Park Writing II

People-watching should be a sport. Sitting in the park, under the tress, shielded from the worst of the rain. The people here hate rain, so it’s great to go walking on the sidewalks of Provence in the rain. You’re by yourself—plenty of time to think, plenty of solitude. It’s great if you want to be alone.

If you want to people-watch, however, you go to the park. Even in the rain, there are people at the park. Moms with their children, men with their wives (or mistresses), generations of women sitting and chatting under their colorful umbrellas. There are only a certain number of benches protected by the trees, and they go fast. I make sure to snag one before they’re all gone.

I watch people pass, so European-chic in their scarves and long belted coats. I stand out as an American just by sight, but I don’t know that this is necessarily a bad thing.

I think the first thing that gives me away is that I look decidedly anti-social sitting by myself in the corner of the park (under a tree), listening to an mp3 player. Contrary to popular belief, people here are very kind. They like talking, and I haven’t met one person who wasn’t fascinated by the fact that I’m an American college student. They ask questions, and a lot of them want to practice their English. I must’ve heard the question, “Est-ce que je peux parler anglais avec vous?” a million times. They want to speak English, and although it was annoying at first—I wanted to speak French, they wanted to speak English—it’s really not so bad now. I speak French every day, all the time here, it’s kind of nice meeting a European who wants to practice their language skills just like you do.

The second thing that makes me an obvious American is my accent. As soon as I open my mouth, even if my French is parfait, they know, immediately, that I’m an American. It’s kind of like if someone lives in Georgia—southern Georgia—their entire life, they’re going to have an accent. If they went to New York and ordered a pizza, they waiter would know they weren’t New Yorkers. It’s not really a bad thing, although at first it was disheartening. As first I thought it was my level of language that gave me away. My host mom assured me this was not the case—just my accent, and I’m honestly fine with that. Some people even think I’m québécoise, which I find to be hilariously awesome. I didn’t expect to fit in exactly, and I didn’t believe I would be able to adopt a perfect French accent in a month. Some people did, I think, and it will probably take them awhile to get over the fact that while they’re here, they are foreigners. They won’t fit in. Honestly, I kind of like standing out. It makes me different.

It seems that the word “different” is a running theme in my park writings. I don’t know why, but I kind of like it. I really think I’m growing a lot into who I am and who I’m going to be, and I think I’m going to like her. All I can say is, “Different but better, ma chèrie.” =)

I’ve written a lot here. I’m on page 68 of the Harper book (whose working title now is “Wait”), and I really think I’ll be able to finish it by June. June 8th, to be exact. I really think I can do it.

The Garden State soundtrack is my new best friend. I’ve gone through two or three stages of music since I’ve been here (not having all my music instantly at my disposal is hard!): First it was Counting Crows (specifically a couple of songs that I now know entirely by memory), then it was A Fine Frenzy, because their stuff is just so chill and I could sing along. Now, as I sit in the park, I’m listening to the Garden State soundtrack, because it’s just…perfect. It fits my mood; content, a little nostalgic, maybe, but happy. I have no idea where I’m going, but I know where I’ve been. Seems to kind of fit the theme of the movie, and it definitely fits the music.

For some reason, Hairspray won’t work on my computer. All my other movies play just great (on my pirated software because I’m an idiot and I accidentally deleted my codec in Québec), but Hairspray won’t play. It really frustrated me last night. Yesterday (Thursday) was a particularly bad day, mostly because I was really sick. But I wanted to watch Hairspray last night, and it wouldn’t work. I wanted something to lift my mood, someone I could drool at (don’t worry about it) and a good message. I messed with it for over an hour, and I could not figure out what in the hell was wrong with it. I still don’t know. It works on Grace’s computer, but it won’t work on mine.

“Frustrated” is a massive understatement. I’m over it now, but man, at the time, I was looking to kill the stupid DVD. But then I knew it would never work again, and I figured that would be counter-productive. So I put it away and watched Garden State instead. Not the same, but still good.

Okay, my hand is getting tired. I’m writing this on Friday afternoon, and I’ll probably type it up sometime this weekend and post it on Monday.

Hopefully I’ll talk to some of you between now and then.