Well, Normandy.

Two months and one day after my arrival in France, I must write about quite an epic weekend. I'll try to keep this short, but so much happened this weekend in Normandy! Goodness.

Thursday morning, much too early, we left the house to walk to the train station. Our train ride to Paris was uneventful, which is generally best when it comes to transportation. Upon arriving in Paris, we took the metro to change train stations. We had some time before our next train left, so we ventured above ground. Lo and behold...directly in front of us was a Starbucks. Yes, I pained 4.80 euros for a grande white mocha. When I've been Starbucks deprived for two months, there is no shame in a little splurging.

The train ride to Bayeux was equally uneventful, and we arrived in the little town around 3h00. We found our hotel with ease since the town was so small. It turns out that we were staying in a room above a bar...interesting. We left our things and headed out to see the Bayeux Tapestry. The tapestry was constructed in 1066, and is the longest tapestry in the world. It depicts an epic battle between England and France... all in a series of stitched images. Pretty cool to see, especially because I remember learning about it way long ago in French class in high school. Since Bayeux is a French city, it of course has a church. Notre Dame de Bayeux is actually pretty amazing. It wasn't terrible guilded, but it was very impressive, especially for the size of the town.


(The Bayeux Tapestry, the longest in the world.)


(Notre Dame de Bayeux.)

We were ready for a snack after the church, and we found the most adorable tea room (Anna's). We each ordered a pot of tea, and felt as though we had been transported to ENgland. After tea, we were ready for an actual meal. We decided on pizza. The 4 Temps was the most incredible pizza I have ever tasted. On a thing crust spread with basic tomato sauce were piled cheese (good French cheese, of course), tomatoes, olives, artichoke hearts, eggs, mushrooms, peppers, and a variety of other delectable veggies. My pizza was followed by a Pêche Melba, and accompanied by a pitcher of table red wine. Shawna, Jenny, Catherine, and I arrived back at the hotel moaning from excessive food consumption, but satisfied.

The next morning (Friday), we were miraculously greeted with sun, a somewhat uncommon phenomenon in Normandy. Fueled with coffee and pain au chocolat, we were picked up by David for our D-Day tour. In the van with us were two women (presumably sisters) from Connecticut, and a couple from Colorado. The tour started with a brief explanation of the day and a look at a British WWII cemetery just outside of Bayeux. We drove West a bit to St. Mère Eglise, a paratrooper landing site. On June 5, 1944, the day before D-Day, paratroopers landed in St. Mère Eglise and area as a backup to troops on the beaches. Most unfortunately, it did not go as planned (as is the case in most war), and certain areas were essentially a massacre. David told us the story of John Stelle, a paratrooper who landed and got caught on the steeple of the cathedral. Miraculously, he survived the fighting going on around him. Today, he is commemorated at the church, and stained glass windows there depict paratroopers in memory of the war.


(St. Mère Eglise.)

Our second stop was the nearby Airborne Museum. There we saw a glider, a short film, a collection of WWII uniforms, and most notably, a group of highly attractive American soldiers.

Next, we drove from the high ground to the flat marshy areas near Utah beach, the first of the two American beaches. It was so weird to be standing on the same soil as our former soldiers...in such a memorable and important spot. Moving, to say the least. David was very well informed, and he did a marvelous job of explaining the strategy behind D-Day as well as what exactly happened on the day. I've never understood better what exactly happened. Or perhaps it was just the fact that I was literally standing on history that made me finally comprehend...


(Utah Beach.)

From Utah Beach we went on to a German cemetery. While it is an American tradition to send the bodies of soldiers back to their home soil, most other countries bury them where they fel. The German cemetery was very different than most others that I have seen. The British cemetery had light colored traditional gravestones, and American military cemeteries have white crosses, but the German cemetery was all black. There lines and lines of square black stones in the ground, and sporadic rows of five black crosses. It was so sad to see all of the soldiers YOUNGER THAN ME that had died on D-Day.


(WWII German Military Cemetery.)

After our stop at the cemetery, we drove to Grandcamp, a fishing village. We ate there at a café called La Mer. I had what I call an Isabelle salad, but what everyone else calls a Campagnarde salad. It had greens, cheese, corn, ham, tomatoes, egg, and various other yummies.

Lunch was short, and next we drove to Pointe du Hoc. I had never heard of the place before, but it was probably my favorite part of the tour. The point is between Utah and Omaha Beaches, and therefore was heavily bombarded. Pointe du Hoc was the only German battery left as is, and the entire area was very heavily cratered. I had never seen something like it. With the German bunkers, bomb craters, and view of the English Channel, it was an impressive site. Most impressive, however, was that a special group of soldiers (the rangers) scaled the cliff to Pointe du Hoc in order to destroy long range guns that could fire on Utah and Omaha beaches on D-Day. I can't imagine what they went through there. 250 rangers started the mission. 90 completed it.


(A view of the English Channel from Pointe du Hoc.)

We left Pointe du Hoc to move on to Omaha Beach. Actually driving through the landscape made the history of the place so much more real. I understand now that the place was truly a massacre. I stood on the ground where 2000 men died.


(On Omaha Beach.)

Omaha Beach was followed by the very moving American cemetery. About 40% of the families chose to have their sons buried in Normandy. The cemetery just had rows upon rows of white crosses (and stars of David for the Jews). Names and names and names... I can't entirely explain the emotion that goes along with seeing thousands of white graves, perched on a cliff overlooking thevery be ach where many of hte men fought. Just imagine that.


(The American Cemetery in Normandy.)

The tour ended with a brief photo op at another German battery, and then we drove back to Bayeux, exhausted. As absolutely everything closes at 19h00 in Bayeux except for Snack Kebab, we decided to eat there. I accidentally ordered about half of a cow of meat, but that's probably fine, due to my Isabelle induced lack of iron/meat. We were planning on sitting downstairs in the bar below our room for a demi-fraise, but as I mentioned, everything closes. We decided instead to share a bottle of hard cider and some gourmet pastries. Jenny and I both had mini apple pastries that truly looked like apples. The outside part was essentially marzipan (sweet dough), but inside was a hard sugary ball. Inside the ball was a shot of calvados, an apple based liquor that is local to Normandy. Very strange. I also indulged myself on a mini fruit tarte. Pretty much the most amazing thing I have ever tasted. In all, it was a very tiring, but very enjoyable day.

Saturday started off sunny as well, but as we took the train to Pontorson, it became increasingly cloudy. To make matters worse, our tickets were checked on the train, and Shawna had forgotten her Carte 12-25 in Avignon. She ended up having to buy a duplicate and pay a fine, but at least we caught our bus to Mont St. Michel without any hassle.

The impressive sight of Mont St. Michel was complimented by rainclouds. The rain helf off for a time, and we took a brief walk on the sand (quick sand, actually) that surrounds Mont St. Michel during low tide, and then started spiraling up the side of the hill. Good lord, it was steep. The rain and the people and the umbrellas didn't help. Nor did the unexpected entrance fee, nor the smelly bathroom "guarded" by a nun, expecting us to pay to pee. I did not. Sorry, nuns of Mont St. Michel.

The abbey on the tippy top of Mont St. Michel was actually relatively cool, despite the rain. From the top, there was a panoramic view of the lake of quick sand that surrounds the island. It was still low tide, so it just seemed as though the dreary grey of the sand would stretch on forever, melting into the color of the rain clouds hanging low on the horizon. It would be interesting to see the same place at high tide, when it's completely surrounded by water. I can't imagine a tide being so big that it entirely changes the landscape.


(Grey and grey and grey...)

The actual abbey was like most other abbeys, I would suppose, except bigger, and on an island surrounded by quicksand. Most awkwardly, however, there was a service going on inside the chapel when we got there. We even got to see monks, and nuns (those not taking money inside of a bathroom), and communion. Afterwards, we wandered through the abbey, which was enorme, by the way. We only saw a tiny portion of it, and it was still huge. It kind of made me want to become a monk just so I could explore it in its entirety.


(Inside the abbey.)

The abbey tour spit us out like little tourist vomit onto the most sickeningly commercial street ever. There were so many people, so many post cards, so many shops, so many rip offs... It was raining. People were pushing us with no regard or apologies. We were hungry. We were cranky. We finally decided on a café - I don't even remember the name. We were shoved upstairs into a hot and crowded room next to a couple who talked about us in hushed French the entire meal. We ordered relatively cheap sandwiches, but when Jenny ordered water for the table, we were told that it was impossible. We had to order real drinks, making our less-than-worth-it meal even more ridiculous and over-priced.

The remainder of the day was spent milling around, avoiding panicky claustrophobia, taking pictures, and complaining about the sickeningly touristy aspects of the place. We took the bus back to podunk Pontorson, then the train to Granville.


(This is Mont St. Michel.)


(Waiting...)

Granville was a nice surprise. The town is RIGHT on the Atlantic Ocean, and our hostel was in an Aquatic Center similar to a YMCA. Except for some annoying boys that thought I was Parisian and the fact that we had to pay for our sheets, the hostel was nice.

We decided on Snack Kebab for dinner, and I ate my first kebab ever. Sidenote: Snack Kebabs in Normandy, unlike those of Provence, are not staffed by men of Arab descent. Just an observation. Anyhow, we ate our kebabs right next to the ocean. I touched it. Yes, I touched the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. And what more, I watched the SUNSET over the Atlantic Ocean. Just the concept of that is so incredible.

We climbed the stairs going up a cliff behind the beach and found ourselves at the gate of Christian Dior's garden. How did we get so lucky? It was absolutely gorgeous - groomed flower beds, tea tables, roses, vineyards, overlooks on the ocean - all surrounding Dior's Victorian style home. My goodness, it was lovely. We meandered down from the cliff and stopped at a bar to finally get our demie-fraise. A nice way to end our weekend in Normandy.


(Flowers, a repeating theme from France.)


(Sunset!)

Sunday morning we woke up and after getting our things together, we walked to a church - not to go in, just to look. No visit to a French city would be complete without a church. The church was perched on higher ground, an had a beautiful view of Granville and the ocean beyond. We spent our last hours in Granville sitting on the beach with our bags, baguettes, and groceries, writing post cards and laying out in the warm sun.


(Yet another church.)


(Chillin' on the beach.)

IF we had known the impending travel hell, we never would have left Granville. We we got on the train from Granville to Paris, we quickly discovered that the air conditioning was broken. It was a three and a half hour train ride. The train was overbooked to the point that people were sitting in the aisles. Hell. Mothers were stripping their children and squirting them with water. The smell was awful. The train completely ran out of water. Near the end, I started getting heat stroke symptoms. I wanted to die.

When we arrived in Paris, we literally ran through crowds in the hot, smelly Parisian metro to catch our connection train. I thought I was going to faint. Legitimately. To make matters worse, upon arriving in Gare de Lyon, we discovered that our train had been delayed at least 50 minutes. Really? Really?

We finally got on the train, and I was subjected to watch a very sloppy and mushy and romantic 20 minute long goodbye between a couple. Ew. On the train, things got worse. We kept having track problems, causing the train to slow down to a crawl several times. Then, Shawna got sick. Then, I started getting sick. In all, our train was nearly two hours late getting into Avignon.

When I finally climbed into bed at around 12:30, I died a little inside.

And that, my darlings, was my weekend. Epic. Minus the travel home, and being quite literally "trapped" in a tourist trap on Mont St. Michel, it was a glorious weekend. You can all see my pics on facebook, and read my stories, but it doesn't quite suffice. If you get nothing else from this, please know that I'm happy here. So, so, happy.

A bientôt.

Oh, and pictures:

Part One:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2010321&id=1417500098&l=7fd717ea07

Part Two:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2010325&id=1417500098&l=e104987b65

9:3:1

Hola.

Instead of studying for my grammar exam tomorrow, I am going to blog. It's a much more agreeable use of my time.

So, yesterday was our third excursion with the OU group. We started our day with a stop in Uzès, this tiny little town in Provence. There was literally nothing there, except this GINORMOUS market. Seriously, this market sold everything. Shoes, clothes, spices, fruit, vegetables, fresh bread, meat, flowers, lamps, knick knacks, and an assortment of other edible and colorful items. I love the way that markets smell...they're just so full of different scents and sensory delights. Each time you walk by a new stall, or turn the corner, you're confronted with a new palette of colors and a new smell. The scent of freshly picked fruit, the perfume of flowers, the appetizing smell of bread, the strong odor of spice stands... Yum! At the market, I bought and ate an extremely large portion of cherries (sooo delicious), and did a little souvenir shopping for some of my favorites back home.


(Spices and spices and spices...)


(Uzès.)

Around noon, we got back on the bus and drove to the embarkment point for our canoe trip. After a picnic on the beach and a traumatic experience with the squatty potties, we stripped down, lathered ourselves with sun screen (I later learned that I missed a spot), and got in our canoes. Katie, Adam, and I set out on our epic canoeing adventure. I lied. It wasn't really that epic. But it WAS absolutely gorgeous. The day was perfect, the sky was pure blue, and the water was clear and cold. We live in such a beautiful world.


(I heart France...and canoeing!)

As we were paddling along, we looked up to suddenly see Le Pont du Gard. Apparently, during the Roman period, a giant aqueduct ran for 30ish miles across Provence. With the decline of the Roman empire, the aqueduct was no longer used to actually transport water, and ended up being used as a bridge. Stones from the aqueduct were then used to construct another bridge...the Pont du Gard. Enough history. Basically, it's gorgeous.


(We came around a corner to see the Pont!)

We landed our canoes, and then Jenny, John, Erin, Adam, and I braved the freezing water and swam across the river. After getting stuck in the current for a few scary minutes, we pulled ourselves up on the warm rocks. There, we sunbathed in the perfect afternoon sun. So lovely. Most unfortunately, we had to swim back across the river to get back in our canoes, which completely killed the whole warmth thing. We then canoed under the Pont du Gard and finished the last two kilometers of the excursion. It was nice to sit down on the bus.


(Le Pont du Gard.)

Oh, and a small sidenote: nakedness in France. On the 10ish kilometer canoe trip, we saw 9 topless women, 3 bottomless men, and 1 topless and bottomless woman. We found it somewhat amusing.

When we got back home, I skyped the family (much love), and took a shower to get the river water out of my hair. Last night was La Nuit des Musées, where all the museums in Avignon are free from 7-11 at night with random street entertainment and music and generally merriment all around the centre ville. Shawna and I went to Le Petit Palais, right next to Le Palais des Papes. We saw quite a few golden haloed Christs and Marys and some saints and such, and got to see a few of the ancient statues and decorations that had been excavated from the Palais des Papes. Yay Medieval art!


(Le Palais des Papes at night.)

And that, in essence, was my Saturday. What am I going to do when I return to the US and my Saturdays aren't filled with canoeing, and Medieval art? What will I do with my time? =0

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2009868&id=1417500098&l=3a37b9e4b3

^ Link. Photos. You know.

Rainy Friday

A rainy day is a good day to describe the things slightly more banal, more ordinary of my life in France. My blog has shown little but hte details of my weekends, each of which have been magnificent (note: I just typed magnifique, and I had to erase it). But forget not that I still have Mondays and Tuesdays like the rest of the world. I'll start with my classes.

Grammar: Grammar is, well, grammar. I will not go into detail because, frankly, I don't know the words in English. For example, we're currently learning the ways to say "for." We've always known the words themselves, but there are three different ways to say it, depending on the circumstances and tenses. It's hard to wrap one's head around when it doesn't exist in English. We're also continuing with the trilogy of celebrated plays by Marcel Pagnon (Marius, Fanny, and César).

Resistance: For the last few weeks, we've been talking about the books L'Armée des Ombres, Le Silence de la Mer, and Efroyables Jardins. Of the three, I particularly liked Le Silence de la Mer. Unlike L'Armée des Ombres, and Lucie Aubrac before that, Le Silence de la Mer talked more about the actual people, their feelings, and their emotions. I am, according to Adam, a secret romantic. After weeks of accounts of bravery and prisons and torture and general inhumane crimes, I can't help but be a little nostalgic for stories of the heart, and stories of those who could not take up physical arms to resist, Pétain, Vichy, the collaboration, and the occupation.

Writing: Pretty much the best class ever. Our professor has such good ieas to spark inspiration and usage of the language. For example, last week we wrote a circle story about the Pont d'Avivnon. Each person (we were in groups of 4) was responsible for plot element. I started off with the exposition and setting, then passed it around to have the characters, historical context and action, and dialogue added before finishing the story with my own conclusion. My story started on a rainy evening on the Pont d'Avignon, and ended up being about Robert Kennedy and the assassination of his brother. Humorous.

Oral Production: I have little to say. We're learned some slang, I guess. I learned about five ways to say cigarette, and money, and guy. But, I really don't feel the need to throw in random slang in my every day language. It's entirely more embarrassing to use slang words in the wrong context than to not use them at all. Imagine using "groovy" in English. Now, that's just humiliating. The best way to learn slang and everyday language is to just talk with young people. Charts of the three levels of language, full of "slang" and "hip" words look pretty, but serve little purpose.

Literature: Personally, I am a fan of literature. This is probably simply because I am a literature nerd. We haven't actually read a whole lot in class, but we have learned about a few of the major literary trends in 19th century France, such as naturalism, romanticism, and realism. We've also touched on authors such as Flaubert, Balzac, Baudelaire, Zola, Pagnol, Sand, Dumas, and other important literary figures that really should be read by one seriously interested in literature, and in France.

History: I loathe history with a large portion of my being. I feel as though i'm in high school again. I mean, M. Boura is quite intelligent, unlike certain other unmentionables who "taught" me history. It's evident that Boura is incredibly well informed, and that he knows what he's talking about. The problem, however, is not his knowledge, but his presentation. He simply does not know how to teach international students. But then again, even if I were perfectly fluent in the French language, I still don't think I would understand and/or be able to tolerate this class. Allow me to present my cases against this class.

1: M. Boura takes entirely more pleasure from humiliating students and asking banal question than recognizing a student who actually raises his/her hand to answer an actually legit question. There is no point in asking a student "who is the author of this text."

2: M. Boura does not understand the concept of FERPA, and that it is not acceptable to say, in front of the class, "Brad, whatever the hell you wrote on this paper was clearly out of your ass" (paraphrased quotation, of course).

3: History class should not be a vocabulary lesson. I now know several ways to say bishop, bell, church, clergy, royalist, and power, but ask me how all of those go together, and I've got nothing. Maybe I'm just historically challenged.

4: It took us 45 minutes to get through the first stanza of La Marseillaise. Now, I have spent hours analyzing 20 line poems in English tutorial, but again, this is a history class, not an analytical literature class.

5: We receive worksheets. Thanks to said unmentionable history teacher, I have a personal vendetta against worksheets.

I could go on, but in short, this is the pain and torture that I endure every Tuesday and Friday for two hours. At least I have my blog to keep my occupied while we "learn" about the French Revolution.

That's about it for my classes, but I should probably enlighten the world about my Deportation Situation.

Deportation Situation: This small (large) pester (crisis) is not exactly accurately named. I am not being deported (yet). I refer to this as the Deportation Situation because deportation is just what I am trying to avoid. For those who don't know, I have been having quite the problem with the whole Visa thing. I did not obtain a Visa before leaving the US because thanks to a miscommunication and misinformation, I did not think that I needed one. I could blame Christophe/the Office of Educate Abroad, but what good is blame at this point? More important, of course, is that I do not find myself on a plane to the US with an irremovable stamp on my passport that would forever banish me from returning to the European Union. This would be problematic, to say the least. A brief description of the problems that I have encountered thus far in the search for international legality:

1: A certain Adam informed me that I might need a Visa. I was under the impression that leaving the Schengen countries for a few days would renew my allotted 90 day period within the network. I was wrong.

2: I discussed said problem with Christophe. He did not seem worried/concerned in the least.

3: I did a massive amount of online research. I got discouraged. I ate a goûter, and drank some tea. I did obtain some phone numbers and addresses.

4: I called the US Embassy in Marseille. I got a recording. I called the Visa Operator Service in Paris, but I was informed that I had called a number that I was not allowed to call via Skype.

5: I talked to Christophe again. He still seemed quite indifferent. He suggested that I send a message to a certain Justin, which I did. I learned from Justin that a Visa was in fact needed for an extended stay within the Schengen countries.

6: I borrowed Isabelle's phone to call the Visa Operator Service again. Before speaking to anyone, I had to pay 14.50 euros. Leave it up to the the US government to charge their citizens for information. Horrendous. Anyhow, I finally heard an English speaking voice. I was quite relieved, but my relief was short lived. I learned that I had called the wrong service. I needed to contact US Citizen's Services (shouldn't that be a part of the US Embassy?) or talk to the French authorities on Visas. I wish I could have been helped more, but at least I talked to someone.

7: This morning, I went to the VIsa department of the Avignon town hall. They directed me to the prefecture, which was closed. I was then directed to another location of the prefecture.

8: After history was done eating my soul, I went to the prefecture. I explained my situation to an indifferent looking man who constantly smacked his lips. He told me that the VIsa service was only open Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, from 8:30 to 11:30 in the morning.

So, this is where I am now. The good news is that I did not receive any pity English today, and when I explained my situation to both the woman at the town hall and the obnoxious lip-smacking man, neither immediately responded with "no, that's not possible." This is a positive thing.

Anyhow, I'll have to discuss the other banalities of my life at a later time. I need to get working on a little reading before literature class.

Wish me luck with my Deportation Situation, and I hope you are all enjoying your Friday.

I Cannot Believe This Is Happening

The title of this blog is the resounding thought that described this past weekend.

Allow me to start with Thursday. Thursday was a relatively normal day, for the first half. Upon returning home from school, Shawna and I decided to make a quick run to the market to buy a bottle of wine. Both of us had changed into shorts and a tshirt after getting home from school, and we really didn't feel like changing into regular clothes just to run down the street. So, for the first time in France, I stepped outside my gate wearing "American" clothes. In the fifteen minutes (tops) it took Shawna and me to walk down the street a block and a half, buy a bottle of wine, and walk back, we received more honks, shouts, and blatant stares than ever before. And yes, we were laughed at. For wearing shorts and a tshirt.

Thursday night, Adrien had invited us to a party in Centre Ville Avignon. Shawna and I were happy to finally go to a party inside the walls, as opposed to an un-walkable distance away from our house. Andrien told us that we had to wear dresses, so we complied. In the fifteen minute walk from our house to O'Neill's where we waited for Levy and Nicolas to pick us up, we received ten honks/shouts from strange men. We counted.

Nicolas and Levy arrived late, as usual. We then walked just a few blocks down from O'Neill's to get to the party. Shawna and I had been expecting a normal house party where everyone just so happened to be wearing dresses. This was not the case, and we had our first "I cannot believe this is happening" moment of the weekend. Instead of walking into an apartment, or a student house, or a bar, we walked into a very mod club-thing. There was a ginormous bouncer at the door, and the lobby was all glass and mirrors and flowers. We passed through the glimmering lobby and entered a large courtyard. At the far end, there was an open bar that was serving free drinks to students for most of the night. The other half of the courtyard was taken up by umbrella-ed tables and plants. Everyone was incredibly well dressed, and I felt out of place in my flats. It was the kind of thing you would see in a movie. Shawna and I went to the bathroom expecting the normal gross bathrooms that we've found in France thus far, but were again proved wrong. There were purple lights in the stalls.


(Shawna and me, in the purple stall.)

After a few hours there, we decided that it was discotheque time. We drove to a discotheque just outside of the ramparts, but for some reason, we parked incredibly far away. We had to walk through the cold, and then wait for a while before we even started heading for the door. Most unfortunately, when we walked up, Emmanuel (Nicolas' girlfriend) was in the front of the group. She looks young. Although she was of age, the bouncer at the door still decided to card us all. I have never ever been carded in France, so I didn't bring any ID with me (bad idea, I know), and Shawna's purse was in Levy's car. Instead of going through the hassle of going to the car, then home, then back to the discotheque just to get ID, we decided to call it a night. It was probably best to call it quits while we were ahead, anyhow.

The next morning (Friday) we got up early to go to Aix-en-Provence. However, while getting ready, Shawna discovered that a round trip bus ticket to Aix and back would cost roughly 27 euros. Neither of us felt like paying that much for a day trip, so we changed plans at the last minute and decided to go to Orange instead. A round trip train ticket would only cost 6.70 euros, and Orange is only 14 minutes away by train. Orange is, well, small. It is also somewhat run down. The fact that it was a holiday on Friday (we didn't have class) probably didn't help the whole deserted feeling that the town gave off. We walked in to Centre Ville, and discovered that, if nothing else, at least Orange had good post card shops (many of you readers will be receiving one in the next week or two). However, a train ride to Orange is not worth it just to buy post cards, so we hit up a few of (actually, all of) the main tourist attractions.

Orange is known for an ancient Roman theater. We learned from a short video that the theater was built in 1 A.D (over 2000 years ago!). The theater went through a series of changes and uses depending on who was in charge of Western Europe at the time and the prosperity of the region/France. At one particularly low point in Orange's history, the theater was literally used as a town. Houses were built into the seating area, and there was even a main road that ran through (this should give you an idea of the size of the theater). For years, houses were continually built. Centuries later, several layers of houses had to be destroyed and cleared away to unearth the theater. Today, plays are still performed on the theater's enormous stage.


(The theater...it kind of looks like the amphitheater in Nîmes...)

After climbing all the stairs at the theater and poking around the ruins of an ancient Roman temple, we crossed the road and stopped in a museum that was essentially a waste of time. Oh well. We continued on. We wanted to find a park to eat our lunch, and the map indicated that there was a GIANT park just North of the theater. When I say giant, I mean it. On the map, it was bigger than the city center of Orange. To get to the park, we had to climb a quite enormous hill. I think we accidentally took the ghetto route. The "stairs" kind of disappeared, and became a rocky path. Then the rocky path disappeared. Eventually, it leveled out, and we found ourselves in a random wild area. There, we found a little stone cave surrounded by gorgeous wild flowers. Eventually, we saw the head of a statue sticking out of the trees, so we followed a little path that lead there.


(Flowers!)

At the base of the statue, we ate our little lunch of pb&j, apples, and goûters. Our picnic was enhanced by a perfect view of Orange, the theater, and the mountains. Friday was a beautiful day, and it was lovely to sit and relax in the shade, surrounded by lovely scenery and wildflowers.


(Picnic-ing in the park.)

After our brief repose, we descended from the top of the hill. We discovered that there had been a MUCH easier way to access the park. Oh well, our wilderness adventure was still fun. Once we got back to the actual city, we poked our head into a few shops and Notre Dame of Orange (every French city has to have a church). Then, we set off to find the Arc de Triomphe of Orange (apparently, this little city has an Arc de Triomphe, like Paris. I do not know why). It was upon finding the Arc de Triomphe that we truly accepted that Orange was kind of a fail of a town. The entire thing was covered with plastic, as it was being renovated. The "Champs Elyseés" of Orange was quite disappointing as well, in that it didn't exist. Instead of Paris' Louis Vuitton and Virgin Records, Orange had a Chess Club and an abandoned lot.


(Orange...)

Unfortunately, we still had about two hours before our train left for Avignon. We wandered around the city center some more, bought some ice cream, and ended up sitting in another park, where we wrote the post cards that we had purchased earlier. At least we made good use of our down time.

We returned home to Avignon. A few hours and a quick shower later, Levy and Laurent arrived to pick us up. We picked up Katie at Red Sky, and we proceeded to drive to Apt, where Levy and Nicolas live. It was sunset when we left Avignon, and the drive to Apt was absolutely gorgeous. Shawna, Katie, and I, squeezed in the back of Levy's tiny car, amused ourselves listening to and commenting on the French music, and genuinely appreciating the fact that we live in France. Night slowly fell as we drove, and the moon came up big and round over the mountains. While passing through a little town whose name I do not remember, Shawna commented how much she would love to live in one of the picturesque houses there. About 30 seconds later, we pulled into a driveway.

"I cannot believe this is happening" moment number two. As we pulled around the driveway and past a very nice house, we found a large dinner party happening in the backyard. We had apparently arrived at Thomas' house, a friend of Levy et. all. His parents were apparently throwing a dinner party, and a large portion of the guests were all quite happy (aka: drunk). Thomas showed us around front to a table of snacks and drinks. We nibbled on bretzels (pretzels in French), and mixed drinks, and (get this) PLAYED PETANQUE! We only each went once, but at the end of the first little round, Laurent and I were winning.


(Laurent, contemplating.)

We were not able to play petanque long, as Thomas came back around front and beseeched us to come sit down at the table. There were probably 20 guests there + Levy, Shawna, Laurent, and me. Even though we had already eaten, we literally did not have a choice but to eat. There was SO much food on the table. I was still full from dinner, but to be polite I took a slice of quiche. Then Thomas plopped a giant dish of lamb in front of me. Yes, I ate lamb. And then I had some really strong cheese. At some point in this merriment, a very drunk man who may or may not have been Thomas' father danced on the table. He also mooned a certain half of the table (I was not included in this half). It was...hilarious. Nicolas, Adrien, another Thomas, and Julie also arrived eventually, and we sat around talking and laughing and drinking for a quite a while. Just imagine: a warm May night in France + wine + cheese + laughing friends + candles + good food + petanque. Do I really live here?!

We then drove to Levy's house, where we all crashed. I woke up Saturday morning to a nice breeze through the open window, and a cat sleeping next to me. I knew at this point that my life was good. After everyone woke up, we watched the French equivalent of MTV Video Countdowns until Adrien arrived with croissants and pain au chocolat. We got ready for the beach, and headed out.

The next hour or so is a blur of confusion. We drove down a large hill, got out of the car, and walked through a very crowded market. Random members of the group appeared and disappeared again, and eventually, we found Levy's car. At one point, with Adrien driving, we ran into a wall. Then, we found Alex. Then, we lost Alex. Then, we saw Alex walking along the side of the road. Then, we ended up standing on the side of the road. Suddenly, Thomas and Nicolas arrived. Somehow, I ended up in a car with Thomas, Alex, Laurent, and Nicolas, and Levy, Shawna, Katie, and Adrien were in the other. Confusion (mostly) averted, we started driving.

I honestly cannot describe the drive we took from Apt to La Clotat. Every turn we took, I was reminded again and again why I love France. We twisted through the mountains, drove along tree-lined streets, caught glimpses of chateaux tucked away in the hills, and climbed a cliff over looking the Mediterranean. In short, it was gorgeous.

We stopped at a grocery store outside of La Clotat where we bought some things for lunch, and the boys made sandwiches on the car hoods, and we picnicked in the parking lot. A short drive and a short walk later, we were at the Mediterranean. We found a place on the beach, and lounged around for quite some time. The beach was not sand, which was very weird. It was made up of a bunch of really tiny rocks. Definitely a change. Shawna and I took a brief walk to the edge of a point, and nearly killed our feet on the way there. A little while later, Katie said that she would buy us a shot if we jumped in the water. We agreed. The water was cold-ish, but not as freezing as I had expected. The salt water was surprising and lovely at once when it washed over my face. Our swim was very short, and Shawna and I got out, shivering a little. Adrien and Laurent had been standing by the water, and they laughed at our coldness. An attempt to pull Adrien into the water went horribly awry, and I ended up running across the beach, sopping wet, in my bathing suit, after Adrien. I eventually gave up. And then, Adrien picked me up, and rolled me in the sand/rocks. Since I was still wet, they stuck. Adrien laughed. He loves me, obviously. The rest of the afternoon was taken up with attempting to get rocks out of my bikini, and laying on the beach in the sun.


(This is the Mediterranean Sea, folks.)

Somehow, Shawna and I managed to befriend half of the handball team from Apt (namely, Levy, Adrien, Thomas, the other Thomas, and Alex), and they had a match in La Closat on Saturday evening. After packing up and drying off, we got back in the car so the boys could get to their handball match. I had never been to a handball match, but I’m so glad we got to see the boys play. It was a very intense game (in my opinion...although due to my handball inexperience I could be very wrong). Both Alex and Levy were thrown out due to excessive fouls (or, that’s what I gathered), and the two teams were never more than three points apart at any point during the game. Eventually, Apt pulled ahead and won 25-21. Yay!



After the match, we were all quite ready to go home, so we climbed back in the car. This time, Shawna and I drove with Levy and Thomas. Thomas, being the sweetheart that he is, drove us through Marseille. He is a fireman there, and knew the city very well. He pointed out the main sights and drove us through Vieux Port before we got back on the highway and headed back to Avignon. My shower was very welcome, as was my bed, upon my arrival home.

It has been SUCH a good weekend. Even though I’ve travelled a lot in France already, and I’ve been here for nearly 7 weeks, I still have a hard time believing that I’m actually here. This weekend, however, I knew it. I finally got that feeling, that “I AM IN FRANCE!” feeling that I’ve so been waiting for. And it was absolutely perfect. I am so happy to be alive, and to be here. =]

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2009495&id=1417500098&l=117023af3c

^ Photo documentation doesn’t quite suffice.

Pineapple Juice, Metro Stations, Mexican Food...The Makings of a Good Weekend

Hi!

I just got back from a very lovely weekend in Lyon with Shawna, Elisse, and Marie...an unlikely place and an unlikely group, but a perfect weekend.


(Allow me to start with a little image of Lyon...)

We left on Friday afternoon with no transportation issues. We took the bus from the post office to Avignon TGV, then Avignon TGV right into Lyon. Lyon's train station is right next to a hotel called the Athena, which we found quite humorous. For whatever reason, we decided that it would be a good idea to walk to our hotel. It took about a half an hour. I mean, Shawna and I walk a half an hour to school every day, but it's a little big of a story when one has to deal with baggage. We were incredibly enthused when we finally found our hotel...but our happiness was short lived. Due to the May Day holiday, the reception was closed from 12-6. It was 4:00 in the afternoon. We resorted to a eating at a Snack Kebab and sitting on our baggage outside of the hotel until someone let us into the lobby. There, we played with the cat who was wandering around and tried not to fall asleep until someone arrived at the desk. Our room ended up being less expensive than we had thought, and we proceeded up to the seventh floor to find the perfect room. It was two stories, with a kitchenette, table, tv, three small beds, and a double bed. Basically, awesome. We headed to the market quickly after dropping our bags off in the room to buy a few essentials, and then we crashed in the room for a time munching and watching Malcolm in the Middle in French. It was...hilarious.\

Our goal for Friday night was to find a discotheque. We failed. However, we had a spectacular time wandering around Lyon at night. It is a gorgeous city in the daylight, but at night it is just as lovely. All the buildings are lit up, the rivers (there are two: the Rhône and the Saône) sparkle with colors, and the bridges glow. All the shops were closed, of course, but there's no harm window shopping and drooling over Lyon's high fashion district. If only I were rich... But alas, I am not. Exhausted, we went back to the hotel at around 11:30 and fell asleep right away. I don't think I've gone to bed that early in weeks!


(Happy to be in Lyon.)


(Walking through Lyon at night.)

Our early bed time was much needed, especially since we all got up at around 8:00 the next morning to get started on our day. We left the hotel after a small breakfast around 9:00, and went straight to the Office of Tourism. There we bought an incredible city pass for only 15 euros. The city pass gave us free access to every single one of Lyon's 20+ museums, free transportation all day, random discounts in certain shops, and a free boat tour on the Saône. After leaving the office of tourism, we sat in the Place Bellecour looking at maps and planning out our day.


(I hope Louis XIV and his horse approved of our plans in Lyon.)

We decided to start our day in Vieux Lyon, an old quarter close to Place Bellecour. On our way to the Musée des Miniatures et Décors de Cinéma (Museum of Miniatures and Movie Sets), we were very charmed by Vieux Lyon. The streets were lined with cute shops, restaurants, cafes, and bars. We stopped in one of Lyon's million churches - St. Jean.


(St. Jean's ceiling.)

Star Wars' C3P0 greeted us upon our entry to the Miniature Museum. I realize that a Miniature Museum sounds INCREDIBLY random (and it is), but it really was quite incredible. In the basement and on the ground floor, sets used for the movie "La Parfumerie" were in tact. I've never seen the movie, but from the sets I gathered that it was some sort of old horror movie. It was astonishing to see how much detail went into the set. Every spider web was in its place, and each glass bottle was appropriately dusty.


(Part of the set of "La Parfumerie".)

The next three floors up were occupied by miniature sets. One room was dedicated to displaying certain articles that were used in well-known movies. I saw a helmet worn in the movie "300", masks from "Tarzan", part of a costume from "V for Vendetta", and other really interesting things. We watched a short film that explained how miniatures are used in movies. It was interesting seeing the sets be constructed, looking so artificial, and to see the unmastered film. After each of these un-edited montages, the actual screen version was played. What a difference! I'm kind of jealous of film-makers...it truly is an art.


("V for Vendetta")

After learning a little bit about that, we wandered through rooms and rooms of miniature sets. They were incredible! Everything was very complexly detailed, but looked completely real. There was one library set where each of the hundreds and hundreds of books had titles. It really was a work of craftsmanship.


(A miniature set.)


(Miniature library set.)


(The outside of Le Musée des Miniatures et Décor de Cinéma.)

After our random stop at the Miniature Museum (who thought THAT could be interesting?!) we continued to walk through Vieux Lyon. We stopped in a few shops, most notably the most colorful shop I have EVER seen (Pylones), and a Medieval shop.


(The colors of Pylones.)

We found ourselves at l'Hotel de Ville (town hall), and we went from there up a GIANT hill to the Croix-Rousse quarter. It was a tiring walk, but it was worth it. We walked through a nice garden (France has a lot of those), and the top of the hill offered a beautiful view of the city.

Apparently, Lyon is known for its silk industry, so we decided to be all historical and go to the silk museum. We got slightly lost on the way there, and once we found it, we discovered that this "museum" was basically a room with a few old looms. Most of the "museum" was taken up by the shop in front, which sold gorgeous but expensive silk scarves. I highly considered buying a lambs wool scarf for myself, and then I remembered that I was a poor college student. It was a sad moment.


(Silk loom.)

After our brief stop at the silk museum, we found a market and then settled down in front of a statue to eat our poor college student lunch of fruit, baguettes, and peanut butter and jelly.


(Our lunch spot in Croix-Rousse. I can't remember what statue was watching over us this time...)

It was a nice rest, but we had to get going quickly to get down to the river for the boat excursion. Unfortunately, the tour we wanted was already full, so we ended up with two extra hours of time before the next tour. We decided to use this time to again enrich our minds and go to the Lyon Resistance Museum.

For those who don't know, Northern France was directly occupied by Germany during WWII. The Southern half of France was under the control of Pétain in Vichy. Much to the dismay of the French people, Pétain became a collaborator with the Nazi government of Germany. The French Republic died, and the French State took its place. The French Resistance rose from this situation, following the message of resistance of Charles de Gaulle heard on the BBC in 1940. Lyon was a major center for the French Resistance due to its proximity to the Line of Demarcation that divided Northern and Southern France, and its location near the mountains. M. Corbin had suggested that we go to the Resistance Museum, so we followed his suggestion. The museum was small, but decent. There was a lot of reading, and we didn't have enough time, but I'm glad I got to go. There was an exposition of portraits of surviving resistants, and descriptions of their stories. It was interesting to see their now old faces and imagine them young - fighting, watching their friends die, resisting against their government, and risking their lives every day.

We left the Resistance Museum in order to get to the boat tour on time, but we ended up sitting by the river for a few minutes before the boat even arrived. We napped in the sunshine by the river. The boat ride was quite relaxing, but I can't say that I learned a whole lot from the tour. I could understand the tour guide's French better than her English. Oh well. The excursion did however bring us to a lovely little island in the middle of the Saône. I'd like to actually go on the island one day and to look around the ruins of the Roman abbey, or to play on its rocky shore.


(The abbey on the island.)

After the boat tour, we headed back to our hotel for a much needed nap. We slept, got ready again, and left around 7:30 in search of a good restaurant. We found ourselves back in Vieux Lyon, and we stopped by quite a few menus before deciding on a restaurant. In retrospect, I have no idea why we sat there in the first place. It was a very meat-friendly place, and none of us have very meat-friendly stomachs. It's probably good that we received such horrible service before even being waited on. Otherwise, we never would have left the restaurant before ordering (we didn't even get the chance to order a drink...the waitress simply never came), and we never would have found the next restaurant. Famished, we decided quickly on essentially the next restaurant we saw. It was Mexican. Yes, we ate Mexican food in France. But it was SO GOOD. For my entrée, I had a mushroom and onion dish with soft bread for dipping. We all had the same main dish, which was a chicken enchillada-like thing smothered in some type of some type of sharp cheese. Dessert for me was a piece of apple pie, but Shawna had a piece of deliciously rich chocolate cake that she let me sample. Basically, the meal was INCREDIBLE. The bartender was very kind, the waitress was very patient, and we were very well waited on. Thank GOODNESS we left the place that served calf's head...and calf's feet. Ew.

We left the restaurant and headed back down the the river, where we had a little picnic of wine (for Shawna and Elisse) and rum and pineapple juice cocktails for Marie and me. We laughed until we cried, and watched the lights come on in the city. I cannot describe how lovely it was to sit by a river on a warm night, legally sipping at a cocktail, and laughing with friends.


(A colorful Lyonnais bridge at night.)

We went back to our hotel early again, and woke up even earlier this morning than we had on Saturday morning. This morning (Sunday), we managed to get ready and packed up, and to clean the kitchenette and take out the trash and check out all before 8:30. We were champs. We had planned on renting bikes for the morning, but for whatever reason, we were incapable. It was nearly 9:00 by the time we gave up on trying to rent bikes ourselves from the self-serve stations all around the city, so we walked to the Office of Tourism. We learned there that it was basically impossible to rent a bike on a Sunday. I still do not know why. We instead bought an all day transportation pass and took the funicular up to Lyon's crowning jewel, the Fourvière.


(This is the funicular. It is the most peculiar type of public transportation ever.)

The Fourvière is a giant church that sits on top of an embankment that looks over the entirety of Lyon. Gorgeous view, and gorgeous church. We sneaked inside only to find mass in progress. It was awkward, but we took pictures anyways. I'm probably going to be condemned for that, but oh well. I couldn't go into the Fourvière without taking pictures. I mean, I'm not planning on going back anytime soon.


(The Fourvière, and some of Lyon behind it.)


(It was too big to fit in a picture...)


(Gold-gilded ceiling.)

We were running out of time before we had to be back at the hotel before the reception desk closed, so we took the metro to a station close to the Parc de la Tête d'Or (Park of the Golden Head). There, we bought some baguettes for lunch. Unfortunately, we got somewhat lost (again), and could not for the life of us find the GIANT park that occupied practically all of the quarter. Eventually, we found it, and I'm glad we didn't give up. It was a beautiful park - green, filled with flowers and fountains, and populated with millions of runners and families and bikers. I wish we could have stayed longer, but we had to rush to get back to the hotel.


(I want to go back.)

We got our bags without problem, and opted to take the metro to the train station instead of walking. We got our train without issues, but once on the train, we encountered a small glitch. Shawna's ticket has a seat number on it, but mine just had a car number and something that essentially means "whatever seat just so happens to be free." I sat next to Shawna, of course, but I was soon kicked out by a family who had reserved that seat. It was the strangest thing ever...I don't know why they wouldn't assign me a seat number like everyone else. Oh well. They probably overbooked the train. I was able to find a seat, and I didn't have to take the hour long train ride sitting on my suitcase next to the bathroom. So, despite the seat problem, it was a success.

And now, I"m back home in Avignon. My bed (with freshly cleaned sheets) feels like heaven. I feel as though I appreciate beds so much more in France...they really are my saving grace some days.

I am going to take full advantage of my bed, and go to bed within the hour.

Goodnight, all!

Ahh! Almost forgot the album links again:

Part 1:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2009137&id=1417500098&l=dc5806b11d


Part 2:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2009141&id=1417500098&l=be569798e1