Denise – Page 6 – SLA Profiles (2017)

En forgeant le caractère: Week 4

June 18th – 24th

As I write this, I am actually not in France; I’m on a bus driving through Belgium. My roommate and I found cheap bus tickets to Brussels, so we spent the weekend there. It was so much fun, especially since I didn’t know much about Brussels, or even Belgium, before actually going. I saw the Grand-Place, Manneken-Pis, a section of the Berlin Wall, and the European Parliament. I visited art museums and cathedrals. I ate Belgian waffles, Belgian fries, and boiled sea snails. And I accidentally ran into one of my best friends, who has been studying in Germany but, unknown to either one of us, ended up visiting Brussels the exact same weekend as me. And French is one of the official languages of Belgium, so I spoke a lot of French too.

Brussels. I tried to take an artsy photo with the flowers in the foreground, but they just washed out the rest of the picture.

Here’s me with Manneken-Pis. It’s a fountain, and the fountain part is a little boy peeing. It’s Brussels’ self-proclaimed city symbol. It was smaller than I had expected, and it was crowded with tourists taking pictures, so it was basically the Mona Lisa, but Belgian.

Me and my friend Amber meeting up with each other in Brussels.

I also visited another castle this week: the castle of Azay-le-Rideau. Unfortunately, however, due to a miscommunication (which I maintain was solely the fault of the Azay-le-Rideau tourism website) I didn’t actually get to go inside the castle. The inside of the castle was closed for renovations, so my friend and I just walked around the grounds.

Azay-le-Rideau

French graffiti in the town around Azay-le-Rideau

I did get to go inside the other historic Loire Valley building I visited this week: the Chapel of St. Radegonde. The newest parts of this chapel date from the 1800s; the oldest parts date from actual Roman times, a.k.a the 100s.

This fresco is an 1800s restoration.

This fresco dates from the 11th century.

So that was the touristy part of my week. The week, however, was also an important one in terms of two other things: language development and character development.

Language development first. On Monday, I had to give a ten-minute-long oral presentation. I chose for my topic the history of Chenonceau (the castle I visited a couple weeks ago). Giving presentations in English is not a difficult thing for me; although I do have many phobias, public speaking is not one of them, and I even in my day-to-day life I tend to talk a lot. In French, however, things are different. As I wrote about last week, my lack of vocabulary and eloquence in spoken French often tends to frustrate me into silence. So I was a little worried about how that presentation was going to go. However, it turned out that I didn’t need to worry. I talked for twelve minutes straight, with minimal pausing and only a few glaring grammatical errors. And I used the subjunctive tense and the plus-que-parfait tense, two verb tenses which I usually avoid at all costs in spoken French.

It wasn’t just during formal oral presentations that I started noticing real changes, either. While at dinner the other night, I began to realize that I was speaking much more quickly and smoothly, with more types of sentence construction and better diction, than I had been able to three weeks ago. I also realized that I was using phrasing and idioms that I’d recently learned in class. It’s really cool to be able to learn something in French class and then get to try it out twenty minutes later, instead of at best two days later, or at worst several weeks later and only while writing a paper.

All this language development got a very practical application on Wednesday. That’s the character development. I hurt my foot a week or two ago, and it was getting steadily worse until finally I caved and agreed to go to the doctor. Going to the doctor in a foreign country whose language you speak at only an intermediate level isn’t the easiest thing in the world to do. (Luckily my host mother was supremely helpful throughout the whole thing, referring me to their family doctor and driving me to the appointment so that I and my foot injury didn’t have to walk there). I was prepared for the worst. But surprise of surprises, I was actually able to effectively communicate with the doctor. Like, explain all my symptoms and answer all his questions (I did have to ask him to repeat himself once or twice, but in my defense he spoke very quickly).

I was supposed to get an X-ray, but I went to Belgium instead, so that hasn’t happened yet. Oddly enough, though, my foot has been improving since Wednesday. So hopefully that X-ray won’t actually be necessary.

In other news, we’ve been suffering through our second heat wave of the summer. As far as cultural differences go, here’s one: while I’m sweating through shorts and tank tops, I pass people on the streets wearing jeans and even jackets. While I love the four-course dinners and the way you greet shopkeepers every time you go into a store, I think I’m okay without the wearing-jeans-in-95-degree-weather custom.

La cathèdrale inattendue: Week 3

June 11th – 17th

I’m very touristy here in France. Wednesday afternoon I went on another Institute trip to the castle of Chaumont-sur-Loire. Thursday afternoon I went to the Cathedral of St. Gatien (Cathèdrale de Saint-Gatien) and the Fine Arts Museum in Tours (Musée de Beaux-Arts). Then, Saturday, I went to the Puy du Fou, which is a French park which puts on circus-type shows (“spectacles”) about the history of France, from Roman times to the world wars.

Chaumont-sur-Loire

Chaumont hosts a garden festival every year, in which they invite landscape designers to design gardens all over the Chaumont grounds. This was one of them, a little water garden with mirrors at each end. This was my friends’ and my attempt at a mirror selfie with the garden. It kind of worked.

Going to the cathedral on Thursday was actually an accident. I had been planning to just go to the Fine Arts Museum, but because I have no sense of direction, I got lost and stumbled upon the cathedral instead. And it was an incredible surprise. I had known there was a cathedral somewhere in Tours, but people don’t really go to Tours for the cathedral, so I wasn’t expecting much from whenever I got around to visiting it. But here was a giant Gothic cathedral, rose window and all, absolutely dripping with stone decorations, basically appearing out of nowhere in a random Tours town square. And when I say giant, I mean giant. The ceilings were some of the highest I’ve ever seen. There was a side chapel every five feet, and every side chapel had a tomb or a relic or an altar. I almost didn’t believe the stained glass was as old as it is, because the windows were huge and the colors were so bright. I spent nearly an hour walking around it.

The Cathedral of St. Gatien

Inside the Cathedral of St. Gatien

This side chapel is dedicated to St. Martin of Tours. There’s a relic in that little gold monstrance. I don’t know what it is because it’s really small. St. Martin is a big deal in Tours because, well, he’s St. Martin of Tours.

The pipe organ, rose window, and people for scale.

The choir behind the cathedral. Technically it cost 3 euro to get into the choir, but I didn’t have any euro on me so the ticket lady let me in for free.

The towers of the cathedral as seen from the choir.

And then I did end up finding my way to the museum as well; when leaving the cathedral, I found a city map (my phone was long dead) and planned out my route home. I had taken barely two steps from the map when I walked directly into the museum. It was still an hour and a half before closing, so I went in and then spent an hour and a half walking around the museum.

As for my actual classes, this week has been the best week of classes so far. My new class focuses a lot on discussing and on oral presentation, which are two areas in which I can really use practice. I can also tell that my oral comprehension, which I’ve mentioned is abysmal, is improving very slightly. I went to see Finding Nemo (Le Monde de Nemo) at the movie theater with some friends on Friday, and I was actually able to follow more than 50% of the dialogue without much of a problem. To be fair, I’ve practically memorized the movie anyway, but that was still really a milestone for me.

I have had a couple of those funny-but-cringeworthy fiascos that come with trying to communicate in a language you don’t know very well, though. For example, earlier this week I went to a bakery. I didn’t yet know what I wanted, so when the baker came and asked me what she could get for me, I tried to tell her I was just looking at the moment. I realized later that I had been off by a preposition, and had actually said something closer to the connotations of “I’m just watching the pastries right now, thanks.”

Despite faux pas like these, though, I have noticed that in general my conversational French has improved. I speak slightly more fluidly and can comprehend people slightly better, although verb tenses other than simple past and present still mess with my head in conversation. I have also realized that my French vocabulary isn’t very extensive. I actually knew that already, but I guess I just never truly realized how much I used French/English dictionaries when writing papers, because my actual mental store of French words is pretty small.

Truthfully, that gets frustrating. In English, language usage is my thing. I’m that person who gets physically uncomfortable if someone uses the wrong form of “they’re/their/there,” and privately judges people really hard for using dangling modifiers and ending sentences with prepositions. I’ll legitimately spend time deciding which synonym of “angry” exactly fits my state of mind: am I irritated? Outraged? Indignant? Offended? In English, I’m eloquent. But in French, I am not. I mess up on grammar constantly. I often get stuck while trying to say what I really want to, and end up resorting to a far simpler and less expressive sentence, or just not saying anything at all. I have to keep reminding myself that I have nineteen years’ worth of experience with English, and only five years’ worth with French.

That being said, I love it here. I’ve been getting unreasonably panicky all week because my time here was almost half over (now it’s officially half over). But it’s been a great three weeks, and I’m really excited for the next three.

Trois châteaux et une abbaye: Week 2

June 4-10

I moved up a quarter-level this week. (Those six levels I mentioned last week are further divided into four sublevels apiece, so we’ve got A1.1, A1.2, etc. You move up a quarter-level at a time, so you’d move from A1.1 to A1.2, for example.) The class I was originally placed into felt too easy for me, and my professors agreed that it was. So they let me move up.

That is, my professors agreed that it was too easy for me when it came to reading, writing, and even speaking. But I took my first oral comprehension test (that’s how well you can understand something you hear) this week, and I absolutely failed it. Everyone has different levels of competency in different areas of the language, and oral comprehension is definitely my lowest. Luckily, I’m in a really good place to practice that.

Outside of classes, I was barely in Tours this week. Last weekend my host parents went to visit their country house in Chinon, which is about 45 minutes southwest of Tours, and invited me and Thomas to join them. Two of my host parents’ grown children joined us there too, and we spent two days hiking, exploring the pre-15^th-century underground house on my host parents’ property, going to French Mass, and of course, speaking a lot of French.

Here’s the house at Chinon. It dates from the 16th century. I asked my host mother to repeat herself three times to make sure I wasn’t translating that date incorrectly.

Hiking in Chinon

I made Thomas take this picture of me because I really liked this giant dandelion. You can already see the farmer’s tan I got while hiking the day before. My sleeves are rolled up in an (ultimately unsuccessful) attempt to even out those tan lines.

Then, on Wednesday, I went to visit two castles. Tours is right in the middle of the Loire Valley, which is where French royals throughout history built practically all their castles. So there are a ton of castles within an hour or two of us. The Institute organizes trips to them on Wednesday afternoons, when there’s no class, and I signed up for as many as I could. This Wednesday we went to Langeais, a castle built in the 15th century with a very medieval-fortress feel, and Villandry, a castle built in the 16th century with a much more Renaissance-palace feel.

Langeais

The original keep of Langeais, dating from the 10th century. The rest of the original castle of Langeais was destroyed.

Villandry

The gardens at Villandry

Then, Friday, I went with my host mother to tour the Marmoutier Abbey, an old abbey just outside Tours. The current standing abbey dates from the 13th century, but its grounds have ruins from three different churches, one from the 4th century, one from the 12th century, and one from the 13th century. It’s surreal to visit places that have been around literally longer than my actual country. We don’t have 1500-year-old church ruins in America. The abbey tour had a guide whom, luckily, I could understand pretty well. And I’m glad I could, because I learned my favorite France story so far: Around the 13^th century, the abbey was home to a brotherhood of monks. One of your standard 13^th-century miracles occurred, and a miraculous spring bubbled up outside the abbey. The monks, of course, didn’t want to waste their new gift. So they built a brewery and used it to make beer.

Here’s the abbey. You can’t tell from this picture, but it was built directly into the hill behind it.

Here are the ruins of the churches. They built each new church on top of the ruins of the old one, so the ruins are all stacked on top of each other.

And then, on Saturday, a group of friends and I went on our own to visit the castle of Chenonceau. Chenonceau has been called the most beautiful castle, and I definitely agree (although my experience is so far limited to three castles).

Here’s Chenonceau from the side. It bridges the Cher river, which incidentally was the border between France and Vichy France during World War II. Its galleries were used as a military hospital in World War I.

Can you tell I love history? I’m a complete history nerd. I’m here to learn French, but getting dropped in the middle of a valley full of French history, literally from Roman times through World War II, is such an added bonus.

Bonjour à Tours: Week 1

May 28th – June 3rd

My first two days here felt like they lasted forever, but the rest of the week absolutely flew by. I had an awful time getting here: it involved a three-hour bus ride, a nine-hour flight, another hourlong bus ride, a two-hour train ride, and very little sleep. On top of all that, my suitcase handle broke at the baggage claim in Paris. A friend of my host parents came to pick me up at the train station in Tours and found me dripping sweat (I arrived in the middle of a heat wave) and trying unsuccessfully to carry a 50-pound suitcase along with my duffel bag. And for the next 48 hours after that, it was meeting my host parents, and getting settled in, and unpacking, and orientation at the Institute (the language school I’ll be at for the next six weeks), and then my first classes at the Institute, and a lot of napping. But aside from (and even amidst) all the chaos of the first couple of days, I’ve been having a great time.

Here’s L’Institut de Touraine, or as we all call it, the Institute. We all hang out in and enter the building from the courtyard behind the building, and there are two other buildings as well, but this facade is the prettiest.

In a lot of ways, Tours isn’t much different from my home town of South Bend. But in a lot of ways, it is.

For one thing, the people here all speak French.

For another thing, everything here is much smaller than I’m used to. Streets are just about exactly one lane wide. Sidewalks range from a foot to a foot and a half wide, which is about 30% as much sidewalk as I’m used to. The bathtub in my host family’s house is just big enough for me to kneel in. And don’t even get me started on the elevators. I don’t love elevators as a rule, since I’m a bit of a claustrophobe at the best of times. But I refuse to have anything at all to do with French elevators. I literally thought the first one I ran across was a mail chute. It had space for two people, maybe, if they were reasonably small people, and if they were comfortable being very close to each other. I took the stairs.

Here’s a photo of the bathtub, with me in it for scale.

Another inconvenient difference: air conditioning is the exception here rather than the rule. My classroom at the Institute has it, which is lucky, because not all the classrooms there do. But my host family’s house does not. Unfortunately, as I mentioned, France was suffering a heat wave earlier this week, so I spent a lot of time lying in front of the fan my host mother kindly installed in my room, trying not to melt.

Not all the differences are inconvenient, though. In fact, I like some of them a lot. For example, although here we don’t eat dinner until 8:00 or 8:30, the standard dinner is four courses: appetizer, main dish, cheese, and dessert. (Side note: the French word for appetizer is entrée.) I’ve met people who can’t stand the long, multiple-course meals that are standard-issue in France, but I love the opportunity to sit down, relax, talk, and eat for an hour-plus at a stretch. Also, I immediately felt at home in this culture that not only considers cheese its own food group, but also sees it as a necessary part of every dinner.

I’ve really lucked out with my host parents. They’re absolutely lovely people, and they’ve been hosting students for years, so they’re very well-equipped to help us acclimate.

Here’s my host parents’ house. I live on the third floor. You can kind of see the two dormers poking out from the roof; that bathtub is right behind the one on the right.

It’s actually surprised me how quickly I’ve been able to settle in. (Probably because using a slightly smaller bathtub isn’t exactly earthshaking culture shock.) Even after just a week, though, I’ve fallen pretty easily into a routine. Every morning my host mother makes breakfast for me and the other host student living here (actually another Notre Dame student; his name is Thomas and you can read his blog too). Then we walk to the Institute; it’s a ten-to-fifteen-minute walk from our house. We have class from 9:00 to 12:20 every morning. Wednesdays and Fridays I have no afternoon classes; since I’m in the intensive program, I come back at 1:30 on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays for another couple hours of class. Then I have time to do whatever I want. I spent a couple evenings this week exploring the city (by which I mean I got hopelessly lost with a dead phone, but that was just on Monday). One evening I went to a play with my host mother. I did not understand a single word of it, but it was a pretty visual play so that was okay. At one point one of the (male) actors stripped fully nude, right onstage, facing the audience. This wasn’t some kind of X-rated play, either. It was at the community theatre. There were middle schoolers there. So maybe there’s something to these French stereotypes.

On the topic of not being able to understand that play: one thing I’ve rediscovered here is that my spoken French is abysmal. I already kind of knew this, but being forced to communicate always and only in French has made it unavoidably clear. I am much, much better at reading and writing French than conversing in it, but unfortunately, in France as in America, speaking is the standard mode of communication. Although I’m in the upper intermediate level here (there are six levels, ranging from complete beginner to completely fluent; I’m in the fourth) I still have to plan out what I want to say in my head before I say it. And I can have a lot of difficulty understanding people who speak French to me, too. My host parents and the teachers at the Institute are used to dealing with students of the language, so they usually speak slowly and clearly enough for me to understand, but I’ve had to ask shopkeepers to repeat themselves multiple times. And that stereotype of French people judging you for not being able to speak their language? It totally feels true.

This is the Loire riverside, about a 15-minute walk from my house.

Croagh Pádraig on Reek Sunday

On Sunday, a group of us got up early and took a bus to Westport in County Mayo to take part in Reek Sunday. It is the annual pilgrimage up Croagh Pádraig, the hill that St. Patrick climbed barefoot in order to fast and pray for 40 days. The bus ride took about an hour and a half. I wish I could rent a car and spend a straight week driving through Ireland. Living in the middle of nowhere does not bother me at all because we have the most beautiful commutes. I am constantly in awe of what I see out of my window. We arrived around 10:30 and started the climb at around 11. A few people in the group were brave enough to try it barefoot. I wanted to try it but the rainy weather deterred me. I will definitely be returning and trying it barefoot at some point in my life. The climb itself started out wonderfully. I love the constant ascension of hiking and I was eager to get higher and higher. I kept having to turn back and wait to make sure I was still with my friends because I was getting so excited. The higher I got, the more beautiful the view became. While at first I was nervous that we would be climbing with approximately 20,000 other people, I was so thankful once I was up there to have everyone around me. It was so inspiring to see people of all ages and walks of life coming together and working through the same obstacles. The climb was fairly difficult but I was sure I could see the top in my sights. Little did I know that the place I thought was the summit was just a turning point. Beyond it, there was another smaller, but much steeper, incline to the top. We took a quick sandwich break so we could give our legs a rest and so we could enjoy the incredible view. I think it is the most beautiful view I have ever seen or will ever see. On one side, there was the incredibly blue water with islands scattered throughout. It looked like it belonged in the Caribbean. On the other side, there were other hills with as many shades of green as a paint sample book. I have never seen anything like it in my entire life. The following climb was much more difficult than what we had done thus far. With about a half hour left until the top, I realized that I had gone faster than everyone else and I was on my own. I was so focused on getting there. It got much steeper and rockier as we approached the top. I was struggling to not slip and start an avalanche. At one point, I looked back and had to catch my breath because I was so scared of how high I was. A kind man next to me gave me some words of encouragement and I continued to climb. While I had been saying some prayers and keeping St. Patrick in mind during the whole climb, the last 20 minutes were very reflective. It was amazing to think about how religion had moved people to come together and do this amazing thing to feel closer to God. There were people that looked as young as 7 and as old as 80 climbing. Only something truly spectacular could make these people able to accomplish this feat. I felt incredibly blessed to be a part of it.

I arrived at the top about ten minutes before the next mass. Even though being in the clouds obstructed any view of anything below, the climb still felt so worth it. The mass that was celebrated will live in my memory forever. It was incredible to stand among so many Catholics who had worked so hard to get to where we were. We listened and prayed together. In a perfect twist of events, the Gospel this week was the Sermon on the Mount. I feel like the Beatitudes perfectly encapsulate what it means to be a Catholic. During Communion, the fog cleared a bit and you could briefly see the beautiful view. After mass, the weather suddenly seemed to get a lot colder. It may have been that we weren’t exerting ourselves as much as before or that we did not have nearly enough layers on, but suddenly we were all freezing. We piled into a huge group hug to stay warm while we waited for some people to finish taking pictures by the sign and going to Confession. The line for Confession was inspiringly long. Before heading down, I had to get rid of the rock that I had carried. I had carried it from the very beginning and imagined putting all of the things I wanted to let go of inside of it. I had planned on throwing it off the top but once I got up there I realized that I wanted part of me to stay up there. I ended up leaving it on “Padráig’s Leaba,” or Patrick’s bed. I also grabbed a rock to take on the way down.

The climb down was easier physically but more difficult in that we were much more prone to slipping and falling. We finally got back down and relaxed for a bit before the bus came. We were all exhausted, but in the best way. I’m so proud of what we accomplished and what we experienced. I can’t wait to try it again!

there were some sheep roaming around at the top!

Inis Oírr!

Since I last wrote, the classes have gotten even better. We had some people move up and down so now we’re a much more manageable size. There are the perfect amount of people to do activities and to practice speaking. We’ve been working a lot on the direct and indirect clauses, as well as new vocabulary. Today, we reviewed the conditional tense, which is notoriously every Irish students’ least favorite topic. It wasn’t too bad though! I feel like everyone is getting more comfortable with the structure and the pronunciation. We have been practicing a lot of pronunciations. It’s really interesting how letters can be pronounced so differently between English and Irish. For example, it’s important in Irish to pronounce the ‘d’ and ‘t’ at the very front of your mouth. The sound ‘dh’ makes before a broad vowel is something close to a growl. My struggle with it has definitely made for some laughs in class!

On Saturday, we all piled into a bus and drove to a nearby town to take the ferry to Inis Oírr. The ferry was amazing. We stood at the top and could see everything. The water was so blue and you could see green cliffs in the distance. Inis Oírr is the smallest Aran island but the second most populated. I can’t imagine how few people live on Inis Meáin after seeing how uninhabited Inis Oírr was! Even though there wasn’t a bustling city, I still had so much fun. We arrived on the island and were immediately greeted by the town dolphin. Apparently, this dolphin frequently swims very close to the shore and is very playful with the people! The scene of the dolphin in the bright blue water was surprisingly tropical. We slowly made our way to one of the few pubs on the island for lunch. They served us soup, sandwiches, and tea. It perfectly warmed us up after a bit of a chilly ferry ride. After lunch, we started on a walking tour of the island. We started by visiting the most beautiful graveyard I have ever seen. It sat alone in a green field with sea grass blowing, overlooking the sea. In the distance, you could see the Cliffs of Moher. In the center of the graveyard were the ruins of a very old chapel, halfway underground. The inscriptions on the tombstones were written in Irish. I even found one with the name Delia on it! We continued walking after a while and made our way up the big hill that sits in the center of the island. The island is so small that you can see the ocean wherever you look. It simply has a large hill overlooking a Gaelic football field and a few dozen houses. On the top of the hill were the ruins of a castle. You could see absolutely everything. It was surreal. There was every shade of green in the grass and every shade of blue in the ocean and the sky. The houses were white and there were lots of gray stone structures. I can’t imagine living in such a simple and beautiful place. We came down from the hill and explored a bit on our own. We found the one craft shop on the island and admired all the sweaters they had. I can’t wait to bring mine back to the cold South Bend winter!

We continued to walk around for a while and then got on the ferry to return home. The ferry ride home was just as stunning as the way there. By that time, it had gotten chillier so I was glad to have my new sweater. Lucy, our bean an tí, had a delicious warm Irish stew ready for us when we walked in the door!

Approaching the Truth about Beijing 2008 – in Respect of Rio 2016

My experience in Rio has been amazing so far. Rio is a paradise – but not for all. Beautiful houses with big swimming pools locate along the beach, with favelas (“communidades”) sitting on the mountains next to those fancy houses.

I learned so much from the book, <Brazil’s Dance with the Devil: World Cup, Olympics, and the Fight for Democracy>, about Brazil’s social issues, especially about the impacts of the mega events in recent years. However, I never expected to learn this much about the Olympics Games of Beijing 2008 in respect of Rio 2016.

Aproximação da Verdade – Pequim 2008

Eu lembro quando era criança numa escola primária, era necessário que nós alunos estudam e recitam um artigo que descreveu o momento de ancião a cidade sede dos Jogos Olímpicos de 2008 – Pequim. Era considerado como um sucesso histórico da China e eu derramei lágrimas quando li.

Contudo, nunca esperei para ler o livro sobre uns megaeventos no Brasil que me duvidar no que acreditei no passado com 20 anos de idade. O livro me tornou muito preocupado na condição na China e minha ignorância da condição na China por causa de controlo dos média e da educação doméstica.

O governo chinês se comprometeu a respeitar o ideal olímpico da dignidade e direitos humanos. Contrariamente às expectativas, os Jogos Olímpicos de Pequim são uma oportunidade para impulsionar a realização de despejos forçados, detenção de críticos, violação da liberdade de imprensa, e repressão política.

Como disse Tunne Kelam, um estudioso e político europeu,“infelizmente, os Jogos Olímpicos de Pequim provaram que os regimes autoritários não têm capacidade ou vontade para honrarem os ideais olímpicos de respeito pelos direitos humanos e da paz”. No entanto, o regime autoritário não foi a única a culpar – como foi apontado pelos Thomas Boswell e Dave Zirin, os principais meios ocidentais escolheram descurar o facto e se tornaram um grande canal de propaganda por causa dos seus benefícios. Não há nada de novo neste tipo de propaganda e colusão no mundo. Nos Jogos Olímpicos nunca este em jogo apenas o desporto.

Ainda assim, não deixo de me perguntar – nós chineses vão continuar a tolerar a ditadura por mais quanto tempo? A consciência dos meios dominantes se perde para sempre na sociedade capitalista? Os jogos pode ser mais uma benção do que uma maldição?

楽しかった週末 (Amazing Weekend)

I experienced both excitements and disappointments last weekend but every memory was worth cherishing and talking about. Last Friday I went to Gibli Art Museum (The museum of Miyazaki Hayao) with the ICU culture program. Gibli Museum visit was THE activity that I looked forward for a long time and it did not disappoint me. Though the museum was not very big, It was filled with cute details at every corner. I examined Mr. Miyazaki’s drawings carefully, hard to believe that they were all done by hands at a period of time full of computer technologies. I have followed his anime movies since young and it was like looking back to my childhood memory in this museum. Though as a common rule in Japan I could not take any pictures inside the museum, I would not easily forget the lovely totoros on the window frames, the delicate spiral staircases and the fluffy spider dolls at the corners. In no other places have I seen so much attention paid to perfecting the details. Perhaps it is also a merit in Japanese culture.

On Saturday night the biggest firework in Tokyo took place at Sumida River near Asakusa Shine and I went to have a look with my friends. Although on Friday the professor warned me that there would be lots of people, I did not expected it to be so much. The subway to asakusa was tremendous and even worse it rained hardly. I felt lucky that I did not wear yukata because it would be even more difficult to walk. So instead of squeezing into the crowd for the firework, my friends and I went to taste the street food set up for this big event. They were very satisfying. As a part of 夏祭り (Japanese Summer festival) the firework was one of the most popular events in Japan over the year. People, especially couples, get together to enjoy the firework wearing yukata. In almost every love or youth themed Japanese TV shows, movies and anime, the firework festival took place and was described as very interesting and romantic. Yet, in reality the feeling was totally different with too many people. (Though the traditional snacks along the street were as delicious as expected.) Anyway, it was a funny and worthwhile experience to see how the world in TV differed from the real world.

(This photo is took by a brave friend who endured to see the firework. it was really beautiful)

As a side note, I am sitting at a cafe in Kichijoji this afternoon writing this post. Since Kichijoji only needs one bus and half an hour to get there, it has raised up to my No. 1 choice to spend an afternoon. There are so many izakaya (Japanese bar), cafe and sweet small design shops. Also, it is still not so occupied with tourists and remains the image of a lively Japanese shopping area. I have drawn some lovely images of my impression of ICU.

Week 2: Fromage et La Plage

French cuisine is great and everybody knows it. So great in fact, that walking an hour and a half to Blanc Foussy, one of several wine caves in the Loire Valley, is not at all bizarre. My walk there went particularly well, as I learned about German architectural failures from a kind and talkative German student. However, anyone can research the wine-making process and learn what I did at Blanc Foussy.

Un étalage aux Grandes Caves Saint-Roch (Blanc Foussy)

Instead, I’ll talk about cheese. Specifically chèvre. Specifically chèvre that is shaped like the bottom portion of the pyramid on a dollar bill (without the Eye of Providence that is). Tours and its surroundings specialize in chèvre, goat cheese, which is often sold in the aforementioned shape. It had already made a few inconspicuous appearances on the cheese platter that my host family offers after every meal when my host father recounted to me and the other student living here its history.

Pyramidal chèvre already existed in Napoleon’s time, and seeing it at a dinner with his counselor Talleyrand reminded him of his conquests in Egypt. He cut off the top as a metaphorical show of power, and thence vendors reinforced the notion by selling the cheese sans point.

La forme que j’ai décrit. La photo grâce à Google.

Wine and cheese emblematize l’art de vivre, which I associate primarily with France. I often forget the warm weather required to cultivate them so finely. France’s proximity to the Mediterranean has entwined its history with that of Northern Africa with mostly adverse effects. I didn’t think to expect one as positive as the exchange of food. Besides the legendary origin of not-quite-pyramidal chèvre, dishes like merguez (North African sausage) and couscous are common. I’ve now eaten that meal in my host family’s home and on L’Île de Rê, where I spent this past weekend.

Six students from the University of Alabama, a fellow ND student, and I rented two rooms at a homestay near La Rochelle, a historic town on the Atlantic coast.

We arrived in La Rochelle Friday evening ready to eat, then found out that we needed to check in at the homestay before nine. After checking in, we set out seeking a marvel–an establishment open past ten in France. What we found instead was a fast food joint already closing, whose employees offered to imagine we were cars so they could serve us at the drive-through. These kind gentlemen gave us extra fries and chicken strips, and set the tone for a lovely weekend.

On Saturday, we resisted the urge to laze on the beach just long enough to downtown La Rochelle. After mussels and white wine, we strolled to the towers overlooking the old port: La Tour Saint-Nicolas and La Tour de la Chaîne. The name of the latter comes from its original function as one anchor of a chain which prevented entry into the port when drawn. Standing on La Tour Saint-Nicolas, where sentinels watched over this center of French maritime trade through the Hundred Years’ War, during La Fronde, and onwards, inspired me.

Ma tête entre La Tour Saint-Nicolas (à gauche) et La Tour de la Chaîne (à droite)

The next day, I parted from the group at Sablanceaux–the first of the many beaches along L’Île de Ré. The buses barely run on Sundays, and especially not on an island where a limit on building height exists to prevent hotels and resorts from disrupting the local charm. I hiked about fourteen kilometers and saw some pretty towns, but only one of the many things I’d wanted to see was in reach.

Among the tips offered to us by the owner of the homestay was a gas station that sells local beers, including “the Blonde de Ré.” Motivated by this amber mystery, I followed the arrows and circles on the minimal map the owner had given me. Thirsty and tired, I found the station. Closed.

L’Île de Ré is beautiful and peaceful, and I want to spend more time there. Planning my unfinished adventure occupied me on the long walk back to Sablanceaux, where I had merguez and couscous on the beach, seated among friends. Perhaps the greatest pairing I achieved this week was the pairing of my desire to explore and my use of French.

We ordered our food, asked for directions, called a cab, held a late-night conversation with neighbors to the homestay, all in French. I’m finding that I can communicate fairly well even when grammar slips away from me, and I’m alright with looking silly if it helps me learn. I downloaded a conjugations app which, along with the French Fullmetal Alchemist manga I’ve been reading, will compliment my coursework well. Speaking of, I moved up levels this week. Already, I have a lot to be grateful for.

International Christian University

On my last post I gave my first impressions of Tokyo the city. This time I’m going to go into what ICU campus life is like. And I guess the best place to start off would be the campus itself.

One of the main paths in the interior of ICU

By American standards, ICU has a rather small campus. You can walk nearly the entire perimeter in around 25 to 30 minutes. But despite this, ICU is the largest campus in the greater Tokyo area. The campus is also a stark contrast to the sprawling city in that it’s so incredibly green.

On any given day it’s common to see a flock of crows like this one

It really is calming to stroll around campus when the weather is more manageable. As you pass the many trees on the campus, you’re very likely to be bitten by mosquitoes, cawed at by crows, and distracted by the buzzing of cicadas. Of the three, I’m really only fond of the crows. During my first few days in Tokyo I really didn’t like the overgrown, somewhat empty, and small campus, but it has definitely grown on me.

The dorm I live in took a little getting used to. The security system, power management, and trash disposal of all things were similar but strange enough to keep me confused for a few days. Our key cards are used to get into and out of our rooms, the floor we live on, and the dorm itself. They act as a way to check in and out, but ICU’s system is a little strange. If you don’t sign in with the key card, you can’t get out and vice versa. It is actually possible to lock yourself into your room or floor even if you have your key card with you. At first, this was pretty cumbersome, but I adjusted to it well enough.

Then there’s the trash… This is more of a general gripe for living in Japan rather than a specific attribute of ICU. Where we Americans have a simple two part disposal system (recycling and non-recycling) in Japan sorting trash is a bit more complex. You have four main categories: combustibles, non-combustibles, paper wastes, and PET bottles. In the first week I often stopped to ask myself “can I set this on fire?” And if the answer was no, I still had to decide whether the non-combustible material should be considered plaster or glass/metal. Weeks later, it’s less of a hassle, but just barely.

Ginkgo House trash cans. Yes, there are six of them.

The last and arguably most important part of ICU is the academic experience. Essentially, what’s it like to go to school here? The summer courses in Japanese program basically offers one large course centered around learning the Japanese language. Each week we cover new grammar points, improve our listening and reading skills, and learn new words as well as new… kanji.

Just some casual kanji practice. Nothing to see here.

Why does kanji get italicized? Glad you asked. Kanji is easily my least favorite part of the Japanese language. It is one of the three “alphabets” used in Japanese alongside hiragana and katakana. However, where hiragana and katakana are phonetically based like our alphabet, kanji is based on Chinese characters. This means that every symbol is essentially its own word… And there are over 5,000 of them. And unlike Chinese characters where each symbol has its own sound, Japanese kanji can have multiple sounds as well as multiple meanings… And we learn about twenty new kanji every three days. So. Much. Fun. To learn.

Outside of the detestable kanji I genuinely enjoy class. Grammar is fun and interesting to me, and I’m pretty proud of how far my reading and listening comprehension has come since the start of class. Probably the best part of class, however, is being able to interact with native Japanese speakers in new ways. Our teachers are knowledgeable, helpful, and amiable, and they often make it easy to approach them with questions. On top of all of the language study, the course also offers cultural activities for us to participate in. More on those wonderful experiences later.

So that’s ICU in a nutshell. I’ve touched on what I consider all of the major parts of living and studying at ICU. In the next post, I’m going to rave about the cultural activities I managed to go to through the University and how they’ve help my understanding of authentic Japanese culture grow. Until then, here are some bonus pictures of the campus: