The path is made by walking

I cannot express it--somehow, I do not feel nervous. I am on my way to the single longest journey I have ever taken, and it is one to a foreign country across an ocean and a 10 hour flight from home. A 7 hour time difference separates me from family, friends, and pretty much everyone I know. Perhaps my lack of anxiety is due to the fact that I have lived the life of a roamer for the last year and a half. Perhaps it is because I know the language of the locals. I would like to believe that this strange sense of tranquility comes from an unshaken desire for self-discovery. I feel numb perhaps simply because I do not know what to feel...because I have misplaced my sense of self. I feel as though I have been going through the motions, always on edge, always preparing for the other shoe to drop. I have grown immune to anxiety in a sense (not that I do not have my occasional freak-outs). For the first time in my life, I am eager to journey on my own, not for the sake of running away from commitment, but rather to define myself, to know myself more fully so that I may better serve my commitments. I feel that this is either a dangerous statement, or a mature one (can it be both?). This is not to say that I am ready for a lifetime commitment, only that I want to give 100% in my relationships and up till now I have been incapable of doing so for fear of losing my Independence. I understand now that my own independence is created by my own personal approach to life and to my choices. It is the strength to stand up for one's self but the humility to admit to one's faults. It is not simply a constant rebellion--in which case one becomes a slave to one's close-minded logic and lacks the ability to actually feel with an open heart and mind. Regardless of the commitment I choose to make, I want to embody a knowledge of myself that allots me with the tools I need to shape my independence. Such tools are those of perseverance of body and mind, a balance of humility and pride, open-mindedness and forgiveness, integrity (both professional and personal, because in either case, it is a reflection of one's true personality), curiosity for culture and creativity, and an unquenched thirst for adventure and new experiences, be it across the globe or in my own back yard.

"Traveler, There is no path./ The path is made by walking."

Honesty is the preferred policy

So, I had no intention of continuing this blog while in the States, being as I started it to keep family in touch with my happenings abroad, and also found that my life abroad was far more interesting. I have, however, discovered, since my return, that insightful occurrences have woven their way into the fabric of my everyday life and a recent turn of events. That being said, I plan to only use this blog as a continuation of thoughts previously begun "sous le ciel de Paris."

As previously stated in a different entry, I have found honesty to not only be the best policy, but the one most preferred. How often do you find yourself saying, "Man, I hope that person lies to me" or "I hope they aren't telling me the truth." Hardly ever, I would imagine. I was recently caught off-guard by someone trying to play the courtship game... something in which I used to pride myself in being quite crafty, but frankly, this time, I was stumped. I had stopped trying to play games, and instead just thought in the moment instead of planning or analyzing anyone's next move. Talk about stress relief, until you feel frustrated and confused. At this moment, I actually told the other person that I would prefer them to speak plainly, and believe it or not, the conversation went much better with both of us feeling more confident and understood. This is a perfect example of how people ultimately find relief in being frank when the recipient is receptive.

Working its way into this notion is the concept behind the restaurant by which I am employed for the summer. In looking for work recently, I was lucky to have found it at the newly opened, trendy restaurant, ZED 451 in downtown Chicago. This restaurant fits into my discussion of honesty in that I have never in my life experienced a restaurant whose approach to its guests was as focused on creating an authentic atmosphere and not simply putting on a show in the aspects of its presentation. The idea is to treat guests as though we are throwing a house party and our friends chose our house party over all the others in the city. We do not introduce ourselves nor give a speech, but instead simply talk to the guests as though they are in our home. There is a line in the mission statement that says "We do not deliver a thing, from the music to the food, without passion." There is a rule that anyone on the floor is allowed to not serve something if they do not think it is up to par. It is not a mindset of "fool the customer" but rather one of honesty and pride.

Often times pride itself can lead to dishonesty, which causes some very obvious problems and dilemmas unless one can take a step back and reevaluate why the two are in conflict to begin with. There is a line from "The Divine Secrets of the YaYa Sisterhood" which speaks directly to this concept and further elaborates on the discussion. As much as I was hesitant to watch a movie based on crazy middle aged women bonding over heaven knows what, I have to say, it is very much worth watching, if only for its assertions about truth and honesty. The line I am referencing goes like this: "Eventually, you learn what people are trying to hide by how they are trying to hide it." I love this quote simply for how true it is. Which brings us back to the cliché that "honesty is the best policy." Just be honest with others and yourself and you will be less burdened by stress and lies... a pretty good trade off in my opinion.

Le Nausea: culture shock in reverse

So when Professor Brault warned us about Le Nausea brought on by one's own country, to quote Baudelaire, I was not so sure I believed that it would happen to me. I had been craving an enormous, juicy burger (or any barbeque, really) and a walk to the Lake since about half-way through my time in Paris and was looking forward to finally satisfying my obsession. But of course, Brault was right, and I do not know why I ever doubted her wisdom.  I have found that I truly prefer french fashion (in the sense of casual style, not the couture stuff, which is nice but impractical), and was told yesterday that when dressing as such, I "look weird." Sigh. Oh, America. And everything is so huge. My latte this morning at ArgoTea was about 6 times as large as any espresso drink I consumed in France and about 1/10 the quality.  Why I even thought that the croissant here would satisfy my desire, I will never know.  I feel a bit stifled, a bit claustrophobic in a way, and cannot really grasp the reasoning.  I feel disoriented at hearing the Chicago accent and seeing men with some sort of muscular physique (the french may not have any body fat, but have no muscle either).  This is not to say that it is a bad thing, only that I feel very out of place at the moment. I desire greatly to share my revelations with friends and relatives, but so far, when I have gone to express them, they escape me.  I feel myself slipping back into old habits that I wanted so greatly to change, and dream of recapturing whatever energy I found by the Seine.

I have this wild fear of losing my french, and it haunts me.  I am plagued with nightmares about not being able to speak french, I awake to my tongue poised to rattle something off in french, only to in the end feel swollen and numb at the realization that it would be wasted.  Recently, at being awoken by drunkards in the street, I desired greatly (almost unconsciously) to scream out my window down to them, "Ça suffit! Alors! Vous en bas, arretez! Vous n'etes pas chez vous! Ecoutez, respectez les voisins, alors!" And then I realized that correcting others is taboo in the US, not to mention that the streets are too big to simply yell, as everything would echo and further wake the neighbors.  

All of this being said, I am not trying to find a sad ending to my trip.  I felt very happy to be back at home where people are friendly, and you can chuckle opening upon overhearing someone's phone conversation about their friend's wild and crazy drunken night, and that they can turn to you with an appreciating smile and nod. Or that you can find a bathroom open for the public at just about anytime of the day or night. Or that you do not have to worry about an exchange rate that kills your bank account.  I had an amazing Sweet-Home-Chicago moment yesterday when I took a lovely walk through Lincoln Park Zoo, watching families gobble down popcorn and ice cream, and continuing on, listened to a live band belt the blues on the lakefront.  Couldn't get any better than that, and you definitely cannot find that in France (regardless of just how much they love Jazz and the Blues).  

Perhaps Atlantis?

                                                           

As for Venice....

It is like nothing I have ever seen, every bit full of the romanic and picturesque scenes in movies, posters, and postcards.  The crumbling buildings along the waterside take you back in time to wonder just how much more beautiful Venice could have ever been in its earliest days of splendor.  The sight of gondolas, while indeed touristy, never gets old for me, and I long to be transported back in time when they (and perhaps sailboats--my other favorites) were all that traversed those waterways.  [Side note: gondolas do NOT have to cost 100 euros. We crossed a canal for the cost of 1 EURO EACH in a gondola manned by two men. While it was not a tour at sunset in the romantic embrace of a lover, 

nor lounging in the luxuriously guilt and upholstered seats of the tourist gondolas, I can now say that I have INDEED ridden in a gondola in Venice, and that is enough for me... until I marry that Italian and he picks up the cost.]  

We did experience the not-so-uncommon phenomenon of the flooding of Venice while in the city, and after having thought that it was a once-a-year occurrence, were shocked to find nothing being done to prevent the water from creeping its way up the stairs of St. Mark's Basilica or inching its ways below artwork in museums with nothing but gates for doors.  The sirens sounding, my friend turned to me perplexed, "Aren't those the sirens you read about in that travel book?" "No, couldn't be... or could it? St. Mark's was flooding up from beneath the ground just an hour ago." With the streets filling with police, we posed the question one officer and found that we were correct in our presumptions. We were the only panicked individuals, or seemingly so, as we ran past a flooded Piazza di San Marco, avoiding the sewage smelling water at our heels.  The water was not just rising up from beneath the ground, but also licking the walkways along the waterfront with huge waves, making the avoidance of getting wet impossible.

  After running frantically for an hour to find the water bus that would get us safely back to the hostel, we came to the depressing conclusion that in the not-so-distant future, Venice will be our modern Atlantis.  Its paintings disintegrated by the lapping water, all that would remain would be its splendid mosaics and architecture, hinting at its once colorful splendor, then reduced to white stone with green algae accents.   If global warming and the melting of the polar ice-caps threatening the existence of California does not bother you, think on the disappearance of Venice, and the loss of its unmatched beauty. 

"Prego!" not the sauce

As I discovered in Venice, "Prego" is not only the pasta sauce, but rather the response to "thank you" (also used in the context of "may I help you?" in a store). 

Another discovery: Italian is a just combination of Spanish and English, and can be partially determined from French.  Smiles, hand gestures, and bad attempts at pronouncing phonetically written phrases also help.

Yet another discovery: I need to be by water to be tranquil and content in life.  I had the realization while riding the Venice water trollies that I am happiest when near bodies of water: Lake Michigan, the Seine in Paris, the Rhone in Lyon, the canals of Venice... I am drawn to them as though I embody that ancient tool the "Y" stick (interesting mental image...hm), eagerly seeking refreshment in the brisk air and sea spray.  Anyone that knew me in my youth can attest to the fact that as a child, I never found it even the slightest bit difficult to spend all day swimming. I was indeed convinced that I was a mermaid. Yes, a mermaid (Ok, in a former life, perhaps).  As an adult, I am still convinced that I embody remnants of that dream, to be constantly near the water feeling it lulling motion, toujours changeant et fugitive.  

And still another discovery: After all my years spent obsessed with France and french culture, I found that I felt the most at home in Italy.  Perhaps it is because they are so jovial and welcoming, (or conversely perhaps because I had no class distract me with stress), but in any event, I was reminded that all stereotypes are rooted in truth: the french are indeed more private and isolated, while the italians are more laid-back.  This is not to say that I am going to up and abandon french (I prefer the sound of french to that of italian), just that my image of the ideal foreign husband would be a man that speaks Italian, french, and english, lives in Italy, but has family in france (this is inspired from a real-life individual).   Best of all worlds, really, for all those girlfriends of mine that share my desire to marry a foreigner and live abroad.  This is a long time down the road, of course, and a girl has to plan ahead if she doesn't want the carriage to turn into a pumpkin at the last minute. Haha. 

"Si!" not "Oui!"

I must say that these past five days spent in Italy were probably the best days I have spent in Europe in the past few months. Italians are remarkably welcoming, non-abrasive, and helpful--a combination that makes for a great vacation.  I felt a bit awkward, guilty, and self-conscious not being able to speak Italian, as I felt that it would be offensive (I am used to France and its view of english speakers) but most everyone speaks english in Milan and Venice without hesitation or hautiness.  With a few sheets of phrases and pronunciations, we stumbled through our amateur attempts to ask for the bill, or the toilet, or directions, and found that we got smiles instead of sighs or confused squints.  I am ok with being laughed at, especially if it means that the individual will be more willing to help me.  We spent our time as "flaneuses," simply discovering our environments by walking, talking, and napping in the sunshine. Talk about relaxing! We could not have asked for better weather in both cities (especially considering it was supposed to storm for two of our 3 days in Venice); nothing but clear skies and sunshine.  We did have midday rainstorm in Milan, which we took the wild chance to walk through and get completely soaked, as well as one windy night threatening storms in Venice, through which we sat outdoors drinking wine, eating pizza, and talking about our travels with our new friends from across Europe.  

For all those looking to travel to Milan: some tips:

Milan can be done in a day or two unless you want to spend copious amounts of money on clothes and museums.  It is expensive at the city center, as any major city, but one can find some great bargains on the outskirts, not far away. It is not that large and can be walked from end to end in for the most part in an hour or so.  There is a lovely little artistic area, full of night life, along the canal on the outskirts that is worth seeking. The castle is worth visiting, and as everywhere in Milan, it is also a museum (cost 5 or 6 euros), but the cathedral is free and one of the most beautiful that I have ever seen. Gelatto is a must, and we ate far too much of it. Pretty much anywhere in Italy, it is better tasting and cheaper than Paris (rightfully so, it IS Italy), but is worth eating as much as you can take.  CALORIES DO NOT EXIST ON VACATION. 

Hostel accommodation:  Hotel Diablo. It might as well be a hotel, but be aware that you will be staying in mixed gender rooms.  David at the front desk is not only one of the most handsome Italian men we met, but also the most friendly and helpful person, that I, personally, have met in all of Europe; a great friend to have (yes, we hope he is reading this).  The language barrier was an entertaining factor and between english, french, and Italian, we managed to have some riveting conversations about the quality of the pizza at the local Kebab stand. 

 This was the second instance in which I have used french as the language with which to bridge the gap; the other time being at the Cannes Festival when foreign films were subtitled in French. It is not only an element of stress relief, but also one of pride, to be able to have multiple modes of communication.  It is truly an inspiration to learn more languages.  An interesting phenomenon occurs when one encounters languages foreign to not only one's native tongue, but also that of a second language learned. I warned my travel partner about this and she experienced it full-blown. The experience is that of reverting to the second language whenever one hears any other foreign speech.  Throughout our journey en Italy, my friend found herself speaking french, with which she had been struggling in her classes in France. I dare say it actually helped her flip the switch at last.  Once you become accustomed to thinking in another language and comprehending the science of phonetics, it becomes far simpler to transition to the next language, even if only for a few pages of phrases.  C'est plus facile.  

Paris, je t'aime

Reflecting on my time in Paris, these are some things I will miss:

Accordionists on the metro

Bread and patisseries

The Seine at night... with wine

Hearing random french conversations between natives 

My french mom

French markets

Old french ladies that wear sexy black high-heals in all circumstances

French style, bohemian and blouse-y

The metro: always on time

French wine for less than 4 euros

The old white-haired homeless man that sits on rue Vavin with a 1664 beer smiling and talking to himself all day long

The espresso machine in the Alliance

Eating slowly at dinner

Yogurt

The architecture

Massive use of salad spinners

The electric tea pot at my host home that lights up when ready

The Arcades/Passageways of Paris

Cafés: sitting for 3 hours to drink a tiny espresso 

Hidden cabarets in bar basements

My french bed

Antique flea markets with things older than from the 1960s

Drinking in public at any hour of the day

Petits Beurres

Good tasting cheese that doesn't cost a fortune