Back in this world I'm alive and dead at once.
Missing the way the sun would seem to set and rise
On a day and upon a heart all at the same time.
Somewhere over the Barcelona shore my eyes are locked
And there it is, hovering.
Oh intimate strangers come back to me
With the lines and shapes that drew your stories
And the way the light reflects in the lonely places too.
But they're gone, they're gone
I'm buzzing with this warm desire.
This life is told exactly like a story from a man
Who found a love and let it go for the sake
Of continuing to live a lie.
Updates sparingly: some stories take a little longer to describe- especially when they are a world wide.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Sunday, March 21, 2010
In Love with Love...
I am amazed at how photographs refuse to capture moments. Not the exact likeness of what is before the lens, but rather the moment proper. The smell of air coming in from the sea at night while the palm trees sway and listen to the hum of a city just beginning to stir. How a photograph, despite the colors, never realizes what a sunset looks like within the mountains and in the streets.
Photographs won't ever tell me exactly what it was my love said to me right before I took that picture of her in front of that ancient fountain. The photographs will never give me back the very wonder of sharing pizza with Kate as we watched a movie after a long day of drifting along the streets of Barcelona with our stomachs happily filled on pastry and Spanish coffee. Oh you photographs who have betrayed the moment- you have only served me this one purpose: to find an outline to a feeling that I have forever.
And these outlines may not mean to you what they mean to me- but I want to share them just the same. Because in these outlines you are free to color your own shades. You are free to look at these small windows of moments and imagine yourself there. Place yourself in the little sliver of life that I have captured here, and maybe one day I will write a story.
Perhaps I will call it: All the Lonely Places. I'll write about alleyways in Paris or that loop under the trees behind the Cité U. Maybe I'll tell the stories about the empty rooms before and after once more- with feeling.
Or perhaps I will title my story: Today the Sky Burned Perfect. I'll write about running along the beaches of Barcelona with the sloshing of the sea and the gradual awakening of city lights.
Better yet, I can call it: The City's I Love Once. Those will be stories about Frankfurt and Bacharach. London and Berlin. Those cities I only came to know fleetingly. They will be love stories about homes I could have had.
But best of all- I can call my story: The Months I Fell in Love Again.
But that story wouldn't be about a place at all.
Here are the Outlines to a Story.
All my pictures so far.
Photographs won't ever tell me exactly what it was my love said to me right before I took that picture of her in front of that ancient fountain. The photographs will never give me back the very wonder of sharing pizza with Kate as we watched a movie after a long day of drifting along the streets of Barcelona with our stomachs happily filled on pastry and Spanish coffee. Oh you photographs who have betrayed the moment- you have only served me this one purpose: to find an outline to a feeling that I have forever.
And these outlines may not mean to you what they mean to me- but I want to share them just the same. Because in these outlines you are free to color your own shades. You are free to look at these small windows of moments and imagine yourself there. Place yourself in the little sliver of life that I have captured here, and maybe one day I will write a story.
Perhaps I will call it: All the Lonely Places. I'll write about alleyways in Paris or that loop under the trees behind the Cité U. Maybe I'll tell the stories about the empty rooms before and after once more- with feeling.
Or perhaps I will title my story: Today the Sky Burned Perfect. I'll write about running along the beaches of Barcelona with the sloshing of the sea and the gradual awakening of city lights.
Better yet, I can call it: The City's I Love Once. Those will be stories about Frankfurt and Bacharach. London and Berlin. Those cities I only came to know fleetingly. They will be love stories about homes I could have had.
But best of all- I can call my story: The Months I Fell in Love Again.
But that story wouldn't be about a place at all.
Here are the Outlines to a Story.
All my pictures so far.
Friday, March 12, 2010
These Empty Rooms
I drift through the hallways here at Cité Universitaire. Doorways are left ajar and I glance sideways to the scenes of melancholy that linger there. People clearing out their belongings opening that sad space. Its not the same space as when we arrived- it is a space filled with a quiet moment of heavy sighs.
When we entered these rooms there were so full of wonder. Brand new world for us to fill with possessions and stories from all the brand new days. These were the rooms we'd rush into after our classes, and they would be the guardians to our late nights of studying and talking. Radiating with all the words shared with friends. Outside, the night would embrace the small touches of light coming from these rooms. They would be there every day we returned from the heights of Arc de Triumph or the sanctity of Notre Dame.
Yes, these were the rooms that held the hard moments too. The passing of a love one would echo in my room. I would lose myself completely- numb and hurting, questioning and weeping. Oh this room was there holding me through the darkest moment I ever felt.
And these rooms filled up with every passing day. And now, some windows are opened as belongings are packed away. The Paris air comes in and it seems to sweep away all the weight that stood there. One by one the inhabitants leave to the wideness of the world and these rooms remain behind with our stories going somewhere else.
Where do our stories go? Where do they live once we've found new places to fill with all our lives? I think that they just sit outside in the trees, or perhaps behind the moon. I think they live somewhere beyond even our own hearts. They find rooms of their own, and we knock upon they're doors as we move through the hallways of our lives. Oh those rooms never empty.
But now, the space is not like when we arrived. The space seems barren and without potential now. Its as if no more stories will be made, and instead they are desolate, 12 by 14 deserts being abandoned.
And I ran through the night. I felt the Paris fog, and I saw the outlines of buildings so old and yet so familiar to me now. Am I really leaving? Am I really clearing out my own room now?
Spinning through the Paris park that I ran through week in and week out, I can't believe that this fog is coming in to swallow me up. And yet, this air is so sweet, so full of the stories still be written.
All the rooms to come. The ones that still beckon stories. And all the rooms that I will revisit.
I looked up and saw the sweeping light from the Eiffel Tower way out in the shimmering city I got so use to living in. It rushed across the open sky and was gone. I paused a moment, breathing heavy, and just felt the profound ways in which I have changed because of this place. And I wonder,
what other shimmering places and memories lie their in the landscape of the heart waiting to find their expression?
When we entered these rooms there were so full of wonder. Brand new world for us to fill with possessions and stories from all the brand new days. These were the rooms we'd rush into after our classes, and they would be the guardians to our late nights of studying and talking. Radiating with all the words shared with friends. Outside, the night would embrace the small touches of light coming from these rooms. They would be there every day we returned from the heights of Arc de Triumph or the sanctity of Notre Dame.
Yes, these were the rooms that held the hard moments too. The passing of a love one would echo in my room. I would lose myself completely- numb and hurting, questioning and weeping. Oh this room was there holding me through the darkest moment I ever felt.
And these rooms filled up with every passing day. And now, some windows are opened as belongings are packed away. The Paris air comes in and it seems to sweep away all the weight that stood there. One by one the inhabitants leave to the wideness of the world and these rooms remain behind with our stories going somewhere else.
Where do our stories go? Where do they live once we've found new places to fill with all our lives? I think that they just sit outside in the trees, or perhaps behind the moon. I think they live somewhere beyond even our own hearts. They find rooms of their own, and we knock upon they're doors as we move through the hallways of our lives. Oh those rooms never empty.
But now, the space is not like when we arrived. The space seems barren and without potential now. Its as if no more stories will be made, and instead they are desolate, 12 by 14 deserts being abandoned.
And I ran through the night. I felt the Paris fog, and I saw the outlines of buildings so old and yet so familiar to me now. Am I really leaving? Am I really clearing out my own room now?
Spinning through the Paris park that I ran through week in and week out, I can't believe that this fog is coming in to swallow me up. And yet, this air is so sweet, so full of the stories still be written.
All the rooms to come. The ones that still beckon stories. And all the rooms that I will revisit.
I looked up and saw the sweeping light from the Eiffel Tower way out in the shimmering city I got so use to living in. It rushed across the open sky and was gone. I paused a moment, breathing heavy, and just felt the profound ways in which I have changed because of this place. And I wonder,
what other shimmering places and memories lie their in the landscape of the heart waiting to find their expression?
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
At the End of a Journey
I haven't updated in a while. I fail.
We are nearly at the end of our time in Paris, and I realize now that we need to post pictures both of the monuments we have seen, as well as the every day things that we experience.
It's a lot like when I was atop the Arc de Triumph a couple weeks back. All the world was a glitter with these lights- one bleeding into the next and setting the world alight. Yet, how wonderful is the world down on the streets. How wonderful was the world sitting outside a Paris café talking with my French conversation leader and his girlfriend from Madrid? The first trip Kate and I took through Paris streets seeing apartments older than we are, and leading to a church older than the nation of France.
---
The rain falls differently here. It falls outside markets and in parks, on international students' dorms, and just outside the window to the room I called home. The rain falls on different people here. The rain falls in the streets as people scurry home with bread for dinner just under their arms. It saturates this world with words I don't know and with attitudes I don't seem to understand. This world is awash with this fresh rain that brings not newness, but a new sense of the old. Rain has fallen on people here since before the oldest church was built here- and it will fall forever, washing this world with a constant history. All the while, new people will walk beneath it.
So we are leaving Paris- we are leaving this every day life in a little less than two weeks- and then we become new strangers in new places. I wonder how the rain falls in Barcelona?
We are nearly at the end of our time in Paris, and I realize now that we need to post pictures both of the monuments we have seen, as well as the every day things that we experience.
It's a lot like when I was atop the Arc de Triumph a couple weeks back. All the world was a glitter with these lights- one bleeding into the next and setting the world alight. Yet, how wonderful is the world down on the streets. How wonderful was the world sitting outside a Paris café talking with my French conversation leader and his girlfriend from Madrid? The first trip Kate and I took through Paris streets seeing apartments older than we are, and leading to a church older than the nation of France.
---
The rain falls differently here. It falls outside markets and in parks, on international students' dorms, and just outside the window to the room I called home. The rain falls on different people here. The rain falls in the streets as people scurry home with bread for dinner just under their arms. It saturates this world with words I don't know and with attitudes I don't seem to understand. This world is awash with this fresh rain that brings not newness, but a new sense of the old. Rain has fallen on people here since before the oldest church was built here- and it will fall forever, washing this world with a constant history. All the while, new people will walk beneath it.
So we are leaving Paris- we are leaving this every day life in a little less than two weeks- and then we become new strangers in new places. I wonder how the rain falls in Barcelona?
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Where they are Familiar and yet strange
So I have returned from England, and it was a truly incredible trip. Kate and I spent 3 days in England out in Colchester with a friend of mine from High School and we traveled into London each day. I have been so busy these last days, and so now I'm happy to be able to sit back and just update my blog a bit.
London was incredible. I was really struck by how familiar and yet dissimilar it was. The language was (mostly) the same, which probably had something to do with our enjoyment of the trip. We did some hard sightseeing (Big Ben, Westminster, Tower Bridge, London Tower, Buckingham Palace, etc) which is something we aren't use to doing here in Paris where we have all the time in the world.
Out in Colchester, Kate and I went out for a run in the English country side. It was unreal just following the gentle landscapes up and down, seeing these picture perfect fields complete with older gentlemen on their walks with sheep dogs. We passed the fields and into small towns where older women brought out cups of tea for the men working on their siding for them.
And we found a shipyard. Boats sat in the mud of a low-tide simply standing out against the gray skies overhead. The bay shimmered in the low light and the docks creaked and swayed in the light breezes. Off in the distance the landscape picked up again, probably on its way to the next town, where the sky stood exactly the same but the world was completely different. All around, in a sea of its own, was this wonderful silence that wasn't a silence at all. It was that low noise of life going on as it always does and yet changing with every tide. The march of time and tide continue on and it is here on earth that things change every second.
This trip was perfect in just about every way. I met up with an old friend who had moved to Europe in the 7th grade. It was unreal having a conversation with him in an English pub over a glass of Guiness and some fish and chips. We discussed the differences in politics between our countries and how much a person's home can affect their perspectives on things. Although Stephen was born American, he spent his critical years of self-realization in Europe- and that is what has made all the difference.
Kate and I also went around London with my friend Rebecca, her friend Amy, and Rebecca's Italian flatmate Alessandro. It was fantastic to hear Alessandro's perspectives on things considering that he has traveled so extensively. The open conversations about how we all go through life (Americans, Italians, Englishmen, etc) was truly what traveling is all about. With some people we had to explain how vast our country was- which then left me to reflect how, even in America, people are different in different places. We are a continent country with a universe of difference that I have never really seen until now.
The wonders of this world we live in will never stop. Time progresses, making history in an instant and maintaining it forever. On my run I passed a church from the 12th century and a graveyard to accompany it through eternity- and I was just struck by the peace that surrounded it. Castle walls and rivers older than I can imagine. Here I am, a single man in an enormous world. And all the same, I want to take in the beauty of it all.
Pictures to follow in the next post,
Nick
London was incredible. I was really struck by how familiar and yet dissimilar it was. The language was (mostly) the same, which probably had something to do with our enjoyment of the trip. We did some hard sightseeing (Big Ben, Westminster, Tower Bridge, London Tower, Buckingham Palace, etc) which is something we aren't use to doing here in Paris where we have all the time in the world.
Out in Colchester, Kate and I went out for a run in the English country side. It was unreal just following the gentle landscapes up and down, seeing these picture perfect fields complete with older gentlemen on their walks with sheep dogs. We passed the fields and into small towns where older women brought out cups of tea for the men working on their siding for them.
And we found a shipyard. Boats sat in the mud of a low-tide simply standing out against the gray skies overhead. The bay shimmered in the low light and the docks creaked and swayed in the light breezes. Off in the distance the landscape picked up again, probably on its way to the next town, where the sky stood exactly the same but the world was completely different. All around, in a sea of its own, was this wonderful silence that wasn't a silence at all. It was that low noise of life going on as it always does and yet changing with every tide. The march of time and tide continue on and it is here on earth that things change every second.
This trip was perfect in just about every way. I met up with an old friend who had moved to Europe in the 7th grade. It was unreal having a conversation with him in an English pub over a glass of Guiness and some fish and chips. We discussed the differences in politics between our countries and how much a person's home can affect their perspectives on things. Although Stephen was born American, he spent his critical years of self-realization in Europe- and that is what has made all the difference.
Kate and I also went around London with my friend Rebecca, her friend Amy, and Rebecca's Italian flatmate Alessandro. It was fantastic to hear Alessandro's perspectives on things considering that he has traveled so extensively. The open conversations about how we all go through life (Americans, Italians, Englishmen, etc) was truly what traveling is all about. With some people we had to explain how vast our country was- which then left me to reflect how, even in America, people are different in different places. We are a continent country with a universe of difference that I have never really seen until now.
The wonders of this world we live in will never stop. Time progresses, making history in an instant and maintaining it forever. On my run I passed a church from the 12th century and a graveyard to accompany it through eternity- and I was just struck by the peace that surrounded it. Castle walls and rivers older than I can imagine. Here I am, a single man in an enormous world. And all the same, I want to take in the beauty of it all.
Pictures to follow in the next post,
Nick
Friday, February 12, 2010
Week Six Concluded?
Scholastic armageddon has come to a close, and I'm still standing. Yes, this week I had exams in both French and Civilization (the civ exam took 2 hours to complete) but here I am, standing on the other side of forever- and how good it feels.
This week brings a much needed week break in which I will be traveling to London. I'm fairly excited to be headed somewhere I can speak the language with some confidence (ok, so they will make fun of my Yankee accent- whatever).
I, sadly, have not done much in terms of sightseeing this week due to the copious amounts of studying I had to do. But the good news is that I got an A on my first section of Civilization, so I have at least one grade settled away.
This weekend also marks Valentines day, which Kate and I will be spending here in Paris. Roses, food, and walks along the Seine river. Everything a good romantic needs to reflect on. Who would have thought, when I met Kate in my first year of college, that we'd be spending our third Valentine's day together in Paris of all places. To quote Dr. Seuss, "oh the places you will go"
Today, I am sadly a poet without words. Ihave nothing beautiful to give you save a picture or two.
Also, I want to give a Birthday wish out to my Aunt Valarie up in North Dakota!
For anyone with skype, please contact me at a_dangerous_scribe. If I'm on, its fair game to call me up.
Much Love,
Nick
This week brings a much needed week break in which I will be traveling to London. I'm fairly excited to be headed somewhere I can speak the language with some confidence (ok, so they will make fun of my Yankee accent- whatever).
I, sadly, have not done much in terms of sightseeing this week due to the copious amounts of studying I had to do. But the good news is that I got an A on my first section of Civilization, so I have at least one grade settled away.
This weekend also marks Valentines day, which Kate and I will be spending here in Paris. Roses, food, and walks along the Seine river. Everything a good romantic needs to reflect on. Who would have thought, when I met Kate in my first year of college, that we'd be spending our third Valentine's day together in Paris of all places. To quote Dr. Seuss, "oh the places you will go"
Today, I am sadly a poet without words. Ihave nothing beautiful to give you save a picture or two.
Also, I want to give a Birthday wish out to my Aunt Valarie up in North Dakota!
For anyone with skype, please contact me at a_dangerous_scribe. If I'm on, its fair game to call me up.
Much Love,
Nick
Paris, this strange new Egypt
A monumental Noise
Can anyone help me with the name of this thing?
Friday, February 5, 2010
Lights and Rows, Lights and Lines
I apologize for the lack of updates this past week. It has been fairly hectic, but the good news is that I am caught up on all of my course work.
I climbed the Arc de Triumph yesterday. It was an utterly amazing sight. I had climbed through the ancient structure for three minutes along a spiral staircase. Higher and higher, ever pursuing something at the very top that I wasn't quite sure what it was. And then I got there.
The edges of the earth struck me first. Sunset was old by this point and it looked like embers were cooling somewhere in the west leaving behind the slowly radiating pinks and reds. And the winds were brisk and sweet. Somewhere off, beyond the Paris limits, small hills would rise completely covered in houses and churches. Some house lights were beginning to come to life. The air up there was truly something else.
I walked to the very edge where the obtrusive fence kept me from 167 feet of free fall. And there they were- the buzzings lines alight with commuters and visitors. Café lights and headlights all joined these strings of illumination spreading out across the city. There weren't black spaces where there were no lights. Instead, the building façades were just the sweetest shade of blue. And it all just hummed along tot he tune that is Paris.
And in the center of my vision was that tower- i think its called Eiffel or something. Yes all these strings of light seemed to run into it and run up to the top. Its peak was etched against the navy sky. I'll post pictures, but they don't do justice to that pinnacle of sights.
I still see grandma judy every day. The last Christmas I had with her, she had made me a small day planner that I remember thinking "Well damn, I just bought a planner." Since she passed, I turned it into a running log. She always loved what I was doing and supported me. And she always wanted to come and see my meets and my races- and I lament the fact that that's no longer possible. So, every day I write my daily run in that book so that she can be a part of what I'm doing. Every experience I have is shared- this I know. Standing at the top of the Arc yesterday, she was seeing what I was seeing, but not with human eyes. I think she understands things now much more deeply than any human reason could possibly reach. I take comfort in that I am living, and thus so is she.
Sometimes I can't tell the difference
Between the sweetest moments in my life
and the most devastating sorrows.
Sometimes I wonder if maybe the difference
Between the two is actually behind my eyes-
If the difference between being destroyed
By the endless sadness between the stars
And smiling as I fall asleep while looking
Into the eyes of each little point of life
Is all about whether or not I admit to myself
That nothing is really over.
I climbed the Arc de Triumph yesterday. It was an utterly amazing sight. I had climbed through the ancient structure for three minutes along a spiral staircase. Higher and higher, ever pursuing something at the very top that I wasn't quite sure what it was. And then I got there.
The edges of the earth struck me first. Sunset was old by this point and it looked like embers were cooling somewhere in the west leaving behind the slowly radiating pinks and reds. And the winds were brisk and sweet. Somewhere off, beyond the Paris limits, small hills would rise completely covered in houses and churches. Some house lights were beginning to come to life. The air up there was truly something else.
I walked to the very edge where the obtrusive fence kept me from 167 feet of free fall. And there they were- the buzzings lines alight with commuters and visitors. Café lights and headlights all joined these strings of illumination spreading out across the city. There weren't black spaces where there were no lights. Instead, the building façades were just the sweetest shade of blue. And it all just hummed along tot he tune that is Paris.
And in the center of my vision was that tower- i think its called Eiffel or something. Yes all these strings of light seemed to run into it and run up to the top. Its peak was etched against the navy sky. I'll post pictures, but they don't do justice to that pinnacle of sights.
I still see grandma judy every day. The last Christmas I had with her, she had made me a small day planner that I remember thinking "Well damn, I just bought a planner." Since she passed, I turned it into a running log. She always loved what I was doing and supported me. And she always wanted to come and see my meets and my races- and I lament the fact that that's no longer possible. So, every day I write my daily run in that book so that she can be a part of what I'm doing. Every experience I have is shared- this I know. Standing at the top of the Arc yesterday, she was seeing what I was seeing, but not with human eyes. I think she understands things now much more deeply than any human reason could possibly reach. I take comfort in that I am living, and thus so is she.
Sometimes I can't tell the difference
Between the sweetest moments in my life
and the most devastating sorrows.
Sometimes I wonder if maybe the difference
Between the two is actually behind my eyes-
If the difference between being destroyed
By the endless sadness between the stars
And smiling as I fall asleep while looking
Into the eyes of each little point of life
Is all about whether or not I admit to myself
That nothing is really over.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
The Week To Come, the Weekend that was...
My friend since the 3rd grade, Nick Andriano, is coming into Paris from Granada tomorrow. Hopefully this will finally provide the impetus for me to head out and do some legitimate sight-seeing. When you live full time in a city, you just really don't get around to seeing things. That, my friends, is what we call "as shame." So I will hopefully be going to Arc de Triumph, Hotel de Invalides, and maybe Notre Dame again.
I went on a long run (13.2 miles) out of Paris into the eastern park. It was quite a remarkable run. For the first time in a long time I felt at peace with my self just moving at a comfortable glide through the forests. And to some extent, I think that's the experience I'm having this entire trip. I'm at peace with myself a little more, and I feel like a ghost, just observing the world as I pass through it with absolute wonder. The sky remains the same, but here on earth where we simply look out and observe there is a unique shape and movement to things.
The other day I spent four hours talking to my conversation leader (who is a local paid by the University to show us French culture) outside of a French bar. The cobbled stone streets and neatly packed apartments peppered with churches and monuments really screamed the post-card Paris I never realized actually existed. Sipping on wine and just talking about how different our countries were- it was an amazingly human experience. We all call wildly different places home and yet we can all communicate in a remarkably easy fashion once we take the time to lower the barriers that have been put up before us.
And now some pictures from Bacharach and Frankfurt. Don't worry, Kate and I are making a larger photo albumn soon. This is just a preview
Das Rathaus- the Town hall in Frankfurt
Nick
I went on a long run (13.2 miles) out of Paris into the eastern park. It was quite a remarkable run. For the first time in a long time I felt at peace with my self just moving at a comfortable glide through the forests. And to some extent, I think that's the experience I'm having this entire trip. I'm at peace with myself a little more, and I feel like a ghost, just observing the world as I pass through it with absolute wonder. The sky remains the same, but here on earth where we simply look out and observe there is a unique shape and movement to things.
The other day I spent four hours talking to my conversation leader (who is a local paid by the University to show us French culture) outside of a French bar. The cobbled stone streets and neatly packed apartments peppered with churches and monuments really screamed the post-card Paris I never realized actually existed. Sipping on wine and just talking about how different our countries were- it was an amazingly human experience. We all call wildly different places home and yet we can all communicate in a remarkably easy fashion once we take the time to lower the barriers that have been put up before us.
And now some pictures from Bacharach and Frankfurt. Don't worry, Kate and I are making a larger photo albumn soon. This is just a preview
Sankt Barthalome Dom- One of the old cathedrals in Frankfurt. It was pretty imposing.
The Rhine and Me. This is the view we got after climbing that pseudo-mountain I described earlier.
Stay tuned for pictures from Paris and a link to a real photo gallery
For further perspectives, visit my girlfriend's blog Here.
Love- Always,
Nick
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Dear Family
I'm still weighed by sad memories from time to time, which is not helped by the generally gray nature of this city.
As soon as I touched down, I had to hit the ground running on homework- and I probably wont be caught up until next week. But still I am driven to carry on all that Grandma gave me and bring into new areas. This is something I feel we are all capable of doing. We each carry a part of her, and we all bring that part to new and exciting avenues of experience.
And I feel grandma most profoundly when I go to fill in my running log- which she crafted from leather for last Christmas. I don't know why, but every time I open it, I feel a little warmer inside. It perhaps is tied to the fact that I feel as though my family has been found anew. So I hope that you all find what I write here as a reflection of what is possible through this love for grandma.
I have nothing new in terms of sites or photographs. Instead I am plunging myself into my work, reading and thinking about the wide breadth of history. I will make a more elaborate post later this week.
Love.
As soon as I touched down, I had to hit the ground running on homework- and I probably wont be caught up until next week. But still I am driven to carry on all that Grandma gave me and bring into new areas. This is something I feel we are all capable of doing. We each carry a part of her, and we all bring that part to new and exciting avenues of experience.
And I feel grandma most profoundly when I go to fill in my running log- which she crafted from leather for last Christmas. I don't know why, but every time I open it, I feel a little warmer inside. It perhaps is tied to the fact that I feel as though my family has been found anew. So I hope that you all find what I write here as a reflection of what is possible through this love for grandma.
I have nothing new in terms of sites or photographs. Instead I am plunging myself into my work, reading and thinking about the wide breadth of history. I will make a more elaborate post later this week.
Love.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Return to Paris
Just as a brief note, I have made it back to Paris safe and sound. It has been an emotional week, and I know that there is more for me to face and understand in the weeks and months ahead, but for now I'm here in Paris. I'll make a real post tomorrow.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Versailles and other Mysteries
Versailles was an unreal experience. The palace was of course opulent in every sense of the word, and its weight on history was so great it was even difficult for me to fully get my head around it. Gold and paintings adorned every corner of the palace and the expanse of it was just breath-taking. By the end, however, it was a bit much to handle. The sheer volume of decorative noise was too much for me. Its one of those places that was incredible to see, but its not something I'd readily come back to very soon.
Paris, as a whole, has been very enjoyable and we're starting to get very comfortable here. The cost of things are pretty high, but we're starting to cook for ourselves more and find the cheapest possible options to various essentials (you know... like coffee). The winter has begun to fade into a little warm period, but so has the rain arrived.
I've gotten use to running here, but I've run into a few set backs here and there. I'm sure I can get past them and really hit the miles soon.
My civilization class is really enjoyable, and its making me wish I could have been a history major- but I could just take a bunch of history classes when I get back to Chicago. Sometimes its impossible to remember that in this modern city there is an ancient history. And what is beginning to capture my imagination is the notion that Paris, just over 200 years ago, was subject to the fire of revolution. Its everywhere in absence- royal trinkets missing because they were consumed by the revolting people. Palaces here are largely empty as a result of this passionate movement in history. The charred remains are here under the flooding present.
Once I upload pictures from our travels, I'll link them here.
-Nick
Paris, as a whole, has been very enjoyable and we're starting to get very comfortable here. The cost of things are pretty high, but we're starting to cook for ourselves more and find the cheapest possible options to various essentials (you know... like coffee). The winter has begun to fade into a little warm period, but so has the rain arrived.
I've gotten use to running here, but I've run into a few set backs here and there. I'm sure I can get past them and really hit the miles soon.
My civilization class is really enjoyable, and its making me wish I could have been a history major- but I could just take a bunch of history classes when I get back to Chicago. Sometimes its impossible to remember that in this modern city there is an ancient history. And what is beginning to capture my imagination is the notion that Paris, just over 200 years ago, was subject to the fire of revolution. Its everywhere in absence- royal trinkets missing because they were consumed by the revolting people. Palaces here are largely empty as a result of this passionate movement in history. The charred remains are here under the flooding present.
Once I upload pictures from our travels, I'll link them here.
-Nick
Friday, January 8, 2010
In These Old Homes
France is littered with old homes. Palaces and little towns that have been asleep for centuries.
We took a morning bus from the city out towards the country side where royalty use to hold their courts. The palaces were, of course, breath taking. Halls stood empty but the air was regal and ancient, and staircases linked these little heavens one floor to the next. Yes, this was the obvious splendor, however. It is easy to look to these elaborate Chateaus and be caught in their wonder. But what really struck me was the subtle joys of the country-side.
Old walls made of stone would run along a field weighed down by the sky. Snow laid broken by the remnants of crops from the year before and trees were etched out in frosted lines. The houses all reminded me of stories mothers tell their children- maybe even dreams and secrets. Streets run along quite stretches of the world and suddenly give way to forests and churches.
Churches. I had never really thought about them in a truly religious way. For me, the church represented a very profound error. It is, perhaps as Rebelais pointed out, a sign of turning towards the earthly and corruption rather than pursuing the divine. But I see these churches, and I have to be reminded of a profound faith. For centuries, people in europe where under the weight of this monolith of faith- the church. And yet, they truly believed this faith- they sought salvation and a reason to hope. Maybe they were missing the point- for what we have here was given to us, and it is to be enjoyed by us. But all the same, there are these symbols of faith all over Europe, and they just strike me as amazingly dense in their meaning.
So we wondered where the royals sat- we saw their splendor and that which was hidden. All over this world, i see these small corners of beauty. Cracked brickwalls from years ago now running behind someone's home, a field plowed by forefathers long forgotten now standing fallow, and forests that have only grown. Our history only grows. I need to remember that.
We took a morning bus from the city out towards the country side where royalty use to hold their courts. The palaces were, of course, breath taking. Halls stood empty but the air was regal and ancient, and staircases linked these little heavens one floor to the next. Yes, this was the obvious splendor, however. It is easy to look to these elaborate Chateaus and be caught in their wonder. But what really struck me was the subtle joys of the country-side.
Old walls made of stone would run along a field weighed down by the sky. Snow laid broken by the remnants of crops from the year before and trees were etched out in frosted lines. The houses all reminded me of stories mothers tell their children- maybe even dreams and secrets. Streets run along quite stretches of the world and suddenly give way to forests and churches.
Churches. I had never really thought about them in a truly religious way. For me, the church represented a very profound error. It is, perhaps as Rebelais pointed out, a sign of turning towards the earthly and corruption rather than pursuing the divine. But I see these churches, and I have to be reminded of a profound faith. For centuries, people in europe where under the weight of this monolith of faith- the church. And yet, they truly believed this faith- they sought salvation and a reason to hope. Maybe they were missing the point- for what we have here was given to us, and it is to be enjoyed by us. But all the same, there are these symbols of faith all over Europe, and they just strike me as amazingly dense in their meaning.
So we wondered where the royals sat- we saw their splendor and that which was hidden. All over this world, i see these small corners of beauty. Cracked brickwalls from years ago now running behind someone's home, a field plowed by forefathers long forgotten now standing fallow, and forests that have only grown. Our history only grows. I need to remember that.
Monday, January 4, 2010
A Run in Paris
I went running this morning in Paris. The air was biting and the sunshine warmed nothing. It only illuminated things to come in a very gentle way. I made passes through trees and parks, under the shadow of Mansions and in the wide open light of streets facing to the east. What was amazing was that for as much energy as I was expressing, the city was throwing twice as much back at me. Businessmen and woman hurried off with important things under their arms. Cups of coffee sat empty on café tables next to withered cigarettes, abandoned for the office today.
Living and thinking in Paris is unique because Kate and I seem to share our own secret world. Even on trains, next to people who clearly speak english, we move undetected through our words. I feel renewed in my pursuit of a life philosophy.
That is perhaps what I'm learning most from this trip. I am here in pursuit of a philosophy for how I am to live my life. In the states, I pursued a material comfort in routines and in familiarity. But here, where those things have not been found, I am thrown to my mind and my own observation. I am beginning to find my way in this world, and how I fit in it. Yes, there is still a material beauty in this experience- cafés and parks, the Eifel tower (which just struck me with a stereotypical Parisian beauty)- but I'm really starting to develop something immaterial.
I went on a run in Paris. Passed by lives and beauty all the while, I was progressing. I am still upon that run.
Living and thinking in Paris is unique because Kate and I seem to share our own secret world. Even on trains, next to people who clearly speak english, we move undetected through our words. I feel renewed in my pursuit of a life philosophy.
That is perhaps what I'm learning most from this trip. I am here in pursuit of a philosophy for how I am to live my life. In the states, I pursued a material comfort in routines and in familiarity. But here, where those things have not been found, I am thrown to my mind and my own observation. I am beginning to find my way in this world, and how I fit in it. Yes, there is still a material beauty in this experience- cafés and parks, the Eifel tower (which just struck me with a stereotypical Parisian beauty)- but I'm really starting to develop something immaterial.
I went on a run in Paris. Passed by lives and beauty all the while, I was progressing. I am still upon that run.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
This Brand New Paris Air a Thousand Years Old
We have finally arrived in Paris, and how sweet it is. We had woken up at the forbidden hours of morning to catch a train from Frankfurt to Paris. Oddly, I find something appealing in the early morning flight from place to place- and I always have. Early morning airports and train stations always seem to be filled with a very sweet, yet hurried air. We drank coffee and sped away from Frankfurt am Main. Später Deutschland, ich komme zurück!
On the train ride I got into a two hour discussion with a woman who worked in a tri-national firm. She was actually on her way to an English seminar in Paris and had some heavily dated guide books. We discussed life in our respective countries (in German, of course) and the train ride passed along. After being in Germany, I know that I want to perfect my speaking and reading in the language and experience it again and again. Something about Germany just feels.... comfortable.
So the train raced the fun, and it seemed that dawn finally broke somewhere in the French countryside near a town which was quite clearly German at one point (the -burg suffix was replaced by -bourg). And the rolling hills were bathed in mist (the woman next to me asked for the English word, I asked her for the German).
Rolling hills gave way to graffiti and train yards. Trees became buildings, and the distinctly urban nature of Paris was apparent. We forced our way to our temporary home on the southern border of France and unloaded our suitcases. Home has been found for now.
Paris is truly amazing. The ancient and new seem to blend into one another in an incredible energy. Where parents walk their children through scenic parks in one spot, basilicas of the pre-revolution stand guard in another, and old factories have become universities in others. It truly is an amazing place, like New York City with a thousand years more history. Of course, I'm a stranger here with no mark of familiarity. But that's pretty exciting. I've become the observer here, untethered by words or common ideas. I'm watching this city, catching it in this winter moment and allowing it to become cleaer to me now. As the months go on, I know much will become apparent to me- and much more will require a second, third, and fourth look.
If you want to know exactly what we did today, again go visit Kate's blog.
Until I write Again,
Nick
On the train ride I got into a two hour discussion with a woman who worked in a tri-national firm. She was actually on her way to an English seminar in Paris and had some heavily dated guide books. We discussed life in our respective countries (in German, of course) and the train ride passed along. After being in Germany, I know that I want to perfect my speaking and reading in the language and experience it again and again. Something about Germany just feels.... comfortable.
So the train raced the fun, and it seemed that dawn finally broke somewhere in the French countryside near a town which was quite clearly German at one point (the -burg suffix was replaced by -bourg). And the rolling hills were bathed in mist (the woman next to me asked for the English word, I asked her for the German).
Rolling hills gave way to graffiti and train yards. Trees became buildings, and the distinctly urban nature of Paris was apparent. We forced our way to our temporary home on the southern border of France and unloaded our suitcases. Home has been found for now.
Paris is truly amazing. The ancient and new seem to blend into one another in an incredible energy. Where parents walk their children through scenic parks in one spot, basilicas of the pre-revolution stand guard in another, and old factories have become universities in others. It truly is an amazing place, like New York City with a thousand years more history. Of course, I'm a stranger here with no mark of familiarity. But that's pretty exciting. I've become the observer here, untethered by words or common ideas. I'm watching this city, catching it in this winter moment and allowing it to become cleaer to me now. As the months go on, I know much will become apparent to me- and much more will require a second, third, and fourth look.
If you want to know exactly what we did today, again go visit Kate's blog.
Until I write Again,
Nick
Friday, January 1, 2010
Live From Frankfurt!
Guten Tag!
I decided to start writing a blog in an effort to document my travels both for myself, and for those of you back in the states. It will ensure that you all get to read about the things you may one day do, as well as ensure that you know I'm still alive.
Kate and I arrived in Frankfurt am Main on Monday after an epic travel that involved a missed plane and a harrowing drive for kate, and a sleepless day and a half for me. All in all, we were glad to get to where we were going. Jet lag's a bitch.
Germany is an amazing place. I've gradually become more confident in my speaking (even surprising several locals along the way) and have really begun to get into the culture here. It's not really a describable feeling, but the way of life here has struck me in a profound way. Frankfurt has given me this sense of a "one-world" way of life that comes in unique shades all the while.
We also took a train ride out to Bacharach, which is a sleepy little Rhine valley town. Kate and I walked through this medieval snapshot and then climbed up a steep slope to a castle overlooking the valley. It was a really amazing view- and everything was suspended there.
The little strings of light along the Rhine gave a frame for the mists that were drifting into the early evening twilight. It was utterly silent and perfect. The water moved in a determined waltz down to place I've never seen. And the ancient stone that surrounded us joined in the thrum. It was- perfect.
New Years was yet another wonderful experience, which you can read about on Kate's blog. I had some of the most amazing beer of my life, and we watched the fireworks on the Main.
It's off to Paris in the morning (not the normal person morning- but the retarded, butt-crack-of-dawn morning that you only read about) and classes.
I hope that you all enjoyed your New Years, and for those of you back at U of C- Good luck with the track season!
Tschuß!
Nick
I decided to start writing a blog in an effort to document my travels both for myself, and for those of you back in the states. It will ensure that you all get to read about the things you may one day do, as well as ensure that you know I'm still alive.
Kate and I arrived in Frankfurt am Main on Monday after an epic travel that involved a missed plane and a harrowing drive for kate, and a sleepless day and a half for me. All in all, we were glad to get to where we were going. Jet lag's a bitch.
Germany is an amazing place. I've gradually become more confident in my speaking (even surprising several locals along the way) and have really begun to get into the culture here. It's not really a describable feeling, but the way of life here has struck me in a profound way. Frankfurt has given me this sense of a "one-world" way of life that comes in unique shades all the while.
We also took a train ride out to Bacharach, which is a sleepy little Rhine valley town. Kate and I walked through this medieval snapshot and then climbed up a steep slope to a castle overlooking the valley. It was a really amazing view- and everything was suspended there.
The little strings of light along the Rhine gave a frame for the mists that were drifting into the early evening twilight. It was utterly silent and perfect. The water moved in a determined waltz down to place I've never seen. And the ancient stone that surrounded us joined in the thrum. It was- perfect.
New Years was yet another wonderful experience, which you can read about on Kate's blog. I had some of the most amazing beer of my life, and we watched the fireworks on the Main.
It's off to Paris in the morning (not the normal person morning- but the retarded, butt-crack-of-dawn morning that you only read about) and classes.
I hope that you all enjoyed your New Years, and for those of you back at U of C- Good luck with the track season!
Tschuß!
Nick
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