Thinking

Just came back to my room after Sunday lunch, and found Pamela, the house cat, asleep on my pillow. I think this means she likes me.

Edit: The cat is snoring. She kind of looks like a little snoring rug. Adorable.

Thinking

Onwards and upwards.

"You're ever welcome with me any time you like
Let's drive to the countryside, leave behind some green-eyed look-a-likes
So no one gets worried, no
So no one gets worried, no"

--"Blue Ridge Mountains" Fleet Foxes

A Revival of the Archaic

My host father is descended from a long line of nobles, and his family has owned for many years, a "small" 17th century chateau in the countryside, about an hour north of Nantes. The chateau is a national monument, open to the public most of the year and can be rented out for marriages, etc. For now, Geoffroy's uncle, Count Loik and his family, live in the chateau and maintain it, as well as the surrounding park grounds, which are often used for hunting.

When we first got there, I was introduced to Loik, his two sons and their wives and children, as well as some of his son's friends. They hunted during the morning while Veronique showed me the chateau, and then after we met for lunch I walked with the hunters for the remainder of the day.

Geoffroy getting ready to hunt.

Now, the southern side of my extended family lives for hunting. I once spent an enthralling weekend walking through cornfields in South Dakota with my semi-crazy grandpaw while he blasted the hell out of any unlucky pheasant that happened to cross his path. But French hunting is a world of its own. They get about 20 people, line up and walk straight through a section of forest, shooting at anything they happen to see. Two or three hunters will stand the end, so if any poor beast tries to escape, it's caught immediately.

I kind of have a problem with hunting in general, and I really have a problem with this. But I went along so that I can have something besides Obama to argue about with my grandpaw at Christmas this year.

After the hunt, we returned to the chateau for showers and aperatifs, which we took in a room fancier than any one I've ever been in. Over champagne in crystal glasses, Loik, Geoffroy and I argued about abortion (it was right at about this moment how heavily Catholic this family is), but, we left the conversation still friends. While we were in there, Eglentine (the wife of one of Loik's sons) arrived with a massive platter of small sandwiches, and with her, a large party of 20-somethings arrived, all carrying bottles of whiskey, wine, and Coke.

The room we took our aperatifs in. I took this photo standing next to the grand piano.

Suddenly, Loik and Geoffroy had disappeared, and I was standing awkwardly in a room filled with about 13 over-wealthy 20 somethings, all wearing ridiculous tweed jackets, Ralph Lauren, and hunting boots. I thought, 'French people my age! I should try to make friends." But they wanted nothing to do with me, so I left to find Geoffroy and Veronique, to wait for dinner.

At about 11 pm. we finally had dinner with the group of rich assholes, Loik, Veronique, Geoffroy, et moi. The dinner was glorious, and lots of wine was passed around, and all of a sudden, everyone started talking to me. No, not talking, more like making fun of me for being American. So I made fun of them back, saying things like, "Oh la la! I'm soo French." They loved it, and everyone including Veronique and Loik, laughed.

"...et, courant comme un mendiant sur les quais de marbre, je la chassais..."

Aube, par Rimbaud.

It was an interesting weekend.

Thinking

Every day, I walk into town via a small alley way behind my house. Often, when I'm coming home, I pass a girl who seems about my age, is always listening to music, and is always wearing the same clothes. She always looks a bit....deranged, and once, when I passed her, she let out this terrifying rage/scream/feral animal call that scared the hell out of me.

Anyways, I realized the other night while walking home that the reason I see her so often is because she lives in an apartment off the alleyway (she was hanging out of her window as I was walking.) This morning, on my way to lab, I passed her window and it seems she had pushed her entire dining table set and T.V. out the window.

I think I might start walking around the alley way. For my health.

Thinking

I accidentally stumbled across this on the internet while wasting time Google Image Searching 'Colorado.'

Commence puking from lameness

(In the woods at Chenonceau Chateau)

England, the novel.

Last Wednesday night, after 3 classes and physics lab, I took the train from Nantes to Paris, where I spent the night before heading to England for the long weekend. This time, (as well as the other time I visited Paris to meet other Grinnellians), I stayed in hostel called, "Woodstock Hostel" in Montmarte. It's a minute from the Metro station, less than two minutes away from Sacre Coeur, and about 15 minutes from the Moulin Rouge, and I completely recommend it if anyone is going to Paris. They give you free breakfast and they even have a cat. Totally a win in my book.

The next morning, my friend Kelsey and I took the Eurostar from Paris to London (about 2 hrs.) The train goes through the chunnel, which means that instead of looking at pretty countryside, you look at a lot of black for about 45 minutes. Once we got to London, I met my uncle Mark, and Kelsey set off to meet her other friends.

Mark and I navigated the incredibly busy tube stations, and finally made it back to his house in Eltham. Mark's house is older, but is decorated in a sort classic-Russian-meets-modern-London style, and I really like it. As soon as we got there, we said hello to my aunt Luda and my cousin Frances, and then headed off to an auction, where we drank milky tea and watched old men bid on relatively cheap antiques.

That night, the whole family ate Indian takeout by candlelight, and afterwards, Frances (12) invited me to go shopping with her and her friends at Oxford Street the next day. And by shopping, she meant going to Abercrombie and Fitch. Ok. I was once 12. And I once was obsessed with Abercrombie and Fitch. But in the United States, A&F is a label similar to the Gap, only a little bit more pricey. HOWEVER. The English have taken this store to a whole new level.

We found A&F on Savile Row (where all the very posh stores, such as Hardy Amies are located) by wandering straight into a queue that wrapped around the block. A queue for Abercrombie and Fitch. People were waiting in line to get into this store. Not only that, but there was (I'm not even kidding) velvet banners creating the line, and, get this, a bouncer. A what. A bouncer. A BOUNCER to get into Abercrombie and Fitch.

The entrance was marble steps leading up into a massive foyer, where a half-naked A&F male model was standing, waiting to have his picture with any girl that wanted it. And yes, Frances and her friends got two (with two different male models, duh.) I was too surprised at first to get one with the first model, but after Frances told me very bluntly, "You want a souvenir, Ruth? That body is a bloody souvenir. Get a picture," I damn well got a picture.

The inside wasn't very interesting, only that it was three stories high, pitch black except for spotlights on the clothes, and had a David-esque statue that was 1.5 stories high, wearing Abercrombie pants. Oh, and did I mention that they had hired dancers? They had dancers dancing on the balconies. What. I tried to explain American A&F to Frances and she just blew me off, saying, "Well Ruth, the English just does it much better. We just do it like we mean it."

So London is probably top two my favourite cities. Before I left, Mark and I went to the British Library, where we saw the Lindisfarne Gospels, the oldest Beowulf, and even the original Alice in Wonderland. Afterwards, I took the train to Leicester, to visit my aunt Claire and my grandparents.

While I was in London, my grandfather called to tell me that my grandmum wasn't so healthy, and wasn't feeling up to seeing me. Luckily, though, by the time I got to Leicester, they were both rested and feeling better, and managed to come over to Claire's appartment, where I was staying. We (once again) ate really good Indian takeout and watched Strictly Come Dancing. After loads of tea, and a lot of yelling at each other, we sufficiently wore each other out, and the grandparents left. Claire and I finished Halloween night by watching a movie and going to bed at 10:30. Wild.

My last day in England, Claire and I ate lunch with the grandparents, went for a walk and played a lot of cards (during which my grandmum got to make fun of me--something she's very good at doing.) They went to mass, and Claire and I returned home, where we ate a dinner of beans on toast, and then came to the conclusion that we should go bar-hopping.

We got dressed to the nines, (meaning Claire looked really good and I tried to make the one shirt I brought along smell a little better) and went to, not one, but two bars. Claire bought the drinks, I taught the bartenders how to make Whiskey Sours with Maker's Mark Whiskey and then we sat and compared notes on our family. It's nice to know she agrees with me.

These are the conclusions we made:

1. I am turning into my father.

2. My father is turning into his mother.

3. Whiskey Sours are really good.

4. So are Gin and Tonics.

Overall, the trip was pretty British. I don't think there is any other way to describe it.

Thinking

My hair is too wild for dreadlocks. Every night for the past two weeks, I've backcombed my hair, and then woken up only to find that my hair has undone the dreadlocks whilst I was sleeping.

Dang.