le week-end is here

hammock

… and I’m going to spend it doing, well, not much. On Saturday I may go for a run and on Sunday I’m going to sit on a boat during magic hour and eat lobster. Or maybe just watch other people eat lobster. I may also inspire myself to do some laundry. Maybe I’ll work on my little video project. Maybe, maybe not.

I hope your weekends are more ambitious than mine, if that’s what you’re going for. Me, I’m looking forward to letting myself off the hook for a couple of days. (That’s such a lie. I have been lazy all week.)

On that note, I leave you with some links that as always, I meant to post sooner, but that regardless, remain fresh and delightful and ripe for the viewing:

Watch two men arrange to meet at a cafe – through a Turkish whistle language (!!!)

American behaviors considered rude in other countries

Foreign language apps for traveling abroad

How to vacation like it’s 1999

Vacation planning tips and tricks 

I like these Parisian photos for voyeurs

Of course the hitchhiking robot met his demise in America

The full movie version of Antoine in America

Have a good weekend!

[Photo: Joe Penniston]

I shouldn’t have done it

rose-flavored ice cream

Tonight on my way to the subway, I passed Ladurée, the Parisian macaron shop. Even though I hold as objective truth than one should never step foot in foreign outposts of shops that are beloved institutions in their home countries, I did anyway. Blame my overactive bladder and preference to use the bathroom in a fancy French café over a McDonalds: once in the door, I couldn’t help but eye the offerings. And when I noticed rose glace on the menu, the battle was over before it began. I had been on the lookout for floral-flavored ice cream above all other food in France, because I remember like it was yesterday the moment I had my first taste of fleur glace from a street vendor in Paris two decades ago. One of the best things I have ever tasted. And yet, I could not for the life of me find flower-flavored ice cream in wintry Paris. No street vendors in sight, and the shops only had rose sorbet.

All this to say, I quickly abandoned my deeply-held convictions and ordered a scoop of Ladurée’s rose glace, from an excessively sweet waitress with a Staten Island accent. It tasted delicious in the way American ice cream can taste delicious, but it was not at all like the life-altering French ice cream I had in 1993. While eating, I eavesdropped on conversations transpiring in English. I paid with dollar bills.

And I felt the looming threat of tarnishing the memory of the Ladurée in Saint Germain, where I bought macarons made more heavenly by the knowledge they came into existence in their motherland, were sold in a luxe shop that would have been guillotined during the French Revolution, and were requested in halting French from snooty employees who couldn’t be bothered with silly American customs like politeness. Ladurée should never have crossed the Atlantic.

And I should never have followed that ice cream with chocolate… but that’s a story for a different blog.

phishing in French

weird baby doll head

I was honored recently to have received my first scam email in French. I like to tell myself that I ended up on the distribution list because the phishers have sophisticated hacking technology that determined my French proficiency to be high enough to warrant trying to rip me off in that language. (Why not?)

For your edification, I share the heartbreaking story and the dying last wishes of Baby Gagnon (aka Mr. Baby, a name I may steal for my nom de plume):

Bonsoir à vous,

Excusez moi de cette manière de vous contacter, je viens d’apercevoir votre profil qui après tant de jours de prières est le seul a retenir mon attention voilà pourquoi je vous fais part de ce qui m’arrive.

En effet, je me présente Gagnon Baby et je suis au États-Unis d’Amérique (Washington)pour mes soins, J’étais propriétaire d’une entreprise d’importation du Café et Cacao en Cote D’ivoire, et j’ai perdu mon épouse il y a de cela 3 ans, ce qui m’a beaucoup affecté et je n’ai pu me remarier jusqu’à ce qu’on me dise un jour que je souffre d’une maladie qui me condamne à une mort certaine,J’ai un cancer qui est en phase terminale, c’est un cancer de voie aéro-digestive supérieures qu’on appelle généralement cancer de la gorge ce qui se forme dans le larynx ou dans le pharynx. Ces 2 organes creux regroupent l’ensemble des organes de la déglutition, de la voie et de la respiration. Ils sont situés dans la zone qui commence derrière le nez et qui descend jusqu’au cou, mon médecin traitant vient de m’informer que mes jours sont comptés du fait de mon état de santé dégradé. Selon ce que le Docteur m’a justifié, une boule s’installe présentement dans ma cage cérébrale. Je me sens très mal et j’ai très peur, Je et je dispose d’une somme de 2.000.000 €uros dont je voudrais faire Don a une personne de confiance et honnête avant ma mort puisque mes jours sont comptés faute de cette maladie au quelle je n’ai eu de remède. J’aimerais donc que vous en fassiez un bon usage (Crée un orphelinat à mon nom afin de prendre soin des enfants démunis, Luttez contre les mauvaises maladies, aidez les familles pauvres etc.) voilà pourquoi je fais de cette somme un don,

Veuillez me contacter directement a mon adresse émail : gagnonbaby@gmail.com

Sur ce je vous laisse donc et j’espère que vous m’aiderez tout en bénéficiant de ce don afin de réaliser mon vœux le plus cher au monde j’ai plus d’autres options.

Je reste dans l’espoir de vous lire

Mr Baby

[Photo: Andy McLemore]

soy un fan de estoy

butterfly emerges from chrysalis

The neatest thing about beginner’s Spanish: as the third of three related languages that I know in full or in part, learning it has allowed me to triangulate between them all. I’ve started to connect things about one or two of the languages through its/their relation to the third.

For example, because there is only one verb for to be in both English and French (être), and because the concept of being is exactly the same in both languages, I expected Spanish to follow suit. It was really surprising and confusing to learn that Spanish uses ser for one way of being and estar for another.

Ser =

when talking about: identity / description / the time / an event or occasion (unless asking where an event is happening, for which estar is used)

Estar =

when talking about: health / location / condition / sentiments

In class, I asked whether I could think of ser as referring to constants and estar as referring to temporals. My teacher poo-pooed me and told me to forget that nonsense and just memorize the rules above.

But I like the idea too much to abandon it, even if it’s not entirely accurate. I love that Spanish differentiates between being something firmly and concretely and being something transiently. I’m sick now, but I won’t always be sick. I’m in a hovel now, but soon I’ll be somewhere else. The tacos are terrible today, but tomorrow they could be wonderful. Okay, so I’m romanticizing, but to me estar seems nothing short of leaving room for hope.

[Photo: Vicki DeLoach]

placement test jitters

exam

Before I can register for my next Spanish class, I have to take a placement test. It’s a one-shot deal, no do-overs. And I haven’t attempted to speak a word of Spanish since my last class ended in April.

This is like my recurrent anxiety dream – the one in which I find myself back in high school having skipped the entire semester and with my final exams happening that very day – come to life.

I can’t decide which will be worse in the event I get placed into a beginner’s Spanish class for the third time in my life – the injury to my pride, or the utter boredom.

[Photo: Xavi]

Friday aka belated links day

box town

Always belated. I will try to work on that.

But in the meantime … it’s moving day! Followed by a concert in New York, followed by a trip to New Jersey to meet my new niece, followed by the same concert in Philadelphia, followed by my return to the city, followed by sustained emotional and physical exhaustion. Can’t wait.

Without further ado, here are your weekend linky links:

The latest on (American) travel to Cuba.

The world’s smallest language has only 100 words. 

This is the only dictionary I looove. It’s endlessly fascinating.

How Parisian are you? (Somehow I scored a 66%, making me a “ham/butter.”)

How to keep that post-vacation feeling.

Philosophizing inspired by the Paris love locks’ removal.

“Le Selfie” and other Internet speak translated around the world. 

Love these photos of Paris in the 50’s. 

Five truths about quitting your job to travel.

The travel industry is getting hip to solo travel. 

New Yorkers: #SeeYourCity

[Photo: Kim Love]

Scrabble en français

playing Scrabble in French

Not as fun as it sounds (to a nerd).

That may be why, months after we started this game and paused mid-way with the promise of picking it back up again soon… we have not.

Part of the problem is that we played with an English rather than a French set of letters. The number of tiles of each letter corresponds with how often that letter is used within the language, and the points for each letter are higher the rarer the letter is within the language. The English set caters to the English language; the French set would have been totally different. Which meant that even the fluent French speaker in our group was stumped when it came to forming remotely high-scoring words.

For fellow board game nerds:

English scrabble tile distribution

French scrabble tile distribution

(get over the) hump day inspiration: Siddhartha edition

Hermann Hesse quote

Note to self.

[Photo: Rene Mensen]

L’Etranger: bof

The Stranger

Finally read the English version of The Stranger, a few weeks after finishing the French version. It took like two hours. I was happy to confirm that I had in fact understood the story, and that my impression from the French reading – that the main character seemed not so much existentially detached as developmentally disordered – stood firm. I know that was not Camus’ intention and that this literal interpretation of the text makes me somewhat dense, but so be it.

And now for your listening pleasure, the song running through my head the entire length of the book (here’s the connection):

[Photo: Anthony]

the pleasures of uncertainty

jet trail

My lease is up this Friday, and I’ll be subletting apartments on a (crazy) month to month basis so I don’t have to sign a new lease that would force me to stay in the city beyond the end of my work contract. I’ve committed to leaving for Senegal within a month of the last day of my temporary – also month to month – contract, which could be terminated any time between October 1 and April 19. This means that if I stick to my guns, I will be in Senegal in no more than ten months. (The hope is that by writing this in a public forum, I will stick to my guns out of pride, even if courage fails me.)

Apart from a hefty dose of fear and dread, the thought of traveling on a one-way ticket to West Africa also fills me with a sense of freedom and excitement that I haven’t felt since right after college when I decided to move to Los Angeles on a whim, sight unseen, with one suitcase, without friends, without job prospects, and without knowing how to drive. That heady mix of euphoria and nausea is back, baby!

[Photo: Tarik Browne]