-take a real shower
-shave my legs
-stand in front of my closet and choose something to wear
-hug my mom, my grandmother, and everyone else too
-have a Peet's iced coffee
-get a manicure
-lay on a couch
-snuggle-I'm such a chick!
-roll around in a bed that's wider than a matchbox
-read whatever book I please
-eat American food
-eat pizza
-eat something with siracha on it
-do laundry
-make phonecalls and not stress about how much they cost
-work! work! work!
-write from a removed perspective
-talk to Prof. Otten
-hang out with people and have meaningful conversations
-take Jemima for a walk
-catch up on TopChef
-hve a REAL cocktail
-go to Cornwalls just for kicks
-drop into ES unannounced!
Monday, October 26, 2009
Dimanche Part II
Once again, it is Sunday in France. I missed breakfast at the hostel, of course, because my iPhone was still out of commission. So for breakfast I had chocolate cookies and Fanta (it's like staying over at Dad's again!). Then I tried charging my phone, just in case, and voilà! It works again. I swear there is something terribly demonic about this iPhone. As soon as I get back it is going in a cell phone graveyard somewhere. Anyway, I showered and dressed and set out for the town. I was really hoping the English bookstore would be open, but of course it was not. So I acquired an espresso elsezhere, killed some time people watching, and went about discovering. I found a church with some Benedictine tombs which was pretty cool and also quite eery. I also found an outdoor market with cheese and spices and what not on display. It made me long for a kitchen to cook in; as all of you know, I have absolutely no affinity for cooking. I somehow, accidentally, made it back to the place in which I started. I tried to go to the internet cafe - closed. Found another bookstore - closed.
By some stroke of genius, I had the idea of checking to see if the cinema was open. It was and the next film was in an hour. I walked to cours de Mirabeau and had a beer and waited. I went back to the cinema, bought a ticket, and found a seat without incident. Once the film began, however, I realized that I will, indeed, always be an idiot. The film was in German with French subtitles. I knew that seeing a film in French zould be challenging. This scenario was one I was ill-equipped for. I'm not really quite sure what happened in the film. In between reading/deciphering French subtitles, hearing familiar German words, and trying to actually WATCH the movie, I got very, very lost. So lost, in fact, that when the film ended, I was shocked.
Something interesting about theatres in here is that they don't have popcorn. They also don't sell tubs of coke or rip you off too much. There was one trailer to the film, which was in English. The didn't have a giant candy bar dancing around reminding you to shut your cell phone off. People in France already know such common facts of life. Also, people actually sit next to each other. I mean - parties who do not know each other sit next to each other. They don't leave the one seat elbow room like Americans.
Although I gleaned absolutely nothing from the film, the experience was overall enriching. I'm having a farewell Chouffe at the pub and then heading back to the hostel. Tomorrow, I'm going to Marseille for some authentic bouillibaise, catcalls, and palm trees. Soon I'll be bidding au revoir to Provence and journey to Julien's hometown of Annecy. Then the countdown to Boston begins!!!
By some stroke of genius, I had the idea of checking to see if the cinema was open. It was and the next film was in an hour. I walked to cours de Mirabeau and had a beer and waited. I went back to the cinema, bought a ticket, and found a seat without incident. Once the film began, however, I realized that I will, indeed, always be an idiot. The film was in German with French subtitles. I knew that seeing a film in French zould be challenging. This scenario was one I was ill-equipped for. I'm not really quite sure what happened in the film. In between reading/deciphering French subtitles, hearing familiar German words, and trying to actually WATCH the movie, I got very, very lost. So lost, in fact, that when the film ended, I was shocked.
Something interesting about theatres in here is that they don't have popcorn. They also don't sell tubs of coke or rip you off too much. There was one trailer to the film, which was in English. The didn't have a giant candy bar dancing around reminding you to shut your cell phone off. People in France already know such common facts of life. Also, people actually sit next to each other. I mean - parties who do not know each other sit next to each other. They don't leave the one seat elbow room like Americans.
Although I gleaned absolutely nothing from the film, the experience was overall enriching. I'm having a farewell Chouffe at the pub and then heading back to the hostel. Tomorrow, I'm going to Marseille for some authentic bouillibaise, catcalls, and palm trees. Soon I'll be bidding au revoir to Provence and journey to Julien's hometown of Annecy. Then the countdown to Boston begins!!!
Friday, October 23, 2009
Black Coffee
Hi Friends!!
So I'm back in France after a brief jaunt to Spain, and the coffee here is much better. I'm going to brief but here are a few things about the south of France, more specifically Aix-en-Provence:
People are not very nice.
It rains a lot.
Le Mistral is worse in person than it is in theory.
The food rocks.
I found a bookstore with books in English (seriously how many times can you read Atlas Shrugged?).
Boys are not that cute.
Hostel BLOWS. I don't even have a power outlet in my room. I think that must be against some kind of law.
Wine is tasty. Nice restaurants.
Found a bar with good beer... which I was beginning to think was hopeless (La Chouffe!!!!).
Buses stop running at 10... isn't this a college town??
Nice landscape.
Lots of Art. Lots.
So last night I had a truly wonderful dinner at Le Petit Verdot. I had a foie gras pate which was amazing to start. I then had a take on blood pudding 'shepard's pie' which knocked my socks off. Dinner was very rich so I didn't have dessert but they offered me a delicious grappa digestif which I truly appreciated because I thought I might burst at the seams. I had a kir to start and two glasses of syrah from the local area. Yum.
Okay, I'm going to go explore around some more and head to the Cezanne musuem after lunch!
Missin Boston like crazy...
corkdork
So I'm back in France after a brief jaunt to Spain, and the coffee here is much better. I'm going to brief but here are a few things about the south of France, more specifically Aix-en-Provence:
People are not very nice.
It rains a lot.
Le Mistral is worse in person than it is in theory.
The food rocks.
I found a bookstore with books in English (seriously how many times can you read Atlas Shrugged?).
Boys are not that cute.
Hostel BLOWS. I don't even have a power outlet in my room. I think that must be against some kind of law.
Wine is tasty. Nice restaurants.
Found a bar with good beer... which I was beginning to think was hopeless (La Chouffe!!!!).
Buses stop running at 10... isn't this a college town??
Nice landscape.
Lots of Art. Lots.
So last night I had a truly wonderful dinner at Le Petit Verdot. I had a foie gras pate which was amazing to start. I then had a take on blood pudding 'shepard's pie' which knocked my socks off. Dinner was very rich so I didn't have dessert but they offered me a delicious grappa digestif which I truly appreciated because I thought I might burst at the seams. I had a kir to start and two glasses of syrah from the local area. Yum.
Okay, I'm going to go explore around some more and head to the Cezanne musuem after lunch!
Missin Boston like crazy...
corkdork
Sunday, October 18, 2009
thinking
What is incalculable greatness? What is incalculable?
What is the cost of unabdicated resolution? What trepidation must one ignore?
How does one understand that there are many means to an end, so long as that end is never defeat? That the victory of spirit is the only true victory in the world?
What are the means to unprotracted victory? Which road does one take? Which crucial decisions must be made?
How much weight can fall on one man's shoulders? How can one man carry such weight without stumbling?
Who measures the value of a life? How is it evaluated? Under what pretenses? Who tallies the score?
Is one judged on their convictions and ideals? Or the consequences? Or does one live because there are things such as consequences for ideals?
What does it matter if a song goes unsung, letters unwritten, retribution unpaid, justice unserved?
What mark can one person make on the world? What smear on an imperfect painting?
How does one ignite a silent revolution above the din of a dark world?
There is but one man I would like to ask these questions of. Questions that too often go unanswered, unthought, ignored. There are people among us who would not, could not, let such an injustice occur. Men of consideration, endurance, and brillliance. Men who operate strictly for the invocation of the right to operate. The right to think freely. To draw conclusions from these thoughts. To put these conclusions into action. To fight for the right to continue to take action.
These are men of undisputed courage and valor. These are men too few in the world, growing fewer by the moment as they slowly die away, succumbing to a land of greater pragmatism. #
These are men we all strive to be and rarely achieve. The men that give us hope when there is none.
With the grace that is within us, however difficult it is to conjure, we must stop to silently thank them, to honr them in the only faculty they acknowledge, our minds.
What is the cost of unabdicated resolution? What trepidation must one ignore?
How does one understand that there are many means to an end, so long as that end is never defeat? That the victory of spirit is the only true victory in the world?
What are the means to unprotracted victory? Which road does one take? Which crucial decisions must be made?
How much weight can fall on one man's shoulders? How can one man carry such weight without stumbling?
Who measures the value of a life? How is it evaluated? Under what pretenses? Who tallies the score?
Is one judged on their convictions and ideals? Or the consequences? Or does one live because there are things such as consequences for ideals?
What does it matter if a song goes unsung, letters unwritten, retribution unpaid, justice unserved?
What mark can one person make on the world? What smear on an imperfect painting?
How does one ignite a silent revolution above the din of a dark world?
There is but one man I would like to ask these questions of. Questions that too often go unanswered, unthought, ignored. There are people among us who would not, could not, let such an injustice occur. Men of consideration, endurance, and brillliance. Men who operate strictly for the invocation of the right to operate. The right to think freely. To draw conclusions from these thoughts. To put these conclusions into action. To fight for the right to continue to take action.
These are men of undisputed courage and valor. These are men too few in the world, growing fewer by the moment as they slowly die away, succumbing to a land of greater pragmatism. #
These are men we all strive to be and rarely achieve. The men that give us hope when there is none.
With the grace that is within us, however difficult it is to conjure, we must stop to silently thank them, to honr them in the only faculty they acknowledge, our minds.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Language Barrier
It may be the most frustrating thing in the entire world to kind of speak three foreign languages. It basically gives people the impression that you can speak their language when in all actuality you can not. It also makes scanning your brain for the right word next to impossible as the word in a different language inevitably presents itself and then your brain becomes so fixated on that word and that language that it can not recover. There have been moments when I've had to speak Spanish or Italian to circumvent the fact that I don't speak French. It is incredibly taxing.
To that end, I've decided to go to Spain tomorrow. When I leave here I am going straight to the train station to purchase my ticket... I already booked my sleeping arrangements. I wanted to stay in Lyon a bit longer but the weather turned frigid today very unexpectedly so I think I will head further south. After two days in Barcelona I will go to Avignon in time for my appointment and finish my travels by meandering through Provence and finally to Switzerland.
I miss everyone very much and hope all is well back home. I also want to note that I have officially stopped having what I affectionately call wait-mares... or waitressing nightmares. Thank God!!
corkdork
To that end, I've decided to go to Spain tomorrow. When I leave here I am going straight to the train station to purchase my ticket... I already booked my sleeping arrangements. I wanted to stay in Lyon a bit longer but the weather turned frigid today very unexpectedly so I think I will head further south. After two days in Barcelona I will go to Avignon in time for my appointment and finish my travels by meandering through Provence and finally to Switzerland.
I miss everyone very much and hope all is well back home. I also want to note that I have officially stopped having what I affectionately call wait-mares... or waitressing nightmares. Thank God!!
corkdork
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Who is John Galt?
So I already told you about the best way to meet French people, and I followed my own advice the other day and quite an amazing thing happened. Yesterday, I went to meet my new friend Xavier in Beaune. He doesn't speak English and I don't speak French so it was destined to be a spectacular and awkward day. I was in my element, to say the least. We had about five billion espressos and when I was so jacked up that I was actually scared that he would offer me another espresso and that I would have to accept out of sheer politeness, he said 'Allez' (let's go)... I almost fainted out of excitement. During or all-too-long coffee, I learned that Xavier is a cooper (barrel maker). He took me to the Musee de Vin and explained to me all about wine making and barrel making. And of course by 'he explained' I mean that I nodded along and said an awful lot of 'Oui, Oui' while drawing my own conclusions.
After that he took me south of Beaune to a little village called La Rochepot where we had a delictable lunch (I had Boeufe Bourgignon) with a bottle of Santenay 1er Cru. Following lunch we wizzed up to the chateau and had a brief tour. We climbed to the top of the tower and I wanted to cry a little bit because the view of Burgundy was so beautiful. I felt kind of weird because there are quite a few people I would rather have shared that experience with. On the other hand, I never would have been there without the help of my trusty new companion. The more you know, the more you realize that you don't know anything.
We departed from the chateau and stopped off at Xavier's house where he bestowed two gifts upon me- a bottle of Creme de Cassis and a bottle of 1984 Corton Rouge. He really wanted to give me a bottle from the year I was born (which he indicated by saying 'La maman' and holding his hands in front of his belly as if he were pregnant) but apparently it was one of his favorite vintages and he drank it all. We grabbed a bottle of 1993 Corton Rouge and headed back to Beaune. I was desperate for a degustation so we ambled into the caves and tasted a million bottles of wine for 10euro. I win!
We viewed the Hospice de Beaune after that... followed by a little Corton Rouge. I insisted that we have a drink at the pub where we met and it was actually quite fun. All of the old guys there were transfixed by the sight of a young American woman so I played the part as much as possible. I may or may not have been loud, slightly obnoxious, and terribly witty. I bought them each a scratch ticket and insisted that they scratch them with American coins. They saw my passport in my bag and asked to see it, which I obliged. They really got a kick out of the fact that everything is also written in French. However amusing it was, it was also a bit sad. I realized that none of these people of varying ages and faculties had ever left France, or Beaune for that matter, and probably never would. That made my journey feel all the more important to me and I resolved to try to enjoy myself more in my surroundings.
Who is John Galt?
After that he took me south of Beaune to a little village called La Rochepot where we had a delictable lunch (I had Boeufe Bourgignon) with a bottle of Santenay 1er Cru. Following lunch we wizzed up to the chateau and had a brief tour. We climbed to the top of the tower and I wanted to cry a little bit because the view of Burgundy was so beautiful. I felt kind of weird because there are quite a few people I would rather have shared that experience with. On the other hand, I never would have been there without the help of my trusty new companion. The more you know, the more you realize that you don't know anything.
We departed from the chateau and stopped off at Xavier's house where he bestowed two gifts upon me- a bottle of Creme de Cassis and a bottle of 1984 Corton Rouge. He really wanted to give me a bottle from the year I was born (which he indicated by saying 'La maman' and holding his hands in front of his belly as if he were pregnant) but apparently it was one of his favorite vintages and he drank it all. We grabbed a bottle of 1993 Corton Rouge and headed back to Beaune. I was desperate for a degustation so we ambled into the caves and tasted a million bottles of wine for 10euro. I win!
We viewed the Hospice de Beaune after that... followed by a little Corton Rouge. I insisted that we have a drink at the pub where we met and it was actually quite fun. All of the old guys there were transfixed by the sight of a young American woman so I played the part as much as possible. I may or may not have been loud, slightly obnoxious, and terribly witty. I bought them each a scratch ticket and insisted that they scratch them with American coins. They saw my passport in my bag and asked to see it, which I obliged. They really got a kick out of the fact that everything is also written in French. However amusing it was, it was also a bit sad. I realized that none of these people of varying ages and faculties had ever left France, or Beaune for that matter, and probably never would. That made my journey feel all the more important to me and I resolved to try to enjoy myself more in my surroundings.
Who is John Galt?
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Dimanche
Sundays in France are not awesome when you don't have a kitchen to cook in, a couch to lay on, or friends to have fun with. Sundays in France would be awesome if you work too much, have a lot of friends, or a great outcropping of family. Nothing is open. Everyone is home. The streets radiate with an almost eerie silence. So I wandered around aimlessly until some things opened around 2pm. I think I may see a movie after this. Last night was kind of crappy because I had to wait almost an hour for my bus, check into a new room, only to be woken up at 6am when one of the girls got home. Apparently her friend drank way too much and ended up in the hospital. I gathered all of this because she proceeded to very indiscreetly tell her other friend the entire story. Not cool. So I tried to very loudly toss around in my bed. Very loudly get up to pee. Very loudly sigh... they still didn't get the point. Finally, when the first waves of sleep returned to me, someone's phone rang. So much for having a restful night.
In lighter and more exciting news, tomorrow I am going to Beaune in the morning to meet a man whose very French name I forget. He is going to take me around to some vineyards and host a degustation (tasting). We can barely communicate with each other which is kind of cool, kind of frustrating. It forces me to speak French and to say 'je ne sais pas' all the time. The day after that, Tuesday, I am leaving for Lyon and hoping for better weather. I can't wait to go south and hopefully fit in a brief jaunt to Spain. If I do, I will officially see four countries during my travels- France, Spain, Switzerland, and a layover in Germany but I'm counting it anyway.
I've been hording some of my euro on the days that I am under budget so that I can get a haircut when I am in Lyon... I think it would be fun to have a Frenchie hairdo... And I also haven't cut my hair since March so it's about time. Lyon may be a bit of a struggle in terms of budget because it is unofficially the gastronomical capital of France. There may have to be a couple of luxurious dinners.
I also want to add, however irrelevently, that I hate this cybercafe place. It is way too expensive and the people are mean. I also think that the bitchy lady keeps shutting my time off early just so I have to pay another euro for 15 minutes of time to send the emails I wrote. Sometimes being really nice to people does not mean that they will be really nice back. Her loss, I suppose.
In lighter and more exciting news, tomorrow I am going to Beaune in the morning to meet a man whose very French name I forget. He is going to take me around to some vineyards and host a degustation (tasting). We can barely communicate with each other which is kind of cool, kind of frustrating. It forces me to speak French and to say 'je ne sais pas' all the time. The day after that, Tuesday, I am leaving for Lyon and hoping for better weather. I can't wait to go south and hopefully fit in a brief jaunt to Spain. If I do, I will officially see four countries during my travels- France, Spain, Switzerland, and a layover in Germany but I'm counting it anyway.
I've been hording some of my euro on the days that I am under budget so that I can get a haircut when I am in Lyon... I think it would be fun to have a Frenchie hairdo... And I also haven't cut my hair since March so it's about time. Lyon may be a bit of a struggle in terms of budget because it is unofficially the gastronomical capital of France. There may have to be a couple of luxurious dinners.
I also want to add, however irrelevently, that I hate this cybercafe place. It is way too expensive and the people are mean. I also think that the bitchy lady keeps shutting my time off early just so I have to pay another euro for 15 minutes of time to send the emails I wrote. Sometimes being really nice to people does not mean that they will be really nice back. Her loss, I suppose.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
How to Feel Beautiful
-take a train to some town you've never heard of
-view the scenery from your window
-upon seeing something unexpetedly majestic, close your eyes
-open your eyes
-look at your reflection in the window
you are beautiful.
-view the scenery from your window
-upon seeing something unexpetedly majestic, close your eyes
-open your eyes
-look at your reflection in the window
you are beautiful.
Straight from the Journal (ver batem)
Yesterday
I rented a bike at the tourism office at 9:45 and I was on my way to the Route de Grand Cru by 10:15. At first the ride was quite arduous but once I got into a rhythm it was fine. I think I worked off every croissant that I have ever had. The ride home should take care of all future ones. Anyway, I made my way south through Marsannay, Chambolle-Musigny, Gevrey-Chambertin, Vougeot, Vosne-Romanee, and finally to Nuits-St-Georges... the land of my dreams.
I made a couple of pit stops to explore around and take pictures. I stopped in Vougeot to see Clos Vougeot and inquire about a tour of the caves but they had scheduled a private tour. Boo. All was well, though, because I was really trying to save myself for Nuits-St-Georges. Good thing I didn't drink anything because as soon as I departed from Vosne-Romanee, I came upon the steepest hill I have ever seen in my life. Now, mind you, I've just ridden 20 km; my legs are like jelly; I'm hungry. By some miracle of God, I made it up the hill and arrived safely in Nuits-St-Georges. Once again, the caves were closed because of fermentation. Kind of a bummer... but what can you do?
So I'm dining alone at Cafe Paris and I get the prixe fixe menu mainly because the appetizer was six escargot, plus plat, plus fromage for only 15euro (usually escargot is 1 euro per snail). Well, I didn't realize that, in France, escargot actually comes in the shell. When they set down these crazy looking instruments at my table, my heart sank. I was destined to make a fool out of myself. Once the escargot arrived I could smell the garlicky, buttery goodness and I resolved to just go for it. All was well. It was a little bit of work for a great reward... until the last snail. It was huge and did not want to be dislodged from its home... I worked at it and finally got it out. I was so pleased with myself until I realized-it wasn't dead and it suctioned cupped itself onto the inside of my cheek!!!! I looked about in complete horror... just kidding. That last part totally didn't happen. HeHe. The escargot were sublime. My main dish, on the other hand, not sublime. Note to self: look up andouillette when I get home. I'm pretty sure it is intestines or rectum or something... it tasted like poop.
Later:
Today I tested my limits once again. The ride back on the Route de Grand Cru was excruciating. My legs were burning; my bum was killing me; and I was exhausted overall. Every time I approached a hill I questioned how I would get to the top. Where would I find the strength? Where would I find the determination? And yet, somehow, I did. I knew in the back of my mind I had to make it, I had no choice. There is only forward. There is no backward. I can feel myself getting stronger every day. This trip has been the best gift I have ever given myself. I can do anything I want. All I have to do is try.
I rented a bike at the tourism office at 9:45 and I was on my way to the Route de Grand Cru by 10:15. At first the ride was quite arduous but once I got into a rhythm it was fine. I think I worked off every croissant that I have ever had. The ride home should take care of all future ones. Anyway, I made my way south through Marsannay, Chambolle-Musigny, Gevrey-Chambertin, Vougeot, Vosne-Romanee, and finally to Nuits-St-Georges... the land of my dreams.
I made a couple of pit stops to explore around and take pictures. I stopped in Vougeot to see Clos Vougeot and inquire about a tour of the caves but they had scheduled a private tour. Boo. All was well, though, because I was really trying to save myself for Nuits-St-Georges. Good thing I didn't drink anything because as soon as I departed from Vosne-Romanee, I came upon the steepest hill I have ever seen in my life. Now, mind you, I've just ridden 20 km; my legs are like jelly; I'm hungry. By some miracle of God, I made it up the hill and arrived safely in Nuits-St-Georges. Once again, the caves were closed because of fermentation. Kind of a bummer... but what can you do?
So I'm dining alone at Cafe Paris and I get the prixe fixe menu mainly because the appetizer was six escargot, plus plat, plus fromage for only 15euro (usually escargot is 1 euro per snail). Well, I didn't realize that, in France, escargot actually comes in the shell. When they set down these crazy looking instruments at my table, my heart sank. I was destined to make a fool out of myself. Once the escargot arrived I could smell the garlicky, buttery goodness and I resolved to just go for it. All was well. It was a little bit of work for a great reward... until the last snail. It was huge and did not want to be dislodged from its home... I worked at it and finally got it out. I was so pleased with myself until I realized-it wasn't dead and it suctioned cupped itself onto the inside of my cheek!!!! I looked about in complete horror... just kidding. That last part totally didn't happen. HeHe. The escargot were sublime. My main dish, on the other hand, not sublime. Note to self: look up andouillette when I get home. I'm pretty sure it is intestines or rectum or something... it tasted like poop.
Later:
Today I tested my limits once again. The ride back on the Route de Grand Cru was excruciating. My legs were burning; my bum was killing me; and I was exhausted overall. Every time I approached a hill I questioned how I would get to the top. Where would I find the strength? Where would I find the determination? And yet, somehow, I did. I knew in the back of my mind I had to make it, I had no choice. There is only forward. There is no backward. I can feel myself getting stronger every day. This trip has been the best gift I have ever given myself. I can do anything I want. All I have to do is try.
How to meet French people
-Go to a dive bar/pub (yes, they do exist in France)
-Pull out a book written in English (I guess I'm becoming 'Book Girl' all over again... why am I such a nerd?)
-Read
-Get approached by someone you are pretty sure is creepy
-Speak to them in broken French/occassionally English
-Let them offer you some service that is valuable to you because they think you are charming
-Follow through with said engagement
-Life is beautiful
-Pull out a book written in English (I guess I'm becoming 'Book Girl' all over again... why am I such a nerd?)
-Read
-Get approached by someone you are pretty sure is creepy
-Speak to them in broken French/occassionally English
-Let them offer you some service that is valuable to you because they think you are charming
-Follow through with said engagement
-Life is beautiful
Friday, October 9, 2009
How to be Really French
(post dated)
If you want to be really French here are some pointers:
acquire a scarf... billow it around your neck
wear too much cologne/perfume... whatever the case may be
get a dog... let it poop everywhere and/or run around off the leash sniffing people's crotches
pretend you don't speak english, even if you do
get an avant garde hair cut... dye hair some unnatural color
smoke incessantly
talk too loudly... especially when intoxicated
have four hour dinners
kiss everyone twice on each cheek, even if you just met them at the bus stop (thank you again guillame)
don't hold the door for people
don't pay your bus fare
give american girls the wrong directions (thank you again old man at bar)
and I'm sure the list will go on.
Anyway, I didn't rent un velo (a bike) yesterday because the weather was crappy... so I am going to try today. The weather doesn't look too much better today but I can't just sit around waiting for sunshine and butterflies. Last night was absolutely superb. I met up with an American (Suzi) and her husband (Cedric) and we went to a wine bar and then had some authentic Burgundian food (absolutely fantastic). I am meeting them again tonight to dine at their friend's house which should be a great experience for learning more about the true French way of life. Suzi and Bakala (Cedric's nickname) are splendid and I could not ask for a better experience!!!! Okay, I hope the tourism office is open now... another way to be really French - be late for appointments/open at whatever time you please
If you want to be really French here are some pointers:
acquire a scarf... billow it around your neck
wear too much cologne/perfume... whatever the case may be
get a dog... let it poop everywhere and/or run around off the leash sniffing people's crotches
pretend you don't speak english, even if you do
get an avant garde hair cut... dye hair some unnatural color
smoke incessantly
talk too loudly... especially when intoxicated
have four hour dinners
kiss everyone twice on each cheek, even if you just met them at the bus stop (thank you again guillame)
don't hold the door for people
don't pay your bus fare
give american girls the wrong directions (thank you again old man at bar)
and I'm sure the list will go on.
Anyway, I didn't rent un velo (a bike) yesterday because the weather was crappy... so I am going to try today. The weather doesn't look too much better today but I can't just sit around waiting for sunshine and butterflies. Last night was absolutely superb. I met up with an American (Suzi) and her husband (Cedric) and we went to a wine bar and then had some authentic Burgundian food (absolutely fantastic). I am meeting them again tonight to dine at their friend's house which should be a great experience for learning more about the true French way of life. Suzi and Bakala (Cedric's nickname) are splendid and I could not ask for a better experience!!!! Okay, I hope the tourism office is open now... another way to be really French - be late for appointments/open at whatever time you please
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Dijon!!
I arrived in Dijon yesterday and slept all afternoon and into the morning. It was necessary. Today I intend on renting a bicycle and touring some of the towns of Bourgogne. I already like this place much more than Reims. I don't have much time but I wanted to update for the sake of updating!!
Bisous,
corkdork
Bisous,
corkdork
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
An American in Paris
I'm backtracking a bit because I never had the opportunity to tell you all about the best time I've had since I arrived.
Saturday night was Nuit Blanche (white night) in Paris. Essentially it was a lovely excuse for drinking and merriment and art exhibitions. I ventured out with two Americans that I met at the hostel (James, 29, law student at Sorbonne; Spencer, 21, hopeful entrepreneur). We went to the supermarché and bought some wine and some plastic cups and headed into the heart of the city. Upon ascending from the Metro station, we were greeted with the lights, sounds, and smells of a grand party. We walked down to the banks of the river Seine and set up shop across from the Notre Dame. It was spectacular. I won't even attempt to describe the beauty of the cathedral lit up at night because it would all be in vain. We sat, drank, and shared our lives with each other. Although it was very nice to be there with my new friends, the intimacy and beauty of the scene probed me to miss some of family and friends... I wished I could be sharing this with all of you!
Almost immediately upon finishing our first bottle of wine, a Haitian band crossed the bridge followed by a great parade of people. Of course we jumped to our feet and followed. We meandered through the city dancing all about and forgetting all of our inhibitions. It was lovely. Afterward, we viewed an art exhibition and found our way back to the river to finish our wine and, in true French fashion, get into a very heated conversation about nuclear weapons, mutually assured destruction, and the meaning of life. At some point I couldn't feel my feet or hands anymore and didn't really want to continue to discuss my un-existentialism, so we set back for the hostel. I may or may not have peed outside; I can neither confirm nor deny. (Everyone else was doing it! When in France...)
Anyway, I went back and climbed the 100 steps to my room (no joke) and went to sleep. As for the boys... that's another story for another day...
corkdork
Saturday night was Nuit Blanche (white night) in Paris. Essentially it was a lovely excuse for drinking and merriment and art exhibitions. I ventured out with two Americans that I met at the hostel (James, 29, law student at Sorbonne; Spencer, 21, hopeful entrepreneur). We went to the supermarché and bought some wine and some plastic cups and headed into the heart of the city. Upon ascending from the Metro station, we were greeted with the lights, sounds, and smells of a grand party. We walked down to the banks of the river Seine and set up shop across from the Notre Dame. It was spectacular. I won't even attempt to describe the beauty of the cathedral lit up at night because it would all be in vain. We sat, drank, and shared our lives with each other. Although it was very nice to be there with my new friends, the intimacy and beauty of the scene probed me to miss some of family and friends... I wished I could be sharing this with all of you!
Almost immediately upon finishing our first bottle of wine, a Haitian band crossed the bridge followed by a great parade of people. Of course we jumped to our feet and followed. We meandered through the city dancing all about and forgetting all of our inhibitions. It was lovely. Afterward, we viewed an art exhibition and found our way back to the river to finish our wine and, in true French fashion, get into a very heated conversation about nuclear weapons, mutually assured destruction, and the meaning of life. At some point I couldn't feel my feet or hands anymore and didn't really want to continue to discuss my un-existentialism, so we set back for the hostel. I may or may not have peed outside; I can neither confirm nor deny. (Everyone else was doing it! When in France...)
Anyway, I went back and climbed the 100 steps to my room (no joke) and went to sleep. As for the boys... that's another story for another day...
corkdork
Monday, October 5, 2009
Picture This
I'm standing in the pouring rain, more than two hours after my arrival in Reims, soaked through and through, distressed because the car rental agency did not reserve an automatic for me, causing me to relearn how to drive stick in a chronically traffic ridden city in which I am unfamiliar, and a car goes straight through a puddle sending a wave of dirty water all over me. I wanted to cry, but I didn't. I also wanted to cry when I stalled out about eight million times in the middle of an intersection. I also wanted to cry when it took me over two hours to find my hostel. I can't wait for next week so I can look back on this and laugh. I'm certainly not laughing now.
Clearly today has been stressful. I ditched the car in a parking lot somewhere and decided no more driving for me today. I don't have any appointments (holy Mary, mother of God, the Lord is with thee) so I figure the best way to experience Champagne is to drink it. I just arrived downtown and found an internet cafe effortlessly. I have resolved to see the cathedral Notre Dame where all of the coronations took place even though it is raining kitties and puppies and walnuts. After that I intend on stopping in some wine shops to see what they have and perhaps dinner at one of the brasserie... or maybe just another dinner of baguette from the boulangerie. I know that's gross but I can't help it.
One additional note - French keyboards are very strange so if there any type-o's, use your imaginqtion.
Okay, adventuring to do!
corqdorq
Clearly today has been stressful. I ditched the car in a parking lot somewhere and decided no more driving for me today. I don't have any appointments (holy Mary, mother of God, the Lord is with thee) so I figure the best way to experience Champagne is to drink it. I just arrived downtown and found an internet cafe effortlessly. I have resolved to see the cathedral Notre Dame where all of the coronations took place even though it is raining kitties and puppies and walnuts. After that I intend on stopping in some wine shops to see what they have and perhaps dinner at one of the brasserie... or maybe just another dinner of baguette from the boulangerie. I know that's gross but I can't help it.
One additional note - French keyboards are very strange so if there any type-o's, use your imaginqtion.
Okay, adventuring to do!
corqdorq
Friday, October 2, 2009
What I Learned in France Today
2/10/2009
Well, first of all, I learned that you can meet some really kick ass people in some unlikely places. I had an amazing seat on the the plane from D.C. to Paris. First row behind first class with ample leg room and easy access to the bathroom. My neighbors were Parisians, and very kind at that. We worked on some of the French phrases I would need, how to get around on the Metro, how to take the RER from Charles de Gaulle to Gobelins (where I'm staying)... don't tell my Dad that I didn't take a cab from the airport, please.
I also learned that I don't speak French. Let me qualify that, I do speak some French. I don't understand French. At all. To the point that when I asked my waiter 'Combien ca coute le bus?' he launched into a three minute dissertation about how to buy a bus ticket. He then saw the extremely puzzled look on my face and proceeded to give me a bus ticket. He just gave it to me.
Which brings me to my next point, everyone in Paris is very kind. They are welcome to travelers and people ATTEMPTING to communicate. There hasn't been any negative energy thrown my way. I would like to keep it that way.
I can't use the computer at the hostel (which is called Oops! by the way) much longer but I am a little sad because I miss all my friends and my family. But everything is okay. I might try to take make a couple 1 minute phone calls tomorrow.
Bisous,
corkdork
Well, first of all, I learned that you can meet some really kick ass people in some unlikely places. I had an amazing seat on the the plane from D.C. to Paris. First row behind first class with ample leg room and easy access to the bathroom. My neighbors were Parisians, and very kind at that. We worked on some of the French phrases I would need, how to get around on the Metro, how to take the RER from Charles de Gaulle to Gobelins (where I'm staying)... don't tell my Dad that I didn't take a cab from the airport, please.
I also learned that I don't speak French. Let me qualify that, I do speak some French. I don't understand French. At all. To the point that when I asked my waiter 'Combien ca coute le bus?' he launched into a three minute dissertation about how to buy a bus ticket. He then saw the extremely puzzled look on my face and proceeded to give me a bus ticket. He just gave it to me.
Which brings me to my next point, everyone in Paris is very kind. They are welcome to travelers and people ATTEMPTING to communicate. There hasn't been any negative energy thrown my way. I would like to keep it that way.
I can't use the computer at the hostel (which is called Oops! by the way) much longer but I am a little sad because I miss all my friends and my family. But everything is okay. I might try to take make a couple 1 minute phone calls tomorrow.
Bisous,
corkdork
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