New Apartment

As recent posts sort of imply (and the one before that blatantly states), V and I have been searching for apartments with a friend. We've found a really nice one and will be moving into it on the 1st of July. It's located near the Buttes Chaumont, which is a lovely park that completely bucks the French tradition of neatly trimmed, flat, geometrically arranged gardens with small bushes, tiny flowers, square trees, too many statues, and grass that you can't walk on. (This is much to my relief--French gardens are pretty, but I prefer some wildness in my caged nature.) It was built over an old quarry and includes some bluffs (topped by pavilion), a small lake/large pond and a waterfall, hills, winding paths, grass that you can (gasp!) sit on, and many many trees.

The apartment is furnished (pictures here), and is well-situated for all of us. For Marie and V, it's near metro lines that go quickly to their workplaces. For me, there is ki aikido (Ki Federation, not Ki Society, but same thing, really) not far away. For all of us there is the park down the street and right next door to us a pool. For V and I, a rock gym. Plus a nearby organic cafe, a fruit/veggie open-air market, and plenty of other neat things. All told, yay! We're excited to move in!

Habits, Addictions, and Old Comforts

One of the funnier things about living in another country, I've been learning, is discovering what you miss about your own country. Since I moved to the UK in September, I'd been feeling a large sense of relief at "escaping" the US. I was excited to experience a new culture and to be free of the confines of my own at least enough to see better what they were. I felt I had missed something by not going abroad during my junior year of college, and now I was making up for it. (I was, and still am, also pursuing love and romance with an amazing woman.)

I was, I'll admit, a little disappointed at the less-than-exotic feel of England at first. The language wasn't very different and the culture didn't seem so either, to begin with. I could get many of the same foods--I could even go into a Burger King or a Starbucks if I felt so inclined. But everyone around me spoke like a movie villain, which in itself was pretty cool. It was also sometimes absurd, as when a perfect posh British or Cockney accent spewed from the mouth of a 3-year-old. But I'm sure the same is felt by Brits coming to the United States.

Still, in England, there were some things I started to miss: bubble tea (which I've really been missing since I left Portland, OR), for one, and, surprisingly, salt and vinegar potato chips (sorry, crisps). The English are huge fans of salt and vinegar crisps (sorry, chips), but none of the varieties I found used very strong vinegar--always malt or cider or occasionally balsamic, none of which had the right bite. (Boo, pout, tantrum, etc.)

Ironically, now that I'm in Paris with V, I've been missing something I discovered in the UK: namely, Fentiman's Curiosity Cola. It's fantastic! Delicious and addicting! And it hits a bit of a weak spot in me, i.e., my taste for gourmet sodas. What's strange, though, is that it has got me drinking Coca-Cola again (somewhat). I stopped in the States because I stopped liking it, and because it made my stomach uncomfortable and gave me heartburn, and because I had begun to read about the negative aspects of high-fructose corn syrup. But Fentiman's addiction plus the discovery that in Europe, Coke is made with sugar rather than corn syrup, has got me opening up to it again. But I'm not sure I'm very happy about this. I'd rather be drinking Curiosity Cola. Heh.

But it's also interesting to note that despite my relief at moving outside of the US (which is partly relief at escaping a sphere of movement that had become too confining for me at the moment), I find myself taking little bits of pleasure in chance encounters with "American" things--a Snickers bar on the shelf in a magasin, a snippet of conversation in US English, and most especially Thanksgiving dinner. I think this is largely the comforting effect of familiarity--of receiving small reminders of an old home that I no longer live in (for now), and needed to leave, but that is still in some ways home, if only because it and I have so much connection.