has "home" found a place to rest its weary head?

My parents are there waving from the observation
deck of little Tri-Cities Airport.

I recently returned to France after a longer than expected State-side visit that makes counting time more complicated than ever. I've officially been residing in France for over five years now, but I just spent nearly a year in the US. However, I kept my apartment in France while I was away, so I technically still resided there, I think. Um, how exactly do I answer that question of how long I've been living in France?

The complicated answers don't stop there.

Because, you see, I've also stepped over a weird threshold that I unconsciously never expected to cross: my home-life--that life where I return at the end of my voyages to my normal day-to-day rhythms--is actually in France now. Not the U.S.

Oh, I've heard about other Americans who feel that home-feeling once they return to the non-American place where they live. But because I get around so much and because I didn't move abroad expecting to stay so long and because my everyday life is far from settled-feeling and because I'm adaptable and find home both everywhere and nowhere and because I know I'm not yet fully at ease in French daily life and because my work life keeps me well-connected to the US, well, I just didn't anticipate becoming one of those Americans.

But two things happened that announced to me that I have indeed crossed over.

Transitioning from airplane to train, with plenty
of luggage in tow to make things exciting.

First, a close French friend spent some time in the US while I was there. I was excited for this friend to experience part of my US life, part of what has made me what I am. And excited that there would now be someone in France who knows me-in-the-US in a way that seemed like it would add a wholeness to my French life. Except that instead, during the visit, I slowly realized that US life isn't my real life anymore; it's not the place where my day-to-day life takes place; it's not even really the place where I feel most at home anymore and where I'm most me. Instead, it's the place of memories and history; it's the stage on which my past life took place. It's a place where I can no longer remember the shortest ways to get anywhere. It's the place where I don't have people's phone numbers already stored in my phone. It's the place where you learn who really cares that you're back in town for a visit. It took having someone from my French life dropped into my US life to make the big reveal (you might as well know that for some reason I'm imagining a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat as the visual metaphor of this big reveal ;-) ). My US life is still a good place; it's just no longer my today-life.

And then after that big white rabbit got pulled out of the sturdy black hat, I returned to my home-du-jour after months away and discovered that maybe [enter the magician with yet another rabbit to pull out of yet another hat]--despite having to rediscover where I keep things in my apartment--this place is more than my home-du-jour now. I only officially lived in this town for not-quite-a-year before leaving for nearly as long as I'd been living here. But I've returned to a life. A place where I know where to buy my groceries, where I don't have to check Google maps in order to get everywhere, a place where I have friends who welcomed me back, a place where people see me as part of their everyday lives rather than just that old friend who's dropped into town for a couple days but whom they forget to invite to things because they're not used to that friend being on the invitation list.

For those who've never experienced all of this (I was one of you until recently!), this rabbit-exiting-hat reveal is weird. It's one of those internal dissonance experiences that you want to give order to and understand but you can't really. So I think you're just supposed to accept it and move on with life. Right? Something like that anyway.

And maybe most surprising of all in this big reveal is discovering that of all the home-places my life is still tied to (hence, feeling at home both everywhere and nowhere), I kind of actually feel like I have a home-home again. But it took going away for a while and returning--returning to life and community that are real and that exist--to discover this home. It's often in the comparisons that we measure things, isn't it. How do we know we're taller than we were last year? Because our pants are too short now or because we can now look over the top of Aunt Mary's head or because the mark on the wall from last year's measurement now reaches our chin.

Back to the sometimes-rainy streets of Pau.

Accustomed as I am to that home-is-everywhere-and-nowhere feeling, it is massively unexpected to have these first stirrings of feelings of having a home in a physical place again. While I try to dive deeply into life wherever I am at the moment, I'm used to sensing that in some way I'm always just passing through, because a nomad lives in my soul. And the reality is that because I can do my work from anywhere, and because I only have to give a month's notice to move out of my furnished apartment, and because I'm here at the whim-in-the-form-of-visas-that-must-be-renewed of the French government, I really don't know how long I'll live here.

But there's still something new that I'm experiencing in this physical place that is becoming home-home more than anywhere else in the world right now.

And as with any early blossoms of feeling, I'll be testing this one out for a little while. However long it ultimately lasts, for now there's something unexpectedly satisfying and centering at giving a name to that surprising white rabbit--#ithinkihaveahomenow. (What self-respecting magic-show rabbit doesn't add a hashtag to her name these days?)

calling all book lovers to the book village

On the way to our Thanksgiving weekend Airbnb rental, the American friend driving the car was a bit flustered when an oncoming car appeared in front of her on the narrow street running through a charming village near the end of our journey. She managed to back up to a slight indentation in the buildings on one side of the street, and the other car squeezed past. After this car, still more cars brushed past us on the short stretch of village road, suggesting we weren't just in some sleepy little hamlet.

The next day we had to drive back through the two-way traffic on streets barely wide enough for one car, let alone two. But slowing down had us ogling the charming village and gave me time to suggest that we park and wander the village for a few minutes. I was happy when my friends readily agreed to the spontaneous pit stop. We pulled into a small, crowded, and tree-covered parking lot where we encountered our next clue that this village was special: a sculpture of flying books!

Then the town map mounted across the street told us more about what we were in for. Montolieu, near Carcassonne in southern France, has taken on the moniker "village du livre," or village of the book. It has 17 bookstores! -- in a town of fewer than 900 inhabitants! (so says the internet's population records) There are also workshops and museums centered around bookbinding and the art of bookmaking. Our time in Montolieu was short but we're eager for a fuller visit! Such a lovely accidental find!

This water is specifically for dogs who know how to read. :-)

More info from the town's tourist brochure: Since 1990, the book village of Montolieu has become renowned for its numerous booksellers, craftsmen, it's Museum of Book Arts and Crafts, and now, the Cérès Franco art collection. All began in 1989 when Michel Braibant, bookbinder in Carcassonne, came up with the idea of creating a European Conservatory of Book Arts and Crafts. He wanted to bring the public to learn about traditional book arts and crafts by meeting craftsmen directly in their workshops. Thanks to his personal collection, to donations and to the active support of volunteers, the museum was opened in 1991. At the same time, antique booksellers and craftsmen started setting up shops in the village. The Montolieu Village of Books and Graphic Arts association started promoting activities in the village, organising cultural and pedagogical activities and running the museum. Since then, Montolieu's focus on the world of books has proven very successful.

Today Montolieu counts about 17 bookshops and hundreds of thousands of used books in all areas of human knowledge and imagination. For bibliophiles, there is a large choice of first or limited editions, antique, rare or illustrated books, and more.

There's a salon du livre, of ancient and used books, every year during the weekend of Easter.

celebrating thanksgiving paris-style

Before it's lost forever, finally I bring you the story of Thanksgiving 2016 à Paris!

Months earlier my American friend Mary had alerted me that she and her husband and son would be in Paris the week of Thanksgiving. Would I like to/could I join them? At the time, I chuckled a little over how impossible it is for me to plan things more than about a week in advance, let alone scheduling things that are months away. But I made note of it, and we hoped for the best.

And it worked! Mid-evening on the day before Thanksgiving, my train from Pau pulled into Paris's Montparnasse station. I made my way to Mary and Ryan's Airbnb apartment, we all exchanged hugs, and then Mary and I headed out for late dinner while Ryan had put-the-toddler-to-bed duty.

On our dinner hunt, we passed La Taverne de Montmartre, and tempted by the lovely aromas escaping from it, we stopped in. Though people were still eating, we learned that the kitchen wasn't taking new orders. The man we talked with seemed friendly enough, so I tried to joke about whether we could beg the chef to stay a little longer, but then I couldn't come up with the French word for beg. So that joke fell completely flat.

Fortunately, the next evening as dinnertime approached, Mary remembered that we should try this place again.

Et voilà, success! This time we were on the very front end of dinner hours, and the long family-style tables with benches weren't even set with tableware yet. But they welcomed us in and remembered us from the night before.

The fun began in earnest when Mary asked if they happened to have some paper that could occupy two-year-old Liam. The friendly proprietor happily produced paper and markers. And his five-year-old son was quickly enamored with Liam and joined in the drawing, producing his own pictures for us to ooh and aah over. The two boys quickly became pals, the five-year-old (who has no younger siblings but would like to - hint, hint, to his parents! :-) ) happily assuming the role of big brother half-watching over Liam while helping entertain him. When his parents called him to the back of the restaurant for his own dinner, he insisted that Liam join him so he could share his dinner with him.

When it was time for our new little friend to head home to go to bed--because he had school the next day--he was really sad to leave us behind.

For all the bad reputation Paris has for less than personable or kind service in its cafés and restaurants, we had an absolute warm-fuzzy of an evening, which turned out to be a lovely--and somehow very appropriate--way to celebrate Thanksgiving.

americans, please forgive me if i don't apologize for bumping into you

A sure sign you're no longer in France where

most people use long-life "shelf" milk that

isn't refrigerated until it's opened. I'm a

dedicated milk drinker, so I'm always raiding

a grocery store's small refrigerated shelves

holding 0.5 L, 1L, and occasionally 2L

"fresh milk" containers.

I rounded a corner at Walmart last night and nearly bumped into a couple coming from another direction. I intended to apologize. But it didn't happen.

I was foiled by that slow motion thing that's happening in reverse during this visit stateside. That slow motion thing where my mouth starts to say something (in this case "Pardon," as one would in France, but this time with English pronunciation instead of French - go figure), my brain stops it before it's said aloud, then those hills and valleys in my head try to figure out what I should be saying instead and why I'm having so much trouble, and then the split second appropriate for polite apologies of this sort was past as the girl in the couple murmured a "sorry," reminding me that this is what my slow-motion brain was trying to come up with.

I've been stateside for about a month and a half now, and it's been an interesting visit for discovering the way French life has infiltrated me after four-plus years there. Despite the fact that I still have slow-motion moments abroad when my American brain tries to figure out some oh-so-French situation, I have finally crossed that threshold I've heard about where that's also happening in reverse.

I officially belong nowhere now, it seems. Or everywhere.

So in honor of slow-motion moments the world over, here are a few other things that have tripped me up so far:

• I've apparently acclimated to the size of drinks outside the U.S. Many times now I've been subconsciously shocked over how huge "normal"-sized drinks are here. Twice I've been intentionally ordering a small drink and ended up being given one of the gigantic huge ones for free. This has made me chuckle. That other me--the pre-France one--would have felt like I'd won the lottery. The cheapskate current me is appreciative but really doesn't want to drink that much.
• I'm internally shocked here when servers at restaurants show up with the bill while we're still eating. It feels incredibly rude to me - like we're being asked to leave, rather than that they are just trying to provide good service and keep us from waiting. Apparently I've adjusted to the leisurely pace of most French dining (which works well for slow-eating me), where lingering long around a table is totally normal, where you almost never feel rushed out of a restaurant, and where you need to plan to start trying to get your bill about 20 minutes before you actually need to leave.
• I'm still adjusting to the fact that here it's not a mark of rudeness not to say goodbye to servers/salesclerks when you walk out of their establishment. It's okay to do it here, but it's not a cultural norm like it is in France.
• I had the hardest time the other day not using the 24-hour clock that has taken me forever to adjust to. So if I text you about meeting at 18h instead of 6 p.m., I hope you'll appreciate the little math exercise.
• I'm still kind of shocked inside when people speak nonchalantly of running to the store to pick up some sort of food product or other necessity on a Sunday. My insides want to gently remind them that stores aren't open on Sundays, especially not after 1 p.m. And then slow-motion-brain finally realizes I'm back visiting the land of Sunday-shopping-is-a-thing-here.
• On the up side - I was able to stay at a Starbucks the other night working on a proofreading project until 11:30 p.m.!!!! Such establishments in most of France are typically closed by 7 or 8 p.m.
• And a friend and I were able to enter a restaurant and order food within about 30 minutes of their posted closing time! Kitchens are often closed at French restaurants well before closing time, so this felt like a huge treat and the height of good customer service.

Et voilà! Reverse-slow-motion-brains-R-us.

sometimes life is idyllic

It's a pleasure watching Montmartre wake up this crisp morning, as the roaming portrait artists amble to work ahead of the tourists' arrival. A pleasant, still-sleepy calm still rules the cobbled streets here at 10-ish a.m.

A bit earlier as my friends and I vacated their Thanksgiving week Airbnb apartment, I waited on the sidewalk with their toddler son while they took care of parting details inside.

Covered in a bathrobe, the downstairs neighbor opened her shutters for the morning. Since I was nearly touching her window's bars while my toddler friend watched the antics of pigeons across the street, from the vantage point of his stroller, the neighbor-du-jour and I exchanged bonjours and then started chatting. She said she's lived in Montmartre for 38 years, but the neighborhood has changed a lot, and she's planning a return to her roots in Montpellier. This strikes me as both sad and happy. We didn't talk long enough for me to discern how she feels about the impending move.

Since then, I've ensconced myself in a Starbucks, from which a group of Asian tourists (sorry I can't distinguish their roots without asking) has recently departed. American import it may be, juxtaposed against the local treats of this morning, but here I'm free to fit in a few hours of work on a stubborn project before I head on to the next leg of this present escape from the isolation of my Pau apartment. I am hoping the creative vibe and lingering glow of a fun two days with old friends will work some magic on this long-in-process bit of writing.

May it be so.

the era of fixed things

If not for Air France's manhandling, my next suitcase purchase--whenever that day came--would have most likely been online or wherever I found the cheapest valise after hours and hours of research that would have included minimal opportunity to actually handle the bag I might buy. So while at first I was frustrated with another complicated-feeling thing to take care of in a place where I still don't know how everything works, I'm now a little grateful to Air France.

Because yesterday my unplanned suitcase purchase happened here at SPARBE, which turns out to be a family-owned business that's been operating in this same location for nearly 80 years. It was incredibly pleasing to walk in--at first just to see if they could repair my bag--and find that they knew exactly what needed to be done, knew exactly which forms the airline would ask for to prove the suitcase couldn't be repaired, knew exactly which form to submit to request reimbursement for the replacement carry-on, and were just all-around knowledgeable in helping find a bag that matched my damaged one as closely as possible in size (it was a larger-than-usual carryon that I wasn't eager to say good-bye to). It was really nice not to have to navigate another complication totally on my own.

This has turned into a sappy-sounding Yelp review of a mom and pop store from a bygone era, but because of them, a really frustrating experience turned into such an unexpectedly positive experience that, well, sappy-be-hanged, it was great enough to be worth recording for internet posterity. ;-)

A few of my broken things that are now fixed!

 The Fixing-Things Era

Perhaps because I've been here long now enough that belongings I owned before I came to France are getting old enough to be showing some wear, this summer began ushering me into a whole new era of life that involves fixing broken things. And it's turned into a lovely era for a few reasons:

1. It's nice to get to keep using belongings that I like a lot. No need to despair over discovering that something is damaged!
2. It's nice to avoid spending dollars or euros I don't have to replace things I hadn't prepared to replace.
3. It's nice to avoid shopping, which I really don't like. And to avoid having to figure out how to replace products I'm attached to but can't find exact replacements for here, only in the U.S.
4. It's given me a chance to get out into these lovely small shops and converse with people. When you're buying something, you don't necessarily have to talk much. But when you need something fixed, talking is much more necessary. No slinking into shops anonymously.

Becoming so nomadic has already changed my relationship with belongings--I try to mostly only own what I really need, not exactly the bare minimum, but close (as close as possible, given that I'm not a real minimalist...hence, my need for the very largest carry-on suitcase possible). I guess you could say that I keep pretty short accounts on my belongings these days, and I have to be pretty practical about things...if it's not useful, I don't keep it. This has even extended to the books in my life. You know it's serious when I ration how many of those I own at a time!

So in my long-ago, faraway American life, unless I or my parents could fix something fairly easily (and to be sure, I don't come from a family of cobblers, so shoes were not on the fix-it list), I assumed it had to be replaced. I never thought of going to a shoe shop to have my shoes fixed, for example. I didn't even really know where to go to have them fixed. Here, there are cordonniers in pretty much every town of reasonable size.

Thus, having things fixed is fairly easy to pull off...though I've taken to giving the cobblers and other fix-it people here magical powers in my mind, so then I'm disappointed to discover that not everything, said suitcase as an example, can be repaired.

I'm a New Woman

In short (I know, I know...after all those words...), this is just one of many only-sometimes-perceptible internal changes that has taken root inside me courtesy of changing cultures for a while. I suppose I knew those changes would come, except that when I came to France, I didn't know I'd stay so long, so I wasn't thinking about how four years and counting in this place might change my insides.

At any rate, I judge this change to be a good one.

refugees welcomed into french communities

Yesterday afternoon, newspaper headlines caught my eye as I visited a press kiosk on Place Clemenceau to buy some postcards.

Communities in my part of France--Béarn--are preparing for the arrival of refugees, as France prepares to dismantle the ill-reputed and controversial "Jungle" in Calais, where refugees have taken up camp in hopes of escaping over to Britain, and moves the camp's residents to temporary welcome centers around France.

During both 2015 and 2016 as the refugee crisis engulfed Europe, I've intentionally looked for opportunities to volunteer with refugee aid in France, but there have so far not been any easy-to-find opportunities where I've been living in the south of France (in Marseille in 2015 and now in Pau in 2016).

Yet today I've learned that a community on the edge of Pau will be welcoming 50 refugees. Perhaps I can finally get involved! But in addition to an article detailing how that community is preparing for their arrival, the mixed reactions of community members, etc., a smaller article caught my eye yesterday as I read the newspaper (a too-rare pleasure to read the news on paper!) at a new-to-me café that smelled delectable inside (I had to content myself with only a coffee rather than the lunch menu deliciousness wafting from the kitchen).

Here's that article and the results of the translation exercise I've given myself today.

“A huge wave of solidarity in Baïgorry”

Jean-Michel Coscarat, the mayor of Saint-Etienne-de-Baïgorry, a Basque town that welcomed 48 refugees from last November 15 to February 15, says of this experience: “I made the choice to welcome them. There was a huge wave of solidarity. It couldn’t have gone better. I saw in their eyes, as soon as the first refugees arrived in the dark of night, that they had experienced painful times. More than 80 volunteers helped out. They had interpreters, French language courses. Heads of companies called us to offer refugees employment...There was a little apprehension at the beginning, because they arrived just after the November attacks [in Paris in 2015]. We very quickly reassured the community. The intercultural festival organized when it was time for the refugees to leave was fabulous. Some of them come back to see us still, especially those living [nearby] at CADA [the center for people requesting asylum] in Pau. This experience was really great. No one regrets it.”

November 3 update: Media reports of the emptying of the Jungle don't totally match this on-the-ground account from a person volunteering in Calais: "The Jungle" Calais from our own correspondent.

fairy wonderlands do exist

An open door with a fringe of dangling flowers begged me to pause my errands and enter this church I'd not yet seen inside of. I stepped into another world, one of wonder and delight, a city church become woodland church. Turns out that area florists decided to decorate the Eglise Saint Jacques in Pau this past weekend for the Festival of Saint Fleur (there's really a saint named Flower...except in English she's called Flora of Beaulieu). For now it was just a one-time thing. Today's Tuesday and the flowers have been there since Friday when there was a concert inside their perfumed midst. If ever there were a time to literally stop and smell the roses, today was the day. What could beat a flower chandelier? Magnifique!! 

See a few images of the installation in progress in this article from the local newspaper.

america and france, when they just don't get each other

Interesting. Fascinating. Something to consider when next you're making foreign policy decisions. :-)

"Americans are definitely irked by the French habit of contesting the United States on every issue, but what really bugs the French is that the Americans seem to expect everyone to agree in every instance. We started to wonder if Raymonde Carroll's theory of couples' behavior didn't also apply to France and the United States on the international stage. Americans want nothing more than a perfect show of harmony among allies. The French think that if the relationship is strong enough, it should be able to withstand strong differences in public." 

--from Sixty Million Frenchmen Can't Be Wrong by Jean-Benoît Nadeau and Julie Barlow

les vacances

'Tis the season of vacation here in France. These photos offer just a tiny sampling of all the similar signs gracing restaurants, cafés, boulangeries, and shops around town.

As crazy as it may seem to profit-conscious Americans, businesses here regularly shut down for two weeks or more in late-July/August. It's vacation time!

This can be rather annoying when you yourself aren't on vacation and are trying to live a normal life during August. There's no telling whether the places you're used to frequenting will be open. It can also be annoying if you're traveling on vacation somewhere in France. I still don't really understand how it works - everyone's traveling but what is there to do if all the shops are closed?

But on the other hand, I really respect the underlying idea that money isn't everything. It's rather beautiful to live in a place that doesn't see production and profit as the greatest god to be worshipped. Taking time off, traveling, lounging with family, resting, enjoying some good meals - these are valued here. So much so that shop owners around France have posted charming (or boring) signs in their windows to explain why they won't be opening their doors or turning on their lights or firing up their ovens for the next few weeks.

c'est la vie en france

Classic Mediterranean view on the Giens Peninsula.

I may have lived in France for a while now, but there's still a lot that doesn't feel normal yet. Including these moments: 

>>Vignette #1: July 2 ~~ French admin rightfully has a terrible reputation. But this week I've spent two days going in person into various offices and finally getting answers to some long-standing admin things I didn't know how to do. It's been so much better than trying to do it by phone (or trying to guess how to do things), and everyone in the offices has been super nice and helpful, and I didn't even get scolded for being six months late on turning in one particular piece of important paperwork. I feel like a huge administrative weight has been lifted! And I feel like I've taken some sort of giant leap forward in navigating some of the hardest parts of expat life. 

‪#‎itsgoodtoaskquestions‬‪ #‎forgetthestereotypeofsnobbyFrenchpeople‬

>>Vignette #2: July 4 ~~ In honor of my homeland, a July 4 Independence Day quiz: At 10:10 pm a girl walked into the neighborhood sushi restaurant thinking she could still get takeaway dinner after a long day of travel. According to its posted hours, the restaurant closes at 10:30 pm. Why did said girl leave empty-handed?

‪#‎youcantakethegirloutofamerica‬... ‪#‎butsometimesshestillthinkslikeanamerican‬...

‪#‎whereyoucanorderuntilthestoreisclosed‬

(France, I love you, but seriously, could you have mercy on me and not shut down your kitchen 30 minutes before you close, and not shrug your shoulders as though this is the most normal thing in the world? ;-) Sorry, France, but there are some moments where America outshines you. But no hard feelings, it's a friendly competition! ;-) )

>>Vignette #3: July 7 ~~ France, the land where it's not weird when a stranger kisses you (on the cheeks, évidemment) after the home team has just won a big match!

a montmartre moment

Come along on a short tour of a street in Montmartre in Paris! 

There were so many interesting things happening along this little stretch of Paris that it nearly felt like a set-up -- like a film was being made and all the extras had been tasked to create "normal" street life in Montmartre.

So enjoy this little reality film! :-)

In the opening scene, one of the roving portrait artists had cornered a poor American girl who was too nice to tell him no. When they approached me telling me I was a good model, I'd tell them they could draw if they wanted, but I wouldn't buy it. Their pencils usually stopped moving pretty quickly then. Scene 2: I'm not sure what was so mesmerizing about that guy's cooking, but it did smell good. Scene 3: Of course, there's someone talking to a selfie stick. It wouldn't be believable without it. Scene 4: I think the guy smoking didn't want to be on video. Scene 5: Note the bridal couple who was having a Montmartre photo shoot. 

Et voilà - it's as though you were there!

race cars are cool

For two weekends in a row in May, racecars zoomed around the streets of my new town -- modern cars the first weekend and historic ones the next. By weekend number two, I decided to ask for a press pass, so I could learn a little more about car racing than I knew at the beginning of May.

And then I wrote about it. And took pictures. And shared it with the world.

Find out what I discovered!

Sometimes There's a Historic Car Race Around the Next Corner

practicing journalism

Last night at my fave café I met an American couple and a Scottish woman here for this big oil company trade event hosted by French company Total which has headquarters here in Pau. They mentioned a protest that would be happening today at their event very near my home. So I went to check it out and learn a little about the other side of the story.

By the time I arrived, the biggest excitement was apparently over, as I learned that the protesters had blocked the entrance to the conference that morning. But I still made like a reporter and infiltrated the climate justice protest. (It wasn't hard. No girl scout badge for sneaky infiltration was earned.) Apparently the international energy industry conference was focused on strategies and practices for extracting oil from ever harder to reach places, and the protesters think they're damaging the earth in the extreme measures they're taking.

I'm not positioned right now to have easy outlets for reporting on real-time breaking news, but for practice, I still interviewed the president of Les Amis de la Terre France (Friends of the Earth) who had handcuffed himself to the handrail in front of the main entrance to the venue. I added the interview and photos to the Twitter-verse, and this time that had to be enough.

#Climatejustice protest @ #MCEDD summit in #PauFrance. Against more extreme oil extraction practices. @Storyful pic.twitter.com/68ADTSR1MU

— Kami Rice (@KamiTheWriter) April 5, 2016

Would you rather be sitting or standing for this "conversation"? #climatejustice #protest #PauFrance #MCEDD pic.twitter.com/JVugoRcKOp

— Kami Rice (@KamiTheWriter) April 5, 2016

#pauFrance protest outside international trade event hosted by #Total for big oil companies. pic.twitter.com/oyRdcEsit4

— Kami Rice (@KamiTheWriter) April 5, 2016

Action non-violent contre le Symposium de #Total à #PauFrance. pic.twitter.com/CBmOh63ozM

— Kami Rice (@KamiTheWriter) April 5, 2016

It's non-violent action, but there are lots of police in riot gear. #PauFrance #environmentalprotest #Total #bigoil pic.twitter.com/XTmJSRPevu

— Kami Rice (@KamiTheWriter) April 5, 2016

#PauFrance #Protest against more and more extreme measures for extracting oil. pic.twitter.com/Durix7SFmo

— Kami Rice (@KamiTheWriter) April 5, 2016

#Protest today in #PauFrance at an international convention hosted by #Total oil company. pic.twitter.com/kE3OVY6sKk

— Kami Rice (@KamiTheWriter) April 5, 2016

chemin de croix

Pau, FRANCE: Scenes and video from today's Way of the Cross, a traditional

Holy Week procession throughout the world. 

The beginning of the procession.