Freiburg im Breisgau

Ich bin in Freiburg!

So far I've had my first three German classes, a pair of trips to the same beer garden, a pizza party as a get to know everybody, and some walking adventures around town.

After spending nine months doing a Junior Year Abroad through an American College, my class here with Goethe is much more international than I was expecting. I am the youngest person in my class and the only one still doing any sort of undergraduate degree. There are few graduate students from the States in my group, four engineers from Iraq, a veterinarian from Sudan, a business man from Brasil living in Switzerland, a student from Indonesia and another from the Philippines, and finally two women from Ukraine and Tokyo. We have every continent represented other than Oceania. Its an amazing group and we all get along great in class, helping each other out and laughing at silly mistakes.

All and all, I'm really glad that I decided to come and do this program and Freiburg the city has exceeded my expectations. I went on a walking tour given by the Goethe Institute yesterday, that was entirely in German, and was surprised to see how much of it I could understand. We walked along the canals, through the University district, to the Münster and the market place. I purchased my first Currywurst since the train station in Köln from these cute old ladies in the market place.

I find it kinda funny that after spending a year studying the European Union, I won't be in "Europe" on election day, since tomorrow I'm spending the day in Switzerland.

Hallo Basel!

Später

Bye Bye La France

(For Now)

Tomorrow its Hello Deutschland

Yikes.

Ich möchte einen Kaffee mit Milsch

Können Sie bitte ein bißchen langsamer sprechen

Oui

Können
Sie bitte
ein bißchen
langsamer sprechen.

We'll see how this next part of my European journey turns out as Petey Mac and Cheese becomes more than just the staples of year in Paris and dives in head first into the deep end to recount staples from a month in Germany.

In other news, Soderling beat Rafa, Bordeaux won Ligue 1, Tony Battie is playing in the finals, and I've still got a lot of packing to do.

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Melting

Dear Paris,

I know that you are very upset to see me leave after this week. We've shared so many memories over the past year and I understand how you are feeling. Just remember those beautiful days in Belleville and the Gardens of Luxembourg, and all of the trips to the museums and soccer games together. Also, please remember that I will be back at the end of June for a true and proper goodbye.

Now can you please not torment me with the promise of thunderstorms that don't show up, let my clothes dry in your silly humidity, and turn down this godforsaken HEAT.

Love,
Petey

Fairytale, Is It True? Always.

Two nights ago Europe voted for its favorite. 25 countries participated in the final round hosted on Saturday night in Moscow. I had been obsessing over the Norwegian entry ever since I saw Alexander Rybak perform in the semi-final. But I was also intrigued by a few others, namely Moldavia, Ukraine, and the fact that Denmark's entry was singing like he was trying to become to opening act for a Toby Keith tour. I watched it at my friend's apartment where we had another one of Jamie's Dinners and some of those famous Manmosas (1664 and Orangina) before the musical festivities truly began. There was also some face painting where we produced drapeau representations of the countries we were supporting.

France, The UK, Norway, Israel and the Ukraine were all representing with flying colors.

In the end, Norway stole the show with a record 387 points and had basically assured itself victory throughout Europe after the 16th country voted. There were celebratory photos taken, recaps of the geopolitical implications given by certain votes (France: 12 points to Turkey!?) and a mad dash to the metro before it closed.

I didn't make it to Sevres-Babylone before the last 10 train headed westward. Luckily I was not alone. When I first entered the station, before I knew that my train wouldn't be coming, I was greeted by a group of about 10 people my age. One of them had a guitar and they were singing dancing and the like. They saw my face and we all sort of stopped what we were doing. I had elected not to wash off the Norwegian flag covering my face before leaving the apartment. They asked me who had won. I responded with a simple La Norvège and the dancing and singing began again. I was greeted with congratulations, hugs, kisses, and a few demands for some face paint. I wished them a Bonne Soirée and they were gone. So was my metro train.

I ended up taking the most crowded night bus of all time. No one was singing or cheering the Norwegian victory with me as my bus wound its way through the rainy streets of Paris.

I got home, washed my face, and went to bed.

Eurovision 2009

Eurovision Winner 2009 Norway - Alexander Rybak - Fairytale
by jief75

22, 32, 75, 84, 123

Non, these are not my lucky numbers for the upcoming lottory, but rather the buses I have used throughout my séjour here in Paris. The way spring is transforming into summer I find myself ashamed whenever I end up taking the métro, even if it is quicker in getting from here to there. The buses home from the Madelene have become more and more frequent. I'm still no expert on where exactly all of the buses go, but these ratp vehicles have become part of my little parisien niche.

A niche that I will soon be leaving.

Since I've gotten back from my Easter vacation in Strasbourg, which unfortunately I failed to write about, I've been stuck in a world of work as the semester draws to a close. I've been unable to escape from an unending routine. There have been a few adventures, Anne-Sophie's anniversaire, a museum trip to the Jeu de Pomme, a Jamie Oliver dinner of mascarpone and spinnach, but silly exposés on Vichy, papers on Orhan Pamuk and Victor Hugo, and disertations on French republicains have put a damper on my last few weeks of France. There is one more exposé for tomorrow on France libéré (remind me to finish that sooner rather than later) and after that its nothing put finals. There is also round two of the TCF, a French standardized test that I am not completely prepared for taking. I haven't had a French language class since first semester, so we'll see what affect that has on my abilities. I'm not worried about it, but it would be mildly embarrassing if I failed to reproduce my results from September.

September. Goodness I've been here for awhile.

Freiburg and Germany start in less than three weeks and I can't wait for this next adventure.

Other than the upcoming TCF and finals studying I've got a weekend hopefully filled with Eurovision 2009, Kandinsky, Manmosas, and James Tiberius Kirk.

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cinq semaines!

Wait, what? You're going to tell me that I only have five more weeks of classes left in Paris before a brief exam period at the end of May. Five weeks! But part of me feels as if I just started swimming in the deep end of Parisian and French culture. There are only two weeks before an April break that also takes two weeks off of the calender. Does this mean that I need to start eating every nutella-banane crepe likes its my last? Maybe.

Yesterday I spent two hours in the afternoon playing some basketball with some of the other Middlebury students, plenty of français and a few international students and what can best be described as a French YMCA. But apparently the court where we were playing around was actually where basketball was first played in Europe. I don't have any fun dates or photos, so you'll just have to take my word for it. The court itself probably hasn't been updated since that first game. It was parque in a chevron design where the individual pieces of wood would jump out of place if you make a sharp enough cut or dribbled a little too much. It made for quiet a few pauses in the game action. The other unique aspects of the gym were the two giant pillars in the middle of the court playing as fifth and sixth defenders for one of the teams. The set some pretty decent picks, but their key roll was limiting the angles of potential shots. There was also a track above the court, also made of wood, and on a slight incline. It really felt like I was playing in a completely different time period.

I can't wait for next Saturday. Maybe I should find some period appropriate clothes?

Finally, I'll leave you with a film we recently watched in my Nouvelle Vague class. Its a French poem about the magic and origins of making plastic.

Le Chant du styrène
Uploaded by Lunethique

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