I’ve been meaning for ages to write about my travels over break, so voila:
On December 30th, Paula and I made the voyage from Glasgow to London and then from London to Bucharest, all using the cheapest airlines I've ever met. We weren't too excited about Blue Air, based out of Romania, which was extremely difficult to work with when we got our tickets. But before we checked in, we met an air hostess for Blue Air, who set the mood for the trip. She was positively delightful: she cheerily told us in her heavily accented English to get to the gate around 10 am, which would be "perfect!" Then she asked us to get rid of our liquids, and I asked if it was okay if they were under 100 mL. She said, "Under 100 milliliters will be perfect!" Adorable. The flight was just fine, albeit smelly, and when we arrived in Bucharest, a bus came to get us from the plane. Everyone packed into the bus-- there was no space to move-- and we were taken to the airport, all of 500 feet away. Then we all tried to run into the makeshift little airport, and some of us rushed into what was actually a deserted office (there was no one directing us). This was Romania.
Alexandru picked us up from the airport, and from there we began the whistle-stop tour of Bucharest and Romania. We saw the People’s Palace, the highly resented second biggest building in the world, as well as a park, an orthodox church, and tons of stray dogs. (Stray dogs are a big problem in Romania, and they’re everywhere.) We caught up with Andreea, who fed us the first of many traditional Romanian meals, and met her boyfriend Marian. We then proceeded at the most absurd hour to the town of Braşov. The next day we visited the resort there on the mountain Postavaru, taking a cable car most of the way and then climbing the rest of the way to the top. There was a lot of slipping and sliding and videotaping of the beautiful scenery. It was the first real mountain I ever had the chance to see, and I adored it.
Once we had left the mountain, we visited around the town, which was quite colorful and apparently very German. We continued on to Bran, home of the reputed Dracula’s castle—a perfectly normal looking place. No lightning bolts or anything. That said, we arrived too late to see the inside, so we went into a pub to see “Dracula’s Haunted Castle,” a little set of rooms full of three teenagers making funny noises and wearing masks. I screamed and laughed a lot, and once the "actors" heard me and Paula speaking English, one of them said from the next room, “The Dracula, he waiting for youuu.” Hahahaha.
Alexandru took us to his home town of Dragoviste, where we met his lovely, generous parents and one of his sisters. They served us traditional Romanian food again (these people cook everything at home), the same New Year’s meal that Andreea had fed us of dumplings, Macedonian potato salad, sausages, and pork. With this meal, they served us the staple drinks of homemade whiskey and a powerful alcoholic beverage called țuică. (The day Paula and I left, they gave us mulled wine at 7:30 in the morning.) After that we headed into Târgovişte, where, everyone proudly told us, communist president Nicolae Ceauşescu and his wife were executed on Christmas Day in 1989. We celebrated the New Year with Alexandru’s friends, a lovely bunch of people who were incredibly warm, welcoming, and spoke excellent English. They told us what everyone told us—that Romania would be as advanced a country as any, given a few years—and that Ceauşescu was a good-for-nothing person who, along with communism itself, impeded Romania’s greatness. We danced all night, shot off fireworks outside the house, and heard a million roosters crowing in the wee hours of the morning. (Everyone keeps chickens.) When we were outside at midnight, an elderly woman suggested we all sing New Year’s songs together, but the only volunteers she found were Paula and me. So Paula and I hummed along with her, saying occasionally “La Mulți Ani,” which means both Happy New Year and Happy Birthday. (Several of Alexandru’s friends wished me a happy birthday for this reason.)
A couple of days later we took off for the treacherous 36-hour journey across Europe, and I was lucky enough to see some of Romania’s worst roads, as well as some donkeys on the side of them. There were animals everywhere, really. The difference was astounding when we crossed into Hungary, where the border guards insisted they had seen Alexandru on his cell phone and took a bribe in order to save him the trouble of going into Budapest to pay off his ticket. This kind of bribery is apparently really common. We traveled through Germany (and heard Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious in German on the radio, yessss), Austria, and Switzerland afterward; in Austria we stopped for about an hour in Vienna. It was about 10:30 at night, and it was beautiful. I can’t wait to go back; I’ve never seen a more aesthetically pleasing city. There were signs for cultural events everywhere I looked, and the architecture was lovely, clean and white and radiating an aura of royalty.
So that was Christmas break! Sunday we got home, and Monday I went back to work. So far this semester feels better than the last one; in most of my classes, I’m pretty comfortable with the students. I still have one class of older students who look at me like they’d rather be watching paint dry than learning English, but they’re clearly not very happy, and I think that might have something to do with their depressing teacher. I’m trying to figure out what to do with them. I’m feeling scrappy and tough, and I think I'm up to it.
I also got a new job at the Red Cross, located literally five steps from my apartment. I’m teaching English to the university students there—future nurses. So far the classes have been a bit uncomfortable, largely because the students are pretty shy about speaking English around me. And unfortunately, I may not even be able to keep this job. I’m not officially cleared to teach for a private institution like the Red Cross, and today I went on a hilarious wild-goose chase to get the necessary authorization. I guess I had it coming, anyway; French bureaucracy has been too easy on me so far.
More strikes, more dinner parties, more wild-goose chases, more cheese (which I almost always dislike), more mini-trips, more vocabulary, more paperwork, more pictures, more foreign culture. Such is life in France.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Scottish tradition on Boxing Day
Paula and I have moved around a lot in Scotland over the last week-- Edinburgh to Glasgow to Edinburgh to Crieff to Glasgow again-- but we slowed down over Christmas. My Christmas with her family was lovely; we went to visit her Uncle Ricky and Auntie Mouse, their children, and everyone's friends (myself included). It was a small little party of about eleven people, and after we ate a delicious traditional British dinner (the second one I'd had on Christmas), we played charades and Trivial Pursuit. It was really fun, and I was paricularly amused when the rival team got the question, "Who was the first U.S. president?" I know I sound obtuse, but it hadn't occurred to me that this would not be ridiculously common knowledge to people outside of the U.S.
And they stuffed me. I keep eating traditional British things that I'd only ever read about in Harry Potter: crumpets, Yorkshire pudding, trifle, bread sauce, parsnips and brussel sprouts. The first day I arrived in England, I got a "bacon roll." The boy working behind the counter asked me if I wanted ketchup or brown sauce with it. I asked him what brown sauce was, and he paused and said, "...So you'll be having brown sauce, then?" Apparently no one can really tell me what it is.
Last night, Paula's mum and their family friend Peggy kept suggesting that Paula and I find a "ceilidh," pronounced kay-ley. This is a traditional Scottish dance party, and I found mention on the internet of a ceilidh held in a bar in Glasgow every Saturday night, so Paula and I set out to find this place. When we finally got there, two people were finishing up an unenthusiastic dance, and everyone else was sitting about the bar looking miserable. The place was pretty deserted to begin with, so Paula and I picked up a couple of drinks and then watched the poor accordion player begin another number. We expressed an interest and finally got a couple of men at the bar to come dance with us, and after a few dances there were several couples dancing on the floor. Not many people joined in, but it was really fun all the same, and I learned some real Scottish dance. I was laughing my head off the whole time, of course. It was lovely.
On Wednesday we'll be going to Romania to see Alexandru and Andreea for New Year's. Every time I tell someone we're going to Romania, they look at me strangely and ask me why on earth I would want to do that. I think it should be very interesting.
And they stuffed me. I keep eating traditional British things that I'd only ever read about in Harry Potter: crumpets, Yorkshire pudding, trifle, bread sauce, parsnips and brussel sprouts. The first day I arrived in England, I got a "bacon roll." The boy working behind the counter asked me if I wanted ketchup or brown sauce with it. I asked him what brown sauce was, and he paused and said, "...So you'll be having brown sauce, then?" Apparently no one can really tell me what it is.
Last night, Paula's mum and their family friend Peggy kept suggesting that Paula and I find a "ceilidh," pronounced kay-ley. This is a traditional Scottish dance party, and I found mention on the internet of a ceilidh held in a bar in Glasgow every Saturday night, so Paula and I set out to find this place. When we finally got there, two people were finishing up an unenthusiastic dance, and everyone else was sitting about the bar looking miserable. The place was pretty deserted to begin with, so Paula and I picked up a couple of drinks and then watched the poor accordion player begin another number. We expressed an interest and finally got a couple of men at the bar to come dance with us, and after a few dances there were several couples dancing on the floor. Not many people joined in, but it was really fun all the same, and I learned some real Scottish dance. I was laughing my head off the whole time, of course. It was lovely.
On Wednesday we'll be going to Romania to see Alexandru and Andreea for New Year's. Every time I tell someone we're going to Romania, they look at me strangely and ask me why on earth I would want to do that. I think it should be very interesting.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
The Vicar of Dibley
I'm in Scotland for Christmas, and so far I absolutely adore it. I've seen quite a bit of Edinburgh, the capital, while visiting Glasgow the rest of the time. (Paula's family lives in Glasgow, but many of her friends are in Edinburgh.) Yesterday I got my tooth fixed (I had lost a filling) for five pounds. I'm not even an EU citizen. Britain's health care is incredible. Paula let me find my way back to Edinburgh by myself after I got my tooth fixed, and I did! No problem. I love growing up.
The Scottish are seriously the warmest, most congenial people I have ever met. I think that the French I've met have all been wonderful, but it's a sharp contrast with the openness of the Scottish. Lovely people. And the cities are beautiful-- Edinburgh in particular is very open, nicely planned, and full of things to see. I have some videos that I'll have to put up later.
It's snowing in Scotland, and it actually has been snowing everywhere in Europe. Interestingly enough, none of the Europeans seem used to it. Right before I left, Limoges experienced a few inches of snow that left it hilariously paralyzed. No one knew what to do, and my school let out for the second half of the day. Instead of teaching classes, I pretty much played with the kids; my six-year-olds and I made snowmen. Traffic was ridiculous and plane flights were canceled. Paula and I were lucky we made it into the UK!
So much has been happening, and I should be keeping a better journal. Maybe I'll put it on a list of New Year's resolutions. Merry Christmas, anyone who might be reading this, and Happy New Year!
The Scottish are seriously the warmest, most congenial people I have ever met. I think that the French I've met have all been wonderful, but it's a sharp contrast with the openness of the Scottish. Lovely people. And the cities are beautiful-- Edinburgh in particular is very open, nicely planned, and full of things to see. I have some videos that I'll have to put up later.
It's snowing in Scotland, and it actually has been snowing everywhere in Europe. Interestingly enough, none of the Europeans seem used to it. Right before I left, Limoges experienced a few inches of snow that left it hilariously paralyzed. No one knew what to do, and my school let out for the second half of the day. Instead of teaching classes, I pretty much played with the kids; my six-year-olds and I made snowmen. Traffic was ridiculous and plane flights were canceled. Paula and I were lucky we made it into the UK!
So much has been happening, and I should be keeping a better journal. Maybe I'll put it on a list of New Year's resolutions. Merry Christmas, anyone who might be reading this, and Happy New Year!
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
I'll be seeing you
12h France time
I did get a chance to see the strike last Tuesday! I don’t know how I could not have, really, since it went right past my apartment, but on Tuesday morning I found the group of teachers and college students in front of the rectorat of Limoges. Paula came with me on the strike, and we marched all the way to the prefecture behind this big van that played reggae music. The students and teachers were all carrying flags and shouting out songs that they must have learned before the strike; Paula and I spent our time trying to discern what they were saying. “Hosanna? Oh, no, aux armes!” The education system has been suffering over recent years from layoffs and cutbacks, and so the “syndicate” decided it was time to strike for one day. Paula and I had a wonderful time, playing French protesters, and when we arrived in front of the prefecture, we decided to hop into the post office for a moment while a man at the forefront of the strike gave a speech about what the strikers wanted. When Paula and I got out of the post office, everyone had left. In five minutes. I asked one of my colleagues, who was still there, what had happened, and she said, “I guess everyone went to lunch!” Oh, the French. They’re so hilarious. Anyway, this was apparently quite a small strike, which is why the ending was so disappointing. So I can’t wait for the next one! I hope it’s enormous!
This past weekend, Ansleigh and Alex, American assistants here in Limoges, decided to throw a Thanksgiving dinner for the assistants and our friends from abroad. Paula and I brought our Romanian counterparts, and present at the party were people from all over the place—Venezuela, Italy, the UK, Colombia, France, etc. We all had the most fantastic time. All of the non-Americans were stunned by how good the food was; they kept saying that they couldn’t believe no one had ever told them about this American tradition. It was delicious food, and all of us ran our mouths off the whole time, mostly discussing cultural differences (the number one topic while one is abroad) and politics. The American assistants and I realized how many of us are blonde, and you know, I’m becoming acutely aware of how rare it must be to be blond. I’ve noticed that not even many French people have blond hair. They’re usually brunettes. Anyway, we then proceeded to the apartment of Adam, one of the British assistants, where we all talked and danced with even more internationals. I learned how to dance like South Americans. Sort of. It was all great fun.
Then on Sunday, Paula and I went to Mass at St-Pierre. During communion, there were no ushers to help people know when to go to the Eucharistic minister; everyone (on the side of the church, at least) just walked in a cluster toward the minister. And at the end of the service, the priest had four candles for the servers to carry, but seven servers. They all clamored for a candle to take with them, and he patted the rejected three on the head after he handed the candles out. Quite cute. Then, in the evening, I had my first accordion/piano exchange with Ivan the Bartender. It was kind of strange, but fun, as I learned a little bit of accordion, played the piano terribly but helped keep him in rhythm, and got free pineapple juice.
Last night I saw two Michael Moore documentaries. I don’t know how this happened, since I’d never seen one from start to finish before yesterday afternoon, but now I feel informed and confused and totally suspicious of corporate America and Wall Street. In addition to “Capitalism: A Love Story,” I saw “The Big One,” which I thought was very good. And the French ladies that I saw “Capitalism” with kept asking me all kinds of questions that I didn’t know how to answer: “Well who would vote for Republicans? Only the very wealthy?” “In France, we have life insurance to help support families. You don’t have this in the U.S.? Why would you insure companies for employees that die?” At times like this, I wish I were more informed and that my French were better.
I cannot believe it's December.
I did get a chance to see the strike last Tuesday! I don’t know how I could not have, really, since it went right past my apartment, but on Tuesday morning I found the group of teachers and college students in front of the rectorat of Limoges. Paula came with me on the strike, and we marched all the way to the prefecture behind this big van that played reggae music. The students and teachers were all carrying flags and shouting out songs that they must have learned before the strike; Paula and I spent our time trying to discern what they were saying. “Hosanna? Oh, no, aux armes!” The education system has been suffering over recent years from layoffs and cutbacks, and so the “syndicate” decided it was time to strike for one day. Paula and I had a wonderful time, playing French protesters, and when we arrived in front of the prefecture, we decided to hop into the post office for a moment while a man at the forefront of the strike gave a speech about what the strikers wanted. When Paula and I got out of the post office, everyone had left. In five minutes. I asked one of my colleagues, who was still there, what had happened, and she said, “I guess everyone went to lunch!” Oh, the French. They’re so hilarious. Anyway, this was apparently quite a small strike, which is why the ending was so disappointing. So I can’t wait for the next one! I hope it’s enormous!
This past weekend, Ansleigh and Alex, American assistants here in Limoges, decided to throw a Thanksgiving dinner for the assistants and our friends from abroad. Paula and I brought our Romanian counterparts, and present at the party were people from all over the place—Venezuela, Italy, the UK, Colombia, France, etc. We all had the most fantastic time. All of the non-Americans were stunned by how good the food was; they kept saying that they couldn’t believe no one had ever told them about this American tradition. It was delicious food, and all of us ran our mouths off the whole time, mostly discussing cultural differences (the number one topic while one is abroad) and politics. The American assistants and I realized how many of us are blonde, and you know, I’m becoming acutely aware of how rare it must be to be blond. I’ve noticed that not even many French people have blond hair. They’re usually brunettes. Anyway, we then proceeded to the apartment of Adam, one of the British assistants, where we all talked and danced with even more internationals. I learned how to dance like South Americans. Sort of. It was all great fun.
Then on Sunday, Paula and I went to Mass at St-Pierre. During communion, there were no ushers to help people know when to go to the Eucharistic minister; everyone (on the side of the church, at least) just walked in a cluster toward the minister. And at the end of the service, the priest had four candles for the servers to carry, but seven servers. They all clamored for a candle to take with them, and he patted the rejected three on the head after he handed the candles out. Quite cute. Then, in the evening, I had my first accordion/piano exchange with Ivan the Bartender. It was kind of strange, but fun, as I learned a little bit of accordion, played the piano terribly but helped keep him in rhythm, and got free pineapple juice.
Last night I saw two Michael Moore documentaries. I don’t know how this happened, since I’d never seen one from start to finish before yesterday afternoon, but now I feel informed and confused and totally suspicious of corporate America and Wall Street. In addition to “Capitalism: A Love Story,” I saw “The Big One,” which I thought was very good. And the French ladies that I saw “Capitalism” with kept asking me all kinds of questions that I didn’t know how to answer: “Well who would vote for Republicans? Only the very wealthy?” “In France, we have life insurance to help support families. You don’t have this in the U.S.? Why would you insure companies for employees that die?” At times like this, I wish I were more informed and that my French were better.
I cannot believe it's December.
A small education strike in Limoges
Monday, November 23, 2009
Too much dairy
15h France time
This past weekend, I took off with two American assistants named Alex and Lacey to the Beaujolais region. Beaujolais is located close to Lyon, and every year, the region releases a new wine called the "Beaujolais Nouveau." The wine has been aged only six months, and so, from what I've heard, it's not great. I tasted it, and I couldn't tell you one way or another. But it was released at midnight this past Thursday to enormous celebrations, and the festivities continued into this weekend.
Alex, Lacey, and I visited a medium-sized town called Villefranche, where we saw the majority of Beaujolais Nouveau celebration. We first came upon a "Beaujolais Marathon," where French men and women were preparing to run (or finishing up the race, or both?) equipped with a shiny, golden cape (which looked like a space blanket) and a bottle of the new wine. Everything you need to run a marathon. Then we found the wine festival in the center of town, where vendors of wine, cheese, baked goods, and chocolates lined the streets. We tried lots of little glasses of the Beaujolais Nouveau from different winemakers, cheese samples, and these revolting chocolates that had wine in the center. We also got to see/participate in various musical performances up and down the street; we saw at least three percussion ensembles similar to the one I saw in Toulouse. We also caught a performance by a Michael Jackson impersonator who danced pretty well.
This past weekend, I took off with two American assistants named Alex and Lacey to the Beaujolais region. Beaujolais is located close to Lyon, and every year, the region releases a new wine called the "Beaujolais Nouveau." The wine has been aged only six months, and so, from what I've heard, it's not great. I tasted it, and I couldn't tell you one way or another. But it was released at midnight this past Thursday to enormous celebrations, and the festivities continued into this weekend.
Alex, Lacey, and I visited a medium-sized town called Villefranche, where we saw the majority of Beaujolais Nouveau celebration. We first came upon a "Beaujolais Marathon," where French men and women were preparing to run (or finishing up the race, or both?) equipped with a shiny, golden cape (which looked like a space blanket) and a bottle of the new wine. Everything you need to run a marathon. Then we found the wine festival in the center of town, where vendors of wine, cheese, baked goods, and chocolates lined the streets. We tried lots of little glasses of the Beaujolais Nouveau from different winemakers, cheese samples, and these revolting chocolates that had wine in the center. We also got to see/participate in various musical performances up and down the street; we saw at least three percussion ensembles similar to the one I saw in Toulouse. We also caught a performance by a Michael Jackson impersonator who danced pretty well.
Beaujolais performing groups in Villefranche
After we left Villefranche, we visited a little town called Beaujeu, then continued on to our bed and breakfast. While it took us quite a long time to find, it turned out to be adorable, run by a lovely woman who had the biggest dog I have ever seen. She directed us to dinner that night, then fed us breakfast the following morning. On Sunday, we went back to Lyon, where we spent about an hour in "Les Halles," a big, bustling indoor market near the center of town. Then we hopped a train back to Limoges.
Today I found out that I won't have to teach one of my classes tomorrow because its teacher will be a "gréviste"-- a striker-- in the teacher protests. I wonder where the demonstrations will be. Maybe I'll get to see some of the action!
Toulouse highlights
This is the percussion ensemble we saw at the market in Toulouse. Apparently, these ensembles are a very popular way to celebrate in France.
This is a French man on the moon-walking machine at the Cité de l'Espace. He seemed to have a great time. :)
Friday, November 20, 2009
Shoot the moon
14h France time
This past weekend, I took off with Paula and the Romanians to Toulouse, a city in the south that borders the same river as Bordeaux (the Garonne). It wasn't a terribly long drive, and the city was absolutely wonderful. Before we left, I called around to a few hotels to find us an inexpensive room, and a man at the last place I called told me he could give me a room for four for fifty euros. Not bad. He told me he had a bunch of free rooms, so I didn't think we needed a reservation. It turns out that by a "bunch of rooms," he meant seventeen in total and one for four guests. He had given said room away when we arrived, so we began to ask him if we could just work out some sort of arrangement where one of us would sleep on the floor of the room for three. We insisted that we could find a way to fit in there and offered to pay him extra, but he said no. In the event that something happened-- a fire, etc.-- the insurance wouldn't cover a room for three that had four guests. I was about to give up when he said, "You want to see? I'll show you that you can't all stay in this room." His mistake. We went to room #10 and found out that it had one twin bed and one enormous bed; Paula sat down on the big one and we all said, "Oh, we can totally fit in there!" He gave up, telling us that it was our problem, that he didn't know we had a fourth person, that if something went wrong it would be up to us to take care of it. Hahaha. It was great. I always hear about people doing things under the table in France, and here we had an opportunity to rent a hotel room semi-illegally.
We left the hotel soon after we arrived and argued a while about parking (this became a regular feature of the trip; it can be a chore to have a car in France). Then we drove into the city center, when by some bizarre stroke of chance, Andreea and Alexandru saw a German friend of theirs from their college studies in England. This friend of theirs, Daniel, turned out to be the handiest person ever, as he knew how to navigate the city. He directed us first to the Basilica of St. Sernin, the “largest and most complete basilica in France” or something like that. It was an enormous church, full of relics and frescoes and somber people, which apparently used to be on a pilgrimage route. Then we went to see the Church of the Jacobins, which didn’t much resemble a church inside, but had brightly colored windows and these enormous pillars. And the remains of St. Thomas Aquinas. When we were about to leave, I went to peek through a door in the corner of the church, but the women at the information desk there stopped me because I needed to pay to go through. The cloister and the abbey of the Jacobins was apparently what was beyond, and I didn’t think it sounded too interesting. But my friends and I found that if we could all present our expired student ids, we would get in for free.
In the abbey, we found a beautiful garden (the kind with the hedges that you walk through) and a couple of chapels. We all kind of gasped when I opened the door, it was so pretty. No other tourists were around at the time, so we had the space to ourselves to enjoy. After we left the abbey, we went to visit the Garonne to take pictures by the Pont Neuf, a famous bridge in Toulouse. There were tons of people at the riverfront as well as tons of pets; Andreea and I saw a dog try to start a fight with a goat.
That evening, Daniel left us to have dinner with his friends, and we proceeded to get lost and confused. We finally worked our way back to the hotel, from which point Alexandru, Paula, and I went back out to a bar. We met up with Daniel and some of his French friends to push our way through the overcrowded brasseries, then finally settled on a pub near the town center. Everyone there was really friendly to us, and we just hung out there until the bar closed. When we returned to the hotel, Andreea told us, “I have some bad news; there are bugs in the bed.” Hahahaha. She started pointing out these little cockroaches that were crawling around, and I threw a few of them out the window until I gave up and went to bed feeling itchy.
The next morning, we woke up way too late to see anything in the town center, so we sat at a street café and drank hot chocolate. While we were sitting there, a troupe of brightly colored… noisemakers… appeared and started playing in the streets. There were about twenty people of different ages playing drums, shakers, bell-type things, and wearing floral dresses and scarves. Each of their pieces lasted at least five or ten minutes, and they exuded so much energy and made so much noise that they drew a big crowd from the area. We watched for a long time, and Paula and I speculated as to what their purpose was. I pulled aside one of the members of the group and asked him what they were celebrating, and he said, “Oh, nothing! We just do this on Sundays.” It was fabulous. I can’t believe that a French city would be so lively on a Sunday.
We meandered through a Sunday market set up there close to the percussion group spectacle, and then we took off to the Cité de l’Espace in the outskirts of the city. The Cité de l’Espace is a museum that reminds me of a more confusing version of the Science Center. Since Toulouse apparently has a thriving air and space travel industry, the Cité de l’Espace was built to teach people about space, physics, the weather, space travel, etc. We walked around to tons of exhibits that I was hard-pressed to understand, not only because they were explained in French, but because I can’t wrap my mind around mathematical and physical phenomena. A lot of it made no sense. But! There was this machine in the museum that was supposed to make visitors feel like they were walking on the moon. I actually got hooked up to the machine twice because I hit up two different workers; visitors were strapped into a sort of seat that would hold up their weight while they bounced around the room. I took videos of pretty much everyone who did it. It was really the adults who liked it best—little kids just seemed confused. I personally laughed my head off. My friends and I also got to see a movie in the Imax there—an American film about the moon that was dubbed in French. We ran around taking pictures, and then we made the trek home.
Since my trip to Toulouse, I’ve had an incredibly busy week. I keep tripping over opportunities; it’s astounding. On Tuesday evening, I went with my French friends Renaud and Marie to a tiny bar in the center of Limoges. They introduced me to the bartender and owner, a man named Ivan who is so generous that he never turns out profits. He has apparently had five bars in the last ten years. Ivan plays the accordion, as does Marie, and he let me try to play it. When he found out that I play piano, he asked me to sit at his piano and read some of the sheet music he had while he played accordion. I was terrible, but he told me that he was very interested in learning to read notes. He proposed a cultural exchange: he would teach me what he knew about music (presumably to play the accordion) if I would teach him how to read music. I said absolutely! Sign me up. He also let me borrow “Jean de Florette” from his little library of books. Then Renaud and Marie taught me a humorous little drinking song that I keep humming around town. It was a lovely evening.
On Wednesday, one of the teachers from my school gave me the opportunity to see the French countryside around Limoges. She grew up near a little town called Eymoutiers, and her sister inherited the family farm and now raises cows (and veal in particular). The two of them—my colleague, Françoise, and her sister, Maryse, told me all about the cows, the region, the plants that grew there… everything. It was like a tour, but with just me. Maryse had me put my hand in one of her cows’ mouths. Cows only have incisors on the bottom of their mouths. Who knew? The two of them also had me help them to do work while continuing the commentary on farming and what it was like to grow up in that region. Françoise fed me an enormous lunch, complete with cheeses that she picked up just so I could try more French cheese. Then we went apple picking and hiked around the Maryse’s property. The whole day was lovely, and the territory was absolutely gorgeous and peaceful; I wish I had pictures. And when we left Eymoutiers, I was exhausted, so much so that I pretty much dozed while Françoise talked to me. Thank goodness her attention was on the road.
And today I had a wonderful day at school! My kids are absolutely precious; one of them sees me on the bus in the mornings and comes up to faire la bise with me every time. My classes were all very well-behaved today, in my opinion (a rarity). I kept my ten-year-olds engaged in a discussion about foods, and they positively freaked out when I talked to them about peanut butter and cream cheese. Apparently a lot of them like peanut butter. Then I told them about BLTs (and realized how much I missed them), and they were so interested. It was pretty funny. I collected their notebooks today, and they were so in earnest about doing things right and copying down everything I’d written on the board. Which actually doesn’t happen often. I really like these kids.
This weekend I’m going to the Beaujolais region/festivals for wine tasting, which doesn’t really fit with me because I don’t drink much wine. But I’d love to see the festivals! I’ll be traveling with two Americans that I don’t know very well at all. Hopefully it will be a nice trip.
This past weekend, I took off with Paula and the Romanians to Toulouse, a city in the south that borders the same river as Bordeaux (the Garonne). It wasn't a terribly long drive, and the city was absolutely wonderful. Before we left, I called around to a few hotels to find us an inexpensive room, and a man at the last place I called told me he could give me a room for four for fifty euros. Not bad. He told me he had a bunch of free rooms, so I didn't think we needed a reservation. It turns out that by a "bunch of rooms," he meant seventeen in total and one for four guests. He had given said room away when we arrived, so we began to ask him if we could just work out some sort of arrangement where one of us would sleep on the floor of the room for three. We insisted that we could find a way to fit in there and offered to pay him extra, but he said no. In the event that something happened-- a fire, etc.-- the insurance wouldn't cover a room for three that had four guests. I was about to give up when he said, "You want to see? I'll show you that you can't all stay in this room." His mistake. We went to room #10 and found out that it had one twin bed and one enormous bed; Paula sat down on the big one and we all said, "Oh, we can totally fit in there!" He gave up, telling us that it was our problem, that he didn't know we had a fourth person, that if something went wrong it would be up to us to take care of it. Hahaha. It was great. I always hear about people doing things under the table in France, and here we had an opportunity to rent a hotel room semi-illegally.
We left the hotel soon after we arrived and argued a while about parking (this became a regular feature of the trip; it can be a chore to have a car in France). Then we drove into the city center, when by some bizarre stroke of chance, Andreea and Alexandru saw a German friend of theirs from their college studies in England. This friend of theirs, Daniel, turned out to be the handiest person ever, as he knew how to navigate the city. He directed us first to the Basilica of St. Sernin, the “largest and most complete basilica in France” or something like that. It was an enormous church, full of relics and frescoes and somber people, which apparently used to be on a pilgrimage route. Then we went to see the Church of the Jacobins, which didn’t much resemble a church inside, but had brightly colored windows and these enormous pillars. And the remains of St. Thomas Aquinas. When we were about to leave, I went to peek through a door in the corner of the church, but the women at the information desk there stopped me because I needed to pay to go through. The cloister and the abbey of the Jacobins was apparently what was beyond, and I didn’t think it sounded too interesting. But my friends and I found that if we could all present our expired student ids, we would get in for free.
In the abbey, we found a beautiful garden (the kind with the hedges that you walk through) and a couple of chapels. We all kind of gasped when I opened the door, it was so pretty. No other tourists were around at the time, so we had the space to ourselves to enjoy. After we left the abbey, we went to visit the Garonne to take pictures by the Pont Neuf, a famous bridge in Toulouse. There were tons of people at the riverfront as well as tons of pets; Andreea and I saw a dog try to start a fight with a goat.
That evening, Daniel left us to have dinner with his friends, and we proceeded to get lost and confused. We finally worked our way back to the hotel, from which point Alexandru, Paula, and I went back out to a bar. We met up with Daniel and some of his French friends to push our way through the overcrowded brasseries, then finally settled on a pub near the town center. Everyone there was really friendly to us, and we just hung out there until the bar closed. When we returned to the hotel, Andreea told us, “I have some bad news; there are bugs in the bed.” Hahahaha. She started pointing out these little cockroaches that were crawling around, and I threw a few of them out the window until I gave up and went to bed feeling itchy.
The next morning, we woke up way too late to see anything in the town center, so we sat at a street café and drank hot chocolate. While we were sitting there, a troupe of brightly colored… noisemakers… appeared and started playing in the streets. There were about twenty people of different ages playing drums, shakers, bell-type things, and wearing floral dresses and scarves. Each of their pieces lasted at least five or ten minutes, and they exuded so much energy and made so much noise that they drew a big crowd from the area. We watched for a long time, and Paula and I speculated as to what their purpose was. I pulled aside one of the members of the group and asked him what they were celebrating, and he said, “Oh, nothing! We just do this on Sundays.” It was fabulous. I can’t believe that a French city would be so lively on a Sunday.
We meandered through a Sunday market set up there close to the percussion group spectacle, and then we took off to the Cité de l’Espace in the outskirts of the city. The Cité de l’Espace is a museum that reminds me of a more confusing version of the Science Center. Since Toulouse apparently has a thriving air and space travel industry, the Cité de l’Espace was built to teach people about space, physics, the weather, space travel, etc. We walked around to tons of exhibits that I was hard-pressed to understand, not only because they were explained in French, but because I can’t wrap my mind around mathematical and physical phenomena. A lot of it made no sense. But! There was this machine in the museum that was supposed to make visitors feel like they were walking on the moon. I actually got hooked up to the machine twice because I hit up two different workers; visitors were strapped into a sort of seat that would hold up their weight while they bounced around the room. I took videos of pretty much everyone who did it. It was really the adults who liked it best—little kids just seemed confused. I personally laughed my head off. My friends and I also got to see a movie in the Imax there—an American film about the moon that was dubbed in French. We ran around taking pictures, and then we made the trek home.
Since my trip to Toulouse, I’ve had an incredibly busy week. I keep tripping over opportunities; it’s astounding. On Tuesday evening, I went with my French friends Renaud and Marie to a tiny bar in the center of Limoges. They introduced me to the bartender and owner, a man named Ivan who is so generous that he never turns out profits. He has apparently had five bars in the last ten years. Ivan plays the accordion, as does Marie, and he let me try to play it. When he found out that I play piano, he asked me to sit at his piano and read some of the sheet music he had while he played accordion. I was terrible, but he told me that he was very interested in learning to read notes. He proposed a cultural exchange: he would teach me what he knew about music (presumably to play the accordion) if I would teach him how to read music. I said absolutely! Sign me up. He also let me borrow “Jean de Florette” from his little library of books. Then Renaud and Marie taught me a humorous little drinking song that I keep humming around town. It was a lovely evening.
On Wednesday, one of the teachers from my school gave me the opportunity to see the French countryside around Limoges. She grew up near a little town called Eymoutiers, and her sister inherited the family farm and now raises cows (and veal in particular). The two of them—my colleague, Françoise, and her sister, Maryse, told me all about the cows, the region, the plants that grew there… everything. It was like a tour, but with just me. Maryse had me put my hand in one of her cows’ mouths. Cows only have incisors on the bottom of their mouths. Who knew? The two of them also had me help them to do work while continuing the commentary on farming and what it was like to grow up in that region. Françoise fed me an enormous lunch, complete with cheeses that she picked up just so I could try more French cheese. Then we went apple picking and hiked around the Maryse’s property. The whole day was lovely, and the territory was absolutely gorgeous and peaceful; I wish I had pictures. And when we left Eymoutiers, I was exhausted, so much so that I pretty much dozed while Françoise talked to me. Thank goodness her attention was on the road.
And today I had a wonderful day at school! My kids are absolutely precious; one of them sees me on the bus in the mornings and comes up to faire la bise with me every time. My classes were all very well-behaved today, in my opinion (a rarity). I kept my ten-year-olds engaged in a discussion about foods, and they positively freaked out when I talked to them about peanut butter and cream cheese. Apparently a lot of them like peanut butter. Then I told them about BLTs (and realized how much I missed them), and they were so interested. It was pretty funny. I collected their notebooks today, and they were so in earnest about doing things right and copying down everything I’d written on the board. Which actually doesn’t happen often. I really like these kids.
This weekend I’m going to the Beaujolais region/festivals for wine tasting, which doesn’t really fit with me because I don’t drink much wine. But I’d love to see the festivals! I’ll be traveling with two Americans that I don’t know very well at all. Hopefully it will be a nice trip.
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