Yesterday, Leslie's French friend Yan asked us if we wanted to go to the lake. We were thinking he meant Lac du Bourget, the insanely large lake that's right by Chambery. No, he said, there was a much smaller, less crowded beach a bit further out of town. He said that he spent most of his childhood going to the lake, that the water was still and clear and people caught really large fish all the time (you would have loved it, Dad).
When he picks us up, we hop into the back of his tiny French car and he asks if we would like to take the highway or a more scenic route, even though it would take a few extra minutes. Scenic route was decided on instantly, and we were off. The drive took us up the narrow, winding roads of Europe, on cliffs with no guard rails and hairpin curves through fields. The view was incredible; we could see all of Chambery and the surrounding area. We pulled off at one spot and got a panoramique view of the whole city. All I could think of was the scene in Meet Me in St. Louis, when the girls are at the state fair and they're talking about how it's "right in their own back yard."
With the windows down, the French wind was blowing through my hair. I was staring out the window, lost in the lyrics of an American song that was popular three years ago, thinking about how this is one of those moments that you always remember: the sun, the trees, the view of Bourget from above and the perfect little houses nestled in the fields and quiet corners of the countryside.
Yan was right. The lake was perfect, full of families just starting vacations and naked kids running around becoming perfectly sun-kissed. We waded into the sand-bottomed lake; I had forgotten that not all lakes are like Indian Lake and was shocked when I could see my feet digging into the sand as the water covered my shoulders. The cold was perfect after the long, hot day. We spashed around for the daily dose of exercise and then went back to the grass beach to dry.
...and then I capped off the afternoon with doing my subjontif homework until I fell asleep and woke up at midnight.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
things you should know
There are some things that no one ever thinks to tell you before you travel abroad. I wanted to take a moment to share some of them with you.
In regards to bathrooms:
1) Practice holding it. Free public restrooms are few and far between. Some don't have toilets, but are little holes in the ground. Others let the sink water go right out onto the floor to "mop" it. They don't have soap. Frequently, they are out of towels.
2) Practice squating. Less than half of the public restrooms have toilet seats. You need some good leg muscle before you get here.
3) Practice going quietly. There is little to no water in the toilet, so you always sound like a kitchen sink. This is even worse when you're squating.
General Remarks:
1) Get over gender/privacy issues. Many bathrooms are for both sexes. Some hostels have old-school pubic showers for the entire girls' floor, while others just don't have doors or curtains.
2) Don't feel the need to shower every day. It's a hastle when you're running between trains and you have to push the water button every 30 seconds.
3) Remember that your B.O. can not possibly be as bad as theirs is most of the time, unless you also choose not to wear any deoderant. I can understand it, though. That stuff is expensive. Buy more than you think you'll need, just in case.
4) Be ready for your gums to toughen up. The bread here is great, but a far cry from the soft Wonder Bread that Americans have gotten used to. They've perfectly mastered the really crunchy outside and soft, soft inside.
5) Carry a dictionary. Some words on menus will NOT mean what you think it does. Who would have thought one of Lyon's biggest specialties is head cheese? (We learned this in advance, not from personal experience.)
6) Buy wine by the bottle or liter. It goes a lot farther than you think, and is WAAAY less expensive.
7) Like most things, laundry is hell-a expensive to do. Bring a little box and do it in the sink. You'll get a few blisters, but you'll be five euros better off. Throw them in the sunny spot of the room and they'll dry just fine.
Oh my gosh, I could go on forever. There's so much that you never think about! I started a mental list last night when I was laying in bed. The position of my room in the building is so funny; I'm below everyone, so their voices all come down to me, and the voices on the street drift up. I feel like Alice at the beginning of the Brady Bunch, when she's in the middle square. I sit and turn my head to different conversations, picking out different languages and trying to find one I can understand. I guess that's what happens when your eyes glaze over from staring at verb charts and you don't have a television or a radio.
In regards to bathrooms:
1) Practice holding it. Free public restrooms are few and far between. Some don't have toilets, but are little holes in the ground. Others let the sink water go right out onto the floor to "mop" it. They don't have soap. Frequently, they are out of towels.
2) Practice squating. Less than half of the public restrooms have toilet seats. You need some good leg muscle before you get here.
3) Practice going quietly. There is little to no water in the toilet, so you always sound like a kitchen sink. This is even worse when you're squating.
General Remarks:
1) Get over gender/privacy issues. Many bathrooms are for both sexes. Some hostels have old-school pubic showers for the entire girls' floor, while others just don't have doors or curtains.
2) Don't feel the need to shower every day. It's a hastle when you're running between trains and you have to push the water button every 30 seconds.
3) Remember that your B.O. can not possibly be as bad as theirs is most of the time, unless you also choose not to wear any deoderant. I can understand it, though. That stuff is expensive. Buy more than you think you'll need, just in case.
4) Be ready for your gums to toughen up. The bread here is great, but a far cry from the soft Wonder Bread that Americans have gotten used to. They've perfectly mastered the really crunchy outside and soft, soft inside.
5) Carry a dictionary. Some words on menus will NOT mean what you think it does. Who would have thought one of Lyon's biggest specialties is head cheese? (We learned this in advance, not from personal experience.)
6) Buy wine by the bottle or liter. It goes a lot farther than you think, and is WAAAY less expensive.
7) Like most things, laundry is hell-a expensive to do. Bring a little box and do it in the sink. You'll get a few blisters, but you'll be five euros better off. Throw them in the sunny spot of the room and they'll dry just fine.
Oh my gosh, I could go on forever. There's so much that you never think about! I started a mental list last night when I was laying in bed. The position of my room in the building is so funny; I'm below everyone, so their voices all come down to me, and the voices on the street drift up. I feel like Alice at the beginning of the Brady Bunch, when she's in the middle square. I sit and turn my head to different conversations, picking out different languages and trying to find one I can understand. I guess that's what happens when your eyes glaze over from staring at verb charts and you don't have a television or a radio.
Monday, June 23, 2008
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.
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.
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