I have come down with a cold, so instead of forcing myself to write about my beautiful Roman adventures while sneezing, sniffling, and making those around me flinch everytime I so much as look like I'm going to cough, I'm just going to say that Rome is everything I wanted it to be.
Now, I'm going to eat my soup.
Pictures to come.
I know I don't sound ethused, but I am.
4/26/09
4/25/09
Capri is for Me
I am currently luxuriated in roomy bliss on a high-speed train to Rome. Haley and I left Naples this morning, and once again, I was sad to say “Ciao!”.
I have loved every city I have visited in Europe in different ways. I loved Amsterdam for its museums. I loved Barcelona for Gaudi. But I have loved the Italian cities on this trip in a new way. I was always ready to leave and get back to Aix on previous trips, but I have never felt like I needed that something more like I have felt when leaving Florence, and now Naples. I want to stay longer. I want to see everything. I want to have local places and get to know every nook and cranny of artsy, vibrant Florence and dirty, but oh-so-charming Naples.
Yesterday, Haley and I took a ferry to Capri. We had heard the island was expensive, but a little piece of Mediterranean heaven. Expense or no expense—Capri is a must see.
Our first stop on the island was the Blue Grotto. I had read about it in a book, and it had been built up to giant, romanticized proportions in my book lovin’ mind.
We approached the cave-like opening in the cliff, and a man in a tiny rowboat plucked us four at a time from our “big” boat to his smaller one. We had to duck as we entered the grotto, and as my eyes adjusted to the dim light, an explosion of the purest blue erupted in every direction.
It was beautiful, but it was more of the feeling that settled over me that made it such an unforgettable experience. I felt as if I was alone in the world, and the blue was my comforting balm. I felt as if something like this exists, than anything is possible. It was wonderfully reassuring. It was as if time chose not to move once inside the grotto, as the blue will simply go on eternally in all directions, never waning in its beauty.
Once we returned to the mainland, Haley and I dipped our toes in the clear blue Mediterranean, and then headed up the hill to Capritown. Stores like Gucci and Roberto Cavalli ostentatiously presented themselves on Capritown’s winding streets, and we dared to enter some and chose to window-shop others.
We were windswept and sunburned on our ferry ride back, and mastered Naples confusing bus system to collapse on our beds at our hostel.
We finally managed to scrape the energy to go get some pizza, and we ate it from the box at our hostel with some Brits who shared a room with us. Charlotte, or Charlie, and Ollie, are from Northern England and are taking a gap year to travel Europe. It was lovely to nibble on my Neapolitan pizza and to discuss the healthcare system in England and what they were doing the day Princess Diana died. One of my favorite parts of this trip has been meeting other travelers, sharing common experiences, and learning what life is like for them back home. They were fascinated by Wal-Mart and laughed when I used the word “crosswalk”. I giggled when they repeatedly used the word “bloody”, and think that the word would make a fine addition to my vocabulary (only in an English accent, of course).
We are almost in Rome. I can’t wait.
I have loved every city I have visited in Europe in different ways. I loved Amsterdam for its museums. I loved Barcelona for Gaudi. But I have loved the Italian cities on this trip in a new way. I was always ready to leave and get back to Aix on previous trips, but I have never felt like I needed that something more like I have felt when leaving Florence, and now Naples. I want to stay longer. I want to see everything. I want to have local places and get to know every nook and cranny of artsy, vibrant Florence and dirty, but oh-so-charming Naples.
Yesterday, Haley and I took a ferry to Capri. We had heard the island was expensive, but a little piece of Mediterranean heaven. Expense or no expense—Capri is a must see.
Our first stop on the island was the Blue Grotto. I had read about it in a book, and it had been built up to giant, romanticized proportions in my book lovin’ mind.
We approached the cave-like opening in the cliff, and a man in a tiny rowboat plucked us four at a time from our “big” boat to his smaller one. We had to duck as we entered the grotto, and as my eyes adjusted to the dim light, an explosion of the purest blue erupted in every direction.
It was beautiful, but it was more of the feeling that settled over me that made it such an unforgettable experience. I felt as if I was alone in the world, and the blue was my comforting balm. I felt as if something like this exists, than anything is possible. It was wonderfully reassuring. It was as if time chose not to move once inside the grotto, as the blue will simply go on eternally in all directions, never waning in its beauty.
Once we returned to the mainland, Haley and I dipped our toes in the clear blue Mediterranean, and then headed up the hill to Capritown. Stores like Gucci and Roberto Cavalli ostentatiously presented themselves on Capritown’s winding streets, and we dared to enter some and chose to window-shop others.
We were windswept and sunburned on our ferry ride back, and mastered Naples confusing bus system to collapse on our beds at our hostel.
We finally managed to scrape the energy to go get some pizza, and we ate it from the box at our hostel with some Brits who shared a room with us. Charlotte, or Charlie, and Ollie, are from Northern England and are taking a gap year to travel Europe. It was lovely to nibble on my Neapolitan pizza and to discuss the healthcare system in England and what they were doing the day Princess Diana died. One of my favorite parts of this trip has been meeting other travelers, sharing common experiences, and learning what life is like for them back home. They were fascinated by Wal-Mart and laughed when I used the word “crosswalk”. I giggled when they repeatedly used the word “bloody”, and think that the word would make a fine addition to my vocabulary (only in an English accent, of course).
We are almost in Rome. I can’t wait.
4/23/09
"Is that steam coming from Vesuvius?"
It is pouring buckets outside our hotel room. Thunder accompanies the ever present honking of hours (you can't get a hotel room for 55 euro a night and not expect one tiny, but loud flaw), but I don't care-- as I saw Pompeii today, and couldn't be more exhilirated.
My imagination went wild the entire time. What was the person in this house doing when they heard the volcano ominously preparing to erupt? Is this counter with a hole a storage space, or a toilet? Where in town would I have lived if I happened to be a resident of the doomed city thousands of years ago? Would I have been one of these poor souls forever immortalized in plaster casts that the tourist public now gawks at?
These thoughts were often interrupted by Haley quietly asking, "Is that a cloud, or steam over there?" and "Did you know that the volcano is still active? Yikes!". She was funny, and I always reassured her that I was sure it was a meandering cloud, not the sign of another cataclysmic eruption.
The excavated village of Pompeii is huge. We walked from 11:00 when the site opened to 4:00 when we left, and we still didn't see everything, and probably couldn't have in one day. The ruins are amazingly intact-- from tiled mosaic floors to frescoed walls. The city boasts two amphitheatres, a large forum, baths, many temples dedicated to various gods, and countless dwellings.
I think my pictures will say more (and Haley, Karinne, and I might have taken some goofy ones as well). I'll have the link up as soon as I can.
Now, we are drying off before hitting the crowded city streets to find some dinner, which will surely blow my taste buds away, as this is what I am coming to expect of all Italian cuisine. Tomorrow is Capri for Haley and I, and Karinne is off to Paris to meet her mom. I'll pray to the gods that it doesn't continue to rain, and that Vesuvius keeps it cap.
My imagination went wild the entire time. What was the person in this house doing when they heard the volcano ominously preparing to erupt? Is this counter with a hole a storage space, or a toilet? Where in town would I have lived if I happened to be a resident of the doomed city thousands of years ago? Would I have been one of these poor souls forever immortalized in plaster casts that the tourist public now gawks at?
These thoughts were often interrupted by Haley quietly asking, "Is that a cloud, or steam over there?" and "Did you know that the volcano is still active? Yikes!". She was funny, and I always reassured her that I was sure it was a meandering cloud, not the sign of another cataclysmic eruption.
The excavated village of Pompeii is huge. We walked from 11:00 when the site opened to 4:00 when we left, and we still didn't see everything, and probably couldn't have in one day. The ruins are amazingly intact-- from tiled mosaic floors to frescoed walls. The city boasts two amphitheatres, a large forum, baths, many temples dedicated to various gods, and countless dwellings.
I think my pictures will say more (and Haley, Karinne, and I might have taken some goofy ones as well). I'll have the link up as soon as I can.
Now, we are drying off before hitting the crowded city streets to find some dinner, which will surely blow my taste buds away, as this is what I am coming to expect of all Italian cuisine. Tomorrow is Capri for Haley and I, and Karinne is off to Paris to meet her mom. I'll pray to the gods that it doesn't continue to rain, and that Vesuvius keeps it cap.
Florence in the morning, Naples in the evening,
If you are ever in Florence, you must go to a restaurant called the Fox and the Lamb. Their balsamic vinegar could make dogs talk, pigs fly, and maybe even bring about world peace. It was heavenly. By the time my meal came, I was eating it by the spoonful, which elicited an odd look from the waiter. I just smacked my lips, smiled, and said, "This is really, REALLY good!" while pouring another spoonful.
After a wild night out on Florence town where at least three men called out to Haley, Kelly, and I as we were walking by, "Miss, Miss! You dropped something.... you dropped my heart on the ground!", we practically ran home to our beds to rest our throbbing feet, and awoke five hours later to a beautiful morning in Florence.
We hit up the Duomo, the local food markets, and the local leather markets. I was so very much content to lazily shop around, bargain with vendors, and soak up the city.
I shed a tear or two when Kelly walked away from us at the train station as I wasn't just saying goodbye to her, but to a new city that I now have an old love for.
Haley and I arrived in Naples, met up with Karinne (who was in Rome with another friend), and immediately went on the hunt for "the best pizza in Naples"-- or so said my guidebook.
Wow. Mon dieu! Was the guidebook ever right.
The place had two choices, margherita or marinara, in two sizes, normal or large. We all opted for the normal, and were shocked when three gigantic, steaming hot pizzas arrived at our table. It was fresh from the red brick oven, and tasted unlike any pizza I have ever eaten. The place was crowded with locals, making us feel as if we made the perfect decision for our first Napolitan pizza. The pizza was more than delicious, and I still can't put my finger on why exactly it tasted so wonderful. Light, but filling. Airy, but with the crisp from the oven on the crust.
I think we might be returning tonight.
After a wild night out on Florence town where at least three men called out to Haley, Kelly, and I as we were walking by, "Miss, Miss! You dropped something.... you dropped my heart on the ground!", we practically ran home to our beds to rest our throbbing feet, and awoke five hours later to a beautiful morning in Florence.
We hit up the Duomo, the local food markets, and the local leather markets. I was so very much content to lazily shop around, bargain with vendors, and soak up the city.
I shed a tear or two when Kelly walked away from us at the train station as I wasn't just saying goodbye to her, but to a new city that I now have an old love for.
Haley and I arrived in Naples, met up with Karinne (who was in Rome with another friend), and immediately went on the hunt for "the best pizza in Naples"-- or so said my guidebook.
Wow. Mon dieu! Was the guidebook ever right.
The place had two choices, margherita or marinara, in two sizes, normal or large. We all opted for the normal, and were shocked when three gigantic, steaming hot pizzas arrived at our table. It was fresh from the red brick oven, and tasted unlike any pizza I have ever eaten. The place was crowded with locals, making us feel as if we made the perfect decision for our first Napolitan pizza. The pizza was more than delicious, and I still can't put my finger on why exactly it tasted so wonderful. Light, but filling. Airy, but with the crisp from the oven on the crust.
I think we might be returning tonight.
4/22/09
The City of Katie
Florence. I’m absolutely and irrevocably in love.
If only I had chosen Italian over French that fateful day of registration my freshman year at OU when my counselor asked which language I would like to study, then I feel certain my path would have led me to Florence.
I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s the art, which seems to surge through every person, every building, and every feeling. Maybe it is the smile the Italians throw your way every time you enter a store and try to stumble out a decent “Ciao!”. Maybe it is the pasta, which is more than my taste buds could ever hope to discover in one sitting. Maybe it is the fact that I stood in line for three hours today to enter the Uffizi Museum, which houses the paintings of Michelangelo, da Vinci, Raphael, and Boticelli, and was so happy to do it because I heard the Italian lady next to me say, “This is definitely worth it.”. And it was.
After the museum, Haley and I hiked up to the Piazza del Michelangelo and marveled at the cityscape for almost an hour. The Duomo dominated the view, and the rolling hills of Tuscany provided the background for the countless red tiled roofs. We continued out hike up to the church at the peak of the hill, and listened to the monks there perform a traditional Gregorian chant. It was beautiful, but mournful. I felt somber, but culturally enriched as I wandered around the church’s graveyard and thought about all the great artists of Florence who have lived and died in this city of beauty as the chants replayed in my head.
Kelly, Haley’s friend from William & Mary, is studying art in Florence this semester, and graciously welcomed us plus our entirely-too-large suitcases into her apartment for two nights. Her love for Florence was apparent the second I saw her ear-to-ear smile when she greeted us at the train station. She absolutely loves it here. She practically skipped as she showed us around the city Monday evening, making me want to grab her and Haley by the hand and start to sing, “We’re off to see theartofMichelangelo, the wonderfulartofMichelangelo of FloRENCE!”.
Now, Haley and I are resting our throbbing feet (cobblestone can really take it out of you). It was a great, full day, and I wish we had more than a morning tomorrow to try and fit in all that we need to see. But, I am now more excited than ever to see more of Italy. Naples, here we come!
If only I had chosen Italian over French that fateful day of registration my freshman year at OU when my counselor asked which language I would like to study, then I feel certain my path would have led me to Florence.
I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s the art, which seems to surge through every person, every building, and every feeling. Maybe it is the smile the Italians throw your way every time you enter a store and try to stumble out a decent “Ciao!”. Maybe it is the pasta, which is more than my taste buds could ever hope to discover in one sitting. Maybe it is the fact that I stood in line for three hours today to enter the Uffizi Museum, which houses the paintings of Michelangelo, da Vinci, Raphael, and Boticelli, and was so happy to do it because I heard the Italian lady next to me say, “This is definitely worth it.”. And it was.
After the museum, Haley and I hiked up to the Piazza del Michelangelo and marveled at the cityscape for almost an hour. The Duomo dominated the view, and the rolling hills of Tuscany provided the background for the countless red tiled roofs. We continued out hike up to the church at the peak of the hill, and listened to the monks there perform a traditional Gregorian chant. It was beautiful, but mournful. I felt somber, but culturally enriched as I wandered around the church’s graveyard and thought about all the great artists of Florence who have lived and died in this city of beauty as the chants replayed in my head.
Kelly, Haley’s friend from William & Mary, is studying art in Florence this semester, and graciously welcomed us plus our entirely-too-large suitcases into her apartment for two nights. Her love for Florence was apparent the second I saw her ear-to-ear smile when she greeted us at the train station. She absolutely loves it here. She practically skipped as she showed us around the city Monday evening, making me want to grab her and Haley by the hand and start to sing, “We’re off to see theartofMichelangelo, the wonderfulartofMichelangelo of FloRENCE!”.
Now, Haley and I are resting our throbbing feet (cobblestone can really take it out of you). It was a great, full day, and I wish we had more than a morning tomorrow to try and fit in all that we need to see. But, I am now more excited than ever to see more of Italy. Naples, here we come!
4/19/09
The two i's
Italy and Ireland.
The "i" section of my Europe guidebook will be thoroughly worn by the end of my two week tour.
Here is the plan: Florence to Naples to Rome to Dublin to the Irish countryside, then back to Aix, utterly exhausted, but filled to the brim with homemade Italian pasta, rolling Irish hills, Renaissance art, and most importantly-- unforgettable adventures that I will take with me as long as the urge to see and do and learn rushes through my Europe-lovin' veins.
This weekend, everything seemed to gracefully fall into place. Pack my bags-- check. Book all our hostels-- check. Say a tearful goodbye to Aix-- check. Freak out a bit, then realized that I can totally do this-- check.
I'm ready to go. I'm not ready for my alarm to sound tomorrow morning at 4:25 so Haley and I make our 5:11 train out of Aix, but at least I will be traveling by roomy, high speed train rather than a crowded, seemingly eternal overnight bus.
I will post when I have access to the Internet, which I hope will be often.
I'm nervous. I've never been nervous for a trip like I am nervous for this one.
The "i" section of my Europe guidebook will be thoroughly worn by the end of my two week tour.
Here is the plan: Florence to Naples to Rome to Dublin to the Irish countryside, then back to Aix, utterly exhausted, but filled to the brim with homemade Italian pasta, rolling Irish hills, Renaissance art, and most importantly-- unforgettable adventures that I will take with me as long as the urge to see and do and learn rushes through my Europe-lovin' veins.
This weekend, everything seemed to gracefully fall into place. Pack my bags-- check. Book all our hostels-- check. Say a tearful goodbye to Aix-- check. Freak out a bit, then realized that I can totally do this-- check.
I'm ready to go. I'm not ready for my alarm to sound tomorrow morning at 4:25 so Haley and I make our 5:11 train out of Aix, but at least I will be traveling by roomy, high speed train rather than a crowded, seemingly eternal overnight bus.
I will post when I have access to the Internet, which I hope will be often.
I'm nervous. I've never been nervous for a trip like I am nervous for this one.
4/17/09
Lazy Hazy Days of Springtime
I have officially been sneeze-less for 24 hours. Although breathing out of my nose was not an option on my run this morning (meaning I didn't have to say "Pardon!" under my breath when passing pedestrians because my heavy breathing alerted them immediately that somebody was laboriously lumbering up behind them), I feel much better.
Today was lazy. I went running. I went to the market. I had a picnic in the park. I played Scrabble again at Book in a Bar (Greta beat me with a well placed "Uzi"). I made boeuf aux carrots with Annie for dinner, marking the first time in several weeks that we have tackled the French cook book. Now, it is storming Oklahoma style. Thunder. Lightning. Flickering lights. I can take sunshine-less if there if there seems to be a purpose behind it.
Chateau Vendome is about a minute walk from my apartment's heavily grafettied door. The mansion/museum has accompanying gardens that are tres beaux and full of springtime wonder. Tulips in every color. Green, green grass. Tinkling fountains. This afternoon, Greta, Jill, Jesus, and I spread out a blanket in the shade and marveled. 
Jillian, Jesus, and Greta leaving the park.
This tree in brilliant bloom greets me every time I make a quick run to the grocery store down the road from my apartment. It says "Katie, Spring is here to stay." and waves its flowery branches at me as I pass.
The bean selection at the market. I thought the purple ones looked particularly exotic.
Two guitar players were serenading the marketers as they shopped. I felt like I was in a movie, because their jaunty tunes were the background music to my jaunty French life as I selected the perfect carrots for Annie and I's dinner.
I once wrote about my market Santa, and here he is in all his vegetable glory. He always smiles as he hands me my change and calls me mademoiselle. This in turn always forces an absurd grin onto my face. No one ever looked so happy about three onions as I did today when market Santa gave me my change and yellow onions in a bag.
Today was lazy. I went running. I went to the market. I had a picnic in the park. I played Scrabble again at Book in a Bar (Greta beat me with a well placed "Uzi"). I made boeuf aux carrots with Annie for dinner, marking the first time in several weeks that we have tackled the French cook book. Now, it is storming Oklahoma style. Thunder. Lightning. Flickering lights. I can take sunshine-less if there if there seems to be a purpose behind it.
Chateau Vendome is about a minute walk from my apartment's heavily grafettied door. The mansion/museum has accompanying gardens that are tres beaux and full of springtime wonder. Tulips in every color. Green, green grass. Tinkling fountains. This afternoon, Greta, Jill, Jesus, and I spread out a blanket in the shade and marveled. 
Jillian, Jesus, and Greta leaving the park. 
This tree in brilliant bloom greets me every time I make a quick run to the grocery store down the road from my apartment. It says "Katie, Spring is here to stay." and waves its flowery branches at me as I pass.
The bean selection at the market. I thought the purple ones looked particularly exotic.
Two guitar players were serenading the marketers as they shopped. I felt like I was in a movie, because their jaunty tunes were the background music to my jaunty French life as I selected the perfect carrots for Annie and I's dinner.
I once wrote about my market Santa, and here he is in all his vegetable glory. He always smiles as he hands me my change and calls me mademoiselle. This in turn always forces an absurd grin onto my face. No one ever looked so happy about three onions as I did today when market Santa gave me my change and yellow onions in a bag.4/16/09
Tragic Sneezes and Figgy Tea
I haven't been feeling well. I sneezed 8 times in class today, and but the sixth or seventh sneeze, Natalie just laughed at me. Then Jesus sneezed, and she exclaimed, "Jesus! Are you trying to impersonate Katie today?!"
My France and Europe class was canceled, so, I practically skipped to Book in a Bar two hours earlier than usual as per my usual Thursday routine. What a treat. Greta, Jill, and I played a rousing game of Scrabble, where I managed to dominate with the 75 point word "queer".
Now, I keep replaying the sentence I don't have school for two weeks in my head. If only I could say All my travel plans are confirmed and set to go for Italy and Ireland, I would be completely content, and my runny nose and cold headache would not seem like such a tragedy.
Our scrabble board at Book in a Bar plus my teapot of Italian Tea. It tasted like figs.
My France and Europe class was canceled, so, I practically skipped to Book in a Bar two hours earlier than usual as per my usual Thursday routine. What a treat. Greta, Jill, and I played a rousing game of Scrabble, where I managed to dominate with the 75 point word "queer".
Now, I keep replaying the sentence I don't have school for two weeks in my head. If only I could say All my travel plans are confirmed and set to go for Italy and Ireland, I would be completely content, and my runny nose and cold headache would not seem like such a tragedy.
Our scrabble board at Book in a Bar plus my teapot of Italian Tea. It tasted like figs.
Jill had all vowels. Tough luck.
Natalie is on the left. She is talking with Amanda and Grace, two girls in my class. This was during out "petit pose", which can range anywhere from 5 to 20 minutes depending on what kind of day Natalie is having. Today, she wasn't feeling well, so we had a 20 minute break in the sunshine.
What a beautiful courtyard we have at IEFEE.
Two things in this picture make me happier than words on this blog can express.1) Sunshine!
2) Trees with leaves!!
4/15/09
Aubin, my language friend
Last night, I found myself anxiously pacing in front of the tourist office, wringing my hands, and regretting the decisions that had led me there.
Why did I think I wanted a language partner anyway? Its just going to be awkward. What if he is amazing at English, and I stumble through my French the entire conversation.
From our very limited email exchange (after all, I had written him in French and he had replied in English) all I knew was that my new language partner was named Aubin and that he was studying at the Law University in Aix. We planned to get a cafe and talk, him in English and me in French, for about an hour. Pam set us up.
I realized the stupidity of our decision not to swap phone numbers, descriptions (I'll be the girl in the bright yellow jacket!"), or decide on a more specific meeting point after I hesitantly approached a man standing alone and asked if he was my language buddy Aubin. His blank stare made my cheeks burn with embaressment, and I quickly walked to another bench in front of the office, determined not to approach another stranger unless I was positive it was Aubin.
About ten minutes after our designated 7:00 meet time, I was about to pack up and leave when I heard a someone on the phone say many indistinguishable phrases in French, and then, a distinct "CAT-TEEE". I knew this was my man. I approached the man with some spring in my step, proudly stuck out my hand, and said "Are you ready to speak some English?! I'm Katie."
Aubin was great. He is from the Ivory Coast, and moved to France when he was a boy. He is studying law for another year before he takes his exams to graduate. He has a brother and two sisters. He smiled during our entired conversation, and graciously picked up the tab at the end of our hour long exchange, promising that I could pay next time. His English was the equivalent of my French, making it the perfect balance of tiny corrections and "How do you say [insert obscure word]?".
Aubin is my first French friend. It only took three months in France and hundreds of hours of Natalie for me to feel like I can have a friend to whom I only speak French. I can't wait for our next exchange.
Why did I think I wanted a language partner anyway? Its just going to be awkward. What if he is amazing at English, and I stumble through my French the entire conversation.
From our very limited email exchange (after all, I had written him in French and he had replied in English) all I knew was that my new language partner was named Aubin and that he was studying at the Law University in Aix. We planned to get a cafe and talk, him in English and me in French, for about an hour. Pam set us up.
I realized the stupidity of our decision not to swap phone numbers, descriptions (I'll be the girl in the bright yellow jacket!"), or decide on a more specific meeting point after I hesitantly approached a man standing alone and asked if he was my language buddy Aubin. His blank stare made my cheeks burn with embaressment, and I quickly walked to another bench in front of the office, determined not to approach another stranger unless I was positive it was Aubin.
About ten minutes after our designated 7:00 meet time, I was about to pack up and leave when I heard a someone on the phone say many indistinguishable phrases in French, and then, a distinct "CAT-TEEE". I knew this was my man. I approached the man with some spring in my step, proudly stuck out my hand, and said "Are you ready to speak some English?! I'm Katie."
Aubin was great. He is from the Ivory Coast, and moved to France when he was a boy. He is studying law for another year before he takes his exams to graduate. He has a brother and two sisters. He smiled during our entired conversation, and graciously picked up the tab at the end of our hour long exchange, promising that I could pay next time. His English was the equivalent of my French, making it the perfect balance of tiny corrections and "How do you say [insert obscure word]?".
Aubin is my first French friend. It only took three months in France and hundreds of hours of Natalie for me to feel like I can have a friend to whom I only speak French. I can't wait for our next exchange.
4/14/09
Une photo ou deux
I'm feeling rather tired tonight, so here are some photos that I took this past weekend. Enjoy.
The French aren't shy about hanging their undies out for everyone to see.
The Saturday market. It seems to go for stalls and stalls without end. Ginormous eggplants. Succulent berries. Countless carrots. Yum, Yum, Yum.
Its strawberry season. They were all over the market.
Literally-- everywhere.
The meat counter at the outdoor market. Although I'm brave enough to tackle the vegetable and fruit vendors, I'm scared of the meat. "One apple" is much easier to say than "[whatever the conversion is for
The best crepes in town. Nothing is more wonderful than strolling down the Cours Mirabeau with a crepe a GoGo in hand. All the French give you envious looks, wishing they held the Nutella bliss that you do in their hands.
The crepes a gogo lady. She is always there, she never smiles, and her crepes always taste like heaven.4/13/09
Frioul
The weather: 75. Balmy. Cloudless.
The island: Aqua water. Pebbly beaches. Breathtaking views.
My mood: As high as the clear blue sky.
When I stepped off the boat onto Frioul this afternoon, I let the Mediterranean air blow my homesickness from yesterday out to sea, to be replaced with pure and simple contentment. Frioul was a world away from the noise and bustle of Marseille, where Karinne and I caught the boat, and was so much more than I was expecting.
The island was un petit paradise, populated with countless seagulls determined to show off their harsh vocals and so many varities of wild flowers that the air smelled sweet. Karinne and I walked a rocky path to a small beach to the back of the island, spread out our towels next to a French family, and didn't move for three hours as the sun warmed my wet and tired heart.
It was bliss.
After we felt as if we might have developed at least the hint of a tan line, we hiked to the top of Frioul to explore the island's old fortress and to admire the calanques the island boasts. We wandered aimlessly, going down paths that looked like they might lead somewhere, but often just ended in rocky meadows filled with wild flowers and gusts of wind. I guess that was the somewhere.
Thoroughly and happily exhausted, we caught the boat back, and about an hour in a half later, I was eating dinner in my apartment and realizing that I have more than just a hint of a tanline. Sunburnt again. Oh well, it was completely and utterly worth it.
4/12/09
I've got the Easter blues.
I wish it weren't so, but I miss home.
Maybe I wouldn't if I had dyed Easter eggs last Sunday in keeping with my family's tradition. Molly and I always compete for the prize of the most creative egg. The French don't sell white eggs, only brown, so the PAAS dying kit my Dad sent me will go to waste.
Maybe I wouldn't if I had gone to a traditional Lutheran service where the organ belts and the congregation choruses "He has risen indeed, Alleluia!". Although the catholic mass I attended this morning was lovely, it was long, and in French. Church is often a battle with consciousness in the early morning, but add in a different language and unfamiliar songs, and it is downright impossible to enjoy, even on the joyous occasion of Easter.
Maybe I wouldn't Annie, Haley, Maggie, and mine's Easter feast today had been spiral ham with potato salad and rolls as per another family tradition. Our Easter lunch this afternoon was beautiful, and the pigs in a blanket, potato casserole, and lemon cake tasted of America, but maybe, that made me miss home even more.
Maybe I wouldn't if it would simply act like Provence and stop raining already. This is day number three without sunshine, and I have come to realize more and more that my mood is entirely dependent on whether or not the sun decides to show its face.
I know I'll feel better about things tomorrow, but for now, I'm going to snuggle up with a book and wish that my television would suddenly play American programs in English and that the brie cheese in my fridge would magically transform into simple American cheddar.
Maybe I wouldn't if I had dyed Easter eggs last Sunday in keeping with my family's tradition. Molly and I always compete for the prize of the most creative egg. The French don't sell white eggs, only brown, so the PAAS dying kit my Dad sent me will go to waste.
Maybe I wouldn't if I had gone to a traditional Lutheran service where the organ belts and the congregation choruses "He has risen indeed, Alleluia!". Although the catholic mass I attended this morning was lovely, it was long, and in French. Church is often a battle with consciousness in the early morning, but add in a different language and unfamiliar songs, and it is downright impossible to enjoy, even on the joyous occasion of Easter.
Maybe I wouldn't Annie, Haley, Maggie, and mine's Easter feast today had been spiral ham with potato salad and rolls as per another family tradition. Our Easter lunch this afternoon was beautiful, and the pigs in a blanket, potato casserole, and lemon cake tasted of America, but maybe, that made me miss home even more.
Maybe I wouldn't if it would simply act like Provence and stop raining already. This is day number three without sunshine, and I have come to realize more and more that my mood is entirely dependent on whether or not the sun decides to show its face.
I know I'll feel better about things tomorrow, but for now, I'm going to snuggle up with a book and wish that my television would suddenly play American programs in English and that the brie cheese in my fridge would magically transform into simple American cheddar.
4/11/09
Une Degustation
I am officially a wine-o. Names like Pauillac and Domaine de la Fourmone actually mean something to me. I can say confidently that 2002 was a horrible year for Bordeaux, as the rains came early, diluting any precious sugar in the grape crop. Robert Foster is my new god. I know the subtle, yet vibrant differences between pinot noir grapes and cabernet sauvignon. I even do the incredibly obnoxious, yet oh-so-pretentious gurgling as I take a sip, letting the wine aerate in my mouth, then slowly swallowing to allow the drink to hit every part of my tongue.
I have converted to the religion of wine. My new faith is all due to one greatly experienced man who described a wine as "transcendental" at the tasting at my apartment last night. Bob is a friend of Pam (the director of Abroadco) and he has been in love with wine since he took his first sip at a dinner party in NYC his junior year of college. Thirty years and many, many bottles later, he is a professor of Classics at the University of Chicago (he is currently on loan to a university in Pisa) and a conisseur of French and Italian wines.
Nine Abroadco students came for the tasting. I had decorated the apartment with fresh flowers and candles, fumbling my way through first time hosting in hopes of impressing my intellectual, wine-loving guest. Of course, the first sentences out of Bob's mouth were 1) You smell lovely. Are you wearing perfume-- it can mix badly with the wine's bouquet? 2) Candles and flowers are such a good idea-- the bouquet thing again. 3) Lovely apartment-- where should I set these precious bottles of ambrosia?
Oh well. I promptly blew out the candles, moved the flowers to another shelf, and the tasting commenced.
We started with a white from Provence. The vineyards of Provence are famous for their roses and heavy-handed reds, but not so much for their whites, and after learning the gurgle and truly tasting the white, I had to agree with Bob when he said, "Eh."
The second was a rose that Bob has personally bottled straight from the cask at a tiny vineyard close to Marseille. Bob advised us to always stick to the cheapest rose, as a 2 euro bottle often tastes the same as a 10 euro bottle. We nodded our heads in agreement, as this is the kind of news poor college students studying abroad always want to hear.
We then moved on to the reds, the "true masterpiece of France" Bob proclaimed jubilently as he excitedly filled our glasses. Three from Provence, one from the Rhone Valley. The wines progressively became more tanic and oaky as we continued. They were all very strong, yet very classic, Bob said, and not for the light of heart.
We finished with my absolute favorite, a white desert wine called "Muscat de Beaumes de Venise". It tasted as if I were drinking honey, but smoother, and with a hint of floral.
I now understand what all the fuss is about, as I truly didn't before. A glass of wine sitting before you is like a mystery that must be solved in three sips or less. Seeing the glass in front of you doesn't contribute to your appreciation of the wine, therefore, you must rely entirely on your sense of smell and taste to decipher subtle flavors. Where does it hit your tongue? What is the finish? Does it taste consistent as it slides down your throat? And then, was it a good year? What combination of grapes were used? Where was it grown, and therefore, what kind of soil were the grapes grown in? There is so much to learn, and it takes years and years to develop a pallet worth buying expensive bottles of wine about.
I had such a great time, and I'm anxious to learn more. Bob was such a character, and the adjectives he used to describe the wine (intelligent, sexy, discreet) turned every bottle into a character as well, whom I got to know over a few sips and swallows.
I have converted to the religion of wine. My new faith is all due to one greatly experienced man who described a wine as "transcendental" at the tasting at my apartment last night. Bob is a friend of Pam (the director of Abroadco) and he has been in love with wine since he took his first sip at a dinner party in NYC his junior year of college. Thirty years and many, many bottles later, he is a professor of Classics at the University of Chicago (he is currently on loan to a university in Pisa) and a conisseur of French and Italian wines.
Nine Abroadco students came for the tasting. I had decorated the apartment with fresh flowers and candles, fumbling my way through first time hosting in hopes of impressing my intellectual, wine-loving guest. Of course, the first sentences out of Bob's mouth were 1) You smell lovely. Are you wearing perfume-- it can mix badly with the wine's bouquet? 2) Candles and flowers are such a good idea-- the bouquet thing again. 3) Lovely apartment-- where should I set these precious bottles of ambrosia?
Oh well. I promptly blew out the candles, moved the flowers to another shelf, and the tasting commenced.
We started with a white from Provence. The vineyards of Provence are famous for their roses and heavy-handed reds, but not so much for their whites, and after learning the gurgle and truly tasting the white, I had to agree with Bob when he said, "Eh."
The second was a rose that Bob has personally bottled straight from the cask at a tiny vineyard close to Marseille. Bob advised us to always stick to the cheapest rose, as a 2 euro bottle often tastes the same as a 10 euro bottle. We nodded our heads in agreement, as this is the kind of news poor college students studying abroad always want to hear.
We then moved on to the reds, the "true masterpiece of France" Bob proclaimed jubilently as he excitedly filled our glasses. Three from Provence, one from the Rhone Valley. The wines progressively became more tanic and oaky as we continued. They were all very strong, yet very classic, Bob said, and not for the light of heart.
We finished with my absolute favorite, a white desert wine called "Muscat de Beaumes de Venise". It tasted as if I were drinking honey, but smoother, and with a hint of floral.
I now understand what all the fuss is about, as I truly didn't before. A glass of wine sitting before you is like a mystery that must be solved in three sips or less. Seeing the glass in front of you doesn't contribute to your appreciation of the wine, therefore, you must rely entirely on your sense of smell and taste to decipher subtle flavors. Where does it hit your tongue? What is the finish? Does it taste consistent as it slides down your throat? And then, was it a good year? What combination of grapes were used? Where was it grown, and therefore, what kind of soil were the grapes grown in? There is so much to learn, and it takes years and years to develop a pallet worth buying expensive bottles of wine about.
I had such a great time, and I'm anxious to learn more. Bob was such a character, and the adjectives he used to describe the wine (intelligent, sexy, discreet) turned every bottle into a character as well, whom I got to know over a few sips and swallows.
4/10/09
Quick Update
I find myself at Friday already, completely at a loss as to how it is the weekend already, and a little mad. Only five weeks more. Five weeks more to buy warm baguette fresh from the oven at my local boulangerie, where the woman smiles and says "Merci madame", making me feel as if I have finally fooled someone into thinking I am actually French. Five weeks more to try and discover every hidden street and fountain in Aix. Five weeks more with my friends here, who I now can't imagine my life without. Just five weeks. Zut.
Wednesday night was a treat. Karinne, Allison, and I decided to make the Rugh's a goodbye dinner to thank them for their kindness in including the three of us in their adventures around Provence. It was a lovely, candlelit dinner that included lively conversation about the vast differences between France and America, delicious potato soup and stuffed tomatoes, and plenty of laughter. I loved having Haley's mom over, as her motherly presence reminded me of home and of my mom. Although I often don't write about it, I think of good ole' Oklahoma every day, and do miss it un petit peu.
Last night was Annie's birthday celebration. I curled her hair long, blonde hair and Haley applied copious amounts of black eye liner to her watering, virgin eye lids. As we were walking to the the party, a French boy we walked past let out a "Heeellllloooooo" as his friend whistled. I think that is universal code for: you're looking hot tonight! And she did look beautiful. We had lot of fun, and ended the night dancing with French kids who clearly didn't know the words to the American tunes like I did (one of my great joys is hearing Frenchies mispronounce the words to songs in English, as it makes me feel slightly better about my heavily accented French).
Now, I'm getting ready for a wine tasting about my apartment. I'll let you know how it goes.
Wednesday night was a treat. Karinne, Allison, and I decided to make the Rugh's a goodbye dinner to thank them for their kindness in including the three of us in their adventures around Provence. It was a lovely, candlelit dinner that included lively conversation about the vast differences between France and America, delicious potato soup and stuffed tomatoes, and plenty of laughter. I loved having Haley's mom over, as her motherly presence reminded me of home and of my mom. Although I often don't write about it, I think of good ole' Oklahoma every day, and do miss it un petit peu.
Last night was Annie's birthday celebration. I curled her hair long, blonde hair and Haley applied copious amounts of black eye liner to her watering, virgin eye lids. As we were walking to the the party, a French boy we walked past let out a "Heeellllloooooo" as his friend whistled. I think that is universal code for: you're looking hot tonight! And she did look beautiful. We had lot of fun, and ended the night dancing with French kids who clearly didn't know the words to the American tunes like I did (one of my great joys is hearing Frenchies mispronounce the words to songs in English, as it makes me feel slightly better about my heavily accented French).
Now, I'm getting ready for a wine tasting about my apartment. I'll let you know how it goes.
4/7/09
A good ol' Creole Time
This morning began beautifully. I woke up and leisurely strolled to the bi-weekly flower market in front of Town Hall. After perusing the vast, colorful selection, I purchased a fiery bouquet of pink, yellow, and orange tulips, roses, and daisies. I felt utterly French as I walked back home with my beautiful bouquet wrapped carefully in brown packing paper.
Later in the morning, I met Haley at the train station when I was almost finished with my run, as that was the only time we could arrange to buy our tickets together for Italy. You should have seen the intense stares I received as I boldly walked into the ticket office with my red face pooling in sweat as I recovered my breath from jogging. Here, I will insert a universal truth-- carrying flowers home from the market: tres French. Stopping to arrange travel in the midst of exercising: NOT French.
One hour later I left the train station, thoroughly grumpy. I had 20 minutes to get home, shower, pack a lunch, and make it to Phonetics in time, as only the French could take almost an hour to book three train tickets for two students.
I made it to class just in time, but couldn't settle in for the daunting 6 hours comfortably. Even Natalie noticed, and asked me during break if I was feeling okay. I told her I was, then complained about my ticket booking experience as she listened sympathetically.
My mood was almost to the poorly carpeted IEFEE floor as we were doing yet more grammar when Natalie, of course, turned it all around. At the end of class, she rewarded us letting us listen to her favorite Creole song. As soon as the jaunty music filled the classroom, reminding me of a mix of Latin and reggae, I my mood elevated a bit.
Then, Natalie grabbed Jesus from his seat and insisted he dance with her. This was hilarious, but only because she kept bringing a relunctant Jesus closer and closer to her swinging hips. Jesus' eyes were screaming, "Natalie, you are my teacher!", and hers were simply saying, "Let loose Jesus and have some fun!".
I was officially feeling better as I walked home, remembering that I am lucky enough to be grumpy about, of all things, traveling to Italy, and that Natalie chose Jesus, not me, to dance with.
I caught the moment discreetly with my camera. Luckily, Natalie and Jesus were so distracted that hardly noticed as I snapped a few quick pics.
Later in the morning, I met Haley at the train station when I was almost finished with my run, as that was the only time we could arrange to buy our tickets together for Italy. You should have seen the intense stares I received as I boldly walked into the ticket office with my red face pooling in sweat as I recovered my breath from jogging. Here, I will insert a universal truth-- carrying flowers home from the market: tres French. Stopping to arrange travel in the midst of exercising: NOT French.
One hour later I left the train station, thoroughly grumpy. I had 20 minutes to get home, shower, pack a lunch, and make it to Phonetics in time, as only the French could take almost an hour to book three train tickets for two students.
I made it to class just in time, but couldn't settle in for the daunting 6 hours comfortably. Even Natalie noticed, and asked me during break if I was feeling okay. I told her I was, then complained about my ticket booking experience as she listened sympathetically.
My mood was almost to the poorly carpeted IEFEE floor as we were doing yet more grammar when Natalie, of course, turned it all around. At the end of class, she rewarded us letting us listen to her favorite Creole song. As soon as the jaunty music filled the classroom, reminding me of a mix of Latin and reggae, I my mood elevated a bit.
Then, Natalie grabbed Jesus from his seat and insisted he dance with her. This was hilarious, but only because she kept bringing a relunctant Jesus closer and closer to her swinging hips. Jesus' eyes were screaming, "Natalie, you are my teacher!", and hers were simply saying, "Let loose Jesus and have some fun!".
I was officially feeling better as I walked home, remembering that I am lucky enough to be grumpy about, of all things, traveling to Italy, and that Natalie chose Jesus, not me, to dance with.
I caught the moment discreetly with my camera. Luckily, Natalie and Jesus were so distracted that hardly noticed as I snapped a few quick pics.4/6/09
You think mayonnaise is something you buy in a jar?
Before I explain the happenings of my class today, here are a few pictures I took of the Aix carnival on Sunday afternoon. I only stayed for a bit, as my mountain-weary legs could barely hold me upright, but I think these pictures capture the mood. It was a smaller carnival than the Venice and Nice equivalents, but it was quaint, just like Aix. The French children were dressed up like American children do at Halloween, and as I admired their costumes I revelled in the smell of fried food and the confetti that filled the air.
A float going down the Cours Mirabeau. It took me awhile to understand that it was a woman seated on a chair. When I did, I turned to Annie and said, "Oh, I get it. Its art."
Confetti floating amongst the trees, that still have yet to leaf! I keep yelling at them with my mind as I run in the park every morning, "Its April! Get leafy already!!!"
A couple strolling outside of my apartment, possibly headed to the festivities just minutes away. Such couples always make my heart smile.
Today, she was at in again. Most of the time, Natalie is reasonably outspoken and fairly flamboyant. But today she was in rare, outrageous form.
It was probably her charcoal dress, which she often wears on Wednesdays (the French often repeat outfits, living by the philosophy that it is better to buy something expensive and wear it often then buy multiple cheap pieces that don't last), but she wore today. It is a jumper-like, cotton ensemble that is the exact opposite of her personality: plain. The classrooms at IEFEE are often overheated, and as a result, every time she wears this particular gray number, her pit stains are enormous. They grow and grow throughout the class period, especially as she gets more and more heated in her explanation of intricate grammar or funny French-isms. I can depend on the gray dress when my concentration slips and I find myself daydreaming, as her pit stains always call me back, forcefully, to reality.
I was starting to notice the beginnings of a darker shade of gray under her arms today when Natalie, as she often does, burst into a random bit of very, very heavily French accented English. She likes to practice when she can, so she'll often say little phrases like, "You understand, non?!" or "This is tres, tres easy. Just think idioT!".
Today, she very timidly and un-Natalie-like said, "Programmation, that's the word in English, oui?" as she was explaining when to use the two different French tenses for the future. She meant the word program. The class burst into laughter, as seeing Natalie falter her way through English makes us feel slightly better about our stumbling French.
Natalie looked surprised, then loudly yelled, "Oh, SHIT!".
As she usually uses the French curse word equivalent of merde! we burst into more fits of giggles, as she had to have been really upset with herself to curse in, of all languages, English. Her outburst officially set the tone for the rest of the class-- ridiculouslness. Here are the highlights (translated for you, of course).
Natalie: "Charlain, you want to have a baby right when you return to the U.S., right?!" Referencing a joke she had with Charlain from last semester where Charlain mistakenly implied such a thing.
Charlain: "NATALIE! Of course not, you are embarassing me."
Natalie: "Ohhhhhh Charlain. I think you do, I think you do. This will be our little secret."
later on in the period while we were working on a grammar exercise...
Natalie: "This is a phrase parents in France often tell their children. Charlain... are you listening?!?!"
Charlain: "Natalie!"
still later in the period, same grammar exercises
Natalie: "Ah, Charlain. You would use this tense to say you were already pregnant, and this one to say you wanted to be."
Charlain (now red in the face): "NATALIE! You frustrate me to no end!"
"You Americans think mayonnaise is something you can buy in a jar?!? You are crazy. Mayonnaise takes work! It should make your wrists soar from whipping up the oil and eggs with a whisk, not from opening a jar."
"Knives. Oh my goodness I have such a fear of knives-- especially sharp Japanese knives. I once saw a man almost cut his finger off, and since then, I've been terrified of the things. When cooking at home, I wear gloves just to be safe."
"You think you hate learning grammar. I PROMISE, I hate it more. But, I suppose it will be useful for your French, so I keep teaching it to you."
I wish every class passed as quickly as today's three hours did. Natalie, oh Natalie. I wish I could express to you how much you have influenced by time here in France for the better, but I'm sure if I were to express such sentiments to my beloved Professor in her native language, I would be the next Charlain, admently denying that I was in love with turnips (called navets in French) or something like that.
A float going down the Cours Mirabeau. It took me awhile to understand that it was a woman seated on a chair. When I did, I turned to Annie and said, "Oh, I get it. Its art."
Confetti floating amongst the trees, that still have yet to leaf! I keep yelling at them with my mind as I run in the park every morning, "Its April! Get leafy already!!!"
A couple strolling outside of my apartment, possibly headed to the festivities just minutes away. Such couples always make my heart smile.Today, she was at in again. Most of the time, Natalie is reasonably outspoken and fairly flamboyant. But today she was in rare, outrageous form.
It was probably her charcoal dress, which she often wears on Wednesdays (the French often repeat outfits, living by the philosophy that it is better to buy something expensive and wear it often then buy multiple cheap pieces that don't last), but she wore today. It is a jumper-like, cotton ensemble that is the exact opposite of her personality: plain. The classrooms at IEFEE are often overheated, and as a result, every time she wears this particular gray number, her pit stains are enormous. They grow and grow throughout the class period, especially as she gets more and more heated in her explanation of intricate grammar or funny French-isms. I can depend on the gray dress when my concentration slips and I find myself daydreaming, as her pit stains always call me back, forcefully, to reality.
I was starting to notice the beginnings of a darker shade of gray under her arms today when Natalie, as she often does, burst into a random bit of very, very heavily French accented English. She likes to practice when she can, so she'll often say little phrases like, "You understand, non?!" or "This is tres, tres easy. Just think idioT!".
Today, she very timidly and un-Natalie-like said, "Programmation, that's the word in English, oui?" as she was explaining when to use the two different French tenses for the future. She meant the word program. The class burst into laughter, as seeing Natalie falter her way through English makes us feel slightly better about our stumbling French.
Natalie looked surprised, then loudly yelled, "Oh, SHIT!".
As she usually uses the French curse word equivalent of merde! we burst into more fits of giggles, as she had to have been really upset with herself to curse in, of all languages, English. Her outburst officially set the tone for the rest of the class-- ridiculouslness. Here are the highlights (translated for you, of course).
Natalie: "Charlain, you want to have a baby right when you return to the U.S., right?!" Referencing a joke she had with Charlain from last semester where Charlain mistakenly implied such a thing.
Charlain: "NATALIE! Of course not, you are embarassing me."
Natalie: "Ohhhhhh Charlain. I think you do, I think you do. This will be our little secret."
later on in the period while we were working on a grammar exercise...
Natalie: "This is a phrase parents in France often tell their children. Charlain... are you listening?!?!"
Charlain: "Natalie!"
still later in the period, same grammar exercises
Natalie: "Ah, Charlain. You would use this tense to say you were already pregnant, and this one to say you wanted to be."
Charlain (now red in the face): "NATALIE! You frustrate me to no end!"
"You Americans think mayonnaise is something you can buy in a jar?!? You are crazy. Mayonnaise takes work! It should make your wrists soar from whipping up the oil and eggs with a whisk, not from opening a jar."
"Knives. Oh my goodness I have such a fear of knives-- especially sharp Japanese knives. I once saw a man almost cut his finger off, and since then, I've been terrified of the things. When cooking at home, I wear gloves just to be safe."
"You think you hate learning grammar. I PROMISE, I hate it more. But, I suppose it will be useful for your French, so I keep teaching it to you."
I wish every class passed as quickly as today's three hours did. Natalie, oh Natalie. I wish I could express to you how much you have influenced by time here in France for the better, but I'm sure if I were to express such sentiments to my beloved Professor in her native language, I would be the next Charlain, admently denying that I was in love with turnips (called navets in French) or something like that.
4/5/09
Camargue and more mountain
Saturday was amazing. I went horseback riding in the famous marshes of Camargue, filled with flamingos and other wild beasts of flight. I saw a real, provencal style bull fight, which is much more humane and much less bloody than the Spanish style. And, I touched the Mediterranean as I ate a picture lunch in the sand.
All in all, the perfect day trip. Absolutely perfect. Look at my picture blog for the pictures.
Today, I climbed Mount Saint Victoire again. Same path, same rocks, but much less scaling and trail confusion. It was a beautiful day, and I'm glad I did it, but it is also the reason I can barely keep my eyes open, and it is only ten o'clock. Goodnight all, I'll provide more details tomorrow.
All in all, the perfect day trip. Absolutely perfect. Look at my picture blog for the pictures.
Today, I climbed Mount Saint Victoire again. Same path, same rocks, but much less scaling and trail confusion. It was a beautiful day, and I'm glad I did it, but it is also the reason I can barely keep my eyes open, and it is only ten o'clock. Goodnight all, I'll provide more details tomorrow.
4/4/09
Bull fight!
I realize I took this video sideways, and I apologize, but you can get an idea of what the bull fight was like on Saturday.
4/3/09
Avignon: Rugh style
Today was a special, totally unexpected treat that I will surely revel in for some time with a not-so-secret smile on my face.
Finally... AVIGNON!
Haley's mom and sister arrived in Aix Thursday morning, surely disappointed by the rainy weather, but ready to venture out into the welcoming arms of southern France. Haley called me yesterday and asked if I wanted to join her and her girls for a day trip to Avignon, the one city in France I had heard nothing but awesome things about. Without hesitation, I sputtered out, "OF COURSE!", and my heart soared!
When I popped into the tiny, rented Clio this morning with Karinne and greeted Mrs. Rugh, Haley, and Corbin, I knew I was in for an adventure. Cars don't go with the France I have come to know and love because I haven't donned one's door since leaving America. Mrs. Rugh was chancing the odds, navigating the impossible French highways while driving an extremely loose clutch, and therefore becoming my personal Virginian super woman by taking me to Avignon adventures yet unknown. As Karinne and I buckled our seat belts, she turned to us and said, "I don't know what I'm doing, but we're going to figure this out, together!"
1.5 hours later, 5 Americans graciously stretched their legs in a parking garage in Avignon, reliving a view-filled, charming drive through the French countryside. No stall outs. No getting lost. Just a little cramped, as the backseat didn't even offer a seatbelt for a third party, but less butt room.
I would give you the history of the Pope history in Avignon, but just click the link if you want to learn more. I think it suffice's to say that the castle was grand, the bridge was neat, and overall, Avignon reminds me of Aix, just bigger, and with a wall.
Here are the pictures!
Tomorrow, I'm off to the Camargue to ride horses, marvel at flamingos, and watch a bull fight. Pictures and stories to come, I promise.
Finally... AVIGNON!
Haley's mom and sister arrived in Aix Thursday morning, surely disappointed by the rainy weather, but ready to venture out into the welcoming arms of southern France. Haley called me yesterday and asked if I wanted to join her and her girls for a day trip to Avignon, the one city in France I had heard nothing but awesome things about. Without hesitation, I sputtered out, "OF COURSE!", and my heart soared!
When I popped into the tiny, rented Clio this morning with Karinne and greeted Mrs. Rugh, Haley, and Corbin, I knew I was in for an adventure. Cars don't go with the France I have come to know and love because I haven't donned one's door since leaving America. Mrs. Rugh was chancing the odds, navigating the impossible French highways while driving an extremely loose clutch, and therefore becoming my personal Virginian super woman by taking me to Avignon adventures yet unknown. As Karinne and I buckled our seat belts, she turned to us and said, "I don't know what I'm doing, but we're going to figure this out, together!"
1.5 hours later, 5 Americans graciously stretched their legs in a parking garage in Avignon, reliving a view-filled, charming drive through the French countryside. No stall outs. No getting lost. Just a little cramped, as the backseat didn't even offer a seatbelt for a third party, but less butt room.
I would give you the history of the Pope history in Avignon, but just click the link if you want to learn more. I think it suffice's to say that the castle was grand, the bridge was neat, and overall, Avignon reminds me of Aix, just bigger, and with a wall.
Here are the pictures!
Tomorrow, I'm off to the Camargue to ride horses, marvel at flamingos, and watch a bull fight. Pictures and stories to come, I promise.
4/1/09
Poisson d'Avril and other fishy French happenings
Today is the first of April, otherwise known as Poisson d'Avril. The April Fool's Day equivalent of France, I was expecting to be secretly pinned with a cut-out paper fish by some sneaky classmate as per tradition, but zut alors, no luck!
Otherwise, today was blue. It transitioned between almost raining, then raining throughout the afternoon. Because rain so rarely darkens Aix's door, it was funny to see the local reaction today's Spring shower. Some looked surprised, some ran to hide under cafe awnings, but most simply looked offended, like God should rethink his plans for the weather and run it by the people of southern France before he decides upon a gloomy, blue day next time.
Translation, which is my most boring class after France and Europe, was somewhat redeeming today. We had a worksheet called "Match the Funny Phrases". After reading the title, I knew class was going to be more interesting than usual. Here is what I learned, with the English translation of the French phrase on the left, and the English equivalent of the phrase on the right:
To have the face of drinking-- To have a hangover
He was taking the hand in the sack-- He was caught red-handed
It is good the son of the father-- He's a chip off the old block
He feels sick like a dog-- He felt as sick as a parrot (Apparently, the French think we use this phrase often)
My ear!-- My foot!
She lost the bowl-- She has lost her marbles.
It is cold like a duck-- This is real brass monkey weather!
I thought these were rather aptly described with the worksheets title of "funny". I'm not sure if it is applicable to today's storm, but man-oh-man was there some real brass monkey weather today!
Otherwise, today was blue. It transitioned between almost raining, then raining throughout the afternoon. Because rain so rarely darkens Aix's door, it was funny to see the local reaction today's Spring shower. Some looked surprised, some ran to hide under cafe awnings, but most simply looked offended, like God should rethink his plans for the weather and run it by the people of southern France before he decides upon a gloomy, blue day next time.
Translation, which is my most boring class after France and Europe, was somewhat redeeming today. We had a worksheet called "Match the Funny Phrases". After reading the title, I knew class was going to be more interesting than usual. Here is what I learned, with the English translation of the French phrase on the left, and the English equivalent of the phrase on the right:
To have the face of drinking-- To have a hangover
He was taking the hand in the sack-- He was caught red-handed
It is good the son of the father-- He's a chip off the old block
He feels sick like a dog-- He felt as sick as a parrot (Apparently, the French think we use this phrase often)
My ear!-- My foot!
She lost the bowl-- She has lost her marbles.
It is cold like a duck-- This is real brass monkey weather!
I thought these were rather aptly described with the worksheets title of "funny". I'm not sure if it is applicable to today's storm, but man-oh-man was there some real brass monkey weather today!
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