Letter from France 16

February 18, 1990

born: Vanna White 1957

died: Michelangelo 1564

167—Pilgrim's Progress by John Bunyan published

 

Letter sent to friends from San Francisco,

 

Got your letter with the Bay Guardian clipping, keep up the good work. A very strange feeling to be in debt to people for correspondence, but letters seem to be piling up with me not generating anything. I'd like to say it's because I'm so busy playing all the great new computer games I got for Christmas (Really, I wanted a TV that spoke English. Was disappointed to find out they don't make them over here.) The truth is that unless I'm pretty happy and have nice things to write about, I don't. Ever since school started in January things have been harder than average.

 

Came back early from the vacation to sit in on four days of staff meetings to schedule the next trimester. I was patient and cunning and just about had the perfect schedule for myself and the jugglers when on the afternoon of the last day, everything blew up. People started complaining about the process and the lack of communication in the school, (Of course, there's a lack of communication, they all speak French.) and it was decided to start over from scratch. The next thing I knew all my classes save one are in a tent four kilometers from school. I hate this tent.

 

Why the school has a tent when it doesn't travel like a circus and already has buildings is beyond me. But, the school has just bought a tent and thinks it's really romantic and everyone should work together. This means that every day I ride my bicycle four kilometers to go juggle by myself, twice. My students don't come because it's too far away, has bad light, and is dirty. I think the school has officially banned juggling from the campus. My plan is to have all the jugglers claim they are bicycle riders, get rooms on campus assigned to them so they can practice, close the curtains, and juggle. At the end of the year they ride into the ring on a bicycle, do their juggling act, and ride off. Don't know if it will work out.

 

Not sure how much world weather you get in San Francisco, and it has been unusually windy here the past few weeks. The French use the word tempête which translates into go indoors or you'll fall over. After the first hard storm hit I was disappointed to find the tent still standing, with new reinforcements. Now I just bring my passport with me when I go to work and expect that one day I'll end up in Germany, Belgium, or Oz. "It sure doesn't sound like Kansas, Todd-o."

 

It's actually a bit better than that, but not much. I was so upset by the horrible new schedule that I took a week off from school to cool down. I was all set to quit when I got back, but found out that the woman who gave me this ridiculous schedule quit while I was away. I got immense satisfaction from her leaving but, alas, no schedule change. I am waiting for the replacement to get used to his job and set things right. In the meantime, I pretty much ignore my schedule and hang out with the students when we can find a vacant room. Next week will be a series of meetings and I hope to make things better.

 

About that Pickle flying to France and the clubs. Yes, the clubs got here all right, thanks bunches. You should realize that I went over all the important points with her about what to expect before she left. I even gave her 600 francs in advance to help her bring the clubs with her. This was to pay SuperShuttle on the SF side and a special van service that picks people up at the airport in Paris and takes them directly to Châlons. I figured with the extra bulk of the clubs it would not be fun to ride metros and trains. I left her with our Artistic Director to get a letter from the school explaining why she was traveling with the clubs so if she was stopped at customs there would be no problems. Now, she called me two or three days before she was leaving SF to explain she couldn't bring the clubs because of the following reasons.

• 1) She never got the explanatory letter from the school before she left for San Francisco. Why she couldn't have told me this before she left or called early in the vacation I don't know. I faxed her the necessary letter.
• 2) The clubs were too heavy. I had already explained to her exactly how much they weighed (1/2 pound each) and mentioned that flying with them was an issue of bulk, not weight. Well, some other Pickle had told her the clubs would be 100 pounds and she decided to believe him and not me without ever seeing the clubs.
• 3) The airlines wouldn't take the package. Again, one bad Pickle piece of information, unverified.
• 4) She wouldn't have room to take her own luggage. However, before she left I explained the clubs were bulky—not heavy—and to just put her own stuff in this big, huge box and check everything as one package.
• 5) She didn't have the money, her family didn't have any money, it was too expensive, and she could not get a ride to the airport. Now, I'd already given her 600 francs just to deal with transportation. She didn't have the money? And in the next sentence, even though her family had no money, her twelve-year-old sister was coming back with her to France for a vacation. No money?

 

Anyway, you're right, she is a sweetie. I really don't think I was picking on her to urge her to bring the clubs. The question rests, why did I just spend so much time explaining why I didn't let her flake out? In summation, the clubs are being well used by the first-year class. She has temporarily left the school for a show in Brussels, leaving a legacy of flying plastic behind her. Things are not easy over here.

 

My schedule shows a vacation from June 8-17. What you should also know is there is a habit of scheduling lots of meetings during vacations so I don't know how free I'll actually be until then. Would love to come up and see everyone and also that seems like a nice time to finally visit Mont St. Michel. If Andrea can get some time off from Berlin and all those reunifying things they do she may join me.

 

I ran an experiment by putting the croissants in the front bicycle basket rather than the rear to see how many would survive the trip between the market and home. I suspect you will have to look very early on in the month to get the proper response. The answer is: not many.

 

Stayed in Châlons for Christmas and traveled a bit after. The last day the school was open, the water pump in the heater broke down. This meant no hot water for dishes or showers and no heat from the radiators. I think the school was trying to freeze me out. Fortunately Nikolaus, a student friend, loaned me his apartment keys so every day it was a short, brisk walk to a hot shower. I also borrowed his portable electric heater so at least one room in the building was warm. Life became quite strategic for a few days as we moved the heater from the bedroom to the kitchen to cook and dine, and then into the living room for a little television and my on-going living French lessons. I think even Dorothée was a bit colder, at least she was wearing some pretty heavy clothing and mittens. Andrea threatened to find another juggler with hot water.

 

After Christmas it was on to Nantes to visit some friends. Had a nice time wandering through another real city (more than one Chinese shop to buy cooking supplies). The most interesting evening was spent eating in one night with about eight folks. Our host had received a pierre a griller for Christmas and this was his first chance to show off. Running to the dictionary, I was a bit horrified to find out this meant we were going to eat off of a rock. A little known form of French cuisine consists of heating up a rock in your oven and then trying to safely transport it to the dining table without accidentally grilling your hands, your guests, or the table. Said rock is then placed over a couple of small flames a la fondue and slices of meat and vegetables are cooked on top. After one under-heated attempt we finally managed to get the rock hot enough to actually cook. If you haven't eaten dinner at midnight lately, I suggest you try it and see if you don't get a bit of a drowsy French accent.

 

My big hopes of wintering in Normandy were dashed when I found out that Mont St. Michel effectively closes for the holidays to go south and find sunshine. So, instead, it was a few days in Paris shopping at bookstores and riding the metro. Fortunately, Andrea has lived in Paris and explained that the game of riding public transportation and walking on the sidewalks is to always be the first. I guess it's a lot like driving in California. I had trouble understanding the concept, figuring we were all going separate places and who could tell who was first until I realized that the game was to be the first one out of Paris. That's why everyone was shoving and pushing. Once I caught onto the idea that we were all trying to get out I quickly became a champ at pushing your way to front. I also found out the most polite areas in Paris are in the English-language bookstores with everyone queing up quite properly.

 

The metro system is an assault on the nose. The three most prominent smells are perfume, unwashed Parisians, and mace. Apparently it's quite common and considered funny to spray mace into a group of strangers all crowded into a tight space with no ventilation. Didn't get a chance to see the humor, definitely saw the effectiveness.

 

As a highlight, I am now a collector of antique diabolos and antique postcards of diabolos. It was quite a craze in 1907-08, and it's still possible to find old relics hanging about. After several more trips into Paris I now have a bit over one hundred post cards and am eventually hope to publish them so I get a write-off.

 

My plans are still to move to Santa Barbara after this is all over. The juggling convention is in LA and starts on July 17. I have this fear that this will put me in Santa Barbara right about the same time as the wedding of the decade. So far I haven't heard from John about it. He did send a batch of mail in December that included one four-month-old bill and a royalty check.

 

Todd Strong, Professeur du Jonglage

 

Centre National des Arts du Cirque

1, rue du Cirque

51000 Châlons-sur-Marne

FRANCE

 

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