"Time is Poetry"

Everyday I wake up and realize I am this much closer to going back to the United States. I have so much to do that occasionally this thought invokes panic, but usually it just brings a sense of wonder and weariness. Wonder that I am really across that big black ocean, weariness that I have to cross it again and readjust, reflect, return to reality. There's a big slab of the Real World waiting for me when I get back.

But - in the meantime, I'm making the most of my time. I finally made it round to the Centre Pompidou, Paris's world-class Modern and contemporary art museum. The outside looks completely different from pretty much any building in Paris, as you can see from the picture. The escalator runs up the side of the building, giving you a gorgeous view of the city which I unfortunately could not capture with my camera since it was with my bag in the coat check. Anyway, the museum was amazing, and I am not really a fan of modern art. But it had some incredible installations and a wealth of historical work by Picasso, Matisse, Magritte, and others. There was also a Futurist exhibit, which was probably my favorite part. I'm glad I got to go while it was in town. Another thing I must mention is that the audio guides for the paintings really helped to explain what the artist was thinking, and I often walked away feeling like I actually understood modern art. Imagine that! There was a low point to the experience, though: waiting in line for my bags, 2 old ladies tried to cut ahead of me! They weren't together, either. Rather than call them out, I decided to give them hard stares and not condescend to two people who truly should have known better. Then, when I got to the counter, a man who had been in the wrong line hopped in front of me. But I was served first. Line cutting is a ridiculous problem in Paris (at least). I know a lot of people who have seen or been victim to it. I think it's a really absurd thing to do, especially when you are over the age of 12 or so and know better!

The next interesting place I went to was the Basilique de St. Denis, just north of Paris by the stadium where Les Bleus won the World Cup back in '98. This cathedral gets its fame for being the first Gothic structure in Europe, and for being the burial ground for most of France's royalty, as well as the site of many of it's coronations. What's not typically noted in the guidebooks is that the neighborhood the basilica is located in is...interesting. I came out of the subway into a shopping district that looked like Tim Burton's Gotham City from the original Batman movie: ugly, modern architecture built from a dull blanket of garbage and dirty concrete. This was replete with the peculiar feeling of becoming victim to an imminent but petty crime. I've never felt like this anywhere in Paris, even over by the Gare du Nord. But, I ventured forth in the name of curiosity. And, I realize now, it is pretty amazing to think that even though I have seen tons of cathedrals and basilicas and churches since I came to Europe, every one of them managed to impress me in some way or another. St. Denis is truly hard not to be impressed by simply for the fact that you can go and stand in front of the grave of Louis XVI, or the statue made from the death mask of Louis XIV. How often do you get a chance to be this close to such historical figures? In the crypt, there is a section where they are excavating the sarcophagi of ancient kings. The sheer oldness of Europe has not ceased to amaze me.

On Tuesday I went to my last class at AUP. I still have two finals and two final presentations, but no more class...I will miss my Modernist Migration class because for me it represented everything that I wanted out of college: a small group of intelligent people analyzing good books and expanding their minds. I have three new favorite books because of this class: Giovanni's Room, The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge, and Nightwood. No other class has had three novels make my favorites list. And the people in the class, for the most part, were great. We had good conversation, and the professor made us all feel very comfortable. I wish I could say the same about my French classes, which disappointed me due to the incoherence and disorganization of my professor. But, ca arrive, as the French would say.

On a completely different note, the French embrace Christmas much much more than I thought they would. Every storefront has garland and ribbon over its windows, every major street has beautiful arches of blinking lights over it. I'm somewhat pleased, since I was not sure how much Christmas is celebrated over here and I didn't want to feel depressed that I would essentially miss most of the Christmas season. At the same time, I have realized after doing some shopping, listening to Vince Guaraldi and Bing Crosby, and watching parts of A Christmas Story in the campus bar, that decoration and the aforementioned things play only a supportive role in creating the elusive Christmas spirit. For me, at least, Christmas is always equated with one thing: home. And that is what is missing for me right now.