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Because I usually am in Vino ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** In 2009, I gave up my studies as a medievalist and musician, left my home, my family, my life and moved to Provence in southern France for a guy. In 2012, I moved away from him to study wine. Today, I'm a vagabond sommelier working in Paris at one of the oldest and most famous restaurants in the world, struggling to find some purpose to what I deem the rest of my life. I'm still married and after 8 10 years, I'm still trying to fit-in with French life and culture and to understand why the French are the way they are. Because they're weird in a different way that I think Americans are weird. Perhaps it's me who's weird. |
| You know what annoys me? The fact that the Northern Rhône wines such as Côte Rôtie, Hermitage, and Condrieu are grouped into the same category as Côte du Rhône wines in the south such as Châteauneuf, Gigondas, Lirac, Beaume de Venise etc. They are NOT the same. The soil, the climate, the geography of the land, the grape varieties, nothing is the same. The characteristics of the wines are totally different. They have nothing in common but the Rhône river. That's it. And the Rhône is a long river. If you're going to group all the Rhône wines into one category you might as well add the wines of Bugey and Geneva while your at it. Because they're near the Rhône too. It just makes no sense to group them into the same region and there's no reason for it. We're incredibly specific about the wines of Burgundy, detailing the crus down to the smallest square meter and differentiating them as if they are completely different wines every time. If I ever said Volnay was the same thing as Pommard I'd get lynched and they are literally right next to each other. I can stand in Volnay, throw a rock, and hit Pommard. And yes, Volnay and Pommard, both in Côte de Beaune and both made from Pinot Noir give completely different wines. But so do Côte Rôtie and Châteauneuf so why are they grouped together. It's a huge region. I don't see why it's so hard to divide them into different regions. It's a pet peeve of mine. If I ever have control over a wine list again I am separating the regions. People can bitch and smirk to me all they want. The French can get as high and mighty as they like. They are not the same wine region. Period. I had to get that off my chest. No one answered about my Camp NaNo question on the General Discussion board so I guess I'm the only one signed up. Or who'd like to make a group of WDC members working together. That's fine. I have my French group who seem pretty supportive and active at the moment. Though since we are all actually in confinement and not in fake-confinement in the States we're a captive audience for these sorts of things. I wrote 1500 words today. Then spoke to one of the sommeliers from La Tour and studied wine for an hour. Which is what sparked the aforementioned rant. Now I'm going to lay down because my eyes hurt. I left my glasses on the train coming down to Arles and don't have a spare. For the most part it's fine, but after several hours I need to rest my eyes. |
| I came up with an idea for a story while laying down and listening to music in the dark this afternoon. The next thing I know, I've signed up for Camp NaNoWriMo. I think I will post the story/novel/thing here, since then I'll have someplace to put it, but I'm not planning on anything epic. Quite frankly, I'm half-pantsing it, half-world building, half-don't know what I'm doing. There doesn't seem to be anyone else on this site who is doing Camp NaNo. Surprising given the buzz that usually flies around here during NaNo. But quite frankly I don't know what goes on here at WDC anymore aside from a bunch of fluffies and lots of crap about Jesus. Not really my thing. So maybe laying down this afternoon and drifting off was the best thing for me. I'm currently fleshing out some loose plot/story outline for my novel and sipping on a martini. The martini is quickly taking its toll. I love vodka martinis, but not on an empty stomach, and the olives don't count. I will say, that I am excited to have a writing project, finally. Even if I'm just doing it for myself. Even though I don't really know what I'm going to write and just have a vague idea of my story. Even if I give up halfway through. I have an idea. A project. I imagine in color again. But I'm going to stop here and find something to soak up the excess alcohol in my system. |
| Today is not going well. 1st of all, it's still Wagner week on the Met's streaming platform. 4 hours of Tannhäuser. I'll admit I don't know what this one is about because by the time we got to it in my Wagner class I couldn't deal anymore and decided to spend more time studying the troubadours of medieval France. So blame Wagner for the reason I became a medievalist. I woke up to the sound of my husband's alarm clock. Why did he set an alarm clock you ask? To go shopping. Here in the backwater of Provence, in one of the most undereducated and poor sections of the country, we are surrounded by people who still don't understand how the virus works and think we're in some form of the Apocalypse, so without fail they rush the supermarkets every morning. It's the Apocalypse, but the stores are still stocked every night... go figure. Their houses must be overrun with pasta by now. So anyway, he wanted to go early to beat the crowds of old people who are terrified of anyone who looks remotely Asian but don't mind coughing all over you. (Go backwater racism) This was fine because it made me roll out of bed at 8am rather than the 9am or maybe 10am I wanted. I tried to make breakfast which was dry cereal because I don't like milk in my cereal and we were all out anyway. How long did it take me to pour cereal into a bowl and coffee into a mug you ask? About 10 minutes. Never before has anyone ever turned around in circles so much just to get cereal into a bowl. To my office where instead of getting anything done, I played the Sims until noon. This would be acceptable except for the fact that it was punctuated by several trips to the toilet because apparently I'm sick. My husband, after getting back from shopping, decided that this was a good time to tell me that diarrhea is one of the symptoms of the virus. This he tells me through the bathroom door, happily chatting away while I'm trying to do my business. I have to add here that he demands absolute privacy to brush his teeth let alone go to the bathroom. I'm lucky I got to keep the door closed. Cut to me making lunch while trying to ignore the fact that the smell of cooking meat makes me want to vomit all over the kitchen and worried that I have more than just a bit of funky stomach. Then we eat lunch. I feel worse. My husband says "most people's symptoms are not that bad." "Most people didn't smoke a pack of cigarettes a day before they went into lockdown," I remind him. Sure I haven't smoked in two weeks but it's going to take longer than that to repair 18 years of damage. Cue me taking a pepto-bismol that I smuggled into France from the last time I was in the States and falling asleep. It's now 16h. I managed to roll off the couch and make coffee - which was again way more difficult than it should have been - and write this entry. I'm still kind of tired and my stomach is still wonky. Chances are I'm fine, but I worry because it's true that for the past few days I have been rather "meh". Perhaps it's quarantine blues. Perhaps it's the prelude to maladie or perhaps my body is fighting a maladie already. Let's face it, I have been known to ignore sickness in the past and just get on with whatever I'm doing. I'm not sure which I'd prefer. Obviously, I'd prefer to not be sick, but on the other hand, if it's quarantine blues, who knows how long that is going to last. All I know is that yesterday I spent 6 hours working on an adult coloring book and watching reruns of Unsolved Mysteries on Youtube. |
| Today is Daylight Savings in Europe. Fuck you DST. I woke up and it was already 8:30 even though my body was screaming that it was only 7:30. My computer clock tells my it's already 10am and I just finished my coffee and want to crawl back into bed. Even the cats were confused this morning when I managed to roll out of bed and down the stairs because I had to pee and make coffee. They lifted their heads from their respective spots in the bedroom - Pistou on a suitcase (which is now so covered in his fur it's unsuitable for air travel) and Dumpling on the windowsill - and looked at me as though they could not understand what I was doing up at this ungodly hour. On the weekends apparently no one in this house gets up before 9. Unless my husband is getting up to go drive to the train station to pick me up. But I'm already home - so again, they silently asked the question "What are you doing up at this ungodly hour?" I went to bed early last night. At 22h30 rather than midnight. I just had no energy to stay awake, or motivation to do anything including computer games. This morning it is much the same. I just want to stay in bed. I will work out today because I have to, but probably later rather than sooner. Or maybe I'll just do a half an hour. I studied a little yesterday and the day before that I was feeling pretty good about myself and now... I feel deflated. One day at a time I guess. I didn't sleep very well last night. In the background to this pointless ramble, I'm playing the Met Opera's live streaming production of the day. They had Wagner week, which I studiously ignored. When I was a musician I had so many friends and colleagues who were huge fans of Wagner but I just can't get into him. He was an asshole and his music is long winded and boring. Today the Met is streaming Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg and it's fucking 5 hours long. 5 hours for a story about a guy who wants to learn to sing so he can marry a girl. And it's supposedly a comedy - dramatic comedy, not modern comedy. I'm kind of sad I missed Die Walküre though. Anyway, while Wagner's music is lush and big and velvety and rich and full and basically a big glass of aged Chave Hermitage or Vieux Château Certan I find it overrated. 20 minutes of meandering around a chord. Where one or two glasses might be enough he tries to pour a magnum down your throats. While the analogy comparing to Wagner to a Hermitage is actually apt, my writing is crap. It's too early for this. Even though my clock says it's 10h15. Fuck you DST. Editing this post to add: After writing and posting this I roamed around on WDC for about 30 minutes. It's now 10h46 and Die Meistersinger is still on the 1st scene of Act 1. 1st scene of act 1. It's been 45 minutes... Just to highlight the ridiculousness that is Wagner. |
| I live across the street from the Croix Rouge, aka the Red Cross, which in true Provence fashion is currently closed during the crisis. It's not totally surprising. My husband used to volunteer there a few years ago and he said it was poorly run by people who didn't really have the energy, the education, or the organizational skills to run a volunteer program. Their building is located in what used to be an old school, and if you don't know almost all the schools in France, especially ones that are inside town centers are enclosed by high stone walls to keep the children in and non-school personnel out. They look a little forbidding if you think about it. So anyway, inside this very thick wall is actually a space that used to house the public trash bins where the neighbourhood throws out their trash rather than leaving it on the street. Which was what people used to do when we first moved to Arles. So this little space was a welcome change. Back in October, my husband and I noticed that all of the trash bins had been ejected from the space and were lined up on the corner of the street. Someone was living in there. He had moved in with his dog and made a little home with a bed and some sort of hotplate to cook food on. Homeless abound in Arles. We have a large gypsy (called Roms because they are descendants of a Romani tribe) population that lives by the train station and are insufferably annoying. I try not to be biased against minority and underprivileged social groups, and I'll get into that complaint another time maybe. And because the economy here is crap, the education here is crap, and the people are pretty much without hope, there are plenty of people who have lost their homes due to drugs and most often to alcohol. Plus the weather is nice. It's Provence. It rarely drops below freezing, or even gets close to freezing. It's usually sunny and only the Mistral (strong winds from the north) is the biggest threat to getting through the day. So we weren't all that shocked to see someone living there. At first, I was kind of disturbed by it. The guy's dog was super aggressive if you got too close to their little hole and this space is right across the window from my office where I work out in skimpy clothing. The Red Cross actually noticed this once and thought it was my husband using the elliptical machine... clearly they all need glasses. But eventually I considered it and figured the guy wasn't harming anyone really. Who am I to deny some guy a bit of warmth and shelter and spot to create some sort of comfort for himself? My husband and I had an old, torn up down comforter that we were going to throw out and instead we washed it and gave it to him. Other people in the neighborhood were doing the same. Leaving food or pillows or clothes. The guy was going through the trash anyway. But the Red Cross- the people responsible for taking care of homeless and down-on-their-luck in town - did they try to help this guy out? No. Not even. The woman who runs the organisation here in Arles stamped outside several times a day to tell the guy he had to move. She complained and railed and whined and threatened and called the police. Eventually the guy was moved or moved on his own volition. I don't know which. And that space where the trash containers were now has a massive metal door on it that is locked firmly. The trash bins you might ask? Still on the street corner where they roll into the street and cause havoc to the parked cars every time the Mistral rolls into town (which is pretty much every other day). That's the Red Cross in Arles. So while it's sad, incredibly sad that they are closed, because the homeless here are not getting any assistance at all, and the people who used to go there for the food bank have nothing to eat, it's not surprising. I look out my window everyday at the building. I look over the walls and stare at their ambulance which hasn't moved once since I've been home. I watch the stray cats pace up and down the roof top and shadows from the trees move across the empty courtyard. I like to watch the cats. Sometimes I see a loose trash bin go rolling into my husband's car. |
| Yesterday after reading the news and spending too much time thinking about it, I had my first, in what will probably be a series of anxiety attacks. While I was nervous, scared, and panicky before I arrived back at home, and a little panicky when I was having some asthma problems, it was nothing compared to the depression and despair I'm starting to feel now. Am I afraid for myself? Of course I am. Up until a week ago, I was a heavy smoker, and while I could still run a 10K without a problem, I have no idea how damaged my lungs might already be. Besides the fact that perfectly healthy people are falling very ill. My husband went to the store to buy groceries today and now I'm afraid to go near him. So yes, I'm afraid for my own well being. And my husband's. What if someone coughed on him at the store. What if someone with the virus touched a box and then he touched the same box? But I'm also afraid for the world. The economy - which I've never really cared about before, of course. Moreso for the state of mankind. When I look at the news and at social media, on one side I see people ignoring the virus, complaining about people ignoring confinement, the government saying they are going to enforce a stricter lockdown. Everyone pointing fingers. On the other side I see people complaining about the government, about the economy, about planning, about how this was inevitable but we did nothing to stop it or to plan ahead. I have a friend on Facebook who day after day writes long ranting posts against the government and humanity, railing and denouncing others for their behavior and lack of foresight and compassion. And he is right, there is a massive lack of that, but.... I don't see him offering any solutions. So he got muted. I can't listen to anymore ranting if you're not going to offer a solution. And that was just one friend. Another three are on the short list for mutes. In the long run, it might just be better to deactivate my account until this is all over. And that's what brings me to despair. I don't see any solutions. I don't see any hope or advances being made. Just more lockdown. More panic. More statistics. More tragedies. And a world falling headlong deeper into the dark. With the occasional "This too shall pass." or "It's always darkest before the dawn" meme. Which doesn't offer much hope either. I can ...am ... able to cope...for the moment. I go about my day to occupy myself, I take time to breath, to reflect. I meditate and exercise and spend time with the cats. But how much longer? It's not necessarily the confinement or the lockdown that is having an effect on me. I like having the alone time. It's what I read about the world around me. It's too much. Nothing about this, about what is happening is surprising to me. This is humanity's natural reaction to crisis. But it's not my reaction. Mine has always been to stand to the side feeling powerless to help and weep (usually it's internal weeping). I don't have a solution either. |
| One of the problems in trying to blog right now is that nothing is really happening. Many people can claim that this is difficult and elucidate on their numerous challenges, but for me and my husband this has been just another week. It's strange for me to not be at work, of course, but I've passed plenty a work-vacation on my sofa. I finished typing up the few tasting notes I brought with me. I wrote for a tiny bit one day (15 minutes). I went to the open-air market yesterday and bought from local producers who are struggling. Finished reading Wine and War, watched la Traviata on the Met's website, straightened up my office and dumped a lot of useless papers. Contacted my caviste about a wine delivery. Played a lot of Sims 4 yesterday. I've been journaling. Meditating There is no clear set of goals here however. I don't have a novel I've been itching to write anymore or a wine region I'm dying to study. Plus, I've purchased a few things on the internet plus my wine means that I don't really have any money left until I get paid in two weeks. Or my healthcare rembourses me for my doctor visits last week. But who knows when any of that will happen. None of us are very sure how the chomage partiel is going to work. Also, I left my glasses on the train. For the past two days it was ok, but today I've noticed already this morning that my eyes are bothering me. I don't know how to get new ones at this time. I'm not blind at least but it's not pleasant. I've taken a lot of photos of the cats and random happenings in my apartment. Wednesday I was playing with Dumpling and smashed my head into the corner of the wall. Now there is a massive bruise on my head combined with a zit. Seriously- I'm almost 39 and still getting massive adolescent-like acne at the worst possible moments in the worst possible places. I can't really wash that part of my face because it hurts too much. I can barely wash my hair. Luckily however, it's no worse than just a huge gargoyle style lump and bruise because going to the hospital for a concussion would have also been impossible at this time. |
| I've started reading A Gentleman in Moscow. I think it's fitting considering we're all in confinement these days. I'm feeling ok. Less productive than I'd like, but it's only the end of day two and the whole situation seems very surreal to me. I cough quite a bit at the moment, and often feel pressure in my chest which makes me nervous, but M - who I spent most of my time with the past few weeks has told me he feels totally fine. On top of that, this could be due to smoking, being around the cats again (I'm allergic to them for the first week every time I come home to Arles), and I'm pretty sure there is mold in the walls of our apartment. There is a strange, wet and musty odor that I can't seem to escape no matter which part of the apartment I go to. My husband doesn't seem to have any reaction to this, and he's been living here for 6 years, but I know that I'm sensitive to it. It's not a constant pressure, or a constant cough, so I'm trying not to worry, but I guess it can't be helped with the times. Instead I try to stay away from the news websites, from social media. I watch the news with Greg to keep up my French and to see what's going on, but once the news is over I try to stop thinking about it. Of course, I will limit my time outside. We are apparently allowed to go outside for exercise as long as we don't stray too far from our homes (I have no idea how far that is), but I told Greg that at least for the first two weeks - let's face it our confinement will be longer - I will stay indoors and use the elliptical. I noted in my paper journal today that I'd been wanting for some time to have an excuse to stop working and return to my former life of being thoughtful and creative. Now, despite the catastrophic state of the world, I seem to have been given that chance. I would like to return to writing but I must say that I have no idea where to begin. I was thinking of starting a blog entitled something like "The Confinement of an Anti-Social Hypochondriac"." Staying at home doesn't seem to be a big challenge to me, but I supposed we'll see how I feel in two weeks. I know however that my husband will have no issues. He would never leave the house if he didn't have to. I have asked him to make sure he uses the elliptical 3 times a week. I don't care if he is as crazy about fitness as I am, but moving from his computer to the bathroom, computer to the kitchen, computer to the bedroom is not exercise. The cats don't seem to have any thoughts at all on our confinement. They did seem surprised to see me arrive mid-week however. I know animals don't have a concept of time, a rigid and structured way of counting it that we humans do, but when I walked in the door yesterday morning they seemed a little surprised and confused to see me here when usually I come home on a Sunday and leave again within 36 hours. The last time I came home for an extended stretch Pistou did start whining to my husband at night as we got into bed. He seemed to be asking why I was still taking up his space on the bed. Poor guy. It's quite possible that I'll be here for months now. |
| When I come home for the weekend, I say that I'm going to be productive and do something. Journal, write, study, cook, read, plan, think.... something. And invariably, I end up sleeping. This weekend, was no exception. I did manage to go out and run, rather early, both Sunday and Monday. I showered and put on makeup, but the rest of the time I've had my phone nearby, playing podcasts, while I drift in and out of sleep. It doesn't help that my neck is blocked down to my shoulder blade and my legs and feet feel so tight and stiff that I can barely walk up and down the stairs. Or fold them underneath me to sit indian-style on the couch. My body is exhausted. Despite the running, the coffee, the vitamins, the extra water. Nothing seems to help the constant fatigue I feel and I don't know what to do about it anymore. I only have two or three hours a day when I can actually focus and most of the week, it's when I'm at work. During the weekend, I'm so excited about being awake, I don't know what to do first and end up not doing anything. I haven't been to a doctor because I know a doctor would just tell me to do what I'm doing. Exercise, drink more water, take vitamins. Ok. I'm still in pain, I'm still tired, though. I'm awake now. Thinking about some story ideas I've had this weekend in my more lucid moments. Writing them down. Of course, the moment I turn on my computer and open it to W.com or some other more productive program or page, is the moment my husband sits down beside me and starts talking about everything random he didn't say to me for the past week. He couldn't tell me these things during dinner, or lunch, or breakfast, or when we went out for ice cream, or when I was putting on my makeup or sitting on the couch rubbing muscle cream into my neck. No no. It had to be the moment when I actually felt like doing something productive. And when he left, miss little cat, decides that she too, needs to have pets. Urgent pets, because Mom is leaving to go back to Paris soon and the last 36 hours were mostly spent ignoring me. So forget about the computer. Must pet the cat. Which I'm doing in between typing this. |
| My last entry was at the end of January. That's better than I thought. I believed my last entry to be in late December. So I haven't forgotten about Writing.com entirely. And that's all I really had to say. Work is full of politics. Julien, while a brilliant sommelier is a very weird man. My colleagues are all two-faced. After three months, I'm starting to enjoy Paris. Which is an improvement on Lyon, a city I never enjoyed because I was too tired and hated my job. I'm writing in my paper journal more. I'm meeting people. I went to a philosophy café last week and met some awesome people who have connected with me for a possible something tomorrow. I have to work tonight (even though it's my weekend) because there is a private event at the restaurant that I am contractually obligated to not talk about. I should probably put on some makeup, get dressed and answer emails. This morning was productive. That's all. |
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I think it's awesome that you're using that negative experience to get creative. It's hard not to just wallow when those things happen. I use a paper journal for most of my actual coping process too, but I do share bits and pieces on WDC as well.
Might try a short story a day instead. Stay safe. 
