Ce n'est pas grave, la greve

Un autre greve.

I'm fighting back a deep desire to write in French right now. I will resist.

Un autre greve=another strike. I didn't write much about the last strike, but know that about 3 weeks ago, the French transportation workers decided to strike, for reasons that I won't go into, and the city shut down and everyone had to walk everywhere and classes were canceled and there were big demonstrations near where I live (a very liberal area, ever since that whole French revolution thing, with the raising of the Bastille and the declaration of the rights of man and all that other crap). Demonstrations, by the way, turn out to be a lot of middle-aged people strolling down the street in an endless stream, drinking tall cans of beer, happy to have an excuse to take a day off from work, amidst a minority of more enthusiastic demonstrators who set off smoke flares and hand out fliers to passers-by and shout incomprehensible things from mega-phones. Also, "Seven Nation Army" by the White Stripes is always playing.

Anyway. Aujourd'hui, il y avait un autre greve. All of my classes at IES were cancelled, and apparently angry students were/are blocking the entrances to the Sorbonne and 5 other Paris universities--their strike is unrelated, something to do with some new policy about the autonomy of universities, but they have joined forces with the transportation workers, in a general show of solidarity for the right to organize a goddamn strike! What I've learned, through these greves: 1) French people like to strike 2) Most people who aren't striking hate all the strikers 3) French people hate any sort of change (dont' we all?) 4) Strikes actually mean something here. Stefan, one of my homies from Cafe Titon, told me that he finds American strikes really funny--everyone walking in a circle, holding signs. I believe he used the word "cute" to describe them. There's a lot of truth in that statement. When you see a strike in the states, you drive by, maybe honk if you agree or flick them off you don't, and go about your daily life. Nobody pays the strikers much mind. But here, a strike shuts down the city. A strike changes the way you structure your day, a strike ruins your plans.

For instance, today I was going to go to class and then head to the Louvre (today was going to be Napoleon's quarters), and then go to conversation hour and then out to a bar or something. Instead, à cause du grève, I slept until noon, then spent the afternoon walking around the sunny, cold city, exploring the Jewish quarter of the Marais with some IES friends (there is a bakery called Finklestein's in Paris, by the way), then bought absurdly large bottles of beer and drank them in Place des Vosges until a short, angry, red-faced guard kicked us out because it was closing time, and we relocated to the Seine.

I am going to Amsterdam tomorrow, assuming the greve doesn't thwart those plans, too. The airlines aren't affected by all of this, but getting to the airport is another issue. There is some chaos with the other girls who were supposed to come, because they had train tickets and all the train lines are striking, so I may be spending some time alone in Amsterdam. I'm not worried. Il faut etre courageuse.

Family is great. Yolaine is leaving for a two-week trip to Syria on Monday, so I hope I get to see her on Sunday night when I get home. I'll try to put up some more pictures soon--it's hard to remember to take pictures. When you see the same beautiful things every day, you don't feel a lot of urgency to take pictures--oh, that will all be there tomorrow. But time is fucking fleeting. I'll try. Or I'll at least try to procure some of my friends' pictures.

Wish me luck for Amsterdam.