32 miles

Friday was a solid day of classes; I left school feeling like I was really making progress. I was also really excited for the activity they had planned for us that evening: an hour ride to a winery, through the French countryside.

We met at the train station a little after three, and all 25 students formed a single-file line of blue cruisers to, ready to weave through the city traffic. The sun was shining, and the temperature was rising; this was to be the hottest day for us yet. The ride began in the city center and we wound out through the streets to the large park at the edge of Chambery. The last stretch of park opened up into the countryside, heading East, and gave us a clear shot of the Italian Alps. We were riding straight at them, past vineyards, cottages, small towns and large, rustic farms. Everyone's heads were in the clouds and their feet were endlessly pedaling, at an increasing incline.

All was going well until about 40 minutes in, when a few of the girls started to get too hot (no, I was not one of them...I held out until the last stretch). We slowed down the pace, but the hills kept getting more difficult and you couldn't stay that slow if you wanted to survive. Everyone was at the point of giving up, and became more frustrated as we passed winery after winery that we were NOT stopping at.

I was doing well until the last beast of a hill. I felt my chest getting tight and decided to just walk up it, knowing the coast down would be amazing. I wanted a chance to cool off before we got to our final destination...

which turned out to be immediately at the bottom of the huge hill. I was flying down and had to slam on the breaks half way to get into the parking lot. We went into the old cottage-looking store, surrounded by its acres of grapes. After watching a video about the history of wine making, we took a little tour through their museum. The entire trip was narrated by an adorable, tiny, dynamic French woman; she kept slowing down her speech and asking if we understood, but her hand gestures were much more confusing than her language.

She then took us into the back room for a wine tasting tutorial. We sampled the vineyard's red, rose and white. Savoie is best known for their white wine, which is about 80 percent of their production. It was definitely my favorite of the three. After she explained what we were supposed to be looking for in the wines, it was fun to sip them and try to pick out the fruits in the rose (which I really do not enjoy) and the florals of the whites. The red tasted a lot sweeter than I was expecting, but that may just be due to the sausage; it's a combination I'd never tried. The cheese served with the rose was awesome, and I really wish I could find some in the states. This is so American, but I really think it would be a killer grilled cheese.

Saturday was the Fete de la Musique, one of France's few national holidays. Our group had a trip to Lyon organized, and I couldn't think of a better time to go to France's second biggest city. We left at 14h, giving us time to recover from the bike ride from Hell that was 32 miles round trip (ok, so it wasn't that bad since the whole ride back was one long coast). We chartered a bus to the city and were dropped off in the center of town, surrounded by stages for concerts.

Leslie and I had looked the night before and found a concert that was a really good mix of bands, with jazz, world and inde all on the lineup. We started heading in the direction, but stopped for the ever popular sandwich dinner and a pitcher of sangria from a Spanish bar. The sangria was refreshing, since temperatures were continuing to rise and we had already had som wine in our systems that we were beginning to sweat out. Each of us was lugging around a liter of water (the most common size of bottle here); they looked a bit odd on our cafe table, but we didn't care.

We continued on, following the map to the park our concert would be held in. When our location lined up with the spot on the map, we were staring at a large rock cliff and could hear music drifting down to us. It took a minute, but we were able to find the winding staircase all the way up to the plateau. We arrived as the band we really wanted to hear was ending; they were followed by a bizarre upright base and flute duo, that would have been muuuch better sans flute. The park was fun and tourist-free, so we decided to wait for the next band before giving up on the location.

It was a really good decision! The next band was the world music group the website talked about; their entire playlist was full of fun, Latin-flavored brass and percussion pieces that got the whole crowed dancing like hippies. It was fun to let go of all of your inhibitions and dance like no one was watching. We left the concert on such a high. The walk back down the cliff, passing bars with live music, stages in town squares and the odd musician on a street corner was full of scenes highlighted by multicolored street lamps and strand lights around patios. The songs provided the perfect background for some personal reflection time.

Turning away from the concert into the green and orange lights of the next cafe, it really hit me how intimately connected I am to Leslie and Jon. We've shared so many life-changing experiences together in such a short time and there is no way to recreate these moments. Each day, I have an opportunity to people watch and absorb a new culture, to learn more of a new language. Each day, I'm surrounded by this amazing scenery that feels like one long prayer. The homesickless and strange isolation one feels enhances the newness and beauty of everything that is around you, making it seem so much more valuable. I've never been so thankful for anything. This weekend, I really started looking forward to how different I will be when I come back. I hope to be more positive, more patient and not forget what I was able to experience here.