SCAPE insight: Expansive Horizons

I always seem to write my posts much later than I intend to. But I am not going to apologize for my own supposed tardiness, because I've come to the decision that I will write when the time is most appropriate. These past two weeks have been thoroughly jam-packed with activities and adventures, many of which during the work-day I have composed blog-entries upon blog-entries...all in my head of course! Unfortunately, I haven't been able to figure out how to translate my thoughts into an automatic written script. Otherwise, you'd see many many posts from me (a few a day even) than my particularly random posting. Because I feel that there is quite a bit I would like to update you all on, you'll have to bare with my style of writing. It may seem to jump around a bit at times. But if you've ever heard me try to tell a story, well you'll understand. Because I have the terrible habit of forgetting what I want to say, and then going off on every random tangent possible. Oh...speaking of tangents...I have to stay trying to speak French has been training me to focus my thoughts. Because I want to purely get my main point across, I try to focus on the main picture, rather then fill up the monologue with unnessicary adjectives. Although my french is pas bien, it IS existent! This is very exiciting, because I never thought I'd become decent in any language -- oh, it has always been the desire for me to speak multiple languages, but I've always had so much trouble in language classes that I thought it wasn't possible. But I've gladly proved myself wrong!

I thought this picture I took in Caen of macaroons was really pretty and I was reminded of it yesterday when Charlene and I were peering in all the patisseries in Paris searching for macaroons so she could experience them! Aww, I'm so happy Char and I got to spend the day together. Except when I was in Russia, we've never spent this amount of time apart.

quick shot of Char peering into the lavender garden in the Tuileries

Julia Child's favorite culinary store in Paris

(I'm also purposely posing next to an adorable mini cooper I might add)

This past Wednesday, on the French holiday Bastille Day, I left Brécy, and I was a little heart-broken yet again. I was on the verge of tears multiple times. When I had to say goodbye to Lydie, the new housekeeper, when I left Cyril, the gardener, and when I said goodbye to Didier Wirth Thursday morning in his own apartment in Paris. You may be asking, what happened? How such a rapid turn around. Well, I'm going to tell you a little story (actually quite a few stories) of the transition that occured at Brécy over the last few weeks. As well as give you incite into my latest life lesson and personal revelation (both of which I already had in the back of my mind, but particular incidents cemented).

(A few evening images from my weekend trip into Paris two weeks ago)

Artichokes...
Before I left Brécy on Wednesday I had really wanted to do a piece on the artichokes there. First, I had wanted to find every artichoke. (If you had been to the place, you would know this is next to impossible, because artichokes are everywhere). When I had arrived at the château, I started to note the random appearance of artichokes. These fascinating vegetables popped up everywhere. They were on the ceiling (in the mural I previously posted), they were built into the fountains (an entire fountain basket containing dozens of ceramic artichokes), in the lamps, on the stair railings, a paper one in the kitchen, embroided into the little hand towels, and upon closer inspection, I realized my wallpaper was comprised of them! On the first Sunday I was there, I recieved my answer (but at this time, I did not realize how enamored Didier and Barbara Wirth really were with these legumes). It was only after four weeks of discovering artichokes like in a 'Where's Waldo' puzzle, and having them often for dinner that I began to grasp the extent.

see the sculptures? they're piles of artichokes in a basket! Barbara designed them

"I beg your pardon; I never promised you a rose garden"

hours spent here dead-heading, weeding, and raking the soil. but I really love dead-heading roses, I don't know what it is. Maybe it's that you cut off the dead parts of a plant and it produces more beautiful flowers again.

Marie working in what I call the 'secret garden' because it wasn't available to the general public, it was basically walled in by stone and topiary hedges, and it was abandoned for a while and we brought it back to life just like in the movie :)

A picture of me, Marie, and Lydie just as I take off for Paris for the first time. This picture does not do Lydie justice, I'll post more of her later, but she's very very beautiful. I miss Marie very much already, it's been two weeks since I last saw her.

Didier explained that there had not been much that was original to the estate by the time that they arrived. The basic structure was still there (the stone walls highly deteriorated at this point, but since the garden was set up in a symmetrical formal matter, often what was seen on one side could determine where to place an object or rebuild on the other). The entire garden is believe to have a transcendental layout because it was said to be built with regards to a priest's (the only real heir to the place) sister who died. There are four terraces to the garden, with each partiere rising up to the final gate, at the end. A gate that appears to open up to only sky (see previous posts for pictures). So as you look out through the house into the garden your eye is drawn up to and through the gate, to the sky, or heavens. (The work that Didier and Barbara later did to emphasize this view with regards to site engineering and construction is remarkable). Bascially you climb up the stairs and walk through the gardens, the terrestrial plane to get to the celestial one. (Now George, the cook, and the temporary caretaker of the mansion and gardens -- more on him and his attitude to come -- had a very different opinion about the architecture and garden layout -- he believed that everything was based on the golden mean, or fibonacci sequence, which he could explain very well with regards to what exists). However, because I'm not George's biggest fan, and I prefer philosophical references, I'm going to spread Didier's interphretation. But it the end, I think both are possible, and could be both true at the same time, I absolutely love multiple layers of meaning. So, when Didier arrived there were a few (certainly not to the extent they exist now) artichokes throughout the estate. Two artichokes rested on the steeple of the chaple, and artichokes rested on top of a few of the statuary. Based on research in theologic tests, the artichoke heart is god, and each person is a leaf. So as a whole, the artichoke comprises the city of god.

mhmm, it only seemed appropriate to post a photo of my stuffed artichokes I made this past easter, even more appropriate that I made them FOR easter

Expect the Unexpected
In short, without boring you with too many details, I had to learn here to expect the unexpected. Over the past few years, I have tried to wean myself away from expectations and anticipations because it often would resolve in dissapointment. Sometimes, before going to a place, I wouldn't even have time to created pre-concieved ideas about a place. Such as before I went to Guatemala, I was just too busy with school work to even come up with something. Even before I left for France I was completely all over the place, and the only time I really thought about things was when I was working out at the gym. I would think of France to sometimes calm me down or cheer myself up when I was having a bad moment. But what did I imagine the most? Going for jogs in France. For some reason this is the one thing I really wanted to do. Because in my head it seemed incredibly freeing to just jog around paths in the forests. I imagined myself getting out of work after lunch and having the rest of the day to myself -- painting, writing, reading, taking a bike to the beach, and jogging. HA!!!! So far, I've been working full time, and I've ran twice since here (including this morning). Actually, this is the first place I am not on lock-down. Oh yes, I have breathing room here. Actually I debated wheter to title this post breathing space, but then decided on expansive horizons because I felt that it better included the feeling of breathing space as well as the view from this château, and even more so my own oppurtunities that are expanding in a stepping stone type manner. With reference to not being on lock-down I mean I'm really not. I live in a separate building than the count and countess, Aymar and Alix de Saint Venant, and therefore there aren't any alarms to the place. We live within the property, and the gates to the gardens are not locked at night. And, there isn't really any real reinforced structure to protect the entire property, because even the gates are missing to go out into the vineyard. So this is a change, and it's freeing. I even walked to the boulangerie this morning to the village to buy bread and cheese (because Alix and her husband are away in Italy for the weekend for a wedding, and I think they forgot to leave the poor American girl food). Actually, I'm not sure, but I may have to cook for myself here. This doesn't bother me too much, although if so, maybe theyll give me some money for food because it's not like I'm actually getting paid to work. But we'll see, they'll return Monday. There's another French girl here as well, actually she's the same age as me, and she's going to take me to the super market tomorrow. I already like her (she doesn't really speak English), but she's very nice, and was a little confused to why I ate some of her food last night and this morning. The real reason is, I thought it was just the food in the house that was left for whomever to eat. I was picked up by Sébastien last night, the gardener, who said that I could eat anything in the fridge. So I did (there isn't much, but basically what was edible was hers). Oh, and there was wine...because they have there own vineyard here. So I decided since I was left to my own devices without much to eat and there were seven bottles of wine in the fridge at least I can occupy myself with that. I decided on a bottle of white with a metal cap sealing it. Only after I manage to break the seal and have the cap whack me at full-force in the chest did I realize this wasn't wine, this was brut, and I could've lost my eye. Instead, I had this half-crescent shaped bruise on my chest....hmm. The brut is délicieux, and very alcoholic. (I had a little trouble getting up the stairs last night after just three glasses -- and you have to understand that my tolerance is growing each day, APPARENTLY it's impolite to have only a little wine in your glass in France, so everybody keeps pouring me more!)

The view from Liz's Knox's apartment in the Potager du Roi

at Versailles...yes, this is what I awoke to in the morning

I mix VERY well with high society
One good attribute I find that I have is that I'm able to socialize and mix with people from various levels of the social class system. I am able to do so for a few reasons with reference to each class. I am a snob, I know that, and Cornell confirmed it, and France only brings it out further in me. The thing is, I am disinterested in spending time with a very large percentage of society. It's not that I feel that I am better then them, I am just not interested in the same things as them; I find a lot of people very boring. I also, with the exception to my friends and their families at home, and those friends I've made at Cornell, am not very interested in pursuing friendships with people my own age. I often find people my own age immature and not equipped enough to hold a decent conservation. If you cannot hold my attention in a conversation, be aware that I am going to be looking for a way out of your company in the fastest and politest manner conceivable.

I'm obsessed with details; ça tres belle non?

Formally educated in a discoursive setting is not necessarily the determining factor for me, but rather it's determining if the person I am conversing with is actually passionate or actually interested in anything for that matter. And I don't mean interested in sitting in front of a computer or television all day wasting time. I also do not want to have yet another conversation with a guy about how wonderful and interesting I am, and about how sorry they are to see me leave (hearing I am going to miss you 20x during a two-hour walk is incredibly annoying, and really, I don't care about your relationship problems). And yes, I'm single, and no, that doesn't mean I'm going to date you! And really, no, I don't need an escort, because my life is more interesting without the annoying babble in the background. But I've been lucky. Most of the people, most, not all, that I have lived with in France I find to be very good company. Adrien, well, I think you can remember him from my posts about Acquigny, I found to be absolutely wonderful. This mainly stemmed from the fact that he had a passion, and it was very similar to my own. And he taught himself many many things related to that passion (botanical horticulture). He didn't mind getting dirty, and he had an incredible heart. Lydie, the Wirth's new housekeeper at Brécy, changed my life there. The Monday after my arrival she tried to talk with me, and find out if I was lonely, and told me that she was very sorry she couldn't speak English because she would have loved to talk with me. Because of her, and Cyril, the Brécy gardener, I rapidly learned more and more French each day in order to converse with them. I'll write more later on how the two of them became people that I will never forget. And what was it with them? It was Lydie's heart, and her embrace. It was Cyril's interest in making sure I got to see everything, and even though I know he likes me, just the way he treated me and never did anything that would ever make me feel uncomfortable around him. These three people, Adrien, Lydie, and Cyril, whom of which barely spoke any English, put the greatest effort into getting to know me and hear me out; they changed my conception that I'll never get to know anyone that doesn't speak English. So now you may be asking, what does this have to do with my paragraph heading? I really just wanted to give you a background on how to me, the level of social class isn't the determining factor for me with getting along with others. It also helps that I was a waitress for four years and I used to make lunch, dinner, and dessert for people on the side of my education.

A roll of images below of the raised park in Paris, called the Promenade Plantée, the precursor to Manhattan's Highline. The Promenade Plantée, which is built on a old raised railway, terminate in Parc de Reully, a fascinating little park that has an incredible number of uses.

Also, I love this picture to the right because it was two men walking their babies in strollers, it's perfect ;)

Every once in a while, when Didier and Barbara were at Brécy I was invited to participate in the dinners, and well as go to see fireworks for the eve of Bastille Day at a friend's mansion. I absolutely love mingling with their guests, because they were incredibly interesting to talk to. They all spoke English, were at the top 5% of society, and found me interesting to talk to. I took notice that I actually speak English very differently with them, I switch into 'proper/polite' speak. It's quite fun I have to admit. And then last Wednesday, at the party, I met someone. But I can't spread all my juicy details here, let's just say the two of us talked for two hours and I realized that since I've been to France I've raised my standards for someone to date over three times now, and finally realize that the person I'm newly composing exists :) I am also quite content to be very much single rather than be in an annoying relationship. So there you go, my confirmation. Which happened after meeting a guy in Paris, getting bored, and telling him, actually no, I'm not going to have dinner with you tonight? Why (well the real reason which I can't tell you is that you're boring me and I'd rather be by myself even though you're very very nice to me and want to buy me dinner, which would probably save me a nice chunk of money because eating out is expensive in Paris, but I don't want to sacrifice my tranquility), so let's just settle for, sorry, I don't want to.