I'm going to have serious buns of steel come the end of the semester. Today I walked up a nearly vertical hill. The daily trek into downtown Cannes involves climbing up four hills. In short, there is a lot of walking involved in getting yourself around over here. With Paris will come hundreds of Metro steps.
Continuing my adventures, I went to St. Paul de Vence this afternoon after class. Despite being exhausted and cold, I decided I'd hate myself if I didn't go, as the girls I've been hanging out with chose to do (stay in bed all day on the computer). Not that there's anything wrong with that, but we're in southern France, and will only be here two more days. The trip to St. Paul was free, including the price of admission to a modern art museum called Fondation Maeght. And no, I have no idea how to pronounce that M name. But the museum was cool, even if you had to buy a 2,50 euro ticket in order to take pictures inside the grounds (I opted out. Photographs of someone else's work isn't really my style, nor was the lighting very good. And I don't care much for odd, misshapen sculptures or splashes of paint on canvas that a child could do, quite literally). As you can probably guess, I'm not a fan of modern or contemporary art, particularly when it becomes abstract. I think it's a cop-out, unless done superbly (and I've seen little of that sort). But there was one artist there whose stuff I did like. His name was Marc Chagall, and he's actually buried in the St. Paul cemetary. His paintings are very distinct, surreal in a way I like. I bought a postcard of one of his paintings, which I'll send to my parents or something so everyone can see if they're willing to bug my parents about it.
St. Paul itself was amazing. It's one of France's walled cities, built first by Greeks and Romans, then added to in the Middle Ages. The streets are narrow, winding, often breaking off into steep stairways that give you a view of the surrounding countryside overtop the tiled roofs (Speaking of tiles roofs, we passed a McDonalds done in that Mediterranean style––I love this place). Because the above mentioned girls stayed home, I was on my own pretty much the entire day (again). Which was fine, I could wander and weave as I chose, and didn't have to try and keep up with a conversation; a convenient thing as my mind tends to follow my feet in the wandering and weaving department. I still can't get my brain around the fact that people live in that city. Like, live there day in and day out. Talk about heaven. I wonder if that's where history majors go when they die: a place filled with old things.
But when it was time to meet up with the bus, and we were clumped in a group on the outside of the city walls, I started chatting with one of the girls from my class. She asked me a lot about photography, and the pictures I was taking. I got introduced to her friends that were right there, and I had pleasant company for the walk back to the bus (she also recommended I watch the movie Sabrina, which I've already been told about once by someone I can't remember before I left the States. So apparently, I really need to see this movie). It was refreshing to feel like people my age aren't all bad, even if I did spend the bus ride listening to the kids around me talk about how much alcohol they're going to buy and consume tonight, tomorrow night, etc. These kids need a serious kick in the ass; they're planning on showing up hung over to meet their host families in Paris. That is just––completely beyond me. I can't even grasp at whatever mindset they inhabit.
Ah, well.
On the way back to Cannes, I had a scary thought: I have to meet my host family Saturday. Realistically, I knew this, but it suddenly hit me that it's two days away. What if they're evil? Or, more likely, they think I'm evil?
One of those "ah, well"s, again.
I'm reading, in case any of you are curious, Les Royaumes du Nord. Translated, the title means The Kingdoms of the North––it's the French name for one of my favorite novels ever: The Golden Compass. That series is the best I've ever read. I couldn't resist buying them in French, and it's always good practice, right?
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