Saturday, June 5, 2010
Everything Turns, Turns, Turns
In the words of The Bride: “You and I have unfinished business.” (My appreciation of the Kill Bill movies comes from college, not from France). I’m back in the United States right now, having spent several wonderful days in Houston with K and her friends before going home. They kept me busy with lots of social gatherings and delicious meals – cultural adjustment is much easier when you don’t have time to notice all of the little differences. One big change I noticed at the airport was the American version of customer service. Instead of being greeted by indifference and being addressed in formal terms, I was called “Pard’ner” and encouraged to converse with the airport staff. I will nevertheless continue posting tales of my adventures in order to complete my narrative before moving over to a new space for my next great voyage: burkinascisteven.blogspot.com
Toulouse: La Ville "Rose"
After PBJ, I had two days of rest and recovery before setting out again for the southwest of France with my choir. We stayed in the village of Finhan, about an hour away from Toulouse, the fourth-largest city in France and regional capital. I traveled with R, a level-headed judge who’s also a bit of a clown, and A, a psychology student in Paris who speaks wonderful English. Upon arrival, we were met by the other choristes at a barbecue which reminded me more of my family reunions in Iowa than of Parisian sophistication. Lots of eating, singing, drinking, and talking set the tone for the week to come. My host family in Finhan was “super cool”: we were free to come and go as we pleased and were offered delicious toast and coffee for breakfast each morning. All of the Nancéins ate at the stadium for lunch and dinner, providing additional opportunities for discussion and sunbathing. The others kept trying to draw me into their soccer games but I explained that while I could appreciate the French national obsession for the sport, I preferred to write and relax. Perhaps it’s a cultural trait, but several friends asked to see what I was writing and wanted to know why it was in English (I spoke French the entire week, so I didn’t feel terribly guilty).
On our free day, we went to a cave à vin for a dégustation of fine wines at 11am. That afternoon, we visited a beautiful little chapelle that had a cost-saving secret: all of the beautiful objects were made out of carefully painted wood instead of gold. To cap off the afternoon, we went to a rum distillerie and gave an impromptu demonstration of our singing talents for the other patrons. We had some rehearsals mixed into the program, but they lasted only an hour and a half and were more for clarification and last minute fixes than for major changes. Le lendemain, we gave our first concert at a small church in a neighboring village. It was a nice test run, but I held back a bit, which is the worst thing to do at a gospel concert. I had run a few miles in the morning for relaxation but hadn’t practiced as much as I would’ve liked to and felt a bit unconfident.
After a brief répétition the next day, we went to the Musée des Métiers d’Autrefois and saw plow and other farm equipment from the area. Upstairs, the curators had arranged dioramas of old professions such as le balaitier (the broom-maker). Most placards ended with the following statement: Il travaille toujours selon la tradition artisinale et assure toutes les étapes de la fabrication (He always works according to the artisanal tradition and assures all of the steps of the building process). On Friday, we had some quartier libre and several of us went to Toulouse. Due to transit time and the search for parking, we only had two hours in the city. We managed to see the basilica, les Jacobins, and the famous “pink” bricks for which the city is known. In the April light they looked orange – perhaps at June 17th at 5:36 pm they’re pink? That night, A and I had a long conversation in English about the differences in university life, relationship culture, and racism in France and America.
On our last day, I went for another nice jog and was then left to watch the children for awhile while their guardians did housekeeping. Like all gosses, they were cute and happy one minute, crying and screaming the next. Thankfully, the most sensitive ones went into the house and their less moody siblings played contentedly in the grass. We gave our second (and my last) concert that night and it went phenomenally. Yes, there were issues with the little children following orders, but at least they were still cute enough to get away with it. I sang with tout mon coeur and had a great time. R drove A and I home right after the concert, and I was able to pass out until 2 pm.
On our free day, we went to a cave à vin for a dégustation of fine wines at 11am. That afternoon, we visited a beautiful little chapelle that had a cost-saving secret: all of the beautiful objects were made out of carefully painted wood instead of gold. To cap off the afternoon, we went to a rum distillerie and gave an impromptu demonstration of our singing talents for the other patrons. We had some rehearsals mixed into the program, but they lasted only an hour and a half and were more for clarification and last minute fixes than for major changes. Le lendemain, we gave our first concert at a small church in a neighboring village. It was a nice test run, but I held back a bit, which is the worst thing to do at a gospel concert. I had run a few miles in the morning for relaxation but hadn’t practiced as much as I would’ve liked to and felt a bit unconfident.
After a brief répétition the next day, we went to the Musée des Métiers d’Autrefois and saw plow and other farm equipment from the area. Upstairs, the curators had arranged dioramas of old professions such as le balaitier (the broom-maker). Most placards ended with the following statement: Il travaille toujours selon la tradition artisinale et assure toutes les étapes de la fabrication (He always works according to the artisanal tradition and assures all of the steps of the building process). On Friday, we had some quartier libre and several of us went to Toulouse. Due to transit time and the search for parking, we only had two hours in the city. We managed to see the basilica, les Jacobins, and the famous “pink” bricks for which the city is known. In the April light they looked orange – perhaps at June 17th at 5:36 pm they’re pink? That night, A and I had a long conversation in English about the differences in university life, relationship culture, and racism in France and America.
On our last day, I went for another nice jog and was then left to watch the children for awhile while their guardians did housekeeping. Like all gosses, they were cute and happy one minute, crying and screaming the next. Thankfully, the most sensitive ones went into the house and their less moody siblings played contentedly in the grass. We gave our second (and my last) concert that night and it went phenomenally. Yes, there were issues with the little children following orders, but at least they were still cute enough to get away with it. I sang with tout mon coeur and had a great time. R drove A and I home right after the concert, and I was able to pass out until 2 pm.
PBJ: Sights and Food
My two trips had very different goals and thus very different sight-seeing and food itineraries. In Paris, cheering on my friends while they ran the marathon pre-empted more organized sight-seeing and well-planned gourmet meals. Furthermore, I was staying in a youth hostel with three college-aged males who were trying to carbo-load before and after the race. We ate kebabs, Chinese takeout, pizza, bread slathered in chocolate, beer, chips and some fruit (to be fair the kebabs, Chinese food and pizza included vegetables). As the guys were all too tired to search for reasonable fare after the race, we went to the McDo on the Champs Élysées. They each devoured 4 hamburgers and a large order of fries while I quietly ate my fish sandwich and sipped on my Coke. Classy Midwesterners, through and through. On Monday, we all went to the Louvre for a few hours before R and I had to depart. The musée had a wonderful temporary exhibit about the ancient African civilization of Meroe.
Par contre, Barcelona was about catching up with friends while soaking up the amazing sights in one of Spain’s most beautiful cities. K, our lovely travel guide, kept us on the move. The first day we were there, we saw Las Ramblas, the Mercado, the Porto, and the Catedral de la Sagrada Familia. She did let us make some pit stops for coffee along the way at delicious little cafés (and a Starbucks – but only once!). Day 2 was taken up by our travels to Parc Guell, a stroll through the medieval district, and my tour of the aquarium while the ladies explored a Gaudi house. I was lucky enough to travel in the company of some genuine foodies and we were able to savor long tapas dinners. My favorite appetizer was las patatas bravas, followed by shrimp or chicken depending on the night. K’s friend A showed us some great bars including the French expat hangout and a secret after-hours club.
Par contre, Barcelona was about catching up with friends while soaking up the amazing sights in one of Spain’s most beautiful cities. K, our lovely travel guide, kept us on the move. The first day we were there, we saw Las Ramblas, the Mercado, the Porto, and the Catedral de la Sagrada Familia. She did let us make some pit stops for coffee along the way at delicious little cafés (and a Starbucks – but only once!). Day 2 was taken up by our travels to Parc Guell, a stroll through the medieval district, and my tour of the aquarium while the ladies explored a Gaudi house. I was lucky enough to travel in the company of some genuine foodies and we were able to savor long tapas dinners. My favorite appetizer was las patatas bravas, followed by shrimp or chicken depending on the night. K’s friend A showed us some great bars including the French expat hangout and a secret after-hours club.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
PBJ: Friends
I’m very glad that I decided to spend a few days in Paris before leaving for the rest of my vacation, as it allowed me to say goodbye to E. As you may remember, E was my laid-back roommate from Nebraska who adores large helpings of stew, long runs, and relaxed conversations. He met up with A and R, some friends from college, to take a victory lap around one of the world’s greatest capitals before heading back to ‘Merica. Je, Ja, and L were the lovely ladies also along for the ride. They have a very strong bond based on complementary personalities : Je is very lively and loves to talk, Ja has some street-cred going on, and L is a Midwestern sweetheart who just wants to get know people. I spent most of Sunday morning with Ja and L and it was fun to cheer for the runners (Je, E, R, and A) together. The girls also decided to encourage others based on their racing tags and were met by various expressions of ignorance, disgust, fatigued thanks, and WOW.
My original reason for making the trek to Barcelona was simple : I had taken a Spanish class last summer and wanted to practice my language skills in a Spanish-speaking country. In the course of planning meet-ups with various friends this spring, I noticed that the easiest way to see my friend G would be on vacation. G is my fun-loving, intelligent, and effortlessly-cool friend who’s a teaching assistant in Strasbourg. She brought along one of her friends, K, a sweet witty young lady who also hails from the Heartland. We worked out wonderfully as travel partners since we all had the same sort of internal rhythm going : wake up mid-morning and have brunch, do some sites, eat a nice sandwich lunch, more sightseeing, nap/Internet break, dinner and drinks. A few hours after meeting K, I was introduced to A. She’s Parisienne by birth, but a citizen of the world by choice : she was a French language assistant at K’s university last year and is now working in Barcelona as a French and English teacher. A reminded me of a more intense version of G and showed all the great spots that the cool kids frequent : a Catalan dive bar, a French expatriate bar/café, and a secret club that involved climbing many stairs and password-only admission. It was at this point in the night when we met AEA : American Expatriate AssholeTM. He proceeded to lecture us on how Europe was SO much more civilized than America, using the same generalities that anyone who had read two articles in the New York Times could tell you. When G had the gall to suggest that we had indeed thought about several quality of life issues and cultural differences, he countered by talking about his friends in CA who had to put their kids in private preschool to avoid them becoming pimps and gangsta drug lords. K suggested that paying 15K a year was perhaps more of a choice and he shouted back « You’re WRONG ! » Through a coordinated campaign of targeted questions and reminders about common decency, we managed to chase him from the table. After a restful night of repose, we met V at the metro on our way to Parc Guell. She’s a spunky independent spirit from Ontario who loves taking photos. More laughs ensued and we had a great time for the rest of our stay in Barcelona.
My original reason for making the trek to Barcelona was simple : I had taken a Spanish class last summer and wanted to practice my language skills in a Spanish-speaking country. In the course of planning meet-ups with various friends this spring, I noticed that the easiest way to see my friend G would be on vacation. G is my fun-loving, intelligent, and effortlessly-cool friend who’s a teaching assistant in Strasbourg. She brought along one of her friends, K, a sweet witty young lady who also hails from the Heartland. We worked out wonderfully as travel partners since we all had the same sort of internal rhythm going : wake up mid-morning and have brunch, do some sites, eat a nice sandwich lunch, more sightseeing, nap/Internet break, dinner and drinks. A few hours after meeting K, I was introduced to A. She’s Parisienne by birth, but a citizen of the world by choice : she was a French language assistant at K’s university last year and is now working in Barcelona as a French and English teacher. A reminded me of a more intense version of G and showed all the great spots that the cool kids frequent : a Catalan dive bar, a French expatriate bar/café, and a secret club that involved climbing many stairs and password-only admission. It was at this point in the night when we met AEA : American Expatriate AssholeTM. He proceeded to lecture us on how Europe was SO much more civilized than America, using the same generalities that anyone who had read two articles in the New York Times could tell you. When G had the gall to suggest that we had indeed thought about several quality of life issues and cultural differences, he countered by talking about his friends in CA who had to put their kids in private preschool to avoid them becoming pimps and gangsta drug lords. K suggested that paying 15K a year was perhaps more of a choice and he shouted back « You’re WRONG ! » Through a coordinated campaign of targeted questions and reminders about common decency, we managed to chase him from the table. After a restful night of repose, we met V at the metro on our way to Parc Guell. She’s a spunky independent spirit from Ontario who loves taking photos. More laughs ensued and we had a great time for the rest of our stay in Barcelona.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Back to Life, Back to Reality
Bonjour! No, I didn't drop off the face of the planet the last few weeks, though they have lead to some interesting experiences. I arrived back in Nancy on Sunday at 10:30 am after we had driven 8 hours across La France and am in the process of organizing my life for departure this weekend. Spring is usually a stressful season for me, but with exams instead of good-bye soirees and last minute Facebook friend invites. Look for more posts in the next few days!
Sunday, April 18, 2010
PBJ - Travel
In order to shake things up around here and avoid another chronological retelling of my voyage, I’ve decided to share some highlights of my recent adventures in Paris and Barcelona using a thematic framework. To wit, this first post will focus on Getting There and Back. Later ones will focus on Friends, Sights, and Food. I’ll be in Toulouse this week with my choir, so blogging will be a bit sporadic. Take care!
My travel to Paris was quite eventful – I took the TGV train comme d’habitude, but was quite tired that afternoon. We had all stayed up late and woken up early to send off E, my housemate who would return to America after a few precious last days in Paris. I did, however, manage to read the first 50 pages of “Lady Chatterly’s Lover” in between naps. Let me preface my next few comments by saying that I LOVE the Paris metro system. It’s fast, efficient, and riding le métro is quite the experience. E got a bee in his bonnet and decided that we should head down to the registration office using city buses and trams rather than take the metro and walk 3 blocks. As the kids say these days, “Epic Fail!” We spent 50 minutes on a bus and 30 minutes on a tram, yet the ride back home took 8 minutes on the metro. Thankfully, he saw the error of his ways and we rode the metro for the rest of the trip.
I had accidentally booked my flight to Barcelona for 9:30 pm instead of 9:30 am. Whoops, though this oversight did give me more time in Paris before I had to say goodbye to E. I flew out of Orly , which is roughly twice the size of the airport in Wichita, KS instead of the massive beast that is Charles DeGaulle. I was able to take an RER (Réseau Express Régional - Regional Express Network) straight to the airport with only a 5 euro supplement. My flight on Vueling Airlines went smoothly and upon exiting the Barcelona airport, I managed to find the city bus stop. Barcelona is the capital of Catalonia, one of Spain’s more independent autonomous regions, and all of the signs were posted in Spanish, English, and Catalan. Just another reminder for my students that English helps all over the world! I decided to take the 1.40 € city bus rather than the 5€ shuttle bus and consequently my journey took 1.5 hours rather than .5 hours. Though the metro wasn’t working in the wee hours of Tuesday morning, I was able to find my hostel only to realize that there was no reception between 1 am and 8 am. I walked around a bit, popped into a 24 hour snack shop, and contemplated some of my life decisions while sitting across from a gaggle of drunk girls who were devouring burritos in the park. Luckily, these ladies attracted some drunk male college students who mentioned the name of the hostel (Sant Jordi – Saint George in Catalan) who let me enter the premises. I crashed on a quite comfortable couch until reception opened, then switched to a slightly more comfortable bed for a few hours.
While everyone else was freaking out about the Unutterable Horror that had erupted in Iceland, I was oblivious to any disturbances. My journey from Barcelona back to Nancy went off without a hitch, in part because I had given myself far more time than I usually do to reach my train. One quick note about paying for bathrooms: perhaps this is to encourage local commerce? I for one would rather enjoy a pleasant pause in a café rather than disinfect a public facility. Many times, the difference between these experiences is about .50€. Another thing I love about coffeeshops is that you often get free Wi-Fi and access to other services with your selection. Back in my university town, lots of students studied in coffeeshops with laptops, iPods, and warm beverages to relax them. In return, though, patrons should probably purchase something at least every few hours.
My travel to Paris was quite eventful – I took the TGV train comme d’habitude, but was quite tired that afternoon. We had all stayed up late and woken up early to send off E, my housemate who would return to America after a few precious last days in Paris. I did, however, manage to read the first 50 pages of “Lady Chatterly’s Lover” in between naps. Let me preface my next few comments by saying that I LOVE the Paris metro system. It’s fast, efficient, and riding le métro is quite the experience. E got a bee in his bonnet and decided that we should head down to the registration office using city buses and trams rather than take the metro and walk 3 blocks. As the kids say these days, “Epic Fail!” We spent 50 minutes on a bus and 30 minutes on a tram, yet the ride back home took 8 minutes on the metro. Thankfully, he saw the error of his ways and we rode the metro for the rest of the trip.
I had accidentally booked my flight to Barcelona for 9:30 pm instead of 9:30 am. Whoops, though this oversight did give me more time in Paris before I had to say goodbye to E. I flew out of Orly , which is roughly twice the size of the airport in Wichita, KS instead of the massive beast that is Charles DeGaulle. I was able to take an RER (Réseau Express Régional - Regional Express Network) straight to the airport with only a 5 euro supplement. My flight on Vueling Airlines went smoothly and upon exiting the Barcelona airport, I managed to find the city bus stop. Barcelona is the capital of Catalonia, one of Spain’s more independent autonomous regions, and all of the signs were posted in Spanish, English, and Catalan. Just another reminder for my students that English helps all over the world! I decided to take the 1.40 € city bus rather than the 5€ shuttle bus and consequently my journey took 1.5 hours rather than .5 hours. Though the metro wasn’t working in the wee hours of Tuesday morning, I was able to find my hostel only to realize that there was no reception between 1 am and 8 am. I walked around a bit, popped into a 24 hour snack shop, and contemplated some of my life decisions while sitting across from a gaggle of drunk girls who were devouring burritos in the park. Luckily, these ladies attracted some drunk male college students who mentioned the name of the hostel (Sant Jordi – Saint George in Catalan) who let me enter the premises. I crashed on a quite comfortable couch until reception opened, then switched to a slightly more comfortable bed for a few hours.
While everyone else was freaking out about the Unutterable Horror that had erupted in Iceland, I was oblivious to any disturbances. My journey from Barcelona back to Nancy went off without a hitch, in part because I had given myself far more time than I usually do to reach my train. One quick note about paying for bathrooms: perhaps this is to encourage local commerce? I for one would rather enjoy a pleasant pause in a café rather than disinfect a public facility. Many times, the difference between these experiences is about .50€. Another thing I love about coffeeshops is that you often get free Wi-Fi and access to other services with your selection. Back in my university town, lots of students studied in coffeeshops with laptops, iPods, and warm beverages to relax them. In return, though, patrons should probably purchase something at least every few hours.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Day 5/Canterbury and Departure
C fixed us a delicious breakfast of toast and jam before dropping us back at the bus. He said that he had chosen to host us not for the money or out of obligation, but because he had five adult children out in the world and would want someone to offer them shelter for the night in a similar situation. M, our chauffeur, relied on his extensive English experience to organize a day trip for us to Canterbury, famous for its Cathedral and Chaucer’s bawdy pilgrim tales. We did lots of shopping at souvenir places, bought 30p postcards instead of paying 10 pounds ($15) to tour the Cathedral, and bought a novelty birthday hat for K who was celebrating his 19th birthday in a foreign country. A pagan parade passed by, promising a large gathering of local Wiccans and fairies in a few weeks. The profs had tea at Tiny Tim’s Teahouse, which has trapdoors in the bathroom in case of fire. We then went to Folkstone to catch the train again as the ferry workers would be on strike for all of Easter weekend. My wonderful colleagues gave me a travel pillow for all of my future voyages and much fun was had by all. About 10 pm, M found a Top-40 pop station and cranked up the tunes. Within two minutes, the lights were on strobe and the kids were dancing and drinking in the back of the bus. This lasted about 15 minutes before everyone settled in and watched a film. I caught a ride home with one student, opened my door at 2 am and was surprised to find all of our kitchen furniture in the hallway. My housemates had thrown an Easter party and I was the first one home that night!
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