La vengeance belge

Salut! Just a short, fun entry for now. My language prof gave us these jokes last week. The French love jokes about Belgians: stupid Belgians, dirty Belgians, whatever. Well, here's the Belgians' revenge, la vengeance belge. Some are better than others, and unfortunately jokes don't translate as well as I'd like.

A French guy uses a urinal, does he wash his hands before or after ?

--During

How does a French person commit suicide?

--He fires the gun 15 centimeters above his head, right in his superiority complex.

What do you call someone who speaks three languages?

--Trilingual

What do you call someone who speaks two languages?

--Bilingual

What do you call someone who only speaks one language?

--French

Why do the French love Belgian jokes?

--Because they make them laugh three times over: the first time when they hear one, the second time when you explain it to them, and the third time when they understand it.

Why do the French have smelly backs?

--From farting higher than their asses.

Why do you say “Go to the toilets” in France when in Belgium you say “Go to the toilet”?

--Because in France, you need a bunch of toilets before finding one clean one.

After creating France, God found that it was the most beautiful country in the world. It was going to cause some jealousy. So, to reestablish the balance, God created the French.

Why does a French person always drink from their cup when they swim?

--Because even in the water they need to open their big mouth.

You know how you save a French person from drowning?

--No, but all the better.

What’s the difference between Nelson Mandela and a member of the French government?

--Nelson Mandela was in prison before he was elected.

Alright, hope at least one of them got a chuckle. A bientôt!

Maggie B.

Coup de foudre à Firenze

Salut!

Okay, more of my wonderful week in Italy...unfortunately, my last full day in Rome I was sick. Coughing, achy, stuffed up, headache, the works. But it didn't (I hope) prevent Sofie, Klaudyna, and me from having a full day. We had another wonderful grasse matinée (lazy morning), including a lasagna lunch made for us by Birgitta, Sofie's mom. She apologized for what she insisted was the worst lasagna she'd ever made because she didn't have time to heat it at the lower temperature it required...it tasted pretty darn good to me. Our first stop in Rome was the Spanish steps, which were decked out with huge pots of beautiful azaleas. It made me think of the azaleas at home, which are probably in full bloom by now.

Next was the Pantheon. While its interior isn't as lavishly decorated as St. Peter's or some of the other churches I've seen this semester, the Pantheon is an architectural wonder. How did they build such a perfect dome, and on such a large scale, so long ago? The measurements are incredibly exact. Not only is the bottom rim of the dome a perfect circle with the hole at the top exactly centered, but the dome, if reflected downward into the building itself, would make a perfect sphere. And this sphere would just barely touch the floor at the exact center of the structure. How's that for precision?

We stopped for some gelato (when in Rome...) and then walked over to the Colosseum and Forum Romana again, to take a better look. It wasn't great weather, but at least it wasn't raining. Then, to finish up the day, we walked through the Villa Borghese to a place that Sofie promised had a great view of Rome at sunset. And she was absolutely right, it was incredible to see all the cupolas, spires, and ornate buildings in relief against an orangey pink sky. A perfect finale for a great three days in Rome.

I arrived in Florence by train the next day (Wednesday) and checked into my hostel. Not wanting to risk it with my cold, I rested most of the afternoon and really only ventured out into the city to find a very inexpensive, very good trattoria. By this point having lost my voice almost completely, I croaked out my selection for the prix fixe menu, choosing fettucine with pesto, chicken with a white veggie sauce, and a salad. It was excellent, and the tiramisu wasn't bad either. The highlight, though, had to be the pesto, since French pesto, pistou, just doesn't cut it in my opinion. How can you make a good pesto without pine nuts?

Anyway, the next day was full of walking, queueing, and gawking. My first priority was to see Michelangelo's David, housed in the Galleria dell'Accademia (I hope I spelled that right). The entrances to the Accademia and the Uffizi are surprisingly low key, at least I think so. It took me a good ten minutes wandering around near the Galleria dell'Accademia until I happened to spot the line in a small street off of a square. But it was of course worth the wait. I actually am glad pictures weren't allowed, because I would've been tempted to just take as many pictures as possible instead of taking my time to look at the statue. It was off on its own under skylight, so you could walk all the way around it. Every step I took, the expression on David's face changed and so did his body language. Also, it never occurred to me before that David's head is actually not proportional to his body, it's too big. It doesn't take away from the sculpture, it's just funny that one of the most famous pieces of sculpture is not one of the most technically perfect.

Wandering away from the museum, I made my way down to the Duomo. I love the colors, the pale pinks alternating with dark greens, and the painting on the inside of the cupola is one of the most beautiful ones I've seen, I think. It's not the sunniest subject, the progression from Hell to Heaven, but again the colors are striking and it's beautiful even from 30 feet below, kind of spiraling up away from you. The rest of the inside of the Duomo was simple, but still impressive because of the size.

Before committing to the wait in the line at the Uffizi, I walked over to St. Croce Church, where I had read there was a kind of specialty foods market. The church was similar in style to the Duomo with its pink and green stonework, but I was really there for the market. Having scoped out all the stalls, full of pastries, cheeses, olives, and alcoholic beverages of all kinds, I gave in to my sweet tooth, though as usual it took some convincing, and got a cannoli. Not the most conventional lunch food, I admit, but completely satisfying. Now I was ready to wait for almost two hours to get into the Uffizi.

I've said it before, early religious art usually doesn't interest me. Despite coming from a culture steeped in Judeochristian traditions I'm just not well enough versed in art history, Christian symbology, or the Bible itself to really appreciate that kind of art. There was a lot of 'that kind of art' in the Uffizi, but also a lot of Renaissance art, which I can understand better. My favorite piece is an obvious one, Boticelli's Allegory of Spring, but I liked Judith Slaying Holofernes by the female painter Artemisia Gentileschi as well. The more I travel around Europe the more I understand why Europeans are so hung up on the fact that the United States is a "young country". As I made my way to the most recent paintings in the Galleria del'Uffizi I made sure to see how many were completed after the founding of the United States. Not such a difficult task, since there were three.

After this busy, busy day I picked out a trattoria that was recommended by my trusty Let's Go volume and a couple travelers' forums and headed out, ready to eat. Apparently documentation of Florence's streets hasn't been as accurate or as thorough as I would have hoped. Twenty minutes after I had found the approximate location of Trattoria Anita according to Let's Go, Google Maps, and the person at the front desk of my hostel, I found an annoyingly straightforward little sign that pointed down a tiny street "Trattoria Anita". Still, another success on the food front. I would actually just prefer to eat the pasta and not even go on to the second course, which is usually a meat dish, maybe with a veggie on the side. It seems like the pasta is the main event, and all of the second courses I had were good but didn't really compare with the quality of the fresh pasta and their wonderful sauces. Me and my crazy American ideas...

Before leaving Florence the next afternoon, I explored the Ponte Vecchio and the Oltrarno neighborhood on the other side of the river from the main drag. The weather was beautiful and the Oltrarno was much more peaceful than the very tourist-y center. I found a tiny but wonderful sandwich place run by two brothers and frequented by locals. You have to be quick with your order, just say the number of the sandwich you want to one brother, order a drink from the other, and then enjoy your fare squatting on a curb beside the tiny, tiny storefront. It's kind of odd to see people standing in the street eating sandwiches and drinking from dainty wine glasses. But my prosciutto and mozzarella sandwich was awesome.

I was reluctant to leave Florence, and Bologna didn't really compare to either Rome or Florence for me, but it was a lazy end to a very full trip. Bologna is called the "Red City" because a lot of its buildings are in red brick and apparently it's known for its Communist inhabitants. I can't speak for the number of Communists I saw in Bologna (how does one spot a Communist?), but its buildings are a charming dusty red color. I spent some time in the main piazza and grabbed my last pasta lunch in Italy before taking an overnight bus into Marseille.

So, enfin, I'm back in France, the blog's updated, and I'm coming home in less than two weeks. I think I'll update next with some jokes about French people one of my professors gave us. A plus tard!
Maggie B.

La ville éternelle

Ciao!
I'm back in Aix now, but I know if I don't update about Italy now I'll just put it off, and who wants to update about Rome and Florence when you're in Bucks County? Just kidding, I'm looking forward to getting home in two weeks, but I'm so glad I first got to go to Italy for the second week of my spring break.

Saturday morning, I met my classmate Sofie at the Aix bus station to take the bus to the Marseille train station where we would take the train to Rome (very complicated). Sofie is Swedish but has been living in Rome since she was 2. While most of us in level 4F, our class at the institute, can claim a pretty high level of French, Sofie speaks Swedish, Italian, French, English, and Spanish, all with practically no accent. In Rome we met another classmate from our school, Klaudyna, who is a Swedish citizen but half-Polish and speaks Swedish, Polish, French, and English. Oh, to grow up in Europe...or have multicultural parents (sorry, Mom and Dad, but you've failed me in that respect).

Anyway, after meeting Klaudyna at the train station, the three of us took a bus to Frescati, a village on a hill outside of Rome where the young people go on weekend nights to hang out. Sofie told us that the typical fare for a Frescati dinner is something called porchetta, roasted pork seasoned with a mix of herbs, country bread, a chunk of cheese, some olives, and a few salami, to be eaten kind of picnic style. The porchetta was excellent, though I'm more of a salami fan myself, and it was late when Sofie's dad came to take us to their house in another nearby village.

We slept in the next day and had a big breakfast before taking the metro into Rome. We had slept in a little to long to get in for free at the Musei Vaticani, so we just went into Saint Peter's instead. It was incredible, not just the size but the detail put into all of it. One of the highlights for me was Michelangelo's pieta, something I've only ever seen pictures of in history and art textbooks. We walked through the tombs under the basilica and then, feeling ambitious, opted to climb the stairs up to the cupola of the basilica. Five hundred fifty steps later we were there, with an amazing view of Rome and the Vatican City, even though it was overcast.

After we'd had our fill of St. Peter's, Sofie took us on a whirlwind walking tour of Rome, passing who knows how many Roman monuments. We ended up near the Trevi Fountain, where we went to a restaurant Sofie knew for its huge variety of pasta. The pasta with vodka sauce I ordered (you know me, I like what I know), definitely lived up to the Italian reputation for pasta. After, we went back to the Trevi Fountain to see it lit up, then went to the gelato place Sofie thinks is the best in Rome. I could have tried a few other places to see if I agreed, but really why bother if a native has already done the scoping out for you? Before heading back to Sofie's, the three of us walked around some more, moving from piazza to piazza, each one filled with street artists and self-trained opera singers.

The next day, Monday, we slept in a little less, had a slightly lighter breakfast and headed to the Vatican Museums. While waiting in line, we overheard what seemed to be an interesting, English-language tour and asked if we could join. The guide, who turned out to be German but living in Italy and actually born in the United States, said we could tag along and he'd knock off the 10€ commission, making the price 15€. And it was definitely worth it. We saw beautiful tapestries, incredible ceilings, some of them were actually trompe l'oeil, but it was so hard to tell it was so well done. And, of course, the Sistine Chapel. It was impressive, but, as our guide explained, Michelangelo's one mistake was that he painted too many details which can't actually be seen from the floor. But it really was worth seeing, and even though the signs forbid it, we managed to sneak in a few pictures before the guards suddenly decided they were going to crack down on it (I get the impression that happens a lot in Italy, you can break a rule until the guy in charge decides you can't anymore).

Having spent several hours in the Vatican Museums, we took a bus over toward the Colosseum and the Forum Romana, though both were closed by the time we got there. It was still really cool, definitely not the kind of stuff you get to see in the United States. Sofie treated Klaudyna and me to her flawless Pavarotti impression outside the Colosseum, a police car even came around at the end and applauded. It was just a very surreal experience to have three girls goofing off with an ancient Roman monument as a backdrop. Anyway, we ducked into the Metro just before it started pouring and went back to Sofie's, where her parents, Birgitta and Mats, had prepared us a wonderful Italian meal, a pasta course and a meat course and everything. It was very nice, I kind of felt guilty they were making such a fuss over us. Birgitta even convinced me to stay in Rome an extra night and helped me arrange my new plans with the hostel where I was staying in Florence.

Well, I actually have to finish some homework that I've put off for a class I have in a couple hours. I'll tell about the rest of my adventures in Italia next time.
A bientôt!
Maggie B.

Missy, Maman, et Marie-Do

I promised to write a bit about Missy and my mom's stay in Aix after we came down from Paris. Well, again we had rented an apartment, and it was perfectly situated. I don't think my mom and Missy really believed me when I told them how small Aix is, but they soon found out since the farthest we walked was ten minutes to the bus station.

Compared to Paris, Aix is a lightweight when it comes to attractions and museums. So mostly I was on restaurant duty, and we found some excellent restaurants. I'm glad Aix didn't disappoint my guests on the food front. I showed Missy and my mom around town a bit, the markets and the squares and the fountains. Also, my host mom, Marie-Do, invited them over for panisses and wine the first night we got in. Panisses are these little greasy biscuit things made from chick pea flour, and they're a specialty of Marseille. Well, it was an amusing meeting. I was in translation mode, and I was kind of anxious about Marie-Do's reaction to our American openness. I was in charge of somehow describing all three women's dating histories, opinions on men and celebrities, and theories about my own lovelife. But it was a fun little get together.

The apartment in Aix was perfect, very charming and decorated in the Provencal style. Couldn't have asked for a better trip, really. I did get bitten by bedbugs in the foldout couch, I think, but they're almost gone now.

Okay, next post about Rome. Ciao,
Maggie B.

Paris au printemps

Salut!
I must apologize for not updating for so long, but I promise the only things worth updating about have happened in the past two weeks. But what a busy two weeks! Just so you know, I'm in Italy right now, in Florence to be exact, but I'd rather just write about my mom and my aunt Missy's trip to France for now.

Two Saturdays ago I was really excited to wake up, get ready, grab my things and head to Paris on the TGV to see my mom and aunt...and then I promptly missed my bus to the Aix TGV station. But I took a taxi and made the train and the connection in Lyon. I really didn't know how I was going to find the two Shepherd sisters, but by some freak coincidence they were consulting a guide book, huddled under a cafe awning right beyond the stairs out of the Metro station! I don't think they even realized it was me at first, I was so happy to see them I kind of just pounced. We found the apartment we had rented, just a two minute walk from a Metro station and the Boulevard de Rennes, a perfect location in the Left Bank. And the apartment was very nice.

Missy and my mom were exhausted, having barely slept on the flight. I felt bad enforcing the number one rule of fighting jet lag in France: you MUST stay up til 8pm the first night. So we got some lunch-y food at a cafe and then walked around the 6th arrondissement a little bit, stopping at the Cafe Les Deux Magots, where Simone de Beauvoire, Jean Paul Sartre, and others used to sip out of tiny cups and eat tiny chocolates. It was a cool experience, and one that made me appreciate the customary 1,70€ I begrudgingly pay for a coffee in Aix. We saw the Seine, though it was dreary and drizzling, before heading back to the apartment.

My mom and Missy stayed up even a little past 9, so they were ready to go the next morning...in their own time. Apparently I'm not really capable of sleeping in anymore, at least not before these two weeks of vacation. The 'grownups' enjoyed what the French would call a grasse matinée, or a fat/lazy morning. We had some fresh croissants and jam from the market I found down the street. At any rate, we packed a lot in our first full day in Paris, including a nice walk through Saint Michel, my favorite part of Paris, and a tour of Notre Dame and Sainte Chappelle. We grabbed lunch in a very funky creperie in Saint Michel. I was very excited because it had galettes! Galettes are just like crepes but are made from a different batter using buckwheat flour (I think), and they're popular in Bretagne, including Nantes, where I studied last summer. Though I couldn't convince my dining companions that cider really was the way to go, they seemed to enjoy their galettes.

After lunch, we walked over to the Louvre to look at the exterior, then walking through the Jardin des Tuileries. Missy and Mom got a little catnap in the surprisingly comfortable chairs around one of the fountains. Then we headed off up the Champs Elysées towards the Arc de Triomphe. We were looking for a place to rest our feet and get a cup of coffee when we spotted an interesting pale green exterior on the less frequented side of the Champs. It just so happened it was a cafe called Ladurée (sorry, not sure if it's two words) known for it's incredible pastry desserts. I dove in for the chocolate, Missy chose a kind of religieuse (puff pastry with icing and filled with cream) with raspberries and rose-flavored cream, and my mom chose an awesome strawberry dessert. We finally made it to the Arc de Triomphe, and the sun had set below the treeline, leaving a pale orange backdrop.

Then it was off to the races again! We had reserved a table at a Corsican restaurant all the way back by the Louvre, near the Palais Royal. So we booked it. When I called the restaurant to explain that we might be a little bit late, the guy who answered the phone just said thank you and kind of laughed. I had a feeling the French aren't ones to go giving away tables when something as important as a pre-arranged, fine dining experience is at stake. The restaurant was great, live music, interesting decor, and excellent food. Not to mention the two sisters' running commentary on our two waiters, trying to get me to admit I liked one of them.

We walked back to the apartment, over the Seine, and fell into bed after our huge day. The next morning, not too early of course, we headed to the Louvre. We saw the must-sees, the Mona Lisa, Winged Victory, Michelangelo's sculptures, and some things I either hadn't seen or hadn't noticed the last time I went. Our last goal for the Louvre was to see the Napoleon III apartments, which definitely lived up to my expectations. Ceilings dripping with chandeliers, furniture covered in gold and velvet, and a dining room table that might actually have been able to sit the entire Shepherd family.

In the afternoon, we went to the Jardin du Luxembourg, stopping to enjoy some French pastries (well I had to show them the best France has to offer, right?). I had been before and I like it better than the Jardin des Tuileries, but this time we found something I didn't see the last time. We found a boules league! Boules is the French game that is kind of like bowling on the greens or bocci ball, however you spell that. Except boules is on a sandy dirt surface. It's often called pétanque in the south of France, where it was invented. I've only ever seen really old men playing it, never women, let alone a 20 year old one.

For our last night in Paris, we went to a very nice restaurant in the 5th or 7th arrondissement, I forget which exactly, just whichever one has the Eiffel Tower. This outing led to by far the most memorable moment of the trip. When the waiter came to take our order I asked for the rognons de veau with tagliatelles, a kind of pasta. I figured rognon was some kind of round cut or something. Except...it wasn't. As soon as it was placed in front of me I knew I should have just clarified with the waiter what it was since now I had a plate full of what appeared to be either brains, intestines, or, as my mother tried to say reassuringly, sweetbreads. Now I may get some flack for not trying it, but I'm sorry, I don't do weird textures, and I knew all I needed to know when my mom tried it and all she said was "It's an interesting taste". I just ate the pasta and waited it out for tiramisu (it turned out to be excellent).

Before going back to the apartment we walked over to see the Eiffel Tower lit up at night, but really I just wanted to know what rognons were. I ran up the six flights of stairs to our apartment and breathed a sigh of relief that I hadn't eaten any cow kidneys that night!

I'll leave it at that for now, next time I'll write about Missy and my mom's stay in Aix and hopefully at some point I'll get pictures up on Facebook from that trip and the one I'm on right now.
A bientot!
Maggie B.

Ce wifi de merde

Yes, I used a 'gros mot.' Sometime Monday morning the Wifi I had been mooching from a neighbor's unsecured Wifi network suddenly became secured, realizing one of my fears about living with a woman who doesn't even own a computer, let alone have her own wireless network. All is well, the institute has plenty of computers and, I'll be honest, I mostly use the internet for nonessential things (movies, TV, YouTube, I would go on but it would get rather embarassing).

My host mom seems to take delight in asking me what I'm doing without internet, to which I reply, very calmly, that I am typing up a book report for a class or am reading a new book. It seems even Marie-Do can't argue with the merit of reading a book in her native language.

Yesterday I learned how to make an apple crumble, which is kind of like apple crisp but less substantial and less complicated. It's just cut-up apples covered in a mixture of softened butter, flour, sugar, and cinnamon. I was glad to find out that the appeal of cooked apples with vanilla ice cream is transAtlantic, even if we didn't have any ice cream around this time.

I think it's so funny when Marie-Do says that things should be balanced, moderated, and light, and I think how much I crave certain American meals she would definitely not put in those categories. For example, she put what I would have characterized as the bare minimum amount of cinnamon into the crumble, because she didn't want the taste to be too strong. And apparently vanilla ice cream is perfectly suitable to go with apple crumble, and crême fraiche is a good substitute. Whipped cream, however, is simply "too sweet", absolutely out of the question. Marie-Do said the same thing when I described my mother's key-lime pie with whipped-cream topping, which I am reluctant to bring up again for fear that her judgment of what is widely considered to be a masterpiece (if you've had it, you can attest to that) will bring out my defensive side. Don't mess with family cooking, let alone desserts. However much I appreciate French food, I sometimes wish the French would loosen up. Sometimes in the winter a heavy alfredo sauce with parmesan on pasta is just the trick, and I don't think your tastebuds will scream from the overwhelming combination of apple crumble and a dollop of whipped cream. Call me crazy...

Classes are going well. We've had a steady stream of tests the past two weeks since we're passing the midpoint. And spring break is coming up! I can't wait. My mom and my aunt Missy are flying into Paris, where I'll meet them and we'll stay for 3 nights, and then we're coming back down to Aix for the rest of the week before they leave on Saturday. The second week of vacation I'm planning a Rome-Florence-Bologna trip. A Swedish girl from my class, Sofie, who's lived in Italy for 12 years is planning on coming with me, which will be perfect. She seems rather nonchalant about the planning ahead aspect, probably since it's no big deal to her to go from France to Italy. I'm looking forward to the break though, and afterward there are only two weeks of class! I can't believe it.
That's it for now, à bientôt!
Maggie B.

"Une cousine, grosse mais gentille..."

It is officially spring in Aix. It's sunny and warm and the Aixois who were reluctant to come out in the harsh, bitter cold of February (=40 degrees), fill the streets, cafés, and parks. And so do tourists, which is both amusing and painful to see. I'm at least an extended-stay tourist, which I tell myself is more respectable. It's interesting to see American tourists at their most stereotypical--comfy clothes, sneakers, et cetera--and, after being here for two months, understand why the French sometimes just don't get us crazy Americans.

I've already enjoyed complaining about tourists like a true Aixoise. Now, I've never needed an excuse to be bitter about minor inconveniences in everyday life. But my hostmom is the champion. Marie-Do has done some top-notch complaining, guilt-tripping, and nagging that would be hard, even for me, to replicate. Marie-Do is a good host mom. She's very interested in my experience here, she doesn't make foods I don't like, and she does my laundry. So it's important to know, I wouldn't write about her if I didn't find humor in her antics and if I didn't think my observations could give a little insight into the French mentality.

Marie-Do can talk forever about her health. The first time I met her she told me her glands were swollen. Recently it's her right eye (it's 'pulling,' she says, which I don't quite understand). She's a hypochondriac, as my program director says many French people are. The French are also more pessimistic than Americans. I didn't really think of Americans as being optimistic, but Marie-Do has made an optimist out of me. When I came back from Nice and Monaco and was describing the Bataille des Fleurs, she said "Oh! It's too bad you didn't go to Venice for their carnival." Same thing with Spain "Oh! It's too bad you didn't stay until Sunday." The number of times I've heard Oh! C'est dommage que....

I've gotten used to having the same conversations over and over with Marie-Do, because it's a courtesy, from what I've learned, to avoid silence or gaps in conversation. I think that goes for things like car rides, watching the news, and other times when Americans wouldn't necessarily be uneasy with an extended silence. Marie-Do is constantly asking--a more positive characterization than 'nagging' that I use for my own sanity--about my class schedule, my social life, what I'm doing this weekend, even though I told her yesterday, or often earlier that day.

When I say Marie-Do guilt-trips, I know it sounds bad. But maybe it's considered more polite to be passive-aggressive here. Okay, that doesn't sound any better. It's just something I've noticed, with Marie-Do and, to an extent, my host mom in Nantes, Roselyne. Maybe it's a French mom thing. Anyway, our upstairs neighbor, when he's home, constantly wears his shoes, which we can hear clicking on the floor. Marie-Do always says she's going to bring it up with him but that he's really very nice and she'll just 'mention it' or 'slip it in' by kindly suggesting that he wear slippers around the house. I won't recount the exact circumstances that led her to use this sneaky tactic to me, but it was artfully done, I must say. And, again, it wasn't as affronting as it sounds; I just laughed it off after.

I'll leave you with one amusing Marie-Do moment that happened just last night. Her ex-boyfriend took her out to dinner, but he came up to the apartment first to sit and talk a bit. This was the first I'd heard of him. This is not the ex-husband and father of her son, this guy was later. All I know is he is "very, very rich". So Marie-Do is babbling at him about everything going on in her life, her health problems, her efforts at home decorating, and her recent trip to Corsica. She's showing pictures of her extended family in Corsica, I couldn't see them but I was in the room. She gets to one of her and someone else and says "C'est ma cousine, grosse mais gentille." Translation: That's my cousin, fat but nice. I couldn't help but laughing, and neither could the very, very rich man.

That's it for now. I have an idea, though. If anyone is curious about some part of French culture or language I haven't written about, leave a comment. I'm no expert, but being in France means I can find an expert (okay, so maybe just Marie-Do) on whatever you might be interested in. So, comment!
A plus,
Maggie B.

Chez Van Gogh

Salut,
Yesterday was our Abroadco excursion to Arles, a small town about an hour northwest of Aix. We all took the bus to meet our program director, Pam, in Arles, where she first treated us to a much-needed coffee/tea/hot chocolate to wake us up at a café on the main drag.

Since it was a Saturday, we got to see Arles' very impressive morning market. I love the markets in Aix, but Arles' market is more concentrated and I think even more extensive than Aix's. It has everything: secondhand home furnishings and knickknacks (junk), clothing, art, pottery, and of course all manner of fruits, veggies, deli foods, baked goods, and prepared dishes. Pam took us on a quick walk through the market, warning us to keep our bags close in light of Arles' infamous gypsy population. But we would come back to the market on our own later, we were really headed to the Arles cemetery, called the Alyscamps.

The Alyscamps was one of the most important burial grounds in the Roman Empire. In it were buried over 80 generations. When a ship was sent down the Rhone River with a coffin, it was assumed it's destination was Arles. And when the man in charge of burials unloaded the coffin, he would find his payment of coins in the departed's mouth. Over time, the cemetery deteriorated. When Vincent Van Gogh came to Arles and invited Paul Gauguin to paint the cemetery in 1888, it was a meeting place for young local girls and soldiers.

Les Alyscamps, Paul Gauguin; this is the canal, now dried up, that runs alongside the Alyscamps and three women dressed in traditional costume. The dome in the background is the church that was added to the site in the Middle Ages.

Les Alyscamps, Vincent Van Gogh; this pathway towards the medieval church is still there, lined with ancient, deteriorating sarcophagi. Here a woman in traditional dress meets a soldier friend.

Following the tour of the cemetery, we had some free time to explore the market. My friend Annie and I took a stroll up the food aisle and soon hit the regional sauces and spreads section. We suddenly had tiny pieces of bread bearing pesto, tapenade, caviar of eggplant, anchovy spread, and who knows what else pushed into our soon greasy fingers. Before this experience, I was still hoping that I might somehow appreciate the integral provençal spread that is tapenade despite my hatred for olives. Alas, not so, but I wasn't about to refuse it from the eager-to-please and incredibly friendly vendors. I did like the 'caviar of eggplant' (surprised? me too). Moving on from the canned goods section, I bought half a kilo of strawberries that Annie and I shared in the park on the other side of the market.

After more wandering, we met Pam to go to our complimentary lunch. It was a nice restaurant with a generous 10€ formule for lunch. A lot of French restaurants have 'formules' for lunch and/or dinner that offer an entrée (remember, an appetizer not a main dish), a plat principal, wine, and coffee at a lower cost than they would all be 'à la carte' or separately. I got a copious green salad with a decent vinaigrette and an open face sandwich, called a tartine, with a decent tuna salad, or the French interpretation anyway. Think less mayonnaise, more celery.

Pam whisked us off to see more Roman and Van Gogh sites after lunch. We walked along the Rhone River and past the building that used to be a brothel. One of its prostitutes created a vicious rivalry between Van Gogh and Gauguin. As everyone knows, Van Gogh cut off his own ear for this woman, delivering it to the brothel in what I'm sure was a very tasteful box. Then we saw the Roman amphitheatre, which could seat 20,000, be evacuated in minutes, and during the Middle Ages was converted into housing for 200 households. Today it is the site of Arles' bullfights. Each year there is one bullfight in the Spanish style to open the season, but there are still provençal-style bullfights too, which sound very cool. The bull isn't killed, just tormented by a team of pests, basically, who work together to distract the bull so team members can grab one of the ribbons pinned in between the bulls' horns. I don't think I'll have the time to see one of these bullfights this trip, but maybe in the future. Pam said it's almost like a ballet.

Right next to the amphitheatre is the Roman theatre, the remains of which aren't that impressive but, like the other Roman sites in Arles, are still older than anything manmade I'd ever seen. Then we went to a Roman church. Also, an underground storage facility, or so anthropologists think, that might have been used to store wheat to feed Roman soldiers. Altogether, it's the size of a football field and used to follow the course of the Roman forum above ground, of which only two columns remain. Also in Arles is the café that inspired the Van Gogh piece Café terrace at night (it's the most expensive café in that particular square and also has the worst food..oh well). Finally, we visited the asylum where the painter was committed after the ear incident and once again after the town of Arles petitioned for him to be recommitted. Van Gogh wasn't the most popular guy in Arles, apparently.

It was a busy day, but I'm glad we had Pam to show us around and, especially, tell us interesting stories about the sights. I don't think I would necessarily recommend Arles as a must-see in Provence, though. I enjoyed it, but I also didn't have to pay for lunch or entrance to the monuments, which generally seemed a little overpriced. Also, the Roman sites are interesting but, understandably, are a little rundown, so if the Roman Empire doesn't interest you, it might be a bit of a letdown. I loved the market, though, and the town of Arles has done a great job of documenting Van Gogh's points of inspiration there, posting reproductions of his paintings in their corresponding locations.

I want to write a little bit about Aix in spring, since it's getting warmer and tourists are starting to come out. But this entry is already long enough, so check back soon. And here's the link for my Facebook album of Arles for more photos of the amphitheatre, the Alyscamps, and the Rhone River. Also you can click on the pictures in this entry to see larger versions.

Ciao, happy spring!
Maggie B.

J'ai bon pied bon oeil

This week I've found myself learning idiomatic expressions in French to do with body parts, so I figured I'd make an entry of it and share some of them. I think it's interesting how some expressions' equivalents in English also involve body parts, but different ones than in French.

tête à claque, literally 'head to slap' = a person who is so irritating you feel like slapping them everytime you see them
faire la tête, literally 'to do the head' = to sulk

casse-pieds, literally 'foot breaker' = a pain in the neck
faire un pied de nez à quelqu'un, literally 'make a foot of nose at someone' = to thumb one's nose at someone
avoir bon pied bon oeil, literally 'to have good foot, good eye' = to be fit as a fiddle

mener quelqu'un par le bout du nez, literally 'lead someone by the end of the nose' = to have someone under one's thumb
avoir du nez, literally 'to have some nose' = to be shrewd
faire quelque chose les doigts dans le nez, literally 'to do something with your fingers in your nose' = to do something easily (à la 'I could do that with my hands behind my back')

faire la fine bouche devant quelque chose, literally 'to make the delicate mouth in front of something' = to turn one's nose up at something
la gueule de bois, literally 'mouth of wood' = a hangover

tirer les oreilles de quelqu'un, literally 'to pull someone's ears' = to tell someone off (like when a parent grabs a child's ear?)

Alright, maybe more later. A bientôt!
Maggie B.

Viva España Dos

Note: You can click on any of the pics in this post to see a bigger version.

I arrived back in Aix just a few hours ago, and I can't believe I just spent almost 6 days in Spain. I did and saw so many interesting and new things, the days flew by. Last time I wrote I had just arrived in Sevilla at my hostel, and I hadn't even talked to my friend Alicia, who is studying there this semester.

Once I got in touch with Alicia, we met up for a late dinner for me. I had sopa de mariscos, a seafood soup with a whole shrimp, scallops, and tiny clams still in the shells, followed by a paella con carne. I have to be honest, this was as authentic as my eating ever got this trip in Spain. I am not one for eating in restaurants alone, so the other nights I did not feel motivated at all to go scope out inexpensive, authentic Spanish cuisine and then struggle with the menu and the waitstaff in pigeon Spanish. Excuses, excuses.... Anyway, Alicia and I got to catch up. It was surreal since the last time we saw each other was in Pittsburgh, and now we're both doing our own thing in Europe. She's really liking Sevilla and has taken a bunch of cool trips around Spain. Also coming up, she's going with her program to Portugal and then a couple weeks later to Morocco. I am jealous!

Per Alicia's suggestion, my first tourist attraction the next morning, Tuesday, was the Moorish royal palace called Alcázar, parts of which were first constructed in the 10th century AD. I think it started out as a fort, mostly, and then evolved into a more lavish complex. Today the buildings are filled with gorgeous tilework and woodcarvings (larger pic is one of the ornate outer walls of one of the main buildings, the smaller pic is a dome carved out of cedar), and there are several gardens of different styles that are enclosed within the ramparts.I spent two and a half hours here, I think, and ended up taking 150 pictures or so. It was a refreshing visit. I'd never seen Moorish architecture before, and the scale and quality was incredible. That, and walking through some of the gardens, I felt like I should be in India or somewhere exotic, not Spain. Okay, Spain is definitely exciting and exotic, I just didn't expect it to be so jungle-like.

The women's baths

After my very leisurely stroll through the Alcázar grounds, I walked right across the square to Sevilla's Catédral, the 'most extensive Gothic cathedral in the world'. As with the Alcázar, it isn't just that it's grand, it's that you're looking at the work of hundreds, if not thousands. Every embellishment is perfectly crafted. On the map I counted 26 chapels, including the Royal Chapel situated in the middle, a wall of religious scenes framed by ornate gold decoration reaching at least a third of the way to the ceiling. The cathedral also holds the tomb of Christopher Columbus. And I thought Pitt's own Cathedral of Learning was cool....

But even besides all the grandeur inside, many people come to the Catédral to climb up into the Giralda Tower. Two thirds of the tower is part of a minaret of a mosque built in the 12th century that was later incorporated into the cathedral. You have to climb a series of over 30 ramps to get to the top, but once you do, you can see all of Sevilla. It's a great view. Sevilla seems to have greenery everywhere. Trees line even the busiest streets, and there are parks and gardens everywhere, it seems. And it's a very charming city, interesting old buildings, tiny, winding streets that are very easy to get lost in, and these funny-looking TV antennas sticking up from every roof.

After the Catédral, I made my last tourist stop of the day at the Iglesia San Salvador, which is smaller and less impressive than the cathedral, but nevertheless worth the visit. The altar and the two chapels are decorated in this ornate, over the top style, I don't know the term for it exactly. I actually like the church better from the outside, because it has an interesting blue, white, and yellow tiled dome sitting on top of a pinkish foundation.

Back at the hostel I fixed up a quick dinner of oven-made pizza (my parents are going to kill me), before heading back out to catch a flamenco demonstration a nearby bar. It was a Tuesday night, but luckily this bar, Carboneria, has a flamenco performance every night at 11pm. Honestly, I didn't really feel like going back out after all the walking and the mediocre weather, but I'm glad I did.

When I got there, I entered through the main door, only to see a very small, quiet, almost empty bar. I almost left, but then I saw some people walk through a door in the back and so I followed. Lo and behold, there was a huge room with long picnic tables and skinny benches, absolutely packed with people. I ordered a drink (it's only fair, since the performance was free) and managed to find a spot not too far from the tiny stage up front. At first there was no dancing, just two men, one singing and the other playing guitar, and a woman, clapping along. It was interesting, but I had really come to see the dancing. Then the woman stood up and began her routine. It was incredible. Every muscle in her body was perfectly coordinated, her hands constantly moving and her feet tapping out rhythms I didn't think were possible. And the two men fed off of her energy, taking cues from her and changing the music to go with her leaps and strides. The expression on the woman's face was unbelievable, you could see all the emotion and the focus. Needless to say, it was worth the 5€ for the drink.

Wednesday, my last day in Sevilla, I went to the Plaza de España, a Renaissance era building with, again, great tilework. It's shaped like a semicircle, with two towers on either end and a fountain in the middle. Around the inner edge of the semicircle there are representations (not the right word, but it's hard to describe) for each major city in Spain: Barcelona, Cordoba, Madrid, etc. After some time at the Plaza I walked across the street into a beautiful park, full of palm trees and other green things. Then I wandered farther away from the Plaza to find the Guadalqevir River. It kind of reminded me of the Erdre River in Nantes, the one that ran by my house, because of the paths running along it and some of the older steel bridges. Later, I got to meet up with Alicia between her classes, and she led me on a wander through parts of the city I hadn't been to yet, including her neighborhood across the river, Triana. She showed me where she lived, an apartment on a very cute, very European street. It was great to see her, and we got to catch up and compare notes on our European experiences so far while enjoying a Spanish treat, churros with melted chocolate. Sooo delicious.

We're almost to the end of my journey. I took the overnight bus from Sevilla to Madrid, where I spent several hours in a coffeehouse waiting for it to get warm(ish). Then I went to the Royal Botanical Gardens, where it was very well maintained but not a lot was in bloom. The flight back from Madrid was uneventful. I walked out of the Marseille airport to be greeted by the infamous provençal wind. Technically it wasn't the mistral, since that only comes on sunny days, but you could've fooled me.

Here are links for the photo albums on Facebook, for everyone:
Madrid
Sevilla 1 and 2

Sorry for the uber long entry, à bientôt!
Maggie B.

Plus belle la vie!!!

Okay, so I know I'm in Spain and I should be writing about what I'm doing, but I found something on nytimes.com this morning that I couldn't resist bringing to everyone's attention.

Melting Pot of Melodrama Enthralls France

I haven't read the whole article, because I was so excited to see this in the New York Times, of all places. In France now there is an incredibly popular nightly soap opera called Plus belle la vie. My host mom and I watch it every night either during or after dinner.

Plus belle la vie is remarkable for several reasons. First, it's the first major French TV show that is set in Marseille, as opposed to Paris. For people in the South, this is important because for a long time Marseille was seen as dirty, crooked, and not at all refined like Paris. The show highlights some nefarious activities, but it also shows the nice parts of the city. I've actually walked by the bar that the design of the show's bar is based on.

Also, just in general, there aren't many French TV shows. Instead, they show a lot of dubbed American, British, or even German series. So they know Dr. House, ER, and most of the criminal drama shows. The only other well known, all-French series I've come across is 'Un gars, une fille,' a goofy comedy about a bickering French couple.

Finally, Plus belle la vie is scandalous. I've seen episodes about the trafficking (is that how you spell it? sorry) of illegals into France, racism, and homosexuality. Especially on those last two counts, the French prefer not to talk about certain things.

Read the article! Let me know what you think. I'm actually going to be behind on the plot since I'm missing three days of it this week. Oh no!
A bientôt!
Maggie B.

Viva España...Uno!

¡Hola!
First off, everything's going well here in Spain. I know my parents haven't been thrilled I'm traveling alone here, but so far, so good. Hopefully it will stay that way. Today I arrived in Sevilla, where I'll be staying for three days. My friend from Pitt, Alicia, is studying here, and we're hoping to meet up a few times between her classes.

As for Madrid, it already seems like a blur after the 9 hour bus ride to Sevilla. But it was great. I flew in Saturday afternoon via RyanAir. It was my first RyanAir experience, and I'd heard horror stories, but it seemed like Southwest for Europe to me, no big deal. I took the Metro into the city and found my hostel, got settled in, and then met my Abroadco friends Haley and Karinne at the Museo del Prado. Nothing like a world-class museum to welcome you to a city. We got through a good bit of the museum, including what felt like 200 pietas and crucifixion scenes. Usually painting from about the 17th century and older doesn't interest me that much, I prefer the 'pretty' stuff. But it was such an impressive collection, and the Spanish art especially was incredible. I especially liked the Diego Velazquez pieces and some of the Goyas, and of course there was a lot by El Greco, too.

After the Prado I took a power nap to prepare for the late eating schedule that is popular here in Spain. When a group of Abroadco girls went to Barcelona a couple weeks ago, they said people were just arriving at the restaurant when they finished eating at 11! Haley, Karinne, and I found a Middle Eastern restaurant and had a leisurely, not too expensive dinner, accompanied by a belly dancing performance (we had no idea that was included). Then we found a crowded bar and sipped mojitos (what else?).

Over the course of the night it became clear to us how silly our previous complaints about French smokers were. Spain, unlike France, doesn't have a law prohibiting smoking in bars and restaurants. And besides that, it seems even more popular here. Maybe it's the difference between a big, bustling city like Madrid and a small, bourgeois city like Aix, but the smoke was unavoidable. Later, when I was waiting for my bus out of Madrid, I found it odd that some people were waiting outside way before their buses had arrived at the platform. Then I noticed the sign "Prohibido de fumar" (smoking prohibited) in the indoor waiting area. It was barely 40 degrees out!

My second day in Madrid I struck out on my own for an ambitious walking tour...or wander. First, I found the El Rastro flea market, a huge weekly event where vendors sell clothes, electronics, books, housewares, everything. It was drizzling when I left the hostel, and when I was approaching where I thought the market should be I was a little anxious that the weather might discourage vendors. I shouldn't have worried. They were there in full force. It was the biggest market I've ever been to, stretching the length of probably 8 city blocks. I managed to buy a few things (sorry, can't tell you what) even with my absolutely awful Spanish--Combien? Y ésta?

Next up was the Plaza Mayor, where on nice days well-to-do locals sit out at cafés and restaurants in the grand square. I, however, grabbed a cheap lunch of grilled shrimp at a cafeteria on the periphory. It's too bad the weather wasn't nicer, but it was still an impressive square.

I got a little lost on the way to the Royal Palace, but eventually found my way there. I'm really glad I decided to go there; originally it wasn't on my must-do list. Unfortunately, photography is prohibited inside (this seems to be a trend in Spanish museums and tourist attractions), but it was incredible. Walls covered with silk and damask, even a room constructed completely with perfectly joined pieces of sculpted procelain. Too many chandeliers to count, all suspended from what appeared to be silk ribbons (okay, they were actually just steel rods covered in beautiful fabric, but the illusion was convincing). Then there were the humongous area rugs, the tapestries on the walls, and the gorgeous furniture. Definitely worth the time.

On my way to the Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza, I walked right into the bustling heart of Madrid. A girl in my IEFEE group who had been to Madrid before said it might be dead on a Sunday, but that's not what I found. Ever since I've seen it, I've been trying to think how to characterize Madrid. Comparing it to any American city wouldn't be accurate or just, but it is definitely grittier than the other cities I've seen in Europe so far. Every city has its not so great parts, but at least architecturally, the beautiful and old bumps up against the unrefined and new in the center of Madrid, more so than in Paris, I think. Also, it's the first city I've visited so far this trip that hasn't been a Mediterranean city. So no more yellow and orange buildings with blue shutters, more brickwork and mansard roofs.

My last stop for the day was the Thyssen-Bornemisza. I highly recommend this museum, because it works for art officianados and us laypeople. The collections cover all the major periods. They have the famous pieces of minor artists and the relatively unknown pieces of major artists, which makes for a less predictable experience. I enjoyed the impressionist selections, of course, and some of the expressionist stuff. Also, they had a good amount of North American painting. I know absolutely nothing about North American painting, but I came out of this museum wishing I did, wanting to know more.

Before I headed to the bus station for my 1:30am bus (don't ask), I made myself a pasta with pesto dinner in the hostel kitchen. Then checked out, hailed a cab, and prepared for a loooong ride to Sevilla. But I'm here! It's gross and rainy, but I'm here in a very nice hostel, in what seems to be an interesting and beautiful city.
Stay tuned! More adventures from flamencoland to follow. And pictures, once I get back to Aix on Thursday.
Maggie B.

Mont Ste Victoire

The Croix de Provence is the speck on the bluff to the right of the highest one to the left.

View from the top!

Zola & Cézanne

After the whirlwind of activity last weekend in Nice and Monaco, I decided to take it easy this weekend. It's not a very hard thing to convince myself to do, especially when I know I'll be going to Spain in just a few days for my first vacation this term! I will be in Madrid from Saturday to Monday, at which point I'm off to Sevilla from Monday to Wednesday night. I'm doing this largely on my own, though I'll see my friend Alicia in Sevilla and I'm hoping to spend Saturday in Madrid with two girls from my program whose plans overlap with mine. I'm a bit apprehensive, but if everything goes off without a hitch--read: I come back with all my possessions and documents, I fudge my way through Spanish enough to not get in trouble, and I maybe get a little sun in the face--I will be happy.

As for this weekend, it was filled with two people, who were natives of Aix!: Emile Zola and Paul Cézanne. They grew up here and were best friends. Until Zola wrote a book called L'oeuvre that depicted a painter in an unfavorable light. Cézanne was not pleased.

I've been working on reading Zola's Germinal in the original French almost since I got to Aix, and I finally finished today! It was a challenge. Zola, like most of the grands écrivains in French, uses the passé simple a lot (simple past), a literary tense that replaces the past tense used in spoken and most modern written French. And then there is the usual difficulty with elevated vocabulary. The biggest temptation was to look up every word I didn't know in a dictionary, but I knew it would be better to just read for the plot and the characters. I'm so glad I got through it. And I hope to read it again so I can understand more of the nuances next time.

Germinal is about mining in France in the 19th century when political awareness and activism was rising in the working class. The miners go on strike under the leadership of a young miner who has educated himself on new socialist ideas, but it's only the very beginning of organized labor, and the miners are ill-prepared for a two and a half month strike. Zola describes in detail the horrible conditions in the mines and the corons, the slums that the Company has set up for the mining families. And once the strike is under way, the families are constantly battling starvation waiting for the bourgeois management to accept the workers' demands. I won't ruin the end for you, but there are two movies of it and the translation in English. I've heard good things about both of the movies; one is from the 60s and the other is from the 80s or 90s, I think.

I don't think there is a book quite like this about the US, probably because America didn't exactly have bourgeois and wasn't as influenced by socialist ideas. At least, that's what most would like to think, since socialism=communism (duh, right?), the most terrifying of all political systems ever. But also, la grève, the strike, is a central part of political expression and activism in France. It is a rite of passage. Unions are incredibly strong here. When several of them get together on one issue, they can literally stop daily life even for weeks, by setting up boycotts or blocking roads with tractor-trailors.

All the French know the songs, slogans, and chants of la grève, even if they pretend to make fun of themselves for this common obsession of the strike. It doesn't seem to matter what the object of the grève is, there will be a song to fit it and a crowd who will sing it. It's an entirely different viewpoint from the US, where strikes are seen as last resorts and often burdens on the rest of the community. My junior year of high school my teachers went on strike for a month, and there were many people who criticized the teachers for abandoning their jobs as educators. Even if certain people among the French don't agree with the reasons behind a strike, I have never heard anyone question an individual's morals or character for participating in one. It would be just as surprising as someone complaining about a smoker in a restaurant!

Now, as for Cézanne, I did something this weekend I've been wanting to do since I got here: I hiked Mont Saint Victoire. This is the mountain that Cézanne painted, I think, 28 times. Or something like that. I had seen several of these paintings at the Met in NYC and the Musée d'Orsay in Paris, and now I kind of want to go back to see what I think, having seen it in person.

I went with three girls from my program, Allison, Sherie, and Jill. Four was a perfect number, very manageable. We took the short bus ride to the base of the mountain and started on a trail that was marked 'moyen', or mid-level in difficulty. It was a good day for hiking, not too warm, kind of brisk, and sunny most of the time. Eventually we came to a fork in the trail and we decided to take the more difficult path that would lead more directly to our target, the Croix de Provence, at the top of the mountain. Well, it certainly was difficult. I found myself thanking my friend Claudia for taking me once to the rock-climbing wall at Pitt. We were probably not wearing the right footwear for this kind of trail, but we made it, even after one rather dangerous detour from the path in search of pesky trailmarkers. And we got a huge payoff for our hard work of almost 4 hours climbing, not hiking (Allison was right to insist on the distinction in her blog, which again I'm referencing), to the Cross of Provence. The cross itself wasn't incredibly unique, but the views were amazing. Three-hundred-sixty degrees of rolling hills and mountains, a river, little towns peaking out from valleys. It was impressive, to say the least.

I still can't get over how different the geography (or topography? I'm losing my sense of the precision of certain words in English) is here, and the natural life. The mountain seemed to jut out of the land, not at all like the mountains I've seen before. The huge cliffs are streaked with this glowing orange that is the same color as the bright clay soil at the foot of the mountain. And the slopes (or dropoffs, really) are covered with beautiful conifers that are all over Cézanne's paintings, perfectly geometric bark and just the right amount of branches in the top third of the trunk. The brush is interesting too. Even though most leaves haven't come out yet, there's wild holly and these twiggy plants with muted purple-red branches that make the mountainside look like a patchwork of purples and greens and browns.

Needless to say, it was a great day. And tiring, after about 6 hours of hiking. This mountain is not for the faint-hearted or the out of shape. I count myself lucky to have only been slightly sore the next morning.

Pictures are to come!
A plus,
Maggie B.

Faux amis

I am going to shamelessly steal my friend Allison's idea for her blog and share some 'faux amis' or false cognates. Some of them are interesting, some of them are just surprising, and some of them are funny and incredibly embarassing if confused.


la promiscuité ≠ sexual promiscuity
= proximity, especially unwanted

plein(e) ≠ full, as in not hungry
= pregnant, usually referring to an animal

préservatif ≠ preservative, as in food
= condom

blesser ≠ to bless, benedict
= to harm

décevoir ≠ to deceive
= to disappoint

réaliser ≠ to realize, that you forgot something for example
= to achieve or to direct a film

séculaire ≠ secular, nonreligious
= sensitive

surnom ≠ surname or last name
= nickname

avertissement ≠ advertisement
= a warning or caution

bigot(e) ≠ intolerant, narrow-minded
= over-devout

candide ≠ open, frank, sincere
= naïve, ingenuous

draguer ≠ to pull along
= to flirt, to hit on

entrée ≠ the main course
= the appetizer

Enjoy!
Maggie B.

Un weekend magnifique!

Salut tout le monde !
Long time, no entry. Classes have been going well, keeping me busy. And things are good with Marie-Do. Tonight she’s coming back from Corsica, where she went with her brother for a family thing. So I’m on my own. But that’s okay, I have a lot to write about (you’ve been forewarned).

This weekend was the first Abroadco excursion, besides the daytrip to Marseille the first weekend, and we went to Nice, Monaco, and a small village called Eze. It was an amazing trip, and I already want to go back to Nice. I’m thinking maybe I can convince my mom and my aunt Missy to go when they visit. Shouldn’t be too hard, right? Beaches, sun, good food.

Anyway, we met early Saturday morning to get on our charter bus. Also on the bus was the CEA group. CEA is another study abroad company that has a group of American students here. Actually, two of the Abroadco girls live with the CEA program director, Karen, and the two directors know each other very well. It was interesting to have the two groups there. CEA has about 25 kids and there’s definitely a different dynamic, besides the difference in size. But more on that later.

The drive to Nice was beautiful, especially after we passed Cannes, where we started seeing the Mediterranean and the Alps further inland. The geography here is really amazing, I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s very hilly, or I guess mountainous, but not like the Adirondacks or the Alps I saw in Switzerland. It’s all sandy-colored and very jagged. I guess you might call them bluffs. And I don’t even know how to describe the trees. I’m sorry, usually I’m good at describing nature-y stuff, but it just shows how utterly new this environment is for me.

When we got to Nice, we were dropped off at the Promenade des Anglais, the walkway that runs parallel to the shore, about 20-40 yards back from the water. One of the CEA directors pointed out where Angelina Jolie gave birth to her twins. I still don’t approve of her, especially since she and Brad Pitt chose these really pretentious French middle names for the twins. Just because you own an estate in the French countryside….

Well, then Pamela led us to the “vieux marché” or the old flower market. Now, it did happen to be Valentine’s Day, but I didn’t really notice many arrangements specifically for the holiday, maybe more roses than usual. But the market was huge and had all kinds of vendors, not just flower stalls. There were spices, savon de Marseille (a very famous soap), fruits and veggies, cheese, baked goods, and wonderful marzipan creations of everything from cherries to crocodiles. It was incredible. That and, even more than Aix, Nice has very colorful buildings. I’m no art major (I think my parents are thankful for that, at least), but from what I learned last year in Nantes about the French impressionists and now seeing what they painted, it’s no wonder you see such clear, vibrant colors. Especially the yellows and oranges and blues. The typical provençal building is a warm yellow or orange with bright blue shutters and the hacienda-style orange, tiled roof. I love it! It makes everything seem so much happier.

After thoroughly exploring the marché with my friends Annie (just spent 4 months in Uganda for the first half of her gap year before Princeton) and Allison (almost graduated history major at Auburn) and buying a picnic lunch, I walked up to the top of a hill that had these wonderful views of the city. We ate and then waited for the sun to peak out from the temporary cloud cover before taking many, many pictures.

Next was the Bataille des Fleurs, the Battle of the Flowers, for which Pam had given us tickets. Every year Nice has this parade on the main drag next to the Promenade des Anglais, and it’s to celebrate spring, specifically the blooming of the mimosa tree which is said to usher in the season. Apparently there is a mimosa flower in the American South as well, but it’s very different. The Mediterranean mimosa is yellow and has very small, fluffy, almost Seussian blossoms. They have a very sweet smell as well. So anyway, during the Bataille des Fleurs, the costumed actors on the floats throw sprigs of mimosa, and eventually the other flowers that absolutely cover the floats, to the crowds. This year’s them was “Masquerade”, so the floats and the costumes revolved around masks, deceit, trickery, et cetera. It was a great experience, I couldn’t believe the floats and the costumes. There was a balloon suspending this incredible trapeze artist who was doing tricks while being pulled along the parade route over the crowds. Also, there was a huge mechanical dragon that swung its head and tail and blew smoke. I took about 200 pictures of it all.

We left Nice after the Bataille and a walk along the beach and arrived in Monaco around 6pm, so it was already pretty dark and a bit brisk. By the time we went to the open-air restaurant for dinner (funded by Abroadco, thank you), it was positively chilly. But we were right next to the port, so we could see all the yachts and fancy sailboats. Dinner was great, if a bit slow; we didn’t leave until after 11:30pm. Appetizers were tapas-like, and the entrée was chicken with a creamy mustard and caper sauce and roasted potatoes. Dessert was a kind of apple crumble and chocolate fondant combination with whipped cream.

It was really enjoyable, but we were there with CEA, and wine was included in what the two programs had paid for. So it was really then where it was clear how the two groups differed. In our smaller group there isn’t an anti-party person, but there is absolutely no pressure to go out. Maybe there isn’t any pressure within the CEA group either, but they were rather fish-like when provided with complimentary wine. That’s okay, but I definitely did not appreciate it when they decided to start singing the national anthem. Luckily, no one else was at the restaurant but the 45 of us. I guess I’m just glad I’m with Abroadco, not just because of the different attitude towards socializing but also the dynamic in the smaller group.

After dinner, a few Abroadco girls went to the American bar, but the rest of us went into the entry room in the Casino, which was gorgeous. Two of the girls went into the blackjack room and said later it was really cool to watch. Pamela also snuck us in to the Hotel de Paris, this gorgeous hotel. There were only about seven of us and we were decently dressed from dinner, so we managed to look nonchalant enough to wander around for a couple minutes before being asked if we were staying there. Then it was back to the hotel, since I was very cold and exhausted.

The next morning, after breakfast at the hotel, we went up to ‘the rock’ where the royal palace and the cathedral are. There were gorgeous views and I don’t even want to know how expensive it is to rent an apartment up there. Annie and I went to the Museum of Oceanography, well really just the aquarium part. Because we did that, we didn’t have time to see the exotic gardens before going to see the changing of the guard at the place. But, I must say it was still worth it. They had an impressive variety of species and I actually got some decent pictures.

The changing of the guard was interesting. The Grimaldi family has been ruling for the last 700 years, which isn’t that long in comparison with ruling families from centuries ago, but today it’s bizarre to think that a 700 year-old monarchy is still kicking.

On the way back from Monaco, we stopped in the village of Eze, where we visited the parfumerie Galimard. We took a tour and then had a little lesson on how to try out perfume. And they actually had perfume, as opposed to eau de toilette or eau de parfum, and it was cheap! I bought a 30mL bottle for 33€. Then my friend Danni (goes to Chatham, just 10 minutes down the road from Pitt!) and I walked up the hill to the town on top of the hill. It was a gorgeous view, the houses looked like they were about to fall off the mountainsides into the Mediterranean.

All in all, great weekend! Already I’m thinking of ways I can get back to Nice. That was really my favorite part, and not just the Bataille des Fleurs either. The whole place was colorful and interesting. Also, full of older people…but whatever. That’s it for now (as if it wasn’t plenty). Here are the links for photo albums. There are four albums up on Facebook, but I’m still working on getting the second half of the pics up on my Google web albums, so check it later if you don’t see the Monaco and Eze albums.

Facebook links (for anyone):
Nice 1
Nice 2
Monaco 1
Monaco 2/Eze

Web albums here.

A bientôt!
Maggie B.

Photos!

Salut!
I don't really have anything new to share, just thought I'd put up some pics for the non-Facebook users (stay strong, don't let anyone talk you into it). If you want to see more pics:
You can go to this link, which should be the public, non-user exclusive Facebook page for the Marseille album. Please let me know if it works!
Or you can go to my Google Web Albums, which I know works for anyone.

I hope everyone's having a calm winter (or summer, for the Aussies).
A plus tard,
Maggie B.

 
 
 
 

Les cours commencent

Bonjour!
It's been a couple days and a lot has happened. Let's see...well, last Friday was the Abroadco welcome dinner. It was very nice. The thirteen girls went out with our program director and a student from last semester, Hugo. We had roasted red peppers, kind of a pork curry with rice and pineapple, and this great gooey chocolate dessert. Afterward, almost all of us went around the corner to the Irish pub, O'Shannon's. I got to show off my previous French bar knowledge since I knew what a 'monaco' was (beer, seltzer/orange juice, grenadine). Then we went over to a place called Le P'tit Bistro, where most drinks are only 2€ and there's outdoor seating. I didn't get anything, but it was fun.

Saturday was a free day, but it was rainy and gross. I did some exploring with a girl Sam from my program. Then Sunday, all of us went to Marseille, where Pamela actually lives. She took us to Notre Dame de la Garde, this gorgeous cathedral up on a hill looking out over the rest of the city. We also walked around a cute neighborhood by the Vieux Port and saw an old building that used to be a homeless shelter (I would've wanted to be a homeless marseillaise in the 19th century). Oh! And then I touched the Mediterranean for the first time. It was really cold, but there was an older French man swimming anyway!

This week is the first week of classes. And it's even more tiring than it will be normally, because in addition to my required 10 hour language class and 2 hour phonetics class, I have to sit in on all the elective courses for my level to see what I will take. So I think I've narrowed it down to these four:

-Regards sur les médias--basically a conversation class, but with emphasis on current events in France and Europe.
-Traduction--translation; it'll be difficult but useful, since it's kind of a review for grammar and writing.
-Contes populaires--the professor for this is certifiable, but interesting. I don't even know what we're going to read, but last semester they did the short stories of Maupassant, so maybe something of that genre.
-La Vème République--the only polisci-related course offered, about the current French government. We'll see, I have yet to actually go since it's tomorrow (at EIGHT AM!)

I guess that's it for now. I'll put up a link for the facebook album of Marseille (you don't have to belong to see it, no worries).
Bisous!
Maggie B.

L'espoir OBAMA

My dad has been bugging me for the French reaction to Obama's election. So I translated most of an article in the French magazine L'Express called "L'espoir OBAMA" (Hope OBAMA). For anyone who actually takes/reads French, the page for this exact article is kind of screwy, but here's the link to the "dossier" on Obama: http://www.lexpress.fr/actualite/monde/amerique/l-espoir-obama_731579.html.

I think maybe I'll write a little more about my reactions to these reactions later, add some more personal examples. But this is long enough for now.

The foreign policy of the Obama administration should be in keeping with today’s America: the president wants to negotiate with traditional enemies of Washington, including Tehran. Not out of naïveté, but because he adheres to the belief of Kissinger, Secretary of State for presidents Nixon and Ford, that “diplomacy (is) the art of restraining power.” But he is inheriting errors of the past, errors made worse by the chaos in the Middle East and Afghanistan. With his departure from the Oval Office, George W. Bush has single-handedly reaffirmed the United States’ authority in the world. But he’s left very little breathing room for his successor.

Near East (meaning Israel and Lebanon?)

… “He has given some promises to Israel, but he’s one of the most ardent defenders of a “two-state” solution”, emphasized Joseph Nye, professor at Harvard and originator of the concept of soft power, a mix of using influence and seduction as persuasion. …The president isn’t ignoring the complexity of the Israel question. “The new president’s team has promised to approach head-on these interconnected questions of the Middle East” (Scott Lasensky, researcher at the US Institute of Peace). These include negotiations between Israel and Syria and their effect on Iran’s influence in the region.

Iraq

The removal of US troop from Iraq is ideally going to be complete before the end of 2011. This leads to optimism that some will think excessive: “the Bush era was characterized by liberation and security,” commented the Iraqi advisor on national security Mouaffak al-Roubaïe. “The Obama era should usher in a more complete strategic interchange in all domains—economic, cultural, scientific, and religious.

Guantanamo

The American “gulag” won’t be closed in the first 100 days of the new administration, contrary to what had been promised. The approximate 250 detainees still being held at the Cuban base should, for the most part, be transferred to their home countries, in particular Yemen, where Washington barely obtained control and surveillance guarantees for suspected members of Al-Qaeda. A dozen “important” prisoners should appear before American federal courts. Some of them may be released, considering their confessions were, in some cases, obtained through torture.

Europe

Europeans anxiously await the inevitable demands for reinforcements in Afghanistan, but they also expect Barack Obama to break with the Bush administration’s unilateral approach. There is also the issue of improving relations with Moscow following the announced installation of American missiles in central Europe.