Reflections

And well, some other stuff first.

This weekend, I did not go on any grand majestic trips, though I did take a cooking class Friday. More importantly, I ate the food afterwards.

And Saturday, we took a program-sponsored trip to the Camargue and Les-Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, one of the few places in Europe wherein dwell the greater flamingo. The aptly named Camargue horse and Camargue bull also happen to live here, and apparently, as summer progresses, one finds famous mosquitoes as well.

While there, we discovered the Camargue is a marsh, and much colder than Aix. As in the high in Aix was 22 that day (above 70) , but with the clouds and wind kept me shivering in my sweater.

Beautiful Day

Camargue Horses are Always White

We went horseback riding. My steed was named Oclan (probably spelled wrong). He responded to the gentlest touch. However, he also liked to trot, not necessarily in the right direction, and especially when wading through mud. But only after walking really slowly and falling behind. Speaking of which, he was very concerned about the horse behind him, and kept turning to look, I assume to make sure that the other horse was still following him. If the other horse was taking a different path, he would try to turn and look more frequently. Somebody needs blinders. Despite all this, it was all very fun.

It's hard to shoot pictures from horseback

Pawing (Hoofing?) the ground

Then we went to a bullfight. Not a Spanish bullfight, mind you. I'm not up for that severe animal cruelty. Even this was a bit much, although our program director claimed that the bull was unhurt. Yeah right, even unharmed would be stretching it a little. Admittedly the bull is not killed, nor blatantly stabbed (although I strongly suspect that the ribbon on his back was a pin in his spine, poor guy). What a mean sport.

See how they run

There were six bulls in total. The rasateurs (not quite a toreador, since this isn't quite the same sport) would try to grab ribbons from the bulls' horns (there was only one bull at a time). Since they were wearing mini wolverine claws for this purpose, misses no doubt further injured the bull. After attempting to grab the ribbons, they would flee the arena by jumping over a barrier to escape the bull. Well, one rasateur was too slow, and a bull managed to maul him. I guess training kicked in, because the rasateur managed to remain in between the bull horns for about 5 seconds, but in disengaging, the bull level him and proceeded to run directly over him. That's a stomp carrying about a ton of weight. He played out the round though, despite this and a scratch from the horn that was no more than a few centimeters from his eye.

I have mixed feelings on the whole mauling affair, and bullfighting in general. (Basically I don't like it, but it's not my place to judge)

Sunday, I wandered about for free museum day in Aix, then went to "l'etrange Carnaval". I guess its Aix's version of Carnaval, but like Nice, it was very child-oriented. But no mean old ladies today. A few bands marched down Cours Mirabeau, then the children frolicked. They silly stringed (fil serpentin) each other, and threw confetti everywhere (I'm still finding confetti in my pockets). Then there was a grand parade, where the people marching down the Cours...threw more confetti at us.

Fil Serpentin

Queen of Hearts

Bizarrely, the whole thing was Tim Burton themed for some reason. Floats from Nightmare Before Christmas, Corpse Bride, Batman, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, Alice in Wonderland, Edward Scissorhands (Hmmm, almost Johnny Depp themed). No idea why. But I did learn that the French call Edward Scissorhands "Edward aux mains d'argent", or "Edward with silver hands". That's bizarre, like "The Fighter" coming out here on March 9th or some such date three months after its USA release.

On to a few notes, seeing as I have but a month and a half remaining in Europe, here's a few thoughts.

My love affair with bread is weakening. I love bread here, and will miss it when I go home. But I no longer imagine myself being content eating a baguette everyday. That said, I essentially do eat some of a baguette every day, with the occasional exception due to traveling.

Streamers and Confetti (and buds on the trees!)

I can't spell traveling anymore. French would have me double the l. I use that word a lot; the misspelling is quite inconvenient. And speaking of linguistic idiosyncrasies, I find myself using "talk" instead of "speak", and "rest" instead of "stay", as well awkward English wordings, all because of my usage of French. I had a moment a few weeks ago where I was searching for a word to describe Black Swan, and had to stop and rethink my previous sentence over in English to arrive at "nerve-wracking". Which still isn't quite the sense I was going for, but my synapses aren't quite hooked up for perfect English at the moment.

The French have an awful sense of luck. It's fairly common knowledge that there's dog crap all over the streets of France. What isn't as frequently realized is that it's good luck to step in it with your left foot. Whoa, glad I found that out; that changes everything.

I had other thoughts, but no longer recall what they were. I may create more and more ethereal posts as my time here concludes and I have thoughts I want to record.

Ciao