(no subject)
Diet Coke with Lime is grosssssss.
and sometimes I really miss France. and sometimes I feel like it meant more to me than everyone else in the group. harumph. it's a gaap weekend. it's funny because right now they're silent and full of wonder - they respect us because we actually go here. next year they'll be annoying and loud and I'll hate them.
"Vous allez?" "Oui...oui" "Where are you going?" I should've known when I first arrived. France was in a state of manifestation. My first night in Paris, already stranded with new friend Molly. We ended up paying 40 euros to cab back to our hotel. "Ou sont les buses?" "Je cherche." The trolley captains were on strike. "Khamsa wa khamsa!" She pointed her finger at me in excitement and exclaimed my height to her friend as though he had earlier guessed 5'5" to be much taller. I was her victory. I wanted to shout "khamsa saabah" back in correction but she was gone. The moment had come and gone. We kept walking toward the Arc de Triomphe. I spent several full days on trains if I add the hours up. I wish I'd saved my tickets. I want to know exactly how much of my seven weeks was spent on a Train de Grand Vitesse. I remember understanding much more from television than I remember watching. Seeing a black john mayer, only a black frenchman would pull something like that off, and thinking I'd never hear him again. Then by chance, fnac sells it to me at a discount price. Sniper has become France for me. Listening to french hiphop in France. I tried to make a display of putting a french cd in my discman. I was proud. I was French. Here, I usually conceal the action. .... I don't need to feel American. I miss the trains. I swear I hate them and I hated them, but I miss them. They've become my seven weeks. The music and the hours. They were wonderful, in a terrible sense. My God the sunsets. I always arrived in Tours at sunset. Probably because sunset was 10pm late into the evening, but it was always such a numbing return. There are certain beauties that work like sedatives. Watching weary frenchmen sleeping their frustrations away on the train watching a man who'd never noticed in 15 years notice the incredible sky that appeared each and every summer night. Being frozen in time watching another freeze. I miss the trains. So many hours. A seven hour journey was nothing. The 15 hour trips seemed long. I can barely sit still on an airplane for three hours. There is something soothing about the gentle rock of the train. You don't want to get out. Unless of course you're in a four person configuration and spend the next six hours in extreme discomfort. The death tunnel on the way to Interlaken. The wine.
and sometimes I really miss France. and sometimes I feel like it meant more to me than everyone else in the group. harumph. it's a gaap weekend. it's funny because right now they're silent and full of wonder - they respect us because we actually go here. next year they'll be annoying and loud and I'll hate them.
"Vous allez?" "Oui...oui" "Where are you going?" I should've known when I first arrived. France was in a state of manifestation. My first night in Paris, already stranded with new friend Molly. We ended up paying 40 euros to cab back to our hotel. "Ou sont les buses?" "Je cherche." The trolley captains were on strike. "Khamsa wa khamsa!" She pointed her finger at me in excitement and exclaimed my height to her friend as though he had earlier guessed 5'5" to be much taller. I was her victory. I wanted to shout "khamsa saabah" back in correction but she was gone. The moment had come and gone. We kept walking toward the Arc de Triomphe. I spent several full days on trains if I add the hours up. I wish I'd saved my tickets. I want to know exactly how much of my seven weeks was spent on a Train de Grand Vitesse. I remember understanding much more from television than I remember watching. Seeing a black john mayer, only a black frenchman would pull something like that off, and thinking I'd never hear him again. Then by chance, fnac sells it to me at a discount price. Sniper has become France for me. Listening to french hiphop in France. I tried to make a display of putting a french cd in my discman. I was proud. I was French. Here, I usually conceal the action. .... I don't need to feel American. I miss the trains. I swear I hate them and I hated them, but I miss them. They've become my seven weeks. The music and the hours. They were wonderful, in a terrible sense. My God the sunsets. I always arrived in Tours at sunset. Probably because sunset was 10pm late into the evening, but it was always such a numbing return. There are certain beauties that work like sedatives. Watching weary frenchmen sleeping their frustrations away on the train watching a man who'd never noticed in 15 years notice the incredible sky that appeared each and every summer night. Being frozen in time watching another freeze. I miss the trains. So many hours. A seven hour journey was nothing. The 15 hour trips seemed long. I can barely sit still on an airplane for three hours. There is something soothing about the gentle rock of the train. You don't want to get out. Unless of course you're in a four person configuration and spend the next six hours in extreme discomfort. The death tunnel on the way to Interlaken. The wine.