FIELD NOTE 2.3 - Tram rides raise my spirit.

Such a simple thing. More often than not they're packed with students going to and from school. But still I take a huge pleasure in stepping aboard the tram and riding it from Faculté where my school is to Commerce where the commercial section of Nantes is.
Stepping off the tram at Commerce is almost like stepping into a different city. All week I live my life between Bourgeonnière and Faculté - between my dorm and my classes. It's usually enough to make me believe that Nantes is composed of nothing but students. So Commerce is always a welcome reprieve because here there are people from every age bracket walking around and shopping.
Today I was on a mission to get my tram ticket. You see, I may or may not have been riding the tram without a ticket for a few days. The last time I had gone to apply for a tram pass I found myself lacking the proper documentation - the French seem to like their paperwork more than any other culture I've ever known. So today I walked in with everything in hand and walked out 10 minutes later with a tram pass and a self-esteem boost because the man who helped me (and also happened to share the same birthday as me) told me that my French was actually pretty good.
So I got back on the tram with an extra pep in my step and actually broke into a full-on smile once we passed the ashes of today's protest pyre without stopping or ending the tram line. Looks like some things are looking up.

FIELD NOTE 2.2 - An idea.

I came up with an idea today as I was forced to walk my way to class. Partially inspired by Bonnie Orzolek's telling me how her friend once took pictures of her daily trip from her apartment to the café where she would buy a daily cup of coffee and partially an attempt to ward off the last remnants of my homesickness, I've decided to begin taking at least one picture a day. It might be something random, something important, something blue. After all, I talked myself into purchasing a new camera shortly before leaving but it has been weighing down my bag ever since. I tell myself it's because I don't see anything I want to capture, but that's not it. I just don't want to make myself look like a tourist.
So I made my decision to follow through with this project. And as I went to grab my camera and capture a picture of the faces of protesters smiling and shouting over the flames, my hand came up empty. I had left my camera on my desk, forgotten in the rush to leave my room.
Ironic.

FIELD NOTE 2.1 - Progress.

The tram comes to an abrupt halt. It is 10h17. A tin-like female voice comes over the speaker telling us that at the next stop, St. Michel, the tram will be unable to continue forward because of a "manifestation" - in English this word means "protest," but here the word can only mean "setback". Class will begin at 11h00 and there are 3 tram stops between St. Michel and Facultés where my classroom is.
At St. Michel the tram stops and all the passengers begin pouring themselves out of the train and onto the platform. For a second I lose myself in the crowd, following along blindly as I make my way from platform to street, from street to sidewalk. Gradually I come back to myself in time to notice the scent of smoke is in the air and the people ahead are slowly being pelted by little bits of windblown ash. Here it is: the manifestation, three small pyres surrounded by people handing out papers and yelling at passing by cars, some of which stop and items to be unloaded and cast into the flames. I make my way through safely and with only a few pieces of charred paper on my coat.
As I keep walking I let my mind wander. I notice the trees that have already begun to send out their shoots and leaflets and one unruly hibiscus that has already chosen to set itself in full bloom.
It doesn't really set in until a few minutes after class begins that I understood the French announcement on the tram. Progress, slow but sure.
Now if only I could make some sense of my French culture class. Baby steps, I tell myself.

FIELD NOTE 1.30 - Last night of January, last night of something.

Tonight marks the end of January.
I've been in France for 16 days - that's 2 weeks and 2 days - and the memory of boarding United Airlines flight 4944 is still in my mind, as fresh and as potent as ever. And yet, even in remembering this, I don't feel like I'm the same person who stepped aboard that plane.
Well, that's not entirely true.
The face in the mirror is still my own, only now less 5 pounds. And the pain that I feel when I think of the people I've left behind is just as raw as when I left. But I feel different. Older, more aware.
A line keeps repeating inside my head from a short story collection I picked up seven years ago at Barnes & Noble in their bargain bin:

"We are what people make us, that's a fact I've learned is as true as the stars...We are still ourselves, just not who we intended to be."

And then I wonder. Who was it that I intended to be?
Three years ago the answer was easy: wealthy, famous, attractive. Now all that seems hollow to me.
But still the question remains.
And I have no answer for it. I don't want an answer, I don't want an intention.
Not yet, anyway.

FIELD NOTE 1.29 - Some views are priceless.

The view from my window at night is the thing I've come to love most about this dorm. It's come to be the sight I look forward to the most each day. I sometimes just sit in the dark with my iPod on and the lights turned off and just look out at Nantes and remind myself of who I am and where I come from - my daily meditation.

FIELD NOTE 1.28 - Blinds really do make all the difference.

I've been having some trouble sleeping here in this dorm room. It seems to me that I can't seem to make it through a single night without some small thing like a misplaced sheet or the noise of a passing tram waking me up. Another problem is that I don't seem to be able to sleep past 8h00 without waking up on my own.
But I think I may have found the remedy: closing the blinds completely.
Normally I leave about a foot of window exposed at night because I feel it is more comfortable than a completely covered window. But last night I covered it for some reason.
I still wasn't able to sleep completely through the night, but the darkness of the room was enough to convince me to go back to sleep. When I finally decided to wake up this morning it was 10h30.
Not too bad...

FIELD NOTE 1.27 - Heaven can be found in a fresh baguette.

I broke down.
But I just couldn't resist the smell of freshly baked bread coming from the little boulangerie right next to the pharmacy where I bought my pain pills. The fact that the baker was stacking the baguettes as they made their way out of the oven just sealed the deal.
I went back to my room and enjoyed my warm bread with mandarin marmalade and the requisite doctor-prescribed pill.