J'adore Rodin

Museums abound in Paris, as I'm sure everyone knows. In the past week.5 that I have spent here so far, I've been to 6 or 7 museums already, and there are doubtless at least another 5 or 10 to follow. However, I must say that my favorite, or at least one of my favorites so far, has been the Rodin Museum near Napoleon's tomb in the center of Paris (I also visited N's tomb today, which was cool.).

I have a few pictures to show you all of the many bronzes and studies that were on exhibit in the Musée Rodin - you can see in all of them the sense of emotion, power, struggle, and strength that is his trademark, and is what makes Rodin one of my all-time favorite artists (though I am in no way an art expert at all).

I've uploaded a few photos from the museum so you can see exactly what I am talking about (although all of these works are so much more exciting to see in person).

What is probably Rodin's most famous work, The Thinker, a depiction of a man deep in thought with his chin upon his knee. To me he seems as if he's muddling through a thick ocean of thoughts, indeed too many thoughts for his human mind to handle at once, but the strength in his limbs and the determination set in his face assure me that he will eventually tunnel his way through the mess of thoughts in his head and find the light. A great work.

And here's me being touristy and posing in front of it.

Next up: The Burghers of Calais. Another one of my favorites, and one of his more despondent works IMO (though the large part of his work is, from what I could tell, mostly representations of human struggle and suffering), this piece depicts the 6 city leaders of the Calais, a city under seige which was abandoned by the king of France during the 100 Year's War and forced to surrender its top city leaders in return for the release of the siege by the English. The 6 city leaders carry the keys to the city and are, à mon avis, the very picture of misery, sacrifice, and despair, tempered however by understanding and acknowledgment of why things must be so. What amazed me most in this piece especially was the amount of emotion described in just the hands and faces of the figures. Take a closer look and see if you can tell what each of these men are feeling as they walk to their execution.

The Kiss, an absolutely gorgeous work that the girly romantic in me just can not help but adore. Look at it, does it not look exactly as a couple in love, intertwined in a passionate first kiss, perched upon a rock before a gorgeous sunset, should look? Absolutely beautiful. The girl in me is melting right now. But apparently Rodin came to despise this work as meaningless and petty. To which I say: PSHHHT. Men.

Close up of The Kiss. Sigh.

Now, The Three Shades, which I actually don't know much about and couldn't decipher from the name or the sculpture itself. The internet wasn't much help either for this piece. If anyone knows and would like to enlighten me as to what this piece is about, please do. I would love to know. Nonetheless, I think its a great work of art. The strength and tenseness of emotion in the muscles of the arms and legs are absolutely amazing. This, like all of Rodin's pieces, looks so completely human and yet MORE than human in that the tension visible in every muscle can portray to a tee the emotion and thoughts storming in his mind and coursing through his limbs as a result. My words can't describe, but perhaps a picture can:

Finally, here's me in front of the Gates of Hell, which is probably my top favorite of Rodin's work. Hundreds of figures, tormented by inner demons as well as the physical torture of Hell, comprise this incredibly powerful depiction of Dante's Inferno, which alas, I still have yet to read (though I've already bought it and it has been sitting on my shelf for at least a year).

A bunch of literary and mythical allusions to tormented souls can be found throughout the work, one of which is Ugolin, the father who ate his children (I think??), seen below.

However, my favorite of the subjects depicted has got to be Paolo and Francesco in Fugit Amor, who are shown suffering for their adulterous love. Again, the girly romantic in me showing through. But whatever. Its art. Its allowed. (I have no idea why this image came out so big, although I did borrow it from another website because apparently I forgot to take a picture of this part of the Gates while I was there. My apologies for the awkward size.)

And that's it for pictures right now, but BTW, Stanford University (yes I know, hisssssssss) has a great collection of Rodins that, if you get a chance, you should really go check out. They have Thinker, Burghers of Calais, and the Gates of Hell outdoors, as well as lots more smaller pieces inside their on-campus art museum. Definitely jealous. Hisssssssssss.

Finally, before we part, a gorgeous shot of Notre Dame that I took tonight after dark, all lit up and beautiful. Enjoy!

And with that, bon nuit and à bientot!

Crêpes

So since my arrival in Paris, I have been eating loads and loads of crêpes, as, undoubtedly, it is one of the greatest culinary wonders of France. To better appreciate this artful melange (yes I'm using the English of this word here, so that I don't come off as any more pompous as use of this word usually indicates) of flour, milk, eggs, and really, anything else in the entire world (therein quite possibly lies the source of the crèpe's amazingness), I have decided to keep a running list of all the crêpes I have eaten and will eat during the course of my month and a half in France.

1. Ham, Egg, and Cheese - my first crepe of the summer, nice and simple, thought a bit plain for my taste. Probably wouldn't order again if other (read: more interesting) crepes were available. Location: rue Cler, during French street market walk.

2. Chocolate and Chantilly - You may ask, what's Chantilly? which is exactly what I asked, but out of embarrassment disguised as a desire to live life on the edge (come on, really now), I had to order the crepe and watch it made to realize Chantilly is just the French word for whipped cream. Which the girl making the crepe proceeded to fill my entire crepe with before I could react to tell her that I, in fact, don't like whipped cream at all. But by then it was too late. At least the chocolate crepe left over after I dutifully ate all the chantilly was quite good. In the end, still worth it. Location: Latin Quarter, little cafe with blue awning, adorable.

3. Sugar and Grand Marnier - Another one of my "order and find out" adventures, which, like the first, didn't turn out so well. After taking more than a few bites of this crepe, I realized I definitely did not like the taste of liquor in my crepe, no matter how sugary. Location: Eiffel Tower, most touristy place ever, second only to Montmartre (maybe).

4. Emmental, Roquefort, and Walnuts - only one word to describe: heaven. Salty, wonderful, heaven (okay maybe three words). After coming to Paris, I, like my friend Nico (see his blogpost on cheese here: http://cheesewineandvillage.blogspot.com/2010/06/aged-cheese.html), have fallen madly in love with Roquefort cheese, and even more with these cheese and walnut crepes I had after visiting Sacre-Coeur the first time. Salty, pungent, rich, and with just the right amount of bite added in by the walnuts, this crepe was absolutely to-die-for. Upon recounting the story of this magical crepe to my host family, they indulged me by making one for me at dinner earlier this week. Bliss. Divine bliss. Location: Montmartre, roadside stand. Dinner, homestay.

5. Foie gras, Fig jam, Pine nuts, Salad, and some kind of Prosciutto-like meat - I realize this description does nothing to describe the level of sophistication and truly gourmet quality of this amazing crepe that I had today on my way between museums. But it was truly amazing. My first time having actual foie gras and my first time eating such an elaborate crepe. It was actually called a galette, which is essentially a crepe open flat on the plate with the toppings sitting on top (where else?), as opposed to a rolled-up or folded crepe. Quite a crepe, and I definitely enjoyed it, though I was actually quite surprised by the flavor and texture of the foie gras. I think I will have to try it again to decide whether or not I actually like it. An amazing experience regardless. Location: near Place des Vosges, super cute boutique-crêperie.

I believe that is it for the time being, though I'm sure not for long. 5 crepes in 12 days, I'd say that is a good running start for my list, but I am in no way satisfied (neither is my stomach). I'll be sure to update with all subsequent crepe adventures, so if you're interested and willing to drool a bit, stay tuned!

Until next time, salut!

One Week in Paris AKA Picture Time!

Since I was already posting up pictures of Sacre-Coeur, I figured I would go ahead and put up a few more from my first week. Enjoy!

First off, of course, la Tour Eiffel. How could I not? I actually stumbled across the tower without meaning to (yes, I know, that sounds absurd, its only the most well-known, iconic emblem of Paris). I was on my way to rue Cler for a taste of typical Parisian market life last weekend, when I took a wrong turn, turned a corner, and literally stumbled into view of the tower. My first thought? OH hey, its the Eiffel Tower! (....yeah...I know...absurd)

Speaking of absurd, we watched the Absurdist play La Cantatrice Chauve (The Bald Soprano) last week after reading it in class. The play was, in a word, absurd. Absolutely absurd. Pure nonsense, really. I couldn't make heads or tails of it. But apparently, according to my host father, that's exactly the point. Fancy that.

Next up: Notre-Dame, famed cathedrale of Paris, located in the middle of the river on the Ile de la Cité (Island of the City). According to my History of Paris professor, it is one of the greatest examples of Gothic architecture (soaring ceilings, those buttress things, amazing stained-glass windows). The organ is amazing too, Nico and I went to a concert Wednesday night where I was completely astounded by the sheer force of sound released by those pipes. Incroyable.

Me being a dope next to a pretty Parisian lamppost. Big whup, I know.

Gorgeous gorgeous gorgeous Louvre after dark. One of our first nights in Paris, the rest of the group and I went to this amazing palace to get to know each other and, how to say, s'amuser a little. We then proceeded to spend 3 awesome afternoons in the museum studying Neoclassic and Romantic art. Fabuleux.

And finally, my group! The fabulous students of Sweet Briar College Paris Summer Program 2010. Here we are walking down an adorable Parisian street (actually I'm not in it because I was taking the photo.)

Oh and one more thing I have to admit - I have shopped. Yes, I couldn't resist, French fashion is just too awesome and too accessible. Surprisingly, I was able to find quite a few good deals in some of the smaller stores in Paris. I picked up a sharp blazer and some classic tops - nothing like classic chic Parisian fashion - on a budget! I call it a study of French culture like any other aspect, and what better way to learn than to imitate, no?

And with that, à demain!

Sacre-Coeur, Montmartre, and Why I Feel Empty Inside

This weekend we organized an afternoon trip to Montmartre, a neighborhood of Paris known for its religious origins, cabaret past, and tourist-trap present. Sacre-Coeur Basilica, the glorious white cathedral that sits atop the highest point in Paris, commanding a breath-taking view of the entire city (remind me to go back up there after dark for the lights), is a gleaming testament to the strength of the Catholic devout as it still exists today.

According to my trusty Rick Steves guidebook, the cathedral was built just one century ago by rich Parisians who, during the siege of Paris in the Franco-Prussian War, believed that the suffering they had to endure was in fact a form of punishment for crimes committed before and during the war. The act of building the church was, thus, a form of penitence for the French catholics for their sins and those of their fellow Frenchmen. There is some political intrigue to the actual plot of the construction of Sacre-Coeur as well, but for want of keeping evidence of my political history ignorance to a minimum, I will gloss over that part of the story and say only that Wikipedia is, IMO, a great website.

Anyways, the point of my story: during our visit to Montmartre on Saturday, we left the viewing of the cathedral for last in order to avoid the huge tourist crowds. Unfortunately, this meant that I was only able to take in the greatest of the church for about 5 minutes before I was ushered out the door for dinner. But in those 5 minutes, I felt I had found something entirely different from any other cathedral I had visited - even Notre Dame and (is she really going to say it?) St. Peter's Basilica in the Vatican City (yes, I said it). At the time, I had no idea what it was, but I knew I had to come back to bien apprecier this magnificent structure.

So that is how this morning, at 11am, after a breakfast of toast and hot chocolate, I found myself sitting in one of the pews of Sacre-Coeur Basilica, staring up at the wondrously decorated domed ceiling and marveling at the stories of Joan of Arc and other saints depicted in the stained-glass vitraux.

It was at this moment that it hit me - the emotion coursing through me was not appreciation, but sheer wonder. Wonder that this huge, gleaming white imposing stone basilica, that must have cost millions (or billions? I'm not so good with big numbers) of ______ (insert preferred currency name here), could have been built just 100 years ago. That less than one century ago (it was finished in 1912), people, like me, albeit much more wealthy than I am, could have felt so moved by their faith that they would commit millions to the construction of a cathedral. A real, live, cathedral. Tons of stone and plaster, thousands upon thousands of man-hours poured into the decoration of every wall, every window, every column. Not to mention the incredible domed ceiling depicting Jesus' sacred heart, the holy trinity, and numerous worshipers offering the world and this church to their god. (Interestingly enough, these worshipers included a lady in a kimono, a man in a business suit, a Native American-looking figure, and St. Bernard with his namesake dog - another testament to the youth of this basilica, I suppose.)*

My sense of wonder for the church began to extend to the realm of the writing of history: it amazed me that the erection of this church, resounding in its sheer size and beauty, was in fact the writing of history here and now (give or take a century or so), a real physical mark upon the history of the world. That hundreds of years from now, visitors would still tour this church as I did, but they would feel distanced from it by time, as I had when I went to Notre Dame and St. Peter's, where I felt so intimately the weight of such an undertaking when it had occurred just 100 years ago, nearly in living memory.

I think it was this revelation that moved me that most. The idea that a few people, commoners (read: non-royalty) like me, could make that kind of lasting mark on the world, made me wonder then what my calling is. For if others could have a passion so huge that they could put in millions to build a cathedral, or, to take it one step further, to dedicate their entire lives to their faith, why was it that I, now 20, still had no idea why I existed.

The beauty of such a church could turn anyone faithful. I looked at it and asked myself, am I missing something? What was it that others felt that could prompt them to build such a monument that was, in essence, a manifestation of something within them, because for all the ceremony and tradition, is not what binds a religion together just the shared inner feeling of faith in a common force?

Regardless, I was astounded that others could have something so large and powerful within themselves, that they might go weekly to explore that feeling within them, and devote millions to the cause of helping others find the same inner feeling. For never have I believed in something that large within myself. Never have I felt that calling, that cause for my devotion, that passion that calls me to devote all of myself to something outside of myself.

At that moment, my sense of wonder turned inward, or rather returned inward, to my continuous search for my passion, my life-force, my calling. Questions and insecurities about my accomplishments and my capabilities, resurfacing as they have been for the past couple months. After discussing these thoughts with a couple close friends, I decided before I left for Paris that this month abroad would be a time for my self-reflection and hopefully, personal and emotional growth. With this first encounter with my demons (or lack of) within, I hope will come more chances for self-exploration and ultimately, discovery. Because, I suppose like every other young person out there, I am impatient with life, and I just want to know already! (sulk sulk sulk) But I guess growing up wouldn't be growing up without well, growing pains.

I have so much more to tell you about my adventures last week in Paris - all my new friends and all the new sites, especially the amazing art history I am learning and of course, the MAGNIFICENT food I am eating. But alas, it's late and I have "History of Paris Through its Monuments" tomorrow morning at 9am (yes, its an awesome class and yes, its basically all field trips). So, I will leave the rest for tomorrow. I promise I will write again, for all you die-hard Joycerine fans (yeah right, I know), but for now, bon nuit and au revoir.

*I took the following photo from the interweb, courtesy of Google. Photos aren't allowed inside the church, but I wanted to give you all a sense of what I was going on yammering about. Thank you for understanding.

Mon Quartier/My Neighborhood

To start, a few photos of my home in Paris, chez Charoy, in the 9th arrondissement. Below is my building; you can see my room on the second floor with the window open - the sounds of the neighborhood filter in during the day, just another way to enjoy the atmosphere of Paris.

The intersection near my host family's home. Our street is rue de Clichy.

The view from down the street. I love the architecture of the buildings - the wrought-iron railings and the carved embellishments give off are so charming and romantic. Cafés line rue de Clichy, as they do every other street in Paris.

The spire of L'église de la Sainte-Trinité, and the iconic métro.

Clever city-planning: Paris is divided into 20 arrondissements, or districts, the first of which is located in the center of the city. The rest of the arrondissements spiral clockwise around the city like a snail. (Escargot!)

The 9th arrondissement, where I am staying, is home to many famous sights, including the old opera house, Opéra Garnier, and the magnificent Galeries Lafayette, granddaddy (or should I say grandmother?) of the modern shopping mall.

An interesting note: the shopping malls in Beijing and Shanghai, and even some of the smaller cities in China, are laid out just like Galeries Lafayette, with the individual stores arranged by theme on each level, unlike the American megamalls that house each vendor in an individual storefront. With less space used for walkways, this mall can fit more vendors, and with that, more variety, into a smaller space. Makes sense that the Chinese took their shopping inspiration from Paris - just the fashion capital of the world. :P

I spent my afternoon observing French weekend life, first at a bustling street market and then in the picturesque Luxembourg Gardens. No conclusions yet, but I'm beginning to see what all the fuss is about. Relaxed lifestyle, quality living, sophistication all around - I could get use to this! Nonetheless, the industrious American in me wants to cry, "But work! When do they work??" That, we shall see on Monday, when I officially begin my program here in Paris and the Parisians begin their working week.

Till then, bon journée!

Ah Paris, que tu es belle!

I've just arrived in Paris today - quite proud of myself as I managed to find my way from the airport to my homestay without much problem, except that it took me a bit to find the house number because, voilà, I didn't look high enough on the building to notice the sign. Luckily two very polite French children let me in and showed me how to use the intercom to phone my family. Mishap numéro 1. We'll count how many more I make before my month here is up :)

First thoughts upon descending into Charles de Gaulle airport this morning: "Man, this land is FLAT." Far different from the hills and valleys (and water) of the Bay Area, the areas surrounding the city are flat and mostly covered in farmland - adorable patches of land laid out like a patchwork quilt with little clusters of houses sprinkled here and there at the intersections of its seams. Caught my first glimpse of the Seine curving through the city as well - can't wait until Sunday's bateau mouche cruise on the Seine with the other SBC students.

One site that doesn't change from country to country that I've visited - the suburbs. In China, in the U.S., and as I saw today, in France too, suburbia looks much the same - manicured, planned, curving streets and cookie-cutter houses - and I get the same Truman Show/Stepford Wives feeling everytime I see these communities from above. It's very interesting the way people spread out from cities into the suburbs in similar ways all over the world, it seems.

No pictures yet today - I was too jetlagged to do any sightseeing save for the 20 minute walk over from the shuttle bus stop to la maison, but tomorrow, armed with just my camera and a map of Paris, I plan to venture out into the city without any agenda at all but to see Paris. First stop - likely the Galeries Lafayette, birthplace of the modern shopping mall (haha, yes i know), which is just a couple minutes' walk from my place.

My homestay family, the Charoys, are very nice people, and I adore the father, Bruno, already. Today, after my nap, I woke up to find him getting ready to bake chocolate cake. He let me pour the sugar, butter the pan, and lick the spatula. Wonderful man :) He has a French cooking degree too - I hope by the end of this month I'll have picked up enough French cooking skills to keep myself fed when I get back to Berkeley this fall.

I feel my French improving already - Bruno and the rest of the family are incredibly patient with my choppy French and don't hesitate to correct my conjugations and agreements, etc. We talk about politics and world news a great deal - the French keep very well informed, and apparently they are big Obama fans. I'm going to learn so much this month - keep you posted!

A bientôt!

Two Years Past and Why I'm Calling

It's been two years since I opened this blog. Since then, I've made quite a few major changes in my life, quite natural in a young person's life. I've graduated high scool, entered college, and spent two more summers abroad. Despite those changes, I still remain very much the same person I was when I left China two years ago. I am still a sentimentalist, a perfectionist, a music-lover, a dog-owner, a daughter, a reader, a thinker, a singer. What has changed me in the past two years has not been the momentous occasions and special events, but rather the continuing to do what I love most - sing, read, travel, and make friends, all the way trying to find my own way through this very large world.

Today is not important day, nor is it a special one in the context of my life so far. I have not just done something completely new, exciting, or life-altering in any way. No one has entered or left my life. I am not in a place I've never been before, nor have I discovered anything never seen before. Today is merely the day I worked up the courage and patience to write. Courage to say my life is interesting enough to write about. Patience to put down in words the fleeting thoughts and events that make up my existence.

I am quite out of my element. This is not my cup of tea, nor my pick of poison. But somehow, forced as it is, it feels right. How long it will feel right, I don't know. I can't promise to keep writing. I can't promise to have anything meaningful to say. I can't even promise that I won't delete all I've just written. But maybe today is a momentous occasion. I'll let you know tomorrow.