March 30th

Writing to you all from the internet-less lands of Menton, France. I've decided to shift modes from reading to writing because last night, I finished the one English book that I was able to find worth buying: Super Sad True Love Story. I recognized the title as something my uncle had liked and suggested a while ago, so I decided to give it a try. In the end I'm not sure it was really worth buying.... it only gripped my attention for a solid third of the 350ish page length. Although at first I appreciated the quirkiness of the writing style, I quickly tired of it and began to find it, instead, rather pretentious. The only thing missing from author Shteyngart's glamour shot on the inside of the back cover is an #instragramfilter to complete the vibe he seems to be going for. If you're looking for literary subtlety, you won't find it in this book; the tropes of turbulent-inter-generational-immigrant-family-dynamics and a crippling fear of death all but hit you over the head over and over in a cumbersome way that reaches out from the story rather than pulls you into it. Overall I'd give this book a measly 2 out of 5.

Anyways, I'm not sure if my bad review is entirely due to the book itself or is being polluted by the general tone of this trip thus far. What could have been a relaxing Mediterranean get-away has turned into a dreary unhappy monotony. The weather in Menton is Oxford-status abysmal, and what's all the more depressing is that it's never supposed to be this way. I was promised California-status sunshine and instead we've had virtually nothing but gray skies and cold rain. Hrmph!

To top things off, I caught some weird illness that seems to be the combination of all symptoms at once (except God has managed to spare me from a runny nose. Can we hear a “yay” :| ). I've been rather melodramatic about the whole affair, but my grandma and uncle just shoved some pills at me and said it'd go away quickly. They kept saying it was probably just a tiny “angine,” no big deal at all, etc etc. Unfortunately with no internet in this house and no pro-bilingual at hand I had no clue what their diagnosis actually was – until, that is, I talked to my dad on the phone today. Through my mom's translating I learned that the english equivalent was “strep throat.” Woop dee doop, no big deal! Hoping there's some miscommunication involved here because I'd rather not have that particular illness. In third grade, I spent my birthday in bed with it and missed the walkathon. Bad times. It's even worse being sick around old people because it makes you feel both a bit scared and a bit prematurely guilty. My grandma just seems to smile and nod matter-of-factly when she tells me “angine” is super contagious, and a few minutes later she complains of a soar throat. Ugh.

The unhappiness of the sickness is augmented by my hunger for bread. I feel that the thorough lack of carbohydrates is withering me away. With no access to even the most laughable of the carbs, that infamous old buddy matzah, this is surely the hardest Passover I've ever passed over. Tuesday night I will eat all the things.

Only two solidly good things have come out of this trip. This picture, which I took during a quick late afternoon gelato-run to Italy. I changed nothing about it except I tilted it a bit for a straight horizon, yet there's a pastel-y-ness to the background contrasted with a sharpness to the peoples' silhouettes that somehow came out. What do you think? Or is it too cliché?

Second happy thing: the fact that the apartment we're staying in has a hallway that smells slightly like PEZ. I can't quite put my finger on where the smell is coming from (their detergent? the heat radiators?) but in any case it's one of the better smells I've smelled in my life. It's one of those smells I wish I could bottle up and save and have around because it makes me smile.