Jetlag, Job stress, and Jazz.

Salut from Paris on a sunny Sunday afternoon!

It has been a week since we arrived, and the bevy of experiences that have already piled up in our memories are too many to recount. This is a city with such a kaleidoscope of sounds, smells, sights, tastes, and tactile experiences, that even seven days' worth has become pretty much a colorful blur. However, our mental and physical paths seem to circle around a few basic concepts.

First of all, jetlag. Yes, it is an undeniable fact, and what's more, the quintessential excuse for any flighty (no pun intended) mistake one might make. We are slowly becoming accustomed to the decalage des horaires, but these things take time (again, no pun intended), and if I hand someone the wrong change or use the wrong verb tense, je m'excuse, je suis un peu fatiguee. So there.

Job stress. I was forewarned (by past participants in this teaching exchange) that I would have absolutely no idea what was going on at my job for a while. Uh, yeah. After a week of something like hunt-and-peck method, I have established that I am teaching 14 hours (though my schedule says 15), I am teaching 4 different types of classes (though I don't have any books for them), and I have about 60 students total (but if you bring them to the scheduled room, it'll be wrong).

The professors for whom I am lecturing tell me out of one side of their mouth that I must do [insert mystery lesson here], and then turn around and say I can do jolly well what I please, as long as they're happy and practicing their English. So, I try to strike a balance. Actually, this week, I just tried to survive. The (near) breaking point was when I had to fill in for a colleague, while covering my own class. That is, running back and forth between two classrooms, teaching the same thing to two different groups. Why couldn't we combine them, you say?

Don't ask. There's some compelling French reason.

I do have some very sweet students who are eager to learn, which brought me much joy in the thick of it. For the next couple of months, I have two very long days but also two weekdays off as well, so I am able to spend time with my husband and catch my breath.

Except that every time I try to stop and catch my breath, it gets stolen away by some encounter with Paris. Our recent wanderings have brought our feet in the direction of live music (which we expect will continue with some regularity, as much as our budget can take!). Our first show was at Caveau de la Huchette, where a Benny Goodman-style band from Switzerland serenaded half a dozen couples with hot, dance-driven swing. Abbey was asked to dance a foxtrot, which was a somewhat humiliating experience, given the fact that she doesn't dance the foxtrot. Everyone was very kind, however and you couldn't beat the atmosphere.

Caveau de la Huchette, which has hidden revolutionaries spouting off about liberties,
covered secret passageways to other parts of the city during times of oppression,
and was a secret meeting place for French Templars in the 16th century!

Last night, it was a bit trickier to find a place, given that it was Saturday night. We learned (the hard way), that if you have your heart set on a particular place, you'd better call ahead with a reservation. Fortunately, we had a veritable constellation of interests, most of which were in the Saint-Germain-des-Pres neighborhood. We finally found a spot here:

http://jazzclub.bilboquet.free.fr/

...where a Parisian singer of Malian origins sang her samba/soul-influenced tunes with fervor and finesse. Her quartet was quite extraorinary as well, and Karl soaked up as much of the piano and bass solos as possible. It was on the priceier side of things (18E for entry + a drink), but worth every euro. The club has hosted the likes of Charlie Parker, Stephane Grappelli, Miles Davis, and the Duke.

Well, it is probably about time that we make something to eat. You know, it's a French custom to get just the food you need for a day or two, which I think is a beautiful reminder of the daily goodness of God. Just as we pick up a baguette, a few fruits, and a new bottle of wine everyday before dinner, we must look to the Lord for new mercies every morning.

Miss and love you all!

In the fulness of time

In the fulness of time, we arrived in Paris. Promptly, we fell asleep.














You didn't fall for that, did you?

Truth be told, we couldn't keep ourselves from vagabonding a bit in the quartier. We slowly picked our way down the Avenue des Gobelins, searching somewhat aimlessly for dinner. It was sunny and we took our time. This was how we discovered the Rue Mouffetard: unannounced, winding, narrow cobblestone streets where pedestrians pretty much crowd out the vehicles for a day and just shop.

Oddly enough, there is a both a Starbucks and a MacDonalds that jointy guard the entrance to this lovely haven. We braved these formidable dragons, shunning their corporate caves with our best upturned Parisian noses, to see what unspoiled treasures lay beyond. Our courage was well-rewarded, as we found our way to the bread store, coffee roaster, cheese shop, wine store, and fresh fruit market, leaving a trail of receipts behind us like some modern-day Hansel and Gretel. (Not a bad idea with the wandering streets, come to think of it.)

At Rue Mouffetard, there are neither checkout aisles nor credit cards. There is only a friendly but tired face asking you for your order while you stammer your way to a decision with literally hundreds of cheeses spread before you. Finally, with stinky cheese (or dripping fish) in one hand, and euros clenched in the other, you fight your way through the little knot of people and come out the other side. Victory! And it is sweet. (Especially the wine: 2,90 euro. Not quite as cheap as the recent Trader Joe's wine phenomenon, but somehow more complex than your average bottle of Chucky Shaw. ) In short, the Lord has blessed us with a day of warm sun, safe journeys, a good Word from his lips, fine wine, daily bread, and tasty morsels along the way.

Oh, and our dear little apartment. You know, 410 square feet is pretty small. But somehow our future apart had shrunk even further in our imaginations, so that it actually seemed kind of roomy when we got here. For those of you who asked, here's a mini-tour:

This is walking in through the front door. Yup, that's Karl. Still sleepin'. He hardly slept at all on the plane, poor guy.

















If then you go straight forward and turn left (at the white door), you will see the hallway, where most of the storage is:













To the left is the toilet, but that's kinda self-explanatory.


To the right is the bathroom, in cheery yellow:












Then there's the bedroom to the right of that, which is acres bigger than we imagined. Karl's already started setting up shop for a mini-studio, so it will probably be more of a music room than a bedroom. It's the only room in the whole place that's a little drab - everything else is quite charming.




Moving back to the living room. This is the dining table and a corner chair.










If I sit there, I see...
my wine glass, flirting with the bottle in the kitchen.












The kitchen. Tiny, yes. But do we look over the rooftops of Paris while we're washing dishes and slicing vegetables? Oh my, yes.





I have no new pictures of the balcony, which is really the best part. But it is now dark and I must go lay my head down. Thank you all for praying for us. Ciao.

The Lord, our Provider

(We'll spare you our cheesy rendition of that Jesus-people kletzmer classic "Jehovah Jireh, my Provider", to those of you who are..ahem...fortunate enough to understand the obscure subcultural reference, but...)

Break out the champagne! *

Oh yes, we've got cause to celebrate. That is, we're clear to grab Abbey's visa in Chicago and head off to France. Even more than that, we are astonished and delighted at the Lord's clear provision in every area of our lives. We've had cell phones up and running down to our last day in the US. We have had a lovely place to stay over the past month. And plenty of food for mind, soul, and body in the wilderness. This is because you have all been praying so diligently on our behalf and we'd like to thank you.

We feel acutely that this is not the end of our struggles, but perhaps the beginning. That is, we anticipate Paris to be an intensely beautiful place to live, but also immensely challenging in terms of our spiritual lives. Please continue to ask the Lord to provide for us in the ways that only He can.

Much love until we write again.

(From Paris.)

* Thank you, Nikki and Jordan!

Distance learning

By next Monday, Abbey is supposed to be standing up in front of her English class in Paris and teaching them how to make sounds like "th".

Hmph.

It turns out we were the ones who still had some learning to do. First of all, the administrative delay that keeps us on the familiar side of the Atlantic has turned into our first French cultural lesson. That is, in a country with such astoundingly intricate bureaucracy, a piece of paper is really nothing more than a needle in a haystack. It doesn't seem to matter how "URGENT" (oor-jahn) the issue claims to be. All's fair in love...and French governmental offices. Get in line.

To your average person dealing with the necessary papers for living life over there (of which there are many - you thought the IRS was cryptic and longwinded!), these sorts of delays are a natural - admittedly unpleasant - part of life. It's like running into bumper-to-bumper traffic on your way to an important meeting, coming down with a nasty strain of flu, or getting your picnic rained on. Everybody French politely fumes on your behalf, emphathizes, but eventually sighs and reigns themselves to the fated situation. And expects you to do the same.

Where have all the plucky peasants with pitchforks who stormed the Bastille gotten to? They must've been held up by paperwork, too....







Every few days, we receive an email from the University in Paris: "many condolences...hope to see you soon." Without malice or sarcasm, we can still say the same. But our patience begins to wear thin. Why, why, why?

Above all, stop asking why. We must remember that Job tried taking that tack, and got quite the earful. Perhaps there are lessons to be learned whose eternal weight is infinitely greater than starting a new job on time. Ah-ha! - entirely possible. Yes, we are learning to pray together with some fervency. Yes, we are learning to run into each other's arms for comfort when we're depressed. Yes, we have been reminded of how thoroughly and admirably our loved ones live their lives everyday. (You know, not everyone has the fortune to return to the family nest(s) as an adult and tag along for a few weeks. There are amazing things we've seen in the way of love and wisdom that would have sailed right over our heads as kids.)

"Like cold water to a thirsty soul, so is good news from a far country" (Proverbs 25:26). Hence, we have been checking the email rather obsessively. But Proverbs also says: "Hope deferred makes the heart sick." How much can the heart take? We are learning the emotional practicality of reading our Bibles first thing, then checking the email for news. We watch for the Lord and wait for Him to move on our behalf.

Thank you.

No, this is not Paris.

An adventure is only an inconvenience rightly considered. An inconvenience is only an adventure wrongly considered. So, if we’re asking Chesterton to define adventure for us (as well we might), it has begun, and in no uncertain terms. Regardless of the fact that we are not leaving today for Paris as planned. Soon, but not yet.

Sigh.

A few weeks ago, with growing uneasiness over the ambiguous status of bureaucratic necessities – such as visas – we contacted the French consulate regarding what remained to be done. To our horror, we discovered that papers had not been pushed to their proper bureaucratic cubbyholes before that all-important European holiday known as August.

Consequently, we set out on a journey to the exotic city of Chicago, where the French visa service holds court. On our midnight bus, we read a little Charles Spurgeon to pass the time:

The grandeur of the arch of heaven would be spoiled if the sky were supported by a single visible column and your faith would lose its glory if it rested on anything discernible by the carnal eye.

As if on cue, our bus broke down in the middle of wisconsin, smack dab in-between a cheese shop and a cornfield. Far, far away from Chicago, where our hopes rested on a 9 o'clock appointment at the French Consulate. With nothing else to lean on, the Lord was extremely near. It turned out to be a beautiful day to trust in Jesus. His peace held firm in our hearts, and his timing was perfect. Though five hours late for our scheduled appointment, our abrupt arrival as haggard travellers in their prim downtown offices prompted quite the scuffle and investigation into our situation. The result? We leave for Paris sometime within the next couple of weeks, after Abbey goes back down to Chitown after everything is reglé.

Yes, Chicago! Since we were there, we made the most of being in one of America’s most fascinating cities, a first time for the both of us. We heard some free jazz saxophone at the Cultural Center, gaped at the wonderous Millenium Park, happened onto the Art Institute’s free Thursday evening, rich with treasures, had martinis in a swank lounge, ate large sandwiches with an astounding amount of meat and cheese, and consequently slept like babies on our bus back home to Minneapolis.

The Pritzker Pavilion in Millenium Park may need elegant curves and arches to support the state-of-the-art sound system. But God has so fashioned our lives that our faith must rest on nothing visible, making it worlds more glorious than anything we could dream up.

.

Countdown...

Three weeks and counting, 'til our feet hit French soil. (No, Abbey's not going to get down and kiss it, no matter what you say.) I have to say that the idea of living in Paris is still as surreal to us as the objets d'art in the Georges Pompidou.



Is that a foot...or an eye...or a what? (Don't get me wrong --I really do like Kadinsky.) But you know, with all the planning, packing, checking, boxing, bagging, I feel about as discombobulated as the poor guyabove. Utter exhaustion set in this evening, and yet there's still miles to go before we sleep.

But God is so good to us, for we indeed have a place to sleep. For those of you who haven't had the privilege of being around when Karl whips out his fancy Blackberry to provide visuals of our new pad, here 'goes:










Balcony. With herbs.











Exterior view. Ah, 70's architecture.











Interior - front room.

Okay, so we don't have pics of the bathroom, bedroom, and kitchen yet, but our landlords have assured us that they do exist. (Right...) We also just found out this week that we will have wireless Internet, so you will all have to endure my rambling, ambling blog entries for a while. Genuinely sorry.

"I Love the Mountains, I Love the Rolling Hills..."