Rennes update

Sorry about not updating so much. It's been busy here. For me, why this "intensive language program" actually is intensive is because we have class from like 9-4 everyday, and outings on Saturdays, so there's not much time for rest. Especially when after school you have obligations with the family, too.

(Like a house made from spider webs and the clouds rolling in
I bet this mighty river's both my savior and my sin)

The past two weeks, though busy, have been cool. The language school has not been the hardest thing I've ever done, but it is tiring because it's language classes, in French, for three hour blocks. We've been doing lots of listening comprehension through listening to radio titles (imagine someone reading the headlines before each news radio emission, that's what they do here), as well as creating our own to work on oral stuff, rhythm, pronunciation, accent, etc. We've also been learning some of the history of Brittany in preparation for some of the visits, etc.

I'm in the top of the advanced class so I almost shat myself in exasperation (yes) when last Tuesday or Wednesday we started doing passé composé/imparfait stuff--though this time it was short, I think this is the 4th or 5th official time I've had to learn this stuff. I was really looking forward to the school, new exciting challenges, but I guess it goes without saying that after 7 (fucking) years of studying this language in school, there are obviously going to be others in the class who have not learned all the things I have. I hope this doesn't sound condescending or brag-ish, but I have been all up in this shit for one third of my lifetime, so whatevs French language. I just need to talktalktalktalk more to improve my talking.

(strong ferns beat the wind black)

For almost a week starting midway through the first week (it's now the beginning of the third) I was really sore in the cheeks, right about on the cheek bones. French is obviously more nasal, but it's also more resonant through the head and pronunciation comes from tighter and higher up on the face muscles. It was weird, my accent was shitty too. But I think a combination of high protein, all-meat diet (sike!) and the fact that no one in the fucking class wants to speak French outside of class has led my cheek muscles to recover and hence so has my accent.

A week from yesterday we went on a trip to Mont St. Michel and St. Malo (The most extreme thing I've seen in months: http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc3/hs509.snc3/26745_409730728139_636188139_5055252_6626850_n.jpg). Pretty badass. I don't remember much from the first time I was in France 11 years ago, but one of the most poignant things in my head from then is Mont St. Michel. So it was cool to revisit. Also, we got to see this tiny island off the coast at St. Malo where Romantic poet René de Chateaubriand is buried, called Grand Bé, so that he could continue his communication with the sea (I know, rightttt). Appropriate Dark Romantics moment: pouring rain and 40mph wind just as we reached the part of the St. Malo ramparts when you can see Grand Bé. Way to go universe.

(Vingt ans avant sa mort l'écrivain a manifesté son désir d'être enterré sur ce morceau de terre, face au large, pour poursuivre sa conversation avec la mer.)

Last Monday was Easter Monday so we didn't have class. About a dozen of us went to Dinan and environs with the homestay coordinator lady. Kind of weird, but fun enough. we stopped in many places including this impressive little church with a cemetery in a town called ICan'tRememberSomethingNamedAfterATreeOrAPlant. Then on Wednesday we went to Combourg to see Chateaubriand's castle itself and to run around like sully Americans on a huge flat lawn.

(so many skeletons beneath our feet bein shaken by the hymns)

For the past 5 days or so there's been this theater/music/performance festival going on in Rennes. On Friday I went to this concert by a woman named Hindi Zahra. It was really good. The program description described her as la fille spirituelle de Billie Holiday et Django Reinhardt though live she was much more crazyyyy. She's from Morocco, moved to France when she was young and also speaks perfect English; her show is her singing with a full band behind her. She sang some songs in some Berber language, and most of her stuff was acoustic, soul/jazz sing songy stuff: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VbdnjQCPXq8 BUT what was really fucking awesome about the show (besides super high energyness) was when they got all funky and rocky and trancy. I can't find any equivalents on YouTube, but it got all psychedelic-Led Zeppelin-with-soulful/rock-Billie Holiday-on-vocals. Pretty sweet.

Finalement, yesterday we went to the island of Gavrinis where we saw a giant cairn i.e. a dolemin with a pile of rocks on it i.e. imagine a giant stonehenge with dry stones on top to form a hill. Needless to say, the anthropology dork that I am, I was stoked. It was pretty fucking awesome. On the inside of the tomb (which it is) are these awesome carvings. Which have been there for 7000 years. Humans. Just like us. With bad breath and itchy chins. Built this thing, so fucking long ago. I can't conceptualize 650 years, let alone 7000. I also learned that dolemin and menhir are Breton words. It was incredible. No photographs inside for the public, but this is what the stones look like: http://www.jorgetutor.com/francia/bretagne/bretagne1/bretagne2.jpg. I can't exactly describe what I felt inside it but something of those people, and the people that were buried there, the stones that have survived for this long as a symbol of the intransiency of our death, all that connected me to something bigger. Dunno about god or any omnipotent being or anything but that those stones and all they represent have remained for so long in that spot in order to mark the death of human beings amongst countless life cycles only regenerates my belief in some resilient power on this earth that I'm part of and so are the rocks and the trees and the mountains and the soil. Fuck.

(they engraved the stones with quartz pebbles, one centimeter per day)

I'm sick of cheese sandwiches for lunch. I wish I spoke French more. Today, I solved the murder; it was the the second-hand goods dealer who killed the museum director. Mom would've loved it.

There's a crow moon comin in,
France