Letter from France 5

 

written in the Spring of 1989

 

Folks,

 

This one's called "Neal Cassady in Europe" or "Dean and Out in Paris and Toulouse." Last weekend found me driving a very late model Citroen van full of eight circus-school students down to Toulouse and the French juggling convention. Toulouse is about 1100 kilometers (don't ask) from Châlons and becomes even farther when you wake up at six a.m. to drive into rush-hour Parisian traffic.

 

Following the students' directions, we got off the autoroute to get stuck in a massive, suburban-Parisian traffic jam, and also to get lost. At one point we actually ended up in an apartment parking lot. After two hours on the outskirts of Paris we again found the expressway, and in another nine hours we were basking in the overcast weather of Toulouse. I'm not blaming the students, and I'm not blaming myself for the unnecessary suburban side trip a la Parisienne. I do know I pay a lot more attention to “droits” and “gauches” these days.

 

Which is another thing; I have figured out a way to combine steady jogging and exercise, and still gain weight. I brought with me and use the little bit of French I had already learned before coming over here. What is amazing is the rich nature of the American/French words I knew, "eclair", "croissant", and "chocolat" just seem to roll off my tongue with an accent that smacks of a true, pudgy, Frenchman. Learning the language by living it is a lot like having Alzheimer's disease. I respond not so much by meaning, but by the rising tones and gesticulations of others when I don't get it right the first time.

 

Actually, I must admit to being impressed with the drivers here. Most people seem very courteous and considerate. If you put people into their cars and out of supermarket lines our sensibilities match. French people honor the custom of moving over to the right when someone wants to pass. The students told me the few obnoxious drivers are either Italians, Germans, or Parisians. The speed limit on the autoroute is 130 km/hour (I don't know, either.) and the turbo van was comfortable with that limit, and not much more.

 

The water here is hard. My fingers dry up at the tips and crack open. Originally, I was concerned, but a doctor assured me it is normal and to just use special soaps and hand creams. I now think of myself as molting under the too-hot faucets of Châlons and some new, improved Todd Strong-juggler is about to emerge from the cocoon of his former self.

 

Spring has definitely arrived. Days are hot with just a hint of the humidity to come. I chuckle realizing will be gone by mid-July when it becomes unbearable. The mosquitoes that have been breeding patiently in the moat all winter now take advantage of the warm weather to fly into the bedroom window. I'll have to get around to looking up the word for "screens."

 

Bought a rickety, old bicycle from a student who left for Germany. At $25 dollars, I'm not sure who got the best deal. With this new mobility I now rattle off down the flat streets of Châlons and go shopping at the big supermarket on the outskirts of town. If you combined a K-Mart and a large Safeway you would get "Carrefour." I know dental floss must exist in France, and I also know it's not stocked next to the toothpaste or toothbrushes.

 

Don't know about too much other news, sounds like something is going on in China, the basketball play-offs are happening, and the dollar is rebounding instead of Kareem.take care, Tôdd

 

copyright 1989 by Todd Strong

 

 

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