So we take the train out to Versailles, pick up lunch and carry it over to the castle, wisely thinking to eat it while waiting in the world's longest line to get into the castle. We got in line...and waited...and waited...and waited. Two and a half hours later, we finally made it into the building where you buy your tickets, and saw why it took so long: they only had two cashiers selling tickets to the thousands of people trying to get in. Seriously, it seems like they could hire another worker or two to make that line shorter, or build automatic teller machines to see tickets. We were trying to fight off being grumbly at that point, because at least now we were getting in.
We got our tickets at 4pm, and the castle closes at 6:30. (Remember that we'd tried to start our day at 11...) There were hardly any signs anywhere, and the signs that were up were not clear. We started looking for a bathroom (since we'd been in line for 2.5 hours), only to find a line 50 people deep at the first bathroom we encountered. We walked through two sections of the castle, listening to the audiotour. At one point, I lowered the little player and turned to Jules and said, "I could make up better stuff than this!" I wanted to poke my eye out it was so boring.
We finally found the other bathroom (yes, they only have two), and grew more and more grumpy. We wander around and around trying to find out how to get to the part of the castle that I'd seen in photos (the pretty part)--the part that surely had made it so famous. Because what we'd seen so far in no way justified the thousands of tourists that flock there on a normal basis. What we'd seen so far would surely spark everyone I know to have told me ahead of time, "Versailles is a terrible waste of time, there are so many better castles to go to." But no...no one had ever said anything like that to me, in fact--just the opposite. So we trudged on.
We found the "pretty part." It was SO crowded with tourists that no only could we (a) not enjoy it or (b) see anything through all the masses of people, but (c) we couldn't even hear the audiotour cassette because of the noise of all the people. I couldn't even stand on my tippy-toes and look over all their heads because all the tourists would lift their cameras in the air to take pictures over people's heads.
After about 20-30 minutes, the introvert-I-can't-stand-tourists-or-crowds-and-I'm-seriously-grumpy-by-now came out and I was ready to start PUSHING people out of my way just to get out of that building. I turned to tell Jules, "Let's just go out and enjoy the gardens for a few minutes before we leave," when I looked out at the gardens through the window. They had turned the fountains OFF. We missed it. And in the distance, a storm was brewing.
She said, "Let's just go, so that maybe we can beat these crowds to the train back to Paris." I agreed. I just wanted to leave. I felt like we'd wasted a whole day of our lives, as well as 13.50euros (except for the wonderful company I'd had in having her with me). As we walked out of the building, she said, "Out of all my experiences in ALL the world (and she lives in the Middle East, mind you)--that was the worst thing ever. Bottom of the list. Terrible." Maybe this will give you a clue: I didn't take ONE SINGLE photograph. Wasn't even inspired ONCE.
We walk through the gate of the castle and feel a rain drop. I quickly advise her about storms here--no use to bother with an umbrella, the wind always blows them inside out, and besides...an umbrella doesn't cover the bottom half of you. As I finish saying that, the heavens opened up and just DUMPED all over us. We were drenched from head to toe by the time we got on the train. That part of the day was actually fun, we laughed about it. (I mean, running through a downpour with a friend IS fun!)
While on the train, we got to see a beautiful rainbow, which did pick up our spirits. We thanked the Lord for His blessings and promises and just were thankful for that visual reminder that He is good...even if Versailles is terrible. We called Svia and told her we were on our way to the hotel to pick up our friends, and she could start heading towards the restaurant where we would all meet for dinner.
Then Jules and I got turned around at one of the metro connections, which delayed us about 20 minutes. We got to the ladies' hotel, heard all about their bad day of arriving in Paris, and headed back to the train station. Only to find out--the train wasn't running it's full course that day, and so it was no use to take it to switch a gazillion more times to get get to the restaurant. I had to pull out my map and rethink our route. Svia doesn't have a cell phone, so we couldn't call her and tell her we would be late.
We take the detour route I'd come up with, and arrived at the train station near the restaurant...to find out that 3/4 of the exits are under construction and we couldn't exit where we needed to. After walking all around our elbow, we finally arrived at the rendezvous spot...two hours after I'd called Svia. She was nowhere to be found. She'd waited over an hour for us and finally decided to leave.
We had fondue for dinner, which seemed to redeem the whole day for everyone. We laughed and talked and enjoyed the world's most fattening dinner--bread, potatoes, and a assortment of pork products all dipped in melted cheese. Thank goodness the whole day wasn't bad.
But seriously--Versailles? Someone needs to tell me what's so great about it, because I think it's TERRIBLE. Ick, ick, ick. So, lest anyone think I always manage to have wonderful experiences...let the record state that I don't always have fun, I do have to wait in wretched lines sometimes, I do find places boring, and I do get grumpy. And if anyone ever comes to visit, I will not take you to Versailles.
Now that the sun is finally shining, Jules and I are going to do stuff that I know is fun and pleasant.
Sometimes I wonder if my blog gives off the impression that I only ever have these awesome, exciting, wonderful cultural experiences. Yesterday's disaster of a day will set the record straight. It was all SO BAD that all we could do was just laugh (while we grumbled).
My friend Jules is here on a vacation, and I am so thrilled! She arrived in Paris the day before I'd returned from Marseilles, and had 36 hours of relaxation and the Louvre. We spent all day Saturday just wandering around Paris talking, catching up, me pointing out touristy things along the way. It was wonderful--the best vacation day anyone could dream of.
We'd decided to go to Versailles on Sunday, because Sunday is the only day that the fountains are turned on in the massive gardens that make Versailles so famous. (For those who don't know, Versailles is claimed to be one of the most world famous castles, with acres and acres of gardens and fountains and such as it's back yard.) I figured, if you're going to pay money to see these gardens, you might as well see them with the fountains on, right?
Well, two American ladies that I'd worked with down in Marseilles were arriving in Paris for three days of vacation before returning to the US, and so we'd arranged to meet them at their hotel on Sunday morning so we could all go to Versailles together. They were supposed to be there by 11am. At 12:30, when they still hadn't shown up, we decided to go ahead and leave. (We found out later that they didn't make it in until 2pm!)
So we take the train out to Versailles, pick up lunch and carry it over to the castle, wisely thinking to eat it while waiting in the world's longest line to get into the castle. We got in line...and waited...and waited...and waited. Two and a half hours later, we finally made it into the building where you buy your tickets, and saw why it took so long: they only had two cashiers selling tickets to the thousands of people trying to get in. Seriously, it seems like they could hire another worker or two to make that line shorter, or build automatic teller machines to see tickets. We were trying to fight off being grumbly at that point, because at least now we were getting in.
We got our tickets at 4pm, and the castle closes at 6:30. (Remember that we'd tried to start our day at 11...) There were hardly any signs anywhere, and the signs that were up were not clear. We started looking for a bathroom (since we'd been in line for 2.5 hours), only to find a line 50 people deep at the first bathroom we encountered. We walked through two sections of the castle, listening to the audiotour. At one point, I lowered the little player and turned to Jules and said, "I could make up better stuff than this!" I wanted to poke my eye out it was so boring.
We finally found the other bathroom (yes, they only have two), and grew more and more grumpy. We wander around and around trying to find out how to get to the part of the castle that I'd seen in photos (the pretty part)--the part that surely had made it so famous. Because what we'd seen so far in no way justified the thousands of tourists that flock there on a normal basis. What we'd seen so far would surely spark everyone I know to have told me ahead of time, "Versailles is a terrible waste of time, there are so many better castles to go to." But no...no one had ever said anything like that to me, in fact--just the opposite. So we trudged on.
We found the "pretty part." It was SO crowded with tourists that no only could we (a) not enjoy it or (b) see anything through all the masses of people, but (c) we couldn't even hear the audiotour cassette because of the noise of all the people. I couldn't even stand on my tippy-toes and look over all their heads because all the tourists would lift their cameras in the air to take pictures over people's heads.
After about 20-30 minutes, the introvert-I-can't-stand-tourists-or-crowds-and-I'm-seriously-grumpy-by-now came out and I was ready to start PUSHING people out of my way just to get out of that building. I turned to tell Jules, "Let's just go out and enjoy the gardens for a few minutes before we leave," when I looked out at the gardens through the window. They had turned the fountains OFF. We missed it. And in the distance, a storm was brewing.
She said, "Let's just go, so that maybe we can beat these crowds to the train back to Paris." I agreed. I just wanted to leave. I felt like we'd wasted a whole day of our lives, as well as 13.50euros (except for the wonderful company I'd had in having her with me). As we walked out of the building, she said, "Out of all my experiences in ALL the world (and she lives in the Middle East, mind you)--that was the worst thing ever. Bottom of the list. Terrible." Maybe this will give you a clue: I didn't take ONE SINGLE photograph. Wasn't even inspired ONCE.
We walk through the gate of the castle and feel a rain drop. I quickly advise her about storms here--no use to bother with an umbrella, the wind always blows them inside out, and besides...an umbrella doesn't cover the bottom half of you. As I finish saying that, the heavens opened up and just DUMPED all over us. We were drenched from head to toe by the time we got on the train. That part of the day was actually fun, we laughed about it. (I mean, running through a downpour with a friend IS fun!)
While on the train, we got to see a beautiful rainbow, which did pick up our spirits. We thanked the Lord for His blessings and promises and just were thankful for that visual reminder that He is good...even if Versailles is terrible. We called Svia and told her we were on our way to the hotel to pick up our friends, and she could start heading towards the restaurant where we would all meet for dinner.
Then Jules and I got turned around at one of the metro connections, which delayed us about 20 minutes. We got to the ladies' hotel, heard all about their bad day of arriving in Paris, and headed back to the train station. Only to find out--the train wasn't running it's full course that day, and so it was no use to take it to switch a gazillion more times to get get to the restaurant. I had to pull out my map and rethink our route. Svia doesn't have a cell phone, so we couldn't call her and tell her we would be late.
We take the detour route I'd come up with, and arrived at the train station near the restaurant...to find out that 3/4 of the exits are under construction and we couldn't exit where we needed to. After walking all around our elbow, we finally arrived at the rendezvous spot...two hours after I'd called Svia. She was nowhere to be found. She'd waited over an hour for us and finally decided to leave.
We had fondue for dinner, which seemed to redeem the whole day for everyone. We laughed and talked and enjoyed the world's most fattening dinner--bread, potatoes, and a assortment of pork products all dipped in melted cheese. Thank goodness the whole day wasn't bad.
But seriously--Versailles? Someone needs to tell me what's so great about it, because I think it's TERRIBLE. Ick, ick, ick. So, lest anyone think I always manage to have wonderful experiences...let the record state that I don't always have fun, I do have to wait in wretched lines sometimes, I do find places boring, and I do get grumpy. And if anyone ever comes to visit, I will not take you to Versailles.
Now that the sun is finally shining, Jules and I are going to do stuff that I know is fun and pleasant.
Sunday, August 05, 2007
How could I possibly resist?
Sunday, August 5
Yesterday afternoon I was standing at a bus stop, just chillin' like a villian. Okay, more like roastin like a "possum that's been run over on the side of the road." (The quote was added by Sue-Wee.) I guess I've become a true Parisian, because WOWZAH is Marseilles hot! So anyway, I'd just finished a long day of work, and I was outside, and I was HOT. As in temperature, not as in...um, cuteness.
Or so I thought.
Two young North African men approached me and asked if I was a Christian. I told them yes, I am.
"Well, if you want to become a Muslim, that man in white over there is looking for a wife. He'd like to marry you."
I looked to where they pointed, and a fundamentalist man, with full beard, white cap and floor length robe was sitting at a nearby cafe. He saw me looking and gave a big grin, and waved at me like a schoolaged girl would do to a boy on whom she had a crush. I laughed and explained that I did not want to become a Muslim, and that I could not marry a Muslim.
I can't get a proposal in real life, but this story was actually my second Muslim proposal of the day! I guess I was hot in the other sense...ha ha.
Yesterday afternoon I was standing at a bus stop, just chillin' like a villian. Okay, more like roastin like a "possum that's been run over on the side of the road." (The quote was added by Sue-Wee.) I guess I've become a true Parisian, because WOWZAH is Marseilles hot! So anyway, I'd just finished a long day of work, and I was outside, and I was HOT. As in temperature, not as in...um, cuteness.
Or so I thought.
Two young North African men approached me and asked if I was a Christian. I told them yes, I am.
"Well, if you want to become a Muslim, that man in white over there is looking for a wife. He'd like to marry you."
I looked to where they pointed, and a fundamentalist man, with full beard, white cap and floor length robe was sitting at a nearby cafe. He saw me looking and gave a big grin, and waved at me like a schoolaged girl would do to a boy on whom she had a crush. I laughed and explained that I did not want to become a Muslim, and that I could not marry a Muslim.
I can't get a proposal in real life, but this story was actually my second Muslim proposal of the day! I guess I was hot in the other sense...ha ha.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
The ONLY One
August 1, 2007
Ever since I started blogging, I've wished I'd had one back when I'd lived in Portugal. There were so many things that I saw and experienced that I wished I could pull back up from the archives. Having to depend on just my memory is so dull...and increasingly less accurate memories than my old posts on the blog.
I'm currently in Marseilles, France on a work project. Yesterday, after we'd finished work, Sue-Wee and I went wandering around the town (it's a first time here for both of us). Really, we were just waiting for all the restaurants to open at 7 so we could feed our American-that-needs-to-be-fed-before-7pm-stomachs. When you arrive in Marseilles, there are two immediate things you notice: the boats (it's a port town), and the building-that-looks-like-a-church up on the hill.
There is one hill that is considerably higher than all the others, and perched atop of it is what-looks-like-a-church, with a very tall steeple. On top of the steeple is a gold statue. From down at the port, you just see the gold, you don't really make out who it is. The building is called Notre Dame de la Garde--Our Lady of the Guard, because the hill is named La Garde for how it watches over the city.
Now, I mentioned Portugal earlier because I had forgotten until yesterday the effect that this kind of Catholicism can have on me. When I lived in Portugal, I learned from seeing on a regular basis, all about the part of Catholicism that idolizes Mary. I don't believe all Catholics do it. I think there are many Catholics who love Jesus and worship Him, and it's just that their style of worship is considerably different than mine. But there in Portugal, especially in a town named Fatima...it's sort of hard to find Jesus at all.
It made me ill back then. I would smell the odor of wax burning and think it smelled like death. I saw people walking on their knees, or even pulling themselves on their stomachs using just their elbows as a way to demonstrate penance. I was shocked by mosaics of Mary being crowned by Jesus and the angels.
But it's been many, many years since I've seen that. I've been to Sri Lanka and India where I saw the worship of ugly, non-gods that made me just as ill. I've lived in Muslim countries where I hear the call to prayer and know they've got the idea of God all messed up. Maybe I've become de-sensitised to it all since I was young and seeing a religion other than my own back then in Portugal. Or maybe it is seeing what has stemmed out of my religious beliefs all contorted in the wrong way, but still called by the name of my faith that bothers me so.
We climbed that hill...climbed and climbed and climbed until we kicked ourselves for not taking the bus. We got to the bottom steps that lead up to the church and saw the stations of the cross marked on the way up them, and I thought to myself--this is one thing I love about Catholicism...seeing the stations of the cross. But when we reached the top, that was the end of the time of worship for me. There was no more Jesus there.
Above the door to the building was a painting of Mary on a throne, with two angels staring up at her in adoration. Underneath it was the phrase, in French, "I salute you Mary." There was a plaque that said, "Everything in her is so precious, we must be generous," asking people to give money to the upkeep of the place. Inside, it was all about Mary and not about the God-Man that she was privilege to mother. I refuse to call that place a church.
I'd love to be able to go back through old blog archives and remember how seeing that on a regular basis made me feel. I wish I could read through some of the happy, funny experiences that I had in Portugal that weren't like this related memory. Because all of this just bums me out.
So all I can is this: To Jesus Christ, the Name that is above all names, the only one worthy, be all glory and honor and worship and praise. He alone is God.
Ever since I started blogging, I've wished I'd had one back when I'd lived in Portugal. There were so many things that I saw and experienced that I wished I could pull back up from the archives. Having to depend on just my memory is so dull...and increasingly less accurate memories than my old posts on the blog.
I'm currently in Marseilles, France on a work project. Yesterday, after we'd finished work, Sue-Wee and I went wandering around the town (it's a first time here for both of us). Really, we were just waiting for all the restaurants to open at 7 so we could feed our American-that-needs-to-be-fed-before-7pm-stomachs. When you arrive in Marseilles, there are two immediate things you notice: the boats (it's a port town), and the building-that-looks-like-a-church up on the hill.
There is one hill that is considerably higher than all the others, and perched atop of it is what-looks-like-a-church, with a very tall steeple. On top of the steeple is a gold statue. From down at the port, you just see the gold, you don't really make out who it is. The building is called Notre Dame de la Garde--Our Lady of the Guard, because the hill is named La Garde for how it watches over the city.
Now, I mentioned Portugal earlier because I had forgotten until yesterday the effect that this kind of Catholicism can have on me. When I lived in Portugal, I learned from seeing on a regular basis, all about the part of Catholicism that idolizes Mary. I don't believe all Catholics do it. I think there are many Catholics who love Jesus and worship Him, and it's just that their style of worship is considerably different than mine. But there in Portugal, especially in a town named Fatima...it's sort of hard to find Jesus at all.
It made me ill back then. I would smell the odor of wax burning and think it smelled like death. I saw people walking on their knees, or even pulling themselves on their stomachs using just their elbows as a way to demonstrate penance. I was shocked by mosaics of Mary being crowned by Jesus and the angels.
But it's been many, many years since I've seen that. I've been to Sri Lanka and India where I saw the worship of ugly, non-gods that made me just as ill. I've lived in Muslim countries where I hear the call to prayer and know they've got the idea of God all messed up. Maybe I've become de-sensitised to it all since I was young and seeing a religion other than my own back then in Portugal. Or maybe it is seeing what has stemmed out of my religious beliefs all contorted in the wrong way, but still called by the name of my faith that bothers me so.
We climbed that hill...climbed and climbed and climbed until we kicked ourselves for not taking the bus. We got to the bottom steps that lead up to the church and saw the stations of the cross marked on the way up them, and I thought to myself--this is one thing I love about Catholicism...seeing the stations of the cross. But when we reached the top, that was the end of the time of worship for me. There was no more Jesus there.
Above the door to the building was a painting of Mary on a throne, with two angels staring up at her in adoration. Underneath it was the phrase, in French, "I salute you Mary." There was a plaque that said, "Everything in her is so precious, we must be generous," asking people to give money to the upkeep of the place. Inside, it was all about Mary and not about the God-Man that she was privilege to mother. I refuse to call that place a church.
I'd love to be able to go back through old blog archives and remember how seeing that on a regular basis made me feel. I wish I could read through some of the happy, funny experiences that I had in Portugal that weren't like this related memory. Because all of this just bums me out.
So all I can is this: To Jesus Christ, the Name that is above all names, the only one worthy, be all glory and honor and worship and praise. He alone is God.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)