La Neige!

It's snowing in Normandy! After a rather mild winter, the temperatures dropped pretty drastically last night, into the 20s, and this morning it warmed up enough to produce a good dusting of snow. It snowed pretty heavily all morning long, and it's still snowing now, but rather lightly.

Since I work in Tinchebray on Mondays, I was able to take some pictures of the medieval-looking town in the snow. It's not heavy enough, but it's still quite enchanting. We're supposed to get more overnight, so I've got my fingers crossed that maybe I won't have to work tomorrow! :)

Happy Monday!

A Toast to Wanderlust

One of the greatest pleasures of living in France is the ability, at any moment, and for a fairly reasonable price, to hop on a train and go FAR away. Being American, I'm not used to this, and the liberty that it offers never ceases to amaze me. Now don't get me wrong: I normally use a car in the States, and I can drive wherever I want to go. But it's not really affordable, it isn't as fast, and it just doesn't offer the excitement that a train journey does. When I was living in Atlanta, sometimes I would just get this overwhelming urge to get OUT of the city, with no easy, inexpensive way of doing so. In France, wanderlust is so much easier to satisfy.

A couple of weekends ago, I hopped on a train and took a journey across France - from the West, where I live, to the East, just near the German border - with a goal to ring in the New Year with my friend Rebekka.


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My destination, a five-hour car drive away from where I live, was the town of Reims, in the Champagne region of France. Dear Americans: this is where champagne REALLY comes from. And it's gooood. And, it won't give you a splitting, driving, pounding headache (does fake champagne do this to anyone else? Or is it just me?).

My personal goal while traveling is to look for inexpensive or, better yet, free attractions. This is why I'm always posting pictures of cathedrals. Reims was no exception: we definitely visited the cathedral, which is one of the most famous examples of high gothic architecture in France.

The interior looked quite different from any other cathedral I've seen: the inside wall at the entrance to the cathedral was covered with elaborate carvings done in wood.

In 1974, Russian artist Marc Chagall designed some of the windows for the cathedral, in his signature style.

We also happened upon the Musée Le Vergeur, and got in for a slick 3,50€ thanks to our student ID cards. This museum is housed in a huge, glorious old hôtel, which is a false cognate in English, meaning not hotel, but something along the lines of "enormous, grand home for the ridiculously wealthy aristocrat". It's the 18th-century French version of a McMansion. This place was pretty spectacular. The last owner of the home, a M. Kraft, never married, and left the entirety of the estate to the city of Reims after his death in the early 20th century. Judging by the collection of art, antiques, and exotic objects from his journeys to far-off places like Tajikistan, Mongolia, and Japan, he was quite an amazing fellow. There were antiques from every period of French royalty: from Louis XIII to Louis énième, and gigantic portraits covering three-quarters of a wall, of beautiful women dressed expensively and looking brilliant and smug. In the bathroom of one of the many rooms, there was an 18th-century bathtub, complete with a 19th-century urn (nearby) attached to some fancy copper pipework, that pumped hot water up from the kitchen downstairs. In a tiny parlor off the dining room, from which servants would bring hot dishes to the table, the walls were practically lined in royal invitations to dinners, parties, ceremonies... and just in case that wasn't enough to tempt you into a visit to the King's palace, each one included an elaborate and whimsical menu of exotic game and sweets, in anywhere from eight to fifteen courses, assuring that your RSVP wouldn't include any regrets. A roomful of Albrecht Durer woodcuts, a collection of antique dolls, a whole trove of jewelry from the far East, painted silks, and engravings of royal celebrations, such as the crowning of Napoleon in the Cathedral of Reims (proof that a whole entire neo-classical décor of stone columns, balconies, and arches was brought in and set up in the interior of the cathedral just for the occasion), added to the experience. This visit was worth every sou of that 3,50€.

In the evening, we headed to Compiègne, where we stayed at Rebekka's place, and then spent the next day in town (you can see Compiègne as well on the map above; it's just west of Reims). Compiègne boasts a large château where the Napoleons - both of them - spent holidays. I thoroughly enjoyed strolling about the immense and sprawling manicured grounds, which are now basically a public park, so gratuit.

We also visited another free attraction in Compiègne: you guessed it, another church, the local Elise St. Jacques.

Although it isn't a cathedral, it was beautiful nonetheless, with particularly unique stained glass windows depicting scenes from the royal history of France, and Joan of Arc's adventures in Compiègne.

No trip would be complete without tasting delicious food, especially in France; so Rebekka and I definitely partook of the local cuisines in both Reims and Compiègne. In Reims, we had lunch at Aux 3 Elus. I enjoyed a Suprême de poulet: roasted chicken in a cream sauce with morel mushrooms, served over a bed of pasta. In Compiègne, our café gourmands (and really, our whole meal at Le Saint Clair) were delicious, and the presentation was worthy of art, I thought:

For more photos of Reims and Compiègne, visit the album here:

Reims & Compiègne

*This post, and especially its title, is dedicated to my friend Rebekka, and would not have been possible without her having allowed me to borrow her camera, since I forgot my own. As a result, we were able to share pictures, and Rebekka has her own version of our trip over at WhimsicalWanderlust.

The Bonjour Ritual

As I sat waiting for my fitness class to begin last night, I consciously noticed, for the first time, a cultural phenomenon that in the States would come across as rather odd. I've experienced it plenty of times, but rather than reflect on what I was participating in, I've just silently obliged.

So let's call it the "Bonjour Ritual". The class before mine was letting out, so my class (all females) was seated on benches outside of the room. As each participant walked out, they said "bonsoir", and every person seated around me said "bonsoir" back to them. I must have said "bonsoir" at least a dozen times.

The silent "rule" goes something like this: Whenever you cross someone, you say bonjour, or bonsoir if it's evening. It doesn't matter if you know them or not; it's rude to remain silent. The one exception to this rule is in the street, because you obviously can't say hello to everyone.

Here's something I can't explain, though. Something strange happened when a man came out of the room. He didn't say "bonsoir", and no one said "bonsoir" back to him. I don't know why. I felt a little sorry for him; but perhaps he didn't know what he was missing: a chorus of bonsoirs , all in unison.


*Everybody Bonjours! is a cute little childrens book about France.

The French Collection

Over the months since I arrived here (and, let's be honest, for years), I've amassed a small "collection" of truly priceless video shorts having something to do with France, French stuff, or the French experience. For lack of a better way of organizing these, and mainly for lack of time, I'm posting them here. I intend to add to this list as necessary; add your own suggestions in the comments below. Enjoy!

How to Fake French (Thanks to Jenette)

Learn French in One Word (Thanks to Jeanne)

The Ab Fab France Episode, Part I

The Ab Fab France Episode, Part II

I Love French

Les Etats-Unis (Thanks to Rebekka)

Paris Lights

The weekend following the Bayeux / D-Day Beaches visit was my last weekend in France before heading back to the States for Christmas / New Year's break. In the weeks preceding, I was really excited to go home (and especially excited to eat a Chick-Fil-A sandwich; it's the little things, you know?), but I was equally anticipating my planned weekend in Paris with Marjo.

I arrived on Saturday afternoon, and we spent most of the day Christmas shopping and such. The Christmas lights in Paris were beautiful.

Later, we got dressed up and went out dancing with a few friends of hers. The bar that we went to was PACKED, and we waited about an hour to get a drink in a terribly dirty glass (we all watched the bartender take and rinse the glasses in a sink full of water, then use them again. Ick.); but besides this, we had a really awesome time.

I'd gotten wind (thanks to Rebekka) that the Eiffel Tower had installed an ice rink on its first floor, and had reserved tickets a week or so in advance, like the good tourist that I am. Marjo laughed when I told her I wanted to go - "You're gonna make me a tourist in my own city!" - but I think we would both agree that it was WELL worth it.

Now, don't get your hopes up for next Christmas: the ice rink was for children, if that. It was tiny, and since you'd be hard-pressed to get a Zamboni on the Eiffel Tower, the ice was far too worn down to be skateable. But I had chosen the timing perfectly, so that we had a 4:30 reservation on the Tower. By the time we got up, the sun was setting, and from each floor successively until the top, we enjoyed the most wonderful sunset on a clear, COLD evening.

If you're going to the Eiffel Tower, online reservations are the way to go: on this particular day, the very top was closed for all except those holding a reserved ticket to the summit. It was seriously freezing that day, so we were both dressed very warmly. I have learned to tie a scarf like a true Normande, so it didn't bother me much. :)

The higher up we went, the windier it got. By the time we reached the summit, night had fallen, and the light that shines out from the tower was making beautiful spotlight circles around Paris.

We were on the Tower when it started sparkling (the first five minutes of every hour), so we missed the spectacle. But we did get to see the beautiful structure glowing and lit up after we came down. Which of course necessitated yet another photo op...

(Jumping for joy in front of the Tower)

I'm so glad I don't have to say goodbye to this beautiful city just yet.

In Memoriam

Following our visit to Bayeux, Rebekka, Nicolas, and I headed off to the lovely Norman coast to see the D-Day beaches, and namely the American Cemetery at Omaha Beach. And here is where I explain to you why my blogging has been backed up for the last month. How do you write about a place such as this? No words, nothing I could say or recount, have seemed adequate to describe my visit to such a strange, beautiful, hollow place. I've started and stopped writing this post at least ten times, and each time, it has been because my words sounded cliché or empty of meaning. They sounded like the words of every memorial speech I've ever heard about the Invasion of Normandy. I've finally chosen to write here about what it feels like to be in this place, because it is a surreal, unforgettable space.

"Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one cannot stay silent." (History Beyond Trauma, Davoine & Gaudillière, 2004)

It is a humbling experience to stand and look out at the rows and rows of crosses, with the beautiful, calm beaches and water beyond, and to realize what happened there.

You almost want to photograph every name, just to mark the person's fate, and to memorialize the event in your own mind.

Walking around, there were many groups visiting the cemetery, but most were French: French schoolchildren learning about the history, or French families. I came across one dad talking to his son and daughter about the war. He was explaining (in French, of course) that "a great big country called the United States of America helped France..." as I walked by them.

Ever since I've been in France, I've met many people, all over Normandy, who have talked to me about the war. There are people in the town I live in who lived here when Flers was bombed, or whose grandparents lived through the war. Oddly, I feel like the French, more than Americans, seem to be more conscious of the war, because it happened on their own land, and because many of them are still alive today. Visiting the site really gave me a new understanding of this part of our mutual history, and made me appreciate the great sacrifice these men* made.

*It's important to note, and many Americans tend to forget (or, sadly, do not realize), that many countries participated in the Invasion of Normandy. Canada, the U.S., the U.K., and the Free French Forces made up the initial invasion; after that they were joined by Australia, Czechoslovakia, Greece, Poland, the Netherlands, New Zealand, and Norway.

Samedi in Bayeux

I'm extremely backed up with my posting, thanks to holidays and such. Before Christmas break, however, I had a couple of eventful weekends. I'm going to split these up into three separate posts, because otherwise there's just too much to record! I'll start off talking about Bayeux...

First off, I owe a great thanks to my friend Nicolas for having been so kind as to drive me and my friend Rebekka around upper Normandy for a full Saturday, when I'm sure there were many other things he probably would've liked to be doing, and certainly tourism in his own home town was at the bottom of his list. Nevertheless, we started in Bayeux, whose history dates back over a thousand years. Luckily, this town managed to escape the fate of many other Norman towns, and was not bombed during the war. There are many reasons to visit Bayeux, I discovered this weekend (an ancient cathedral; fantastic galettes at l'Insolite; great shopping...), but the main reason most people visit this town is to see the famous Tapisserie de Bayeux. Woven around 1070, at 230 feet long, this embroidered "tapestry" recounts the battles between the English and the Normans, and Guillaume le Conquérant's Norman conquest of England. It is truly impressive to see, as it seems to have held up quite well over the centuries. Centuries. Although it has about fifty panels, my favourite was the one where, after the long journey across the English channel in a viking ship, the horses are literally elated to see land, and go leaping, smiling, from the boats toward the land:

After the museum, we took a walk around Bayeux. The cathedral there was truly impressive; I must have taken a thousand pictures, but I'll just post a couple here:

However, what really struck me in Bayeux was a huge tree next to the cathedral.

Nico explained to us that this arbre de la liberté ("liberty tree") was planted after the Revolution, along with many others throughout France.

I was enchanted.

Strolling around the town, we really felt the history of Bayeux everywhere we went. Since many of the towns one visits in Normandy were destroyed during the war, it's especially rare and exciting to visit a place that has preserved its original buildings since medieval times. I'd really like to go back and see more of the town; but we had to move on, because there were other places we had to visit... namely, the D-Day beaches. To spend a little more time in Bayeux, see the album here:

Bayeux

Life is GOOD : Happy 2012

Bonne année 2012 / Happy New Year 2012!

I'm back in France after a whirlwind two-week visit to the States for the holidays: week-long cabin trip with the entire family (17 people, including five babies/toddlers); staggered with lunch dates and coffee meetings with dear friends; research trips to library, errands; long talks, a walk in the park, and quality time with my love; restaurant visits (finally had that damn chicken sandwich!); necessary shopping (oh how very nice is the euro --> dollar exchange rate right now, even if it does threaten not to last); a spa visit for a massage; and TWO pedicures, because they just aren't the same in France. I even managed to fit in a three-mile run (thumbs up), but only one (thumbs down).

There is something to be said for returning to your home country after a certain time abroad - the longer the better. It's a surreal experience, because the more you grow accustomed to the formalities and customs and everyday mundane habits and operations of one country, the more you forget those of the other. On my return journey back to France, I quite appropriately began reading Bill Bryson's 1999 book, I'm a Stranger Here Myself, wherein he describes how very out-of-place he felt at "home" in America after having spent some two decades in Britain.

Nonetheless, my calm reading (well, it was more like muffled guffaws over Bill's hilarious observations about the differences between American vs. British cold medicine advertisements*) was interrupted rather brusquely by charging turbulence, as the tiny plane I had taken - my first Air Canada flight ever, and quite possibly my last - was buffeted and thrown across the winter skies between Atlanta and Toronto. I was supposed to catch a correspondance from Toronto to Paris, but I began to wonder if I would ever see the outside of a plane again. In a stroke of particularly ill timing, I glanced down to the security fact sheet located on the famous "seat back pocket" of the seat in front of me, and noted without amusement that the plane I was currently rocketing through infinity in had been unwisely named a "Bombardier CRJ". Now reader, I ask you, given the security threats associated with flying today, not the least of which is being hurtled through space at lightning speed by Jack Frost's mighty blow, would it be comforting at all to you to know you were being transported in an aircraft that was probably conceived during World War II as a bombing vessel, and that had quite possibly not been updated since then? I mean, who names these things?

The constant churn of the engines interrupted my thoughts as the little battered plane chugged bravely through the cold night. Every few pages, I was jolted out of Bill's humour by a sudden panic that I was about to lose my life. Each time, I would glance nervously around the cabin, only to note that the passengers seemed blissfully unaware of the danger. Something along the lines of "Seriously, how can you people READ at a time like this?!" popped into my head. But their calm indifference caused me to chicken out on asking the guy sitting next to me to hold my hand as we went down. Finally, the plane began to descend towards Toronto. The closer we got to the ground, the fiercer and stronger the wind became, and the more perilous our position seemed. Each blow sent the plane shooting to the right or the left, and sometimes spun us a bit, as well. My eyes darted around me to see if the other passengers were clinging for dear life to each other. More than a few seemed a bit worried, but the girl across the aisle from me continued reading her book, whose existential title seemed to mock me. When we finally touched down in icy, cold Toronto, I was seriously regretting the in-flight dinner I'd partaken of, and I think I have never been so happy to be alive in my entire life.**

*Excerpt from Bill Bryson's I'm a Stranger Here Myself:
"An advertisement in Britain for a cold relief capsule [...] would promise no more than that it might make you feel a little better. You would still have a red nose and be in your pajamas, but you would be smiling again, if wanly. A commercial for the selfsame product in America, however, would guarantee total, instantaneous relief. A person on the American side of the Atlantic who took this miracle compound would not only throw off his pj's and get back to work at once, he would feel better than he had for years and finish the day having the time of his life at a bowling alley."

**If you think I'm being melodramatic, I invite you to read up a bit on the Bombardier CRJ.