Musee Cluny- Roman Baths and Medieval Art

The exhibits in Musee Cluny encompass the primary characteristics of Medieval Europe- Catholicism, nobility, and low life expectancy. From pieces of broken statues from the original construction of Notre Dame to tapestries of noble families, this museum lended support to popular portrayals of the Middle Ages.

The most renowned exhibit at Cluny is a collection of tapestries called "La dame a la licorne", or "The Woman with the Unicorn". A teenaged princess sits among her slightly anthropomorphized animal companions, like a scene from a Disney movie, and in each tapestry they try to convey one of the five physical senses. The animals were cute, but the most impressive thing about these tapestries how much work must have been required to make them and how well they were preserved. Maybe the colors were slightly faded, but that was the only noticeable wear.

Another impressive exhibit consisted of a collection of handwritten pages from books, complete with illuminations. While admiring the calligraphy and detailed pictures, I could imagine a monk locked in his chamber copying texts day in and day out. Hand copies made by monks was how texts were printed in that era, and seeing samples made me appreciate the work that went into making the few books that were available at the time. That also partly explains the low literacy rates in Medieval France and thus the prevalence of visual depictions of stories and ideas in tapestry and stained glass.

Religion was perhaps the most important ideological force in Medieval France, and the collection of stained glass windows and broken statues from Notre Dame conveyed this. These pieces of art were often the only way most parishioners learned Bible stories, given abysmally low literacy rates. With the help of labels, I could recognize a number of the stories partrayed in the selection of windows, though I mostly admired them for their vibrant colors. Religious motifs were also used in the coffins and tombstones displayed in the museum. Death was a prevalent theme, though portrayals of the crucifixion of Jesus were the only mentions of bloody death.

Hearkening to an even earlier period were the Roman baths that formed the museum's courtyard, and the thought of standing in a Roman public space was formidable. Like the other exhibits in the Musee Cluny, the most impressive aspect is how well everything has been preserved. Being in the presence of artifacts that are so old amazes me still, especially that their physical beauty is still more or less fully intact. I first studied the Medieval period as a second grader in Eugene, Oregon, and it was amazing to see firsthand the sources of the picture of medieval life we examined, to know that there is evidence to support it.

Protesting in the Streets of Paris

I never had the opportunity to climb the hill in Montmartre to see the Basilica of Sacre-Coeur, but I did see it from the fifth floor of Musee d'Orsay. I have to agree though that it is not a particularly beautiful building. Striking it is, and it's not ugly, but it's not beautiful in the sense that most ostentatious churches built with similar motives are. It's presence, though, as this big white building on a hill overlooking the city is an effective symbol of repressing protest, something that is central to Paris' reputation.

The Basilica was built in response to the rise of the Paris Commune of 1871 over those in power at the time, no longer just the nobility but the bourgeois class. This bloody struggle, on the part of both sides, included both sides executing their opponents, much like the Jacobins during the French Revolution of 1789. The Commune was the first instance of class warfare as we know it today, as the working class, following a socialist platform, briefly seized control of Paris and attempted to destroy symbols of the old order, such as the Vendome Column.

Thus when the Commune fell, the bourgeoisie allied with the Catholic Church, that eternal symbol of old order in France, to construct something to assert their power. The hill of Montmartre was a place of martyrdom for both sides, notably two police officers trying to quell a working class uprising and not too far away, in Pere Lachaise cemetery, the last of the Commune leaders fell victim to a firing squad. The French monarchy had long flirted with a devotion to the Sacred Heart, vowing to erect a monument like Sacre-Coeur after times of hardship, but now this was to become a reality. The Basilica was finally consecrated shortly after World War I and stands today as an imposing symbol of order over an often unruly city.

However, the presence of Sacre-Coeur has hardly discouraged protest in the city of Paris. On our last day, walking through the Place de la Sorbonne, we encountered a protest led by CGT, France's largest confederation of labor unions. Like the Commune once did, CGT rallies for the interests of the working class, though unfortunately I do not know exactly what prompted this particular protest. I remembered, while watching people carrying banners down la Rue de Victor Cousin and chanting "21, 53" (I don't know the significance of these numbers), that CGT was responsible for the strike at the Bastille Opera that resulted in our ballet being cancelled. However, despite that disappointment, I do not know enough abut French labor politics to know whether I sympathize with their concerns.

Walking past the Sorbonne, France's most prestigious university, every day, I was not surprised that it would be a popular location for protests. Universities have long had a reputation as hotbeds of new and controversial ideologies, and the Sorbonne is no exception. Counting among its alumni many of France's major thinkers, from Voltaire to Moliere to Victor Hugo, whose names are also displayed on the roof of the Sorbonne metro station. It was a funny coincidence that the day after Prof. Silver gave us a mini-lecture about the Paris Commune and Paris' reputation for protest, we see protestors marching past the Sorbonne. It actually reminded me a bit of Eugene, and the University of Oregon having a similar reputation, though it had been a while since I had witnessed a particularly big protest.

Musee Carnavalet and Conciergerie- La Revolution Francaise

It was the revolution that would come to inspire countless others in just about every corner of the globe. After the commoners realized that those in power were not willing to concede their positions, they decided to overthrow the Ancien Regime, beginning with the Storming of the Bastille, which was more symbolic than anything as there were very few political prisoners on July 14th, 1789. The concentration of power into the hands of the aristocracy and the clergy permeated nearly every area of life in pre-Revolutionary France, including the Estates-General, where the clergy, the aristocracy, and the commoners each received a vote, clearly stacking the odds against the common people. The nobles tried to appease them by allowing them twice as many representatives, but this was a hollow offer, as the number of votes did not change.

Thus the Revolutionaries began to create their new order. The Conciergerie, on Ile de la Cite, was their main prison, where Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI were held before losing their heads to the guillotine in Place de la Concorde. The building now has become a museum devoted to this, with the main attraction being a reconstruction of Marie Antoinette's prison cell. Original locks and weapons are also on display, but overall it was a bit of a disappointment. The cell reconstructions feel a bit Disneyland-like, complete with dummies, and most of the pictures and documents referred to in copies are actually on display at Musee Carnavalet. The completely random exhibit about Armenian history was interesting, as I know very little about the subject, but the only thing that particularly struck me about the Conciergerie was looking around and imagining it during Robespierre's Reign of Terror, filled with countless aristocrats (and other opponents of the Jacobins) soon to meet their end at the guillotine.

The Musee Carnavalet showed a less violent side of the French Revolution. The museum presents an approximately 500-year chronology of Parisian history, from the building's origin as a palace through the Revolution and beyond. The reconstructed manor rooms were similar to those in the Loire castles, so the exhibit about the Revolution was more interesting. Large copies of the Declaration of the Rights of Man and Citizen adorned one wall, with portraits of Robespierre and other leaders of the Revolution on others, alongside depictions of such events as the Storming of the Bastille. This exhibit is more favorable toward the Revolutionaries, though not without the occasional painting of a brutal execution. It was also interesting to see examples of the outlawed large signs once displayed by shops along Rue Mouffetard and other examples of 19th and 20th Century Parisian life.

On the Palais Justice, to which the Conciergerie is attached, is engraved the national motto that was born of the French Revolution: "Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité". Utilizing tenets of Social Contract Theory, the Revolutionaries forever changed the balance of power in France and inspired many a later revolution. These ideals were implemented, but it came at a violent price, and Revolutionary leaders were not immune to their own thirsts for power either. However, they planted those three words that define Western democratic ideals to this day.

Musee d'Orsay- Sex and Impressionism

I must say I preferred the Musee d'Orsay to the Louvre. There were not as many pieces of art stuffed into each room, so it was easier to enjoy what was there. Of course the Impressionism exhibits, the museum's most famous works, were impressive. Seeing the original paintings that are so often copied for posters, purses, and just about everything imaginable was quite enjoyable. The vibrant colors of Monet's water lilies and Van Gogh's sunflowers are a visual treat, and I never knew that many of Degas' depictions of ballet dancers were done in pastels. The works in Orsay are not so much the products of thievery, and the museum does not quite have the same infamy as its neighbor across the Seine.

However, the works displayed in Musee d'Orsay show a transition in sexual attitudes that occurred over the Nineteenth Century. Female sexuality is still the most blatantly displayed, such as a painting we saw and nicknamed "Every (Straight) Man's Dream": a man dressed in an elaborate suit of armor charging into battle on a horse with a naked woman clinging to him. The Louvre was similar, with female nudity in a large portion of the French and Italian paintings. However, it was not until visiting Orsay that I saw male nudity outside of the traditional statues of naked soldiers brandishing swords, where male sexuality is directly correlated with physical power. Many post-Impressionist works displayed nude men not fighting but celebrating, sometimes with naked women and other times in vaguely homoerotic situations. The most memorable for me was a depiction of the Last Supper in which the apostles are all nude and embracing each other, in an otherwise completely platonic fashion. However, the feminization of many of their features showed a continued bias toward sexualizing the Female more than the Male, so sexual power was still not equally shared though progress was made.

According to John Baxter in his book, Orsay, after its use as a train station, became a theater for experimental plays, many of which were not all that well received. As a museum, it shows the transition between the traditional depictions of male and female sexuality as shown in the Louvre with the experimental sexuality of the expatriate authors of the 1920s. Nathalie Clifford Barney's trendy lesbianism would have been unthinkable without the cultural shift indicated by these works of art. The Musee d'Orsay provides an invaluable link between traditional Western Europe and the Paris that was a haven for eccentric authors and artists during the early Twentieth Century.

The Louvre- Historic Art and Noble Thieves

The Louvre, the art museum made famous in modern times by the rather underwhelming Mona Lisa and The Da Vinci Code, is indeed "one of the most elaborate paradoxes in the world of architecture" (68). Once a magnificent palace, it still maintains its seventeenth century exterior, with its intricate carvings, and some of the beautifully painted ceilings common in such other palaces as Versailles. These ceilings are actually more impressive than some of the paintings showcased in the museum, but then again, some of the rooms have so many works of art crammed into them that it is difficult to really appreciate many of them. Other parts of the Louvre, however, contrast starkly with its palatial past, from the glass pyramid outside to the more recently redesigned parts inside, with some walls having about as much character as the walls of my dorm room and the entry resembling the center of a shopping mall.

With the exception of certain rooms, the history of the Louvre as a royal palace with its ballets and extravagant parties is practically invisible. However, its present incarnation as an art gallery reflects the many individuals that contributed, over a few centuries, to adding to it and redefining it, with "no one consecutive intention behind the builders' activities" (73). In fact, the most fascinating exhibits are those completely incongruous with the museum's location. The artifacts from Ancient Egypt were impressive because of their age and that some of the texts had attempts at French translations beside them. The Middle East exhibit was also fun to see, giving a picture of a completely different civilization that grew parallel to, and sometimes faster than, Western Europe. These exhibits were also more enjoyable because they were not as overcrowded.

However, I also realized that the reason artifacts from Egypt, the Arabian Peninsula, and other European countries were gathered in the Louvre was due to Napoleon I and his armies stealing things from the places they conquered. The military ethic of "the man who won the war won the art as well" provided the present-day Louvre with many of its most interesting exhibits, and Napoleon and Vivant Denon exploited this as much as they possibly could. Granted, Napoleon had plenty of things stolen from him at the Louvre as well, but his own thievery has had a further-reaching impact. Some of his bounty has been returned to its respective countries of origin, but it is hard not to enjoy what remains in the Louvre, even if it was acquired through now grossly illegal means.

Versailles- The Tribute to Louis XIV's Ego and Paranoia

After watching members of his family be brutally murdered by unhappy aristocrats, Louis XIV developed a deep fear of insurrection. His paranoia extended to the entire city of Paris, long a hotbed of political protest. Therefore, he decided to move himself and all of France's aristocrats to a grandiose estate at Versailles, just less than 20 kilometers outside of Paris proper, and bankrupted France in the process. He tried to appease the Parisians, unhappy that he had used over half the national budget on his grandiose palace, by ordering another building project, that of another bridge over the Seine.

Louis XIV was the epitome of the absolutist monarch, and his palace reflects the tenets of absolutism quite nicely. The royal bedchamber is right in the middle, and outside it is a clock on the shape of a sun, his personal symbol. The sun was just discovered by Copernicus to be the center of the Solar System, just as Louis XIV believed himself to be the center of France, the entity around which everyone and everything else orbited. The ceilings are ornately decorated, and larger than life portraits of the Sun King adorn numerous staircases, mantles, and random wall spaces. Like in the castles of the Loire, the king's initials are carved into the ceilings on the lower level.

The unbelievably large palace was designed to house all of France's aristocrats, so that Louis XIV could monitor them for any signs of subversive activity. Exploring the ornate parlors and bedchambers, I could easily imagine the Sun King calling his lower nobles and servants to attend to his every need, from the political to such personal tasks as dressing him. Walking through the maze-like gardens and the orangerie, I could imagine the thousands of people who inhabited the seemingly never-ending building and who also walked among these trees. Versailles functions as a monument to absolutism and to Louis XIV himself. It displays both his ego and his paranoia, as he had to be the constant center attention and monitor of all. As it says on the facade of the main palace, it is dediciated to "toutes les gloires de la France", which the Sun King truly believed to be the fruits of his reign.

Chateaux of the Loire Valley- Living as Nobles Before the Revolution

"S'il vient a point, me souviendra"= "If [the castle] is finished, I will be remembered". This quotation from Thomas Bohier, a royal official who oversaw the construction of the castle of Chenonceau between 1515 and 1521, is carved into a mantle piece in said castle and aptly describes how well the legacy of France's pre-Revolutionary nobility has been preserved in the Loire Valley.

The history of Chenonceau is rife with drama, and the events that took place within its walls would have been the subjects of sixteenth and seventeenth century tabloids, if such things had existed. King Henri II gave the castle to his favorite mistress, Diane de Poitiers, in 1547, and portraits of her still adorn her old bedroom. However, once the king died, his wife, the headstrong Catherine de Medici, took over Chenonceau and ordered de Poitiers to leave. This triangle can also be seen in carvings in some of the ceilings, where technically a C and an H are entwined, for Catherine and Henri, but their placement makes the C look like a D. Chenonceau was the site of many a lavish royal party and probably its fair share of controversy. Later, Louise de Lorraine, wife of King Henri III, inherited the castle and never left upon hearing of her husband's death. Her bedroom was painted all in black and she reportedly never wore anything but her white mourning clothes for the rest of her life.

Amboise was the permanent residence of Catherine de Medici and Henri II and was the only officially royal castle we visited. A small part of the interior has been reconstructed and furnished like the rooms at Chenonceau, but the most impressive part was the small chapel sitting in front of the castle. As the official royal home and the place where royal children were raised, Amboise does not have the same tawdry history as Chenonceau, and its most prominent feature is the influence of the Italian intellectuals invited by the French court to work there. The gardens are credited to an Italian priest, and the Chapel of Saint Hubert contains a memorial to Leonardo da Vinci, who spent his last years at Amboise. Whether he is actually buried under the chapel, I cannot know for sure, but the bilingual memorial (in French and Italian) was the most memorable feature of the visit.

From the outside, Chambord is spectacular, with its many towers and ornate decorations on the roof. It is somewhat of a maze, and we climbed all of the spiral staircases we could find and barely knew where we were half of the time. It seemed, however, that the restoration taking place had prompted the removal of many of the exhibits, making the castle feel kind of empty. The one obvious feature though was it use as a hunting lodge for Francois I. His initials adorn many of the walls, and many of the exhibits that were available featured weapons and tapestries displaying bloody animal carcasses. There was even this one really strange room where all there was was a projected image of trees and a soundtrack of howling dogs playing. No one could figure out the significance of that exhibit.

Cheverny is the smallest castle we visited, and it had a distinctly Victorian-seeming air to it, as opposed to the earlier centuries evoked in the others. The inclusion of memoirs and pictures of the family currently owning it made it feel a bit more modern than the others, as the exhibits seemed to encompass a wide span of the castle's history. It was never really used by the French royalty and feels more like a noble manor than the other castles, both in its layout and the content of the rooms. The exterior contributes to this as well, being less ornate and ostentatious than the others.

These large monuments have preserved nicely the legacy of the pre-Revolutionary aristocracy in the Loire Valley, but there is little evidence of the lower social classes from that era. Unable to afford the fortified homes of the nobility, their homes and workplaces have probably been long destroyed. The only trace I could find was a sign pointing toward Les Ormeaux, a town mentioned in George Sand's La mare au diable as where the poor farmhand Marie must go to make some money to support her mother. The vast difference in wealth illustrated here allows me to understand the discontent of the lower classes that led to the French Revolution.

Notre Dame and Chartres- The Grandeur of Holy Places

Gothic cathedrals are impressive structures. The flying buttresses, the colorful stained glass, and the intricate detail of the figures carved into their sides are visually stunning, and one cannot help but think of the years of labor their construction required while admiring them. The architects designed them to focus one's gaze upward, toward God and Heaven, and I understand how they parallel the beauty and grandeur that is God. In accordance with the tenets of medieval Catholicism, the imposing cathedrals make you feel small, much as the average French Catholic felt in comparison to the far-reaching power of the Church and, by extension, God. The Masses during much of these cathedrals' existence was performed by a priest who faced away from the congregation, reciting prayers and scripture verses in Latin, a language their parishioners would barely understand. Unless a member of the upper classes, an average parishioner would be lucky to even receive bread at Communion. Thus the vast majority of the attendees on a given Sunday would feel quite small indeed in these large places.

Standing outside Notre Dame, one such French Catholic that came to my mind is Victor Hugo's famous fictional hunchback Quasimodo. However, it was difficult to truly imagine the lonely hunchback ringing the church bells amid the hordes of tourists clamoring about the cathedral. The restoration that Victor Hugo, among other prominent figures of nineteenth century Paris, fought for is admittedly impressive, and one cannot deny Notre Dame's historical importance as the site for many a royal wedding and funeral, such as the wedding of Napoleon III and the funeral of Philip V of Spain. However, it was not until watching for a moment the Mass taking place, despite the eager tourists and their cameras, that I could even remotely get a sense of why an author in our reading packet deemed Notre Dame "a family church with all France for its family" (246). There I saw the cathedral as still a living entity, still a "meeting place," and I found myself wishing I could slip into the congregation and experience that for myself. However, what could I possibly expect from a place so famous in the middle of the day besides throngs of tourists and the corresponding atmosphere?

I had a very different experience at Chartres. Away from the activity of the city, the town was peaceful and the cathedral was, fortunately, not a second-rate Notre Dame. Standing inside the cathedral was made all the more impressive knowing that the stained glass and the facades are all the originals from its construction in the Thirteenth Century. Exploring the altars and stained glass windows was more enjoyable without the crowds from Notre Dame, as I could get a better sense of the place's holiness. It captures well the grandeur and power of God in its own material beauty, and I could imagine myself a parishioner sitting in a pew and admiring this thing so much larger and more impressive than myself, just as its designers intended.

However, I cannot allow myself to fall into the ideological trap that claimed much of the medieval Catholic Church. Clergy members borrowed some of the philosophy of their royal benefactors, making these cathedrals not just as testaments to God's grandeur but to the magnitude of their own power. Just because a building is grandiose, visually stunning, and costly (both in money in labor) does not make it a holier place. In fact, Jesus was, in many ways, the exact opposite of an ostentatious Gothic cathedral- a humble carpenter who exhorted his followers to serve others unselfishly and maintained an unassuming presence. It would be a mistake to believe that grandeur translates into holiness, that Notre Dame or Chartres are any more holy than a small church in Oregon or an organization devoted to helping the disenfranchised members of the community. Visually stunning Gothic cathedrals have their place as historical monuments and impressive houses of worship, but they are not the utmost representation of the God they proclaim.

The Seine- The River that Unifies Paris

So, here is the first entry from the travel journal I must submit to my professor for Academic Travel, and thus the first installment in my Reflections on Paris series. Enjoy!

I discovered the prominence, almost omnipresence, of the River Seine during our walking tour on our first morning in Paris. It divides the city nearly in half down the middle, and it would become the most helpful landmark for navigation while walking around the city. When we finished our tour in front of the Place des Vosges, we figured that, in order to return to our hotel eventually, we needed to head toward, and then cross, the Seine. This strategy proved effective, and would continue to be so throughout our stay. We found the Louvre by locating it across the river and found our way back from the Musee Carnavalet in the same manner, despite not knowing any of the necessary street names.

The River Seine is perhaps the best symbol of Paris for the visitor, even moreso than the Eiffel Tower. The Eiffel Tower sits to the side in the Eighth arrondisement and required a deliberate metro journey from our hotel. However, the Seine was always there. Even on the metro, when we did not necessarily use it to navigate, the symbol was still everywhere we looked, as its path is an integral part of the Transportation Department's logo.

Even in Roman times, the city was centered around the River and then grew outward, as shown in how the current arrondisements are numbered and how most of the historical attractions are, if not on the River, near it. As our boat tour that first night cruised up and down the Seine, our guide was able to point out nearly 75% of Paris's famous landmarks, from the Eiffel Tower to the former palace and prision known as the Conciergerie.

From the first few readings in the course packet, I learned that the juxtaposition of beauty and carnage is a central theme to Parisian history, and perhaps nothing embodies this better than the Seine. As I sat on our boat admiring how the Eiffel Tower's lights sparkled on the water, I also remembered learning in a French class back at UCSD that in 1961, the Parisian chief of police ordered the drowning of numerous Algerian immigrants peacefully protesting French colonial rule nearby. During the day, I admired the souvenirs and used books the bouquinistes sell to tourists walking along the River and seconds later, noticed the homeless men and women sleeping in tents on its banks.

Walking along Rue Mouffetard during the same initial walking tour provoked similar thoughts, thanks to the provided text I had read days before. Shops have operated there for centuries, and the vendors with their colorful fruits and tempting cheeses continue this tradition into the present. However, I also could not help but remember the gruesome stories the author mentioned. The most haunting reportedly occured behind those very shopfronts, as a barber and a butcher a couple centuries ago murdered homeless teens and made a popular pates from their flesh.

The juxtaposition of life and death, beauty and misery, peace and violence, is the central tenet of the history Paris has carried with it into the present, and the omnipresent River Seine embodies this principle, and thus the entire city, better than any other landmark.

Voglio dormire...davvero

It is definitely the first day back in class after a break. And all I want to do right now is walk back down the hill to my ex-brothel room and curl up in my bed. But alas, I have one more class today in 45 minutes. I'm really looking forward to 2 PM today. I can;t really complain though. Back at UCSD, I would be starting Winter Quarter finals today, whereas here, it's just class as usual. But I will still provide pictures and blog entries to give everyone study breaks (or just distract people; I know how it is).

So, my dad will hopefully arrive in Lugano on Wednesday, after a failed attempt last week. I'm excited. I miss my family, and I'm happy that I get to see at least one of them very soon. And Dad will hopefully teach me what is actually good wine here. Should be fun. Eating too much Italian food, tasting wine, staring at Lake Lugano, eating too much gelato, and all those other little delights of this little city.

I have quite a bit of writing I need to upload on here. Starting either tonight or tomorrow will be my Reflections on Paris series (also known as my travel journal that I will be turning in to my professor). So be prepared for some reading. I also have a funny original one for tonight. I now must go eat lunch and go to my last class of the day. So until later...

I'm finally done with midterms!

After having my four midterms spread out over two weeks, I finally finished my last one this morning at 10:40 my time. My first one was last Monday, the day after Carnevale weekend, and of course it was for my Italian conversation class, which meant a sort of oral presentation in Italian. So I couldn't be comatose for it and thus, I spent the first of my two 3-day weekends in Lugano, wandering aimlessly around downtown. Then was my written Italian midterm that Friday, which was fine. I of course made a few stupid mistakes, but I can't complain with an A-. Then yesterday I took my Spanish midterm, and today was French. I don't feel too badly about either one, but of course I won't see the grades for a couple weeks now. But I'm still glad that I am now finished with midterms for the rest of this school year.

And that is a weird thought. I'm not used to this semester system, only having two sets of exams each year instead of three. But I can still rub it into my friends back at UCSD (and of course the U of O). In fact, this is the end of week 9 back at home, which means one more week of classes and then Winter Quarter finals. It's hard to believe that much time has already passed. I wish you all luck on your finals. If it makes you feel any better, I'll be taking my finals here around the time you all are taking your Spring midterms. And before you think I have it really easy this year, I am taking some summer classes, so I'll have some more work to compensate. I can't brag too much.

I also don't get a real Spring Break here, but what they replace it with isn't too bad. Franklin has this program called Academic Travel, a one-unit class where you go somewhere else with a professor and 25-30 other students. I'm going to Paris with a history professor (who actually did his undergrad work at UCSD), so we'll have walking tours, visit a bunch of museums, and write about all of it in a travel journal that we turn in at the end. I'm glad I didn't get one of the travel classes that has an exam or a research paper, like I know some have. It should be fun. And it will be the first real test of my French skills. I'm hoping for the best...