Ballooning in Bazouges

Sorry blogosphere, the last six weeks have been a whirlwind. I started work and spent a lot of free time (fruitlessly) house-hunting.  But let's focus on the fabulous!

Through my old university, I met one amazing woman in September! NT is a pilot, race car driver/navigator, helps the blind, and not least of all owns a hot air balloon! At the end of what seemed to be a rough week for everyone in Paris, she casually mentioned that she and some friends were heading down to the chateau where she keeps her montgolfière and invited the Irishman and I along.

The next day we found ourselves racing through the Gare de Montparnasse as fast as my chubby and high-heeled little legs could carry me.  Safely aboard the train to Le Mans (with a full 2 minutes to spare!), we settled into our separate seats and I got to do the NYTimes crossword puzzle on the Irishman's iPad for a while until he found me and took it away to read BBC Sport.

Arriving in Le Mans, we were met by NT's dashing French husband and her American-naturalized-French friend who happens to look EXACTLY like Joan Cusack circa 1993. She must get a lot of people staring at her trying to figure out where they've seen that face before because she's got a great, aren't-you-cute-now-stop-staring wink. I've got to get on developing one.

The chateau was indeed a little French castle of a design comparable to Bagatelle, and when we arrived it's lovely owners, an American former supermodel and her aristocratic hubby, were serving up the red and a delicious lentil soup while a splendid fire roared away under a bust of one of the rois Henri.

...And We're Back!

Yours truly got the good news last week: it's back to France in the fall, this time as an assistant étranger d'anglais at (a) primary school(s) in the Académie de Créteil!

"What the heck is the Académie de Créteil?" you ask.  Why, it's the totality of schools on the western half of Ile-de-France.  Which could be awesome (life within the bounds of the Paris Métro ligne 8, s'il vous plaît) or awesome in a more rural, La Vie tranquille sort of way.  Of course with the Irishman living somewhere between Palais Royal and the Champs next fall, I think you know which I'd prefer...

 That's Créteil hugging the eastern side of Paris for dear life in this inset. (Depressingly,  this is a graphic showing how many jobs were cut in 2011 by académie.)

Oh, and the best part: they're paying me to come over this time -- roughly 800 euros a month to speak English to French children for 12 hours a week. Mmmhmm.

Pays de la Loire: Land of Chateaux

I am behind, but I'll try to catch up a bit today. Last weekend EDUCO took us to Pays de la Loire to visit two chateaux - Chambord (above) and le Chateau de Blois. Since it takes decades to build one of these things, each chateau exhibits multiple architectural styles as well as the symbols (logos?) of multiple sovereigns.

Fireplace at Blois: King Salamander, Queen Ermine (François I, Anne de Bretagne)

Chambord was built as a hunting lodge in the middle of a park the size of Paris. While it is architecturally striking, it's mostly empty these days. Blois, on the other hand, remains richly decorated with paintings and furniture relating to some of the intrigues that took place at the chateau.

Above, the king's bedchamber, where Henri III had the duc de Guise assassinated after inviting him in for a private audience. According to popular legend, he died at the foot of the bed. The painting on the right depicts the scene.

Throne

Staircase at Blois, design attributed to Da Vinci; EDUCOers

Royal Seal, Ceiling of Catherine de Medici's office.

Another scandal: Henri II arranged the royal emblem so that the "H" (Henri) and "C" arranged to form the shape of a "D", for Diane de Poitiers, his mistress, who coincidentally was also 20 years older than him.

Though it was pretty spare inside, Chambord offered some great views:

Ready, Sète, Go!

Fishing boats in the canal

I was terrible about posting in February - no excuse - but good things happened! One of which was heading down to Montpellier to see le Jumeau for the weekend. We went out and got crazy because that's what we do best in life, besides writing. We also hung out with crazy British kids. On Thursday, after a quick kebab and a disco nap, we headed to a rather dull gay bar and then Cargo, one of his favorite clubs in downtown Montpellier. Good music, decent drinks, enough space. We ended the night at a private bar run by a very pretty transvestite. A good time was had by all.

Crazy Brits (and a Moroccan) on the bus to the beach.

Us swarthy Americans

After getting in at an absurd hour we woke up at 11 a.m. on Friday and got on a train headed to Sète, a little town with a beautiful beach (I almost typed beautiful little beach town, but no.) just a few minutes away from Monty-P. From the train station we got on a bus (the 2, I believe) and headed for the beach! I put on a swimsuit under my jeans and shirt, and brought a light jacket along, just because, and boy, was I lucky! It was a beautiful day but the wind was relentless and arctic. Maybe because it was February, you say? Hey, I don't know about the Brits and le Jumeau, but after winter here in Paris, I was ready to sunbathe on top of a glacier so long as the sky above was clear blue.

And blue it was!

After a quick Baywatch-parody run to the water, permanently damaging the nerves in my toes, I sprinted back up the beach and hopped into my jeans faster than you can say "trop froid". Cold cold cold, but proof that spring is at hand!

Versailles

The chateau: A casual history (paraphrased from our tour guide)

Louis XIV hated Paris. This was probably because of the angry mob that attacked the Louvre when he was a child. And who can blame him? Angry Parisians are pretty freaking scary one on one. De plus, in what sounds like the plot of the latest Keira Knightley movie, nobles (even members of his own family!) were spending the long, electricity-less hours in their far-flung chateaux plotting to overthrow first his dad and then Cardinal Mazalan, Louis' regent after he was crowned at the ripe old age of five. So once Louis had finished puberty was deemed ready to reign, he packed up the court, sent some invitations to his dear, sweet nobles, which if read between the lines, said "Get over here and keep your hands where I can see 'em" (kind of gives a new perspective on the Hall of Mirrors, no?) And that's how everybody who was anybody relocated to Versailles, where they would live out their days fighting over who got to watch him get dressed in the morning.

Louis' great-grandson, Louis XV was very handsome, but kind of shy, and though he was the bien-aimé when he came to power, by the end of his reign he was hated. It didn't help the Bourbons' case that his successor, Louis XVI, was the royal equivalent of that awkward kid who's really smart but can't make eye contact with people and spends all his free time on antisocial hobbies. (In his case, watchmaking and locks, since this was before Magic cards and WoW). He was married to Marie Antoinette, who was a little too social. They were also like 18 when they came to power. If their coronation happened today, he would pick at his acne nervously and she would text the whole time. We all know how that story ends.

During the Revolution, villagers (Versailles is also the name of the surrounding town) defended the palace. Afterward, the various Republican regimes sold off the furniture to foreigners, and all indications of the Bourbons (i.e. suns with Louis' face in them) were removed. Various suggestions were raised for what to do with the gigantic symbol of monarchical decadence and abuse of power. These included turning into a military hospital or a factory. It was Charles X (I think) who saved it by deciding to turn the space into a museum. He only got to renovate a small part of the compound before the regime changed once again.

The French government now spends the majority of it's historical monument budget maintaining Versailles and the Louvre (la tradition = 1, le républicanisme = O). The chateau remains sparsely furnished, and many of the ornate picture frames are filled with black and white photocopies of the paintings that used to hang in them, but pieces are slowly making their way back in, and many of the frescoes (like in the chapel) and moldings have been restored perfectly.
Highlights included Louis XIV's desk, which was absolutely stunning and filled with secret drawers; the queen's bed, special occasion tableware, and a library where every inch of wallspace is covered in books and French literary geniuses look down on you while you study.

This is a door.

It took about ten years of Baroque architects, sculptors, and artists working on the chateau before Louis XIV deemed it fit for a king, and everywhere you look, inside and out, is beautiful. My camera seems to get overwhelmed in the presence of stained glass and goldleaf, so I haven't done the building justice here, but it is truly breathtaking. It's definitely the most important daytrip from Paris.

Danke Schoen, Darling

Earlier this month I left chère Paris for Berlin to visit Hélène, my step-sister. Coincidentally there is no good way to say step-sister in Parisian French; I was taught belle-sœur but that usually refers to a sister-in-law, soeur d'alliance is perhaps the most literal translation, but is awkward to say in conversation. I call her my demi-sœur even though it means half-sister because it's the least likely to require an explanation. Anyway, my something-sister was staying with her authentic German boyfriend, Johannes, and his roommate over the holidays and they were kind enough to welcome me into their very authentic German apartment for a few days.


Voilà the happy couple

The first thing we did after I got in on Friday night was ride the very clean and prompt German metro for a long time (Easyjet only flies to Berlin-Schoenfeld from Paris) then we sat around eating delicious potato soup made by the authentic German boyfriend and talking about the Cold War and Seinfeld. Hélène and I exchanged gifts - macarons from Dominique Saibron (who will get his own post in the near future) for her and chocolate dipped gingerbread for me. Before I tear apart Germanic cooking, I have to say that these people do an amazing job dipping things in chocolate. The green beer isn't bad either.

Hélène took me out for a Berliner Weisse, basically the product of a torrid affair between Heineken and gummy bears. I am a fan.
Day two brought us to Museumsinsel. The Germans, ever the masters of practicality, have concentrated five of the country's top museums on one little island near the center of town. We bought student day passes with a time slot for the Neues Museum, which are actually a pretty good deal.

We stopped by three of the five. The Pergamonmuseum, which houses Ancient Greek artifacts, was the most impressive. When the Germans pillaged, they didn't just make off with statues and vases, they took the whole temple! Really. Walking throught this museum, with ancient building façades towering over you (visibly held together by bungy cords, no less) and beautifully preserved mosaics on the ground will give you a new appreciation for the technical prowess of Socrates' buddies. The Alte Nationalgalerie (Old National Gallery) was a pretty standard art museum with a heavy emphasis on German and French painters from the 19th century. The Neues Museum, which is super popular, was like the best elementary school field trip ever. Its main draw is a bust of Nefertiti (again with the pillaging thing) but there are tons of sarcophagi (opened so you can see the mummy!) and ancient weapons and armor and jewelry and...yeah, Egypt's cool.

After a long day of museum walking me and my snail-like metabolism would have been happy with a glass of water and nap. Not so for my companions, who actually digest whole meals in one day, so we stopped for currywurst. Apparently, this is basically the Berlin version of crêpes. That is to say cheap, filling, and ubiquitous. Unfortunately, currywurst is actually a hotdog covered in special ketchup. Scrumptious.

That night we went out to a very chic Austrian restaurant which had great wine, great ambiance, and, by all accounts, great food. My appetizer was great, but I ordered Weiner Schnitzel for my main. Afterall, it's one of Maria's "Favorite Things" in The Sound of Music...Well, suffice it to say it is not one of mine. It is a piece of meat hammered thin and then deep-fried. I had an apple juice detox when we got back to the apartment.

The next day we hit up some major tourist sights including the Brandenburger Tor, Checkpoint Charlie and the Holocaust Memorial.

All were very impressive. I didn't quite know how to interpret the Holocaust Memorial, which struck me as very blank, empty even, but also kind of reminded me of cemeteries back in New Orleans. The graffiti'd pieces of the Berlin Wall on display were great, and the Brandenburg Gate is certainly a marvel. One thing I really got a kick out of was seeing the Starbucks and Dunkin' Donuts in what was once East Berlin -- right in front of the Russian embassy.

The best part of the day was when Johannes took us to Another Country, an English language bookstore run by a Scottish transvestite. The setup is shelves of books in what seems to be someone's (the transvestite's?) home. There are drinks in the fridge, and you have to navigate around furniture in the dining room, living room, and study to get to some of the books. The place was chalereux, as we say back here in the land of impractical shoes and more varied diets.

Strasbourg: Capitale de Noël

On Saturday I joined le Chef, Pomegrenade, and another friend in Strasbourg, Alsace. Christmas markets are a big event here in France, and while Paris has its own on the Champs Élysées, Strasbourg is known for going all out when 'tis the season.

First stop after my train pulled in was a patisserie where we plotted our very stealthy entrance into the hotel. A word to the wise: the Strasbourg Best Western takes its policy of not letting 4 people stay in a double very seriously. While we discussed, I chowed down on a bûchette de noël and some combination of fondue and pastry shell called a frillon (sp?) After a nap we were ready for some shopping! I made few super secret purchases and soon we were all freezing. After searching high and low for salad (veggies were very much in order after the frillon - French for heart attack wrapped in deliciousness), we found some vin chaud which was tangy and spiced and most importantly warm. We took turns holding it in our little mittened hands.



The next day we did more serious Christmas Shopping and made the requisite visit to the cathedral. It was very nice, very large, very medieval. When we got there, a children's concert was just ending. French children singing Feliz Navidad was pretty adorable. For dinner we had couscous, which came in enormous cauldrons that could have fed a family of six. We messed up and ordered 3. After that we wandered around looking for nightlife and admiring the lights. Great lights, no nightlife. The next day it started snowing buckets in Paris.

Barcelone

The day I arrived in Paris the weather was perfect. Then, fall came a bit late, but come it did and we are in what can only be described as hiver. That is to say yucky weather, and lots of it.

The sun comes up at 7h45 and sets at 17h30. (Oh yes, military time, just to make things exciting, the French like to switch back and forth.) In between it is mostly gray, cold, and pitifully damp. It's like the sky is so depressed it can't even be bothered to rain properly -- either that or it has a cold. It's OK, I keep telling myself, I was prepared for this, but honestly, I've been spending a lot more time on Facebook than I like to admit.

Anyway, my friend Pomegrenade (OK, the pseudonyms are getting a bit tiresome, but switching now would probably get confusing) and I were granted a reprieve from all that last weekend. We originally tried to go to Barcelona Halloween weekend, but with all the grèves, flights were cancelled. So, take two, we hoped on separate Ryanair flights de Paris à Barcelone and landed in the land of sunlight, strange architecture, and tapas.


First Impression of Spain

I arrived first, and found the hotel without trouble, pleasantly surprised to discover that Pomegrenade had wrangled a double room at the 3-star Hotel Gran Ducat for 3 nights for about 100 euro each. Nice. At first I was excited to get to speak the 10 words of Spanish I learned in my year at the Mexican restaurant, but once the concierge had established that he did not want queso with his quesadilla, we were kind of at an impasse. Eventually he just gave me a room key so I would leave him alone. The first thing I did was take a long nap. Then I found some dinner/lunch (it was only 7 p.m., after all) and walked around the square a bit.


First meal: egg and potato "tortilla," grilled veggies, and beef stuffed squid with a tomato sauce.

Our hotel had an awesome location, right next to the Plaça Catalunya, a square with a bunch of lovely statues and fountains, some great restaurants (which I'll get to in a bit) and a lot of young people, since it's near the Plaça Universitat. The square is also a block away from Las Ramblas, which seems to be the heart of Barcelona tourism with street performers, open-air pet shops, little restaurants, boutiques, etc.

I'm getting ahead of myself. Pomegrenade got in around 10:30 p.m. and we went down to the beach to check out Barcelona's famous nightlife, which did not disappoint. We asked some very friendly policemen where to go and they directed us down to the harbor, which turned out to be a gauntlet of doormen literally trying to pull you into their clubs/restaurants/bars. We made it to the end where we sat down for a coffee to recompose before heading back through it (the only way out). Clearly, this was not where we wanted to be. So we tucked our heads and limbs where they were not easily grab-able and dashed out. At the exit, a nice Algerian guy was handing out fliers and when he heard us speaking french, befriended us and escorted us (politely, not forcefully) to a real club, Carpe Diem, which played awesome music and had a cool South Asian vibe. Almost everyone we met that night was French. Strange.

The next day, we woke up early and hightailed it to La Sagrada Familia, Gaudí's chef-d'oeuvre. Started in 1882, the massive cathedral is still under construction. (This is probably why it costs 12/10 euro for students just to get in.) The outside struck me as a little goofy, kind of like a real world construction of Whoville.


The inside, however, is mind-blowing. Walking into the clean, spacious, light-filled sanctuary, all I could think was, "Wow, how great that God outlived the Gothic period!" I don't have anything against the Gothic period, I've just seen A LOT of cathedrals in the last two months. But not like this one. It's beautiful. It is so beautiful. The stained glass, the columns, everything is so clean and un-oppressive. It has been my experience that there are two types of churches: traditional, dark-wood-marble-gold-cross churches and modern, white-walled, if-this-is-God's-house-then-he-moved-to-the-suburbs churches (more commonly "Houses of Worship"). The interior of Sagrada Familia managed to escape the stodgy, suffocating atmosphere of the first without falling into the soulless, painfully simplified style of the later.


















After that we headed over to a cute medieval Spanish town where there were a lot of artisans and awesome hot chocolate. I bought a scarf and some Christmas presents.

That night we got TAPAS!! Deep fried Camembert with red berry sauce. Mini-pan of paella. Stuffed mussels. Sangria. Catalan crème brulée and "Three textures of chocolate with extra virgin olive oil and sea salt" for dessert. We considered never leaving.


Friday, our last day in the city, we walked down Las Ramblas and scouted out Gaudí's Casa Milà, which is very famous for its wavy silhouette and crazy balconies. Leaving that, we stumbled upon his other private residence, Casa Batllo, which might be less famous, but is definitely more awesome.
Casa Batllo. Some people call it "The Dragon House" because the mosaics look kind of scaly and the balconies look like bones.

That night there was more tapas, some more dancing, and a lot of Spanish MTV before our 4 a.m. wake-up call and back to Paris.

One of the best things about Barcelona was all the random wacky art. Examples: