They [the Jewish writers] live beset by three impossibilities: the impossibility of not writing, the impossibility of writing in German and the impossibility of writing differently, and we could add a fourth impossibility: the impossibility of writing at all.
Franz Kafka

I made it home. Today was a real Beauty and the Beast sort of day. People were smiling and singing in the streets. Bread was baking. This place smells like food. People were kissing each other on the cheek. Everyone was speaking French.

Going away for a little while enhances what you love about the place you live. I missed cuisine--not just food but the love for food. After ten days of not understanding a lick of the language, my head can't help but sigh at the simplest "Bonjour."

Highlights from Prague:
The Kafka Museum. The Old Jewish Quarter. A classical concert. A Gershwin concert. A palace. A Rembrant. The Wenceslas "square" dance. Everything with an undertone of Mucha majesty.

Not to mention the joy of limping around for the first few days.

Happy Christmas

Apparently, people from Prague celebrate Christmas on the 24th. We didn't realize that till last night. Christmas slipped right by us!

Courtney and I spent today memorizing the verses to "Good King Wenceslas." We'll be heading to Wenceslas square tomorrow to make a short film with song and (possibly) dance.

I miss you. Everyone. Merry Christmas! May God be glorified.

The Grocery Store

I set my items on the moving strip. She moved them over the scanner. The price appeared on the screen.
"Crezk schlova schloova vltava," she said.
"Why, of course," I thought. I handed her 100 koruny. She gave me change and said, "Dyeh kova sova schmipps." I struggled to shove my groceries into a plastic bag and put my change into my purse. I was holding up the little line behind me. "Yah," she said as they say so well, smiling sideways.

Just when you've got one language under control, here comes another one to tease you.

Dob-ree-dehn ("Hello" in Czech)

The ankle is doing much better and I am so thankful for that. I was able to walk around a lot today. We went to that castle. We also saw a concert of Pachelbel's Canon and The Four Seasons in an icy basilica. We ate hearty potato soup. You'll have to forgive these short updates. But, for now, my time on the computer is limited. Ciao for now.

I've arrived

Do you see this? This is me falling down. Dead. From delight, disbelief. This is my kind of city. There's a Mucha museum here. He's one of my favorite artists. Little did I know he was born in this area! They have a Kafka museum. They have a castle. They have snow.

More later...

Do you see this? This is also me falling. Falling down and spraining my ankle in the Marseille airport. But I made it here. And, after a day with my foot propped up and some Czech pain killers in my system, I should be set to go. My foot has already stopped swelling. Oh boy, one adventure after another.

To the dear subjects of the kingdom of love, loyalty, and laughter,

Eleanor will be going to Prague for Christmas. There she will meet Good King Wenceslas and have tea.

She will return to Aix-en-Provence for the New Year.

She will recommence her studies on January 3rd.


Joyeux Noël! Bonne Année!
Cordially, The Prime Minister of International Relations

I am a Renaissance woman.

A cigarette posed between two fingers, a black felt hat atop his "tête," he strides through the streets of an ancient city and uncovers the traces of art that's been kept. The students, they follow, frantically scribbling. They flap their fingers to get the blood moving. We enter a church. He carries a key and opens our eyes to a portal unseen.

Notes:
--Les portes de la Cathédral de Saint Sauveur
--Renaissance
--l'intégration du réalisme et du dessin
--un escargot!!!!!!!!!!!

Our professor points to a snail engraved in the wood of the cathedral's door. I am devoured by a fit of giggling. Many art historians believe it to be a representation of Andrewphius, Prince of Snails, as he consumed his last fatal leaf. There are some, however, that claim it to be Whimpy, the snail of little fortune but a noble heart and warrior stance. Thank you for the Renaissance!

Survival Guide to Living in France

What, a car? That's okay. Run!!!
Do not hesitate. If you see a car coming, cross the street anyway. Laure and I look like headless chickens trying to get to the other side. "Now?" I say. "Umm..." says Laure. A group of French people haul it across the street. "Now?" Laure says. "Umm..." I say. Another flock flies across. "Now!" I say and book it. I get stuck in the middle of the road. Why did the chicken cross the road? Because he's French!

Watch your weather.
The weather man is a celebrity in France. I hear he's married and has a couple of kids. When the weather comes on during dinner, all conversation stops, Odile grabs the remote and turns up the volume. "Le Metéo!" she exclaims. We see a few gray clouds hovering over Southern France. "Ahhhhh, ohhhhh, it's going to rain!" Sometimes, there's a fat yellow sun on top of Provence. This extracts the same dramatic sounds. "It's going to be a nice day tomorrow!" or "Ahhhhh, ohhhhh, it's going to be warmer tomorrow!" or "Ahhhhh, ohhhhhhh, it's going to be COLD tomorrow!" Who needs the movie theatre when you can watch the metéo?