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The last week has been quite a blur.( Read more... )
After dinner, we usually go out for ice cream, having developed the tradition. Many then go off to call their loved ones. There's no one I want to call while here, particularly since I want to give Lacunae Diving Bunny and Darth Ambivalence some dedicated time to themselves. It is extremely freeing, a form of isolation that is curiously welcome compared to the type I often complain about. Therapist Squirrel (TS) tends to call it an early night, and her sister, Fashion Squirrel (FS) (I hate both those epithets, but they'll do for now) practices for her upcoming marathon. I engage in whatever fancy suits me, working in the darkroom, editing photos, or taking a midnight swim before rejoining SPT for a bottle of wine or five.
Wine is incredibly cheap here. A bottle of it costs less than a cup of Cafe au Lait. I've been drinking quite a bit. This morning, the hangover finally seems to have caught up with me.
My time is running short, so let me take a few seconds to describe St Remy. The town is built on the same structural plan as the fort which it once was. The bulk of the town lies within what we students call Circle Road, which once marked the outer edge of the fortress wall. One you walk inside, you find the historical precedents maintained. It's like -- no, it IS a siege fortress which has long since lost the threat of invasion, grown overcrowded out of habit. The thousand years of history in this place can be seen in every building facade, many of the storefronts. The French do not tear down buildings to make way for new ones, at least not here in Provence. It's quite mind-blowing to an American like myself, who thinks 50 years is a long time for a building to survive.
Alright, I have a few minutes to check my email before we begin our late day today. Bon jour, my friends.
After dinner, we usually go out for ice cream, having developed the tradition. Many then go off to call their loved ones. There's no one I want to call while here, particularly since I want to give Lacunae Diving Bunny and Darth Ambivalence some dedicated time to themselves. It is extremely freeing, a form of isolation that is curiously welcome compared to the type I often complain about. Therapist Squirrel (TS) tends to call it an early night, and her sister, Fashion Squirrel (FS) (I hate both those epithets, but they'll do for now) practices for her upcoming marathon. I engage in whatever fancy suits me, working in the darkroom, editing photos, or taking a midnight swim before rejoining SPT for a bottle of wine or five.
Wine is incredibly cheap here. A bottle of it costs less than a cup of Cafe au Lait. I've been drinking quite a bit. This morning, the hangover finally seems to have caught up with me.
My time is running short, so let me take a few seconds to describe St Remy. The town is built on the same structural plan as the fort which it once was. The bulk of the town lies within what we students call Circle Road, which once marked the outer edge of the fortress wall. One you walk inside, you find the historical precedents maintained. It's like -- no, it IS a siege fortress which has long since lost the threat of invasion, grown overcrowded out of habit. The thousand years of history in this place can be seen in every building facade, many of the storefronts. The French do not tear down buildings to make way for new ones, at least not here in Provence. It's quite mind-blowing to an American like myself, who thinks 50 years is a long time for a building to survive.
Alright, I have a few minutes to check my email before we begin our late day today. Bon jour, my friends.