Day Trips, Cousins, and Various Excuses

Hello internet! It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Travel blogging is really not my thing, huh? More on that later. Today I am going to talk about what I’ve been doing for about the last month or so, including things that I have not yet written a blog post about (which I will not be going over in detail in this post because that’s just too much – they’ll get their own post in hopefully not too long).

So, first of all, last month was Shona and Tristan’s final school break, and we took that opportunity, as we are wont to do, to go travelling! This is the part I’m not covering in detail right now – we went to Paris for a few days, then Edinburgh, and then London for a whole week, and that is just a lot of stuff and I still haven’t even sorted through my pictures yet, so it’ll be covered later. Suffice to say it was very exciting and very lovely, I really want to visit Edinburgh again, and I took over 1,200 photos, which is more than I have ever taken in the span of two weeks, ever. Some of those will be up on Facebook when I can finally force myself to sort through them.

So! There was a two week vacation. But there have been two weeks since then! So what have I been doing?

Well, first of all, my lovely cousin Emily is here. She’s been visiting for the past week, and will remain until next Sunday. We haven’t been doing a lot of intense stuff, and she’s been going out with Shona more often than she has with me, but it has been good! I’ve shown her around the city a bit, and we went to visit the big parks (twice, in fact, because she wanted to come back) and we saw lots of strange and hilarious birds and ate delicious pizza and wandered around markets and various other cousinly things.

Speaking of cousins, my mom’s cousin Kara and her husband, Steve, are currently in town as well! They’re only here for a few days, and they’re staying in a hotel, but we’ve been seeing them and they’ve already been over for dinner twice. Yesterday, Kara, Steve, mom, me, Shona, Tristan, and Emily all piled into a rented van (and European vans are smaller than the typical North American minivan – sure, it had seven seats, but damn was it crowded) and went off on an adventure to visit Albi, which is more or less the next decent-sized town to the north. In typical organized fashion we managed to time our arrival for exactly when both places we wanted to visit were closed for their lunch break, so we tracked down a decently-priced restaurant and ate pasta (except for Kara, who decided to be adventurous and order cassoulet off the menu du jour). Dessert was spectacular as well.

Once we’d finished up at the restaurant – and stalled enough that the places we wanted to visit were open again – we went to visit the Cathedral of St. Cecilia, which is the most massive, fortress-like church I have ever seen in my life. It was built up partly as a defensive fortification by various bishops who were unpopular/threatened/paranoid, but also as a reminder after the Cathar crusades that the Catholic church was all powerful, damn it, and that these Catholics weren’t gonna take any of your heretic shit. They were clamping the fuck down, and St. Cecilia’s is there to prove it. It is very beautiful on the inside, though, despite the almost military look of the exterior – and there are a good deal of interesting murals and walls decorated with various 3D designs and other exercises in perspective. A little odd for a church, but definitely interesting.

It’s also positively cavernous inside. I’m not even kidding, I didn’t think it was possible to build a building that tall and that open inside out of brick and not have it collapse around your ears – especially not in the 1200s.

After the church we went around the corner and down some stairs to another part of what used to be the cathedral complex to visit the Toulouse-Lautrec museum. Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec was a famous French painter, born in Albi, who worked in Paris painting scenes of the decadent theatre culture, most famous for his poster work and paintings of the daily life of the prostitutes and showgirls who worked at the Moulin Rouge – and, aside from anything else, is also the namesake of Toulouse, the orange kitten in Disney’s Aristocats. The museum was very interesting, if small, and I loved looking at the poster work he did, but I was also very tired by this point and ended up falling asleep in the auditorium while watching a film about his life. Unfortunately I missed all the scandalous details.

After the museum, we went to look at a riverside garden and get a nice view of the river and the bridge; then we went back to the car, ate some chocolate, piled in, and were on our way. We took an alternate route home, driving through Cordes Sur Ciel (see July’s blog posts) and a gorge in a mountainous area that is known for having a lot of old castles and such built on hills (I swear, go anywhere in France and if you see a hill chances are some lord or bishop or knight or local minstrel has built something on top of it). I spent most of the drive listening to music and staring out the window; I’d forgotten just how pretty the French countryside is.

All in all, yesterday was a very enjoyable day and I am pleased to have finally seen Albi, and I figured I would write it up now before I forgot and put it off again just like everything else I seem to write about in this blog. The problem, as I stated earlier, is that I’m just not very good at travel blogs. I don’t really enjoy writing reports too much (though I am going to continue updating the Wanderer Chronicles – sporadically – until I get home in July, rest assured). I am most likely going to try to find a slightly more enjoyable format to write in, or, failing that, I’ll just grin and bear it.

However, I do like having a blog to write things in – and to that end I have set up another one, a more general sort of blog, called the Pen and the Sword! This one I intend to keep as my longterm blog for more or less the rest of my time occupying the “blogosphere,” so if you are interested in reading my ramblings I suggest you bookmark it and/or add it to your RSS. For the next couple of months or so I will be updating both the Pen and the Sword and the Wanderer Chronicles, but I expect by the time I return to Canada I will be switched over to the Pen and the Sword pretty much completely.

In the meantime, I will try to make myself go through the twelve hundred photos I took on vacation, and maybe get a blog post up sometime before the end of the decade. Thanks for bearing with me, despite my flaky sort of attitude towards this thing, and I hope you’ll enjoy my new blog. Tchy out!

The Heart of Spain and the Country Right Next to It

On the last episode of The Wanderer Chronicles Blog, I was sitting on my bed in Madrid, excited to head out to explore Spain the next day. Now, you get to find out what happened (only two and a half weeks late. I’m sorry! I’m sorry!).

Our first full day in Madrid started with us venturing out into the city, looking at murals, statues, plazas, monuments, monasteries, and buildings. We saw Plaza Mayor, Plaza Puerto del Sol, the chapel of the monastery (we didn’t go into the monastery itself, as we didn’t feel like waiting around until two for a guided tour), a series of very blatant sex shops along one of the major streets, and many, many statues. We took a break before heading into the royal palace to get lunch at a Turkish fast food place (with the biggest sandwiches I’ve ever seen), then headed up the hill to check out the royal gardens and the palace.

The palace, at this point, is no longer inhabited, but is still used for the occasional official function. The rest of the time, it’s open to the public as a museum. You can tour the old royal pharmacy, the armoury, and the living spaces of the palace. It’s very grandiose, very Baroque, very ostentatious. That’s palaces for you.

After the palace, we went to visit San Francisco el Grande, which is an enormous domed church full of paintings, statues, frescoes, and symbolism. We had a guided tour in Spanish (other people on the tour: a German couple and four Italians) which we understood most of, and got to go into the rooms behind the altar to see the painting collections displayed there. By the time we were done, we were very tired. It was also raining heavily. When we finally got back to the apartment we were very squelchy.

Day two involved wandering around looking at monuments and fountains. We made our way down to the Prado Museum, which is mostly full of Renaissance art and also includes a bit of medieval. We saw many paintings by Raphael, Goya, Bosch, Rubens, el Greco, and many many others. We stopped for lunch at an Italian restaurant (yes, we know, we were in Spain, we should have been eating Spanish food, but that was what was open, convenient, and sounded like it would be good). Then we wandered into a very large park, where we saw the Crystal Palace (a palace made of glass, built for an exposition or some such). We saw the only known public monument to the Devil, showing him as Lucifer, falling from Heaven. Then we went down to the Reina Sofia museum of modern art, where we saw Miro, Dalí, Magritte, and many, many Picassos, including the Guernica.

The next day, we got up at a horribly unreasonable hour to catch a couple of taxis to the airport. We arrived in Lisbon by the early afternoon, upon which we seized the opportunity to visit the Lisbon Oceanarium, where I squealed over sharks and took over one hundred pictures of fishes – including something called the ocean sunfish, which is the weirdest fish in the world. By the time we wandered back to our apartment, we were just about ready to crash.

The next day, we got on the electric tram line and went wobbling and creaking through the city, going up and down hills and looking at everything. We visited the old castle on the hill, ate ice cream in the rain in February, watched Tristan disco dance while balancing an umbrella on his chin, knocked an orange out of a tree and ate it (it was sour), poked around in a very opulent church, broke the handle of dad’s umbrella, and finally made our way back home.

The next day, we went out again, first to visit the Thieves’ Market (yes, it’s really called that) and the National Pantheon, which is a big domed church with the graves of some important Portuguese people in it. Then it was back down the hill to visit the Mude Museum of Design and Fashion (which currently has giant cutouts of the Beatles in front of it – something to do with the collection of record covers inside), and then up another hill (this one just behind our apartment) to check out the archeological museum, which is inside a very interesting looking former nunnery, which lacks significant features – such as a roof. Mom and I actually went inside to look around, while Shona and Tristan took the hill elevator back down to the apartment and dad went to meet them and let them in. We explored, I took many photos, then we came back down to the apartment and together we all adventured out to go to dinner. The place we had been planning to go to turned out to be booked for a party, so we found another place – this one did seafood – and stuffed our faces to our hearts’ content.

Sunday was another travel day – time to go home. We got to the airport without any major issues (though we ended up having to hail a couple of cabs when we found out the buses didn’t run on Sundays) and made it back to Madrid, where we were catching our connection. That, however, turned out to be delayed for several hours, so we occupied ourselves creatively. Tristan and I had a dance party with our iPods, and Shona and Tristan ran around in one of the carts (which was wonderfully amusing until the cart was upset, tumbling Shona out of it and knocking Tristan down onto his butt, which was bruised for the next week). Mom also bought some chocolate, and we ate our way through a bag of M&Ms before we finally made it onto our plane. We arrived back in Toulouse, late, tired, but overall pretty satisfied.

For the last couple of weeks or so, I’ve mostly been chillin’ around the house. We have guests here from Canada right now – the Shulist family arrived Thursday and will be here until Tuesday, and Shona’s friend Molly got here on Monday and will be going home Sunday, on time to get back to school next week. It hasn’t really affected me too much, aside from moving me out of my room for Mark and Gretchen to sleep in; Molly’s mostly been hanging out with Shona, and the Shulists have been going on a lot of day trips. For my part, I’ve mostly been battling with writer’s block and lack of motivation, both of which I’m trying to do something about.

Today has been my day for finishing things up that have been hanging over my head – the first part of that having been to get my vacation galleries up to date and post this entry on the blog. I also went out with Shona and Molly to do a photoshoot this afternoon – my first shoot with more than one model under my command, which went smashing, as they’re both so very fab. Tomorrow I’ll be getting some photos edited and put up on my art site, and maybe finally punching my writer’s block in the face. One can only hope, at least.

So, until next time! This has been the latest episode of The Wandered Chronicles Blog – Tchy, signing off.

Of Visits, Too Much Food, Trains, and Dreams

Hello internet! How are things with you? I am doing well, and currently coming at you live from an apartment in Madrid (the Spanish, apparently, are much better at putting internet access in their short-term rental apartments than the Italians – we had it in Barcelona, too). Today, I am going to talk about the last week or so of excitement in my life.

As I mentioned in my last post, Nami came to France to visit me over her reading week. Aside from some issues with her flight (her planes kept getting delayed and she ended up arriving at about 8:40 pm instead of 11:30 am like she was supposed to), the week was just as amazing as I expected. On top of seeing Nami for the first time in seven months, which was lovely and wonderful, it was also nice just to show someone around my city – guiding them through it and letting them see it through my eyes. And Toulouse truly is my city now – the same way Kingston is my town and Ottawa will be my city in the future. Granted, I may not know the streets as well as I know the streets in Kingston, but I know about everything I care about. And I love it so much.

By the time Nami got in on Saturday evening, it was already too late (and she was too tired and hungry) to do anything, so the adventure started the next day when we went out on a little tour of the downtown. I took her to the main points of interest, including the Pont Neuf (the “new” bridge, not the nine bridge), the Daurade (a sort of park/dock on a lower level than the street, on the Garonne), Place du Capitole in front of the city hall, two of the biggest and most famous churches (les Jacobins and St. Sernin), Place Wilson with the merry-go-round, St. Etienne (my favourite church) and les Augustins (the fine arts museum). I also showed her where some of the shops were that I liked, but it was Sunday and everything is closed on Sundays so we couldn’t go shopping. That night we also finalized our plans with my friend Rodrigue and his boyfriend, Stéphane, who was also coming to visit. More on that later.

Monday was shopping day, and it was a very exciting thing. Me being the sort of person who loves to spoil my girlfriend rotten, I had saved a fair bit of money for her visit (most of it for Christmas/birthday gifts, as I wanted to buy her clothes and she needed to try things on). We ran around to all my favourite shops (35eme Rue, Wap Doo Wap, Kara Kool, Kilostock, Groucho Vintage – unfortunately Intrepid was closed) and bought things for her (most of them flouncy and adorable) and ate crepes from the crepe stand and generally had a rather excellent day. Lots of walking, but you get used to that in Europe.

Tuesday was fairly quiet, at least for the morning. But in the late afternoon we got ourselves all fancied up and went out for dinner at a rather fancy restaurant called L’arsenal – they are wonderful, the food is wonderful, the place is wonderful, and if you’re ever in Toulouse with a bit of cash to burn I highly recommend it. Nami discovered tartiflette (potatoes, cheese, lardon), I ate delicious fish appetizers and duck, and we both went crazy over the potato medallions, which was one of my side dishes. And, of course, dinners in France being a long and late sort of affair, we got there around 8:00 and left at about 10:30. It was awesome.

On Wednesday, we went out to the market at Capitole just to wander around for a while, and then came back to the house for a bit to relax. That evening, we went out with Stéphane and Rodrigue – this was the double date we had organized. We ate at the Crêperie St. Georges, and none of us managed to finish our food except Stéphane (to be fair, the salad I ordered was on a plate about ten inches around, spilling to the edges, and piled several inches high, on top of being full of potato chunks and bits of lardon), but we did order two banana splits to share. It was a rather excellent moment, in fact, as Nami and I had been looking at it and debating on whether it was too much when Rodrigue and Stéphane slapped down their menu and declared that they were getting a banana split to share. Grins were exchanged, banana splits were consumed, the bill was paid, and we adventured off towards the Cinéma ABC – Stéphane dancing and mumbling his way through Singing in the Rain – to see Were the World Mine. It is a thoroughly excellent and slightly camp musical comedy, and if you are a fan of Shakespeare or gay films or both, see if you can get your hands on a copy and watch it, because it’s wonderful.

The main event on Thursday was actually not especially French in nature: Nami and I went out to Biotek, which is a piercing and tattoo parlour. She bought a new spiral ring for her upper ear and had her old ring replaced, and I took the jump and shelled out sixty euros for an industrial piercing – for those who are uncertain, this is two holes in the top part of the ear cartilage, with a bar going through both of them and capped on the outside with two balls. This, by the way, is a pretty good price, as the piercing place back home charges $120 – about eighty-five euros. And, if you’re curious, it’s in my left ear.

Friday! The main excitement of Friday was running around the city with Nami’s camera, taking pictures of everything. It was pretty great, and we were out for a couple of hours. Tristan also got a second piercing done (another one in his left lobe) while we were off running around. So now there are two of us with new holes poked in ourselves.

Nami’s last afternoon in Toulouse was spent with a decent-sized crowd at Jules et Julies, the local LGBT group I hang out with every second Saturday. They are pretty awesome and generally rather energetic, and food (mostly cookies, everyone was bringing cookies) and good times were had by all! We drew some of our characters on our fingertips for fun, and then drew another one on someone else when he asked, Nami sketched in my sketchbook, I ate a lot of cookies, and we tried very hard to keep up with all the French (sometimes succeeding). That evening, the whole family (plus Nami) went out to dinner at a little local restaurant called La Gouaille (for my Kingston readers, turn the Jungle into a restaurant and combine it with the Sleepless Goat and Tir Nan Og and you might have a decent idea of what La Gouaille is like). I ate way too much but it was so worth it and also blackberry flavoured Kir is amazing.

Sunday morning involved both Nami and I getting up far earlier than should be allowed in order to get her out to the airport. We rode the shuttle bus (this will become important later) and got her checked in using the automatic machines (after moving to a second one when the first one just sat there not reading her passport). I stuck with her through the start of the security line, then ducked out when I couldn’t go any farther. I don’t really want to talk about that part though because it made me sad. I got on the bus, came home, and holed up in my room for a while.

I hate having to say goodbye.

That afternoon, we were catching a flight from Toulouse to Madrid, so by that afternoon we’d got all packed up and got on the bus again, and headed out to the airport. At this point I was starting to get a little annoyed with the shuttle, but we got off it and all was well – until we walked up to the check-in counter and were informed that our flight was cancelled.

Yep. Just gone. Something to do with crucial crew members being ill and not being able to find replacements. And they had no replacement for us until Wednesday. Brilliant, EasyJet. Seeing as we were supposed to be flying from Madrid to Lisbon on Thursday, this seemed like a particularly stupid idea.

Back on the bus we went. For the fourth time that day.

Our plans derailed somewhat, we scrambled a bit to find a solution. Air Iberia could fly us – at a ridiculously inflated price. Planes were out. At this point we started looking at trains. We couldn’t get an affordable one for an overnight, unfortunately, but we could travel the next day – so, this morning, we got up at 6:00 am, took the metro out to the train station, and got on a train from Toulouse to Narbonne, where we would transfer to a train to Barcelona, and then finally go from there to Madrid. It was time consuming, but oddly relaxing – I am swiftly discovering a pronounced fondness for travelling by train.

So now I am sitting in our rented apartment in Madrid, on the twin bed in the open balcony “room” that looks over the main kitchen and living room, hiding out behind the privacy screens and listening to my parents cook. It’s nice after such a hectic day, and good to smooth away the strain of yesterday. I’m looking forward to exploring the city tomorrow. Spain is gorgeous and exciting.

I had a moment of perfect peace on the train this morning. Thanks to my first trip on a train, where I got to watch the must spectacular sunrise of my life come up over the French countryside, I have already linked trains with a dreamlike surreality and spirituality, but after this trip the two will forever be tangled in my mind.

On the train from Narbonne to Barcelona, I fell asleep for a little while, and dreamed that I was on my next train – from Barcelona to Madrid. I was sitting in a window seat on the left side of the car, looking out over a terrain of flat fields with scrub bushes and grapevines, with reddish-yellow dirt like you see in the Spanish countryside. Nami was sitting in my lap, and it was like we weren’t really there, or no one else could see us. We were in our own little world.

“Hey,” she said, snuggling into me and leaning back. I smiled.

“How are you doing, baby?” I asked, kissing her shoulder.

“Pretty great dream,” she replied.

“Yeah,” I said. And we sat there in silence, watching the Spanish sun spill golden yellow over the landscape as I enjoyed the most physically real dream I’ve ever experienced in my life.

I love trains.

Daily Life in Franceland

I know. I am terrible at updating this blog regularly. I know. I know. But to be honest there hasn’t been much of excitement happening around here since we got back from our Christmas vacation. Here is a brief overview.

Little of interest happened for most of early January. There were a few inches of snow over one weekend, and the city basically shut down; after a day or two, it melted away, and since then we’ve been hovering around a steady seven degrees or so, with a bit of occasional rain. I’ve been out a few times to my clubs and social events, including a wonderful party for the Epiphany, featuring games, quizzes, condoms as prizes, general silliness, and me sitting under the table calling out names of who gets the next piece of cake (apparently a tradition for the youngest person at the party to do); aside from that, I have mostly been hanging around the house, writing, drawing, and occasionally helping out. Sometimes I go out for walks, but overall it is not really all that pleasant for walking about.

In the last week of January, mom and dad took off for a week in Marrakech, Morocco, for an early anniversary/private getaway vacation. I was left in charge of the household, and was therefore responsible for grocery shopping, laundry, and making sure there was food on the table. I discovered for certain what I already suspected – I am ready and capable of moving out on my own, but I really don’t want to be responsible for someone else’s (in this case, my mom and dad’s) household, and I especially do not want to be responsible for someone else’s children (especially someone else’s teenagers). They have now returned, which was wonderful for me, even though dad almost immediately turned around and left for a work-related trip to Georgia (the state, not the country).

There have been two things lately happening in my personal life. The first has been my ongoing attempt to start adapting my wardrobe to my real preferences, which has resulted in me picking up a couple new pairs of pants, a pair of leggings, and new earrings; upon my return home, I am going to go through my clothes, and a lot of them will be going in a giveaway bag. Up next on my list of purchases: a lipstick in a neutral shade, to help tone down the ridiculous natural redness of my lips (likely to be bought for cheap at the market on Wednesday), and a chest binder, which I will be ordering online.

Both of these things, and to a lesser extent the other items of clothing I have bought lately, are related to the second thing that’s been going on: my recent struggles with trying to work out just what my gender identity is, and how I want to express it and have other people treat it. I was having a lot of trouble for a while, but I think I might be moving onto the right path, and things are looking up, even if they’re not perfect yet. (And, in case you’re wondering, no, you don’t have to change the pronouns used to refer to me, but it would be nice if you could tone down references to me as a girl.)

Anyway. It’s been complicated, it’s still complicated, and it’s an ongoing process. If anyone has questions, you guys know how to reach me. Don’t worry – I’m not going to clam up at any mention of the subject. You can ask.

Other than that, not much worth mentioning has been happening. Next week, however, will be a different story entirely: Nami is arriving for a visit in less than five days. On Saturday morning, I will be getting up at an actually reasonable hour and catching the airport shuttle out to pick her up from her flight. She’s getting in at 11:30. Right now I kind of just want to go to sleep and wake up on Saturday morning. I’m sick of waiting.

Overall, I guess, the message is, life is good, if complicated and occasionally speckled with irritation, impatience, and moments of self-doubt. But somehow, I feel like in a week, everything will be okay.

Peace. <3

Christmas in Toulouse

December in Toulouse has been an interesting experience. I thought that I would love to live through a warmer winter than I’m used to, but when it arrived, I found I just missed the snow. We’ve had a little bit of snowfall, but it’s never stayed on the ground for more than a day; every now and then it gets cold enough that something freezes and they shut off the fountains, but that won’t stay long either. It barely seems like December, let alone six days till Christmas, despite the lights they’ve strung up all over downtown and the Christmas market that’s been in Place du Capitole for the last three weeks.

I got most of my Christmas and birthday shopping done pretty early; now all my gifts are wrapped, and up until a few hours ago when I moved them to my suitcase, they were sitting under the palm tree in our living room that I declared to be “the Christmas tree” (despite lack of decoration or anything remotely resembling coniferous needles). Tomorrow morning at 6:20, we’ll be packing out of here, en route to the train station to catch a train to Barcelona at 6:55. We’ll arrive just after noon to board our boat. Christmas and New Year’s will be spent on board a cruise ship in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea. It’s different, but interesting. Exciting.

There are a lot of exotic stops planned for this trip. First we dock outside of Rome, then Naples, both places we’ve visited before. After that is Alexandria, where we’re going on a tour into Cairo, and into the desert to see the pyramids. Then we’ll be stopping at Rhodes, Ephesus in Turkey, Athens, and finally Heraklion, on the island of Crete. It’s all a little overwhelming, but I can’t wait.

On top of the places we’re visiting, we’ve also got our own Christmas to celebrate; the supremely clever organizers of the cruise have us at sea on the solstice, Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, the evening of New Year’s Eve, and New Year’s Day. There will, I’m sure, be parties and events on most, if not all, of those days; I have a couple of nice dresses and another fancy outfit packed. Very glamorous, of course.

In case you can’t tell, I’m still having a bit of trouble believing I’m going on a cruise. It seems far too ritzy a vacation for my family, and to be honest it’s a little hard to take seriously. Guaranteed, I’m going to end up singing I’m On A Boat several times.

Happy holidays!

Kakis and the Collection Thereof

Today, I decided, was a day ripe for early afternoon adventures. It was mostly sunny, and pleasantly cool, with a decided scent of fall in the air, and I hadn’t gone on an extended wandering for quite a while. And so, armed with a light sweater, my camera, and a bit of change in my pocket, I headed out to explore.

My first look at the kaki tree.

On the way, I bought one of my favourite chocolates at the chocolatier’s near my house (I’ll be making a post about them sometime soon), and so, happily nibbling, I made my way down towards St. Etienne, my favourite church (another future post). After wandering through the courtyard, I decided I was going to head down to the Grand Rond and the Jardin des Plantes, two large public parks just south of where I live. All was uneventful, save for the occasional photo opportunity, until I arrived in the Jardin des Plantes and was brought up short by the presence of a strange fruit-bearing tree.

These fruits, I thought at first, were peaches, but the longer I stared at them the more convinced I became that this was not quite right. There didn’t seem to be any on the ground, however, and the lowest branch was too high to hoist myself up onto, so at first I thought my curiosity would go unsatisfied. But while I contemplated the tree in perplexed confusion, a little old man, barely five feet tall, arrived with a rather dauntingly long stick, which he immediately began using to attempt to knock these fruits out of the tree. However, his stick was too crooked and too heavy, and he soon gave up, breaking it to pieces and throwing it in the bushes.

After a brief conversation with him, and a woman passing by, I learned that these fruits are called kakis in both French and Italian, but this led me no closer to discovering what they were in English. Determined to get one down, I set off around the park in the direction of what they said was another kaki tree in hopes that I would be able to climb this one and get one of the mysterious fruits down. In his, however, I was unsuccessful – this tree, like the other, had no branches low enough to climb onto. I spent a while balanced on the back of a park bench, shaking one of the lower branches in hopes of freeing one of the kakis, but to no avail. Still not willing to give up, I headed back to the first tree, where I discovered both the woman and the little old man had disappeared.

The construction of the kaki collecting stick.

Undaunted, I went looking in the bushes to find the pieces of the stick the old man had dropped there. I broke them into shorter pieces and amused myself lobbing them at the tree in hopes of knocking down a fruit or two to take home, but in this pursuit I was once again, quite literally, fruitless. However, amidst the amused passers-by, there was a ray of hope. The little old man had returned, this time carrying two shorter, lighter, and mostly straight sticks, which he then proceeded to bind together with three lengths of twine he apparently just happened to have in his pocket. Then, with what can only be described as the ease of long practice, he immediately set to work, using the little fork on the end of the stick to twist several kakis off the stem and down to the ground. I was awarded with two of them.

The kaki collecting stick in action.

I was told not to worry about the bruising on them, and to take them home and put them in my kitchen, sitting them on their stems, where I was to check on them every day. When they were soft, he said, they would be ready to be eaten, and they were not eaten in stews or as a cooked vegetable as I initially guessed – their texture is something like peppers, and the interiors of the few broken pieces I managed to find seemed somewhat pepper-like to me as well. No, I was told, they are fruits, which one eats raw, but only once they become soft, as before then they are not desirable. And so, now armed with two kakis and this newfound knowledge as well as everything else, I thanked him and went on my way, returning home in short order, where I washed the kakis, related the entire story to my mother, and put them on the counter, stems down, as I had been told.

One of the newly harvested kakis.

So did I ever discover what kakis actually are? Yes, in fact. While I finished washing them off, mom went to check the computer, whereupon we discovered that the kaki is a Japanese fruit that has spread across Europe and Asia, related to a fruit that grows right at home, in the northern United States.

What is it?

A persimmon.

The Joys of Social Interaction

Remember those clubs I was mentioning? They’ve finally started up, and life is good! I met a whole bunch of people at a GLBT organization, and had a great time trying to decipher the rapid-fire French. It was fun, though, and I plan to go back and hang out with people next chance I get – unfortunately I’m missing their meeting next Saturday due to being in Italy (although all things considered I think it’s worth it). One of the girls from that club, Audrey, also invited me out to dinner earlier this week, so I went out with her and her girlfriend (Lucy)  and we got shawarma and talked for several hours and I got home at something like eleven – also awesome.

Then there was also the conversation group I went to on Thursday. That was also rather fun, if an admirable exercise in mass chaos (the ‘tender at the bar forgot to reserve the tables he was supposed to so we ended up moving across the street to another place). I spent a while talking with some German students in English, then we moved over to the other table and I met an adorable Scottish girl named Morgan who was chatting in French, and then there were some more German people, this time who didn’t speak English and were working their way through French – and then Morgan and I and three of the French-speaking Germans went out to get crepes with a Persian guy named Reza (which made me extremely happy for reasons very few people will understand) who spoke both French and English. All in all, it was an excellent evening and I once again stayed out rather late (until ten, this time), and I now have several contacts and email addresses. Unfortunately that group doesn’t meet up very often, so I won’t be going out with them until next month, but hopefully I’ll be able to get together with some people.

There’s also a group my mom’s been going out with called English in Toulouse, and I think if I’m having a slow week or something, I’ll go out with her and see how that goes. Maybe if I’m out with her I can help her avoid getting beer spilled on her and/or managing to miss dinner hours so that all she has in her stomach is a few drinks. Still, she’s been having fun, so I guess that’s what counts. No one’s getting themselves into trouble at least.

So Toulouse has been decently entertaining now that I’ve managed to connect with some people. The city is as bustling as ever, but that’s just fine by me. When I want to be around people, I can slip outside and immerse myself in the chatter of the city – and when I want to be alone, I can wrap myself up in my housecoat and slippers with a mug of tea and one of my many projects. As far as I’m concerned, life is good.

New Galleries!

A very French lunch.

Hey everyone! Just wanted to update to let you know that I haven’t been idle. I’ve put up some new photo galleries in the last few days, so check them out. There’s one of assorted things from my wanderings around Toulouse, most of them somewhat artistic in nature; I also took pictures at the Musée des Augustins, the Toulousian fine art museum, and some at the Cathédral Saint-Etienne, which is my favourite church in Toulouse. I also managed to capture a few sneaky shots of people around the city, so you can get a better idea of the French, as well as France itself.

Yesterday was my birthday, and despite still not having any friends to hang around with, I’d say it was a success. We went out to dinner at a restaurant I’m fond of and had delicious crepes and salad; I also got some new books, in English, which makes me very happy as I am dying of literature deprivation over here. And I got a nifty old pocket watch (broken, but it makes for gorgeous jewellery) an adorable hat with kitty ears on it, and a fancy knife to replace the one that got confiscated by French airport security when I accidentally left it in my bag. Overall, I’d say, life is good. Mom and dad and I are also going out to a somewhat fancier restaurant tomorrow for an “adults only” dinner (holy crap, I’m an adult).

A row of gargoyles in the Musée des Augustins.

Things seem to be looking up on the making friends front as well. I’ve finally made solid contact with that club I’ve been trying to get info on for the last three weeks or so, and I’ll be attending their first meeting on Saturday, a week from now. Even if I ultimately decide not to keep coming to the club meetings, hopefully I’ll be able to make some friends to hang out with now and then. Maybe sometime soon I’ll be able to start using my allowance for – gasp! – lunch dates or movies!

Anyway, that’s life in my world. In the meantime, I’m keeping myself occupied – writing, taking far too many photos, browsing market stalls, drawing in the park. France is finally starting to cool down a bit, for which I am thankful. I like fall best of all.

So how are all of you?

The Interim

I have come to realize that this year is something like putting my life on pause for a while. Yes, it is an incredible experience, and I’m amazingly glad to be here. I love the city. I love learning about the culture. I am perpetually interested in everything. But still, when you’ve grown accustomed to marking your life by the school year, having it suddenly cut off, while exhilarating, is also a little disorienting.

We’re well and truly settled in now. Shona and Tristan have finally started school properly, after the chaos of placement tests and open spots at school and schedule shuffling and fighting with the weird hours and class times. They’re making friends. They’ve both had people over for sleepovers already. Dad is working, as he always has; mom has settled into her domestic life, here as at home, and is looking for dance classes to take. This is normal life for them. Me, I’m not quite sure what to do with myself.

I had a meeting a few days ago with a volunteer organization called Secours Populaire. I left a file with them for their volunteer tutoring program – hopefully soon I’ll get matched with a high school student I can help with their English. For now, though, they didn’t have any files for me. The year has only just started and there aren’t many students looking for help yet. I’m considering putting up fliers or something – maybe even at the universities. I could even try charging them for it. But I just don’t know. It’s all very foreign to me. I’m not used to having to actively create opportunities to meet people.

You don’t realize how much of your social life is built around your school schedule until it’s suddenly gone.

I’ve tried looking into a club, as well – I subscribed to their newsletter, and I sent them an email. I haven’t heard back yet, though. I’m worried. Their website was last updated for the 2007-2008 school year, and even though various universities still have them listed on their clubs pages, I’m concerned that they might not be running anymore. But all I can do is wait and hope – there’s no way to force an answer on the matter, unless I want to try fumbling my way through a French phone conversation. Frankly, I’d rather wait – though if I don’t get an answer from them soon I might have to look at some other clubs. An art club, maybe. If I like what they’re doing.

But none of this helps me shake the feeling that my life is on hold. I’ll join a club – for nine months. Then I’ll never be involved with it again. I’ll make a few friends – who I’ll see every now and then, for this year. Then I’ll be gone and, while they may remain my friends on Facebook, chances are we’re not going to talk too much, and we’ll probably never see each other again, barring some strange accident of fate. I’ll entertain myself with this free time for a year – then I’ll be back home and back at school, getting involved in the curriculum and the student life again, seeing my friends in classes, meeting up with my girl every weekend instead of just over the internet. And as much as I don’t regret coming here for the year, I still find myself longing for that future life. Planning for it.

I want desperately to go through my entire wardrobe, one last time, and get rid of everything I don’t care about – most of it, half of it, any of it that doesn’t matter anymore. I want to sort through every drawer and cupboard and cabinet and shelf in my room and discard everything not of importance. I want to sort through the hundreds of books in my room, decide which ones I want to keep, which ones I want to save, and which ones I no longer care about. I want to put things into bags and give them away, or give them to my siblings, or give them to my mother to sort onto the household shelves. I want to take down all my old posters and hand them out to people who would want them. I want to discard all the little pieces of junk I still have lying around. I want to clean everything out, remove it, and move on. Then I want to take all of the things I’ve decided to keep, pack them into boxes, and move out. I want to leave my furniture in my room only as a testament to my existence, and one day, I want to move all of it out, too, and move it into my new home, my own home.

I want my own home. I want my own life.

I want to start collecting recipe books. I want to learn how to operate all the household appliances. I want to get my own toaster. I want to make a list of all the movies I someday want for my own, and I want to build up my own collection. I want to collect all of the things around the house that I know to be mine, and take them with me. I want to be able to set my own schedule, my own rules, my own rhythms.

I’m turning eighteen in eleven days. In less than two weeks, I will be a legal adult, and I want something to show for it.

It’s raining here today. Really raining – not storming at night or raining briefly and lightly for a while in the afternoon – for the first time. Maybe I’ll go out for a walk. Maybe the rain is a new beginning. Maybe the rain will help me recapture the essence of myself from the future sky it’s flown off to, to wind it back down into myself, where it can bide its time for another nine months, until I can take my life off pause and give birth to this child of expectation I’ve been holding within myself for so long.

The Nature of Loneliness

There are some things about this country that still strike me every time I step outside the door. The people are closer here – not emotionally, but literally, physically closer. It’s not uncommon to see two young men on the same motorcycle; girls walk down the streets with their arms linked; people are comfortable sitting three or four to a bench, their shoulders and hips in contact. Sometimes it’s hard to tell who are friends and who are couples. Sometimes it’s not. Kissing in public isn’t nearly so frowned upon here.

Maybe I wouldn’t be noticing this so much if I wasn’t missing the physical contact I’m still so used to in my daily life. It’s been two months – one month in the apartment already – and I haven’t yet made any friends. I want to join a club, find some people to meet who share my interests, but I don’t know how to look for access to university clubs and dad hasn’t been able to help me yet – regardless, I’m not sure they’ve even started up yet. I miss my friends. I miss my girl. I miss having people around who I can touch who aren’t members of my family.

I have met some people, sort of. I spent a while listening to an old homeless man who I’ve always seen alone. It was hard to understand him through his thick accent and rapid speech, but I thought it was more important to listen than to understand every word he said. He was sweet, and very hopeful for the future, both mine and his – but he’s not the kind of person I want to spend a Saturday afternoon hanging out with. Same goes for the university-aged people I’ve bumped into a few times who were shocked and astonished to learn that I was completely drug-free and didn’t sleep around. I’d never been offered marijuana before, and I’d really rather keep it out of my face in the future.

It’s easier for my siblings – they go outside, play at the park, find other kids their age. The kids my age are all starting their first year of preparatory school, and are working hard to do well; even if they weren’t, the type of people I generally like hanging out with aren’t the types to go outside to make their friends. Hopefully I’ll be able to find something to do, some people I actually want to hang out with. I’ll look for a club. There’s also a goth and electronica night in a couple of weeks… I’m still debating on whether or not to go, because it starts really late, but it might be a good idea, at least to try out. I don’t know. We’ll see.

I seem to be saying that a lot lately. Please come visit me.