French+German=Good

French+German=good... even when it transpires in the way of the past two days.

At the last minute, I had decided to take a trip to wherever was relatively cheap to get out of Paris for a while.  I refused to stay in Paris for at 3 day weekend.  And so, I booked a ticket for an early train (Saturday) to Strasbourg in Alsace, and departing to return on Monday night at about 10 pm.  Somewhere in there, I had the impression that there was plenty to do in Strasbourg to fill a three day trip... This is true if you A) have a car, and/or B) go on a weekend that isn't EASTER.  Still, I felt that wandering around might take 3 days. 

My train was to depart at 7am at Gare de L'Est, about 20 minutes away from my house on the metro.  I set my alarm for 5am, and ended up going to bed at 2am in desperate attempts to finish homework and pack without forgetting anything.  When I finally crawled into bed, there was a pinging/banging in the wall and I could not sleep.  Somewhere around 6:35 I awoke in a panic to realize that I had mistook my alarm clock for the pinging in the wall and turned it off. I jumped out of bed and bolted to the metro, making it to the train station as my train was pulling out.  I managed to get a ticket for the next train 2 hours later by paying 25 extra euros... not too awful, but definitely annoying. 

I attempted to read the paper and do homework on the train when I finally boarded, but alas was exhausted from the crazy start of the morning that I passed out instead.  Upon my arrival in Strasbourg, the weather was gorgeous and quite warm--I was overdressed and desperately wanted to find my hotel.  I wandered around with some guidance from my Guide Michellin and stumbled upon a used book market where I bought the most captivating perfume adds from the 1950s. Just gorgeous. 

It was fun, until I realized that I was quite toasty and recommenced my search for my hotel.  After wandering around lost for what seemed like forever (difficult, I know, considering how small Strasbourg actually is), I asked the tourism office and was pointed in the right direction. It turned out to be 2 blocks from the book market!  I arrived to find the cleaning lady, but no receptionist---she was off taking a 3 hour lunch break; and thus I wandered around for another 1/2 hour.

My room was tiny and adorable with a pretty nifty view of some charming rooftops, and suited me just fine for a 2 night stay.  Originally, the booking agency had stated it as a "double" and I had invited someone else along to split the cost. Thank god it did not work out, because there was no way we both would have fit in that bed. 

I spent the rest of the day exploring the small town of Strasbourg and realized that mo

st everything would be closed on Sunday and Monday for Easter, and tried to decide what to do with the rest of the day that things were open.  I decided on drinking a beer, and when the cafe filled up, I was joined by three young gentlemen who really just wanted a place to sit.  Sort of creepy? Maybe, unless you know that the french don't really care much about you.  After a while, we began to talk and I learned that they are students studying in Strasbourg from

 Morocco---excellent for me because I am interested in going to Morocco---good resource to tap for info.  We talked at length about the US, politics, Strasbourg, and eventually they mentioned that Germany was only a 1/2 hour walk away! WHAT?! It gets better---"Would you like a ride? We can take my car!" said one guy.  Um, I'm thinking.... no. My mom and host mom, and Prof. Brault are all screaming at me in my projections of the future.... No, that's ok, thanks. I'll walk. 

But alas, it was 6pm and things were closing, and my camera batteries were dead. What was I going to do for the next two days without batteries if all I could do was photograph architecture? Nothing, so I frantically tried to find a store still open that wouldn't charge me an arm and a leg for batteries.  I stumbled upon a little epicerie (like a 7/11) and its handsome

 employee... "Ive got batteries like that!" Thats not all you have, handsome....  We chatted for a bit and I awkwardly left (this comes into play later).  

I passed the rest of the evening photographing Strasbourg, including my meal... very touristy, I know... and passed out from exhaustion.

The next day, I awoke for mass at Notre Dame de Strasbourg (gorgeous pink limestone gothic cathedral) and scarfed down my bread, jam, and coffee, to run to church in attempts to beat the rest of the tourists.  The place was nearly empty. No one else had bothered to get up for the 9:30  mass and it filled closer to 9:30 with locals.  The mass was beautiful: 2 organs, a huge choir, soloists, and an orchestra (for lack of a better term) of string instruments (from what I could see).  

After mass, I began my walk to Germany only to remember that there was a showing of the astronomical clock at the Cathedral at noon. It was 11:45.  And yet again, I found myself running.  I made it there, huffing and puffing, to discover mass still going on from 11am and that they were not going to let us in to see the clock until 12:30. Then the waiting game.

The clock is quite fascinating because it is housed beside the altar in an adjoining  room all to itself.  It is a intricately detailed mix of religion and science illustrating both the plac

ement of the earth to the sun and Jesus with his disciples.  At noon the petit figurines of the disciples parade in front of Christ, and at the strike of each hour, a depiction of each stage of life passes in front of death (a skeleton).  Pretty and neat, and pretty neat.  I managed to bolt to the clock and be one of the lucky few to catch the end of the disciples' parade since they let us in so late.

Realizing that I had little to do in Strasbourg and much to do at home, I went to the train station to try and change my ticket for an earlie

r time.  No such luck, but there was a ticket for that night for 30 euros.  I had not yet paid the receptionist and she had left for the day when I returned to the hotel. "Merde!" Translation: "Shit!" The cleaning lady is the true hero of this story because I ended up leaving the money with her with a note after calling the emergency number and explaining that I needed to leave early.  For all of this chaos, I made out like a bandit. The hotel was supposed to be 40 euros a night and I was charged 35 all together including breakfast because of the room I was given. I guess she let me get away with leaving early and just didn't charge me for the second night I was supposed to stay... 

 With a sigh of relief, and in determination to not spend my entire visit at the cathedral, I commenced my walk to Germany and finally found the correct path after asking 3 different people.  It took 1 hour and I stopped just across the border to eat at a perfectly hilarious

 "cantina." This joint was a bit bourgeois in its decoration but its menu was mexican inspired with english adjectives/titles for food, and

 descriptions in german.  My waitress spoke neither french, nor english, and I was handed of to an english speaking waiter who was new and kept dropping everything.  I drank my first beer in germany with my mexican inspired soup, and turned around to go back home.  I would have spent more time wandering, but being alone, in a country where I don't speak the language, and did not have a map, I figured that I should head back and not miss the train again.

My adventures continued rather subdued when I walked by the place that I'd bought the batteries in one last attempt to flirt with the cute frenchie, and made a bit of an ass of myself. Oh well, I will never see him again.  I waited for the train, and the platform number was not posted until 15 minutes to departure... and I yet again made an ass of my

self asking where I needed to go. Usually I am good at that--I spent all weekend practicing--but my brain had shut off at that point.  I made it into Paris 20 minutes before the metro stopped running and jogged my way to the platform to catch the last metro home.

In truth, I got plenty of exercise to burn off the cookies and spetzels I ate.

Sinclair and Baudelaire

Leaving for Strasbourg in Alsace in 6 hours... still have to pack (and by that, I mean throw stuff in my backpack).  The massive amount of homework that is being pelted at this study abroad group is disheartening and I have to constantly remind myself that it is indeed the reason I came on this trip.  I did not come to be a tourist--as did few chosen members of the group--I came to conquer the french language and nuances of culture.  I have to say, it is rather difficult--not that I thought it would be easy--it's just that the french are remarkably private and not open to foreigners.  

This comment does not refer to my host family in the slightest who have treated me as though I have been here for months...  My host mom, as I have stated previously, is PHENOMENAL!!! Today, before leaving for a quick vacation, she gave me a beautiful bag of Easter chocolates! Not to mention the other day when she arrived at home around 5 (our tea time break) and mentioned that she had a surprise.  The woman had gone to a patisserie and picked up these tantalizing apple crisp/tarte/somethings for us to have with tea... just us two.  I discovered that afternoon, after chatting about heaven-only-knows what interesting topic, that  when I have run out of time in my day, it is because I have been talking with her for the last 2 hours.  Not a problem I am disappointed to have.  Quite the opposite. We end the conversation and I go back to my room to do homework and wonder, "what just happened? what on e

arth did we talk about for 2 hours??" Somehow there is a twilight zone where our conversations are lost in translation in my brain's memory bank and don't quite make it to the long term department.  

On a completely different note, today I found the bookstore "Shakespeare and Co" across from Notre Dame.  This charming find is surrounded by tourist stands, little old men selling antique magazines from carts, antique bookstores, and don't forget the cafés! I bought a 1945 copy of Sinclair for 10 euros and a modern copy of Baudelaire's comments on the different effects of hasheesh and wine on the artist. Just thought that everyone in my immediate group back home would appreciate it (Owen, Anna, Kristin, Kelly).  I do not credit myself with finding this hotspot, knowing full-well that it is now a bit of a tourist joint (thank you Sex and the City), but do feel privileged to have experienced its quaintness. 

As for Baudelaire, I love his work for its fluidity and imagery, but I have to say, it is by no means the most uplifting thing to be reading in Spring in Paris.  Quite depressing really, but nonetheless, very powerful and impressive.

As for class and massive amounts of work, scheduling goes like this:

Mon 9-12 language

Lunch

some afternoon excursion/class

5p/6p Tea

9:30p dinner

10:30-12 homework

Tues 9-12 language

Lunch

2:30-6 Culture (City and Text) in english

6p tea/homework

9:30 dinner

etc

Wed no AM class (errands/homework/exploring)

Lunch

2p-4p Civilization in french

6p

9:30 dinner

homework etc

Thurs 9-12 language

lunch

1:20/2-6p ART in english at a museum (ex Louvre, D'Orsay, etc)

7p tea

9:30 dinner

homework

Friday no AM language

lunch

1:30/2-6 ART in english (see above)

Dinner etc

IF NO FRIDAY ART CLASS--LEAVE FOR LONG WEEKEND TRIP

Weekends free except for planned excursions and necessary last minute visits to museums and the like.

L'architecture incroyable

This past week has been packed full of 

architectural discoveries, and I have

found my two new favorite buildings in all of Paris. 

I am sure they will be replaced shortly, but for now, they have my favor. 

 They are St. Etienne-du-Mont Church and the wonderfully famous Panthéon.  Absolutely breathtaking and just next door to each other.  They are perfectly located in the Quartier Latin full of cafés bustling with local students, and restaurants of every type of food you can imagine.  Cobblestone streets wind you through a maze of boutiquey storefronts  

and wine stores with

 their overabundant merchandise spilling out onto the street by the basket full.  I bought a bottle of wine for less than 3 euros, and while it turned out to not be the best wine by

 any stretch of the imagination, it was damn good for under 3 euros.  Perfect way to catch your breath from

 viewing the glories that are the Panthéon and St. Etienne-du-Mont.  

(above: St. Etienne-du-Mont;

 below: Le Panthéon)

The glorious interior of the Pantheon shines with contradiction and an odd juxtaposition of symbols: the lives of France's patron saints decorate the walls in monumental frescos, statues of figures of the Revolution charge proudly into the fight from the center of the room, and France's greatest philosophers are buried in its crypt.Our group gathered for the view... spectacular.

Notre Dame de Paris is in the forefront with Sacre Coeur standing proudly in the distance.

*Sigh* L'amour...

So one thing that perturbs me about Paris is the amount of lovin' going on in the streets.  I am not one for public displays of affection in the US, but I can sometimes appreciate the connection between two people that do not want to hide the way they feel... That being said, this is out of control.  People young and old, mostly young, simply make-out everywhere at every hour of the day.  Park benches, cafés, waiting to cross the street.... I mean, REALLY PEOPLE! Unnecessary.  I can say, however, that such a nuisance is easily remedied by the fact that drinking openly in public is allowed, and one can carry an open bottle of wine through the streets, taking periodic swigs and no one will even look at you twice.   

NICE!!! TEACHING APPLICATION ACCEPTED

Dreams coming true before my very eyes..... I JUST RECEIVED MY ACCEPTANCE LETTER FOR TEACHING IN FRANCE!!!!!!!! I will be a teaching assistant in Nice, France, and yes, I said NICE, for the 2009-10 school year. I do not know yet what grade(s) or how many schools, but it is teaching english to french students.  The age groups range from 1-12th grades (their system is a bit different), and neighborhoods vary, i.e. I may not be in the heart of Nice, but in the suburbs.  I simply cannot believe it, getting a dream job in a dream city while reading the email in another dream city....  juste incroyable.  Je ne peux pas le comprendre ou le croire...  

Voici le site web:  http://www.ac-nice.fr/  

les escaliers de la butte

            

To quote one of my favorite french songs..."The stairways up to la butte can make the wretched sigh/While windmill wings of the moulin shelter you and I."  Montemarte is quite the wonder.  I explored first the beauties of Sacre Coeur, which I found more modern than I remember studying, but beautiful nonetheless.  The mosaic above the alter was just breath-taking and the light pouring in from the dome above fought for my attention from the glittering masterpiece.  I then traversed down into the lovely tourist-engulfed area next to the basilica where all the artists congregate to sell their work to tourists with money burning holes in their pockets.  It was suffocating, really, with every artist you pass asking to draw your portrait.  

I found some solace in the nearby views of Paris---charming tile roof tops and clay chimneys, and lost myself in the winding cobblestone streets.  Literally, I was lost all day. The best part about it was that for once, I had nowhere to be and nothing to do.  Ok, by nothing I mean that Balzac was screaming through my backpack that I was still only on page 70 instead of 200, but why would I want to torture myself with 19th century depressing and longwinded Parisian literature when I could much more easily and enjoyable adventure through the sacre coeur of Paris itself?

Random: I came upon the most interesting and rather inspiring graffiti in a random stairway traversing down the hill.  I feel like such art as graffiti is just as interesting and just as worthy of attention as the beauty of a basilica or the colors on a canvas in a square of artists.  It is almost more telling of the culture, at least the youth of the culture, than anything else, because it is not contrived for tourists, but rather as an expression of needs, dreams, and desires.... or just artistic expression---très cool.  

 

Alas, I played tourist and wandered into a boulangerie where I was snarked at by the owner for not making up my mind quickly enough and then not having exact change... c'est la vie. Still hungry, of course, I made my way to a creperie where I was the sole customer, and proceeded to partake of the best part of french culture---the food.  Cidre de Normandie est incroyable and if I can bring some home, I most certainly will. 

An hour and a half later, after I felt that I had sufficiently stuffed myself and had taken my time ( in the true sense of french dining habits), I made my way down the hill to where I was told I could find fabric stores.  I was informed back home in the US that they were primarily located at the base of Montmartre, but the enormity of the collection of shops was never discussed.  These stores wind on and on, street by street, with their bolts of fabric spilling out onto the sidewalk calling you in with signs reading "Promotions!!!" (sales).  And I mean, who can resist a sale sign, especially in Paris? Not me.  As this whole section of town directly ties to my independent study for The Theatre School, I made a point to take business cards and addresses, and make notes of the establishments' selections.  Of course everyone that passed me with my little book in hand on the side of the street, not so discreetly scribbling down numbers, looked at me with suspicion and a look that read, "ça, c'est bizarre."  I found some good stuff, as they say, and with a splitting headache, ran out of time for it all.  

I guess I'll just have to go back.... 

Un café au lait, s'il vous plaît

Ah, Paris and its million cafés.... I had my first parisian café experience two days ago at a typical and busy café on the corner of Blvd Montparnasse and Rue Brea.  It was not romantic by any stretch of the imagination, being situated on a bustling boulevard, but for the awkward and entertaining experience that it was, ça suffit.  I needed to read Balzac's Pere Goriot, and felt that it would be most appropriately read at a café.  Up until this point, I was under the impression that you just plop yourself down at any table and wait for service, order, and pay (no tip).  And that is just what I did.... but not before walking past the café a few times to make sure it was ok to order seulement un espresso (only an espresso).  In america it is engrained in us to wait to sit, or to be sure to order something sufficient if taking up a table, and of course, to tip.  So, I nervously sat down toute seule, and commenced to journal my recent experiences, anxiously awaiting the server to tell me to leave or something terrible.  But alas he did not. In fact, he did not come around to take my order for several minutes. Quel horreur for someone who worked in a restaurant where you have 2 minutes to greet your table.  I was not upset, just nervous that I had done something wrong.  I looked around for a sign that said something like "order here" or "wait to be seated" or any signal of people ordering before they sat down.  I must have looked so foolish, especially on such a busy boulevard with people passing to rush home from work.... 

Anyway, the server finally came, and I tried to calmly but quickly order "seulement un café au lait" because I felt that I would somehow be cheating him if I ordered something as cheap as an espresso (café au lait is more expensive by about 2 euros).  He brought it with the bill and left. I placed the money in this funny little dish with the bill without any tip (as I have been trained), and he picked it up.  That was the end of things. He did not give any indication that I was to leave when finished with the drink, so I stayed and attempted to journal and read.  

 

As the sun was beginning to set, an american couple from the east coast asked the woman next to me for directions.  I listened intently to the interaction and to the kind voice of the english-speaking parisian.  When they had finished, I felt compelled to tell her how nice it was that she was so kind to them.  Interrupting people in public places, except to ask for directions, in not something common in Paris because of the unsaid rule that everyone keeps to themselves.  In any case, I felt that if I were to talk to anyone, it would be this woman, who had so kindly spoken to a couple of very american tourists. I leaned over and said, "Excusez-moi madame, mais vous etes tres gentille!" "Excuse me, madame, but that was very kind!" And she responded in french, "Well really, it's no problem. Im from Paris, so I should be able to help out those who are lost." I told her that I was american and that it is difficult to find people who will respond kindly to those americans who don't speak french.  And immediately we struck up a conversation about the different cultures within the US, ie the differences between the people in NYC vs. Chicago vs. California and Texas... Her perception of these different regions was pretty spot on, and I was impressed.  

When we parted ways, I realized that Paris is not always the cultural and social bully that it presents itself to be.  Il faut chercher des interactions si on veut decouvrir la vraie culture.