Before I begin to describe my meanderings, let me be absolutely clear about the weather in Touraine: it's hot. On Monday, at around 2:00 PM, an outside thermometer read 33 degrees Celsius, (91 degrees Fahrenheit).
Sunday evening, shortly after writing the last update, Mme. Avertin drove me to the Institute of Touraine in order to show me the local geography. She also showed me the Loire, the longest river in France, which flows through Tours. Swimming is strictly prohibited, due to the swift current, and unpredictable undercurrents due to shifting sand and stones. And unlike the gorges in Ithaca, this isn't "forbidden" with a wink and a nod; the Loire is strictly off limits.
I began to fall asleep on the drive back, but before I crashed, back at the Avertins', I met the other student living with my host family. Her name is Misaki, and she is Japanese -- she has been staying at the Institute for a month already, to learn her third language, French. According to the house rules instituted by the Institute, dinner occurs promptly at 7:30 each night, and I awoke from a nap I hadn't realized I was taking to M. Avertin knocking on my door to call me to dinner.
A note on French dinners: all Gaul is divided into three parts, at least as far as mealtimes are concerned. The first is soup (chez les Avertin, vegetable), followed by the main course (gratin or the like), followed by cheese and fruit. The Avertins cook somewhat heavier meals than what I typically eat at home, but I appreciate that they willingly accommodate my vegetarian diet.
The next morning (I awoke in the middle of the night, and had to read L'Homme Revolte for an hour), Mme. Avertin drove me again to the Institute, where I arrived at 8:15 AM sharp. I registered, received my student ID, and was told which room to report to in order to take a 9:00 oral examination. I waited with two other students, a girl from Spain and a girl from Japan: we swapped stories as best we could in the language which all of us knew a little bit, but none of us knew fluently. Ironically, had we tried to communicate in English, we probably could have communicated more effectively: the Japanese girl had spent a year and a half studying in Pennsylvania; the Spanish girl had studied English; and I consider myself nearly fluent in the language. My interview lasted just about 10 minutes, during which I showed the evaluator that there is in me as much French as in the average box of freedom fries. I was free to do as I pleased until 10:00 AM, and I explored the neighborhood around the Institute, buying a half-dozen postcards, and strolling by the Loire.
At 10:00 AM, back on campus, the new students, numbering in the forties, most of them planning on staying exactly one month, congregated in a small, stuffy classroom for orientation. Although most students were no more than three years older or younger than me, 10-15% were over thirty, and one man looked to be in his sixties. The first speaker covered administrative details, but the second speaker, the instructor of civilization (that's his title) had a real presentation, complete with a slide show. He described the twice-weekly excursions that the Institute organizes, sending interested students to various castles, most of them in the Loire Valley, but some as far as Brittany and Normandy (the regions in the far north of France, for those of you uncertain of your French geography). French castles are gargantuan, ostentatious, cold, and according to M. Avertin, all the same. Notwithstanding, I hope to attend these excursions, and tell you my own verdict.
A pair of instructors took us on a tour of the city, showing us several of the monuments of Tours, including the many churches. Just a block from the Institute are the remains of the Basilica of Saint Martin, as well as the nineteenth-century church dedicated to the same saint. The original basilica, now completely destroyed above ground, was build in late antiquity, I believe in the 5th century. The Normans burnt it down in the 10th century, but it was soon rebuilt, in the 11th. Saint Martin and his basilica seem to be rather high-profile (Sam or Shea, please correct me concerning this factoid). Martin was a soldier (and son of a soldier) in the Roman army in the early 4th century, beginning his career when Constantine was in power, but had not yet consolidated his rule, or embraced Christianity. Martin refused to fight (Christians were forbidden from warfare in that era), but it was during this time that the famous story about him and the beggar occurred. The beggar lacked sufficient clothing to ward off the chill of the day, but Martin was unable to legally give him his cloak, because half of it belonged to the Roman army (soldiers payed half of their own expenses). Therefore, he cut his cloak in half, and gave half of it the beggar (the sketch inside the church shows him cutting his cloak horizontally with his sword, and keeping the upper half). In reference this anecdote, Europeans apply term "St. Martin's Summer" to what Americans call an "Indian Summer."
I explored Tours for the rest of the day. I found that the public library will be closed until August 15th, and that public restrooms require a fee. I ducked into a small bookstore, as much to stay out of the heat as to look for books. Although the shop was small, I thought to pick up a volume of Baudelaire, the great 19th-century French poet. What I found in the poetry section was a bookshelf groaning under the weight of Baudelaire volumes. Nearly two whole shelves held copies of "Les Fleurs Du Mal," available in six editions, and fearing for the integrity of the bookshelf, I kindly relieved it by purchasing a copy. There is such a glut of editions of "Fleurs Du Mal" on the market, that the market has assigned a paperback copy the same value as a single scoop of ice cream.
I returned to the Avertins' in the evening, and pounded out the beginning of this post before running back to the Institute for a night in a cocktail lounge with a group of my fellow students. There were Korean, Japanese, Russian, Spanish, Maltese, Italian, English, German, Swiss, Swedish, and Colombian students, as well as one awkward, stupid American who felt entirely out of place among the intelligence, charm, wit, and social grace that collectively displayed by the highly-educated children of the European upper crust (the Asians kept to themselves). Somewhat surprising was the attitude towards alcohol consumption: there was none. To a group of students aged 15-22, sitting in a bar chatting, drinker beside non-drinker, is perfectly normal. Although the 15-year old ordered a non-alcoholic cocktail, nobody questioned her, or anyone else's, right to be there. As the evening wore on, I felt a little bit more comfortable: a Spanish student and I talked about our countries' respective debt crises (halfway through the evening, the Senate's decision to raise the debt ceiling broke on to the TV screen), and the two students from Malta were friendly and sociable, as were the Russian students.
A note here about the Russian student, just for Maya. Meeting women my age who have arrived straight from Moscow and environs has done nothing to dispel the stereotypical images of Russian females I have learned from Bond films. They are confident sexy polyglots who dress in black, and often in leather.
After falling into bed late that night, I awoke on Tuesday, fully adjusted to the French time zone. I left for the university, and arrived early, and found my name on a bulletin of course assignments. I had more than an hour to wait, and sitting outside of my classroom reading Camus, the other students began to filter in; all in all, three Koreans, three Russians, an Australian, a no-nonsense Italian, a Japanese girl, and a Japanese gentleman old enough to be my grandfather, who displayed as much enthusiasm and Francophilia as the rest of the class combined. Our class has two instructors, one for written instruction, the other for oral instruction. The oral instruction was just the sort of thing I need: practice listening to song lyrics, distinguishing similar sounds, etc. I learned this song, by Ben l'Oncle Soul. I really, really hope to serenade someone someday with this melody. In case a certain Mother of mine is interested in other aspects of instruction, I will gladly oblige.
I attended an optional class until 5:30 PM, on technical business terminology. After this, I found the library, hidden on what the French call the second floor, and Americans call the third. After picking up a couple of books on French history, I read for an hour, until I returned back to the Avertins for dinner (we had eggplant that night! It was good, but not as good as yours, Mom!), and then walked back, through the rain, to the Institute, where students were congregating for an activity similar to that of the night before. Unfortunately, the first bar we entered couldn't accommodate us all, and some of us were shunted to a second, where I ended up being stuck at the table of Korean girls, who spoke nothing but Korean. Irritated, and unable to sit by any of my friends, I left, and here I did something stupid, which I hope I will not do again, ever. I became lost. Although I had a map, it had mostly disintegrated from the rain, and I wandered for about a half an hour before I again found the central street in Tours, the Rue National, and around eleven, I was safe and sound the Avertins'. I finished off this entry, and then decided to call it quits for tonight.
Love to all of you,
~JD
"Je me revolte, donc nous sommes" [I rebel, therefore we are]. ~Albert Camus
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