Lazy Sunday Mornings

So, church doesn't start till 1pm, and it's kinda wonderful. I woke up and finished the Count of Monte Cristo, which I've been working on for a few days now. I read the abridged version when I was in 7th grade, but now I've finally managed to conquer the full version. I'm going back to the Aeneid, which I began in Paris, but haven't had the time to finish.

At work there's not a lot to tell. I go in from about 8 to 6 everyday, we get trained on the computers and in accounting, and go home. There will be an end of unit test next saturday, which will cover all we've studied. They are planning on showing the scores to all of the prospective groups (I'm already placed in a group, but they show everyone's to all of the groups, and the people who aren't placed get selected based on 1) how much the groups like them and 2) how well they did on this test), and they post the scores in the hallway to tell all of us how we did... Shoot! I'll probably spend some serious time next week getting ready; my Managing Director told me he expects me to score number one in the class, and I told him I would, so I've got to make good on my promise...

Life is good. I am meeting a lot of people, both at work and in the ward, and I am loving it! Until next time!

Negligence

Okay, so I said I was going to start posting last week, but I was a bit negligent. The weekend was awesome. It turns out I was invited to DC to watch the fireworks with my sister (she is a director in the speech writing office for one Mr Bush) on the south lawn of said Bush's residence. I would show you pictures, but my cousin is the one with the camera. I even got to eat Blue Bell Ice Cream at George's place. He was nice enough to have a few shipped up from Texas for me. I had a great time down in DC, I got to meet a lot of people, and I made it to several other barbecues.

Well, I also hoped to make a post or two from work (I got assigned a cube and a computer today) but it turns out that the system has an internal firewall so that we cannot access foreign email or information services such as blogger. Yesterday, the first day, was a bit... dry... to say the least. I did get some sleep in, though, after having gone to sleep at 2:30am on Sunday night. The bad news is the sleep came during the global head of operations' discussion about goodness only knows what... (I wouldn't; I was asleep). The CIO wasn't much better, but Ray McGuire, the co-head of Global IB was pretty dynamic, engaging, and made fools of enough people to make us all laugh. We're not quite to Michael Lewis' crowd's level, but one of the guys who was present in that fateful analyst class spoke to us (for those who don't recall/know the history of Wall Street--if you don't care, skip to the next paragraph--Solomon Brothers was a really famous bond house in the 80's where Liar's Poker took place, which merged in the early 90's with Smith Barney, which was later acquired by Citigroup--hence, I work for the old Solomon Smith Barney, although Citi had since dispensed with the mouthful to give us "Citi Markets and Banking." There is still a Global Private Wealth Management business run by Citi called Smith Barney, which has an office in Salt Lake and quite a global reach, but it's kind of a different beast than the old SSB).

Well, life is good out here. It's fun. I've been meeting a bajillion people, and am trying my best to remember names.

Oh, and my first sacrifice for the cause will come this week. Someone had the bright idea that we need one more day of training, and it can't wait till Monday, so I have training scheduled for Saturday, from 8:30 am till 5 pm. I'm in the upper level accounting class, so thank goodness, because if not I'd have to go on Sunday. Phew!

New Beginnings

Alright, so this will be short, but I wanted to let you all know that I will

be posting on my blog again regularly when I get to New York next week. I figure as long as I am starting a new set of things, I might as well keep the blog as a semi-journal that I can share with others. I'm sorry if you're been disappointed by it of late, since I have not been posting, but I guarantee that I will post more outrageous and funny things for you here.

In the meantime, I've been in Provo having a blast. Here's a picture of Natausha (the girl I've been dating for the past month and a half) and I jet skiing up by Pineview reservoir. I am currently in Denver, though, for about a week and a half, enjoying being with my nieces and whatnot, one last break before the hurricane begins again. I'm in the eye of the storm.

I go out to New York next Tuesday evening. I'll be an adventure; I am really excited about it. I am excited to start work and to be actively involved in something. I've been working on a few side projects of late, and I learned French, and I've been working at Granada Capital, but I don't feel like I've gotten a whole lot done lately. Accordingly, I am extra ready to get to work and make it happen. I hope you're all doing well, and I'll start up again with the regular posts next week. Peace out!

Catching up

Alright, so I've done a pretty terrible job of writing since I've been home. In fact, I haven't written once. You'll forgive me; I've been busy drinking root beer and learning about the history of civilization... (don't laugh, I still have to finish my civ requirement... sad day...).

Well, to give you the salient points of the past two weeks. I made it home from Paris alright, as you gathered from my last posting, and then I drove out to Utah for graduation. (Seen above are pictures with Daniel Martoma, a guy I home taught, and with my mom, with my grandma, and my family with Cecil O.) Elder Bednar spoke at commencement, and he said that we probably wouldn't remember any of what he said... and it's been a few weeks, so you'll forgive me if I've forgotten what he said... j/k. He told us to learn to love learning, and to take that with us everywhere. It was good.

I've also attended quite the spat of weddings, from Lindsay Lees to Jon Laudie (Jon and Carrie in front of the Timpanogus Temple, above) to Alex Pingree (and done my share of car decorating--see pix above). It's been a good time. Before Jon got married, we kidnapped him and took him to the mountain house for a party... we'll leave it at that.

I changed civ courses. I was originally signed up for Music 202 with two of my roommates, but after about 30 minutes of class the other day, it dawned on me that I really was not in the right class. The teacher was talking, and I honestly had no idea what he was talking about. I picked out a few words, including "violin", "Bach" and "Germany." Beyond that, i really don't know what was going on. I suspect he might have been speaking Greek and/or Latin over long periods of the class, but I'm not sure, seeing how I don't speak it... Well, that lasted, as I said, about 30 minutes before I took off. I did, however, get to press the "drop all classes" button on the AIM page, something I've always wanted to do. Some dreams do come true. I'm back in History 202, though, and things are going well there.

Lastly, I have had some free time to just kick it and enjoy doing some of my normal things... like cooking, reading, and jamming on the guitar. This is me in my captain planet apron... when I say "my" apron, I actually mean Rachel's apron... but you get the idea.

La vie est belle!

There's no place like home

So, it turns out that I might not do so well with my English in this entry. If that’s the case, forgive me. Having been in Spain for five days speaking only Spanish then going back to France where I pretty much only spoke French for another day, then I spent the night in the airport, I think I’ve only spoken a total of a half hour of English in the past 6 days. That means that I’ve been thinking in Span-ench-glish… i.e., I can’t really talk to anyone anymore. Oh well. Such is life. You’ll also have to forgive me if this is a bit eclectic; I think I fell asleep last night/this morning, but it wasn’t a very comfortable sleep (see picture/video).

It’s a good thing I like traveling so much. I am on the plane from Munich to Denver right now writing this entry, on my 14th flight of 2008. As of right now, I’ve got plans to have been on 19 flights total in 2008 by July 7th when I start work. Granted, that’s still a lot fewer than last year (from just August to November of 2007 I had 18, and I probably topped 34 flights for all of 2007), but maybe once I start working I can pick the pace up a bit. I think the long flights should count for a bit more, too. Either way, that’s a lot of time spent going through security lines and at airports (not to mention the fact that I worked at an airport over the summer). Luckily I’ve got my new iPod to keep me entertained, with no fewer than 150 movies on it in four languages.

And speaking of traveling, what an adventure these last few months have been. I’ve missed everyone at home, but I have had a great time. I’ve been in 9 countries in less than three months (USA, Ireland, France, Belgium, Germany, Italy, the Vatican, Spain, and Switzerland, with the five new countries bolded). I’ve also made some really great friends. Life is amazing, I have to admit. I love to be alive and I love to live life. I just wish that I had a few more lives to live. I’d be a neurosurgeon and I’d get a PhD in Chemistry, Economics, Astrophysics, and American History and I’d write books about geology and I’d learn 10 languages and I’d go to Africa and build houses and I’d ice fish in Norway and hike Everest (they say that one in ten mountaineers who attempt it die, not to mention all their Sherpas—so I’d only try that if I had my poor little Tubby cat’s 9 lives). Not to mention I’d learn to play the violin and piano, and the guitar well enough that I could sit on the street in Honolulu and panhandle enough to get by while I lived on the beach and ate coconuts… actually, I don’t know if that’s true. That last one might drive me crazy after a week or two, but I’d still love to play the guitar better. Oh, what a wonderful life! What an amazing world! I know, I digress; what you really want to know is how I ended up on this confounded plane in the first place. If you’ve ever seen that Seinfeld episode where they start at the end and then play it backwards, I’m going to give a go at the same thing.

Well, al luck would have it I almost missed this flight today in Munich, because I got off my flight from Paris with plenty of time, and I didn’t push or shove as some are wont to do because, hey, I had enough time and I prefer to be kind whenever I can be, so I moseyed on over to the H gates, and then it turned out that I had to go through a long tunnel I passed some other folks who had just gone through security, I suppose since they were coming directly in from Munich, but then I had to go through passport control. I wasn’t excited about it until I saw that I’d get another Munich stamp (I believe I have one from last time I was here, too), which is fun, and worth the three minutes I had to wait in line, right? There were only about 10 people in each of the lines, and they were moving relatively quickly. Well, it would have been three minutes if it weren’t for the fact that the woman directly in front of me didn’t have a passport. She waited till she was at the front of the line to look for it, and then couldn’t find it anywhere. She handed the passport control woman her drivers license (it was from California or something), and the passport control woman had to hold back a laugh. She wouldn’t accept it. The woman insisted that she was an American citizen, but it’s a lot easier to say than to prove, so it was a no go. (Note to self, if I tell people I’m American, just because I’m white and wear Hurley t-shirts doesn’t mean they’ll let me go through passport control… oh… wait a minute…). So, to further prove that she was an American, and that she had a passport, she showed the lady at the desk (I’ll call her Hilda because I’m sick of typing out the passport control woman) her itinerary, which came from Italy or something. So, our American friend (from here on out we’ll call her Jane) insisted that she wouldn’t have been able to make it from Italy to Munich if she didn’t have a passport. Hilda wouldn’t have any of it, though. I must admit, Jane wasn’t really convincing. Jane realized this and produced the ticket stub from Italy, and about this point I started to be less than happy with my own situation, stuck watching Hilda and Jane talking about whether Jane was really an American or not while some twenty people had gone by in the other lines. I had chosen Hilda because her line was the fastest; and let’s be honest, it wasn’t Hilda’s fault Jane lost her passport. If I was Hilda, though, I would have told her to get out of line, find her passport (and if I was feeling nice I’d tell her she could come back to the front once she did) but I wouldn’t let Jane stand there. I had stuck it out because I had hoped that Jane wasn’t foolish enough to think she could actually get through passport control without a passport, but I was wrong. I looked at my watch at this point, and then at my boarding pass, and it turns out my plane started boarding ten minutes ago. I switched lines, waited all the way though the one line, and through the checkpoint before Jane and Hilda sorted things out. Goodness.

Well, I was in a hurry at this point, but I still had 25 minutes before the flight left, and as far as I could tell I was right next to my gate, and I still had 11 euros. I stopped in a shop to buy some Swiss chocolate (I needed it there because I didn’t get any in Switzerland because the United Nations robbed me… I didn’t feel too bad about it because I figure the they need the money more than I do… at least I’ve come to grips with my place in life and society, whereas they have no idea that they’re completely impotent and won’t ever be otherwise). There wasn’t a single attendant at any of the desks. I was shocked. I walked around for a while, and finally found two at the far end of the store going out the direction I didn’t want to go, but when I tried to pay, they insisted that no, they had to go back to the other side (where I wanted to leave). So, I had to follow the attendant all the way across the (rather large) store and pay at her register… which ate up more time. Well, I started running once I had paid, only to discover that my gate, while right next to me, was behind a large glass wall. I couldn’t figure out why on earth it was, but whatever, I ran along the wall until I found myself at another checkpoint, where they checked passports and boarding passes. At this point, I decided that either the Germans, Lufthansa or the EU must have been insane to make me go through this all after I had already been in a secure zone (having just gotten off the plane from another EU country). While waiting, I heard a final call for the Lufthansa flight to Denver (there’s only one a day). So, when I made it through that line you can only imagine my joy at seeing another security checkpoint where I had to not only go through security, take off my belt and shoes, but also show them my boarding pass (this within a stone’s throw from the other checkpoint. Not even a Steve Young stone’s throw. My niece Rachael can throw this far on a bad day. It was like ten feet). When I got through I broke into a full sprint, and made it on. I think I was either the last or second to last person on the plane. I can’t even tell you how happy I would have been to have spent the night in Munich… But hey, all’s well that ends well.

Speaking of which, earlier this morning when I woke up (can I even say woke up? That would mean I had slept…) when I got up I went over and got in line (I was second since I let another American couple go in front of me since they seemed more worried about their flight to Greece than I was about my flight to Munich). I did the whole thing in French; yes, I’m going to Denver via Munich, at 7:05 am. Yes, I’ve got two bags to check. I’d like a window, please. No, I don’t have any liquids, gels, or explosives. Well, she’s about to send my bags back, and then, after all that, she tells me “Oh, I’m sorry, you don’t have a reservation. You’re not booked on any flight going out of Paris today.” I was flabbergasted. Why ask me if I wanted a window if you hadn’t even found my flight yet? So, she directed me to the Lufthansa help center, where I went and talked to another woman, who asked me for exact details. I said I thought I was on the flight to Munich around 7am, but they had told me there was no reservation. She asked for my reservation number, and I told her I didn’t have it, and she said she couldn’t search by just my name. I was dumbfounded. How on earth can they not search by my name, and how did they lose my reservation in the first place? I kept my cool though (I did ask her “Are you serious?” a shout out to all you Zoolander fans), and she found my reservation. Apparently when I changed it from the 18th to the 22nd, it was written down but didn’t register in the computer. So, she fixed it and I went back to the check in line and wait to get up front. I make it up front, and the woman (a different one than the first time) told me that they had no reservations for me going out of Paris that day. Have I mentioned that I love traveling? I really do. It’s always an adventure. So, she advised I go talk to the people at the Lufthansa help desk. I insisted that I had just spoken to them, and pointed out the person I had spoken to across the room, and the woman at the counter called the other woman and confirmed that I was, in fact, signed up for the flight and that the other woman had just gotten to input the data. How she forgot it is beyond me, but that’s fine. We all make mistakes. The woman checking my bags was dumbfounded that my carryon (loaded with books, of course) weighed 19.6 kilos, when it’s only supposed to weigh 8 kilos. So, she made me take books out of it and transfer them to my backpack (she discovered this after she had sent off my luggage to the depths of the airport), but I put them back in my roller bag as soon as I was around the corner and didn’t have any trouble with them since then. The flight I’m on now is pretty empty, so I put it in its own overhead compartment. Anyway, I caught my flight with plenty of time, and flew to Munich without incident… until I got to Munich, that is.

As an aside, they just served lunch. I had the chicken. I know, it was a risky move. Chicken over pasta? Either way the airline usually doesn’t get it right, so I might as well go for the protein, right? Well, it was pretty good. Anyway, it made me think about the employees. I suppose they must eat the same food everyone else on board does, so I wonder if they ever take out the good stuff (i.e. the chicken, or whatever they like) before they go start serving it. Maybe next time I should ask them what they’re eating… And do they eat all (or some at least) of the extra cheesecakes? I mean, if not I’m sure they just go to waste. Then I had an even funnier thought of Elder (now President, I suppose) Uchdorf, who used to fly for Lufthansa, as a pilot in the front making announcements in his unique accent to the passengers while chowing down on chicken an cheesecake. I’m not sure that visual will be quite as funny for you if you’re not here and you’re not sleep deprived, but I got a kick out of it. Ok, game on.

So, I decided to sleep in the airport last night. It really just made the most sense. My flight left from Paris at 7am, so I had to check in by 5am, but the first trains in the morning leave at 5 from Paris, and it would have cost about 60 euros ($100) to catch a cab… So, I slept in Charles de Gaulle airport. I slept with my backpack on, one arm through my duffle bag strap, and one leg over each suitcase. I was kinda hoping for some more excitement, but the best that happened was at 2:30 am some guy came out and put out the dividers to set up the lines. Then at about 4:30 some Greek-Americans came and sat next to me and scared the living daylights out of me (I was sleeping with earplugs in, and I had actually fallen asleep, and when they sat down it surprised me). Then finally, after being there for about five hours, some people came and I went through the line to get my ticket… good thing they had it…

We all need to eat a piece of humble pie from time to time. Imagine my surprise when I left the house of the director of the program last night. I took off around 11pm, and Jack Welch, the husband, gave me his best plan on how to get to the airport. I thanked him, and got on the metro. When I was on, I was looking at the metro map and a French girl came up and asked if I needed any help (in pretty good English), and she told me an even better way to get there and helped me take my bags off the metro. Then when I was going up the stairs another guy stopped and helped me carry my bag up to my platform, even though he was going the other direction. He offered to help, I accepted, and I didn’t even think twice about it until he was at the top of the stairs and I was still only halfway up carrying two bags—but he just dropped it off and took off. Then two other guys helped me as I ran into different staircases. Frankly, the French have lived up to most of my expectations. They are cold, hate Americans, egotistical, and the world revolves around France (don’t worry, I missed that part of geology 101, too). I saw a different face of Frenchmen in the south of France when we were down there, and it was incredible. They were wonderful, kind, open and loving. Then last night I saw Parisians who weren’t like the stereotype, which shocked me. So, even in France there are people of all types. It doesn’t mean I agree any more with them opposing the war in Iraq and then illegally selling weapons to our enemies, but I do have a lot more respect for them as individuals.

Before I went to the Welch’s apartment, though, I came back from Spain. Monday morning I woke up in Palma de Mallorca, the tropical dream island in the middle of the Mediterranean. I had a traditional Mallorquin encemata for breakfast, then stopped by the beach and filled a can with sand I’m bringing home with me. I was worried that they wouldn’t let me bring it in my carryon (since I didn’t check anything in Spain) but they did. So, after saying goodbye friends there, I went from Palma to Madrid, where I had my last napolitana for a while, and from Madrid I flew to Paris.

Well, I’ve arrived, so I think this will be enough for now. The south of France was incredible. I can certainly see why the Riviera is so famous. It was warm and nice out almost the whole time. Good times were had by all. Some fun stuff happened there, but I’ll write about that later. In the meantime, I’m going to go play with my nieces, sleep a lot, and get ready to drive to Utah tomorrow!

La vie est belle!

Homeward Bound

So, I had hoped for a bigger response from my small but faithful blog readers about my April fool’s joke from last week, but not so much… I mean, let’s be honest, can you ever see me really skipping classes so flippantly? Well, it was a nice thought, anyway.

It’s been a nice week, though. I did, in fact, go to Rome, and I had a great time. We saw Saint Peter’s Basilica, the Vatican Museums, the coliseum (oh no! I cannot spell anymore! I spent all weekend reading Italian, which actually came pretty easily with English, Spanish, Catalan and my limited French) and the Roman Forum. It was a pretty cool trip, if I do say so myself. And I can say sincerely this time that I did fall in love. I love Italy, and I especially love Rome. I am sure I’ll be back over the years. It’s a small world. And then I’ll get to explore some more and really get to know it. I was surprised, though, at how small Rome is. I could walk from the far eastern part of the city to the Vatican at the far west edge in like an hour (not even at missionary pace). The Roman metro system stinks. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a more terrible metro in my life. Valencia had a better metro than theirs. Luckily Rome is awesome so it was fun to walk around. J

So, my terrible Italian language skills came in handy. We went to an (you guessed it) Italian restaurant for lunch, and we ordered. I asked for fettuccini alfredo. The server didn’t speak English or Spanish (I didn’t try French or Catalan, although perhaps I ought to have), and didn’t know what alfredo meant. So, I explained (in both English and Spanish, in hopes that there would be enough overlap) that it was a creamy sauce. She clearly didn’t understand, so she asked if I wanted it with champinones (Spanish for mushrooms) and I said no, and she asked if I wanted salami. I also declined, and said again “With a cream sauce,” she seemed to understand this time, and she moved on. Emma wanted pesto, which was easy enough, and Rochelle asked for the potato pizza on the menu. The woman asked something that none of us understood, so we said we just wanted the potato pizza. She asked if we wanted tomatoes on it, and we said yes, so she nodded and went off.

Now the adventure begins. They show up with pesto. That’s pretty hard to mess up. Alright, I admit, the fettuccini conversation was convoluted, so I wasn’t surprised that they got my order wrong. What did surprise me was that, of all things, it had mushrooms on it. That was the one thing that I was certain wouldn’t be on my pasta, especially because she had said “mushroom” in Spanish, and I had very clearly declined said condiment. Well, I wasn’t sure what to do about it (whether I ought to bring to their attention that they got my order wrong or just buck up and eat it), when they finally brought out Rochelle’s pizza. I wish I had a picture to illustrate, but Emma hasn’t given me her pictures yet. Anyway, it had just potatoes and tomato sauce on it. I cannot fathom how they imagined anyone would want a pizza without cheese on it, but somehow that’s what we ended up with. When I recovered from the shock, and then from the laughter, I tried to explain to the waiter what had happened, both with my not-creamy pasta and Rochelle’s not-cheesy pizza. After about five minutes (I know I exaggerate sometimes, but this time I really mean it) of trying to explain (he didn’t speak English or Italian either) the fellow at the table next to me came over and translated for us from English to Italian, and they quickly fixed the problem. It was an adventure. Very tiring, but very funny. Until they replaced our food, I was convinced that it ranked on my top five worst dining experiences ever. It was an adventure, to be sure.

Finally, when I came home last night (Sunday night) I got in around 10pm. I then had to… er… got to… take a bus, the metro, and a train to the town where I normally would have taken another bus home, but they don’t run on Sundays. I arrived in Bussy at 12:45am, when I had the marvelous opportunity of walking home. Normally the walk home is fun, a pleasant stroll through French countryside, but this time there were a few special treats awaiting me, including fierce winds, a blizzard like whiteout and several inches of snow.

Well, all of this is leading to the central issue; how has the Paris experience been? This is probably (not certainly, but most likely) my last entry before I head home. This Thursday I am going to Geneva, Switzerland, then on Saturday I go down to the south of France for a few days, till next Thursday, when I head off to Spain. I’ll be there until Tuesday the 22^nd, when I fly to Denver, where I’ll spend the night before I drive over on the 23^rd for graduation on the 24^th. Craziness! It will be fun.

So, how was it? It’s been fascinating. I’ve been able to visit in great depth France and Paris in particular, not to mention side trips to Belgium; Switzerland; Valencia, Spain; Shannon, Ireland; Venice, Italy and Rome, Italy. I’ve learned more about the art and political history of Europe, and I’ve seen the people of another country up close. The people are similar to Spaniards, but not exactly the same. It’s been a good life experience. I still think the British have it right; “France would be great but for the French.” My family here and a few of the church families are wonderful, but on the whole they elect to do some pretty… silly things. Well, luckily every country can do as it pleases. I am looking forward to returning home, enjoying my land and being with my friends (that’s probably you if you’re reading this). God bless America!

The City of Love

So, I met an incredible, beautiful, amazing French girl this past Sunday evening. She’s a member of the church; her whole family was baptized when she was six years old. Her name is Elise. We actually have a lot in common (imagine that—with a French girl, too!). It’s kind of against the rules, but I pretty much skipped all of my classes on Monday and Tuesday, and we have just been walking around, talking and having fun. She speaks English pretty well (thank goodness! Can you imagine me trying to speak only in French to anyone for extended periods of time?). It’s been pretty cool. Need I say more?

Well, almost as good as finding true love, I’ve finished all of my homework for the semester (you may or may not have noticed from the grueling pace at which I’ve been working on my homework how academically difficult this semester has been, and how I’ve been slaving away at my computer trying to finish all the paper—note the deliberate lack of “s”—assigned to me. Actually, there was more than one paper assigned, but I still doubt I’ve topped 2 hours of homework in almost any week I’ve been here). So, my life will continue on at the same idyllic pace it’s been for the past few months. I’ve finished a number of books, and I’ve gotten well into my accounting review for work.

I’ve decided that I will keep my blog when I get home, and once I start working I will have one day a week when I’ll post things, so you don’t have to guess when I will post something new (but it does keep you on your toes, doesn’t it? You always have to guess). My first several weeks home will be insane between Lindsay Lee’s wedding, Jon Laudie’s wedding, and my friend Alex Pingree’s wedding. I think I’ll also squeeze in a 5 day trip to the Outer Banks in North Carolina (as I do every Memorial Day—this will be my 5^th time out there) as well as a trip to Seattle and a road trip to Tijuana with my roommate Justin. We’ll see if I can dredge up anything exciting in among all that play. Speaking of dredging up exciting things, it looks like I will be in Rome from Thursday to Sunday of this week, and that next week (after finals) we’re going to Switzerland and the south of France for 7 days, and I will top off the madness with a trip to Barcelona and Palma de Mallorca. That’ll put me in a different country every week for the next 4 weeks Italy, France, Spain and the USA—God bless the USA, by the way!).

Finance Minister's estate?

Alright, so I’m going to try to post this video on my blog, which I hope you’ll all enjoy, but it may not work.

To give you a bit of background, the finance minister under Louis XIV was an accomplished fellow by the name of Fouquet, who had made himself the most wealthy man in all of France through his prudent and wide ranging investments. Accordingly, he was made the minister of finance, and helped the king put things in order.

Fouquet was sitting pretty as the minister of finance, and still the most wealthy man in France, so he decided to upgrade his home, and hired three architects whose names have currently escaped me to help him design and build up his luxurious new home at Veux Le Vicante.

As an important side note, Louis XIV, the great Sun-king of France, became king at age 5, and so he had a babysitter/regent helping him. For much of Louis’ youth it was another bloke by the name of Cardinal Mazarin—I pity the French for having the Catholics rule over them, and yes, I did just say that I pitied the French. You can put that one in the bank—who died when Louis was 22. Well, Louis appeared to the court and decided that he would be his own advisor (thus abolishing the position of prime minister, as had developed in France and continued to develop in England as the premier minister and advisor to the king, ending constitutional development, declaring himself monarch by divine right and sowing seeds for mischief in the future). The year was 1661.

Fouquet wanted to impress everyone with his new home, and Louis had been insisting to come see it for some time, so he held a grand ball to inaugurate it. Now, the black tie affairs you go to these days don’t hold a candle to this shindig. We’re talking about a serious party. Every man went home with a horse and every woman with a diamond set tiara as a party favor. You don’t have to invite many people for that to add up pretty quickly… It was August 17^th, 1661. Well, Louis came and was duly impressed. So impressed, in fact, that he felt a big shunted, and was terribly jealous of Fouquet. On September 4^th, he called his court and at court he imprisoned his finance minister and charged him with fraud and embezzlement. Well, it not being true, the judge had a tough time convicting him, so he was released after a lengthy trial.

Now we come full circle. Louis, being the terrible friend he was and desiring to show forth his strength and prove to his subjects that he was absolute despite being only 22, arrested Fouquet again. This time he was charged with a political crime (being possessed of state secrets from his stint as the finance minister), and was put in a prison in the Alps in the south of France. He was to remain in that prison until 1680, when he died. Talk about a raw deal; you give the king an inferiority complex about his house so he throws you in the slammer till you die. Incidentally, there was another political prisoner in the same prison who was there for roughly the same time period who wore an iron mask. Was it Leonardo de Caprio? No, sorry (although maybe we’d have been better off if he was left with the iron mask on after they were done), but it might have been Fouquet. Given that the man in the iron mask wore an iron mask all the time, it was tough to tell who it really was, but I think that was the point of the whole exercise.

Also, Louis hired the same three architects to design him his own country home which was to not be outdone—Versailles. It was this encounter with Fouquet that encouraged the construction of Versailles to prove that the King was still first in the land. First in extravagance, first in vengeance, and first to push his country into war. That was the way of Louis XIV. Poor Fouquet just got in his way.

Well, although Fouquet never really got the chance to enjoy his country mansion, luckily I did. We rented golf carts and tore around the beautifully (and oh-so-austerely) laid out French gardens (I prefer the English gardens, but that should hardly come as a surprise to any of you). I have tried to post the video of us in the golf cart…. I think I’ll let it speak for itself. J There was another part where there was an unfortunate accident that ought not to be talked about in a public forum, but if you want the story I’ll tell you sometime later. I’ll just say that it involves hairpin turns, broken wood and pushing the golf cart…

And speaking of England vs France, guess who was at the France/England football match last Wednesday? Yes, yes, Beckham was there, thanks for asking. That wasn’t who I was talking about, though. Come on, I scored as many goals as he did! In fact, I scored as many goals as his whole team combined, times five. Give me a break. Peh-shaw! That’s what I think of their football. Who plays football with their feet after all? American football is where it’s at. Anyway, I’m sorry to report that France did win, and that I have France’s only goal on video on my camera. I won’t post it, because I’d hate to bring shame to the English like that. There was a lot of cheering, a lot of hollering, and much rejoicing. I doubt that the four guys dressed up as English knights with chain mail and red capes were celebrating, though.

Yesterday, Saturday, I had a lovely day. I went to the Musee d’Orsay again and saw every room in it. Afterward I went and sat on a bridge over the Seine and read accounting for about 4 hours. It was a really fun day. (See the picture looking over the Seine from the bridge—that was my view all day). I figure I ought to take advantage of being in Paris as much as I can. I have also posted a pretty picture of Notre Dame I think you’ll all appreciate. This was right after I went to mass (it was an interesting experience—I figure that after living almost two and a half years in catholic countries, I maybe ought to see what their most basic ceremony is like, eh?). Lastly, from the top of Notre Dame, there is my favorite gargoyle. I don’t think I need to explain. J

There was another happy occurrence this week; there was another red day. Turns out, though, they only have 20 a year they can dish out to us, and they’ve used up their last one. Ding dong the witch is dead! Hallelujah! I can’t tell you how much it stinks to use that little hose in the cold, no heat… Well, all I have to say is that if the old adage is true that the Germans invade France because they can’t get any good weather over there, they must be in a sorry state indeed, as I’ve only seen the sun for some three days over the last 75 days or so I’ve been here…

Today I went to Notre Dame and watched (or rather, heard) an organ concert with some friends. It was splendid. I’m not sure that I appreciate the organ as an artful instrument as much as the piano or the violin, per se, but it was a very enjoyable afternoon. And I stopped through the Louvre to see the Vermeers, the Mona Lisa, and Winged Victory. We’ll be meeting in a new museum from now on, so I’m not sure how many more times I’ll get to go to the Louvre. Gotta take advantage!

Oh, and there’s a picture of me in front of the Gates of Hell. I always knew it would be in Paris…. (I mean, after all, Rodin was a Frenchman. Where else would his art end up? What were you thinking of? Sinner….)

La vie est belle!

P.S. Looks like I can't post the video, so sorry!

From the Louvre to Disneyland... and back again

So, I started this writing last Wednesday. You have to understand that I access the internet about only three times a week, so I write on my computer before I use it so I can copy and paste my emails and the blog posts. Accordingly, I have parts written from several different days that were never uploaded as intended, with a note for which day each is from.

Wednesday: What a great day! I mean, let’s be honest, it wasn’t a red day, so I got to turn on the heater while I was showering. I’m living the high life, now. It makes quite a difference when you’re in the tub like we are… And that was all within the first ten minutes of waking up!

Then I went on down to the Louvre for my art class. I’ve heard from other people who have done the Paris study abroad that some folks get tired of being at the Louvre all the time, but I can’t really understand that. Granted, after a few hours of class, I was ready to be done with the class, but I was hardly done with art. Although I don’t really understand it all, I can appreciate it for its aesthetic beauty and some of its embedded ingenuity. We spend about three hours a week walking around, pointing out specific paintings and discussing them. We get to about 7-10 paintings each week. It’s all very interesting, but I guess what gets me is that we’re standing up the whole time, and it’s not very interactive. We each have a presentation on a specific artist that we have to do, but that only means that I’ve put in 10 minutes of talking to class time, and otherwise it’s mostly just the teacher talking. And we can all imagine how very well I do standing and listening to a long presentation in a room filled with dozens of priceless works of art…

So, class was over and I took off right at the end with some friends, and got kebabs. They were great. Most every kebab I get is great. I love them. After a brief stop in the institute building I went with Summer and Jacqueline to the Musee d’Orsay. It’s not clear to me how the different museums arise (for instance, the Musee d’Orsay versus the Louvre versus the Claude Monet Museum, versus… etc), nor am I familiar with the finances of the respective museums, but I imagine that they are subsidized by the government. If that’s the case, then one would hope (I know, a hope against hope, especially in a socialist state like France… and that’s when even America can’t get things all right) that there would be some central planner who would think the museum situation through and have one museum where they house the renaissance art and another where they house the impressionists and another with the post-modern art, etc, so as to reduce redundancy. If each museum had to be completely independent, then the incentive would be to have a wide variety of paintings to appeal to a wider audience and get more people to come so as to be able to finance the entire thing—which is what I generally see in private collections that have turned into museums. The pragmatist in me knows that my hope is a lie, but I do hope against hope. In any event, something similar might have happened, without a clear definition of where historical and where modern art mix, as the Louvre tends to hold more ancient things and the Musee d’Orsay tends to hold more modern things. There is a blurry line in between where both museums ended up with a lot of neoclassical statues and some nice paintings, but most of the Orsay’s collection is impressionism onward. I have decided that I really like some impressionism (the stuff that’s too impressionistic I don’t like—so really, I don’t like most of it, but what I do like I really like). Renoir has won a place in my heart through his beautiful yet clear impressionism. Granted, there are a few that you can’t really make out, which I’m not a fan of, but most of his paintings have very clear faces, which I appreciate.

On Thursday I went on a walk past the stock market of France, and I explained to my friend how the stock market works, which was exciting. We were planning on going on a tour of La Bourse, as it is called, but apparently you have to make reservations beforehand, so we got a slip of paper with the phone number and we’re going to go back next week. I then capped off the day with a movie, Modern Love. No, it wasn’t in English (the title was a bit misleading; it was actually made in France. I guess it’s kind of like how when we put French on chocolates or a restaurant in the states it makes it more high class. Similarly, if they put English on their things it makes it more high class. It’s kinda funny how the grass is always greener on the other side…).

Friday: The coup de grace of the week was Disneyland. I know, I know, what a crazy thing to do while in Paris, but it was actually really fun. I went with several friends, and they really enjoyed it (and were really into it, which made it that much better). Apparently, contrary to popular belief, it is pretty busy. Luckily, even though it is Easter weekend, and our family here warned us against going because of the crowds, the inclimate (sp? Word tells me I’m spelling this wrong, but I can’t fathom how else it would be spelled) weather kept things tame. We had lines of 5 minutes or so, which was pretty decent. It rained in the morning, but was clear most of the day. We got to go on the Rockin’ Roller Coaster, the Tower of Terror, and Space Mountain (five times). It has mostly the same rides as the real Disneyland, only in Paris.

Saturday to Monday there was a young single adults conference here in Paris, and people came from England, Germany, and all parts of France. I heard that there were over two hundred people inscribed. Saturday afternoon there was speed dating (in French… I’m afraid my French isn’t that good, so rather than provide fodder for your enjoyment here on the blog I decided to opt out), and afterwards there was a presentation by Brother Welch, (still of Chiasmus in the Book of Mormon fame), about the Good Samaritan. Then there was a dance, where I cut a rug till I got too tired. Between Friday and Saturday, I was pretty tired. Sunday was more of the YSA conference (imagine your youth conference with slightly older and slightly more French people, and that’s kinda what it was like).

Monday! Monday, Monday. Today was great. We did a walk with the YSA’s along the Seine from the Hotel de Ville (town hall) to the Eiffel Tower, and went into the Louvre on our way. After seeing the Venus de Milo and the Mona Lisa (I’ve already seen them, but I figured I ought to go again to further engrain them into my memory) I went to the top of the Eiffel Tower, which was pretty cool. It’s really high up (you may or may not have noticed… I’d put my money on “had,” though), so there’s a great view from it. It snowed while we were up there, and it hardly ever snows in Paris. I love how it always snows wherever I go, from Palma (the first time it had snowed on that tropical island in the middle of the Mediterranean in 20 years was while I was there) to Andorra to Paris. I love it! I had some fun with pictures in sepia from the top. The pictures today (in no particular order… maybe you can have some fun guessing which is which?) are of: Jacqueline, Susie and I; Susie (in sepia); me tripping up the stairs in the Eiffel Tower; and a picture from the trip to Normandy where some of the girls wrote a note in the sand for me… see if you can make it out).

The only downer on the day was that because it’s a holiday, I had to… er… got to… walk to and from the train station, and all day in Paris, which probably makes about 6 hours on my feet. I was kind of tired by the end of it all, and am happy to be here writing on my Blog.

Well, I am happy to finally be up to date. It is a great feeling. I hope you all had a happy Easter, and that you’re excited for spring. J One month from today and I graduate from college… kind of crazy, huh?

En Fin!

It’s been a while since I’ve been able to write; things have been pretty hectic. Sorry about all the craziness (as you know I’ve been almost without internet connection for my entire time in France. I haven’t really gotten the chance to write since before I was in Ireland. Well, I’ll try to get us caught up so as to not fall any further behind.

Ireland was incredible. It would seem that I’ve misplaced my pictures from there. I took quite a few—nearly 400, I believe—but they are not to be found on my computer. Luckily I copied them all to my dad’s computer, too, so I think we’re all set. My dad is in a different country, though, so it looks like there won’t be any pictures for this entry. You can use your imaginations, though. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from movies, it’s that I’ve got a better imagination than 99.9% of directors and cinematographers. Accordingly, you are free to imagine whatever you please along with the following.

Well, we went to Shannon, Ireland. It’s on the far western coast, toward the center but a bit to the south. If you’ve seen Far and Away, you’ll have something to stimulate your overactive imaginations. If not, picture someplace that’s all green. No, that’s not right. It’s not quite all green, (I mean, let’s be honest, this isn’t modern art—there are tree trunks and stone walls interspersed with the rolling green fields). Beautiful countryside, isn’t it? The hills don’t get too high, either, so you could see for miles and miles if it weren’t so foggy. That’s a shame. In fact, it’s raining now, so you consider yourself lucky you brought an umbrella. That’s the landscape. All I really wanted to see in Ireland were castles and green fields, so I got my wishes.

We next went to Bunratty Castle, a castle that was about 2 kilometers from where we stayed (the Jamaica—pronounced “ja-my-ka”—inn, where we had our own bedroom to ourselves even though we were in a 12 person room in a youth hostel). The castle was awesome. We could go in and wander about as we pleased, so we scurried about and saw all the little nooks and crannies. We even found the dungeon and the murder hole (I’m not kidding, it was above the main door, and they used it to pour hot oil on the people they didn’t want to come in).

Then we went to the cliffs of Moher (which are better known as the “Cliffs of Insanity” from the Princess Bride. Good times). It was incredible. We watched the ocean pound against the rocks for hours and hours. It was really windy. I leaned into the wind, and it would hold me up even when I was at like a 70 degree angle. I jumped as straight as I could, and it carried me forward a full foot and a half. It was insanely windy. There were some good wind pictures (see the picture… oh, wait, I lost the pictures). Well, to top off a nearly perfect day, we had Italian food in a sketchy Indian Restaurant in Ireland. (That’s a lot of I’s for one sentence, isn’t it?). It wasn’t great, but we tried to find about five Irish Pubs and get boiled potatoes, or anything, for that matter, but the pubs we found only wanted served alcohol. Kinda crazy…

Well, I came back to several self-reproducing packets of lemon cake sitting on my desk. I took a few off and put them in my backpack, but when I came back, there were two more. I let them be, and when I woke up, another one had come. I took them to school and ate them, only to find another two on my desk the following day. It was a little disconcerting, seeing as I could have sworn that I had taken them off the desk, and you would think that they would put them on my desk all in one go (or at least tell me about it) if they had wanted to make a gift out of it for me. Well, I decided I’d had enough with the self multiplying lemon cakes, so I took them all to Venice with me, and ate them all there, and I’ve seen nothing of lemon cakes since. I’m glad that’s done with. J

As a quick interruption, before I go on to that marvelous trip to Venice, there have been a lot of red days lately, and every day has been a day that we have been at home. Indeed, there have not been any red days save we have been present for them. For instance, I took off on Tuesday last week and didn’t get back until Saturday, so of course, Monday and Tuesday were both red days but there wasn’t another one all week... it’s just uncanny…

While I’m a filmophile, I’m not sure I can compete with my brother, Seth. Nevertheless, I felt like I had to go see a movie, so I went to “Into the Wild” (which, having seen it, may have been rated R due to about thirty seconds of completely unnecessary footage. For better or worse, there are no ratings here, so I don’t know what it was actually rated. Everything is pornographic, from the magazines to the advertisements to the people, so you just learn to shield your eyes when needed). Anyway, I’ve strayed far from where intended

I have written here a note to write about getting kebabs with Susie and Serena, two of the girls who I’ve gotten to be good friends with. I don’t remember anything out of the ordinary about the excursion to get the kebabs, but it’s sure worth remembering. I love kebabs. Let’s be honest, how much better can it get, good food, good friends, and a great view? We went on a walk for our class, then got kebab and sat in a park with flowers that looks at Notre Dame. It was great fun.

That is of course, just distracting from the trip last weekend to Venice. We went out on a poorly named sleeper car. It might better have been called a “keep you up all night so you can’t sleep car.” We did overnight trains both directions, and I slept horribly both directions. It doesn’t help that I’m a lighter sleeper than… well, I’m a really light sleeper. I wake up to almost anything. Believe me; I remember almost every instant of the night. I went to bed after watching a good chunk of “Casino Royale” (I figured it was appropriate since I was going to Venice) and tried to fall asleep about 1:30 am. I laid in bed for a while, when I decided to start listening to my ipod. I made it through what seemed like half my two day long playlist, fell asleep a dozen times or so, but just turned over and fell back asleep. Finally I woke up. I stretched my legs, feeling a lot better and a lot more rested. It was almost 3:15 am. That was when I knew I was in for a long night….

Venice was wonderful, despite the adventures on the train. We saw Saint Mark’s Plaza and Basilica (where the first scene in the Italian Job was filmed, with all of the pigeons. One actually came over and landed on my head, even though I had no food for it. After photographing the moment, I promptly knocked it off). It was incredible. It was built in the 11^th century, between 900 and 1000 years ago. That’s ridonkulously old. It’s a pity the Italians didn’t figure out the whole nation-state thing before the 19^th century, or they might have been able to make a more indelible impact on European History. I hold the Pope partly to blame for it, since he had his own army and fought his own wars (and I speak about him as if it was just one him, but really there was a good number of popes that made war on their neighbors. Even more importantly, though, is the question about the word indelible. Can you make a delible impact on something? Perhaps this reading will be a delible experience for you… well, I hope not!).

I bought an old fashioned pen, like the ones they used for centuries with inkwells and steel tips. What a crazy way to write. It would have been tough for Alexander Hamilton to write his 40,000 word treatises in just 3 months if he was writing with a pen like this one (I’m holding it in my hands right now). I suppose he had more practice, but it’s impressive nevertheless. Almost as impressive as that, though is that I ran into my mom and dad while I was outside that same store where I bought the pen. I was outside talking and waiting for some friends when I heard my dad say “I thought I recognized that voice!” I saw him and my mom out of the corner of my eye, and thought nothing of it for a split second, but then was shocked as it registered for me. Wow! What a crazy occurrence! It was a great time, all in all. It was fun to see the city, experience it a bit, and see the quaint little waterways.

Most recently, however, was our 5 day trip to Normandy and the Chateaux of the Loire Valley. Let me tell you what, I’ve never seen so many castles/chateaux in such a short period of time. We saw like 9 in 5 days, as well as beaches and cemeteries.

Speaking of which, we started out in Normandy at Omaha Beach. We went to the memorial the United States graciously built to commemorate the many soldiers that were sent to save freedom across the world (goodness only knows why we had to build it; you’d think that the French might have thought of it). All joking aside, though, it was a moving experience. As far as I am aware, I didn’t have any relatives there those fateful days in June of 1944, but I thought of Grandma in the supply depot in Ogden and Grandpa cutting hair in the Pacific and all the families who gave up their sons and brothers and fathers and husbands for a good cause. I thought of the senselessness of war, and of the love we must have to answer the call of duty to help out others. The great wars we have fought have not ever been for money or fame or dominion, but to secure freedom, first for ourselves and then for others across the world.

In the memorial, we watched a film that was prepared involving some veterans talking as well as some Frenchmen speaking about how they felt when the Americans came. It showed little children going up to old men and kissing them on the cheeks for what they had done. It was a powerful film. I meandered through the rest of the museum, looking at the mementos of the soldiers and whatnot, when I came to the hallway to the last room before the exit to the cemetery. In the hallway was projected an American woman’s voice deliberately reading the names of the 10,500+ people buried there, one by one. Then in the room were several of the stories of valor from the battles, along with names and gravesite locations. It was the reading of the names that really did me in. My eyes watered up and I had to leave to keep from crying. I love my country with all my heart. I don’t really know what it is that drives me, but I love America. I love it for the opportunity it has given my family and me. I love it for the opportunity and hope it gives to everyone, to so many people who are there and who are not. I love it for being the homeland of the restored gospel, prepared and brought to us by the hand of God. I love it for the Founding Fathers who gave their lives for it, not because it would make them famous, but because it was the right thing to do. I love it because we as a people are willing to sacrifice to help others, to die that men may live.

Well, I walked from there to an outcropping where I could see the beach and then through the cemetery itself. It reminded me of Arlington. It is a beautiful resting place for those who are there.

After that, we went to many chateaux. I won’t try to tell you about them all, or even explain them to you, because I feel like I’ve been going on for long enough, and I’ve got to get some sleep tonight. If I can, I’ll put some things in next time (which won’t be too long from now, since I won’t be out of town for at least another three weeks—imagine that, three weeks in the same country! Who does that?).

It was a lot of fun. It was very interesting to see places that I’ve heard talked about in classes and in history, and to be able to see a glimpse into what the people who determined history saw, felt and thought. I also had a really great time with my group. They are a lot of fun. Let’s be honest, Paris is awesome.

Pictures are 1) Jacqueline, Rochelle, Emma and I spelling out Love in the Chambord (sp?) gardens 2) Me in front of Chartres Cathedral, 3) Me in the gardens at Villandry, a chateau we went to, and 4) Me with Cassandra and Susie at the monastary in Mont Saint Michel

Sleepy Jeff

Alright, so I apologize, I said I was going to post the Ireland thing the next day, but then I didn't have time. Turns out that I am really, really tired, so I will post these pictures, and go to bed. I just got back from Venice, on the poorly named sleeper train (since I didn't sleep hardly at all). The pictures are with the Eiffel Tower and an overly confident pigeon in St Mark's Plaza, right in front of the Basilica (which doesn't show up here, but can be seen in the introduction to The Italian Job).

Cultural thoughts...

Can you believe I’ve been here for over a month already? We’re going on a month and a week… And I know that you really just want to hear about Ireland, but I have discovered a few interesting tidbits I feel I ought to share with you. Plus, it will build suspense. I'm going to take some time and prepare a post, but I can't find my pictures and due to my internet situation I can't take too much time right now. On to my thoughts...

First, our host family puts aluminum foil (mistakenly called “tin foil” by many people, myself included on a day when I’m not minding myself, even though it is nothing of the sort. It’s aluminum through and through) over everything. Well, it’s not that much different than saran wrap (or whatever the non-brand name is), right? It turns out that if you leave it in the fridge for too long, it gets a nasty, green stain on it. Then it just gets worse as you reuse it. Well, my first few weeks here, I was a bit revolted by the idea of eating out of a container that had been sealed with the semi-rusting seaweed green aluminum foil, but I figured I could manage since it (usually) didn’t touch the food, and since everyone else was eating, I didn’t want to be the rude one out. Well, this goes on for about a month (until last Tuesday night) when I observed the son, Amoury, make a sandwich and pull out the fresh roll of aluminum foil. Not only does the piece he tears off have the green stain through the middle of it, but it seems that it’s a decorative feature of the foil, not mold after all. So, the moral of the story is that I feel a lot better about using it and eating the food, but it still creeps me out that they would intentionally make aluminum foil look like it was going to give you cancer if you ate out of it. I guess it’s one of those things… “Someday we’ll know.”

Another revelation I had was about the pink toilet paper. Oh, wait, I still haven’t figured that one out. I have, of course, seen pink toilet paper in the store, but never have I seen it used, much less in the seeming abandon they have propagated its spread throughout the country. That is to say, a lot of the private residences have pink toilet paper. I blew my nose with it; it’s even scented.

My final cultural... thought (I would hate to call it an insight, since I feel like an insight should make you a better person, and I’m not sure this is helping with that), is that while explaining why my roommate runs every night and I do not, I had to explain about when Laudie and I went skiing and I hurt my knee. Turns out that the word for “to hurt” or “to injure” is “blesser,” which you probably realize sounds a lot like “to bless” in English. In fact, to say “I hurt my knee” you say “Je blesse (pronounced ‘bless’) mon genou” (emphasis added). I pointed out this false cognate to my family, and they rejoined with a story about how some missionary had gone up and said a prayer over the pulpit asking the Lord to bless (a.k.a. “injure”) every one of the members present. Not a meeting I’d like to be a part of, but hey, you win some you lose some. Better luck next blessing. That's all for today, but I'll get some more in tomorrow.

La vida es bella!

La vie est belle!

Life is beautiful!

Jeff

P.S. Ireland was amazing. Yes, my life is an adventure. I wouldn't have it any other way ;-)

French Films, Lady Liberty, and Ireland

Alright, here’s my next heroic effort at writing a lot. I don’t know that it will come to much. My host family has decided that to learn French better, I ought to watch a movie every day in French, so I’ve started doing it (with French subtitles, although it only works for French made movies. For some reason they don’t match the subtitles to the dubbed version of the movie. You would think it would be harder to translate the whole movie twice, but I guess not… or something?). It’s been a lot of fun. I had the mistaken impression that all French movies were dark and depressing and sad, but I was mistaken. We just finished a comedy about a police officer whose daughter steals a car that has a Rembrandt in the back of it, then he gets caught red-handed trying to return it (and looks like he’s stealing it in the process) then it turns out that the guy he was supposedly stealing it from stole it in the first place, so the police officer goes from the dog house to being a hero (with a parade, even. I thought the parade was a bit much—I mean, honestly, I’m not sure I’d attend a parade for a police officer who saved a stolen painting. Maybe that’s what makes the French French, and me… not French).

So, today we went on another walk (I’ve done 15 of the 21 now, so I’ll be completely done in a little while. Then I think I’m going to spend my time wandering through the Louvre and sitting in parks or cafes enjoying France. It’s not any sort of a race, but the walks are great ways to see things, so I’ve just done a lot of them). We went to a nice, large park, where they have the model of the Statue of Liberty that France built for the United States. Now, you may be thinking that you saw that statue in National Treasure 2, and if you just thought that I’m sorry, but you’re totally wrong. My world was shattered when I discovered that there is not one, nor are there two, but three Statues of Liberty standing in the world. We saw the other one yesterday on another walk (which is in the middle of the Seine on an artificial island built to protect the river). Then there is one in the Garden of Luxemburg. What a crazy, liberated world we live in. I suppose I’ll have to split my affections between the three Lady Liberties… or would it be Ladies Liberty? It almost certainly would not be Lady’s Liberty, although I wholeheartedly support and encourage that, too.

Also, it turns out I am going to Ireland tomorrow, and I will try to remember to bring my phone (so, if you’re trying to get a hold of me you will be able to, but it’ll be ridonkulously expensive for me, since I’ll be out of France). We’re going to Shannon Ireland. I think I had heard of it before I bought the tickets (or at least I know some folks named Shannon, and I had a vague idea that it was an Irish name… does that count for anything?). It will be a great trip. Well, because of a long and not too interesting story about the laundry, we now have the wonderful cultural experience of getting to go down to Bussy, the nearby town, to do our laundry, and as luck would have it, as we did our laundry on Monday an Irish guy came in to do his, too, and I started talking to him, and he’s from right outside of Shannon and had some good ideas of places to go and things to do. I think it will be great. I’m going to go horseback riding (don’t worry, I’m bringing my inhaler—I don’t think I’ve got it quite as bad as Seth, anyhow).

Well, I’ve got to go, but I hope you all have a great weekend. Much love and hugs to all.

Jeff

P.S. The last picture (bottom) is searching for hollow tiles in the church made famous by the Da Vinci Code, the middle one is the second statue of liberty (or third, I'm really not sure what order they were created in, but it's the one I saw yesterday--and sorry it's on its side) and the first one is the sunrise while waiting for the bus in the morning... and it ended up pouring. There's some saying about red skies and sailors beware but I don't remember it...

Valencia Pix

Here are some pix from the valencia trip. The bottom one is of Cassandra with Susie jumping, the second one is me jumping by the beach, and the last one is of the severed arm of some saint from the 300's in a cathedral in Valencia. More to come later...

Jeff

Valencia (like the Oranges)

What a crazy weekend! I don’t imagine I’ll be able to tell about it all in one fell swoop, which probably means the story will never be told in a public forum.

So, last weekend I ended up going to Spain, with about a week’s notice. (As an aside, because I wasn’t able to check my email for the three days before I went I didn’t end up telling anyone before I left... Sorry about the mix up, mom and dad!). It was great. We went to Valencia, and the first night we just got in, looked around the Hostel, and went out for Kebab. That still kept us busy until 1:30 am, but it didn't feel like much. I then had the third longest night of my life (the first being a night on my mission when I slept on a cold, hard, stone floor between two Elder's beds, didn't sleep a wink, and ended up getting up at 4:30am to read the scriptures in the Lerida piso that wasn't adequately cleaned or deodorized, to say the least. The second longest night of my sleep was with my parents on their floor right after I found out that I had back problems...). The other blokes got in at about 2am, and stripped off their clothes and talked till goodness only knows when. Then one of them snored for a while, so I tried sleeping anyway, but it didn't work. I ended up throwing a penny at him to get him to wake up, so when that didn't work I gave up and listened to Enya on my iPod... I'll have to write more later. I'm running out of time.

This post has hardly anything to do with my trip at all, I've just realized. I have received a few comments (both through the posts and also through other means) which I have found encouraging, as to my style of writing. Those who have chanced to speak with me know that I write almost exactly how I write, but I think it's terribly fun to write these posts. I could see writing something a bit more... substantive, so long as it doesn't become boring. Just a thought. Don't worry, you'll know about it here long before it ever happens. Then you can say you knew me way back when... :)

I am also reading Founding Brothers, which has led me to wonder about our times, and about our world. While I don’t support everything that all of the Founding Fathers did in their lives, I have increasingly found them to be some of my greatest heroes. Admittedly, I will never look up to Jefferson (despite both carrying my name and being greater than me in stature), who was disloyal, unprincipled, and an unabashed political chameleon, following whatever maxim best suited him in the instant. While politically savvy, it repulses me to think of it. I much prefer the Washingtons and Hamiltons who fought for what they believed in, were fiercely loyal to cause and to their friends, and who gave their life for their cause. I have decided that I will have copies of the Peale paintings of each W and H placed in my home someday. I greatly admire and respect them both.

Adams was a different beast. While I look up to him (I can imagine that he and I would have been friends, save I inadvertently bring his wrath down upon myself), he was quick to anger, and not nearly as pragmatic as I would like to be. I am deeply jealous, however, of his beloved Abigail, in whom he confided and shared his life’s adventure. I would have such a woman, who would traverse life’s many tempests with me and ever converse and freely share bread and banter.