Tuesday, July 31, 2007
free at last
I have finished my last paper ever for NYU. Though it may be 15 pages of garbage in broken French, it is done. My classes end tomorrow and then I can escape to Avignon. Less than 1 week to go!
Monday, July 30, 2007
A trip to Champagne
So my roommate and I took a day trip last week to Champagne, where you guessed it, they make champagne. We went on a distillery tour, which ended up being more like a ride at Ginty Carnival. In a motorized car in the pitch dark, we went through the cellars where there were random statues of men in different poses: cutting the grapes, stacking bottles, etc. They could have definitely invested more in making it a bit more engaging. The last part of the ride was this homage to the movie Casablanca (??) with a plastic Humphrey Bogart mannequin drinking the champagne (??). Needless to say, the tour was only worth the free tasting at the end.
To kill some time before our train home, we wandered into the Gallo-Roman crypts, a historical site that we thought sounded interesting. As French history enthusiasts, we were expecting a museum-type ambience that explained the importance of such a site. Well instead, it was a halloween freakshow. There were hanging rubber masks, and as you see in the pictures below, inexplicable props with no overall theme or a sign that explained why they were even there. Good good times.
To kill some time before our train home, we wandered into the Gallo-Roman crypts, a historical site that we thought sounded interesting. As French history enthusiasts, we were expecting a museum-type ambience that explained the importance of such a site. Well instead, it was a halloween freakshow. There were hanging rubber masks, and as you see in the pictures below, inexplicable props with no overall theme or a sign that explained why they were even there. Good good times.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
The most American place in France
My visit to Normandy this past weekend showed me a completely different side of what I'm used to in France. The people were friendly and complimented me on my French (!) and even said "God Bless You" when I told them I was from the US. It was seriously like an alternate universe.
Going to see the actual WWII sights was truly an awesome experience. And I'm not a war person; I couldn't sit through the first half-hour of Saving Private Ryan and I generally try to avoid thinking about the devastation of such things. But to see what those guys went through made the whole thing seem much more real, and when people actually thank you for what your country did in this day and age, it just shows you the magnitude of what happened in 1944 France.
We visited both the German cemetery and the famous American one. The German cemetery was very awkward in general; black crosses here and there, austere stones for graves. Needless to say, it was very German. There was a designated area where the unidentified bodies were buried, most of which were Hitler Youth under the age of 18. And while you do feel sad that people so young could be so misled, it was hard to have sympathy.
The American Cemetery had a completely different ambience. The fields of white crosses above Omaha Beach and the ocean below were just amazing. I've been to a lot of inspiring places- the Grand Canyon, the Parthenon, etc.- but this was absolutely the most moving place I've ever experienced by far.
Monday, July 23, 2007
A Tale of Two "Hotel" Rooms
So I went travelling by myself this past weekend to Normandy and Brittany to see the WWII historical sites and the ocean. My first day was spent in Bayeux in this amazing chateau/guesthouse where my bed had a giant headboard, an embroidered duvet cover, and a shower with actual hot water. AND a television! I felt like royalty for only 45 euros a night. When you live in an apartment with virtually no hot water and sleep on a two-inch foam pad instead of a mattress, these things make your whole week.
After a long day of touring the WWII sites with Bertrand, my French tour guide, I came home and just layed in my fabulous bed and watched ridiculous French game shows all night long. It was glorious.
The next morning, I left for Mont St. Michel, this really ornate church literally in the middle of nowhere in the English Channel. My train left really early, and as you probably know, I am not a morning person. OF COURSE, who is on my train out of all the people in the entire city? Bertrand the tour guide. Yes, I had to chat it up en francais for two hours about my favorite subjects like "I didn't vote for President Bush so don't blame me" and "What the French really think about Americans" when all I wanted was sleep.
So I get to Pontorson, a village in the middle of serious nothingness, to go to Mt. St. Michel. I go see the church, blah blah, and make it back to this village within 2 hours, as I am an efficient sightseer. Well, in small French villages, train stations just shut down for hours in the middle of the day. So I stood in the pouring rain for SIX HOURS waiting to buy a ticket for the next wretched train. Needless to say, day 2 is not going well.
So I finally make it to my next stop, the walled city of St. Malo on the Brittany Coast. The train station is a 20 min walk to town, so I walked to the city in search of my hotel, which is nowhere to be found. After an hour of wandering aimlessly, I give up and go to the Tourist Office, where I am informed that my "hotel" is in an INDUSTRIAL PARK 30 MIN AWAY. Online, it advertised that it was 100 meters from the beach in the center of town. Now hungry, exhausted and irate, I book it to the train station to try to go back to Paris immediately. Since customer service does not exist here, I could not exchange my ticket because I got a student fare, and thus paid $5 less than the other ticketholders. So I am now forced to spend the night in an industrial zone, fantastic.
The "hotel" was worse than I imagined. Let's do the checklist:
1) Above a bar and run by a shady robe-wearing barmaid? Check.
2) Graffiti on the walls? Check.
3) Drunk people asleep in the stairwells? Check.
4) A communal toilet that defies description. Check.
Let's just say that this place made Tom Hanks's first apartment in Big look like a palace. So I didn't leave the room at all, didn't pee for 12 hours, and cried in the fetal position until I sort of fell asleep on top of the covers, and a towel, in my clothes.
I won't go into the next day but let's just say someone decided to committ suicide on my train line and it took me 7 HOURS to get back to Paris. My unluckiness is absolutely legendary.
After a long day of touring the WWII sites with Bertrand, my French tour guide, I came home and just layed in my fabulous bed and watched ridiculous French game shows all night long. It was glorious.
The next morning, I left for Mont St. Michel, this really ornate church literally in the middle of nowhere in the English Channel. My train left really early, and as you probably know, I am not a morning person. OF COURSE, who is on my train out of all the people in the entire city? Bertrand the tour guide. Yes, I had to chat it up en francais for two hours about my favorite subjects like "I didn't vote for President Bush so don't blame me" and "What the French really think about Americans" when all I wanted was sleep.
So I get to Pontorson, a village in the middle of serious nothingness, to go to Mt. St. Michel. I go see the church, blah blah, and make it back to this village within 2 hours, as I am an efficient sightseer. Well, in small French villages, train stations just shut down for hours in the middle of the day. So I stood in the pouring rain for SIX HOURS waiting to buy a ticket for the next wretched train. Needless to say, day 2 is not going well.
So I finally make it to my next stop, the walled city of St. Malo on the Brittany Coast. The train station is a 20 min walk to town, so I walked to the city in search of my hotel, which is nowhere to be found. After an hour of wandering aimlessly, I give up and go to the Tourist Office, where I am informed that my "hotel" is in an INDUSTRIAL PARK 30 MIN AWAY. Online, it advertised that it was 100 meters from the beach in the center of town. Now hungry, exhausted and irate, I book it to the train station to try to go back to Paris immediately. Since customer service does not exist here, I could not exchange my ticket because I got a student fare, and thus paid $5 less than the other ticketholders. So I am now forced to spend the night in an industrial zone, fantastic.
The "hotel" was worse than I imagined. Let's do the checklist:
1) Above a bar and run by a shady robe-wearing barmaid? Check.
2) Graffiti on the walls? Check.
3) Drunk people asleep in the stairwells? Check.
4) A communal toilet that defies description. Check.
Let's just say that this place made Tom Hanks's first apartment in Big look like a palace. So I didn't leave the room at all, didn't pee for 12 hours, and cried in the fetal position until I sort of fell asleep on top of the covers, and a towel, in my clothes.
I won't go into the next day but let's just say someone decided to committ suicide on my train line and it took me 7 HOURS to get back to Paris. My unluckiness is absolutely legendary.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Joyeuse Fete Nationale (aka Bastille Day)
Happy French National Day. Woohoo. Today my roomate and I basically pretended it was the fourth of July, since we missed the festivities back home, and drank beers on our balcony and watched the fireworks along the Seine. French people are rather lackadaisical about them; they just casually stand there smoking and don't "oooh" and "aaah" like we do. The fireworks were amazing, except there was no wind to blow the smoke away, so they were hard to see. As we were walking home, some teenagers threw a firecracker in a crowd of us and it went off under a baby stroller. Needless to say, it was not a good scene, though no one got hurt. Apparently setting off your own fireworks is legal here because everyone seems to be doing it, including the old lady across the street who randomly shot some out of her window last night.
So I'm taking refuge inside my apartment for the rest of the night, as to not get disfigured in some freak bottle rocket accident.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
You may have a newfound respect for NY bums...
Having spent much of my time in New York and in French cities, I think I can make a fair assessment of the homeless people of both cultures. Living in Lyon, bums were so prevalent in my neighborhood that we had affectionate nicknames for them, like Naked Bum and Wretched Bum (who sometimes walked with a cane slumped over, and other times was walking just fine). These characters never really aggressively asked for anything, and if you didn't want to give them anything, they didn't care. Most of you have had your sketchy experience with NYC bums, but most are gracious and say "God Bless You," or offer different payment options, like one creative guy in Washington Square Park who accepts Visa, Amex, and NYU Campus Cash.
Well, last night my friends experienced the ultimate worst encounter with a homeless person. While eating outside, a bum approached their table and asked for money and or food. They refused, as grad students are more possessive of food that they've paid for than most. As "revenge," he did something unreal, yet also believable. The man dropped trow in the middle of the sidewalk and POOPED right in front of them. In broad daylight.
Hearing this story reminded me of walking to class yesterday, when a man clearly on his way to work, whipped it out and started peeing on a car right in front of us, ignoring the free public toilets half a block away. Now, I don't know if there's something here about exhibitionism that just doesn't exist in the US, but I've never seen a Wall Street broker pee on a car during the morning rush. Funny that the words "etiquette" and "hygiene" are both of French origin.
Well, last night my friends experienced the ultimate worst encounter with a homeless person. While eating outside, a bum approached their table and asked for money and or food. They refused, as grad students are more possessive of food that they've paid for than most. As "revenge," he did something unreal, yet also believable. The man dropped trow in the middle of the sidewalk and POOPED right in front of them. In broad daylight.
Hearing this story reminded me of walking to class yesterday, when a man clearly on his way to work, whipped it out and started peeing on a car right in front of us, ignoring the free public toilets half a block away. Now, I don't know if there's something here about exhibitionism that just doesn't exist in the US, but I've never seen a Wall Street broker pee on a car during the morning rush. Funny that the words "etiquette" and "hygiene" are both of French origin.
Monday, July 9, 2007
A Day in the Life...
So today was an odd day, even before we reached the afternoon.
1) It was so cold that we could see our breath walking to class. It's JULY. I would definitely rather not have the summer stench of 90 degree weather here, but it's a bit too extreme to need to wear a scarf on July 9th.
2) We had to give a group presentation in class today on the nasal vowels in French, which really are the most awkward, annoying sounds in the language like eeeeeeehhhnn, oooooooowwwnnn, and aaaahhhhnnnn. So basically, standing up there making ridiculous sounds in front of people to start the day is just great. One of the parts of our presentation was tongue twisters, as it's a good way to teach kids how to perfect their pronuniciation. Well, apparently, whoever was in charge of these exercises completely forgot to proofread them, and thus the tongue twister on our handout was: "It's not nice to touch your aunt's tits when your uncle has left the room." A+ for inappropriateness.
3) On the way home, still able to see our breath, my roommate got absolutely clobbered by a man running out of control down the street. I mean, football-style take-down. The guy didn't even turn around to say excuse me; he didn't even flinch. So I screamed "Pardon a toi," which is completely incorrect grammatically, and he ran out into oncoming traffic. I really need to work on my spontaneous defensive speech.
All this goodness before noon. So I came home and took a loooong nap.
1) It was so cold that we could see our breath walking to class. It's JULY. I would definitely rather not have the summer stench of 90 degree weather here, but it's a bit too extreme to need to wear a scarf on July 9th.
2) We had to give a group presentation in class today on the nasal vowels in French, which really are the most awkward, annoying sounds in the language like eeeeeeehhhnn, oooooooowwwnnn, and aaaahhhhnnnn. So basically, standing up there making ridiculous sounds in front of people to start the day is just great. One of the parts of our presentation was tongue twisters, as it's a good way to teach kids how to perfect their pronuniciation. Well, apparently, whoever was in charge of these exercises completely forgot to proofread them, and thus the tongue twister on our handout was: "It's not nice to touch your aunt's tits when your uncle has left the room." A+ for inappropriateness.
3) On the way home, still able to see our breath, my roommate got absolutely clobbered by a man running out of control down the street. I mean, football-style take-down. The guy didn't even turn around to say excuse me; he didn't even flinch. So I screamed "Pardon a toi," which is completely incorrect grammatically, and he ran out into oncoming traffic. I really need to work on my spontaneous defensive speech.
All this goodness before noon. So I came home and took a loooong nap.
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
An Expatriate Fourth of July
So, there's nothing sadder on the 4th than:
a) being in a country with NO GRILLS
b) being in a country where you can't trust the red meat
c) being in the most anti-american country aside from the Soviet Union on America day.
We began the day by drinking wine at noon, accompanied by our history professor. That's the one good thing about France: professors aren't put out if you come to class a little buzzed. And after the six straight hours of class, which is sacrilege today, we naturally came home and drank more wine.
Good times. There's nothing like living abroad to make you feel even more American. ESPECIALLY living here amongst such an opposite culture. I'm sad to not be home, and I will go to sleep tonight dreaming of Nathan's hot dogs, fireworks, and LBI.
a) being in a country with NO GRILLS
b) being in a country where you can't trust the red meat
c) being in the most anti-american country aside from the Soviet Union on America day.
We began the day by drinking wine at noon, accompanied by our history professor. That's the one good thing about France: professors aren't put out if you come to class a little buzzed. And after the six straight hours of class, which is sacrilege today, we naturally came home and drank more wine.
Good times. There's nothing like living abroad to make you feel even more American. ESPECIALLY living here amongst such an opposite culture. I'm sad to not be home, and I will go to sleep tonight dreaming of Nathan's hot dogs, fireworks, and LBI.
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
My Hideous Apartment
Now, I appreciate a Floridian seascape backdrop as much as you do, especially when used to create an 80s prom picture ambience. But when the seascape is a giant wall mural in your apartment, you may think twice. The good thing is that it's definitely the hit of our little parties, and I think the only reason many choose to come. We plan on having several theme nights focusing on our mural in the weeks to come, including dirty sheet toga night and wedding alter re-enactments.
Our party last week definitely took on the prom theme. Notice Sarah's perfectly placed prom arm. Love it.
Our party last week definitely took on the prom theme. Notice Sarah's perfectly placed prom arm. Love it.
Monday, July 2, 2007
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