Suzanne à Grenoble

Spent the weekend in Paris. I love being able to say that--"Oh yes, just dashed off to gay Paree for a quick romp through the Tuilleries"--so nonchalantly. This time I get to add "and I spent a couple of hours at the French Open--you know, just to catch a couple of matches while the weather was pleasant."

In truth, it was a treat to get to attend a world-reknown tennis tournament for the first time in my life. We got the cheap seats, which meant we had access to every court there but the three main ones (the matches with players that you actually recognize), but we ended up finding front-row seats in a smaller court and had a ball (no pun intended). It was a mixed doubles match with three Czech players and a Spaniard (Kveta Peschke & Martin Damm vs. Frantisek Cermak and Conchita Martinez--guess which one is the Spaniard? Even harder, guess which ones are the females?).

Martinez was the only well-known player, or so I was told, as my knowledge of famous tennis players is limited to Agassi, Navratilova (who was playing there in the fancy courts), and a few other late 80's/early 90's superstars. I loved sitting so close and hearing the ever-so-charming grunts that tennis players are famous for belting out with each tough shot. The Czech woman, Kveta Peschke, made noises that sounded like little baby seals mixed with screams of death. Fabulous. Even better when she lost a shot. She would screech and stamp her feet like a toddler throwing a tantrum. I didn't notice the males making such expressive sounds, but those girls don't hold anything back.

Well I just had a beautiful little entry laid out but I closed the window as a reflex and lost it all. FUCK!

Anyways, haven't written since I got back from Italy--been recovering, I guess. I caught a bit of a cold the last day on Lake Como, and am still coughing up a lung every time I lie down...

Sara suggested I keep a journal in Italy to force myself to practice writing in a journalistic style. I did nothing of the sort, although I had every intention to. That means I talk about wanting to be some kind of journalist but I have absolutely no body of work to draw from and no experience to boot. But maybe if I close my eyes and click my heels...

Here's a couple of pics from Cinque Terre. You can see more by exploring the flickr page when you get there:

Did a 3-hour hike yesterday with Dom. Beautiful but painful. Highly recommend Cinque Terre as a travel destination if you enjoy hiking up steep hills while enjoying sea views and diverse flora and fauna, vineyards and German hikers. Don't come here just for the 5 towns because, while cute, they are all more or less the same as far as tourist shops and trattorias. Heading to Como next (as in the lake, not the 50's crooner, but you already knew that).

Here I am in gorgeous Cinque Terre, Italy. Sitting in the tourist office because it's been a bit rainy today, but there's a guy coveting my computer, so I'll have to write fast or maybe I'll just take my time and make him wait. In any case...
It's quite gorgeous here-- five towns on the northwest coast, protected by a national park. Beautiful landscaping, cacti everywhere, wildflowers, smell of jasmine. Met up with my friend Dominique who was a housemate in Grenoble. Yesterday hiked from our little town, Manarola, to Riomaggiore, back to Manarola, then to Corniglia, then back again. Today we hung out a bit in Monterosso, the most touristy of the five towns, but it started to rain so we came back to do a bit of internet-ing until our hostel reopens at 5 pm. However, it looks like this guy hanging out next to me is getting impatient, and I can't really stand to have people lurking over my shoulder, so I may have to take off pretty soon. It's a shame, because there's not much else to do here but eat, hike and sit in the sun, and since there is no sun and we've already eaten, it looks like we'll be stuck for a bit. Oh well.

There's nothing I hate more in this world than moving. Okay that was a lie. I'm sure there are many things in this world I hate more, but last week, at the time of my moving out of our cute little house on Cours Berriat, there was nothing I hated more.


And yet, i feel like I am in a constant state of changing homes. Every seven months or so. I just watched the film, Garden State . The main character, Andrew, says something about a milestone in every twenty-something's life where you realize that the place you grew up doesn't feel like home anymore, but neither do the places you inhabit as a young adult. Therefore, you're left with a feeling of nostalgia or homesickness for a place that doesn't exist. I guess I've felt like that since my parents moved a couple of years ago from the burbs to the city and they TORE DOWN my childhood home (insert wailing violins here). Don't get me wrong, I adore my parents' place (I may even end up living there as I am once again jobless)--it's cozy and beautiful--but it's not "home." And I suppose I could stop this running around and settle down somewhere and eventually get married and have babies and then I'd start to feel "at home." But for godsake, people, I'm only 24 and 11/12 years old here! The pains of moving are just growing pains. I'm going to keep on moving down the road until I find what I'm looking for. And one of these days I'm going to make good money at the same time.