the Log

Travel Weary?

2007-05-14T08:28:00.000-07:00

It was one of those days today; I rolled off the wrong side of the bed. Groggy and dismantled, I KNEW today was going to be hell; I knew the only thing that could fix it was sitting around in my pyjamas, reading short stories, listenin to Ira Glass, and drinking warm, comforting drinks--but unlike all of the other times this feeling occurred, I was in Budapest.

This is not an ugly city by any means, filled with awesome architecture, huge churches, a major river, and fun people. Everywhere around me, there is something going on, things to see, places to be. Sensory overload, in some respect. I have dreamed all my life to come here.

It is just that I woke up on THAT side of the bed...

For 20 days, I have been travelling light, making my way to Istanbul from Italy and Greece, and then finding my way back through Bulgaria, Romania, Hungary, Austria, and Switzerland. The trip of a lifetime, and man, I have enjoyed it; but something keeps telling me that I was going overboard. Travelling like this, one encounters many thoughts throughout the journey...

why am I doing this, alone? I miss home. I don't technically have enough money for dinner, but if I eat this meal, I can skip one tomorrow. What time does the train leave tomorrow? WHERE IS MY PASSPORT? oh. right here where I had it five minutes earlier. This whopper may cost 8 dollars, but, by the name of God, it is what I need right now!

But today was the product of too much. One too many touts asked me if I was interested in some expensive Danube boat ride which, of course, did not strike any interest today, yesterday (when he asked me the same question), and the day before (when I actually was lured on the expensive Danube boat ride (not)). I had seen one too many old buildings of which had no signification to me either because I am not familiar with the local history or because it is just another old building, in Europe. One too many terrace restaurants offered me AUTHENTIC hungarian gulash and paprika chicken for over 2500 hft. I walked out of my hostel today in a frenzy, and I went and plopped myself down near the market and got a coffee and CHILLED for about 2 hours. I was angry at the world.

After drinking my overpriced coffee and lemonade (all coming out to be about 1150 HFT (about 8 euros)), I went to the market and started freaking out at all the activity around me like a hermit who decided to go to anamusement park. I ran out the doors to the first business which seemed quiet to get my mind off of the situation:

a pool hall. I played pool all of my life, and especially after my Dad got the pool table. When I was young, I always loved to play pool and think about nothing else, especially on days like these. It was relaxing. I played about 10 racks all together, and just as I was regaining my former gumption, my credit ran out. After my time was done, I had gathered enough sense and strength to go back to my hostel and take an afternoon nap.

It was glorious.

Why is it that it is hard to be content when the dreams of your life are coming true? Is it that I keep turning my sight from God, almost ignoring the fact he is the one that gave me the means to go to Budapest? What would he have to say about the way I exit the bed in the morning? Would he be OK with the excuse lasting for the whole day?

I start my day anew at 6:00 pm, going to the royal parks and parliament building. I know my day will be different.

A journal entry on my trip to athens

2007-05-03T01:49:00.000-07:00

Its here I make my mid-afternoon hiatus, in a sunny square situated right outside the national library in Athens. The wistful sound of Greek folk music hangs low in the air as people croise to make their midday errands. Perched underneath a Starbucks umbrella, I think that there could have been a million other places I should have stopped to enjoy the area, even other, more Greek, coffee houses. Being that starbucks had the most customers chatting outside (in Greek, mind you), I would have thought that it had the best coffee in Athens.

I am very American. I am OK with that. Plus, any company that gives my friends their big break in the music industry is a company worth paying 3 euros for a Gold Coast blend (or god coast blend, as i so like to put it :) ).

My train ticket to Istanbul sits neatly tucked between two pages of this very book (my journal of which this is written); half in turkish, half in Greek, who would have thought that such a thing would bring an adventure only conceived about in an 8am Differential Equations lecture. Standing in line at the train ticket guichet, an over-whelming sense of fear loomed over me due to the new found chaos that Turkey, namely Istanbul, is dealing with at this moment. Words like coup d'etat, revolution, and change have always been a sense of excitement to me. Romantic stories of french revolution heroes saving orphans from certain doom, or George Washington crossing the Delaware to soon slaughter my great-great x3 grandfather Rahl enter into my head...

But they were always viewed from the safe distance of my history book.

Yesterday, in Turkey, a rigged election caused a march on the street which questions the very basis of modern government in Turkey: separation of mosque and state. Islamists want their country to come back to Muhammed much like an 8 year old wants a candy bar in a gas station window. Turkey's seemingly only connection to the west is that separation.

The turkish army vows to defend this ideal using all force necessary.

For some odd reason, this revolution seems less valiant than that which I would envision. Is it because it hits so close to me?

My dad told me he would strongly reconsider this trip. I told him I will keep a watchful eye, and head to the American embassy if there are any problems.

This will be a very exciting time to go.

Now, the revolution seems very far away. Here under the commercialized shade of the Starbucks umbrella, memories of great conversations passed in similar settings flash themselves before my eyes. I can only drift to the security and comfort that home provides.

I feel as if this is my last chance to see the world like I am doing. This is why I must stare my fears directly in the eye because if I do not now, when? I am getting older, and I will soon have commitments that will inhibit my progress in travelling. Americans are scared of Turkey--They seem to be afraid of everything. Should I be the one to start an off set? How much different is it, really?

On another note:

American coffee is delicious, and starbucks does have the best coffee in Athens.

until later

j

disappearing into the crowd

2007-04-20T06:42:00.000-07:00

hey all

my birthday was well spent. i got myself a present--an interrail pass:

http://www.interrail.net/

this puppy will allow me unlimited travel around europe, eastern europe, and turkey by train for the 22 days! i end my intership in the laboratory on april 26th and shove off to an adventure that will sculpt itself. some prospective places that are on top of my priority list to go see:

florence, naples, athens, istanbul, the black sea, translyvania, budapest, krakow, bratislava, croatia, and geneva

this will be my final european hurrah before i come home! i dont know exactly how i feel about living in america again. it has been a LONG time, and i have blended into french culture very well, almost too well. when asked what our culture is like, i have trouble recapping anything original--always eluding to past news reports and french views of our culture...it is exactly how i viewed france before i came here, like a rivendell where nothing bad really happens. life does not get lived in america, it gets enjoyed! oh, i know i am wrong, but it is wierd understanding this whole grass-is-greener-on-the-other-side-old-man-reflecting-on-life melange into one big emotional smoothie, and i dont know who else could really relate.

after buying my interrail pass, i battled it out with france telecom on my rights as an international to have my contract not changed. somewhere in the past few months, probably after my cellphone/ipod/wallet got stolen, my contract soon got changed to the 180euro a month plan, with unlimited sms AND talking without my authorization. i go to my bank account and see the 180 missing, and, as normal, i froze my account and went straight to the source--France Telecom.

i fought, and fought, and fought for 2 hours, getting it across that they had no right to change my account. they kept eluding that in France, law practice is not like in america--that they were able to change contracts without the customer's signature or previous knowledge...i called the bullshit, and demanded my old contract back. they eventually caved in and gave me back the money and my old contract.

they say you are good at a language only when you are able to argue your way out of sticky situations. i am there. my dream has come true.

for dinner, i had 20 of my good friends at one long table in an italian restauraunt, eating, talking, having a great time. we then drank beer at our local belgium pub. it was classic.

my friends here are great, and i will miss them all. we have all been brought together under the same situation--wanting something different with their lives. we have been great support for eachother, and i feel as if i have found some life-long people with whom to keep in touch. if i ever want to travel around the world, i know who to call on!

well, thanks for listening

jeff

apologies to all

2007-04-17T08:30:00.001-07:00

i have not been writing. sorry.

i will try to write more.

j

transition anyone?

2007-01-30T02:58:00.000-08:00

i want to scream. the stagnacity of my academic life is pushing at me from all sides like a bewildered diver in a decompression chamber gone awry--feeling the pressure from all sides, all he can do is slam his fists against the lifeless 10-inch thick steel door to signal to the person in control that something is wrong...

research has been appealing to me since i have started it in france. doing different experiments everyday, all of which piecing together to a big puzzle, all of which contributing to a bigger scheme that will hopefully someday grace public light through a scientific paper or a thesis of some sort, has been infinitely interesting to a student with not enough background to see the bigger picture. thinking it would be the perfect detour to the french academic life of going to class for 8 hours a day, not studying due to fatigue or time, and hoping to piece together a credit here or there to get my degree in a timely fashion, i dutifully elected to be in a lab for 7 hours a day and to be taught directly from a prominent organic chemist in his field of duty...

and i now realize that which was different every day has changed...

like the little kid with a new swingset--when he first starts out, everything is a new experience; the swingset's pendulous motion gives hours of instant fun at the kick of his legs, the cargo net's physical challenge to mount into the keep strikes fear and exhiliration at each step...and then, it all changes. 3 months after the playground was brought before his curious eyes, the kid moves on to the new interesting toy, leaving the playground to rot in the backyard. what was new and interesting, through familiarization and extensive overuse, has become old and menial.

i am ready to move on with my life. i am through drifting for now. i want consistency to base my habits around, and i want to learn about interesting things again...

finally having reflection time...

2006-12-19T07:10:00.000-08:00

i should be studying. i should have been studying this whole semester. looking back at the last six months and the things that they have brought, i can say that i should have done a lot of things. i should have found my church sooner. i should have moved out of the madames place at the beginning of the semester. i should have been to more french independent music events. i should have spent more time taking pictures when i was at home.

but should have dones dont make did...

i do not regret the things that i have done, but that which i did not do...

and as i look back, there was not much that could be placed into the category of waiting or wishing to be done. i have not had a normal day since i left; each day is different, full of adventure and sometimes painful. the transition into the culture has given me much to be proud about.

imagine this--

imagine leaving your family, friends, community, and life behind you in order to replace it with a very strange culture that you dont understand. imagine being reduced to a running vocabulary of a 6 year old, and imagine trying to explain politics, quantum mechanics, and religion with your peers with simple phrases and cute observations. imagine being tired at 6pm and wanting to go to sleep at 9 in order to better understand what goes on the next day. imagine failing all of your classes NOT because you dont know the material, but because you become blocked since you know many languages.

imagine being in a shroud of confusion for 6 months...

and the thing is, your old life still happens back at home. your friends still live life, get significant others, mourn, become sick, and go to school. the world does not stop because you left, it just adapts.

the separation becomes bigger with each passing second...you are shattered constantly, only to rebuild yourself into what you thought you were...

only for something else to hammer down on the warbled mess that exists...

and it keeps happening until you realize that it is useless to rebuild yourself any longer, but to reshape into a newer being...

let your experiences carve you into the creation you want to become.

yes, i sit here in what would be the french equivalent of the student union sipping my espresso, listening to french music, making observations and procrastinating not because it is what i should be doing, but what i need to be doing. the christmas lights penetrate the dark sky as the sun sets at 4pm. vin chaud, with its sweet, cinnamon-like smell engorges the senses while people sit, talk, enjoy life and other people's company. i have nothing to anticipate but my next journey and who i may meet along the way...

i am happy. i am complete. i am nothing

congratulations, you have been reading a dream come true.

Corsica, and the great beyond

2006-09-06T00:50:00.001-07:00

here is the story of the past week:

we started out 2 hours late because we took too long saying good bye

alex's package with our tent, his sleeping bag and hiking shoes ultimately did not come. so, he bought a cheap, light sleeping bag fit for 10 degrees celcius, and used his running shoes for hiking. we did not have a tent, nor could we buy one because we were in such a hurry...

we also got to nice in a total of 3 hours, reaching speeds of 180km/hr on the autoroute to catch the ferry--not the best idea...

but we made it in time.

we arrived in corsica at 2am and slept on the beach of calvi. originally we were supposed to go to ile rousse (just down the shore from calvi), but, for some odd reason, the ferry took us to calvi. when we arrived, we went to a hotel to ask for a map of the city...it went like this:

me: pourrais-je voir une carte d'ile rousse
clerk: comment?
me: une carte (using my huge hand motions making a motion of a map)...umm...un plan, de la ville....ile rousse...(emphasis added)
clerk: Non.... non non non non non...vous n'etes pas en ile rousse...vous etes dans Calvi...

the look on my face was priceless, according to alex and erik...

the clerk turned out to be austrian, and alex wooed her with his austrian charm and german language skills...she then showed us a beach where we could sleep...

after sleeping on the beach, we took the train to vizzavona thinking that there would be an atm machine there, we were hurried again in the morning, so no chance to go to a bank before departing--they are everywhere, right?.

no. the town of vizzavona included 3 buildings--a train station, a place for eating, and the house of the person who runs both the train station and the place for eating. so we embark on the trail with no tent, crappy sleeping gear, and no money...

and i forgot my jacket in the car thinking "hey, it's corsica, it will be warm...."

we left at 12:30. we arrived, after climbing 2 ridges (about 1000m ascent), at the first refuge 10km away at 5:30; found out that refuges cost money, 9 euros per person, at 5:45; and that there was no chance to get money between here and our destination at 6...

so we did what any self respecting hiker would do: begged random austrians for some money...thank God alex could speak german...

we decided to press on to the second refuge that night...we took the high road as well....

which was covered with clouds, which is like fog...only so thick that one could not see his hand in front of his body...and night fell...

we did not make it to the second refuge in time. so we were in the darkness, with fog, with a heavy wind and cold temperature (with my jacket in the car), with our headlamps, searching for each marker 10m ahead of us. we did this for 2 hours, and we ended up losing the trail. we then decided to demount and head down into the valley, where we then found the trail randomly, and went the wrong direction on it. at one point, before we were lost, we were actually 2 minutes away from the next refuge...but we ended up finding a goat farm on the other part of the trail, and, thinking it was the refuge, slept there for the night...

until the goat farmer, who only spoke corsican, came...you can connect the dots on what happened next...(just imagine big angry hand motions....)

the next morning, we woke up, ate a hearty breakfast, and shoved off to climb 2 more mountains, one of which required ropes, and was probably the highlight of the trip...and we stopped after 10 km...at a refuge without room for us, so we ended up sleeping outside. that night, it was 2 degrees celcius, and poor Alex had no more clothes to wear...

that is where erik and alex got sick.

also, that night, while we were cooking, we went to wash a pan, leaving our food supplies out in the open thinking "people would watch it"...no.

1/3 of our supplies were stolen, mainly bread, sausage, cheese, and jelly...

_____reality ends for a second (just to make sure you know)

and then a bear attacked us. we defied it by shoving erik down its throat to choke it, and, using our knives, we cut erik back out, used the meat for new provisions, and the fur for a new sleeping bag and tent...as well as nice viking-like clothes for the trip!

_____reality begins again

the next day we did 30 km...passing through valleys...to get to the next refuge at 2300m...
where the guardian of the refuge was an angry old corsican...he advised us to sleep outside...

luckily we didnt heed his advice...that night, it was hovering around 0 degrees with a 200km/hr wind on average with rain. the wind was so strong, that the door of the sleeping chamber kept blowing open...

that was when we made the decision to head down to the nearest town. we also decided that a trip like that is the best way to combat culture shock...

(one of these pictures is of monte cinto under clouds)

dazed and confused, cold, without food or moral, we went to bastia, got a nice hotel room, went to a tex-mex rest. and had a beer or two.

tex mex is incredible.

we walked a total of 80km in 4 days...summited 7 mountains, the highest being at 2400m...

so i have been doing good. grenoble has become like home to me, i realized that this past week. school has started, nothing really too deep. i am taking courses in genetics, cellular components, advanced organic synthesis, quantum chemistry, thermodynamics, crystallography, and spanish.

i love languages, and i am going to take my time to learn as many as possible before i die.

besides that...all is well.

Here are some photos of me on my travels:

Me with Mt. Blanc in the background

Me with the Submersible of Jacques Cousteau...my childhood hero.

The view from the aiguille de midi, next to Mt. Blanc

This is my group of traveling buddies in Lausaunne, Switzerland

A picture of me and a group of friends in Nice

Me in a tree in the royal gardens of Monaco

Me with a view of the ocean near the national oceanographic museam in Monaco

Monte Carlo Casino...heck yes.

Me and a good friend

fetchez la vache!

2006-08-14T11:48:00.001-07:00

i am loving french culture right now. there is one thing that i have here that i dont have in America. balance.

every day, i eat balanced because thats all there is to eat. i start out with bread and confiture--a type of jelly with real fruit and almost no sugar, coffee, very black and very good, and a type of fruit. for lunch--saucisson, a cured type of ham, with cheese, usually camembert or rochefort--goat, and bread with a salad of some sort. and dinner...oh dinner...

dinner usually contains dishes of the region, including ratatouille, quiche lorraine (true, not americanized), or different types of alpin dishes. after that, cheese, bread, and wine--usually a dark red but today i found an ardeche--very white. the best wine i have ever tasted. it was clear, crisp, clean...beautiful.

it is expected daily to exercise here, whether it is walking, hiking, running, biking, or whatever--it is something about this region of France, sort of like Colorado. i usually run between 5 and 10K per day. the routes around here are beautiful, weaving in and out of the isere valley up and down different mountians. normally, i take a route that the french resistance during world war 2 took to the vercourse..incroyable.

also, it is expected to read at least an hour--each appartment is filled with books and newspapers scattered about. my french has improved greatly because of this...

but most importantly, in French culture, daily time with friends and family is the most important thing. lunch time is devoted to this. every day, i go with a few friends that i made from spain, pakistan, and russia to a different restaurant to eat anything from pizza to tapas. the conversations we have had have been incredible: each of us have gotten to share about our country and our history. religion is a great topic as well.

after explaining my version of christianity, i was asked if i was practicing, since most people who believe in the things i believe in dont go to church, right? after explaining that it is my most important activity to me and my community is the most important thing to me, the people are amazed...

i have also started a bible explanitory session with a group of muslims (who i hiked with)...more to come on that, probably...

my voyages have taken me to annecy, chambery, beaufort, geneva, lausaunne, luscerne...and soon to chamonix, aix les bains, aix en provence, nice, monaco, cote d'azur, montreux, beaujolais (for the fete de nouveau vin), and corsica--all in the first month...

it will all die down as i prepare for school. i am scared to be surrounded by french students, but it will be great.

and my mom sent me cookies:)...if anyone else would like to do that, shoot me an e-mail and we will hook you up with my address...

i hope all is well.

oh...and fetchez la vache was a phrase used in monty python and the holy grail with the french scene...

and it is a huge inside joke among the english speaking people at our school.

je pourrais le faire avec deux droigts dans mon nez

2006-08-06T11:03:00.000-07:00

yes...i could do it with two fingers in my nose

a phrase normally used by most frenchman who can do something well...

so, i think that the frenchmen can do fireworks with 2 fingers up their nose...
i went to annecy yesterday--for those geography freaks, the village between geneva and grenoble with an incredible lake--for the fete du lac. it is a 2 hour extravaganza of fireworks.

imagine 2 hours of american grand finales...with a grand grand grand grand.... .... .... .... grand finale at the end. i never knew that there could be so much fire in the sky at one time. in-credible.

the ville of annecy is situated among 5 mountains in the alps with a massive lake on one side. the lake was the cleanest lake i have ever seen. when i was out in the water, i looked down and could see the bottom 30 feet below me, and all of its contents. it was old with shops and cafes everywhere.

i have been meeting people from everywhere...a list of most of the countries:

portugal, spain, france, england, belgium, germany, switzerland, austria, italy, greece, norway, denmark, venezuela, mexico, brazil, argentina, columbia, mexico, canada, algeria, nigeria, russia, romania, pakistan, india, oman, saudi arabia, lebanon...just to name a few...

i went hiking up in the vercorse region today to a small, high altitude farm near Grenoble. the hiking was miserable, i am not going to lie--1500m up, 10 km aller-retour--but the view was incredible. i could see three towns down the drac river, and all of grenoble. on the way, i had an incredible conversation with a friend from Oman about the differences between media and reality...and the differences between his (arabic) culture and america...and his viewpoint on terrorism, hezbollah, and all that crap. we also talked about muslim, christianity, and the idea of the medium morality that is held by all...

very interesting to say the least.

the other night, i went to a welcome party at a local pub. and, just to let you know...partying is the same in europe as it is in america--lots of drinking, and nothing but...
but before that, we hung out in a gazebo (we being the english speaking folk with the espagnols) and talked.

thats only the tip of the iceberg--but i have no time...

i hope all is well..

connections...

2006-08-01T11:43:00.000-07:00

learning a new language is wierd.

you start out great...everything is new--every conversation that you have is fun...it is like a game. you have something that they dont--information to process, a need, a question; and they try to pry it from the depths of your mind.

you think you are speaking french because they speak back to you...

and then you get real.

you realize that mostly everything you say is with a foreign accent. a heavy foreign accent. it is like a sickness--you can not communicate with anyone without a "quoi" or a "eh" or them trying to speak english to you. yesterday, i hit this point. the point where it felt like i was hitting my head against a concrete wall countless times.

but then i realized

speaking a new language...learning a new language...becoming fluent in a foreign language...

is like learning how to improv in jazz.

for years you sit in your classroom, learning how to play your instrument. in the beginning, you wonder why on earth do i need to know how to play an a#min scale (for the musicians out there...i am laughing at the concept of a#...i know my music, dont worry). why you need to learn the different frames, modes, tendencies, and other things is confusing, i mean, you will never need to use it in the real world...

until you are on the stage...with your first solo in hand, with something that looks like egyptian heiroglyphics in front of you. you hit the brick wall that is music theory. and you suck it up. but dont worry...

it happens to everybody.

going along with the metaphor...

i have done my scales countless times. i have transcribed charlie parker, coltrane, watrous, miles davis. i have listened until my eardrums have bled...

and each try i dont succeed, i become one try closer to succeeding....

it seems as if the pattern of infusion within a culture is...two steps forward, on step back...

two steps closer to being a frenchie...

one step back to being un "ah mere i kayne"

aller prochain,

Spence

2006-07-31T07:20:00.000-07:00

i have hit the language barrier...

more to come...

something that french wine and dark chocolate can fix....

bonjour à tous

2006-07-29T12:42:00.000-07:00

i have arrived in the land of wine, cheese, and philosophy after a long trip...

as i wrote in an e-mail to my dad:

my flight left 4 hours too late--so after 3 hours of waiting, i waited another 4. mechanical problems, i guess. i got to meet more people and talk to them in french..so it was overall good--except for the fact that all of my connection trains i missed--so i get to paris and am lost.

the person who i sat next to was incredible. he was a french grad student at university of chicago teaching advanced french and doing a dissertation on the relations between the celtic religion and french gouvernment--very controversial and very interesting. he made me feel better about my decision and told me about french life...especially the american way to overexaggerate and use hyperbole... he even told me how to navigate the paris underground railway system...

not only that, he bought me the ticket through the metro and accompanied me until the stop before i had to get off. once there, i transferred onto another local train, which was jammed, to the gare de lyon--paris' biggest and busiest train station. you should have seen me--2 50 pound suitcases and 1 huge backpack, sweating (due to the heat wave), and not knowing what is going on. i asked 3 people where the ticket station was, and i got 3 different answers--so i wandered. i was also looking for an internet cafe to plug in and find my host family's number...which i could not find. the trainstation was packed--no where to move, i ended up using my suitcases to plow through places using "excusez-moi" and "pardon"...two beautiful phrases.

i ended up buying another train ticket, direct, to Grenoble, on the TGV. it cost me about 100$, which i will not be able to get back since united refused to pay me for their delay...

though once on the TGV, it was much more relaxing. faster than anything i have ever been on--i was in grenoble in 2h30m. once i arrived, i was 2 hours late. my host family was not there...and it was getting dark with no businesses open. i went to the information kiosk and asked where i could find a telephone card--he said it was too late to buy one. i gave him the number (which i looked up in the telephone book) and he tried calling but the line was busy. 1 hour later, i gave up and prepared to find myself a room...until another frenchman came up to me, speaking english, and asked if i needed anything...

he offered his phone, and called for me. the guy paid for a taxi to my host family's appartment and helped me with everything...
the french people are incredibly nice.

i arrive, mme. jullien, my host ma, is a 79 year old divorced frenchwoman with a golden heart--we talked for 2 hours and she served me food--a salad with a balsamic vinagrette dressing, ham, cheese, wine, and glazed peaches. she speaks english fluently, but we always avoid it. the appartement is small and cluttered, but good. she has 2 beautiful long haired maincons (cats...with the french name)...(the kind mom always wanted). she has internet as well. she was fine with waiting for me and views it as hilarious...she used that story to introduce me to my roommate, carlos, from venezuela. he is a pilot. oh, and the french humor is much like ours--i wish i could have snagged some fromage du wisconsin...sharp cheddar.

i slept 12 hours after my arrival.

i woke up this morning and i talked with my host for a bit, and i travelled around the city. what an incredible site...old time charm with a modern feel, truely incredible. i also found out that french restaurants close their doors from 2pm until 5 or 6...which left me out to dry and created awkward situations...

situation one:

i arrive, the brasserie is empty. i sit down, and the waiter say: "qu'est-ce que vous faites."--what are you doing. i say "je voudrais quelquechose de manger, svp" i would like something to eat, please...they ramble on about the idea that it is impossible to cook food at 14h in the afternoon...and it was so fast that i had no idea what to respond. i just nod my head, back into a corner, and leave.

situation two:

i arrive, the restaurant is partially filled, 5 or 6 people, and i say "pourriez-vous me trouver une table, svp". they are like..."ok" and show me to a table. i then ask--"est-ce que j'ai une carte svp." can i have a "menu" svp?. they are like "quoi" what?, giving me a look like i just carved an ice sculpture with my foot. i then ask--un menu svp?, and they are still giving me the look...and then he starts to speak english...would you like a menu?...i say yes...i then ask for the plate of the day...he says they arent serving anything and then asks if i like beer. i said yes. and i drank the glass of beer thinking that i was crazy.

i come to find out, the french word for menu IS carte...and that the guy at that place is known for not understanding anyone. thanks.

the speaking part is coming along. its all about the incessant chipping at the wall that is fluency...keep going...keep going...keep going

i hope your days arent as confusing as mine...

spence