paris diaries, vol. viii

The hectic few days that made up the last blog post had finally passed as I woke up early on Saturday morning. I finished packing my bag and went to the store to get snacks for the day ahead of us. Kelcie, Gaby, and I went to the boulangerie I frequent for sandwiches and a couple pain au chocolats, then gathered in the courtyard with the rest of our program. Once we were all present and accounted for, we made our way to the metro station, each carrying our own stuff as well as a large bag of groceries.

Getting to St. Lazare (again.), the 17 of us split until our train came. I’ll be honest, I was just feeling like, what could go wrong this time? Because of course, it had to, right? The three of us ended up at Starbucks (again). This time, it seemed to be going a bit smoother, but I still had those bad vibe feelings. After a bit of rest and a big sandwich, we walked back to the designated meeting spot and waited for our train to pull into the station.

On the train, I sat next to a large hairy man who seemed kind and very French, and across from two girls in my program. I wrote for a bit, then tried to read, but inevitably fell asleep. I woke up about 15 minutes before our stop, so I went ahead and got ready to get off rather than doing what I wanted. Which was to sleep more. I was feeling a bit crazy, because after doing some math I realized I had gotten about 9.5 hours of sleep in the past 48 hours. Including train naps.

Our train pulled into the station and the 17 of us piled into a handful of taxis. The ride to the chateau was a bit quiet, as Gaby, Kelcie, and I were exhausted from the previous day and 2/3 of us were sick. We began to rise in energy as we actually looked out the windshield of our taxi, seeing cute little French homes and the wet pavement of the road, signaling that we had missed the heavier part of the storm.

Pulling into the driveway of our château (manor? I don’t know the exact difference), we were dumbfounded by the simple beauty of it and the peace already lightening our hearts. The sky was sprinkling down little drops on us as we all took our bags out of the taxi trunks and filed inside. We were met by a piano in the entry room and a charming historical feel. I went with my director to figure out room assignments as everyone found the bathroom and started putting away groceries.

After some serious deliberation and grace on the part of my peers, I finally nailed down a sleeping arrangement that everyone seemed to be okay with. We all went our separate ways to get settled in, but somehow collected in the living room, clumping together on couches and perched on pillows on the floor. Gaby, Kelcie, and I sat on a chair, holding each other up as we read or wrote and talked. As an entire group, we laughed and drank tea and talked about the things we were looking forward to for the weekend.

It hit a certain point and we decided that tea and snacks were not enough, so dinner team for night one got to work on tacos. They were pretty good, and it was nice to all sit together around a big table, talking and sharing and laughing. It was like being at home. Even though we are a large group and we were in a house that we didn’t recognize, it’s like we instantly made it into our home, even if just temporarily.

Dinner ended, clean up crew washed dishes, and everyone gathered once again to play games in the living room. The owner of the château had a daughter that was our age, so she came over to play and work on her English. I think we were all a little nervous but I believe we did well, except maybe we scared her a bit with spicy Uno. We all added our own rules to where it became maddening, and even our director was squeaking at times in shock. Here are some of the rules that have been added into one long list:

1: Head jail. Anyone who plays a 1 can sentence someone to head jail until that person’s next turn.

3: Silence until the next 3 is played.

5: French Five. Speak French until next five (or other language card) is played.

6: Spanish Six. Speak Spanish until next six (or other language card) is played.

7: Pass your hand to the left.

8: Everyone slap the pile. Last to get there gets a card.

It gets difficult. And a bit rough. And maybe even harshly competitive? But fun, nonetheless.

Sometimes you hit a point where Uno has been played out to its fullest extent. That happened to us. We began playing Sardines, which is kind of like hide and go seek but reversed. We played for almost an hour, all running up and down stairs, in and out of bedrooms, checking under sinks and in cupboards. After that hour(ish), we had dropped in numbers and it was nearing midnight, so Elise (the owner’s daughter) went back home and those of us still awake settled down on the living room couches and watching Greta Gerwig’s “Little Women.” I fell asleep (of course) and I woke up to everyone going to bed.

The next morning was a bit of a late start. We ate breakfast in our pajamas, as most of us woke up around 10-10:30, and then split ways for a little bit before we did a little group church in the living room. Once again, we were smushed together on the couches, but it was warm and there was tea and everyone was in good spirits. After our little makeshift service, I went outside with my laptop, opened up a draft of my last blog, and called my parents. I sat in the backyard of this beautiful château and looked out over the stone walled-in backyard. The grass was an unreal kind of green, and the sky was the kind of blue that it is once a rainstorm has cleared up. I told my parents, if there is a place where I belong when I grow old and have to spend my last days, let it be in this backyard. Its fence opened up to a field (with a gate, of course) with two brown cows. Yes, cows. It was basically heaven.

I had hung up the phone and was sitting there on the porch, overlooking the backyard, when my director’s husband came up to me and started talking about this and that. We had a really good conversation about spiritual life and the presence we felt on a day to day basis, but specifically there, that day. I walked away from the conversation feeling like it had been what I was missing in my life, conversation wise. I feel like I don’t often talk to older men from that generation like him, so it was like taking a new step. I don’t really want to go too into depth about the conversation and my what my spiritual life looks like in this setting, but I will say that being in that physical place, with those people, made me feel like I was in a period of growth. And that felt really good after feeling for so long that when I take two steps forward, I also regress in some way. In this situation, I felt like I could only go forward.

Okay so after that little moment, I went inside in search of a cup of tea before we all went on a walk. I had barely sipped the hot tea out of my mug when we were all called out to the backyard for a group picture. One of the girls in my program is an extremely talented photographer (well, more than one, but she took this one so I feel like I can say just her for now) and set the camera up with all of the right lighting and background and captured us in that moment: in and out of a cold that we had either experienced or were soon to experience, full of waffles, and smiling from the energy of the weekend and morning.

Side note: at this moment, I am listening to “rivers and roads,” which is on a playlist I found called “songs about leaving home.” I promise that this is going to be a peaceful blog, but I cannot promise that the next one isn’t going to tinged with sadness about how I leave in 15 days. ((15?! 15.))

To get back on track, let me set a scene for you. Small French town, cute little houses, trail that leads to somewhere you don’t know, and a field by a river. The trees are filled with yellow-green and orange-hued leaves, giving the impression that it had been hiding its beauty until the perfect day presented itself. The air is clear and smells fresh, impressing upon you a feeling like a bite of a cold apple or taking a cool shower after a long and sweaty metro ride.

The walk we took quickly became a moment that we expressed as, “something we will feel nostalgic about in the future.” The 16 (I think?) of us split into smaller groups, as some took off at a fast Paris-pace, some at a regular pace, and others in absolutely no hurry at all. We all stopped to see geese and ducks and talked to them as they quacked in response. Then I split off with three others, and we soon found the people ahead of us. We went down the aforementioned path that has no visible end, and we went down precarious steps to go to the left bank of the river.

The river was stunning. It wasn’t very wide, and with all of the rain that had been passing through the area it was a greenish brown. In the middle of I’m not sure where, by a small river, I was transported to a moment I had last year. For fall break last year, I went to the lake alone, staying for an extended weekend, staring into the water and the forest on the banks. There comes a moment of peace for me when I am near a body of water like that. I’m terrified of getting in, or of not being able to get back out, and what inhabits the water you cannot see in, but to look at the current glide smoothly at the top and the sound of it rushing in the same path is has been for ages, now that’s comforting. I don’t think I quite have the words to describe how I feel. I think when I wrote about the lake over the summer I hadn’t been able to fully express the feeling that overtakes my body when I’m there, and I am once again in that position.

I stood on the bank of this river and simply stared into it. My body felt like it was firmly planted into the grassy ground where I stood, but my soul seemed to slip down through my abdomen, into my knees, and through the toes of my boots, spilling over into the water. I can visualize it almost as much as I can feel it. It becomes a thing of connection to me, and I feel so at peace with the world when I can see that current, hear that rush.

It happened again, later in our walk, too. We saw this little path leading back down to the water after we had been on the trail for a bit, and we followed it. Two men were fishing—something I haven’t seen while living in Paris. There were four of us together, and we all went as far as we could towards the water, sitting on large rocks as the water pooled around us, pushing towards us and away from a small waterfall. A group of submerged rocks just down river from the waterfall created a break in this tranquil rhythm we had become accustomed to, forming a roughness which brought a quiet to the thoughts in my mind.

Sitting there created a moment of peace that we went into the weekend expecting to find. The walk back, on public easements through private farms, gave time to reflect on that peace. What it meant, where to find it again. In some ways, I think that there is a path to calmness in whatever we do or are faced with.

A friend said something tonight about the difference between hurry and going fast. I’m not sure what her exact words were, but she talked about a man (maybe her uncle? Don’t quote me on this) and his time in an airport on a time crunch. He was trying to get to his plane before it took off, and he was cutting it too close on time to provide comfort. But, she said that he pointed out a big thing that I believe a lot of us forget about: if he misses this one, there is another going the same place. It is just going to be a bit later. But he would still get to where he was going. He’ll try like heck to get there on time, though he won’t worry about it (the difference between hurrying and going fast!!).

Side note: did anyone else read that and realize that hurry and worry rhyme? Coincidence? I think not.

I think it’s a valuable thing to learn, especially at this age and in this world. This weekend in Normandy was supposed to reveal the importance of rest, of slowing down. To me, it did. I tried to write and read and work on things I didn’t have to, just so I could get ahead. I wanted to crank out a blog post and write the majority of this one, but what would I have written about if I had been writing about the experience rather than actually living it? Now I have had the time to step back, to look at the weekend with a nostalgic familiarity, and these are the things I want to remember. Not the pain in my feet after walking seven miles in Docs, or how I lost my voice before the weekend started so I was often screaming to be heard. (We’re going to ignore that not I, and you, will remember this forever. A downfall of publishing on the internet.)

But I will remember us all dressing up to have a Halloween party, being Simon from Alvin and the Chipmunks (accompanied by Gaby (Alvin) and Kelcie (Theodore)), drinking tea and reading a novel on a small couch (again, accompanied by Gaby and Kelcie, doing the same thing). I will remember the cows, the owner’s farm, the river. There are things in life we often miss because of the rush. I don’t want to sound like a cliché, but it’s a truth I am finding out as I continue to live here and grow.

I’m not sure how to finish this blog, because as I write I feel like this is where I have to end. It feels unfinished, but honestly, that is something I feel pretty often about this blog as a whole. It’s how I feel as my time in Paris ticks down to two weeks. It’s how I feel creating my schedule for next semester, going into my last semester as a junior but first junior semester on campus? I think I’m just faced with a lot of uncertainties and changes coming soon, and so I have just word-vomited into this blog. But that’s what it’s here for, right?

Thank you for reading. I so deeply appreciate it, and I hope that something in here has resonated with you. To write and to read is so human, you know? To share words like this feels personal in a way that I don’t think we experience habitually. So maybe this is a step. For me, for you. Whether you do (read/write) this kind of thing yourself or simply read this on a whim because my mom slipped it into a conversation “casually.” Here is a step we can take together towards connecting beyond an Instagram story or an email asking for notes from a missed class period.

Thank you again. À bientôt.