Updates from France
02.11.10. It takes one spirit to drive out another.
Father Pat Collins believes in the devil. Not in what he would consider the liberal Christian way, where the devil is a projection of the evil within us. Rather, there are, according to him, ''evil spirits among us.''
I spent an hour on Monday night listening to Father Pat, a Roman Catholic priest and exorcist, discuss exorcism in today's world in an event organized by the theological society of Trinity College. It was a full house of about 150 people, and I was the fly on the wall (at least until the Q & A session and reception which followed).
Father Pat, an eloquent, slightly plump orator of some sixty years, describes himself as a conservative, that is orthodox, Catholic inasmuch as he believes that ''the devil does exist, he can possess people, and exorcism can be the only remedy.'' Yet for all his traditionalism, he impressed me with his measured approach to exorcism. He declared that ''very few people are possessed,'' with about 85% of potential cases more suited to psychology or psychiatry than theology.
Others among orthodox Catholics are not always so measured. …
20.10.10. Strike City.
I am in France, and I am safe. Although I've the sense I ought not to be. For weeks, warnings about terrorist attacks have come from neighboring countries, as well as places as far away as Japan. England has warned not to go to France, and France has warned not to go to England. Now the warnings to avoid France are being renewed, and it has nothing to do with terrorism. In the words of French Prime Minister François Fillon, the "Hexagon" is now being held hostage by some of its own citizens.
If you've seen the national papers or the national news recently, you will have an idea of what I'm talking about. You might have seen the kilometers-long lines at gas stations, the human walls barring entry to oil refineries, the millions of people marching through the streets… and the adolescents and young adults smashing store windows and setting fire to cars. …
03.10.10. What else? Rationality, prudence, lucidity.
In Italy, George Clooney rose to fame thanks to his villa on Lake Como. (Likewise, Lake Como attained fame in the U.S. thanks to Clooney's villa.) Now the stately star has given up the keys to his Como home, but his fame continues to grow in the Bel Paese and across Europe thanks largely to his constituting the cardinal advertising campaign for trendy Nespresso, summed up in two words: "What else?"
These words appear below Clooney on posters as he pinches an espresso glass and seduces you with his chestnut eyes and whirlpool of a smirk. I was ignorant of this Continental affair of his until my girlfriend was trying to think of the name of an actor recently, one I clearly knew, and said, "You know, the 'what else' guy." The who? It emerged that she meant Clooney, and there began my downward spiral into the world of Nespresso. …
22.09.10. Americans in Alsace.
A few days before I moved to Strasbourg, it came to mind that I know practically nobody here. I do have my girlfriend, and by extension her friends and family, who are all very kind and helpful and Alsatian. But sometimes a person who cherishes chocolate also wants a bite or two of vanilla. I went on the internet just before leaving Pavia, and a bit of searching brought me to the Web site of Americans in Alsace (the region of Strasbourg), which by all indications appears to be a collective of mothers who meet twice a month to have coffee and discuss books. I happen to adore coffee and books, and the theme of my European experience seems to be the stockpiling of surrogate mothers, so I am considering joining the club.
But the incredible thing is that these Americans in Alsace are not just hiding out in coffee shops, but are roaming the streets in impressive numbers. I have been here for ten days, and nearly every time I have stepped outside to fetch a baguette or go to the post office, I have heard American English being spoken. The speakers have been middle school students, college students, and mothers with daughters. If as yet I have avoided injecting myself into their conversations, it is for the surprising reason that English is just a bit too common here. Strasbourg labels itself the carrefour (crossroads) of Europe, and the town seems to be stretching its tendrils toward North America as well. …
16.09.10. Northward.
Faithful readers will recall my article from last month, "To The Sea," in which I wrote of my renewed faith in the Italian people—despite all of my bureaucratic problems, my friends and surrogate mothers were giving me shelter and work, and by golly, it looked as if I might just make things work in Pavia.
But wouldn't you know it, no horde of surrogate mothers can get a residence permit done, or an apartment lease. For that, you need to know a surgeon who has operated on the immigration chief.
I didn't, or at least I didn't know that I did at the time. What I needed was a door to open to replace all those around me shutting, as my dad always said it should happen. Whether my dad was actually involved in this or not, I can't be sure, but that door did open, and there was a pretty lady holding it ajar for me.
I stepped through and it brought me here, to Strasbourg, where I can embark upon the discovery of a new country, a new language, and a new situation domestique. The baguettes abound, and I'm retrofitting my system, olive oil-dependent for so long, as fast as I can to run on butter. Things might just work out. More to come.◊