Bagatelle, Edema, Cilaos et Perrier

18 Février 2009. 6 pm. Ma cuisinette.

Today was one of the hottest days I can remember. After waking up after a fitful night of sleep (my fan stopped working, so it was pretty uncomfortable), I did some laundry with Stephanie. We remarked on how heavy wet laundry is. We thought back to the sum of our remembered pre-industrial art: those women had guns. We attributed it to doing all the laundry by hand, carrying toddlers around for years, and generally hauling things back and forth without the aid of cars, busses, and ..ahem.. men. We also decided that by the time we leave, our arms and backs will be just as strong- there’s a lot of manual labor to be done here.

A short trip to Jumbo (the grocery store) enlightened me to even more Réunionais culture. We were searching for “something American” for an international dinner tonight. I settled on macaroni and cheese. I was surprised that after so much seemingly Western influence that there was such a “lack” of American food to be bought. How presumptuous of me. We’ll see how the mac and cheese turns out, seeing as even the crappiest cheese in France is about five times better than cheese in the US.

Other quirky, cultural things I’ve noticed: women here really like shoes, and really like to dress up. I feel like an absolute scrub when I wear my favorite outfit of Nike shorts and a t-shirt. Most everyone here looks great- brightly colored scarves, shirts, pants, cute tops, and really nice sandals or heels that look like they give some serious blisters. Additionally, I’ve noticed that women really like having their bra straps show. That’d be really weird in the US, in my opinion. Regardless, the women are all gorgeous all the time.

I had my first solo outing to downtown St. Denis today to exchange mon ventilateur (fan). That’s when I really started paying attention to the people and places around me. Everything I can see is a picture: the colors are so lively- the walls, the clothes, their skin, the sky, the tropical trees… I never want to close my eyes. On this trip I also continued thinking about how I live here; I am learning to pick my way through crowds like a Créole, carry myself like one, and take care of myself like one. Yea, I live here. It feels good to finally be getting a hold of it. Honestly, I don’t ever want to stop.

My French is improving daily. I was remarking just the other day how I don’t notice as much how I struggle to converse with people; I can wake up and speak relatively well and not feel (as) tired from a day of speaking when I go to bed. I pick things up from people when I’m in public, too. I’m learning so much vocabulary, so many verbs, thanks to my very patient neighbors and friends. They ask me how to say something in English and I ask them how to say everything from hiccup (houque) to bloomed (éblouissant) in French, and rarely, Créole. I love listening to people speak French, and I love learning it. Five months is not enough.

For now, that’s all. You may (or may not) have heard, but nearly all of the universities in France are striking. Mine is too, but I’m not that adversely affected. More on that in the next post. For now, I’ll wait on my macaroni and then head to my Réunionais Folk Dance class. Yes, I’m learning how to dance. Hold your laughter until after you see my sweet skills. À plus!