Here's how it is to be inside my head right now.
Second #1: I can't wait to go home and see everyone.
Second #2: I'm not ready to leave. I'm never going to stop crying when I get on the plane home.
Second #3: Just don't think about it.
And then it starts all over again.
For my last weekend in France, I spent the night in Toulouse with a few friends. Toulouse is one of France's largest cities and has a very diverse and mostly student population. We found several second-hand clothing stores, coffee shops and bookstores, and the atmosphere kind of made me wish I had studied abroad in Toulouse instead of Pau. Our art history teacher met us at the train station and showed us around the city's curvy streets and pink brick buildings, then left us to do our own thing in the late afternoon. We drank vin chaud (hot spiced wine) at the crowded Christmas markets in the town center, ate at a nice Indian restaurant for dinner, then got a drink at the bar next door.
The bar seemed to be popular with the young crowd, and it wasn't long before a large group of French people invited us over to their table. So cool! And it was during the conversation with them that I realized I could finally understand everything perfectly, and communicate without any problems. I may never speak French as well as I want to (especially only having lived in France for three and a half months), but I have made amazing progress with my comprehension and vocabulary since I arrived in September.
Toulouse is a place I would like to visit again. I'm glad I went this weekend, especially since it's only two hours east of Pau by train. When I got back on Sunday afternoon, I decorated the Christmas tree with my family and we ate another raclette for dinner. I believe I've eaten four times my weight in cheese while I've been in France.
It's pleasant evenings like that that keep me from packing my suitcase. The pulling of clothes from my closet is something I have trouble facing.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Friday, December 10, 2010
14 Avenue Montilleul
The fireplace and its heat on my toes; my hands in a bowl of raw pastry crust; the spiral staircase leading to my room; the smell of baking cheese and potatoes; mugs of tea in the upstairs kitchen; sunlight filtered through my yellow drapes, coloring the air in my room like butter or gold; fast piano music; Michèle's radio in the morning; rain on the roof; family pictures, maps, dictionaries, books; the rich, lively colors of the walls and furniture; the green shutters and willow tree; raindrops on my bike seat; the echo of your fingers drumming on your desk; the warmth of my down comforter; the purple silhouette of the Pyrénées from my window; the drying of dishes; French words running like piano music from your lips
Monday, December 6, 2010
Skiing in the Pyrénées
While I spend my last two weeks in Pau excited to return home and increasingly heartbroken over leaving, I'm trying to enjoy every minute of my time here.
I went skiing with my host family in the Pyrénées on Saturday. Michèle, Charles and I drove an hour to their tiny apartment on the slopes on Friday night, then Philippe and Dénis (my host dad and other host brother) joined us Saturday morning. At dinner on Friday night, I found what might be my new favorite French food: raclette. This monster is a hunk of cheese that you melt under a heat lamp and spread over potatoes and various gourmet pork products. I think I may have gained about 10 kilos just from dinner, but I don't even care. If I ever see raclette on a restaurant menu again, I'm getting it.
Saturday was the first day of the ski season, so there were a ton of people on the mountain. There was also a lot of fresh powder, which I got to know quite well because I spent a lot of the day tumbling face-first into the snow. I haven't fallen at all the past 5 times I've been skiing in Colorado, but for some reason, I had a really hard time staying upright in the Pyrénées. Maybe I suck. Or maybe I can blame the snow, which is more humid and heavy in the Pyrénées than in Colorado. All members of my host family are excellent skiers, so I was taken on my first-ever rouge (rouge=black on Colorado trails=basically cliffs with moguls), and got well acquainted with useful French skiing vocabulary such as dérape (slide), chasse-neige (wedge), and virage exagéré (exaggerated turn).
Despite spending half the day on my face, I still had a great time. How amazing is it that I got to skiing on the other side of the world? The views of the mountains and towns below were incredible, and it was a sunny day without falling snow or rain. We stayed until about 5:00 in the afternoon, then headed home.
I went skiing with my host family in the Pyrénées on Saturday. Michèle, Charles and I drove an hour to their tiny apartment on the slopes on Friday night, then Philippe and Dénis (my host dad and other host brother) joined us Saturday morning. At dinner on Friday night, I found what might be my new favorite French food: raclette. This monster is a hunk of cheese that you melt under a heat lamp and spread over potatoes and various gourmet pork products. I think I may have gained about 10 kilos just from dinner, but I don't even care. If I ever see raclette on a restaurant menu again, I'm getting it.
Saturday was the first day of the ski season, so there were a ton of people on the mountain. There was also a lot of fresh powder, which I got to know quite well because I spent a lot of the day tumbling face-first into the snow. I haven't fallen at all the past 5 times I've been skiing in Colorado, but for some reason, I had a really hard time staying upright in the Pyrénées. Maybe I suck. Or maybe I can blame the snow, which is more humid and heavy in the Pyrénées than in Colorado. All members of my host family are excellent skiers, so I was taken on my first-ever rouge (rouge=black on Colorado trails=basically cliffs with moguls), and got well acquainted with useful French skiing vocabulary such as dérape (slide), chasse-neige (wedge), and virage exagéré (exaggerated turn).
Despite spending half the day on my face, I still had a great time. How amazing is it that I got to skiing on the other side of the world? The views of the mountains and towns below were incredible, and it was a sunny day without falling snow or rain. We stayed until about 5:00 in the afternoon, then headed home.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Eurotrip, Part 3: Rome
Only two days after I returned from Amsterdam and Brussels, I took a plane to Rome with my friend Danielle. I was expecting a city covered in the brown dust of ancient ruins, pushy men, and no English speakers. What I actually experienced was--pleasantly--quite the opposite. We spent the better part of the evening before our departure planning where we wanted to go each day. Thank god for my host mom, travel guides and maps. My host mom is an art history teacher and has been to Rome numerous times, so she helped us figure out what was worth visiting. We were thus able to spend one day in each quarter of Rome and (mostly) avoided riding the Metro or bus across town multiple times in a day.
Rome is ridiculous, but awesome. There's a Catholic church on almost every corner, and after you've visited two or three, the rest start running together in your memory as an endless collection of gold and marble statues. At first, Danielle and I felt overwhelmed with the sheer amount of art and buildings there was to see. When you're faced with a million options, how can you pick just one? We relied heavily on maps and travel guide recommendations, but we often started out in the wrong direction before realizing yes, that gelateria we wanted was indeed the other way. It takes a while to acquaint yourself with a new city.
On Thursday, we visited the Vatican Museum and St. Peter's Basilica. Not only did we get up early to avoid huge crowds (which is, by the way, impossible), but it was absolutely pouring rain, and we couldn't find the entrance to the museum because the thing is so enormous. By the time we got inside, we were cranky and our clothes were very damp. We went in the Sistine Chapel first, which was much smaller and darker than I had anticipated. We then attempted to navigate the huge maze that is the Vatican--rooms and rooms of intricately decorated ceilings, marble floors, gold cherubs, and Renaissance/Baroque era statues. After a good three or four hours wandering around, we moved on to St. Peter's Basilica for even more Catholic bling sightseeing. I can see why Martin Luther wanted to move away from the excess of the Church in the 1500s. The churches in Rome are like palaces.
That night, we ate dinner in the Trastavere neighborhood. The narrow streets were almost too picturesque; it was a series of winding cobblestone paths lined with tall, butter-yellow buildings, little shops, and fountains in every piazza. Classic Italy. We found a cramped, lively restaurant for our al dente pasta dinner, complete with live accordion music. And as I poured myself another glass of Chianti and mopped up the remains of my pasta sauce with foccacia bread, I asked myself to remember that moment forever.
On Friday, we visited the Coliseum and ancient ruins. The thing about Rome is that it's a great mix of history--half the city is ancient Roman, and the other half is Renaissance/Baroque. You walk down a street with leather shoe shops and cell phone stores, turn a corner, and suddenly you're standing in front of a building with 1,000 years of history in its walls. And stuff like that is everywhere.
The Coliseum was impressive, but I enjoyed the Palatine and Roman Forum more. We had nothing but sunshine after that rainy day at the Vatican, so our visit lasted several hours. The Palatine was like a park dotted with ruins, and there were several places to catch wide views of the entire city.
Saturday, we visited the central part of town, including the Pantheon (less impressive than I was expecting) and a Medieval church from 1100 AD. We also toured the Palazzo Massimo, which holds some of the best-preserved frescoes in the world. Last on the list was the impressive Galleria Doria Pamphilj, a huge art gallery that has housed one of Italy's most powerful families for centuries. We ate dinner near the Trevi Fountain at a restaurant with deliciously cheesy pizza and fresh buffalo mozzarella.
On our last day, we visited possibly the weirdest church I have ever encountered in Barberini Square. What would appear to be just another church houses an exhibit of 4,000 monk skeletons in the basement. Basically you walk through a series of 6 rooms and marvel at how screwed up this one monk must have been to dedicate his life to arranging skeletons into chandeliers, archways and ceiling decor. Unfortunately there was a no-photo policy, so if you'd like to creep yourself out, click here.
We didn't spend any late nights out in Rome, as it seemed like less of a party city and more like a place to see during the day. We didn't encounter any pushy Italian men, and English was widely spoken. The only complaints I have are:
1) The water. Restaurants don't serve tap, yet they'll charge you as much as 5 Euros for a bottle.
2) Public transportation. There are only two Metro lines that stop running at 11:00 p.m. and only cover the north and south parts of the city. The bus system isn't too stellar either--not clearly marked or mapped anywhere. Thus we did a lot of walking.
3) Fiumicino Airport. DEAR GOD. The security line wrapped all the way around the airport twice and left us scrambling and stressed to make our flight back to Pau on time. And then when we got to the gate and stood in line for another half an hour, we found out our plane was going to be delayed another two hours. And there was a huge group of French boy and girl scouts getting on our plane. We didn't get back to Pau until 1:00 a.m. (as usual, Charles was way too nice and picked us up in the car), at which point I was ready to kill someone or drop dead from fatigue.
Rome is ridiculous, but awesome. There's a Catholic church on almost every corner, and after you've visited two or three, the rest start running together in your memory as an endless collection of gold and marble statues. At first, Danielle and I felt overwhelmed with the sheer amount of art and buildings there was to see. When you're faced with a million options, how can you pick just one? We relied heavily on maps and travel guide recommendations, but we often started out in the wrong direction before realizing yes, that gelateria we wanted was indeed the other way. It takes a while to acquaint yourself with a new city.
On Thursday, we visited the Vatican Museum and St. Peter's Basilica. Not only did we get up early to avoid huge crowds (which is, by the way, impossible), but it was absolutely pouring rain, and we couldn't find the entrance to the museum because the thing is so enormous. By the time we got inside, we were cranky and our clothes were very damp. We went in the Sistine Chapel first, which was much smaller and darker than I had anticipated. We then attempted to navigate the huge maze that is the Vatican--rooms and rooms of intricately decorated ceilings, marble floors, gold cherubs, and Renaissance/Baroque era statues. After a good three or four hours wandering around, we moved on to St. Peter's Basilica for even more Catholic bling sightseeing. I can see why Martin Luther wanted to move away from the excess of the Church in the 1500s. The churches in Rome are like palaces.
That night, we ate dinner in the Trastavere neighborhood. The narrow streets were almost too picturesque; it was a series of winding cobblestone paths lined with tall, butter-yellow buildings, little shops, and fountains in every piazza. Classic Italy. We found a cramped, lively restaurant for our al dente pasta dinner, complete with live accordion music. And as I poured myself another glass of Chianti and mopped up the remains of my pasta sauce with foccacia bread, I asked myself to remember that moment forever.
On Friday, we visited the Coliseum and ancient ruins. The thing about Rome is that it's a great mix of history--half the city is ancient Roman, and the other half is Renaissance/Baroque. You walk down a street with leather shoe shops and cell phone stores, turn a corner, and suddenly you're standing in front of a building with 1,000 years of history in its walls. And stuff like that is everywhere.
The Coliseum was impressive, but I enjoyed the Palatine and Roman Forum more. We had nothing but sunshine after that rainy day at the Vatican, so our visit lasted several hours. The Palatine was like a park dotted with ruins, and there were several places to catch wide views of the entire city.
Saturday, we visited the central part of town, including the Pantheon (less impressive than I was expecting) and a Medieval church from 1100 AD. We also toured the Palazzo Massimo, which holds some of the best-preserved frescoes in the world. Last on the list was the impressive Galleria Doria Pamphilj, a huge art gallery that has housed one of Italy's most powerful families for centuries. We ate dinner near the Trevi Fountain at a restaurant with deliciously cheesy pizza and fresh buffalo mozzarella.
On our last day, we visited possibly the weirdest church I have ever encountered in Barberini Square. What would appear to be just another church houses an exhibit of 4,000 monk skeletons in the basement. Basically you walk through a series of 6 rooms and marvel at how screwed up this one monk must have been to dedicate his life to arranging skeletons into chandeliers, archways and ceiling decor. Unfortunately there was a no-photo policy, so if you'd like to creep yourself out, click here.
We didn't spend any late nights out in Rome, as it seemed like less of a party city and more like a place to see during the day. We didn't encounter any pushy Italian men, and English was widely spoken. The only complaints I have are:
1) The water. Restaurants don't serve tap, yet they'll charge you as much as 5 Euros for a bottle.
2) Public transportation. There are only two Metro lines that stop running at 11:00 p.m. and only cover the north and south parts of the city. The bus system isn't too stellar either--not clearly marked or mapped anywhere. Thus we did a lot of walking.
3) Fiumicino Airport. DEAR GOD. The security line wrapped all the way around the airport twice and left us scrambling and stressed to make our flight back to Pau on time. And then when we got to the gate and stood in line for another half an hour, we found out our plane was going to be delayed another two hours. And there was a huge group of French boy and girl scouts getting on our plane. We didn't get back to Pau until 1:00 a.m. (as usual, Charles was way too nice and picked us up in the car), at which point I was ready to kill someone or drop dead from fatigue.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
The first Thanksgiving I've ever missed
Today is Thanksgiving.
I didn't think I would miss it too much. But when you have 50 other Americans wishing you Happy Thanksgiving Happy Thanksgiving Happy Thanksgiving, and it's nearly impossible to find turkey, cranberries and pumpkin in France, and your family is on the other side of the world, and you feel like the rain clouds are permanently cemented over the city
Yeah, you miss it. Of course you miss it.
I didn't think I would miss it too much. But when you have 50 other Americans wishing you Happy Thanksgiving Happy Thanksgiving Happy Thanksgiving, and it's nearly impossible to find turkey, cranberries and pumpkin in France, and your family is on the other side of the world, and you feel like the rain clouds are permanently cemented over the city
Yeah, you miss it. Of course you miss it.
Eurotrip, Part 2: Amsterdam and Belgium
Show of hands, who LOVES getting up before dawn to catch a plane or train?
No one?
Oh good, me either. So let me recount for you the morning we left for Amsterdam:
My friends Jessica and Lindsey met me at my host family's house at 5:30 a.m. so we could share a taxi to the train station. However, I didn't know taxis at such an early hour required night-before reservation, so I called the taxi service and got a driver yelling at me in fast French to try again in 15 minutes. Our train was due at 6:15, and taxis can be rather undependable anyway. Nor were there any buses running. So the three of us ran (already weighed down with heavy backpacks and bags) to the nearest free bike rental station, spent a frustrating five minutes trying to figure out how to detach the bike from its post, and then hauled ass via bike to the train station. And on the way up a huge hill, one of the pedals broke and completely fell off my bike, leaving nothing but a metal bar for my right foot. And then we had to find a place to leave our bikes for the weekend (hoping they wouldn't be stolen) and run another 15 minutes down to the train station.
After a solid 25 minutes of Ironman-style running and biking, we made it to the train station with 5 minutes to spare.
But there's more!
We stopped in Paris to change trains, but the stations were nearly on opposite sides of the city and we only had 25 minutes to catch the next train. So our group of six ran through the Montparnasse station (yelling many an "excusez-moi" at people ahead), hopped on the Métro, and ran through the Paris Nord station. Made that train with two minutes to spare.
I don't think I've ever run that hard to catch anything in my life. But in retrospect, Amsterdam made up for it all. I absolutely adore that city, and I WILL go back someday. Fall was in full bloom, so for the two days we were there we caught the stunning effect of gold trees lining the canals. The colorful rectangular houses and cruiser bikes completed the image and felt like classic northern Europe to me. It rained for a good part of the voyage, but we caught some sun during our canal tour on the last day. We stayed in the city's most popular hostel (primarily a bar, secondarily a place to sleep), which allowed us to meet some great people from all over the world. The first night, we barely even left the hostel because it seemed like the best place to be. The next day, we toured the Van Gogh museum and a cocktail museum, coffee shops, and walked through the red light district.
For those of you that still live under a rock, marijuana and prostitution are both legal in Amsterdam. Despite the utter weirdness of walking down a street and seeing underwear-clad women bouncing in front of dimly lit windows, I never felt like the city was an out-of-control party. Maybe the incessant pot smoking makes everyone a human vegetable, you might reason. Yet I'd say that's not it at all. Virtually no one smokes in the streets, only in coffee shops, if even there. I didn't encounter a single person who seemed stoned, and no one made a huge deal out of the pot. Amsterdam seemed to confirm that abuse of a substance or practice does not result from its legalization. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it.
I left Amsterdam feeling as if I had not seen or spent enough time exploring the city. We wanted to stay a third night, but we already had reservations for a hostel in Brussels. So we got back on the train.
In truth, I didn't like Belgium very much--or at least Brussels. As my friend Summer put it (and I think she's right), the Belgians are a rougher people than the French. Instead of the black scarves and small-framed figures of France, Belgium boasts dreadlocks, hoodies and big bones. Economic problems between the French-speaking and Flemish parts of the country reflect in filthy streets and buildings coated in pollution. Put it all against the backdrop of a cold, gray sky, and you have the reason why there's not much to do here except eat.
And eat I did! Beer, waffles, chocolate, more chocolate, more beer...
We took a night train back to Pau, and although no hauling ass was necessary this time, we were all exhausted. I arrived in Pau at 7:20 in the morning, with only two days to get ready for my trip to Rome.
No one?
Oh good, me either. So let me recount for you the morning we left for Amsterdam:
My friends Jessica and Lindsey met me at my host family's house at 5:30 a.m. so we could share a taxi to the train station. However, I didn't know taxis at such an early hour required night-before reservation, so I called the taxi service and got a driver yelling at me in fast French to try again in 15 minutes. Our train was due at 6:15, and taxis can be rather undependable anyway. Nor were there any buses running. So the three of us ran (already weighed down with heavy backpacks and bags) to the nearest free bike rental station, spent a frustrating five minutes trying to figure out how to detach the bike from its post, and then hauled ass via bike to the train station. And on the way up a huge hill, one of the pedals broke and completely fell off my bike, leaving nothing but a metal bar for my right foot. And then we had to find a place to leave our bikes for the weekend (hoping they wouldn't be stolen) and run another 15 minutes down to the train station.
After a solid 25 minutes of Ironman-style running and biking, we made it to the train station with 5 minutes to spare.
But there's more!
We stopped in Paris to change trains, but the stations were nearly on opposite sides of the city and we only had 25 minutes to catch the next train. So our group of six ran through the Montparnasse station (yelling many an "excusez-moi" at people ahead), hopped on the Métro, and ran through the Paris Nord station. Made that train with two minutes to spare.
I don't think I've ever run that hard to catch anything in my life. But in retrospect, Amsterdam made up for it all. I absolutely adore that city, and I WILL go back someday. Fall was in full bloom, so for the two days we were there we caught the stunning effect of gold trees lining the canals. The colorful rectangular houses and cruiser bikes completed the image and felt like classic northern Europe to me. It rained for a good part of the voyage, but we caught some sun during our canal tour on the last day. We stayed in the city's most popular hostel (primarily a bar, secondarily a place to sleep), which allowed us to meet some great people from all over the world. The first night, we barely even left the hostel because it seemed like the best place to be. The next day, we toured the Van Gogh museum and a cocktail museum, coffee shops, and walked through the red light district.
For those of you that still live under a rock, marijuana and prostitution are both legal in Amsterdam. Despite the utter weirdness of walking down a street and seeing underwear-clad women bouncing in front of dimly lit windows, I never felt like the city was an out-of-control party. Maybe the incessant pot smoking makes everyone a human vegetable, you might reason. Yet I'd say that's not it at all. Virtually no one smokes in the streets, only in coffee shops, if even there. I didn't encounter a single person who seemed stoned, and no one made a huge deal out of the pot. Amsterdam seemed to confirm that abuse of a substance or practice does not result from its legalization. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it.
I left Amsterdam feeling as if I had not seen or spent enough time exploring the city. We wanted to stay a third night, but we already had reservations for a hostel in Brussels. So we got back on the train.
In truth, I didn't like Belgium very much--or at least Brussels. As my friend Summer put it (and I think she's right), the Belgians are a rougher people than the French. Instead of the black scarves and small-framed figures of France, Belgium boasts dreadlocks, hoodies and big bones. Economic problems between the French-speaking and Flemish parts of the country reflect in filthy streets and buildings coated in pollution. Put it all against the backdrop of a cold, gray sky, and you have the reason why there's not much to do here except eat.
And eat I did! Beer, waffles, chocolate, more chocolate, more beer...
We took a night train back to Pau, and although no hauling ass was necessary this time, we were all exhausted. I arrived in Pau at 7:20 in the morning, with only two days to get ready for my trip to Rome.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Barcelona
I remember as a teenager, my friend showed me pictures of her vacation in Barcelona, Spain. Her pictures of the buildings were some of the most interesting things I had ever seen, and from then on, Barcelona was on the list of places I needed to see in my life. What better time to go than during my study abroad, just a 6 hour drive away?
I went with 5 other girls, so we rented a stick shift minivan and spent three days driving and sightseeing. The only problem was that I was the only 21-year-old (the minimum age for rental car driving) who could also drive a manual transmission, so guess who sat in the driver's seat the whole time? I studied up on road rules in France and Spain for a good two hours before we left, but surprisingly, driving in Europe is not that much different than driving in Colorado. I drove through the Pyrénées and small towns without even a near accident, but I'm still relieved we had a GPS navigator and left the car at the Barcelona airport instead of driving it in the city. We took a train the rest of the way.
Side note: If ever in your life you have a chance to see the Pyrénées during the last week of October, please, please take it. The mountains were beautiful beyond words; absolutely covered in gold and red trees. I will try to find some pictures taken from friends' cameras.
Barcelona is the #1 pickpocketing capital of the world, so from the moment we got on the train, I was clutching my bags tightly to my chest and watching everyone around me. I even wore one of those dorky wallets that hangs around your neck to keep all my money and passport safe. Luckily, none of us had anything stolen. I'm not sure whether theft isn't quite as bad anymore, or if our vigilance really did make a difference.
That night, we ate a long, delicious meal of tapas, paella and Spanish wine in a crowded restaurant on the main street, La Rambla. We got up the next morning to see the architecture around the city. Antoni Gaudi, who constructed his nature-inspired buildings in the late 1800s/early 1900s, never even finished his most famous work, the Sagrada Familia church. It's still under construction. We were able to see the majority of Gaudi's works that day, but I think we did miss out on a few (and tours of museums and churches were extremely expensive, so we only went inside once). Nevertheless, the architecture is pure eye candy--curvy, colorful buildings covered in intricate mosaics. Finding these buildings in random places throughout the city felt like going on a treasure hunt.
It's hard to name just one of Gaudi's works as my favorite, but I loved our walk through Park Güell because it reminded me of a life-size Candyland game. Flute and guitar players filled the crowded place with fairy tale-like music, and mosaic benches lined the main courtyard (which doubled as the roof of a second lower level...check out pictures to get a better idea).
Casa Milà earns a close second to the Park as my favorite Gaudi destination. In addition to a Gaudi museum, you can also access the roof to see even more bizarre, beautiful architecture and 360-degree views of Barcelona. We got there at sunset, and the way the pink and purple sky illuminated the white mosaic roof sculptures can only be described as breathtaking.
That night, we went out for another long Spanish dinner. The Spaniards party LATE. We went into a department store at 9:30 p.m. and the number of people there made me think it was actually 10:00 on a Saturday morning. People don't start dinner until about 10:30 p.m., so by the time we left the restaurant it was already midnight. We went to a bar on La Rambla but didn't stay long. At one point, I was standing outside next to the sidewalk on the narrow street, and a car ran into my ankle! I wasn't hurt, but I still screamed from the shock of having been hit by car. The driver gave me a weird look and drove off. I put ice on my foot when we got back to the hostel, but it was still a little swollen and purple for the next week.
Unforunately, we didn't have enough time to see everything in Barcelona. We drove back to Pau on Monday, and all of us were tired and starving by the end of the trip. I never thought I would miss fast food, but when your dining choices along the autoroute consist of sparse, run-down Spanish restaurants, you start dreaming about anything besides gas station chips and cookies.
I went with 5 other girls, so we rented a stick shift minivan and spent three days driving and sightseeing. The only problem was that I was the only 21-year-old (the minimum age for rental car driving) who could also drive a manual transmission, so guess who sat in the driver's seat the whole time? I studied up on road rules in France and Spain for a good two hours before we left, but surprisingly, driving in Europe is not that much different than driving in Colorado. I drove through the Pyrénées and small towns without even a near accident, but I'm still relieved we had a GPS navigator and left the car at the Barcelona airport instead of driving it in the city. We took a train the rest of the way.
Side note: If ever in your life you have a chance to see the Pyrénées during the last week of October, please, please take it. The mountains were beautiful beyond words; absolutely covered in gold and red trees. I will try to find some pictures taken from friends' cameras.
Barcelona is the #1 pickpocketing capital of the world, so from the moment we got on the train, I was clutching my bags tightly to my chest and watching everyone around me. I even wore one of those dorky wallets that hangs around your neck to keep all my money and passport safe. Luckily, none of us had anything stolen. I'm not sure whether theft isn't quite as bad anymore, or if our vigilance really did make a difference.
That night, we ate a long, delicious meal of tapas, paella and Spanish wine in a crowded restaurant on the main street, La Rambla. We got up the next morning to see the architecture around the city. Antoni Gaudi, who constructed his nature-inspired buildings in the late 1800s/early 1900s, never even finished his most famous work, the Sagrada Familia church. It's still under construction. We were able to see the majority of Gaudi's works that day, but I think we did miss out on a few (and tours of museums and churches were extremely expensive, so we only went inside once). Nevertheless, the architecture is pure eye candy--curvy, colorful buildings covered in intricate mosaics. Finding these buildings in random places throughout the city felt like going on a treasure hunt.
It's hard to name just one of Gaudi's works as my favorite, but I loved our walk through Park Güell because it reminded me of a life-size Candyland game. Flute and guitar players filled the crowded place with fairy tale-like music, and mosaic benches lined the main courtyard (which doubled as the roof of a second lower level...check out pictures to get a better idea).
Casa Milà earns a close second to the Park as my favorite Gaudi destination. In addition to a Gaudi museum, you can also access the roof to see even more bizarre, beautiful architecture and 360-degree views of Barcelona. We got there at sunset, and the way the pink and purple sky illuminated the white mosaic roof sculptures can only be described as breathtaking.
That night, we went out for another long Spanish dinner. The Spaniards party LATE. We went into a department store at 9:30 p.m. and the number of people there made me think it was actually 10:00 on a Saturday morning. People don't start dinner until about 10:30 p.m., so by the time we left the restaurant it was already midnight. We went to a bar on La Rambla but didn't stay long. At one point, I was standing outside next to the sidewalk on the narrow street, and a car ran into my ankle! I wasn't hurt, but I still screamed from the shock of having been hit by car. The driver gave me a weird look and drove off. I put ice on my foot when we got back to the hostel, but it was still a little swollen and purple for the next week.
Unforunately, we didn't have enough time to see everything in Barcelona. We drove back to Pau on Monday, and all of us were tired and starving by the end of the trip. I never thought I would miss fast food, but when your dining choices along the autoroute consist of sparse, run-down Spanish restaurants, you start dreaming about anything besides gas station chips and cookies.
Friday, November 19, 2010
There are so many beautiful places in the world
Oh man.
This is my first real weekend in Pau after three weeks of traveling around Europe. I went by train, plane and automobile to Barcelona, Amsterdam, Brussels and Rome; though my trips were incredible, I am burned out. When my plane arrived in Pau at 1:00 a.m. Monday morning, I was cold, tired, sick and broke.
It's going to take forever for me to recount everything that's happened, but I'll try to go into more detail over the next couple of entries. For now, here's what the travel itinerary looked like:
Saturday, October 30--Monday, November 1: Barcelona
Thursday, November 4--Saturday, November 6: Amsterdam
Saturday, November 6--Monday a.m., November 8: Brussels
Wednesday, November 10--Sunday, November 14: Rome
This means I only had 1 or 2 days in Pau to rest between trips. I barely went to class, and as soon as I came home from one place I would repack my suitcase for another.
My camera took some pretty subpar pictures, so for most of the journey I just tried to enjoy myself and remember everything. I got some of the photos in the Picasa album from my friend's camera.
I don't think I'll ever travel with more than 3 people again; we were in groups of 6 and 7 for Barcelona and Amsterdam, and it was way too hard to keep everyone together. There's always someone who wants to get up early and go to the museum while someone else wants to stay out late and see the city.
I realized in Rome that I need to spend the next few years traveling. There are so many beautiful places in the world, and I will never see them all. The best I can do is dedicate myself to seeing as much as possible, especially while I'm young enough to take advantage of hostels and youth discounts. It would be ideal to have a job that allows--or maybe even requires?--me to travel, but if that doesn't work out, I'd be content to put up with short-term work to save up and go. It's what makes me happy. How can I tell you what it's like to see the other side of the world? How can I describe what it's like to talk to someone who doesn't speak your language? How can I put into words the complexity of a Gaudi mosaic, the streets glowing red in Amsterdam, the taste of gelato with whipped cream?
I can't. You have to experience it for yourself.
This is my first real weekend in Pau after three weeks of traveling around Europe. I went by train, plane and automobile to Barcelona, Amsterdam, Brussels and Rome; though my trips were incredible, I am burned out. When my plane arrived in Pau at 1:00 a.m. Monday morning, I was cold, tired, sick and broke.
It's going to take forever for me to recount everything that's happened, but I'll try to go into more detail over the next couple of entries. For now, here's what the travel itinerary looked like:
Saturday, October 30--Monday, November 1: Barcelona
Thursday, November 4--Saturday, November 6: Amsterdam
Saturday, November 6--Monday a.m., November 8: Brussels
Wednesday, November 10--Sunday, November 14: Rome
This means I only had 1 or 2 days in Pau to rest between trips. I barely went to class, and as soon as I came home from one place I would repack my suitcase for another.
My camera took some pretty subpar pictures, so for most of the journey I just tried to enjoy myself and remember everything. I got some of the photos in the Picasa album from my friend's camera.
I don't think I'll ever travel with more than 3 people again; we were in groups of 6 and 7 for Barcelona and Amsterdam, and it was way too hard to keep everyone together. There's always someone who wants to get up early and go to the museum while someone else wants to stay out late and see the city.
I realized in Rome that I need to spend the next few years traveling. There are so many beautiful places in the world, and I will never see them all. The best I can do is dedicate myself to seeing as much as possible, especially while I'm young enough to take advantage of hostels and youth discounts. It would be ideal to have a job that allows--or maybe even requires?--me to travel, but if that doesn't work out, I'd be content to put up with short-term work to save up and go. It's what makes me happy. How can I tell you what it's like to see the other side of the world? How can I describe what it's like to talk to someone who doesn't speak your language? How can I put into words the complexity of a Gaudi mosaic, the streets glowing red in Amsterdam, the taste of gelato with whipped cream?
I can't. You have to experience it for yourself.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Things I am learning
No country is without its problems.
I should care more about my opportunities in life, instead of constantly doing the bare minimum, instead of trying to escape. In the past I have treated my education like a burden, not something to be treasured. I need to be passionate about what I do.
Like it or not, I will always be an American. But that's not necessarily something to be ashamed of; it's my identity.
Learning a foreign language is one of the hardest things I've ever done. So I should have more sympathy for non-English speakers in America.
Trip planning is hard, but necessary and totally worth it.
I can get what I want if I really try.
I can figure things out on my own, even in European cities where the streets are every size and direction imaginable.
I should care more about my opportunities in life, instead of constantly doing the bare minimum, instead of trying to escape. In the past I have treated my education like a burden, not something to be treasured. I need to be passionate about what I do.
Like it or not, I will always be an American. But that's not necessarily something to be ashamed of; it's my identity.
Learning a foreign language is one of the hardest things I've ever done. So I should have more sympathy for non-English speakers in America.
Trip planning is hard, but necessary and totally worth it.
I can get what I want if I really try.
I can figure things out on my own, even in European cities where the streets are every size and direction imaginable.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
So what if I missed the bus?
No doubt you've heard about the grèves (strikes) in France.
They are frequent, apparent in every French city, and touch almost every facet of everyday life--if there's a strike, you'd better count on a different mode of transportation besides the bus or train, and you may not even have class.
Such was the case on Tuesday this week. There was a massive manifestation (demonstration) downtown, so everyone who could afford to take an unpaid day off gathered in the streets to march for (or against) retirement reform. My teacher decided to march instead of going to work, so I went to check out the manifestation as well.
I have never seen so many people act so nonviolently and yet so passionately for a social cause. There weren't even any police officers present--there was no need for them. Only syndicate workers lined the streets every few blocks, keeping a liberal count of the turnout. Check out my photo album to get an idea of the crowd.
Unlike in America, the people here strike to keep their social protections, not to fight for higher wages. Anyone, even kids, can march in the manifestations. And they do. Teens will often close their own high schools, and not as an excuse to slack off with schoolwork. The French see it as their social responsibility to participate in the strikes. To them, missing a day of school or work is trivial compared to the potential consequences of lying dormant in the face of higher taxes and fewer benefits.
The problem with retirement reform in France is this: people are working longer and harder for later retirement and a smaller monetary reward. Normally, you'd start working in your early twenties, spend 37 years contributing a small portion of your salary to the collective retirement fund, and retire at age 60. But with the high unemployment rates and aging baby boomers, things simply can't continue that way. Because many people now don't start their careers until their mid- or late twenties, they either spend fewer years contributing to the retirement fund, or they are forced to retire later. If you're lucky enough to have a job, you contribute more money to the fund to make up for those who are unemployed and can't contribute. There are also fewer contributers than there are retirees, meaning each worker is basically paying the entirety of someone else's retirement.
The French government has proposed raising the retirement age from 60 to 62 years, with the latest age being 67 (a two-year increase from the previous 65). The length of monetary contribution for workers would be 41.5 years, and taxes would increase from 7.85% to 10.55% in 2020.
France is in a pickle!
But whether you favor or oppose retirement reform, this problem will touch everyone eventually--which is why active participation in politics is essential, even for the kids. As I walked for almost an hour and a half with the citizens of Pau, I was shocked at how natural the manifestation seemed. Despite the impassioned signs and flyers, the drums and horns, the berets, and the issue at hand, friends still greeted each other with la bise (a kiss on each cheek). Store owners stood outside to watch the crowd pass. People snapped pictures. In America, something like this would end in broken glass, fires, and police brutality. Or no one would show up at all, and people would show up at work or school and bitch about how terribly our country is run with other social deadbeats.
Tomorrow there will be an assemblée générale in front of the University. Students will skip class to gather and discuss the retirement problem. Regardless whether a conclusion is reached, the French will continue to show their interest in political issues, and I will continue to take pictures and marvel at how different things would be at home.
They are frequent, apparent in every French city, and touch almost every facet of everyday life--if there's a strike, you'd better count on a different mode of transportation besides the bus or train, and you may not even have class.
Such was the case on Tuesday this week. There was a massive manifestation (demonstration) downtown, so everyone who could afford to take an unpaid day off gathered in the streets to march for (or against) retirement reform. My teacher decided to march instead of going to work, so I went to check out the manifestation as well.
I have never seen so many people act so nonviolently and yet so passionately for a social cause. There weren't even any police officers present--there was no need for them. Only syndicate workers lined the streets every few blocks, keeping a liberal count of the turnout. Check out my photo album to get an idea of the crowd.
Unlike in America, the people here strike to keep their social protections, not to fight for higher wages. Anyone, even kids, can march in the manifestations. And they do. Teens will often close their own high schools, and not as an excuse to slack off with schoolwork. The French see it as their social responsibility to participate in the strikes. To them, missing a day of school or work is trivial compared to the potential consequences of lying dormant in the face of higher taxes and fewer benefits.
The problem with retirement reform in France is this: people are working longer and harder for later retirement and a smaller monetary reward. Normally, you'd start working in your early twenties, spend 37 years contributing a small portion of your salary to the collective retirement fund, and retire at age 60. But with the high unemployment rates and aging baby boomers, things simply can't continue that way. Because many people now don't start their careers until their mid- or late twenties, they either spend fewer years contributing to the retirement fund, or they are forced to retire later. If you're lucky enough to have a job, you contribute more money to the fund to make up for those who are unemployed and can't contribute. There are also fewer contributers than there are retirees, meaning each worker is basically paying the entirety of someone else's retirement.
The French government has proposed raising the retirement age from 60 to 62 years, with the latest age being 67 (a two-year increase from the previous 65). The length of monetary contribution for workers would be 41.5 years, and taxes would increase from 7.85% to 10.55% in 2020.
France is in a pickle!
But whether you favor or oppose retirement reform, this problem will touch everyone eventually--which is why active participation in politics is essential, even for the kids. As I walked for almost an hour and a half with the citizens of Pau, I was shocked at how natural the manifestation seemed. Despite the impassioned signs and flyers, the drums and horns, the berets, and the issue at hand, friends still greeted each other with la bise (a kiss on each cheek). Store owners stood outside to watch the crowd pass. People snapped pictures. In America, something like this would end in broken glass, fires, and police brutality. Or no one would show up at all, and people would show up at work or school and bitch about how terribly our country is run with other social deadbeats.
Tomorrow there will be an assemblée générale in front of the University. Students will skip class to gather and discuss the retirement problem. Regardless whether a conclusion is reached, the French will continue to show their interest in political issues, and I will continue to take pictures and marvel at how different things would be at home.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Gavarnie
Intensive language classes started last week. I tested into the highest level of French offered, so I don't think I'll be bored in class. Exhausting as it is to spend 20+ hours a week sitting in a classroom, the subjects are varied between culture, geography, art history and literature. Very little grammar or conversation work, and only a smattering of homework.
I have been in France for over a month now, and I think I can finally say I have adequately adjusted to Pau. It feels like I left the U.S. months ago, and yet still have an eternity until I come back. I know the day but not the date; I look at my map less frequently; I can follow the conversation at the dinner table. I make preliminary plans for weekends in Barcelona and Amsterdam. After many minutes spent perusing the wine aisle of the grocery store, I buy a bottle of Jurançon, the local white, and make risotto with seasonal mushrooms and emmenthal cheese. I ride my bike downtown to meet friends for a drink. I allow myself to relax and do nothing except listen to rain on the roof.
I caught my first cold of the year on Thursday. It hasn't been debilitating, but my lacking lung capacity and sinus pressure rendered a hike in Gavarnie (2 hours east of Pau) more difficult. Still, Gavarnie was beautiful; its yellowing trees reminded me of Colorado. No spectacular peaks in sight thanks to the low clouds and light rain, but we still spent a good two and a half hours on the trail towards the biggest waterfall in France. And before the hike, we ate duck soup (deliciously salty and just what I wanted) at a restaurant in town. Several tourist shops lined the street leading to the trail, but I bought nothing except a postcard. So has been my experience in France thus far--I've spent lots of money on food, but hardly anything on souvenirs. I'd rather enjoy what I can't bring back to the U.S., such as cheese and soup, and forgo the tacky snowglobes and keychains.
I have been in France for over a month now, and I think I can finally say I have adequately adjusted to Pau. It feels like I left the U.S. months ago, and yet still have an eternity until I come back. I know the day but not the date; I look at my map less frequently; I can follow the conversation at the dinner table. I make preliminary plans for weekends in Barcelona and Amsterdam. After many minutes spent perusing the wine aisle of the grocery store, I buy a bottle of Jurançon, the local white, and make risotto with seasonal mushrooms and emmenthal cheese. I ride my bike downtown to meet friends for a drink. I allow myself to relax and do nothing except listen to rain on the roof.
I caught my first cold of the year on Thursday. It hasn't been debilitating, but my lacking lung capacity and sinus pressure rendered a hike in Gavarnie (2 hours east of Pau) more difficult. Still, Gavarnie was beautiful; its yellowing trees reminded me of Colorado. No spectacular peaks in sight thanks to the low clouds and light rain, but we still spent a good two and a half hours on the trail towards the biggest waterfall in France. And before the hike, we ate duck soup (deliciously salty and just what I wanted) at a restaurant in town. Several tourist shops lined the street leading to the trail, but I bought nothing except a postcard. So has been my experience in France thus far--I've spent lots of money on food, but hardly anything on souvenirs. I'd rather enjoy what I can't bring back to the U.S., such as cheese and soup, and forgo the tacky snowglobes and keychains.
Monday, October 4, 2010
A month
Another rainy day in Pau. I wake up to blowing wind and the sound of water trickling off the roof. Monday has become my day to run errands and get groceries, but today I am sitting in bed with hot chocolate and the third floor to myself while Charles and Magali are in class.
I finally spent enough time at the grocery store last week to prepare a true meal for myself: a great vegetable and chicken soup, no recipe used. As much as I miss health food stores in Colorado, I'm beginning to get accustomed to the brands here. I'm sacrificing some of my dedication to only organic and preservative-free foods, but I'm trying not to let it bother me for now. It's hard to explain the relationship with food in France. Somewhat paradoxically, the difference between French and American eating habits is not so much about portion size or meal frequency, but about concern for the content of one's food. No one here prepares a meal with nutrition as the top priority; it's all about taste and what flavors go well together. All of my meals with my host family have been made from scratch (except the ice cream or yogurt for dessert). In America, it seems like people are either extremely concerned with health, or not at all. In France, there seems to be more of a moderate stance: you eat food you make yourself because it tastes good and because it's been prepared that way for dozens of years. You don't take extra vitamins, you don't deny yourself something because it's not good for you, but you don't have the desire to gorge yourself, either. From my perspective, the French are very no-nonsense about their food.
After my three-day boredom streak last weekend, I planned ahead enough to take a day trip with two friends to Biarritz on Friday. We took a two-hour train ride and stopped at a market on our way to the beach. As usual, it was almost impossible to choose just one thing to eat, so we resorted to the traditional French lunch of baguette, ham, cheese, rosé and gâteau basque (like a big sugar cookie with cherry filling). We spent hours on the beach swimming, napping, eating and getting slightly sunburned. The weather was perfect--only a few clouds and 75 degrees all day. I truly felt like I was on vacation, and I know I'm probably never going to get enough of the beaches in southwestern France. They are too beautiful, especially for someone who normally lives 1,000 miles from the ocean.
I also bought a bike this week. It's cheap, ugly and almost too small for me, but it'll suffice for three months. A bike should make it easier for me to go out at night.
We took a placement test at the University last Wednesday to determine our level for French classes that start Thursday. Results posted today--I have no idea where I'll fall in the spectrum of classes yet. Sometimes I think my French has improved since I arrived in Pau; other times I feel like I'll always be hopelessly behind in communication. It's especially bad when I've been speaking English all day and then try to have a conversation in French. My American friends and I have started speaking Franglais partly as a joke, partly to keep our brains at least somewhat in French Mode.
Where is my parapluie? ("Where is my umbrella?")
Mon mal. ("My bad"--probably doesn't directly translate)
Will you please regard this gâteau? ("Will you please look at this cake?")
I finally spent enough time at the grocery store last week to prepare a true meal for myself: a great vegetable and chicken soup, no recipe used. As much as I miss health food stores in Colorado, I'm beginning to get accustomed to the brands here. I'm sacrificing some of my dedication to only organic and preservative-free foods, but I'm trying not to let it bother me for now. It's hard to explain the relationship with food in France. Somewhat paradoxically, the difference between French and American eating habits is not so much about portion size or meal frequency, but about concern for the content of one's food. No one here prepares a meal with nutrition as the top priority; it's all about taste and what flavors go well together. All of my meals with my host family have been made from scratch (except the ice cream or yogurt for dessert). In America, it seems like people are either extremely concerned with health, or not at all. In France, there seems to be more of a moderate stance: you eat food you make yourself because it tastes good and because it's been prepared that way for dozens of years. You don't take extra vitamins, you don't deny yourself something because it's not good for you, but you don't have the desire to gorge yourself, either. From my perspective, the French are very no-nonsense about their food.
After my three-day boredom streak last weekend, I planned ahead enough to take a day trip with two friends to Biarritz on Friday. We took a two-hour train ride and stopped at a market on our way to the beach. As usual, it was almost impossible to choose just one thing to eat, so we resorted to the traditional French lunch of baguette, ham, cheese, rosé and gâteau basque (like a big sugar cookie with cherry filling). We spent hours on the beach swimming, napping, eating and getting slightly sunburned. The weather was perfect--only a few clouds and 75 degrees all day. I truly felt like I was on vacation, and I know I'm probably never going to get enough of the beaches in southwestern France. They are too beautiful, especially for someone who normally lives 1,000 miles from the ocean.
I also bought a bike this week. It's cheap, ugly and almost too small for me, but it'll suffice for three months. A bike should make it easier for me to go out at night.
We took a placement test at the University last Wednesday to determine our level for French classes that start Thursday. Results posted today--I have no idea where I'll fall in the spectrum of classes yet. Sometimes I think my French has improved since I arrived in Pau; other times I feel like I'll always be hopelessly behind in communication. It's especially bad when I've been speaking English all day and then try to have a conversation in French. My American friends and I have started speaking Franglais partly as a joke, partly to keep our brains at least somewhat in French Mode.
Where is my parapluie? ("Where is my umbrella?")
Mon mal. ("My bad"--probably doesn't directly translate)
Will you please regard this gâteau? ("Will you please look at this cake?")
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Lazy weekend
My third lazy day in a row--due to the rain, my lack of a bike or car, no buses after 9:00 and my aching legs (thank you, two-hour-long ski prep class, for thoroughly kicking my ass), I haven't done a whole lot this weekend besides watch lots of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. I was planning on a hike today, but my cuisses de tonnère (thunder thighs) just won't let me.
I think in the future, I need to plan weekend getaways to the beach or nearby towns. Everything is closed on Sunday in Pau. Complaining about boredom when I'm in France is probably the lamest thing ever, so I won't do it. But it's days like this when I realize just how long I'm going to be here. Pau really is home for the next three months.
I think in the future, I need to plan weekend getaways to the beach or nearby towns. Everything is closed on Sunday in Pau. Complaining about boredom when I'm in France is probably the lamest thing ever, so I won't do it. But it's days like this when I realize just how long I'm going to be here. Pau really is home for the next three months.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Getting comfortable
Another strike is happening tomorrow, so bus transport is pretty much out. Whereas before I didn't have a problem with the strikes, Charles pointed out that they're often manipulated one way or another and don't always happen for the right reasons. For now, it's part of living in France.
School hasn't been this easy in years. Art History is taught in French, but there's no homework or textbook, and my final grade will be Pass/Fail anyway. Phonetics doesn't even count for credit, and all I do is sit at a computer and listen to a recording of French phrases. I'm often asked to repeat the phrase, but that's marginally important at 9:00 a.m. when I haven't had much coffee. I'm supposed to take a placement test for the real French classes next Wednesday.
I'm taking a (not-for-credit) French cooking class, which sounds awesome, but actually isn't. With one stovetop and 14 students, there's only so much the teacher seems to be able to handle. She doesn't speak much English but doesn't seem to understand that most of us speak fluent French, so that further hinders our ability to learn anything beyond spreading goat cheese on baguette. I paid 80 Euros for 4 classes, and last night was left wondering why I basically paid 20 Euros to eat a salad and some canned duck (already prepared because it would "take too long and was too complicated to explain"). Most of the stuff I've eaten in class I could easily figure out how to make on my own. No special preparation techniques; no food pairing secrets; no wine, unless I bring the bottle. So bring the bottle I did.
I also had my first French yoga class last night. There were a ton of people in the class and the room was uncomfortably warm because of it, but I think yoga and sports will be useful for improving my French this semester. It was a very basic class, mostly focused on breathing techniques (and I prefer that kind of yoga anyway as opposed to the calorie-burning, Westernized method). I liked hearing the teacher give an instruction in French and then following along on my own.
I'm also signed up for a ski preparation class on Thursdays and hiking on Saturdays. I watched Magali's handball practice tonight, but ultimately decided that team sports might be stretching my language skills a little too far.
I feel like I've been here for months already, although it's only been two weeks. I've done so much, and time passes so slowly here without anything pressing to do besides go to class. I have so much empathy for foreigners in the United States now; here, my identity is always The American or The Non-Fluent, Heavily Accented Speaker Who Can't Follow Our Conversation But Just Sits There With A Dopey Smile On Her Face. Every day I learn new words and phrases, but it's frustrating to tell a story and realize you're ruining the comedy with your linguistic mix-ups. I'd like to meet more French people, but I don't know how when I can't even keep a conversation with Charles and Magali's friends.
School hasn't been this easy in years. Art History is taught in French, but there's no homework or textbook, and my final grade will be Pass/Fail anyway. Phonetics doesn't even count for credit, and all I do is sit at a computer and listen to a recording of French phrases. I'm often asked to repeat the phrase, but that's marginally important at 9:00 a.m. when I haven't had much coffee. I'm supposed to take a placement test for the real French classes next Wednesday.
I'm taking a (not-for-credit) French cooking class, which sounds awesome, but actually isn't. With one stovetop and 14 students, there's only so much the teacher seems to be able to handle. She doesn't speak much English but doesn't seem to understand that most of us speak fluent French, so that further hinders our ability to learn anything beyond spreading goat cheese on baguette. I paid 80 Euros for 4 classes, and last night was left wondering why I basically paid 20 Euros to eat a salad and some canned duck (already prepared because it would "take too long and was too complicated to explain"). Most of the stuff I've eaten in class I could easily figure out how to make on my own. No special preparation techniques; no food pairing secrets; no wine, unless I bring the bottle. So bring the bottle I did.
I also had my first French yoga class last night. There were a ton of people in the class and the room was uncomfortably warm because of it, but I think yoga and sports will be useful for improving my French this semester. It was a very basic class, mostly focused on breathing techniques (and I prefer that kind of yoga anyway as opposed to the calorie-burning, Westernized method). I liked hearing the teacher give an instruction in French and then following along on my own.
I'm also signed up for a ski preparation class on Thursdays and hiking on Saturdays. I watched Magali's handball practice tonight, but ultimately decided that team sports might be stretching my language skills a little too far.
I feel like I've been here for months already, although it's only been two weeks. I've done so much, and time passes so slowly here without anything pressing to do besides go to class. I have so much empathy for foreigners in the United States now; here, my identity is always The American or The Non-Fluent, Heavily Accented Speaker Who Can't Follow Our Conversation But Just Sits There With A Dopey Smile On Her Face. Every day I learn new words and phrases, but it's frustrating to tell a story and realize you're ruining the comedy with your linguistic mix-ups. I'd like to meet more French people, but I don't know how when I can't even keep a conversation with Charles and Magali's friends.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Weekend in the Basque Country
Friday night I took an excursion to the Pays Basque (southwestern France/northwestern Spain) with the study abroad group. First we visited Bayonne (France), a picturesque little town famous for its chocolate. After lunch and a few hours to wander the streets in the light rain, we drank rich cups of hot chocolate and moved on to San Sebastian (Spain) for the night.
In Spain, dinner doesn't start until at least 10:30 p.m., so we got dressed up and went out to the tapas bars and discothèques (nightclubs). The counters of the tapas bars were strewn with plates of small hors d'oeuvres-type snacks--you simply fill up your own plate and pay before you sit down to eat. There's also no imitating Spanish sangria; every glass tasted more like juice than wine. The discothèques started getting crowded around midnight, but we stayed out until 4 or 5 a.m., dancing and walking home on the beach.
Everything in Spain is pretty inexpensive, but the only thing I didn't like was the way everyone smokes inside. My coat reeked by the end of the night. Lots of French people smoke, but hardly ever indoors. And unfortunately, some towns in Spain are notorious for pickpocketing, so I didn't bring my camera to take pictures.
The next day we took the charter bus back to St. Jean-de-Luz, about an hour outside Pau on the Atlantic coast. In the past, my daydreams about the south of France were filled with images exactly like the beach in St. Jean-de-Luz. To finally be there on the soft sand, with sunshine, 70-degree weather and blue sky and sea...words can't describe it. I definitely want to go back soon. There was hardly enough time to relax on the beach for a while, then grab some ice cream and a sandwich and head back to Pau.
I feel like I'm on a 4-month vacation here. No job, no homework (right now, anyway), temperate weather--it's exactly what I hoped for. Despite all the stress, anticipation and paperwork to get here, it's been worth it so far.
In Spain, dinner doesn't start until at least 10:30 p.m., so we got dressed up and went out to the tapas bars and discothèques (nightclubs). The counters of the tapas bars were strewn with plates of small hors d'oeuvres-type snacks--you simply fill up your own plate and pay before you sit down to eat. There's also no imitating Spanish sangria; every glass tasted more like juice than wine. The discothèques started getting crowded around midnight, but we stayed out until 4 or 5 a.m., dancing and walking home on the beach.
Everything in Spain is pretty inexpensive, but the only thing I didn't like was the way everyone smokes inside. My coat reeked by the end of the night. Lots of French people smoke, but hardly ever indoors. And unfortunately, some towns in Spain are notorious for pickpocketing, so I didn't bring my camera to take pictures.
The next day we took the charter bus back to St. Jean-de-Luz, about an hour outside Pau on the Atlantic coast. In the past, my daydreams about the south of France were filled with images exactly like the beach in St. Jean-de-Luz. To finally be there on the soft sand, with sunshine, 70-degree weather and blue sky and sea...words can't describe it. I definitely want to go back soon. There was hardly enough time to relax on the beach for a while, then grab some ice cream and a sandwich and head back to Pau.
I feel like I'm on a 4-month vacation here. No job, no homework (right now, anyway), temperate weather--it's exactly what I hoped for. Despite all the stress, anticipation and paperwork to get here, it's been worth it so far.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Laisse tomber
Subtle rain replaced the warm sunshine this morning. I walk to school under an umbrella, watching for frequent dog poop on the thin sidewalks, listening to Elliott Smith, looking for the gray cat on Rue du Midi that's probably hiding from the watery skies.
It's been two weeks since I hugged anyone.
I rattle off a French tongue-twister for Phonetics, and the teacher says très très bien and gives me another one that looks exactly the same. Un ange qui songeait à changer de visage pour donner le change se vit si changé. I copy Le Mésopotamie: Croissant Fertile, histoire écrit from the white board to my graph paper notebook, let my gaze drop to the floor and don't pick it up for a long while.
Today, for the first time in two years, my life is wholly up to me. The distance has finally been cut, no longer overstretched like a sore muscle, and life is assez simple. I am free from that which is no longer serving me.
I've been in France for two weeks, but time passes remarkably slowly. Already my body is becoming anchored in the winding streets; I'm beginning to find shortcuts and recognize places in this labyrinthine town. (Before today), the past week has been a happy one, filled with cups of coffee and French movies (patiently explained in slower French by Charles).
I hate that I'll never speak like a native, but I have hope that in a month, I'll at least understand more. My head no longer hurts from listening and speaking a second language constantly. Just as I fell in love with French in seventh grade, I am even more in love with it now.
I don't know what I'd do without Charles and Magali, who spend so much time with me. Already I can predict I'll be very, very sad to leave Pau in December.
It's been two weeks since I hugged anyone.
I rattle off a French tongue-twister for Phonetics, and the teacher says très très bien and gives me another one that looks exactly the same. Un ange qui songeait à changer de visage pour donner le change se vit si changé. I copy Le Mésopotamie: Croissant Fertile, histoire écrit from the white board to my graph paper notebook, let my gaze drop to the floor and don't pick it up for a long while.
Today, for the first time in two years, my life is wholly up to me. The distance has finally been cut, no longer overstretched like a sore muscle, and life is assez simple. I am free from that which is no longer serving me.
I've been in France for two weeks, but time passes remarkably slowly. Already my body is becoming anchored in the winding streets; I'm beginning to find shortcuts and recognize places in this labyrinthine town. (Before today), the past week has been a happy one, filled with cups of coffee and French movies (patiently explained in slower French by Charles).
I hate that I'll never speak like a native, but I have hope that in a month, I'll at least understand more. My head no longer hurts from listening and speaking a second language constantly. Just as I fell in love with French in seventh grade, I am even more in love with it now.
I don't know what I'd do without Charles and Magali, who spend so much time with me. Already I can predict I'll be very, very sad to leave Pau in December.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Ce que j'aime, ce que je n'aime pas
There are things I love and things I hate.
I love that Charles is teaching me piano, though it's difficult in English and even harder in French. The ABCDEFG system is replaced with do-re-mi-fa-so-la-si (do=C).
I love going hiking in the Pyrénées, where you don't need a language to enjoy the mountains and the lakes, the little purple wildflowers and the forest.
I love the setting sun as it illuminates the kitchen, while I drink hot chocolate and learn French slang.
I love drinking wine at a bar with Charles and Magali, proud that I can hold a conversation in French about quantum mechanics and philosophy.
I hate getting stuck downtown at night with my English-speaking friend, waiting around for a bus for 45 minutes and finally deciding to drop 7 Euros on a taxi home simply because I don't want to walk alone in the dark.
I'm frustrated that my French isn't yet good enough to keep up with conversations at the dinner table. That I always have to say "repetez" or "encore une fois" or "quoi?" when I don't understand. That I forget a new word as soon as I hear it.
I'm already tired of eating so much baguette at every meal.
I hate how easy it is to get lost here. And I hate pulling out the map and looking like such a damn tourist, but it's the only way to direct myself through the maze of streets.
I hate not having a phone. Or a bike or a car. All I have is my feet, the bus, and taxis (and taxis are too expensive).
I love that Charles is teaching me piano, though it's difficult in English and even harder in French. The ABCDEFG system is replaced with do-re-mi-fa-so-la-si (do=C).
I love going hiking in the Pyrénées, where you don't need a language to enjoy the mountains and the lakes, the little purple wildflowers and the forest.
I love the setting sun as it illuminates the kitchen, while I drink hot chocolate and learn French slang.
I love drinking wine at a bar with Charles and Magali, proud that I can hold a conversation in French about quantum mechanics and philosophy.
I hate getting stuck downtown at night with my English-speaking friend, waiting around for a bus for 45 minutes and finally deciding to drop 7 Euros on a taxi home simply because I don't want to walk alone in the dark.
I'm frustrated that my French isn't yet good enough to keep up with conversations at the dinner table. That I always have to say "repetez" or "encore une fois" or "quoi?" when I don't understand. That I forget a new word as soon as I hear it.
I'm already tired of eating so much baguette at every meal.
I hate how easy it is to get lost here. And I hate pulling out the map and looking like such a damn tourist, but it's the only way to direct myself through the maze of streets.
I hate not having a phone. Or a bike or a car. All I have is my feet, the bus, and taxis (and taxis are too expensive).
Friday, September 10, 2010
Dazed and confused
Day 2 in Pau.
Since I arrived I've been bombarded with new information, directions, schedules, phrases, people...it's too much and too many little things to write down, yet I have the feeling I'm going to unintentionally end up alone downtown with no idea how to get home at 2:00 a.m. some night, having forgotten the buses stop running at 9:00 and no cell phone to contact anyone.
So far, this trip has completely crumpled my organized personality and tossed it in the trash. I come home from school at 5:00 with a zillion different papers, maps and brochures thrown in my backpack and nothing written in my planner. No to-do lists (those of you that know me well will think this is very odd). I probably should have gotten lunch stuff at the grocery store yesterday, but I didn't think about it at the time, and now the effort to go back and get it just seems out of the question.
There are so many things to do in town, so many buses to take, so many ways to get lost.
On a happier note, my host sister/cousin Magali came home today. Her family lives in Bordeaux but she goes to school here and thus lives with my host family during the school year. I was invited to have dinner with the family again, but they all speak so fast to each other that I had trouble keeping up with the conversation and spent most of the meal just listening quietly...I hope that didn't come across as rude. I realize now that they probably speak slower and more simply to me.
I'm going out to a bar with Magali and Charles tonight. I'm trying to accept every invitation my host family makes for meals and outings. The sooner I get totally fluent in French, the better. I'm already sick of this adjustment phase, when everything is overwhelming and confusing. And I haven't even been in Pau for a week yet; how can I possibly cram this much new information into my brain every day?
Since I arrived I've been bombarded with new information, directions, schedules, phrases, people...it's too much and too many little things to write down, yet I have the feeling I'm going to unintentionally end up alone downtown with no idea how to get home at 2:00 a.m. some night, having forgotten the buses stop running at 9:00 and no cell phone to contact anyone.
So far, this trip has completely crumpled my organized personality and tossed it in the trash. I come home from school at 5:00 with a zillion different papers, maps and brochures thrown in my backpack and nothing written in my planner. No to-do lists (those of you that know me well will think this is very odd). I probably should have gotten lunch stuff at the grocery store yesterday, but I didn't think about it at the time, and now the effort to go back and get it just seems out of the question.
There are so many things to do in town, so many buses to take, so many ways to get lost.
On a happier note, my host sister/cousin Magali came home today. Her family lives in Bordeaux but she goes to school here and thus lives with my host family during the school year. I was invited to have dinner with the family again, but they all speak so fast to each other that I had trouble keeping up with the conversation and spent most of the meal just listening quietly...I hope that didn't come across as rude. I realize now that they probably speak slower and more simply to me.
I'm going out to a bar with Magali and Charles tonight. I'm trying to accept every invitation my host family makes for meals and outings. The sooner I get totally fluent in French, the better. I'm already sick of this adjustment phase, when everything is overwhelming and confusing. And I haven't even been in Pau for a week yet; how can I possibly cram this much new information into my brain every day?
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Pau at last
My head hurts from hearing and speaking French. Right now it takes so much effort to concentrate on everything people say to me, process it, then create some sort of halfway comprehensible response. It's so easy to glaze over and listen to the pretty sound of the language without actually processing what it means.
I took a language placement exam at the University of Pau today (just to determine what language level I should be in), and I realized it's been about 3 years since I took a French grammar class. I can barely remember how to conjugate certain verbs, when to use what pronouns, and how to write a business letter. I hope I don't get placed in too low a level and suffer consequential boredom for the next three months.
Where my last blog left off:
We left Paris on Tuesday and took a bus ride to Versailles, but the palace was closed due to workers' strikes--quite common in France. The study abroad group wrote a complaint letter, but I chose not to sign it. Striking is how the people get their government to cooperate, and as a foreigner, I feel I have no place in that argument. I can always come back to Versailles. We were, however, able to tour the sprawling gardens. I spent an hour riding a rental bike, and it turned out to be my favorite part of the entire Paris tour. I miss being on my rusty old cruiser back in Denver.
The bus ride to Pau took two days (with a few stops in between to see the Château de Chaumont and Château Azay-le-Rideau). We stopped in Tours overnight on Tuesday and woke up to heavy rain on Wednesday, which made lugging our suitcases to the bus a lot of fun (!!!). Every day since I left the U.S. has been exhausting; the tours start at 9:00 every morning, we spend the whole day doing something, and I go to bed at 11:00 at night. And now that we're finally in Pau, things are getting a lot more interesting...
My host family is great. The parents are professers at the University of Pau, and they have two sons, one who is 27 and a lawyer in Paris, the other who lives at home and is 23. They also have a 20-year-old niece who should be coming back from vacation tomorrow. They live in a 3-story house with yellow walls and palm trees in the front yard. It's about a 15-minute walk to the University, and the kids have their own private kitchen and bathroom on the third floor, where my room is as well. I seem to be staying in a boy's outgrown room; the ABC wallpaper and petite wood furniture is very cute though. I can understand most of what they say, but my efforts to formulate intelligent responses are usually thwarted by huge brain farts that prevent what I want to say from translating into French. Ça va.
Today was the first day of school. And man, do I hate the first day of school. Really just an orientation day, but this was also my first full day in Pau. Charles (the host brother) walked me to the meeting place for my study abroad group, but at the end of the day, I got a little lost trying to walk home by myself. Not only was the map slightly incorrect, but the streets in France are much more nightmarish than in the U.S., I don't care where you live. According to my host mom, the concept of "blocks" doesn't really exist here. The streets are long and short, winding and truncated, and one street becomes another quite frequently. There is really no direct route to school; I have to take a bunch of neighborhood streets.
I'm also not sure how I'm going to handle this whole leftover-baguette-for-breakfast thing. I'm used to a plate of eggs and vegetables in the morning, not a piece of bread and butter. By lunch at 12:30, I was starving. I went to the grocery store after school to pick up some yogurt and fruit, but because all the brands are different here, it took me quite a while to figure out if the thing in my hand was really what I wanted. The homestay contract only guarantees me breakfast daily and 2 dinners per week, so I need other stuff to eat when I'm not with the family.
Let's talk about meal time in France.
I seem to get a different story from everyone, but my experience has been that the French are not at all big on breakfast. If they do eat in the morning, it's a leftover baguette from dinner the night before with butter and jam. Here at my homestay they gave me instant coffee to drink, but even in cafés the coffee is more like an espresso--tiny.
Meal times are set in stone, too. Lunch is only from 12-2 p.m., and dinner is 7:30-10:00. You no snacky-snacky long time! The combination of food at the University cafeteria was strange today: your choice of chicken cordon bleu, plain pasta, carrots, and/or eggs. No sauce (except ketchup), and sides consisted of cucumber salad or tabboule. The French seem to love tabboule--I've seen it everywhere.
Dinner is usually three courses, with an appetizer, entrée and dessert. My homestay mom is a great cook but isn't big on meat, so I think we'll be eating a lot of cheese, bread and vegetables. She's also diabetic. I mentioned my (real? how should I put that?) mom can't eat gluten, thinking that would be a shock to people whose main staple is flour, but it wasn't a surprise. I guess more and more French people are starting to discover gluten intolerance.
My host family doesn't eat slowly, contrary to the myth I had heard about marathon-length French meals, and the portion sizes aren't really smaller. I'm still usually the last one done :( But because the food appears on your plate in increments instead of all at once, I don't feel like I have to hurry up at the end of the meal when everyone else has a clean plate and I'm still munching on half my potatoes au gratin.
I watched TV with the family and had them explain to me in slower French what was going on--like a mini lesson in the politics and current events of the country. Channel-flipping seems uncommon in this house. We watched a solid 30 minutes of a show where the people have a conversational debate about something and wait for the chef in the background to prepare their meal. Then they eat the meal and debate some more.
I told my family if this were an American show, the chef would have to finish the meal by the end of the debate or face having her head chopped off. No pun intended.
I took a language placement exam at the University of Pau today (just to determine what language level I should be in), and I realized it's been about 3 years since I took a French grammar class. I can barely remember how to conjugate certain verbs, when to use what pronouns, and how to write a business letter. I hope I don't get placed in too low a level and suffer consequential boredom for the next three months.
Where my last blog left off:
We left Paris on Tuesday and took a bus ride to Versailles, but the palace was closed due to workers' strikes--quite common in France. The study abroad group wrote a complaint letter, but I chose not to sign it. Striking is how the people get their government to cooperate, and as a foreigner, I feel I have no place in that argument. I can always come back to Versailles. We were, however, able to tour the sprawling gardens. I spent an hour riding a rental bike, and it turned out to be my favorite part of the entire Paris tour. I miss being on my rusty old cruiser back in Denver.
The bus ride to Pau took two days (with a few stops in between to see the Château de Chaumont and Château Azay-le-Rideau). We stopped in Tours overnight on Tuesday and woke up to heavy rain on Wednesday, which made lugging our suitcases to the bus a lot of fun (!!!). Every day since I left the U.S. has been exhausting; the tours start at 9:00 every morning, we spend the whole day doing something, and I go to bed at 11:00 at night. And now that we're finally in Pau, things are getting a lot more interesting...
My host family is great. The parents are professers at the University of Pau, and they have two sons, one who is 27 and a lawyer in Paris, the other who lives at home and is 23. They also have a 20-year-old niece who should be coming back from vacation tomorrow. They live in a 3-story house with yellow walls and palm trees in the front yard. It's about a 15-minute walk to the University, and the kids have their own private kitchen and bathroom on the third floor, where my room is as well. I seem to be staying in a boy's outgrown room; the ABC wallpaper and petite wood furniture is very cute though. I can understand most of what they say, but my efforts to formulate intelligent responses are usually thwarted by huge brain farts that prevent what I want to say from translating into French. Ça va.
Today was the first day of school. And man, do I hate the first day of school. Really just an orientation day, but this was also my first full day in Pau. Charles (the host brother) walked me to the meeting place for my study abroad group, but at the end of the day, I got a little lost trying to walk home by myself. Not only was the map slightly incorrect, but the streets in France are much more nightmarish than in the U.S., I don't care where you live. According to my host mom, the concept of "blocks" doesn't really exist here. The streets are long and short, winding and truncated, and one street becomes another quite frequently. There is really no direct route to school; I have to take a bunch of neighborhood streets.
I'm also not sure how I'm going to handle this whole leftover-baguette-for-breakfast thing. I'm used to a plate of eggs and vegetables in the morning, not a piece of bread and butter. By lunch at 12:30, I was starving. I went to the grocery store after school to pick up some yogurt and fruit, but because all the brands are different here, it took me quite a while to figure out if the thing in my hand was really what I wanted. The homestay contract only guarantees me breakfast daily and 2 dinners per week, so I need other stuff to eat when I'm not with the family.
Let's talk about meal time in France.
I seem to get a different story from everyone, but my experience has been that the French are not at all big on breakfast. If they do eat in the morning, it's a leftover baguette from dinner the night before with butter and jam. Here at my homestay they gave me instant coffee to drink, but even in cafés the coffee is more like an espresso--tiny.
Meal times are set in stone, too. Lunch is only from 12-2 p.m., and dinner is 7:30-10:00. You no snacky-snacky long time! The combination of food at the University cafeteria was strange today: your choice of chicken cordon bleu, plain pasta, carrots, and/or eggs. No sauce (except ketchup), and sides consisted of cucumber salad or tabboule. The French seem to love tabboule--I've seen it everywhere.
Dinner is usually three courses, with an appetizer, entrée and dessert. My homestay mom is a great cook but isn't big on meat, so I think we'll be eating a lot of cheese, bread and vegetables. She's also diabetic. I mentioned my (real? how should I put that?) mom can't eat gluten, thinking that would be a shock to people whose main staple is flour, but it wasn't a surprise. I guess more and more French people are starting to discover gluten intolerance.
My host family doesn't eat slowly, contrary to the myth I had heard about marathon-length French meals, and the portion sizes aren't really smaller. I'm still usually the last one done :( But because the food appears on your plate in increments instead of all at once, I don't feel like I have to hurry up at the end of the meal when everyone else has a clean plate and I'm still munching on half my potatoes au gratin.
I watched TV with the family and had them explain to me in slower French what was going on--like a mini lesson in the politics and current events of the country. Channel-flipping seems uncommon in this house. We watched a solid 30 minutes of a show where the people have a conversational debate about something and wait for the chef in the background to prepare their meal. Then they eat the meal and debate some more.
I told my family if this were an American show, the chef would have to finish the meal by the end of the debate or face having her head chopped off. No pun intended.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Paris, days three and four
I am exhausted and ready to go to Pau. It's our last day in Paris before the 2-day bus ride down to Pau, and I have walked and ridden the Métro so much that I'm ready to pass out by 9:00 every night. Paris is beautiful and interesting, but it's also dirty and crowded like you would expect in any big city.
Yesterday we visited:
The Eiffel Tower, which was MUCH bigger than I anticipated (but the view from the top was incredible)
Les Invalides, a monument holding Napoleon Bonaparte's enormous tomb
Sacré Coeur, a church on a huge hill in northern Paris (traveler's tip: HIDE YOUR WRISTS on the walk up the hill! These Senegalese guys get in your face and try to tie string bracelets around your wrist; if they succeed, the bracelet is untie-able and they charge you 10 Euros)
The outskirts of northern Paris and the flea markets at Port de Clignancourt
The flea markets were disappointing; mostly cheap, made-in-China crap. I did find a nice watch, but when I tried to haggle with the merchant he got very offended. Oops. But it was interesting (and I think important) to see the outskirts of Paris, which have larger ethnic populations and fewer tourist activities. It felt like "real" Paris--the dirtier, less charming side of the city that lower income levels call home.
OH and I tried something disgusting. Thinking I would be daring and try a traditional French drink, I ordered un pastis with lunch--I had heard it was a "refreshing" summer drink consumed in the south of France. Yeah, it's like downing a thousand pounds of concentrated black licorice. And because I didn't want the waiter to taunt me, I drank the whole freakin' thing.
We also took a boat ride on the Seine river at night, passing the Louvre museum and Musée d'Orsay. The illuminated city was gorgeous.
Today we visited:
La Place de la Bastille, which used to be a military fort but since its destruction is now just marked with a fancy traffic circle and opera house
La Place des Vosges and Le Marais, one of the richest residential neighborhoods marked with a quiet park and Victor Hugo's apartment
The Jewish and gay districts
La Cimitière du Père Lachaise, a cemetery with the graves of Oscar Wilde, Edith Piaf and Jim Morrison
And had a group dinner to celebrate our last night in Paris.
I like Paris, but I don't think I could live here. Too big of a city for me. But I haven't had too many problems with my French so far (although I can barely understand people when they respond to my elementary-level questions such as "Where are your bathrooms?" and "Are there any nuts in this?" Requests for slower repeats are quite common). I've been able to help out the other American students on the trip who don't know how/what to ask.
Yesterday we visited:
The Eiffel Tower, which was MUCH bigger than I anticipated (but the view from the top was incredible)
Les Invalides, a monument holding Napoleon Bonaparte's enormous tomb
Sacré Coeur, a church on a huge hill in northern Paris (traveler's tip: HIDE YOUR WRISTS on the walk up the hill! These Senegalese guys get in your face and try to tie string bracelets around your wrist; if they succeed, the bracelet is untie-able and they charge you 10 Euros)
The outskirts of northern Paris and the flea markets at Port de Clignancourt
The flea markets were disappointing; mostly cheap, made-in-China crap. I did find a nice watch, but when I tried to haggle with the merchant he got very offended. Oops. But it was interesting (and I think important) to see the outskirts of Paris, which have larger ethnic populations and fewer tourist activities. It felt like "real" Paris--the dirtier, less charming side of the city that lower income levels call home.
OH and I tried something disgusting. Thinking I would be daring and try a traditional French drink, I ordered un pastis with lunch--I had heard it was a "refreshing" summer drink consumed in the south of France. Yeah, it's like downing a thousand pounds of concentrated black licorice. And because I didn't want the waiter to taunt me, I drank the whole freakin' thing.
We also took a boat ride on the Seine river at night, passing the Louvre museum and Musée d'Orsay. The illuminated city was gorgeous.
Today we visited:
La Place de la Bastille, which used to be a military fort but since its destruction is now just marked with a fancy traffic circle and opera house
La Place des Vosges and Le Marais, one of the richest residential neighborhoods marked with a quiet park and Victor Hugo's apartment
The Jewish and gay districts
La Cimitière du Père Lachaise, a cemetery with the graves of Oscar Wilde, Edith Piaf and Jim Morrison
And had a group dinner to celebrate our last night in Paris.
I like Paris, but I don't think I could live here. Too big of a city for me. But I haven't had too many problems with my French so far (although I can barely understand people when they respond to my elementary-level questions such as "Where are your bathrooms?" and "Are there any nuts in this?" Requests for slower repeats are quite common). I've been able to help out the other American students on the trip who don't know how/what to ask.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Paris, days one and two
My flight to Paris arrived on time yesterday at 11:00 a.m., so I had half the day for touring. Our study abroad group took a trip on the Metro and walked to les Jardins du Luxembourg (Luxembourg Gardens). The gardens were huge, some English-style (more trees and round flower beds--supposedly more "natural") and some French-style (more square layout). Parisians spend the afternoon there reading, playing with their kids and relaxing. We even saw a wedding. A smaller group of us ate dinner at a café along a side street in the Latin Quarter close to Notre Dame. France is not as expensive as I had thought it would be--15 Euros bought me a glass of wine, appetizer, entree and dessert. And here, you don't have to pay tax or tip on top of the price listed on the menu. Which makes eating in groups much easier when it comes time to pay l'addition, and the waiters only try to sucker you into leaving tip because they know you're American.
Oh, and about being American and the rumored rudeness of the French:
NOT TRUE!!! Everyone has been incredibly nice in Paris thus far. As soon as you start talking (in English or French), they know you're American, so they start speaking to you in English. Most of the time I have replied in French anyway, and I always make the initial effort to ask my questions and say my greetings in French, but communication has not been a problem. Maybe just trying to speak French makes the difference between being served or snubbed. So far, my 8-9 years of French has gotten me by pretty well, but I have had to ask a few people to repeat themselves more slowly. Details and long speeches are hard to understand.
And a street rule: you don't smile at strangers here. If you do, you're asking for flirting and pestering. Thankfully, I don't smile unless I have a reason to, anyway. Which means no whistles or relentless French men so far.
Today our group started the tour at 9:00 a.m. and took the Metro around l'Ile de la Cité, the area around la Seine river and central Paris. Took too many pictures of buildings, some of which I probably can't even identify now, but overall, the architecture and layout of Paris is just gorgeous. So old and so elaborate. Among the things on this 8-hour walk were:
Saint-Chappelle, a cathedral with beautiful stained glass
Nôtre Dame
Pont Neuf ("New Bridge"--actually the oldest bridge in Paris)
Palais de la Justice, the prison where Marie Antoinette was held before her execution
L'Opéra, the most bling-bling opera house I have ever seen, which inspired The Phantom of the Opera
La Rive Droite (Right Bank), where you can find shops selling $10,000 watches, Coco Chanel's original apartment, and the Ritz hotel
The Champs Elysées and Arc du Triomphe, the latter which we climbed to the top via the LONG spiral staircase to see a 360 degree view of Paris
I'm going to see if I can start a Photobucket account for uploading some pictures; apparently this website sucks at that.
Oh, and about being American and the rumored rudeness of the French:
NOT TRUE!!! Everyone has been incredibly nice in Paris thus far. As soon as you start talking (in English or French), they know you're American, so they start speaking to you in English. Most of the time I have replied in French anyway, and I always make the initial effort to ask my questions and say my greetings in French, but communication has not been a problem. Maybe just trying to speak French makes the difference between being served or snubbed. So far, my 8-9 years of French has gotten me by pretty well, but I have had to ask a few people to repeat themselves more slowly. Details and long speeches are hard to understand.
And a street rule: you don't smile at strangers here. If you do, you're asking for flirting and pestering. Thankfully, I don't smile unless I have a reason to, anyway. Which means no whistles or relentless French men so far.
Today our group started the tour at 9:00 a.m. and took the Metro around l'Ile de la Cité, the area around la Seine river and central Paris. Took too many pictures of buildings, some of which I probably can't even identify now, but overall, the architecture and layout of Paris is just gorgeous. So old and so elaborate. Among the things on this 8-hour walk were:
Saint-Chappelle, a cathedral with beautiful stained glass
Nôtre Dame
Pont Neuf ("New Bridge"--actually the oldest bridge in Paris)
Palais de la Justice, the prison where Marie Antoinette was held before her execution
L'Opéra, the most bling-bling opera house I have ever seen, which inspired The Phantom of the Opera
La Rive Droite (Right Bank), where you can find shops selling $10,000 watches, Coco Chanel's original apartment, and the Ritz hotel
The Champs Elysées and Arc du Triomphe, the latter which we climbed to the top via the LONG spiral staircase to see a 360 degree view of Paris
I'm going to see if I can start a Photobucket account for uploading some pictures; apparently this website sucks at that.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Preface
I'm starting this blog to keep my friends and family updated on my life in Pau, France over the next three and a half months. Provided I have the discipline and memory to continue posting, there will be pictures, detailed tidbits of news, and French phrases that y'all can incorporate into your everyday speech to confuse and frighten your neighbors. And possibly some juicy celebrity gossip and daily ratings of the fierceness of my hair.
My flight to Paris from Newark, New Jersey leaves at 9:30 p.m. tonight, with anticipated arrival at 11:05 a.m. Paris time. Weather forecast is around 74 degrees and partly cloudy the WHOLE week I'm there--score. I'll spend 4 nights in Paris and then take the bus (with the study abroad group) to Pau. I'll be leaving December 18.
After a year of applications, saving, spending, booking, packing and repacking, I'm finally ready to go. I've taken French classes since 7th grade, but as it now my minor in college and I've reached senior year without any practical application for the language, my main goal with this trip is to improve my speaking and listening abilities. At the time the idea occurred to study abroad, I was just tired of life in Colorado and wanted a temporary change, a way out for a while. I wanted something to look forward to. Now, however, I'm hoping the trip will give me some bigger ideas regarding what to do when I graduate from Metro in May.
I will truly miss everyone in the U.S. My Skype name is lizdom28 if you can catch me on that...
My flight to Paris from Newark, New Jersey leaves at 9:30 p.m. tonight, with anticipated arrival at 11:05 a.m. Paris time. Weather forecast is around 74 degrees and partly cloudy the WHOLE week I'm there--score. I'll spend 4 nights in Paris and then take the bus (with the study abroad group) to Pau. I'll be leaving December 18.
After a year of applications, saving, spending, booking, packing and repacking, I'm finally ready to go. I've taken French classes since 7th grade, but as it now my minor in college and I've reached senior year without any practical application for the language, my main goal with this trip is to improve my speaking and listening abilities. At the time the idea occurred to study abroad, I was just tired of life in Colorado and wanted a temporary change, a way out for a while. I wanted something to look forward to. Now, however, I'm hoping the trip will give me some bigger ideas regarding what to do when I graduate from Metro in May.
I will truly miss everyone in the U.S. My Skype name is lizdom28 if you can catch me on that...
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