So it has been a food-filled few days since I last updated, and for a change not much of the aforementioned food has been French.
My mom arrived on Thursday and, despite the fact that Thursday night was our group Thanksgiving dinner, we decided to go to Angelina's for hot chocolate and a Mont Blanc beforehand. Words cannot describe how amazing it was. The hot chocolate there is literally what happens when you take a block of the most delicious, richest and probably most fattening chocolate on EARTH, put it in a cup and melt it. Then you put a huge blob of chantilly cream into it and consume, taking breaks periodically because ingesting that amount of chocolate is no easy feat. A Mont Blanc is essentially a huge ball of chantilly cream, thickly coated in creme de marron (chestnut cream) and sat atop a marang type thing. The only problem with them is that you probably won't be able to bring yourself to eat another one for at least six months later.
Thanksgiving that night was in an odd restaurant on Blvd. Montparnasse not far from Reid Hall, where they stuck us on the basement with a lot of flashy lights and did their best to recreate a traditional Thanksgiving dinner. The fact that they even tried was pretty adorable, which made up for the fact that, let's face it, French people just don't get it. We had turkey of course, but it was rolled into a weird little cylinder shape with the stuffing (mostly finely minced vegetables and some kind of sauce) inside. The mashed potatoes were actually chunky and delicious (surprising, since the only puree I've ever had here has been very, very fine), but the green beans were gross and obviously from a can. The pumpkin soup they served us for the first course was really good even though it tasted not a whole lot like pumpkin. And then there were profiterols (sp?) for dessert because the French (understandably) have no concept of pumpkin pie.
Anyway, it was entertaining. Emily and I walked home in the FREEZING COLD, and when I arrived I found my mom eating apperatifs with French people. Then Marie-Antoinette (no joke, that's still her name), tried to teach me how to walk with a dictionary on my head for some reason I still don't understand.
The next day was our Thanksgiving with Valerie and basically every other French person in the world. Mom and I proceeded to not wake up until 11am, at which point we sort of panicked and hurried out to do the shopping. We ran around looking for the ingredients for stuffing, sweet potatoes w/ brown sugar and butter, green bean casserole, pearl onions w/ some kind of saucey thing, pumpkin and peacan pie, as well as the stuff for the apperatifs. Compared to the actual cooking, the shopping was easy. Which is saying something because I'm pretty sure it took us a good half hour to figure out what was heavy cream and what was sour cream (which is kind of important when you're using it to make pumpkin pie).
Once we got back to the house with our little wheely cart full of food stuffs (and some pizzas because we were dying of hunger), we began the process of cooking on someone elses kitchen. Let me just point out that French peoples kitchens are, first of all, TINY and second of all just plain weird. A can opener? Oh yes, there's a can opener, it just happens to be a jagged little piece of metal that you have to STAB into the can and then SAW UP AND DOWN AT THE RISK OF HACKING OFF YOUR FINGERS until the can is open. Luckily the three cans of green beans we needed had those easy-open tops, but sadly I can't say the same for the two pumpkin pie mixes and the cranberry sauce (which we made Valerie open in the hopes that she would show us how you're actually supposed to do it, but it turns out that we were right and can openers in France are just idiotic).
We made the pies first (in ridiculously huge pie pans), then we peeled, cut and boiled the sweet potatoes and baked them with brown sugar and butter (they were amazing), and ripped up two baguettes, cooked some sausages, and hacked up a whole lot of cellery and onions for the stuffing. The green bean casserole was interesting because the canned beans here are not at all like the ones we have at home, the mushroom soup isn't condensed, and they don't have little onion rings to go on top so we used onion crackers instead.
We actually didn't have too much trouble with the turkey, which Valerie had ordered from the butcher. It had been stuffed with god only knows what because French people have a very different idea of stuffing, but it actually was pretty good. And the turkey itself turned out really well even though carving it was a fairly interesting process, mainly because no one knew how to do it.
There were eleven of us for dinner--me, Mom, Valerie, Maria, Edouard, Sophie and Jean-Michel and their daughters Camille and Juliette, and Madame Stevens and her husband Jean-Francois. It was a good time, the food was delicious, and even though none of the French people liked the pumpkin pie (it turned out a little different just because of the weird ingredients, but I think pumpkin pie doesn't translate well in general), I had a lot of fun. I even made little leaf-shaped place cards for everyone, which they thought was hilarious. I would have made a turkey center-piece if I knew where to find pinecones, but I don't think they exist in Paris.
Mom left on Saturday morning, and all I did during the day was eat leftovers. Sophie and Jean-Michel actually came over again, expressly to eat the leftovers, and then Leah and Kristin showed up and had some pumpkin pie before we headed to Ellen's.
Ellen's apartment is RIDICULOUS. She has a gorgeous, unobstructed view of the Eiffel Tower from her bedroom window and an upholstered hallway along with the biggest kitchen I have seen in France so far. She also has a marble floor. On the ceiling. I don't know what that's about, but it is the shiniest thing I have ever seen in my life and I kept getting distracted from The Devil Wears Prada to stare at it. Ellen's host mom (who goes away to her country house every weekend) also had a lot of silver tea services, fainting couches, and things that looked like family heirlooms. She may or may not have been horrified to know that there were seven little Americans squealing about her worldly possessions while they cooked macaroni and cheese and watched a chick flick. But she told Ellen she could have friends over, so maybe not.
After our mac&cheese, which we made with huge blocks of ementhal and gouda, we (and by we I mean Leah, who I am going to marry because she is an amazing cook) made pancakes with apples and chocolate, which we ate with maple syrup and nutella (not all at once, obviously). It was absolutely delicious.
Today I have done absolutely nothing useful except write in this blog and eat cereal and madeleines. Quelle vie!
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
les poubelles
I just saw the most ridiculous play I have ever seen in my LIFE. In fact, I would venture to say that it was the most ridiculous play ever written in the history of the WORLD. But it was a work of surrealism, so maybe I should say that it was the most ridiculous play ever written in the history of the thing that is a LARGE BALL OF ROCK, and not the earth, because what is the earthy, anyway?
Sorry if you're reading this, Professor Mwantuali, but surrealism just isn't my thing.
Anyway, the play was about this guy who is blind and stuck in a chair because his legs don't work (for whatever reason), his servant who can't sit down (you know, because that's normal), and his two parents who live in trashcans upstage. You only ever see their heads because apparently you need to assume that the rest of their bodies are in the process of decomposing. OBVIOUSLY. I would try to describe the plot except for the fact that THERE ISN'T ONE, and I would tell you about the dialogue and discussion points, but THERE ARE NONE. Or at least I'm not smart enough to extract them from the quivering, jellied mass that was my brain before I saw this play.
And right now I'm supposed to be reading le Manifeste du Surrealisme, which is (if possible) even more mind-bogglingly confusing than Fin du Partie (the play). But I can't do it, I've had enough mental suffering for one night.
Lastly, and very unimportantly, I'm really glad that the French government thought it appropriate to give me the x-ray of my lungs they took at my doctor's appointment for my carte de sejour. It was really fun to be able to grin like an idiot whenever anyone asked me what was in the huge envelope I was carrying and say, "My lungs, of course!" And now Valerie has put the x-ray with all of HER x-rays (because apparently one makes a home library of one's internal organs in France), so whenever I get anxious about their welfare I can say "But Valerie, what have you done with my lungs?!" So needless to say I do this at LEAST every other day, just because I find it funny.
I think I'm sleep deprived (or my brain has been sucked out by Samuel Beckett), I need to go to bed now.
Sorry if you're reading this, Professor Mwantuali, but surrealism just isn't my thing.
Anyway, the play was about this guy who is blind and stuck in a chair because his legs don't work (for whatever reason), his servant who can't sit down (you know, because that's normal), and his two parents who live in trashcans upstage. You only ever see their heads because apparently you need to assume that the rest of their bodies are in the process of decomposing. OBVIOUSLY. I would try to describe the plot except for the fact that THERE ISN'T ONE, and I would tell you about the dialogue and discussion points, but THERE ARE NONE. Or at least I'm not smart enough to extract them from the quivering, jellied mass that was my brain before I saw this play.
And right now I'm supposed to be reading le Manifeste du Surrealisme, which is (if possible) even more mind-bogglingly confusing than Fin du Partie (the play). But I can't do it, I've had enough mental suffering for one night.
Lastly, and very unimportantly, I'm really glad that the French government thought it appropriate to give me the x-ray of my lungs they took at my doctor's appointment for my carte de sejour. It was really fun to be able to grin like an idiot whenever anyone asked me what was in the huge envelope I was carrying and say, "My lungs, of course!" And now Valerie has put the x-ray with all of HER x-rays (because apparently one makes a home library of one's internal organs in France), so whenever I get anxious about their welfare I can say "But Valerie, what have you done with my lungs?!" So needless to say I do this at LEAST every other day, just because I find it funny.
I think I'm sleep deprived (or my brain has been sucked out by Samuel Beckett), I need to go to bed now.
Monday, November 24, 2008
So after much pain and suffering I think I finally have my courses for next semester planned. They should go as follows:
1) Grammaire at Hamilton, Tues/Thurs 11:15 - 12:30
2) Modernisme Americain at Paris III Monde Anglophone, Tues 3 - 5
3) Paris Multiculturelle at Hamilton, Thurs 1:15 - 2:30
4) L'Enfant aux Pays des Adultes at Paris III, Fri 12 - 2
Which means I get to take one of my two literature classes in English. Which is great, because there's no way I would be able to even look at the cover of As I Lay Dying in any other language without having an anneurism. I would've preferred Modernisme Brittanique just for the joy of discussing Woolf with French people, but sadly that clashes with Grammaire. I also would've preferred Moyen Age, le Myth de Tristan et Yseult over Paris Multiculturelle, but I don't think three literature classes would be a wise idea.
Saturday night was dinner with Leah and her boyfriend Drew who was visiting from Italy. It was tres amusante, except for the mean crepe man who, even though we came to his establishment bearing at least eight hungry people willing to pay him for food, was irritated and snappish with us. But his crepes were delicious, both the savory (cheese, ham and lettuce) and the sweet (nutelle and bananas). Afterwards we wandered around aimlessly in the freezing cold, found Brandon-the-Birthday-Boy, and Jess and Rebecca, and tried to find some place to go that wasn't jam packed with French people who were overly enthusiastic about whatever sport it was that they were all watching. I think it was rugby, but I could be wrong. Anyway, after a lot of "What do you want to do?" "I don't know, what do you want to do?"-ing, we (me, Kristin, Hannah, Ellen and Linnaea) came back to my house to have a sleepover. We figured if Leah and Drew were getting to have a sleepover we should have one too, so Ellen brought Pride and Prejudice, we bought a huge bag of gummies, and it was deliciously stereotypical and very entertaining.
The next day it was disgusting--freezing cold and gray with super dark clouds, and it even changed from rain to snow for a few minutes, but nothing stuck. Kristin, Hannah and I stayed inside, made some pasta and planned our courses, then headed to the Andy Warhol museum at the Luxembourg to meet Jen. The exhibition was disappointingly small (mostly disappointing because it wasn't free, even with our art history cards) but it was alright.
Then I decided I would rather walk home in the pouring rain under the ominous looking sky than wait 25 minutes for the bus, so I did. It turned out not to be the best idea since the bottom half of my jeans was completely soaked by the time I got back. Oh well.
Today the computer man fixed my computer. To be fair, it wasn't actually broken, I'm just an idiot. But either way it works now, and he even told me how to make it connect to Valerie's internet, which is good. Or it will be if it works.
Ellen, Kristin and I metroed it over to the Champs Elysees to look at the Marche de Noel, which is pretty cool but not as Christmasy as I'd like. But there's a ferris wheel, which means I definitely have to come back, preferrably at night, to ride it like the nerd that I am.
Lastly, I have to read the rest of Therese Raquin for tomorrow, which makes my brain ache a little just thinking about it. I can't wait to be in better lit classes next semester. I also can't wait to do a workshop, possibly with Hannah so I don't have to be all alone in my geekery.
Alors, a plus tard mes chouchous.
1) Grammaire at Hamilton, Tues/Thurs 11:15 - 12:30
2) Modernisme Americain at Paris III Monde Anglophone, Tues 3 - 5
3) Paris Multiculturelle at Hamilton, Thurs 1:15 - 2:30
4) L'Enfant aux Pays des Adultes at Paris III, Fri 12 - 2
Which means I get to take one of my two literature classes in English. Which is great, because there's no way I would be able to even look at the cover of As I Lay Dying in any other language without having an anneurism. I would've preferred Modernisme Brittanique just for the joy of discussing Woolf with French people, but sadly that clashes with Grammaire. I also would've preferred Moyen Age, le Myth de Tristan et Yseult over Paris Multiculturelle, but I don't think three literature classes would be a wise idea.
Saturday night was dinner with Leah and her boyfriend Drew who was visiting from Italy. It was tres amusante, except for the mean crepe man who, even though we came to his establishment bearing at least eight hungry people willing to pay him for food, was irritated and snappish with us. But his crepes were delicious, both the savory (cheese, ham and lettuce) and the sweet (nutelle and bananas). Afterwards we wandered around aimlessly in the freezing cold, found Brandon-the-Birthday-Boy, and Jess and Rebecca, and tried to find some place to go that wasn't jam packed with French people who were overly enthusiastic about whatever sport it was that they were all watching. I think it was rugby, but I could be wrong. Anyway, after a lot of "What do you want to do?" "I don't know, what do you want to do?"-ing, we (me, Kristin, Hannah, Ellen and Linnaea) came back to my house to have a sleepover. We figured if Leah and Drew were getting to have a sleepover we should have one too, so Ellen brought Pride and Prejudice, we bought a huge bag of gummies, and it was deliciously stereotypical and very entertaining.
The next day it was disgusting--freezing cold and gray with super dark clouds, and it even changed from rain to snow for a few minutes, but nothing stuck. Kristin, Hannah and I stayed inside, made some pasta and planned our courses, then headed to the Andy Warhol museum at the Luxembourg to meet Jen. The exhibition was disappointingly small (mostly disappointing because it wasn't free, even with our art history cards) but it was alright.
Then I decided I would rather walk home in the pouring rain under the ominous looking sky than wait 25 minutes for the bus, so I did. It turned out not to be the best idea since the bottom half of my jeans was completely soaked by the time I got back. Oh well.
Today the computer man fixed my computer. To be fair, it wasn't actually broken, I'm just an idiot. But either way it works now, and he even told me how to make it connect to Valerie's internet, which is good. Or it will be if it works.
Ellen, Kristin and I metroed it over to the Champs Elysees to look at the Marche de Noel, which is pretty cool but not as Christmasy as I'd like. But there's a ferris wheel, which means I definitely have to come back, preferrably at night, to ride it like the nerd that I am.
Lastly, I have to read the rest of Therese Raquin for tomorrow, which makes my brain ache a little just thinking about it. I can't wait to be in better lit classes next semester. I also can't wait to do a workshop, possibly with Hannah so I don't have to be all alone in my geekery.
Alors, a plus tard mes chouchous.
Friday, November 21, 2008
oy
Okay so my computer won't connect to the internet. Or it will, but it won't open any websites. Which is cool. But it's getting fixed on Monday, or hopefully, so that should be good. I'm using the computers at Reid Hall right now. Which sucks because they are teeeny tiny.
Anyway, I had a rendez-vous with the doctor this morning because everyone who wants to be allowed to stay in France for longer thatn three months has to go and be checked for weird diseases etc. So I waited forever and ever with Jenny, the teaching assistant who went with me, and then they took an x-ray of my lungs. Which I now have in my bag. Because I'm going to hang it on the wall when I go home and scare the crap out of my French people.
Unfortunately I was late getting back to Reid Hall after my appointment so I missed going to Breakfast in America, a diner on rue des Ecoles which (obviously) serves typical American breakfasts. Zut. But I have a meeting with Mwantuali this afternoon to discuss classes for next semester.
Also, Leah and I do not get to go to Christmas Land because apparently there is no Marche de Noel on mondays, which is when we bought the tickets for because we're smart like that. Oops. Oh well, we'll find the small outposts of Christmas Land in Paris.
And now I think I need to go buy a panini because I'm starving to death.
Anyway, I had a rendez-vous with the doctor this morning because everyone who wants to be allowed to stay in France for longer thatn three months has to go and be checked for weird diseases etc. So I waited forever and ever with Jenny, the teaching assistant who went with me, and then they took an x-ray of my lungs. Which I now have in my bag. Because I'm going to hang it on the wall when I go home and scare the crap out of my French people.
Unfortunately I was late getting back to Reid Hall after my appointment so I missed going to Breakfast in America, a diner on rue des Ecoles which (obviously) serves typical American breakfasts. Zut. But I have a meeting with Mwantuali this afternoon to discuss classes for next semester.
Also, Leah and I do not get to go to Christmas Land because apparently there is no Marche de Noel on mondays, which is when we bought the tickets for because we're smart like that. Oops. Oh well, we'll find the small outposts of Christmas Land in Paris.
And now I think I need to go buy a panini because I'm starving to death.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Fait comme tu es le panda, et il est le bambou!
This past weekend was our group's excursion to Provence. Provence is a region in the south known for its fields of lavendar and sunflowers (which we did not see because it's freaking November), its olive oil (which we tasted), its ferocious seasonal wind known as Le Mistral (which totally froze our butts off even though it was brilliantly sunny) and for all the songs written about Avignon, its largest city where we stayed the night.
Emily and I ventured to the Gare de Lyon by bus at early o'clock on Saturday morning and wandered around for awhile until we found some other people. We were a little bit freaked out because, even though we eventually found our director, Madame Stevens was nowhere in sight. And everyone knows that shit does not get done if Madame Stevens isn't around. But she showed up eventually and we boarded the train (well, everyone except Emerson who was late and missed it), and had a nice nearly-three-hour-long ride to sunny Avignon. When we got there we found our gigantic bus (as per usual) and headed to Saint-Remy-de-Provence, a tiny little village where we were set loose to find lunch on our own. Unfortunately, Hamilton has this obsession with giving us money, bringing us to really pretty places, telling us to go find food, and then secretly laughing at us when we realize that NOTHING IS OPEN. Our grammar teacher explained to us today that there are two different lifestyles in France--that of Paris, and that of the Provinces. Basically, Paris is the only place where you can eat lunch in a restaurant/cafe/boulangerie/whatever because everywhere else, everyone closes their business and goes home to eat. Which is all well and good, but you'd think that the program would know this by now. Personally I think they just enjoy watching us suffer.
We eventually found a really tiny pizzaria in a really tiny alley way. This was perfect since we were all in the mood for pizza. But, yet again, the provinces hit us with a curve ball--no pizza at lunch, only dinner! Wha...? I don't even know what their reasoning behind that was, but we at last ordered some pasta, wolfed it, and hurried back to the bus with a few minutes to spare (which we used to buy ice cream).
From there we went to Glanum, which is a site full of roman ruins. We saw the low stone walls that used to be houses, a scary well, something that might have been a pool, lots of things we weren't allowed to climb on, and a bunch of other things which I might have been able to identify had I actually been listening to what Laurent (our art history man who always comes with us everywhere) was saying instead of taking stupid pictures and jumping around like a fool. We also saw some neat roman monuments which were really pretty mostly because of the light, which is apparently better in Provence than anywhere else. Which is why all the most famous painters from the end of the 19th century went there to work. Or so says Laurent. I think.
After Glanum we headed over to an olive oil mill where there was a cute puppy, lots of soap and other trinkets, and probably more olives than I could count if I tried (or if I knew how to count past 20). We got to see all the machines, minus the squisher (possibly because it was too intense for our tiny minds to handle), and we got to taste the (semi) finished product. It tasted good but kind of burned in my throat, which was weird. I'm pretty sure that it hasn't been entirely purified yet, because we tasted some again in the shop (from a bottle) and it was different. It was good, but not particularly amazing.
After everyone and their mother bought olive oil, olive soap, olive tapenade, things made from olive wood etc., we got on the bus and drove to our hotel in Avignon. It was the weirdest hotel I have ever seen in my life, and if I ever find a twistier, turnier, more confusing and roundabout one, I will probably die of shock. It had a million staircases and a million little doors to go through which only ended up leading to more little doors and more turny staircases and after that, more doors, more little hallways that served no purpose, and then maybe if you were lucky you could find your room. Maybe.
Dinner at a restaurant not far from the hotel was pretty tasty. We had a huge long table all decked out in red, and there was something on the wall behind Leah, Kristin and myself that was either a rotisserie oven, a piece of modern art, or a torture device...or all three. Our entree was artichoke hearts in some kind of creamy, herby sauce (but I think they had first been cooked in some kind of vinagrette), then we had duck and rice, and afterwards we each got an assortment of three different little desserts. People who had had birthdays since our last excursion got theirs with a sparkler in their creme brulee, and we all sang for them (while the servers laughed at us because some of us kind of didn't know the words).
After we had finished eating we noticed some people at another table. We noticed them because they were all wearing cowboy hats, and also because they suddenly got up and started square dancing to the techno dance remix of Cotton-Eyed Joe, and similar tunes. It was absolutely hilarious in ways that I cannot even describe. You had to be there, in France in a restaurant that used to be an old factory with square-dancing cowboys eating creme brulee.
On Sunday (after something like 5 1/2 hours of sleep), we had breakfast at the hotel and walked over to the Palais des Papes, the residence of the popes which was built in Avingon back in the day (and by that I mean that I wasn't listening when Laurent told us what year it was). But basically it's a gigantic stone structure with almost no furnishings inside, but a lot of stone arches and statues of pope-like persons.
After the palais (for which we only had about a half an hour) we went to the tiny and adorable village of Uzes which was kind of disgustingly beautiful. The only downside was that, yet again, nothing was open. Only double-nothing because it was Sunday, and even Paris shuts down on Sundays. We managed to find a boulangerie, although it wasn't that great and also didn't let us use the bathroom even though we bought their food, those meanies. We had a lot of time to just wander around through the cobblestoney streets, see the pretty little church, oggle bonbons and take stupid photos and sing The Sound of Music. Because we are mature adults, obviously.
After lunch we headed to le Pont de Gard, a HUGE roman aquiduct that traverses the Rhone river. It's a series of gigantic arches with another series of gigantic arches on top of the first level, and then smaller ones accross the top, all made out of enormous blocks of stone. Apparently in the 50's there was a horrible raging flood on the Rhone which totally destroyed every modern bridge, but the Pont de Gard was completely fine afterwards. It was amazing.
Then we took the train home to Paris, where my theatre class and Prof. Mwantuali booked it through the metro from Gare de Lyon to Palais Royal and to la Comedie Francaise to see Le Mariage de Figaro. I'm upset that we had to sit down for a three hour play after a nearly three hour train ride and an exhausting weekend, and that I was a fidgety mess and could only see half of the stage (because la Comedie is one of those theatres that people went to so they could look at other people instead of the actual play), but despite all that the play was actually amazing. I thought the casting was perfect and I really loved it, I just wish we had all been more in the mood for it.
But it was a good weekend. And yesterday I basically did nothing but homework and a lot of useless lying around, and now I'm trying to plan a trip to the Christmas Market in Strasbourg because I FREAKING CANNOT WAIT FOR CHRISTMAS. I am so excited. So excited that I sang Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer for Valerie and now I think she might hate me, BUT I DON'T CARE.
PS - I ate a panini today which was supposed to be saucisse et griere (sausage and cheese), and which ended up literally being cheese with a hot dog (like really a hot dog, not actually kidding) grilled in a baguette. Weird.
Emily and I ventured to the Gare de Lyon by bus at early o'clock on Saturday morning and wandered around for awhile until we found some other people. We were a little bit freaked out because, even though we eventually found our director, Madame Stevens was nowhere in sight. And everyone knows that shit does not get done if Madame Stevens isn't around. But she showed up eventually and we boarded the train (well, everyone except Emerson who was late and missed it), and had a nice nearly-three-hour-long ride to sunny Avignon. When we got there we found our gigantic bus (as per usual) and headed to Saint-Remy-de-Provence, a tiny little village where we were set loose to find lunch on our own. Unfortunately, Hamilton has this obsession with giving us money, bringing us to really pretty places, telling us to go find food, and then secretly laughing at us when we realize that NOTHING IS OPEN. Our grammar teacher explained to us today that there are two different lifestyles in France--that of Paris, and that of the Provinces. Basically, Paris is the only place where you can eat lunch in a restaurant/cafe/boulangerie/whatever because everywhere else, everyone closes their business and goes home to eat. Which is all well and good, but you'd think that the program would know this by now. Personally I think they just enjoy watching us suffer.
We eventually found a really tiny pizzaria in a really tiny alley way. This was perfect since we were all in the mood for pizza. But, yet again, the provinces hit us with a curve ball--no pizza at lunch, only dinner! Wha...? I don't even know what their reasoning behind that was, but we at last ordered some pasta, wolfed it, and hurried back to the bus with a few minutes to spare (which we used to buy ice cream).
From there we went to Glanum, which is a site full of roman ruins. We saw the low stone walls that used to be houses, a scary well, something that might have been a pool, lots of things we weren't allowed to climb on, and a bunch of other things which I might have been able to identify had I actually been listening to what Laurent (our art history man who always comes with us everywhere) was saying instead of taking stupid pictures and jumping around like a fool. We also saw some neat roman monuments which were really pretty mostly because of the light, which is apparently better in Provence than anywhere else. Which is why all the most famous painters from the end of the 19th century went there to work. Or so says Laurent. I think.
After Glanum we headed over to an olive oil mill where there was a cute puppy, lots of soap and other trinkets, and probably more olives than I could count if I tried (or if I knew how to count past 20). We got to see all the machines, minus the squisher (possibly because it was too intense for our tiny minds to handle), and we got to taste the (semi) finished product. It tasted good but kind of burned in my throat, which was weird. I'm pretty sure that it hasn't been entirely purified yet, because we tasted some again in the shop (from a bottle) and it was different. It was good, but not particularly amazing.
After everyone and their mother bought olive oil, olive soap, olive tapenade, things made from olive wood etc., we got on the bus and drove to our hotel in Avignon. It was the weirdest hotel I have ever seen in my life, and if I ever find a twistier, turnier, more confusing and roundabout one, I will probably die of shock. It had a million staircases and a million little doors to go through which only ended up leading to more little doors and more turny staircases and after that, more doors, more little hallways that served no purpose, and then maybe if you were lucky you could find your room. Maybe.
Dinner at a restaurant not far from the hotel was pretty tasty. We had a huge long table all decked out in red, and there was something on the wall behind Leah, Kristin and myself that was either a rotisserie oven, a piece of modern art, or a torture device...or all three. Our entree was artichoke hearts in some kind of creamy, herby sauce (but I think they had first been cooked in some kind of vinagrette), then we had duck and rice, and afterwards we each got an assortment of three different little desserts. People who had had birthdays since our last excursion got theirs with a sparkler in their creme brulee, and we all sang for them (while the servers laughed at us because some of us kind of didn't know the words).
After we had finished eating we noticed some people at another table. We noticed them because they were all wearing cowboy hats, and also because they suddenly got up and started square dancing to the techno dance remix of Cotton-Eyed Joe, and similar tunes. It was absolutely hilarious in ways that I cannot even describe. You had to be there, in France in a restaurant that used to be an old factory with square-dancing cowboys eating creme brulee.
On Sunday (after something like 5 1/2 hours of sleep), we had breakfast at the hotel and walked over to the Palais des Papes, the residence of the popes which was built in Avingon back in the day (and by that I mean that I wasn't listening when Laurent told us what year it was). But basically it's a gigantic stone structure with almost no furnishings inside, but a lot of stone arches and statues of pope-like persons.
After the palais (for which we only had about a half an hour) we went to the tiny and adorable village of Uzes which was kind of disgustingly beautiful. The only downside was that, yet again, nothing was open. Only double-nothing because it was Sunday, and even Paris shuts down on Sundays. We managed to find a boulangerie, although it wasn't that great and also didn't let us use the bathroom even though we bought their food, those meanies. We had a lot of time to just wander around through the cobblestoney streets, see the pretty little church, oggle bonbons and take stupid photos and sing The Sound of Music. Because we are mature adults, obviously.
After lunch we headed to le Pont de Gard, a HUGE roman aquiduct that traverses the Rhone river. It's a series of gigantic arches with another series of gigantic arches on top of the first level, and then smaller ones accross the top, all made out of enormous blocks of stone. Apparently in the 50's there was a horrible raging flood on the Rhone which totally destroyed every modern bridge, but the Pont de Gard was completely fine afterwards. It was amazing.
Then we took the train home to Paris, where my theatre class and Prof. Mwantuali booked it through the metro from Gare de Lyon to Palais Royal and to la Comedie Francaise to see Le Mariage de Figaro. I'm upset that we had to sit down for a three hour play after a nearly three hour train ride and an exhausting weekend, and that I was a fidgety mess and could only see half of the stage (because la Comedie is one of those theatres that people went to so they could look at other people instead of the actual play), but despite all that the play was actually amazing. I thought the casting was perfect and I really loved it, I just wish we had all been more in the mood for it.
But it was a good weekend. And yesterday I basically did nothing but homework and a lot of useless lying around, and now I'm trying to plan a trip to the Christmas Market in Strasbourg because I FREAKING CANNOT WAIT FOR CHRISTMAS. I am so excited. So excited that I sang Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer for Valerie and now I think she might hate me, BUT I DON'T CARE.
PS - I ate a panini today which was supposed to be saucisse et griere (sausage and cheese), and which ended up literally being cheese with a hot dog (like really a hot dog, not actually kidding) grilled in a baguette. Weird.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
cinq mille choses
Okay, I realize that me not posting for over two weeks was a super fail, but I've been extremely busy.
My dad came to visit me! He arrived on Saturday the 1st and the first thing he did in the city of lights, the center of Europe, the most beautiful place in the world...was to fall asleep on my bed for a good two hours while I ate poulet roti in the other room. Yup. Once the jet-lag wore off (although I guess it probably didn't, because I think I might still have it and I've been here for a good two months) we walked around my neighborhood despite the fact that it was pouring. Sunday we spent the entire day walking around, to Notre Dame and the Ile Saint-Louis by way of the monument on the Ile de la Cite for the deportees of WWII, which is the creepiest thing I have ever seen (but rightfully so), and then back and over the Pont Neuf (which means 'NEW bridge' not 'bridge nine') along the right bank of the Seine, through the courtyard(s) of the Louvre, through the Tuileries, down the Champs Elysees where I picked up some (okay, lots of) macaroons at LaDuree, all the way to the Arc de Triomphe where I proceeded to get sand in BOTH my eyes because apparently I took my binoculars to the beach at some point and never cleaned them out afterwards. Either that or god hates me, whichever.
Monday we left at freaking-early o'clock for Strasbourg by way of the TGV (Train de Grande Vitesse, or high-speed trains). I had a few second-thoughts about going to Strasbourg beforehand--why Strasbourg, a town which I know relatively nothing about except for the fact that it's been part of Germany as much as it's been part of France over the past howevermany years? Why not another country? Was it going to be a waste of my time and my (well, dad's) money? And let me tell you, it was DEFINITELY worth it.
I always thought that everyone in Paris was beautiful, well-dressed, and nicely made-up with good hair and pretty babies. That is, until I got to Strasbourg. Everyone, and I mean everyone down to the homeless people, was dressed better than your average american. I hate to say it, but it's true. It's probably because Strasbourg is the seat of the Council of Europe, as well as the Court of the European Union, (that amongst other big, impressive, European things) or that it's just perfectly situated in the center of Europe, but for whatever reason, Strasbourg is full of rich people. Or at least, people who are really good at looking rich. Also, prettiest little kids I have ever seen. None of them were screaming or snotting on themselves (or anyone else, for that matter), and they all had clear skin, big eyes, and, of course, fabulous clothes. And not a single person was rude, except for the guy who told dad he wasn't allowed to take pictures of his table of socks at the market. But he's just the sock man, so he doesn't count.
Strasbourg is surrounded (several times, in fact) by a few different rivers which are incredibly picturesque, especially since they're full of swans. Swans who will chase you down if they think you have food. Which is not quite as picturesque, but whatever. We took a boat tour all around the city which was very well done, with headphones and different channels to choose from depending on what language you wanted to hear the tour in, etc. I thought it was better than the Bateaux Mouches in Paris simply because there was more information, plus you can see a lot more from the river there than you can from the Seine.
The oldest part of the city of Strasbourg, Petite France, is tiny and adorable with cobblestones, old bridges, buildings coming straight out of the river, and a lot of architecture reminiscent of Germany, Switzerland or Austria. It looked like that to me anyway, but I've never seen any of those places, so I could be wrong. At any rate, it looked to me like everyone there should've been wearing wooden clogs and herding ducks with a tree branch etc. There's also a very famous cathedral, which is apparently the highest medieval structure in all of Europe. There's also a really amazing gyro restaurant, but I don't think it dates back quite that far.
We stayed in Strasbourg until Thursday, when we headed back to Paris and had dinner with Valerie, Edouard and Maria (Valerie's best friend). Friday we spent walking around some more, around Saint Michel and Saint Germaine, and I bought some pretty shoes (which I thought were comfortable until I took them off today and realized I had a huge blister on the ball of my left foot. But I didn't actually notice the blister while I was walking, so I don't care). Friday night dad made burritos for Valerie, Sophie and Jean-Michel (Valerie's sister and brother-in-law). Doing the shopping for pork butt burritos in Paris was interesting, but they turned out really well. Saturday involved some more walking and a tour on the Bateaux Mouches which was good, but FREEZING COLD. That night we had dinner chez Maria with some other French people and the biggest cat I have ever seen in my life. His name was Patapouf, and he was a beast. Even beastlier than my old cat, Sylvester, which I didn't think was possible. Anyway, that was entertaining. Sunday we visited Reid Hall and, had good pizza, and walked around on rue de Rennes for a while, and later on had dinner in the Marais where we saw some guy dressed as a clown. Don't really know what that was about, but I had a delicious steak, so it was good.
Monday involved way too much walking--from the Galleries Lafayette (which has by far the weirdest window displays I have EVER seen--babies on mushrooms with an octopus, a ballerina, and mechanical bunnies in vests opening a door for no reason?), past the Moulin Rouge and up to Sacre Coeur (SANS funicular, I'll have you know) and around the little streets there. We took the metro back to rue de Rennes to go to FNAC and then had dinner at an Italian place near my house because we were so tired. We came home afterwards (at around 8:00) only to find Valerie, Maria, and Maria's friend Filippe preparing dinner for dad's last night here. So, even though we were already full, we hung out with them and managed not to explode from too much pasta. Alex, Valerie's american friend (who also speaks French, Italian and Spanish) was there too.
Dad left on Tuesday morning, and I proceeded to sleep a whole lot that day and night because I was so worn out from all the walking. My classes started again yesterday with theatre, which was horrendously boring. Today was more entertaining--aside from classes, we discovered the most delicous paninis ever, decided that we need to go to Strasbourg for the Marche de Noel (Christmas market, which is apparently very famous and amazing), and saw a huge manifestation with fire, smoke, a cannon and a whole lot of drunk people in broad daylight. Then Kristin and I went over to the rue Mouffetard so I could buy some gloves.
This weekend the group is going to Provence for Saturday and Sunday, coming back on Sunday evening. Specifically, Sunday evening at 8:15. Which is funny, because my theatre class (which comprises maybe 11 our of our group of 33 students) needs to be at the Comedie Francaise by 8:30 to see Le Mariage de Figaro. Which is a three hour play.
I might die from exhaustion, but at least I will die content.
My dad came to visit me! He arrived on Saturday the 1st and the first thing he did in the city of lights, the center of Europe, the most beautiful place in the world...was to fall asleep on my bed for a good two hours while I ate poulet roti in the other room. Yup. Once the jet-lag wore off (although I guess it probably didn't, because I think I might still have it and I've been here for a good two months) we walked around my neighborhood despite the fact that it was pouring. Sunday we spent the entire day walking around, to Notre Dame and the Ile Saint-Louis by way of the monument on the Ile de la Cite for the deportees of WWII, which is the creepiest thing I have ever seen (but rightfully so), and then back and over the Pont Neuf (which means 'NEW bridge' not 'bridge nine') along the right bank of the Seine, through the courtyard(s) of the Louvre, through the Tuileries, down the Champs Elysees where I picked up some (okay, lots of) macaroons at LaDuree, all the way to the Arc de Triomphe where I proceeded to get sand in BOTH my eyes because apparently I took my binoculars to the beach at some point and never cleaned them out afterwards. Either that or god hates me, whichever.
Monday we left at freaking-early o'clock for Strasbourg by way of the TGV (Train de Grande Vitesse, or high-speed trains). I had a few second-thoughts about going to Strasbourg beforehand--why Strasbourg, a town which I know relatively nothing about except for the fact that it's been part of Germany as much as it's been part of France over the past howevermany years? Why not another country? Was it going to be a waste of my time and my (well, dad's) money? And let me tell you, it was DEFINITELY worth it.
I always thought that everyone in Paris was beautiful, well-dressed, and nicely made-up with good hair and pretty babies. That is, until I got to Strasbourg. Everyone, and I mean everyone down to the homeless people, was dressed better than your average american. I hate to say it, but it's true. It's probably because Strasbourg is the seat of the Council of Europe, as well as the Court of the European Union, (that amongst other big, impressive, European things) or that it's just perfectly situated in the center of Europe, but for whatever reason, Strasbourg is full of rich people. Or at least, people who are really good at looking rich. Also, prettiest little kids I have ever seen. None of them were screaming or snotting on themselves (or anyone else, for that matter), and they all had clear skin, big eyes, and, of course, fabulous clothes. And not a single person was rude, except for the guy who told dad he wasn't allowed to take pictures of his table of socks at the market. But he's just the sock man, so he doesn't count.
Strasbourg is surrounded (several times, in fact) by a few different rivers which are incredibly picturesque, especially since they're full of swans. Swans who will chase you down if they think you have food. Which is not quite as picturesque, but whatever. We took a boat tour all around the city which was very well done, with headphones and different channels to choose from depending on what language you wanted to hear the tour in, etc. I thought it was better than the Bateaux Mouches in Paris simply because there was more information, plus you can see a lot more from the river there than you can from the Seine.
The oldest part of the city of Strasbourg, Petite France, is tiny and adorable with cobblestones, old bridges, buildings coming straight out of the river, and a lot of architecture reminiscent of Germany, Switzerland or Austria. It looked like that to me anyway, but I've never seen any of those places, so I could be wrong. At any rate, it looked to me like everyone there should've been wearing wooden clogs and herding ducks with a tree branch etc. There's also a very famous cathedral, which is apparently the highest medieval structure in all of Europe. There's also a really amazing gyro restaurant, but I don't think it dates back quite that far.
We stayed in Strasbourg until Thursday, when we headed back to Paris and had dinner with Valerie, Edouard and Maria (Valerie's best friend). Friday we spent walking around some more, around Saint Michel and Saint Germaine, and I bought some pretty shoes (which I thought were comfortable until I took them off today and realized I had a huge blister on the ball of my left foot. But I didn't actually notice the blister while I was walking, so I don't care). Friday night dad made burritos for Valerie, Sophie and Jean-Michel (Valerie's sister and brother-in-law). Doing the shopping for pork butt burritos in Paris was interesting, but they turned out really well. Saturday involved some more walking and a tour on the Bateaux Mouches which was good, but FREEZING COLD. That night we had dinner chez Maria with some other French people and the biggest cat I have ever seen in my life. His name was Patapouf, and he was a beast. Even beastlier than my old cat, Sylvester, which I didn't think was possible. Anyway, that was entertaining. Sunday we visited Reid Hall and, had good pizza, and walked around on rue de Rennes for a while, and later on had dinner in the Marais where we saw some guy dressed as a clown. Don't really know what that was about, but I had a delicious steak, so it was good.
Monday involved way too much walking--from the Galleries Lafayette (which has by far the weirdest window displays I have EVER seen--babies on mushrooms with an octopus, a ballerina, and mechanical bunnies in vests opening a door for no reason?), past the Moulin Rouge and up to Sacre Coeur (SANS funicular, I'll have you know) and around the little streets there. We took the metro back to rue de Rennes to go to FNAC and then had dinner at an Italian place near my house because we were so tired. We came home afterwards (at around 8:00) only to find Valerie, Maria, and Maria's friend Filippe preparing dinner for dad's last night here. So, even though we were already full, we hung out with them and managed not to explode from too much pasta. Alex, Valerie's american friend (who also speaks French, Italian and Spanish) was there too.
Dad left on Tuesday morning, and I proceeded to sleep a whole lot that day and night because I was so worn out from all the walking. My classes started again yesterday with theatre, which was horrendously boring. Today was more entertaining--aside from classes, we discovered the most delicous paninis ever, decided that we need to go to Strasbourg for the Marche de Noel (Christmas market, which is apparently very famous and amazing), and saw a huge manifestation with fire, smoke, a cannon and a whole lot of drunk people in broad daylight. Then Kristin and I went over to the rue Mouffetard so I could buy some gloves.
This weekend the group is going to Provence for Saturday and Sunday, coming back on Sunday evening. Specifically, Sunday evening at 8:15. Which is funny, because my theatre class (which comprises maybe 11 our of our group of 33 students) needs to be at the Comedie Francaise by 8:30 to see Le Mariage de Figaro. Which is a three hour play.
I might die from exhaustion, but at least I will die content.
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