A Mild, Uneventful Update on a Foggy November Afternoon

The blog continues, haltingly, since not that much has happened these past two weeks. I have eaten well, further ingrained myself in Bressuire, taught English, made some pita bread (easy and delicious), and tossed a funky batch of yogurt (tasted like socks and, on further inspection, had some beautiful pink dots on the lid). Truly, the most exciting update I have for you all is my recent cultural discovery that alongside taking out the trash, doing their homework, and washing dishes, French children are often tasked with getting bread from the bakery. You likely know that bread is a staple of the French diet.¹ My roommates and I mostly get our bread from the local supermarket because it’s cheaper and more efficient. Whenever we share our unconventional bread-buying habits with French people, however, they always sigh, shake their heads, and tell us to either get our act together or go have some children.

Another sizeable development is my recent participation in the Bressuire chess club. Up until this past year I had never played much chess, yet free time, accessible online chess, and a fantastic chess Youtuber by the name of Daniel Naroditsky combined to spark my interest. Seeing an opportunity to merge hobby and community, last Saturday I found myself playing chess in a small room rented from a preschool. My first opponent was seven years old. I defended US prestige with a few quick mates. The kid compared my play with that of his grandpa, which was good, I think. He said a number of things I didn’t understand at all, though, so there may have been some nuance. French children speak quickly and without mercy for a non-native speaker. Oftentimes, faced with an undecipherable deluge, I would laugh. Partly to cover my confusion, partly at the surreality of sitting in a French chess club sparing with a talkative seven year old. After a while, he asked me why I was laughing at everything he said. Realizing I had no good answer to that question, I shrugged, and laughed.

Competition stiffened from there, and I lost a fair amount of games. It was a tremendous social experience; two hours passed in an instant. In hindsight, from my armchair in a smoky salon of regret, I wish I had played more chess when I was younger. Or rather, I wish chess was not pidgeon-holed into the pursuit of the “nerdly”. As my adventures demonstrate, brilliance is not a prerequisite to enjoying chess. It is a meditative, mysterious game that nobody ever masters aside from, maybe, our computer overlords. As Beth Harmon says best, it’s a world of 64 squares in which you have total control. Each game provokes reflection and discussion. Incidentally, in four weeks two of the world’s greatest chess players will square off for the World Championship in Dubai. Magnus Carlsen is the favorite, but Ian Nepomniachtchi has a mediocre ponytail. As an erstwhile mediocre ponytail enjoyer, I will be rooting for the Russian player (or, I should say, the neutral player, thanks to Russia’s ongoing doping sanctions).

Hm. I think that is all. For next week’s blog I plan to cover the transformation of the French supermarket for the holidays. Based on my limited travel experience, one of my favorite tourist activities has been exploring supermarkets. The supermarket is one of those cultural landmarks that grants a peek at all sorts of customs: gift-giving, holiday traditions, eating habits, etcetera etcetera. Stay tuned!