what IS this?

Fact 1: I was born and raised in San Diego, California. The warm parts.

Fact 2: Yesterday it was -2 degrees Celsius here in Bordeaux.

Question: What the fuck is a NEGATIVE degree?


I like living here.


Frenching: Introductory Lesson 2

Who would have thought that adjusting to being a foreiegner would take longer than like, 3 days?! WTF, I know.
So I’m still adjusting, but mostly not, and last week I had my first days of school (btw, all my classes are in French with French people). Upon sitting down at my first class, I wrote the following in my travel journal:
“Being a foreign student at French university is like being in middle school again. Except this time I’m illeterate and mute. And probably color-blind. And I definintely have an obvious limp that was received through a birth defect and not even anything with a cool story, like a motorcycle crash.”
Dang. So until I get asked to the big dance and the debauchery ensues, here are some more pictures of me figuring out this bizarre country where everything is small and I’m always thirsty.

I found this area of abandoned houses behind a grocery store called Casino. The houses are filled with trash and there’s artless graffiti and Hepatitis everywhere, but we explored anyway.

La belle et la poubelle. Found a bunch of shoes.

Apparently, cereal with chocolate in it made by Nestle is why French people are so svelt. Go figure!

I went to the Mus

Frenching: An Introduction

My adjustment has consisted thus far of: poor french intermixed with getting-better french, too much bread (but is there such a thing?!), 8:30 am sunrises, overly-sexed high schoolers that crowd the streets and intimidate me with their vulgarity, coffee!, and an immeasurable excitement for things that I don’t even know how to expect. These pictures are pretty unexciting, but I figure that people usually like to know the basic mundane details of their old friends’ new lives. Here’s to hoping I find a daily rhythm:

Bordeaux welcomed Bri and I into what the Lonely Planet calls “a seedy neighborhood,” at just about midnight. Left coast is 9 hours behind France time.

The shower head was just to the right of the toilet. Rad.

This is not our house, but that would be okay with me if it was.

This is neither our house, but Bri wishes it was.

Home sweet home! This is our kitchen. It came with Nutella, butter and 4 different kinds of coffee. How very French of it.

We don’t have glasses, but we have giant coffee cups, and I make Monacos in them. Monacos are my new favorite drink of all time, and they’re beer, lemonade and grenadine. It’s pretty much a dirty Shirley Temple, which is cool because dirty childhood movie stars are sweet.

These are the stairs the lead to the top floor of the house we live in. A French girl named Anaise lives with us on our floor, and then two brusque guys live on the floor below. They leave their dishes in our sink for us to clean, but that’s okay because women are generally good at household chores.

This is my room. The ceiling is low as hell and, lucky me, my other window opens into the stairwell. My mattress is heated and there’s a picture I put over my bed of a woman riding a rooster. It’s not symbolic (yet!), but maybe it’s prophetic (oh man!).

This is Bri’s balcony (What a bitch! We’re trading rooms in two months), and that’s the ashtray that we don’t use.

That’s my street! This picture was taken at 10 pm, but this is also what Bordeaux looks like at 8 am, which means that going to class is really really impossible, especially when I turn my mattress heater up to number 3.

Welcome! There are little lights all over Bordeaux. I think it’s just a naturally festive city, but we’ll find out in a couple of weeks once the holidays have worn off.

I eat here.

Ohnoohmy, this sandwhich was so grub. That’s mayonnaise on my frites (because frenchfries aren’t called frenchfries in Bordeaux), and don’t hate until you try it. They had ketchup, but the dude just assumed I wanted mayonnaise beacuse man, doesn’t egg and oil sauce just seem so perfect for potatoes? Yeah.

The candy in France is pretty much the same.

“God is in the details.”

God is also in Bri. Also, that’s chocolate from France’s version of 7-11, and it’s the best god damn chocolate I have ever had.

This is my favorite caf