Life as a Postgrad Scholar

I awoke this morning at the precise moment when the street lamp outside my window turned off, changing the light in my room from vigilant orange to a reassuring blue. A glance outside revealed distant echoes of vermillion in the dawn-kissed clouds, but it promised to be a somber, overcast day. A cozy, overcast day, to be more accurate, for I do not want to convey the impression that I am disappointed with the weather. Autumn is here to stay, and I am quite content to stay indoors during my day off, rather than walking the chilly streets.

It appears that I am here to stay indefinitely, for as I continue to look for apartments in the city, with exasperatingly slow results, I am starting to consider the possibility of not moving until next year, when there are likely to be more openings, especially in the university sector. Having long since graduated from dorm-style housing, I am somewhat reluctant to return to living in a single room among a community of strangers, but if that happens to be the best thing that comes my way, so be it. Meanwhile, I’m starting to like the little town of Neuville-sur-Saône, as far removed from the center of Lyon as it might be.

My attitude toward the whole adventure brings to mind the fable of the hare and the tortoise, summed up in the adage “Slow and steady wins the race.” The pace of life has certainly slowed for me here, even amidst the bustle of people in the streets, goaded on by the cold and anonymous appointments at destinations unknown. Although I imitate their rapid pace, I also like to pause from time to time, trying to take snapshot impressions of the action around me. Many of the best moments take place while I am waiting somewhere. For example, the other day, while perusing the stands at a carnival that takes place in the Place de la Croix-Rousse every fall, I decided to order a waffle with crème de marron, a sugary chestnut paste. While waiting, I was entranced by the antics of a Frenchman and his magnificent black-and-white bulldog. The man would playfully point at a display of beignets (donuts) atop the counter, urging the dog on, and the dog would get tremendously excited and stand straight up on his hind legs, chest lifted proudly while he leaned his front paws against the counter in a vain attempt to reach the beignets. It was one of those moments when I wished I had my camera with me, but I contented myself with petting the dog’s soft fur and smiling at the owner.

The waffle is not the end of the story. I am also, it is sad to say, on the way to becoming a bread addict. I could think of worse things to be addicted to – the omnipresent cigarettes, for one – but it still surprises me, how much I have begun to crave the taste and texture of French bread. I am not speaking of the baguette variety, although there are certainly good baguettes to be found. As I mentioned before, Chantal and her family prefer to eat other types of bread, usually containing whole grains, and they are not shy about slathering on butter, the faintly sweet, creamy kind. Furthermore, I have rediscovered the delights of Nutella, which for some reason seems to have a special appeal when I leave the States. (It works exceptionally well as a hot chocolate alternative, by the way – just melt a generous spoonful in a saucepan and whisk in a cup of milk, or half-and-half if you’re feeling decadent ). As a result of my resurgent Nutella fondness, I tried my hand at making crêpes over a gas stove, which after the first few botched attempts turned out to be surprisingly easy.

And just when I thought that nothing would surprise me… my host family serves me boudin, that notorious blood sausage. It was actually quite delicious, once I managed to stop thinking about the ingredients. Supposedly it’s rather difficult to get boudin right, even in France.

On a similar, food-related topic, I recently had the privilege of attending two soirées. The first was a housewarming party for my “host sister” Maureen and her three housemates, and I can testify that the house was very well warmed indeed. I have included pictures below of the party preparations, with two of Maureen’s friends (Maureen is the blur in the middle of the first photo). They had prepared a marvelous array of finger foods, including a home-made quiche, a home-made variety of pecan pie, and several vegetable choices, some of which you can see in the pictures. And, of course, lots and lots of wine (among various other alcoholic beverages). I was rather amused by the difference in character I saw between a French person sans alcohol, and a French person after several drinks – a disparity, I believe, that is rather larger than it is for the average American.

Fanny, Maureen, and Elsa, hostesses extraordinaires

The second soirée was less exuberant, as most of the guests were over 35 and chose their drinks carefully, but no less decadent in its array of delicious food, This time there were not one but four different varieties of quiche, in addition to three different kinds of dessert: melt-in-your-mouth chocolate cake, a plum tart, and the French equivalent of pineapple-upside-down-cake, the name of which eludes me. The purpose of the gathering (pictures of which I hope to post later) was to bring together the language profs and assistants of Saint Ex, although it turned out that only two of the four assistants showed up. I got to know Sebastian, the German language assistant, a little bit better – hopefully there will be future occasions when I will get to speak at length with the Spanish and Russian assistants. We both brought something to with which to perform, he a song and his guitar, and I a poem.

One of the lines from the poem resonates especially with me right now: “Loneliness is satisfying because it doesn’t compete with anything.” I would not consider myself lonely in the negative sense (at least not since I moved from the house mentioned in the previous post), but it is true that there is a certain satisfaction to be found in not having a set social pattern to follow. By choosing to be alone, I free myself from the expectations, often self-imposed, that attend a more socially involved lifestyle. Be that as it may, I have certainly enjoyed my forays into sociability thus far, and hope to continue similarly in the future. Meanwhile, I remain like a swan on the Saône, buffeted occasionally by winds and waves, but always serene in solitude.

Me with the Saône in the background