Somehow this week, I have only served four hours at the grindstone. Not for lack of trying. Interestingly, I have spent almost that long on trains. Wednesday, I went to Boulolgne-sur-Mer with Drew (my favorite Californian) and Nina (my favorite Indo-Canadian). We had a ball looking around the 13th century village perched high on a hill. We saw the sea. We saw a castle. We saw lots of mussels and french fries (and tasted them, too).
Then yesterday, I had an appointment in Lille at the Prefecture to pick up a recepisse of my carte de sejour. Thinking this would take all day (because this is France), I told my schools I wouldn't be there. About five of us had appointments. Imagine our surprise when we walked in and picked them up from the information desk on the first floor. No climbing stairs, winding corridors and confusion. No lines. No hassle. No frustrating lack of papers we didn't think we'd need to bring. This is by far the easiest thing that I've done in France. So we celebrated with a hot chocolate from Paul. This is by far the deliciousest thing that I've tasted in France. Very thick melted chocolate in a glass mug. 90% of English Assistants think that Paul is the best restaurant/bakery in France, and even one of the best things about France.
So we passed a lovely afternoon strolling and browsing through Lille. Then I tried to go to work this morning, but the class was gone. A teacher said they were running a race? Either that or shopping or taking a class. It's one of those words in French that can mean lots of things. But honestly, I would have liked to work today. Teaching the kids is great fun. And I sort of miss it now.
Tuesday, I played Twister with two classes. We practiced colors, left/right and dexterity. Some of them got it. Others didn't. But the room was filled with enthusiasm. Also, it was one girl's birthday. And when you have a birthday in France, you bring cake to your teachers!
Friday, November 30, 2007
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Heat...
They say it's getting cold in Texas! Wonderful. Welcome, Christmas.
I've been listening to the "London Homesick Blues" by Jerry Jeff Walker. He sings "Well, it's cold here... and I wish they'd turn the heat on" at one point. And I feel sorta like that, too. Lately two things have happened to make me think about heat.
(1) Sunday night, I leaned over a candle (old-fashioned heat) and set my hair on fire. Only a few inches burned off the left side. This is one way to avoid getting a haircut in France, but it smelled awful.
(2) There is a portable electric fan heater positioned strategically over my bed. This was great for a few weeks until I remembered the episode of Good Eats where he dried fruit and made beef jerky with just such a fan. Fearing a similar process with my skin, I now only turn it on in the morning after my alarm goes off and it's too cold to contemplate getting out of bed.
Won't the ultimate irony be getting used to the cold and being rendered unable to deal with Texas in July. This is a year of extremes!
I've been listening to the "London Homesick Blues" by Jerry Jeff Walker. He sings "Well, it's cold here... and I wish they'd turn the heat on" at one point. And I feel sorta like that, too. Lately two things have happened to make me think about heat.
(1) Sunday night, I leaned over a candle (old-fashioned heat) and set my hair on fire. Only a few inches burned off the left side. This is one way to avoid getting a haircut in France, but it smelled awful.
(2) There is a portable electric fan heater positioned strategically over my bed. This was great for a few weeks until I remembered the episode of Good Eats where he dried fruit and made beef jerky with just such a fan. Fearing a similar process with my skin, I now only turn it on in the morning after my alarm goes off and it's too cold to contemplate getting out of bed.
Won't the ultimate irony be getting used to the cold and being rendered unable to deal with Texas in July. This is a year of extremes!
Sunday, November 25, 2007
The Cry of the Seagulls
Woke me up yesterday morning. For a moment I thought Galveston awaited outside the window. Then I remembered. Dunkerque. It was high time to visit Sarah and get out of town. So here we are at the beach where the Frogs and the Roast Beefs have battled for ages. That's what they call each other. There are still some battlements and memorials.
We bought pain au mais at the market yesterday. Cornbread? No. Yeast bread with a gentle smattering of corn kernels. Not what we wanted. (By the way, mais is one word that French people never understand me saying. Very vexing.) On the up side, our favorite bakery Paul has started selling Christmas confections, and we ate some St. Nicolaus men on Friday.
It's Christmas everywhere. The Marche de Noel began two days ago in Lille. They have a number of showy snowy house facades, a huge ferris wheel and all the Christmas trinkets you can imagine. But streets have already been decorated for Christmas since before Halloween. I had to explain to the students that in America, we don't deck the halls until after Thanksgiving.
By the way, Thursday all the teachers (save two) loved the pumpkin pie. An easy way to make friends in France is to walk down the rue carrying a round pan. The kids also enjoyed Pin the Hat on the Turkey and learning that we do not eat peanut butter on Thanksgiving.
Food habits that Europeans find strange:
Marshmallows in hot chocolate
Eating Dressing for dinner
Peanut butter and chocolate, together
Peanut butter and jelly, together
Cereal for dinner
Any meal that does not include some form of a potato
We bought pain au mais at the market yesterday. Cornbread? No. Yeast bread with a gentle smattering of corn kernels. Not what we wanted. (By the way, mais is one word that French people never understand me saying. Very vexing.) On the up side, our favorite bakery Paul has started selling Christmas confections, and we ate some St. Nicolaus men on Friday.
It's Christmas everywhere. The Marche de Noel began two days ago in Lille. They have a number of showy snowy house facades, a huge ferris wheel and all the Christmas trinkets you can imagine. But streets have already been decorated for Christmas since before Halloween. I had to explain to the students that in America, we don't deck the halls until after Thanksgiving.
By the way, Thursday all the teachers (save two) loved the pumpkin pie. An easy way to make friends in France is to walk down the rue carrying a round pan. The kids also enjoyed Pin the Hat on the Turkey and learning that we do not eat peanut butter on Thanksgiving.
Food habits that Europeans find strange:
Marshmallows in hot chocolate
Eating Dressing for dinner
Peanut butter and chocolate, together
Peanut butter and jelly, together
Cereal for dinner
Any meal that does not include some form of a potato
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Happy Thanksgiving
"Oh really, do you say that?" Megan responded after I told her that this morning.
It's been Thanksgiving in France for 9 1/2 hours now. But the Assistants have been celebrating it for a day because we tend to have Wednesdays off work. It was great! There was 6 kilo roasted turkey (the butcher had to order it special), dressing and a zillion side dishes (except cranberry sauce). The ratio was about 1 American : 1 AngloCanadian : .5 German. The food was very mysterious to those new to Thanksgiving. Sweet potatoes? With MARSHMALLOWS? Biscuits that aren't sweet cookies? What's dressing? Explaining dressing presents a challenge because it could have almost anything in it. And one of my sweet English friends ate her biscuit with a knife and fork.
We had fun preparing all of this. Caroline and I made pie crust and sweet potatoes. Then Sarah got here, and we made the biscuits and pecan pie filling. It was a crunch because we only had a small toaster oven. Food Network should make this a televised challenge. We washed the pecans (they were salted), defrosted the pumpkin and shelled lots of walnuts. Also, flour flew everywhere.
So, through all this, my homesickness decreased. It's true I'd like to be home for Thanksgiving, but it was also special to get to share this part of our culture abroad. So many want to celebrate Thanksgiving every year now. A German girl is in love with my grandmother's pecan pie. Today I'm bringing a pumpkin pie around to share with the teachers at school. We'll see how they like it. I guess this sharing between cultures is what Thanksgiving was originally about anyway. So, it's special to get to experience it in this way.
But Happy Thanksgiving to all of you who have the day off work and school.
It's been Thanksgiving in France for 9 1/2 hours now. But the Assistants have been celebrating it for a day because we tend to have Wednesdays off work. It was great! There was 6 kilo roasted turkey (the butcher had to order it special), dressing and a zillion side dishes (except cranberry sauce). The ratio was about 1 American : 1 AngloCanadian : .5 German. The food was very mysterious to those new to Thanksgiving. Sweet potatoes? With MARSHMALLOWS? Biscuits that aren't sweet cookies? What's dressing? Explaining dressing presents a challenge because it could have almost anything in it. And one of my sweet English friends ate her biscuit with a knife and fork.
We had fun preparing all of this. Caroline and I made pie crust and sweet potatoes. Then Sarah got here, and we made the biscuits and pecan pie filling. It was a crunch because we only had a small toaster oven. Food Network should make this a televised challenge. We washed the pecans (they were salted), defrosted the pumpkin and shelled lots of walnuts. Also, flour flew everywhere.
So, through all this, my homesickness decreased. It's true I'd like to be home for Thanksgiving, but it was also special to get to share this part of our culture abroad. So many want to celebrate Thanksgiving every year now. A German girl is in love with my grandmother's pecan pie. Today I'm bringing a pumpkin pie around to share with the teachers at school. We'll see how they like it. I guess this sharing between cultures is what Thanksgiving was originally about anyway. So, it's special to get to experience it in this way.
But Happy Thanksgiving to all of you who have the day off work and school.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Inspired
I just finished reading this article by Art Buchwald. Then a little bit about his life, and it really inspired me. Hope you like it.
Things here have been sort of slow. Imagine maple syrup dripping slowly out of a tree tap that is moving and freezing at the same time. The transit workers are still on strike. Today I got stranded after work in a neighboring town because the tramway stopped... and then walked 45 minutes in the wintery wind blasts over the river and through the woods back home. My roommate Megan is actually stranded in London because of the strikes, so I shouldn't complain. That's much further.
To combat this, I made Oatmeal Pancakes and pretended like I was at home. It works if I close my eyes and smell peanut butter.
But there are lots of things to be thankful for:
-Getting a Happy Thanksgiving card in the mail
-Encouraging emails
-Skype conversations
-Finding Quaker Oats at the store today (in a box!)
-Electric fan heaters
-Chinese websites that allow me to keep up with American television while learning Chinese via the subtitles... I now recognize the characters for "No" "I" and "Well".
Things here have been sort of slow. Imagine maple syrup dripping slowly out of a tree tap that is moving and freezing at the same time. The transit workers are still on strike. Today I got stranded after work in a neighboring town because the tramway stopped... and then walked 45 minutes in the wintery wind blasts over the river and through the woods back home. My roommate Megan is actually stranded in London because of the strikes, so I shouldn't complain. That's much further.
To combat this, I made Oatmeal Pancakes and pretended like I was at home. It works if I close my eyes and smell peanut butter.
But there are lots of things to be thankful for:
-Getting a Happy Thanksgiving card in the mail
-Encouraging emails
-Skype conversations
-Finding Quaker Oats at the store today (in a box!)
-Electric fan heaters
-Chinese websites that allow me to keep up with American television while learning Chinese via the subtitles... I now recognize the characters for "No" "I" and "Well".
Friday, November 16, 2007
France's other holidays
A hearty thanks for all the help and suggestions! It's great having transferable recipes for Thanksgiving food, even if one does have to pay cher for a piddly number of pecans. Through this process, I've been wondering why Thanksgiving never caught on in France (so what if they never had pilgrims or Indians). You'd think the French would be all about having another holiday that revolves around food, sports and family time. Those are, after all, their obsessions.
Last week while I was explaining Thanksgiving to her class, little Marie raised her hand and asked if we ate chips (french fries) for the meal. I said no and tried to convey the vastness and importance of the Thanksgiving dinner using tone, arm gestures and broken french. She seemed perplexed. Five minutes later, not willing to let this go, she raised her hand and asked "But why don't you eat chips for Thanksgiving?" "Because it's a formal meal. Formel. Chips are informel." She just looked at me like I'd either (1) grown a Native American headdress or (2) discounted her entire logic system. French fries are very popular here. They even serve them on bread...a french fry sandwich. It's apparently outside the 9-year-old range of thought that one can have a nice meal without them.
Maybe Thanksgiving never caught on because two holidays already exist this week. Sunday was Armistice Day. It was really sobering thinking about how much violence struck Valenciennes. I believe the British liberated them because there were lots of Union Jack's flying in the city center. They had a ceremony at 11am that lasted about an hour (a very COLD hour). All the branches of the military were represented, and there were small troops from England and Scotland (sporting bagpipes and kilts!). The most notable part of this was the parade. I'm not sure how this fits in beyond being a demonstration of civic pride and participation, but almost every sports club marched in it behind the military band and the boy scouts. My favorites were the martial arts club, the SCUBA club (in wetsuits and flippers), the baseball club (it does exist!), the umbrella club, and the hot air balloon club (who had the bottom parts of their balloons on trailers and drove around shooting fire in the air... that warmed things up a bit.)
Then yesterday was another day dear to France... and any oenophile. The first day of Beaujolais Nouveau. It's a type of red wine that is harvested later in the year (now). I don't know why it's always this day, but it is. People have beaujolais parties, and bars have free buffets. And if bars have free buffets, hungry English assistants will flock there in droves. (Who knew France had buffets?) So we went to try this new wine. It was nice, but I'm still not sure what the fuss is. We also ought to have checked to see what the buffet consisted of before sitting down and ordering a bottle. This was not the gourmet buffet of wishes and dreams. It was stinky, drippy cheese on a wheel, couscous and canned vegetables. I felt insulted. Wronged. Still do. Shame on you, France. Shame on you. That should be illegal or persecuted.
Also disappointing: the transportation workers are on stike again. So our trip to Paris this weekend has been jeopardized and postponed. On a brighter note, it has been sunny the last three days (even though the temperatures hover around freezing). The Alps opened up for skiing today. These are the things one knows when one lives in France. It's weird.
Last week while I was explaining Thanksgiving to her class, little Marie raised her hand and asked if we ate chips (french fries) for the meal. I said no and tried to convey the vastness and importance of the Thanksgiving dinner using tone, arm gestures and broken french. She seemed perplexed. Five minutes later, not willing to let this go, she raised her hand and asked "But why don't you eat chips for Thanksgiving?" "Because it's a formal meal. Formel. Chips are informel." She just looked at me like I'd either (1) grown a Native American headdress or (2) discounted her entire logic system. French fries are very popular here. They even serve them on bread...a french fry sandwich. It's apparently outside the 9-year-old range of thought that one can have a nice meal without them.
Maybe Thanksgiving never caught on because two holidays already exist this week. Sunday was Armistice Day. It was really sobering thinking about how much violence struck Valenciennes. I believe the British liberated them because there were lots of Union Jack's flying in the city center. They had a ceremony at 11am that lasted about an hour (a very COLD hour). All the branches of the military were represented, and there were small troops from England and Scotland (sporting bagpipes and kilts!). The most notable part of this was the parade. I'm not sure how this fits in beyond being a demonstration of civic pride and participation, but almost every sports club marched in it behind the military band and the boy scouts. My favorites were the martial arts club, the SCUBA club (in wetsuits and flippers), the baseball club (it does exist!), the umbrella club, and the hot air balloon club (who had the bottom parts of their balloons on trailers and drove around shooting fire in the air... that warmed things up a bit.)
Then yesterday was another day dear to France... and any oenophile. The first day of Beaujolais Nouveau. It's a type of red wine that is harvested later in the year (now). I don't know why it's always this day, but it is. People have beaujolais parties, and bars have free buffets. And if bars have free buffets, hungry English assistants will flock there in droves. (Who knew France had buffets?) So we went to try this new wine. It was nice, but I'm still not sure what the fuss is. We also ought to have checked to see what the buffet consisted of before sitting down and ordering a bottle. This was not the gourmet buffet of wishes and dreams. It was stinky, drippy cheese on a wheel, couscous and canned vegetables. I felt insulted. Wronged. Still do. Shame on you, France. Shame on you. That should be illegal or persecuted.
Also disappointing: the transportation workers are on stike again. So our trip to Paris this weekend has been jeopardized and postponed. On a brighter note, it has been sunny the last three days (even though the temperatures hover around freezing). The Alps opened up for skiing today. These are the things one knows when one lives in France. It's weird.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
England may save Thanksgiving! You can help, too!
Okay dear readers,
This is a call for help!
The American Assistants have planned a Thanksgiving feast for next Wednesday (most of us have to work Thursday, how lame). The British are excited about it. The Canadians are even more excited about it (they have a form of Thanksgiving).
So last night, I was reading recipes for pie, buttermilk biscuits and dressing online. I could actually taste the pecan pie crunching in my mouth. The problem is, a lot of the traditional ingredients can't be found here (unless Megan finds them in England this weekend).
So could you help me? If you know of a recipe for pecan pie that has no corn syrup, can you send it to me? Also a biscuits recipe with no baking powder or shortening. We have baking soda. Also there is no canned pumpkin here. But we have lots of walnuts! Please send any ideas to laurajoost@gmail.com!
This is a call for help!
The American Assistants have planned a Thanksgiving feast for next Wednesday (most of us have to work Thursday, how lame). The British are excited about it. The Canadians are even more excited about it (they have a form of Thanksgiving).
So last night, I was reading recipes for pie, buttermilk biscuits and dressing online. I could actually taste the pecan pie crunching in my mouth. The problem is, a lot of the traditional ingredients can't be found here (unless Megan finds them in England this weekend).
So could you help me? If you know of a recipe for pecan pie that has no corn syrup, can you send it to me? Also a biscuits recipe with no baking powder or shortening. We have baking soda. Also there is no canned pumpkin here. But we have lots of walnuts! Please send any ideas to laurajoost@gmail.com!
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Italy Part 4: Cultural Notes
The first evening we arrived in Rome, Sarah and I set out to find a grocery store our hotel had recommended. "Togoli" is the name she wrote down. (By the way, when checking in, she exclaimed at length about how Laura is an Italian name... then she told Sarah the same thing. She reminded me of the dad on My Big Fat Greek Wedding.) Anyway, the following anecdote basically sums up our intercultural communications with Italians. We searched for the grocery store all over the train station and couldn't find it.
So, we asked 3 police officers.
"Buonasera" "Buonasera" "Buonasera" "Buonasera" (you have to greet everyone)
"Togoli?"
Blank stares. "Engl-ay-see?" they asked us. "Si si."
"What you look for?" "Togoli" More blank stares. We hadn't anticipated this to be a problem.
"A grocery store. We're looking for a grocery store. En francais?"
"The food. We want some of the food for to eat."
"Ahhhhh mangeria! Pizzeria!" "Non non non" we waved our hands back and forth.
"Mac-dough-nal-dos?" "Non non non. For the breakfast tomorrow."
"Ahhh tomorrow. Biglietteria (ticket office)" "Non non non."
"Horaries (time table)?" "Non non non."
After this, we basically said every word for food, grocery store that we knew in every language. Then we just changed the pronunciation to sound more Italian after they failed the first time. We would have given up, but they were so intent on helping us. Finally, the oldest one (who had said he knew no English) had a blessed moment of comprehension and said "Ahhh, Supermarket!" Ding ding ding ding! After that, Sarah and I were escorted down the escalator, through the train station by three proud police officers. If we hadn't been smiling, it would have looked like we were in heaps of trouble. They deposited us outside of Conad's Drug Store. "Drug Store? Non. Supermarket" we said. "Non supermarket" they said. And they were right.
To go to a supermarket, one goes to a drug store.
To purchase a bus ticket, one goes to a newspaper stand.
To purchase stamps, one goes to a tobacco shop. (NOT a store called La Stampa.)
I hear the bank sells great seafood.
They drink orzo in their coffee, eat puffed rice in their chocolate cookies and put tubers and gourds on their pizzas.
Ciao means hello, goodbye, and hey. Usually it's necessary to say it 3-4 times in rapid succession, most of all when trying to get off of the phone with your mama. Prego is the same way. It means please, you're welcome, go ahead, and you're next.
So once a visitor gets used to all this, whenever sometimes new surprises you, you just think "Of course," shake your head and ponder anew the logic of the Italians. Because somehow these crazy things make sense here.
One other stunner-- the country that brings Armani, Prada and Gucci to the international design closet has a surprising love of kitsch. There is tackiness hidden in corners. It's all over the market! Restaurants have large flying dolphin ceramics. Bathrooms have chromatic waterfall posters. Boys wear Dora the Explorer backpacks. I saw an impeccably dressed girl (to an Italian--black and brown only, please wear leather boots) with a Betty Boop Road Sign sticking out of a shopping bag.
This is paradoxical. But I finally started understanding their relaxed sense of time. It probably has to do with being surrounded by 2000 year old buildings. What's another 15 minutes matter compared to that? Also, it's difficult to walk quickly down cobblestone streets.
So, we asked 3 police officers.
"Buonasera" "Buonasera" "Buonasera" "Buonasera" (you have to greet everyone)
"Togoli?"
Blank stares. "Engl-ay-see?" they asked us. "Si si."
"What you look for?" "Togoli" More blank stares. We hadn't anticipated this to be a problem.
"A grocery store. We're looking for a grocery store. En francais?"
"The food. We want some of the food for to eat."
"Ahhhhh mangeria! Pizzeria!" "Non non non" we waved our hands back and forth.
"Mac-dough-nal-dos?" "Non non non. For the breakfast tomorrow."
"Ahhh tomorrow. Biglietteria (ticket office)" "Non non non."
"Horaries (time table)?" "Non non non."
After this, we basically said every word for food, grocery store that we knew in every language. Then we just changed the pronunciation to sound more Italian after they failed the first time. We would have given up, but they were so intent on helping us. Finally, the oldest one (who had said he knew no English) had a blessed moment of comprehension and said "Ahhh, Supermarket!" Ding ding ding ding! After that, Sarah and I were escorted down the escalator, through the train station by three proud police officers. If we hadn't been smiling, it would have looked like we were in heaps of trouble. They deposited us outside of Conad's Drug Store. "Drug Store? Non. Supermarket" we said. "Non supermarket" they said. And they were right.
To go to a supermarket, one goes to a drug store.
To purchase a bus ticket, one goes to a newspaper stand.
To purchase stamps, one goes to a tobacco shop. (NOT a store called La Stampa.)
I hear the bank sells great seafood.
They drink orzo in their coffee, eat puffed rice in their chocolate cookies and put tubers and gourds on their pizzas.
Ciao means hello, goodbye, and hey. Usually it's necessary to say it 3-4 times in rapid succession, most of all when trying to get off of the phone with your mama. Prego is the same way. It means please, you're welcome, go ahead, and you're next.
So once a visitor gets used to all this, whenever sometimes new surprises you, you just think "Of course," shake your head and ponder anew the logic of the Italians. Because somehow these crazy things make sense here.
One other stunner-- the country that brings Armani, Prada and Gucci to the international design closet has a surprising love of kitsch. There is tackiness hidden in corners. It's all over the market! Restaurants have large flying dolphin ceramics. Bathrooms have chromatic waterfall posters. Boys wear Dora the Explorer backpacks. I saw an impeccably dressed girl (to an Italian--black and brown only, please wear leather boots) with a Betty Boop Road Sign sticking out of a shopping bag.
This is paradoxical. But I finally started understanding their relaxed sense of time. It probably has to do with being surrounded by 2000 year old buildings. What's another 15 minutes matter compared to that? Also, it's difficult to walk quickly down cobblestone streets.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Italy Part 3: Roma Spelled backwards is Amor
That's the title of a book I once read for a class on the Art and Architectural History of Rome. We read lots of books that semester, but that one was my favorite. It described the monuments and the stories behind them (rather than structural technicalities), and so actually getting to be in Rome for 4 days was incredible! All the names were so familiar. The history's really true. The proof is in the ruins. The dead/living city was as vibrant as I'd imagined and hoped.
Mercifully, I will only post about my absolute favorites. Otherwise this could turn into a book.
The first morning, Sarah and I visited the Villa Borghese. The Borghese family was one of the most prominent in Italy, and they had this house built specifically to show off their art collection. It was fantastic! One of the signs mentioned a sculpture that had "emigrated to the Louvre." That doesn't sound too bad, does it?
That evening, we went into Santa Maria Maggiore. The floor was covered in colorful marble tiles and you could feel the different levels beneath your feet. The confession booths were labled Espagnol, Deutsch, Italiano, English, Francais and Polski. The ceiling seemed very flat after being in the Pantheon. A nun walked by carrying an IKEA shopping bag. We decided to go to the evening vespers. It was amazing listening to the Italian and understanding what they were saying.
The next day we went to Vatican City to visit St. Peter's Basilica.
Numbers:
1- statue by Michelangelo
2- times Sarah and I walked through the Sistine Chapel
3- hours waiting in line to enter the Vatican Museum
4- hurting feet
5- euros for cheese and bread in the cafeteria
6- hours there
550- steps climbed to the top of the dome (whew!)
The massiveness of the Basilica sinks in slowly. They have marked off on the floor the boundaries of other cathedrals (demonstrating how much larger it is!). It looks like all heaven broke loose inside. Everything is covered in gold or colors or sculpture or puti (those naked babies who fly everywhere). It's stunning.
That night we got gelati at one of the most famous gelaterias called San Crispiano. It was nearly life-changing in that I almost changed my life's goal into being someone who makes gelato. We tried gelato with meringue pieces, zabaglione, honey, and travorso chocolate. Then we went to the Trevi fountain (with the rest of the hoard) to see it the lights.
Our last day in Rome, we went to a street market (where I got a nutcracker, 3 antique postcards and achy feet) and wandered around the ancient Forums. We had the most wonderful pizza-- a chewy, yummy crust covered in bufalo mozzarella, peppers, artichokes, eggplant, and tomatoes. This restaurant must have been truly Italian because we ate at a table between a nun and a fashion designer. And saw paper towels in a bathroom for the first tiome since arriving in Europe.
Mercifully, I will only post about my absolute favorites. Otherwise this could turn into a book.
The first morning, Sarah and I visited the Villa Borghese. The Borghese family was one of the most prominent in Italy, and they had this house built specifically to show off their art collection. It was fantastic! One of the signs mentioned a sculpture that had "emigrated to the Louvre." That doesn't sound too bad, does it?
That evening, we went into Santa Maria Maggiore. The floor was covered in colorful marble tiles and you could feel the different levels beneath your feet. The confession booths were labled Espagnol, Deutsch, Italiano, English, Francais and Polski. The ceiling seemed very flat after being in the Pantheon. A nun walked by carrying an IKEA shopping bag. We decided to go to the evening vespers. It was amazing listening to the Italian and understanding what they were saying.
The next day we went to Vatican City to visit St. Peter's Basilica.
Numbers:
1- statue by Michelangelo
2- times Sarah and I walked through the Sistine Chapel
3- hours waiting in line to enter the Vatican Museum
4- hurting feet
5- euros for cheese and bread in the cafeteria
6- hours there
550- steps climbed to the top of the dome (whew!)
The massiveness of the Basilica sinks in slowly. They have marked off on the floor the boundaries of other cathedrals (demonstrating how much larger it is!). It looks like all heaven broke loose inside. Everything is covered in gold or colors or sculpture or puti (those naked babies who fly everywhere). It's stunning.
That night we got gelati at one of the most famous gelaterias called San Crispiano. It was nearly life-changing in that I almost changed my life's goal into being someone who makes gelato. We tried gelato with meringue pieces, zabaglione, honey, and travorso chocolate. Then we went to the Trevi fountain (with the rest of the hoard) to see it the lights.
Our last day in Rome, we went to a street market (where I got a nutcracker, 3 antique postcards and achy feet) and wandered around the ancient Forums. We had the most wonderful pizza-- a chewy, yummy crust covered in bufalo mozzarella, peppers, artichokes, eggplant, and tomatoes. This restaurant must have been truly Italian because we ate at a table between a nun and a fashion designer. And saw paper towels in a bathroom for the first tiome since arriving in Europe.
Friday, November 9, 2007
Italy Part 2: The Beach and the Renaissance
Riomaggiore (in the Cinque Terre) was mentioned in a previous post. Basically, it's one of 5 hillside villages on the western coast of Italy that have been declared a national park. Yes, it's gorgeous. They are famous for pesto and gnocci. Unfortunately we heard more people speaking English than Italian. So, apparently the secret's out. Sarah and I had a pesto picnic in our hotel room. One of the great things about Europe is buying produce with stems and leaves still attached. I'm fascinated by this. One of the not-great things about Italy is being charged to sit down in a restaurant. This happened at lunch, and then the waitress was cheeky enough to shoo us out right after our meal.
Italy is very different from France. The trains are late. Ticket checkers would rather talk on their cells with signoras than punch your ticket. It's sunny. The rooftops are made with orangey-red tiles. Coffee with foamed milk is superbe. Shops are closed between 12 -3 and then stay open until 8:30. People are more smiley (even though they only wear black and brown).
Florence was great. The Renaissance is everywhere. Our hotel was right next to Dante's house. Brunelleschi's dome was a block away. Art galleries galore. It inspires one's finer side. We feasted chocolate muselix, calzones with the most perfect bread, and tiramisu gelato. We saw David, The Birth of Venus, children trick-or-treating, and two more mullets (tourists).
David is monumental. Chilling. Immediate goosebumps. Michelangelo, thank you.
On the train to Rome, we accidentally rode 1st class. The ticket guy didn't say a word! Benvenuto in Italy.
Italy is very different from France. The trains are late. Ticket checkers would rather talk on their cells with signoras than punch your ticket. It's sunny. The rooftops are made with orangey-red tiles. Coffee with foamed milk is superbe. Shops are closed between 12 -3 and then stay open until 8:30. People are more smiley (even though they only wear black and brown).
Florence was great. The Renaissance is everywhere. Our hotel was right next to Dante's house. Brunelleschi's dome was a block away. Art galleries galore. It inspires one's finer side. We feasted chocolate muselix, calzones with the most perfect bread, and tiramisu gelato. We saw David, The Birth of Venus, children trick-or-treating, and two more mullets (tourists).
David is monumental. Chilling. Immediate goosebumps. Michelangelo, thank you.
On the train to Rome, we accidentally rode 1st class. The ticket guy didn't say a word! Benvenuto in Italy.
Italy Part 1: Making it out of France
"We would like to reserve two tickets to Torino leaving today at 12:15 from Paris."
The lady at the train station ticket window stared at me with the you-complete-idiot look and said "This is the vacations. All the trains to Italy are full. You should have reserved weeks ago. Today is impossible." "And tomorrow?" "Complete" "Monday?" "Okay there's a train Monday but it leaves at 6 am and you have to wait in Chambery for 5 hours."
And it was even more trouble getting a train back from Italy. (Should have just stayed there)
Anyway, that was the start of my vacation with Sarah. We sheepishly went back to Valenciennes, surprised my roommates, and rearranged our hotel situation.
Monday morning, we had to catch the train leaving at 4:39 am to catch our next one at 6 am in Lille. As if waking up at 3:30 am isn't difficult enough, daylight savings time didn't reset on my phone, and I woke us up at 2:30 am. Whoops.
Four Dutch people rode on the train to Lyon next to us. They were way too chatty for the morning. In fact, the one with a stammer never stopped talking. This was rough because (1) we couldn't sleep and (2) we couldn't eavesdrop. It's funny arriving somewhere far away at 9 am. We got the bus to sunny Chambery (an French Alpine town) and sat in the park for 5 hours. What is there to do in a park for such a long time?
Journal. Sketch. People watch. Most looked like they'd rather be skiing. Others included
-a man sleeping on his shoes on a bench
-a passerbyer with a mullet, red shirt and white sneakers
-two people practicing karate, one Asian, one uncoordinated.
Fortunately we got a lot of this on video.
We made it to Torino and our hotel around 9 pm. This was officially a long day.
The lady at the train station ticket window stared at me with the you-complete-idiot look and said "This is the vacations. All the trains to Italy are full. You should have reserved weeks ago. Today is impossible." "And tomorrow?" "Complete" "Monday?" "Okay there's a train Monday but it leaves at 6 am and you have to wait in Chambery for 5 hours."
And it was even more trouble getting a train back from Italy. (Should have just stayed there)
Anyway, that was the start of my vacation with Sarah. We sheepishly went back to Valenciennes, surprised my roommates, and rearranged our hotel situation.
Monday morning, we had to catch the train leaving at 4:39 am to catch our next one at 6 am in Lille. As if waking up at 3:30 am isn't difficult enough, daylight savings time didn't reset on my phone, and I woke us up at 2:30 am. Whoops.
Four Dutch people rode on the train to Lyon next to us. They were way too chatty for the morning. In fact, the one with a stammer never stopped talking. This was rough because (1) we couldn't sleep and (2) we couldn't eavesdrop. It's funny arriving somewhere far away at 9 am. We got the bus to sunny Chambery (an French Alpine town) and sat in the park for 5 hours. What is there to do in a park for such a long time?
Journal. Sketch. People watch. Most looked like they'd rather be skiing. Others included
-a man sleeping on his shoes on a bench
-a passerbyer with a mullet, red shirt and white sneakers
-two people practicing karate, one Asian, one uncoordinated.
Fortunately we got a lot of this on video.
We made it to Torino and our hotel around 9 pm. This was officially a long day.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Back!
Italy was fantastic!
I am ready to learn Italian and move to Italy. Maybe in that order, maybe not.
Tomorrow you can expect a proper update. This is just to let everyone know I'm safely back in France. But it's not sunny here. Work starts tomorrow. I got used to going barefoot indoors and not dragging an overcoat around everywhere.
I am ready to learn Italian and move to Italy. Maybe in that order, maybe not.
Tomorrow you can expect a proper update. This is just to let everyone know I'm safely back in France. But it's not sunny here. Work starts tomorrow. I got used to going barefoot indoors and not dragging an overcoat around everywhere.
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Buongiorno from Firenze
That means Good day from Florence in case you have never heard it before. Things here are spectacular. It is sunny. Buildings are lovely. Gelato is plentiful. Street food is better than french restaurant fare.
We started out in Torino, oogled chocolate and paintings. Then went to the Cinque Terre- a beach town- but it was raining and windy. Left there the next morning while the sun was shining (wanting to cry from disappointment) and made it to Florence. Now we are off to Roma for four days. More later.
I love Europes outrageous eye and footwear.
Yesterday I wanted to be a pigeon so I could fly into the Uffizzi instead of waiting in line.
The coffee here is great.
We started out in Torino, oogled chocolate and paintings. Then went to the Cinque Terre- a beach town- but it was raining and windy. Left there the next morning while the sun was shining (wanting to cry from disappointment) and made it to Florence. Now we are off to Roma for four days. More later.
I love Europes outrageous eye and footwear.
Yesterday I wanted to be a pigeon so I could fly into the Uffizzi instead of waiting in line.
The coffee here is great.
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