(All ideas are stolen from my host mother and the absolutely lovely soirée she had last saturday night with a few members of her family.)
The beginning: Champagne. I advise you to choose a champagne "brute", as opposed to "sec" or "demi-sec". This is heartily confusing because "sec" in French means dry, but a champagne sec is much sweeter than a champagne brute. Go figure. In any case, buy a good bottle of champagne, pour everyone a flute, and do a "cliquer", a toast, to whatever you would like to toast. If you can't think of anything, "santé!" is always a good choice. To health.
Appetizers: NO guacamole please. In fact, it is very important that your appetizers be extremely light and small. A small pan of bite size cocktail treats and a glass of thin breadsticks should do the trick.
First course: Soup. Make enough so that everyone gets two nice spoonfuls, but not enough to fill them up. A nice creamy soup is a good choice, like a squash soup or something similar. Serve with a sliced baguette -- if you want to be really authentic, break it with your hands. To drink, red wine. (Make sure you've put it in a decanter beforehand so it's nice and smooth).
Main course: Everyone should be absolutely finished with the soup before you bring out the main dish. The dish I'm suggesting comes from the South of France and is a very traditional meal. It is comprised of three things: cooked apples, a fresh eggy pasta, and a duck confit (fairly rare in the middle, more well done on the edges). The duck is eaten with a kind of creamy sauce -- if I had to guess I would say it somehow involves dijon mustard. The three are mixed or not, according to your preference. The wine glasses are kept half full (generally speaking they are never filled entirely).Another basket of bread is usually appreciated.
Cheese course: No French meal is complete with a cheese course. You don't want to buy too many different types of cheese, so go for a nice good camembert (President brand is usually good) and a chevre (goat cheese). Pair it with a somewhat more firm bread, sliced this time.
Dessert: Before you bring out dessert, ask if anyone wants coffee, "un petit café". This is usually served AFTER the dessert. For this, why not a "fruits rouges" crumble -- literally means "red fruits", but usually refers to berries. Blackberries, rhubarb, blueberries, raspberries, strawberries -- you can buy them frozen. They are probably cooked with some sort of gelatin and a lot of sugar, and then sprinkled with a crumble and baked until the crumble is crunchy and slightly brown, and the fruits are warm.
Coffee: By which I mean ESPRESSO. The French do NOT drink regular coffee after dinner. They don't usually have decaf, either, but fortunately the caffeine of the café is counteracted by the wine. Drink slowly.
The evening is finished off by finishing the wine and having a bit of mineral water. Of course I shouldn't have to mention that conversation is the key to any dinner party. Don't have too many guests -- 7 is a good number -- so everyone can feel included and participate in the conversation. In a cross culture setting, you can easily talk about the culture differences and gently poke fun at the others.
(As you can see, it was a wonderful evening. I apologize for my lack of posting. I would bore you with the details, but suffice to say, I just don't have a lot of free time and this epidemic is about to get worse in the coming weeks. Apologies in advance. I'll do my best)>
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Life on the Swiss Train
Paris Gare de Lyon à Genève Cornavin: 15h04-18h35 Jeudi 14 Octobre: TGV directe. I wasn't supposed to be on this train, but due to la grève, the strike, in Paris these days, the circulation of the trans-region trains were all messed up and the two trains I was supposed to take were not running. Some stress, running around, and several harried conversations with SNCF officials, and I was on board TGV 6577, apparently sold out. I waited until we were about to leave, then quietly snagged a seat by the window, curled up, and pulled out some homework. No one told me to move. I stayed there until I arrived in Genève.
(I know I am skipping Friday -- It was not spent on the train, but on foot, exploring Geneva, including the United Nations and the old town on the most perfect fall day. A story for another day, but suffice to say Geneva is incredibly charming and I fell quite in love with it)
Genève Cornavin à Locarno: 7h42 - 12h11 Samedi 16 Octobre: 1 transfer in Domodossola. Armed with an accompaniment pass to a Swiss train pass (30 swiss francs, 22 euros), good for the entire day, me and my incredibly good looking gay Swiss German friend headed off to the Southern part of Switzerland, assuming (wrongly) that it would be sunny there. Four and a half hours on the train through the Swiss Alps, passing right through the northern part of Italy. At some point the announcements change from French to Italian. We spent the first train asleep, for the most part, and then transferred to a local train that was possibly the slowest train in existence. Its saving grace? It wound and climbed its way up the mountains, and we paid an extra 1,50 euros due to the fact it was a "panoramic train". It was incredibly slow -- but the views were incredibly, incredibly beautiful.
Locarno à Bellinzona: Samedi sometime in the afternoon, probably around 13h30. After a stop for lunch in Locarno, where it was, unfortunately, raining, we decided to move on. Another gorgeous fifteen minutes on the train, and we were in the capital of the Italian part of Switzerland.
Bellinzona à Lugano, 15 minutes after arriving in Bellinzona: We took long enough to buy a cappuccino before heading back to the train station and heading to Lugano. My friend fell asleep, and I gawked. Forty minutes later, we were in Lugano, which would be breathtaking in the sunshine and even in the rain was stunning. All of these towns are built around a central lake. Lugano is incredibly colorful, and from the train station you take a little shuttle tram down an incredibly steep hill to the lake, with the mountains clambering straight into the sky all around...still raining, we huddled under his umbrella and bought gelato (ordering in Italian, piccolo copetta, stracciatella y fondente extra...)
Lugano à Zurich, 16h10 - 18hsometime: Deciding that, since it was raining everywhere, we may as well cover as much ground as possible, we headed off to my friend's hometown. Armed with incredibly good bread and brie, we ate a leisurely dinner and arrived in Zurich when it was mostly dark already. Still, it was incredibly well lit and even then still incredibly charming. We took the tram and walked all over, stopping briefly for a Starbucks, then checking out the university and the Red Light district, before blitzing back to the train station and arriving just barely in time...the last train ride of our day.
Zurich à Genève, 22h04-1h05: There were several drunk and loud people on the train, but we huddled down with his computer and watched Valentine's Day together, arriving in the dead of the night and making our way back home to crash after a long day.
Genève à Paris, 17h56-23h15: Including a 40 minute transfer in Lausanne, where I bought some new bread to go with the brie from the day before, along with a lot of Swiss chocolate and some pringles. I tried to sleep, but had trouble, and instead did some homework, arriving back in Paris, in the busy streets and making my way back home before a long week, busy as always...
And in the end, what did I think of Switzerland? I fell in love with it, all of it. The mountains, the towns, the old towns, the slow, ponderous trams. I loved the calm of it, the lakes, the countryside. I was tempted so often to just get off the train and not get back on, live there until the wind blew me on, taking the next train to the next station and wandering like that...I am already thinking of going back in the spring. We'll see. Go, go, go if you have the chance.
Pictures are here. A note: for the ones from Genève, I took pictures of everything, the construction, the cars -- I wanted you to understand all of it, not just the "pretty" tourist parts. I want you to see it the way I did, with all of that included.
(I know I am skipping Friday -- It was not spent on the train, but on foot, exploring Geneva, including the United Nations and the old town on the most perfect fall day. A story for another day, but suffice to say Geneva is incredibly charming and I fell quite in love with it)
Genève Cornavin à Locarno: 7h42 - 12h11 Samedi 16 Octobre: 1 transfer in Domodossola. Armed with an accompaniment pass to a Swiss train pass (30 swiss francs, 22 euros), good for the entire day, me and my incredibly good looking gay Swiss German friend headed off to the Southern part of Switzerland, assuming (wrongly) that it would be sunny there. Four and a half hours on the train through the Swiss Alps, passing right through the northern part of Italy. At some point the announcements change from French to Italian. We spent the first train asleep, for the most part, and then transferred to a local train that was possibly the slowest train in existence. Its saving grace? It wound and climbed its way up the mountains, and we paid an extra 1,50 euros due to the fact it was a "panoramic train". It was incredibly slow -- but the views were incredibly, incredibly beautiful.
Locarno à Bellinzona: Samedi sometime in the afternoon, probably around 13h30. After a stop for lunch in Locarno, where it was, unfortunately, raining, we decided to move on. Another gorgeous fifteen minutes on the train, and we were in the capital of the Italian part of Switzerland.
Bellinzona à Lugano, 15 minutes after arriving in Bellinzona: We took long enough to buy a cappuccino before heading back to the train station and heading to Lugano. My friend fell asleep, and I gawked. Forty minutes later, we were in Lugano, which would be breathtaking in the sunshine and even in the rain was stunning. All of these towns are built around a central lake. Lugano is incredibly colorful, and from the train station you take a little shuttle tram down an incredibly steep hill to the lake, with the mountains clambering straight into the sky all around...still raining, we huddled under his umbrella and bought gelato (ordering in Italian, piccolo copetta, stracciatella y fondente extra...)
Lugano à Zurich, 16h10 - 18hsometime: Deciding that, since it was raining everywhere, we may as well cover as much ground as possible, we headed off to my friend's hometown. Armed with incredibly good bread and brie, we ate a leisurely dinner and arrived in Zurich when it was mostly dark already. Still, it was incredibly well lit and even then still incredibly charming. We took the tram and walked all over, stopping briefly for a Starbucks, then checking out the university and the Red Light district, before blitzing back to the train station and arriving just barely in time...the last train ride of our day.
Zurich à Genève, 22h04-1h05: There were several drunk and loud people on the train, but we huddled down with his computer and watched Valentine's Day together, arriving in the dead of the night and making our way back home to crash after a long day.
Genève à Paris, 17h56-23h15: Including a 40 minute transfer in Lausanne, where I bought some new bread to go with the brie from the day before, along with a lot of Swiss chocolate and some pringles. I tried to sleep, but had trouble, and instead did some homework, arriving back in Paris, in the busy streets and making my way back home before a long week, busy as always...
And in the end, what did I think of Switzerland? I fell in love with it, all of it. The mountains, the towns, the old towns, the slow, ponderous trams. I loved the calm of it, the lakes, the countryside. I was tempted so often to just get off the train and not get back on, live there until the wind blew me on, taking the next train to the next station and wandering like that...I am already thinking of going back in the spring. We'll see. Go, go, go if you have the chance.
Pictures are here. A note: for the ones from Genève, I took pictures of everything, the construction, the cars -- I wanted you to understand all of it, not just the "pretty" tourist parts. I want you to see it the way I did, with all of that included.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Live blog Saumur/l'Abbaye de Fontevraud
(Note: I wrote this in my notebook at the times that are marked. Saumur is in the Loire Valley, and the Abbey of Fontevraud is a famous château/abbaye, home to the graves of Henry 11, King of England, his wife Eleanor, and their son Richard the Lionheart. My sister is writing a historical novel about these personnages and encouraged me to check it out. As you'll see, it was a great idea.)
6:23 AM: Beginning. In Columbus Café,with cappuccino. Not the best cappuccino I've ever tasted, but it has caffeine.I didn't sleep much last night. In retrospect I probably could have chosen a later train. As it is, I will have 12 hours in Saumur/Fontevraud. Assez de temps pour entraper l'essence, l'âme? Probablement non. But I have to try anyway. I wonder how much coffee will be consumed today. I'm a little frightened to find out. In any case, the tickets are in hand after several mini snafus - I went to the wrong section, because the train I'm taking is apparently a grande ligne and now just suburban nancy-pancyness. Then the machine couldn't find my dossier, so I had to switch to English, and realized I was looking at the wrong thing. My card was rejected 3 times before I just typed in the reference number, and at last the tickets were found. I know there was a reason I woke up before my alarm-- at 5:18 exactly.
7:20 Am: le TGV. Train Grande Vitesse s'appelle ça pour une seule raison: it's fast. I can actually feel it in my ears, in my head. But so smooth - if not for the smallest rumblings, I wouldn't know we were moving. That, and the pressure in my ears. I have to transfer trains at St. Pierre des Corps. Saint Peter of the bodies? I don't want to know. Continuing my thought from earlier - it is so strange to be out before six o'clock on a saturday morning. The only people out are either traveling, like me, or stumbling home, still drunk as skunks, from the clubs, which don't close until 6 in the morning. It is certainly a lifestyle that I don't understand and never have, but quite popular apparently. I guess I just like my sleep too much...
8:20 AM: (st.pierre/TER train) This station is in the middle of nowhere. Approaching in the half dawn, milky murky gray and the dew laying itself out like a lover on the endless fields -- I thought, if there's a gare around here, it's disguising itself well. That was before we hit the endless lines of tracks and began what I thought must be the train equivalent of taxiing for what seemed like forever. The clouds began to tinge pink. I briefly wondered if the Abbaye would be open, and how pissed I'd be if not. This train is nothing like the TGV, large and silent and graceful. This is just clunky, loud, and clumsy, clattering along the tracks with no real glamour.
10:18 AM: (Château du Saumur) I am sitting in what must be the prettiest place in France. Much too early for the tourists, the panorama must be searched for: after climbing up to le château du Saumur, the crowning beauty of this quaint French town, you cross the drawbridge, descend the steps into what would be the moat. Turning right, you walk up an incredibly steep hill, and then wind your way up a small path, then leave the concrete to find this bench, overlooking la Loire on the most beautiful fall morning. I think, what if I was suddenly transported to the time when all of this was alive. They'd think me an apparition des fées. C'est bon pour moi - j'aimerais être la renne des fées - the queen of the fairy folk. I have two hours before the bus to the Abbey leaves, so after a bit I'll go check out the castle, puis chercher quelquechose à manger. But for now, I'm going to stay here, eating a clementine I bought au marché qui se déroule au centre ville du Saumur, along with 100 g of haricots verts. I couldn't resist.
11:31 AM: Petit café, centre ville. I ask for une carte, the waiter doesn't get it. I snatch a menu from another table. "I speak English if you want," he says. Insulted, I respond, "Je parle français aussi. Donne-moi une minute s'il vous plait?" He does. The sandwiches are pretty cheap here. I order un café espresso. Le deuxième, et probablement pas le dernier. If I have time, I'm thinking of taking myself out to a restaurant tonight. The waiter just interrupted to ask, "Tu fume? You smoking?" No, I'm not, and stop talking to me in English.
12:28 pm: (on the bus to the abbey) This is such beautiful country. Some crazy and louche old man decided to talk to me in the bus stop. He asked what I was doing tonight. I was deliberately vague. We talked about laughing at Americans. I don't know if he knew I am one, and I didn't enlighten him. We just passed the ruins of a castle, being eaten by the hillside. Oh my god, what a rich country, here you can see why the Kings liked it so much.
14:18PM: (cloisters, Abbey) Where is everybody? It is so quiet, but so lovely. I am determined to walk every inch of this place. If there is no sign of rope that says I can't, I will go explore. I found a half caved in spiral staircase on the grounds and the dungeons - this last was so awesome,but I left in a hurry - I was there alone and the spirits down there were not happy Casper the Friendly Ghosts, that's for darn sure. I am sitting in the cloisters for a brief "pose" avant de chercher les tombes dans l'eglise. I passed on the audio guide, but go in free because I'm under 26. I wish I could describe for you this country, here and on the drive here. Saturated in sun, the greet explodes against the white of the buildings -- and all of them are white. They are small and built from stone. The walls along the road must have been glorious in their time - now they all have hats of unruly ivy and play host to whatever creatures lives there now, a far cry from the nobility of their past. Maybe they welcome a few pigeons, cooing incessantly like those by the château de Saumur. There is a calm, a quiet serenity that never leaves this place, a kind of softening in the fabric of the world -- almost like the world grew mean and cynical but this place stayed behind and the only way you know it's the present is because the corridors are empty.
15:31 PM: In the gardens, probably my favorite place here, though it's all a toss up. The inside is bare and echoing - even in the Church, the only things left are the graves of Richard Coeur du Lion, Henry 11, and his wife Eleanor of Aquitaine. They lie perfectly still, the color of their effigies (is that even the right word?) fading and chipped, their bones long since turned to dust. If you believe in an afterlife -- I don't -- they're still gallivanting around somewhere but here there is no sense of a mortal life -- not even embers, only ashes. That reminds me, though, I was going to tell Richard something from my sister. I'll have to makea stop there on my way out. Nothing seems to be open for food, and thus I will have to explore Fontevraud in search of. But I have time - 3 hours in fact. I think I may return to the cloisters and sit for a bit -- I have logged several miles (or so it feels) already today.
15:44 PM: My audience with Richard is being thwarted by a guided visit of old people. The only saving grace is that the guide is incredibly good looking, but will not shut up. Come on, cute guide, hurry up and move your nursing home brigade out of the way so I can talk to Richard.
16:21 PM: In the cloisters, the afternoon sun could -- I could get inebriated on it very quickly. It is so mild. The tour groups come in every so often and I find their voices startling, as thought they pull me away from some pleasant dream -- but in that dream, I am so much more real, by myself in this corner, quietly existing alongside these walls, themselves masters at existing. Together we are silent, and are friends in our disdain for the noise.
17:48 PM: Le troisième et final tasse du café - un cappuccino, with a LOT of whipped cream and a croque monsieur, in a quaint little salon du thé. Fontevraud seems to have closed down for the fall -most places aren't open or are only serving half their menu. It's too bad, but there you have it. It's almost mid October now - quiet season. after eating a truly spectacular pasty called a "Bonaparte"I took a wander through the town, which is entirely built around the abbey. Still, I wandered into two small shops -- I found an awesome art gallery and even better, a little artisan tissuerie (?!) and spent at least fifteen minutes talking with the owner about the different types of fabric, what time they're from (time period), and the work he does restoring the furniture dans les châteaux. I held my own just fine and that makes two people now who have had to ask where I'm from - so while I am not yet "française" I am not clearly American. I consider this very much a success.
Un peu plus tard: Ce matin j'ai pensé qui j'aurai six heures d'attraper l'âme de l'abbaye - 6 hours to capture the Abbey's soul. So, did I succeed? I doubt I could put it in words -- but I think I came close in those long minutes in the sunshine in the cloisters, wandering the gardens. The quiet of the train, its simplicity, the way history drags it from the, and now. Not waiting, really, but existing.
20:41 PM: I really wanted ice cream. I just wanted ice cream. Why does no one have ice cream? I went to a supermarché and bought 500 mL carton of Haagen-Daas midnight cookie ice cream, though I should have gotten vanilla. It was 5,90 E. Without a spoon, I headed out to find somewhere discreet, and ate half of it with a pen, looking out over the Loire and the lit château. Was it worth it? You'll have to ask the night, the lights, the river. I think I'll go without desserts four about a week, but I don't know. For the day? A day that held and amplified all of my various whims? It was probably worth it. But I really just wanted some ice cream. There was a couple sitting on the sidewalk outside the train station, already totally trashed. They were singing as I walked up, and the man called, loudly, "Madmoiselle, bon soir!" I suppose I should have stopped to talk just for the story, but it didn't seem like a good idea at the time. I kept walking. Paris seems a long way and a long time away.
21:44 PM: I had too much ice cream Ithink. I had a couple of my haricots verts to try and balance out the fat, but somehow I doubt that's going to work. Dommage...it's only saturday but I just caught myself thinking despairingly of Monday - mostly because I start yet another new dance class that involves waltzing into yet another new dance studio with yet another new teacher. It's good -- but so damn intimidating. Still, that's monday and I probably shouldn't be worry about it now. Not like I have much else to do. I'm suck here in St. Pierre of the bodies again until 22h22. A little over an hour on the Very Fast Train and I will have arrived in Paris -- only to take a subway and walk home. I'm guessing I'll arrive around midnight, and I don't know if I feel like going to bed right away...maybe I'll finally sleep well.
22:51 PM: En effet, le TGV is not smoother -- both trains are remarkably smooth and quiet - it's just that the TGV is better looking and faster, which the TER is the ugly, slow, but subtlety extremely graceful younger siblings. I have stopped noticing the speed in my ears, so either we are going slower or I was going crazy this morning. I'd say the latter is more likely. I tend to be more sensitive to those things in the mornings anyway. A kind of morning sickness I suppose..
A little later: This train is full of exhausted people trying desperately to find a comfortable way to sleep, like the woman across the aisle from me. It's actually kind of heartbreaking. Also, I can feel it my ears.
(To finish: I had a magnificent day. A bit later I'll post my pictures on my photobucket - there are a LOT -- and post the link here. Hugs!)
6:23 AM: Beginning. In Columbus Café,with cappuccino. Not the best cappuccino I've ever tasted, but it has caffeine.I didn't sleep much last night. In retrospect I probably could have chosen a later train. As it is, I will have 12 hours in Saumur/Fontevraud. Assez de temps pour entraper l'essence, l'âme? Probablement non. But I have to try anyway. I wonder how much coffee will be consumed today. I'm a little frightened to find out. In any case, the tickets are in hand after several mini snafus - I went to the wrong section, because the train I'm taking is apparently a grande ligne and now just suburban nancy-pancyness. Then the machine couldn't find my dossier, so I had to switch to English, and realized I was looking at the wrong thing. My card was rejected 3 times before I just typed in the reference number, and at last the tickets were found. I know there was a reason I woke up before my alarm-- at 5:18 exactly.
7:20 Am: le TGV. Train Grande Vitesse s'appelle ça pour une seule raison: it's fast. I can actually feel it in my ears, in my head. But so smooth - if not for the smallest rumblings, I wouldn't know we were moving. That, and the pressure in my ears. I have to transfer trains at St. Pierre des Corps. Saint Peter of the bodies? I don't want to know. Continuing my thought from earlier - it is so strange to be out before six o'clock on a saturday morning. The only people out are either traveling, like me, or stumbling home, still drunk as skunks, from the clubs, which don't close until 6 in the morning. It is certainly a lifestyle that I don't understand and never have, but quite popular apparently. I guess I just like my sleep too much...
8:20 AM: (st.pierre/TER train) This station is in the middle of nowhere. Approaching in the half dawn, milky murky gray and the dew laying itself out like a lover on the endless fields -- I thought, if there's a gare around here, it's disguising itself well. That was before we hit the endless lines of tracks and began what I thought must be the train equivalent of taxiing for what seemed like forever. The clouds began to tinge pink. I briefly wondered if the Abbaye would be open, and how pissed I'd be if not. This train is nothing like the TGV, large and silent and graceful. This is just clunky, loud, and clumsy, clattering along the tracks with no real glamour.
10:18 AM: (Château du Saumur) I am sitting in what must be the prettiest place in France. Much too early for the tourists, the panorama must be searched for: after climbing up to le château du Saumur, the crowning beauty of this quaint French town, you cross the drawbridge, descend the steps into what would be the moat. Turning right, you walk up an incredibly steep hill, and then wind your way up a small path, then leave the concrete to find this bench, overlooking la Loire on the most beautiful fall morning. I think, what if I was suddenly transported to the time when all of this was alive. They'd think me an apparition des fées. C'est bon pour moi - j'aimerais être la renne des fées - the queen of the fairy folk. I have two hours before the bus to the Abbey leaves, so after a bit I'll go check out the castle, puis chercher quelquechose à manger. But for now, I'm going to stay here, eating a clementine I bought au marché qui se déroule au centre ville du Saumur, along with 100 g of haricots verts. I couldn't resist.
11:31 AM: Petit café, centre ville. I ask for une carte, the waiter doesn't get it. I snatch a menu from another table. "I speak English if you want," he says. Insulted, I respond, "Je parle français aussi. Donne-moi une minute s'il vous plait?" He does. The sandwiches are pretty cheap here. I order un café espresso. Le deuxième, et probablement pas le dernier. If I have time, I'm thinking of taking myself out to a restaurant tonight. The waiter just interrupted to ask, "Tu fume? You smoking?" No, I'm not, and stop talking to me in English.
12:28 pm: (on the bus to the abbey) This is such beautiful country. Some crazy and louche old man decided to talk to me in the bus stop. He asked what I was doing tonight. I was deliberately vague. We talked about laughing at Americans. I don't know if he knew I am one, and I didn't enlighten him. We just passed the ruins of a castle, being eaten by the hillside. Oh my god, what a rich country, here you can see why the Kings liked it so much.
14:18PM: (cloisters, Abbey) Where is everybody? It is so quiet, but so lovely. I am determined to walk every inch of this place. If there is no sign of rope that says I can't, I will go explore. I found a half caved in spiral staircase on the grounds and the dungeons - this last was so awesome,but I left in a hurry - I was there alone and the spirits down there were not happy Casper the Friendly Ghosts, that's for darn sure. I am sitting in the cloisters for a brief "pose" avant de chercher les tombes dans l'eglise. I passed on the audio guide, but go in free because I'm under 26. I wish I could describe for you this country, here and on the drive here. Saturated in sun, the greet explodes against the white of the buildings -- and all of them are white. They are small and built from stone. The walls along the road must have been glorious in their time - now they all have hats of unruly ivy and play host to whatever creatures lives there now, a far cry from the nobility of their past. Maybe they welcome a few pigeons, cooing incessantly like those by the château de Saumur. There is a calm, a quiet serenity that never leaves this place, a kind of softening in the fabric of the world -- almost like the world grew mean and cynical but this place stayed behind and the only way you know it's the present is because the corridors are empty.
15:31 PM: In the gardens, probably my favorite place here, though it's all a toss up. The inside is bare and echoing - even in the Church, the only things left are the graves of Richard Coeur du Lion, Henry 11, and his wife Eleanor of Aquitaine. They lie perfectly still, the color of their effigies (is that even the right word?) fading and chipped, their bones long since turned to dust. If you believe in an afterlife -- I don't -- they're still gallivanting around somewhere but here there is no sense of a mortal life -- not even embers, only ashes. That reminds me, though, I was going to tell Richard something from my sister. I'll have to makea stop there on my way out. Nothing seems to be open for food, and thus I will have to explore Fontevraud in search of. But I have time - 3 hours in fact. I think I may return to the cloisters and sit for a bit -- I have logged several miles (or so it feels) already today.
15:44 PM: My audience with Richard is being thwarted by a guided visit of old people. The only saving grace is that the guide is incredibly good looking, but will not shut up. Come on, cute guide, hurry up and move your nursing home brigade out of the way so I can talk to Richard.
16:21 PM: In the cloisters, the afternoon sun could -- I could get inebriated on it very quickly. It is so mild. The tour groups come in every so often and I find their voices startling, as thought they pull me away from some pleasant dream -- but in that dream, I am so much more real, by myself in this corner, quietly existing alongside these walls, themselves masters at existing. Together we are silent, and are friends in our disdain for the noise.
17:48 PM: Le troisième et final tasse du café - un cappuccino, with a LOT of whipped cream and a croque monsieur, in a quaint little salon du thé. Fontevraud seems to have closed down for the fall -most places aren't open or are only serving half their menu. It's too bad, but there you have it. It's almost mid October now - quiet season. after eating a truly spectacular pasty called a "Bonaparte"I took a wander through the town, which is entirely built around the abbey. Still, I wandered into two small shops -- I found an awesome art gallery and even better, a little artisan tissuerie (?!) and spent at least fifteen minutes talking with the owner about the different types of fabric, what time they're from (time period), and the work he does restoring the furniture dans les châteaux. I held my own just fine and that makes two people now who have had to ask where I'm from - so while I am not yet "française" I am not clearly American. I consider this very much a success.
Un peu plus tard: Ce matin j'ai pensé qui j'aurai six heures d'attraper l'âme de l'abbaye - 6 hours to capture the Abbey's soul. So, did I succeed? I doubt I could put it in words -- but I think I came close in those long minutes in the sunshine in the cloisters, wandering the gardens. The quiet of the train, its simplicity, the way history drags it from the, and now. Not waiting, really, but existing.
20:41 PM: I really wanted ice cream. I just wanted ice cream. Why does no one have ice cream? I went to a supermarché and bought 500 mL carton of Haagen-Daas midnight cookie ice cream, though I should have gotten vanilla. It was 5,90 E. Without a spoon, I headed out to find somewhere discreet, and ate half of it with a pen, looking out over the Loire and the lit château. Was it worth it? You'll have to ask the night, the lights, the river. I think I'll go without desserts four about a week, but I don't know. For the day? A day that held and amplified all of my various whims? It was probably worth it. But I really just wanted some ice cream. There was a couple sitting on the sidewalk outside the train station, already totally trashed. They were singing as I walked up, and the man called, loudly, "Madmoiselle, bon soir!" I suppose I should have stopped to talk just for the story, but it didn't seem like a good idea at the time. I kept walking. Paris seems a long way and a long time away.
21:44 PM: I had too much ice cream Ithink. I had a couple of my haricots verts to try and balance out the fat, but somehow I doubt that's going to work. Dommage...it's only saturday but I just caught myself thinking despairingly of Monday - mostly because I start yet another new dance class that involves waltzing into yet another new dance studio with yet another new teacher. It's good -- but so damn intimidating. Still, that's monday and I probably shouldn't be worry about it now. Not like I have much else to do. I'm suck here in St. Pierre of the bodies again until 22h22. A little over an hour on the Very Fast Train and I will have arrived in Paris -- only to take a subway and walk home. I'm guessing I'll arrive around midnight, and I don't know if I feel like going to bed right away...maybe I'll finally sleep well.
22:51 PM: En effet, le TGV is not smoother -- both trains are remarkably smooth and quiet - it's just that the TGV is better looking and faster, which the TER is the ugly, slow, but subtlety extremely graceful younger siblings. I have stopped noticing the speed in my ears, so either we are going slower or I was going crazy this morning. I'd say the latter is more likely. I tend to be more sensitive to those things in the mornings anyway. A kind of morning sickness I suppose..
A little later: This train is full of exhausted people trying desperately to find a comfortable way to sleep, like the woman across the aisle from me. It's actually kind of heartbreaking. Also, I can feel it my ears.
(To finish: I had a magnificent day. A bit later I'll post my pictures on my photobucket - there are a LOT -- and post the link here. Hugs!)
Monday, October 4, 2010
Learning to be still
"Faire une nuit blanche": pull an all nighter.
Every year, Paris pulls a nuit blanche. Art exhibits are everywhere, music is everywhere, and crazy light shows are abundant. People stay out until 7am, after which it's time to quietly slip into bed.
I wasn't there, at least not past midnight or so. I can't decide if I should have, or could have, but the point is that I was exhausted and chose instead to return back home and go to bed. I had been planning on going to a ball thing sunday evening, today, with "the club internationale des jeunes à Paris", but sent an e-mail making my own excuses.
I will be the first to accept the fact that I am an old woman when it comes to going to bed early, but why didn't I just stay out? Live a little, be young? I could make all sorts of excuses, but I won't. I didn't, because I couldn't. I wanted to sleep, I wanted to disappear for the day and have absolutely nowhere to be, nothing to do.
I did stay out for a bit -- having a lovely dinner and then taking a long stroll to the Centre Pompidou, which as far as modern bullshit claiming to be art goes, is really up there at the top. I apologize for insulting anyone's artistic sensibilities, but I saw a lot of interesting things in there and not a lot I considered to be art -- but that's the point, I suppose, that everything and anything can be art so long as you call it that. But for me, the best part of the building was the escalator staircases on the outside of the building, pulling you irresistibly up into the Paris night, and at the top, surrounded by a glass bubble, you can look out into the night, watch the Eiffel Tower sparkling, see the Cathedrale de Sacre-Coeur on Montmartre. It's stunning.
But after we were done making fun of the pieces inside, we headed out --- everyone headed for Trocadero, but I headed home, clambering into bed.
I didn't wake up until 11:30, staying in bed until I was good and ready to get up. I knew I wanted to go somewhere, but waited until a good idea came to me, and a little past one headed out. I stopped at a boulangerie to buy a goodie and a baguette, then turned my steps to the Cimetière de Montparnesse.
I had been there once before, and I like cemeteries usually. I went in the back way I guess, because there wasn't that many people -- the cemetery has a lot of famous people buried there and attracts a fair amount of tourists. But there wasn't many where I came in, and I walked slowly, listening to the wind rustling the leaves, just beginning to turn and fall. It was a very mild day and fairly sunny, and with the inherent calm that always comes in cemeteries, I found myself utterly at peace.
This is what I was looking for today, I thought -- this past week felt too much like home, rushing, stressing, thinking, --- doing. I am so tired of doing. I "do" very well. The other day at dinner, someone said to me, "you're doing so much -- trying to find a job and getting your dance classes and all that. I don't think I could do that."
I didn't know how to explain to her that "doing" is easy for me. I'm used to doing. It's natural.
But what I was looking for -- a lesson from the dead, who, I've heard, are quite good at this -- was how to stop -- how to not do -- how to rest. To stand in the face of the world, with all of its insanities and terror, to look at all of the black and white and grey and color color color -- and not do.
(Isn't that fatalistic?) The demons in my head are never satisfied with stillness. (To change the world, mustn't one do?)
I let the dead answer for me. One can only do from a point of stillness, or the doing only blends into all the other 'things' we humans do.
I sat on a bench for a long time and looked out at the graves, and quietly buried the stress, uncertainty, and various other things I've been carrying with me. Rest in peace, I thought. There are a lot of things I need to let go of -- some things I may find again, some things I may fight for again, but for right now, for these few short months I have for myself -- I buried them.
There are some things that are perfect.
Like that.
If you'd like to see pictures the day, click here.
À bientot.
Every year, Paris pulls a nuit blanche. Art exhibits are everywhere, music is everywhere, and crazy light shows are abundant. People stay out until 7am, after which it's time to quietly slip into bed.
I wasn't there, at least not past midnight or so. I can't decide if I should have, or could have, but the point is that I was exhausted and chose instead to return back home and go to bed. I had been planning on going to a ball thing sunday evening, today, with "the club internationale des jeunes à Paris", but sent an e-mail making my own excuses.
I will be the first to accept the fact that I am an old woman when it comes to going to bed early, but why didn't I just stay out? Live a little, be young? I could make all sorts of excuses, but I won't. I didn't, because I couldn't. I wanted to sleep, I wanted to disappear for the day and have absolutely nowhere to be, nothing to do.
I did stay out for a bit -- having a lovely dinner and then taking a long stroll to the Centre Pompidou, which as far as modern bullshit claiming to be art goes, is really up there at the top. I apologize for insulting anyone's artistic sensibilities, but I saw a lot of interesting things in there and not a lot I considered to be art -- but that's the point, I suppose, that everything and anything can be art so long as you call it that. But for me, the best part of the building was the escalator staircases on the outside of the building, pulling you irresistibly up into the Paris night, and at the top, surrounded by a glass bubble, you can look out into the night, watch the Eiffel Tower sparkling, see the Cathedrale de Sacre-Coeur on Montmartre. It's stunning.
But after we were done making fun of the pieces inside, we headed out --- everyone headed for Trocadero, but I headed home, clambering into bed.
I didn't wake up until 11:30, staying in bed until I was good and ready to get up. I knew I wanted to go somewhere, but waited until a good idea came to me, and a little past one headed out. I stopped at a boulangerie to buy a goodie and a baguette, then turned my steps to the Cimetière de Montparnesse.
I had been there once before, and I like cemeteries usually. I went in the back way I guess, because there wasn't that many people -- the cemetery has a lot of famous people buried there and attracts a fair amount of tourists. But there wasn't many where I came in, and I walked slowly, listening to the wind rustling the leaves, just beginning to turn and fall. It was a very mild day and fairly sunny, and with the inherent calm that always comes in cemeteries, I found myself utterly at peace.
This is what I was looking for today, I thought -- this past week felt too much like home, rushing, stressing, thinking, --- doing. I am so tired of doing. I "do" very well. The other day at dinner, someone said to me, "you're doing so much -- trying to find a job and getting your dance classes and all that. I don't think I could do that."
I didn't know how to explain to her that "doing" is easy for me. I'm used to doing. It's natural.
But what I was looking for -- a lesson from the dead, who, I've heard, are quite good at this -- was how to stop -- how to not do -- how to rest. To stand in the face of the world, with all of its insanities and terror, to look at all of the black and white and grey and color color color -- and not do.
(Isn't that fatalistic?) The demons in my head are never satisfied with stillness. (To change the world, mustn't one do?)
I let the dead answer for me. One can only do from a point of stillness, or the doing only blends into all the other 'things' we humans do.
I sat on a bench for a long time and looked out at the graves, and quietly buried the stress, uncertainty, and various other things I've been carrying with me. Rest in peace, I thought. There are a lot of things I need to let go of -- some things I may find again, some things I may fight for again, but for right now, for these few short months I have for myself -- I buried them.
There are some things that are perfect.
Like that.
If you'd like to see pictures the day, click here.
À bientot.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Being the Queen of France, vicariously
The grounds of le château de Cheverny are lovely and the colors of the gardens distract me, deep beautiful red especially. Weeping willows, swans swimming calmly on a tiny lake, weeping willows. The castle itself is remarkably small, not being a lodging place for the royal court; they were obligated to prepare a room should the King ever decide to drop by, but it was unfortunately never used. A shame; it was decorated so nicely. They really wanted to be important, I guess. But it is one of the only castles still inhabited; in fact, the owners are of the same family that lived here when it was built. Many generations and many bitter inheritance battles, I would guess. It's quaint, but interesting nonetheless. We spent just long enough to explore the grounds and have a guided tour before moving on.
Le château de Blois, on the other hand, is what you might call a hodge-podge of architecture; what the tour guides call a fascinating look at all the architectural phases of the early 2nd millennium and what I would call a prime example of French Kings and their relatives following their whims. There are four architectural phases represented: gothic, flamboyant gothic, renaissance, and classical. The four buildings are stuck together in roughly a square. Apparently the dude who built the classical building -- I can't remember his name -- didn't like the renaissance building, because he chopped off one end, badly I might add, seeing as you can still see where he essentially sawed off the edge of the building. The renaissance building is squashed up against the gothic building, and only the flamboyant gothic one is normally built and placed. Despite all this, the château manages to be quite charming, although it remains one of the few to NOT have a garden.
The town of Blois is cute enough, a lot of narrow European streets and cobblestones, though clearly the main attraction is the castle -- which was, unlike, Cheverny, a lodging place for the royal court, and has the distinction of being the scene of a murder of an unscrupulous duke who was trying to overthrow the King. The castle rises impressively above les petites rues, the old stone covered in moss and ivy. It makes you feel very small, especially up in the castle, looking down at the streets far below, stairways connecting all of them because the terrain is so uneven.
When it comes to sheer castle-y glory, it's hard to beat Chenonceau. Having the distinction of being owned by both Catherine de Medicis (the queen when Henry II was king) and Diane de Potiers, the King's mistress. It was Diane's castle until the death of Henry, at which point Catherine took it back in return for a different castle. In other words -- there are two gardens and two particular bed chambers -- one for the Queen and one for the Mistress. Can you say awkward? At least they didn't live there at the same time.
Head on, Chenonceau is just normal, but turn the corner and walk a few paces, and the castle explodes into all of its specularness -- built actually on the rivers, grand wide arches over the water -- it is something to see, the sunlight glimmering on the water and the castle, white and perfect.
The furniture inside is extraordinarily well preserved and the walls are still covered in tapestries, all original. The chambers aren't connected and yet manage to seem more intimate than the others. The stairs are smack in the middle of the living quarters and yet it takes me at least twenty minutes to find them (though I didn't spend all of that time looking for them, you understand.) One of the coolest things is that the kitchens are open to visitors, down in the basement. Giant copper pots are strewn everywhere and there are at least five different chambers, a few chimneys you could roast a boar under, a large assortment of REALLY BIG KNIVES, and various other awesome things. I was imagining how it would smell down there when the King was having a dinner, how many cooks and rascal children hiding in the corners, hoping to snatch a scrap of the roast pig...
Although I think Chenonceau was my favorite as far as all over inside out (I apologize for my terrible grammar, I am in a linguistic soup), the grounds of Amboise and it's general picturesque setting is hard to beat. Amboise is sneaky; you can't see the castle at first. All you can see is a giant wall, dwarfing the tiny streets. We ate lunch in the shadow of the walls, a brisk and downright cold fall day. To get inside you walk up a long, fairly steep ramp. It's not hard to imagine the horses clopping up here.
I thought the walls were the castle, but no -- upon getting up beyond the walls, you see the château itself, but along with it a long expanse of gardens and lawns, a chapel, and a few watchtowers. All around the wonderful French roofs and the thousands of little chimneys reach for the skies and beyond the Seine is whitecapped from the wind. We look around the castle, but the main attraction is not inside (sparse and too modern for me). It's out here, in the gardens, on the turrets, the watchtowers, just to look look look, I could look until I go blind.
Pictures are here.
Enjoy!!
Le château de Blois, on the other hand, is what you might call a hodge-podge of architecture; what the tour guides call a fascinating look at all the architectural phases of the early 2nd millennium and what I would call a prime example of French Kings and their relatives following their whims. There are four architectural phases represented: gothic, flamboyant gothic, renaissance, and classical. The four buildings are stuck together in roughly a square. Apparently the dude who built the classical building -- I can't remember his name -- didn't like the renaissance building, because he chopped off one end, badly I might add, seeing as you can still see where he essentially sawed off the edge of the building. The renaissance building is squashed up against the gothic building, and only the flamboyant gothic one is normally built and placed. Despite all this, the château manages to be quite charming, although it remains one of the few to NOT have a garden.
The town of Blois is cute enough, a lot of narrow European streets and cobblestones, though clearly the main attraction is the castle -- which was, unlike, Cheverny, a lodging place for the royal court, and has the distinction of being the scene of a murder of an unscrupulous duke who was trying to overthrow the King. The castle rises impressively above les petites rues, the old stone covered in moss and ivy. It makes you feel very small, especially up in the castle, looking down at the streets far below, stairways connecting all of them because the terrain is so uneven.
When it comes to sheer castle-y glory, it's hard to beat Chenonceau. Having the distinction of being owned by both Catherine de Medicis (the queen when Henry II was king) and Diane de Potiers, the King's mistress. It was Diane's castle until the death of Henry, at which point Catherine took it back in return for a different castle. In other words -- there are two gardens and two particular bed chambers -- one for the Queen and one for the Mistress. Can you say awkward? At least they didn't live there at the same time.
Head on, Chenonceau is just normal, but turn the corner and walk a few paces, and the castle explodes into all of its specularness -- built actually on the rivers, grand wide arches over the water -- it is something to see, the sunlight glimmering on the water and the castle, white and perfect.
The furniture inside is extraordinarily well preserved and the walls are still covered in tapestries, all original. The chambers aren't connected and yet manage to seem more intimate than the others. The stairs are smack in the middle of the living quarters and yet it takes me at least twenty minutes to find them (though I didn't spend all of that time looking for them, you understand.) One of the coolest things is that the kitchens are open to visitors, down in the basement. Giant copper pots are strewn everywhere and there are at least five different chambers, a few chimneys you could roast a boar under, a large assortment of REALLY BIG KNIVES, and various other awesome things. I was imagining how it would smell down there when the King was having a dinner, how many cooks and rascal children hiding in the corners, hoping to snatch a scrap of the roast pig...
Although I think Chenonceau was my favorite as far as all over inside out (I apologize for my terrible grammar, I am in a linguistic soup), the grounds of Amboise and it's general picturesque setting is hard to beat. Amboise is sneaky; you can't see the castle at first. All you can see is a giant wall, dwarfing the tiny streets. We ate lunch in the shadow of the walls, a brisk and downright cold fall day. To get inside you walk up a long, fairly steep ramp. It's not hard to imagine the horses clopping up here.
I thought the walls were the castle, but no -- upon getting up beyond the walls, you see the château itself, but along with it a long expanse of gardens and lawns, a chapel, and a few watchtowers. All around the wonderful French roofs and the thousands of little chimneys reach for the skies and beyond the Seine is whitecapped from the wind. We look around the castle, but the main attraction is not inside (sparse and too modern for me). It's out here, in the gardens, on the turrets, the watchtowers, just to look look look, I could look until I go blind.
Pictures are here.
Enjoy!!
Friday, October 1, 2010
I PROMISE I'll post soon
I am so sorry everyone, I thought for some reason I had already posted my chateaux de la loire write up while in reality the draft is hanging out in my edit posts area. Oops. I'll finish that tonight when I get back from school.
In the mean time, amuse yourselves with pictures!! Click here!
In the mean time, amuse yourselves with pictures!! Click here!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)