Chapitre 10: America, and the end.

Although I've now been safely back home in America for over 3 weeks, certain members of my immediate family, who have now had ample opportunity to talk to me in person about France, demand that I write one last blog post since I didn't write one in the airport as I originally suggested I might.  To those few individuals, I give you one last kkinfrance.blogspot.com post.  Now I know how J.K. Rowling must feel, with people begging for more Harry.  Celebrity is a burden I must learn to bear.

When I last left you, I was in the process of finishing up my assignments, taking my finals and packing up.  I was able to pack all my possessions, new and old alike, back into my suitcases without much trouble, although I had socks shoved in every possible space.  We're talking shoes filled with socks, water bottles filled with socks, socks popping out of my sweatshirt hood.  I didn't even have to wear 2 pairs of pants on the way home as I was planning if the packing didn't go well.  After saying my goodbyes to the Von Trapp family, I hopped on the shuttle to Lyon with plenty of time to spare.  And I mean, PLENTY of time.  I arrived at the airport at 11:10.  Check-in for my flight opened at 1:15.  This left me plenty of time to lug my two 23-kilogram suitcases, backpack and my other carry-on bag around while I passed the time.  "Here's a sandwich stand," I thought to myself, "I'll get a panini now before my flight".  I ordered my sandwich in flawless french.  I told the employee that yes, I would like a tray for my sandwich, yogurt and drink.  I realized rapidly that is is impossible to carry a tray of food, 2 suitcases and 2 carry-on bags all at once.  Luckily, a table right near the register opened up immediately, so I only had to awkwardly leave my luggage in front of the cash register, completely blocking all further customers from ordering, for a few seconds.  The second dilemma came when I had to throw my trash away.  It was impossible for me to navigate the treacherous terrain of chairs and tables to the trashcan with tray and luggage in tow.  I made a bold decision to commit the ULTIMATE AIRPORT SIN: I left my baggage unattended while I disposed of my lunch materials.  I justify it because, although it was technically unattended, it was really only out of my field of vision for a few seconds.  I had my eyes on it the whole way to the trash can and back, much to the poorly disguised amusement of some British travelers who tried and failed to pretend they weren't watching my suitcase struggles and who didn't feel the desire to offer a hand to a poor American.  Finally I was able to check my luggage, and I proceeded through security and on to my flight without any problems.
Despite the snowstorm that had paralyzed the rest of Europe, my flights from Lyon to Zurich and then Zurich to home went of without a hitch.  I had to show my passport more times in the Zurich airport than I did for the entire duration of my stay in France.  I forgot to spend my last 4 swiss francs in Zurich, so I had them jangling in my pocket the whole way home.
I enjoyed a quiet ride home to America, sharing a row with a nice young German going to visit his girlfriend in Boston.  Swiss Air did the trick again, providing me with plenty of delicious meals and in-flight entertainment.  Despite all the amenities, it was a long flight since I just wanted to be home.  And finally, I was, and boy does it feel good.
FAQs: Do I consider myself fluent?  Frankly, no.  I felt fairly proficient in french by the end of my stay, but by no means fluent.  I still planned out what to say in several possible scenarios as I waited in line at a cashier or as a waitress approached me.  Thoughts did not roll out of my mouth with out some measure of thought and construction, and in my mind, that's not fluent.
Do I miss it?  Of course.  It was a beautiful place and I shared it with wonderful people.  But don't worry, I missed you more.
Would I go back?  I'd love to go back.  In a parallel universe, maybe I'd go back and live in France for a while.  In this universe, not unless I could take my life here with me.  I don't like to feel stuck between two places.

So there you have it.  KK goes to France... and comes back home.  The end.

Chapitre 9: le fin s'approche.

Note: I wrote this, as you will see, 3 days ago, but I wanted to add some pictures so I didn't post it.  I decided to leave it in its original form though.

Marche de Noël in Place Grenette - same place our hotel was when I first got here

It seems my time here is going by faster than ever as I'll be home in a mere 4 days.  I'm sure there's a quote from the Ghost of Christmas Present in "A Muppet Christmas Carol" that sums up this feeling well, but I can't remember it exactly*.  This week is full of tests and papers, but I'll be done with everything on Thursday.  With that being said, I've still managed to find ample time to do things like makes list about my experience here.  So without further ado, I present The Lists:

Pretty Christmas decorations all over the place

List 1: Things I have learned in France

Fancy buches de Noël at a patisserie

1. I love cheese. I used to like cheese, but now I REALLY love cheese.
2. Colonisation was a bad thing.
3. French grammar is hard.  As soon as you think you've mastered one thing, SIKE!  Not yet!  There are infinitely more rules and exceptions yet to learn!
4. Despite the difficulty, living in a country is definitely the best way to learn a language.  Granted, I spent 10 hours a week in language class, but I feel like I learned as much in this semester (and really learned, not just thought about for 1 class and then forgot)  than I did in years of French class.  Which is not to say that my french classes were pointless, but it is much harder to really absorb things when only speak french for an hour every other day.   
5. I haven't figured this one out yet, but the other day I learned that "vair" is a french word for a fur used for lining and trimmming clothes in the middle ages.  My professor told us the only time she's heard it is in the story of "Cendrillon", which is the French version of Cinderella.  Interestingly, the french word for glass is "verre" which is pronounced the same way as "vair".  This leads me to believe that this whole glass slipper debacle was one big misunderstanding.  Maybe she had squirrel-fur slippers but some english bloke translated it the wrong way?  Or, did she really have glass slippers and some French person misheard and wrote it down wrong?  Moral of this story:  I learned that homophones are tricky.
6. French eclairs are different than Maine eclairs.  They have chocolate or coffee flavored filling.  Different, not better.
7. There are a lot of problems in France/Europe.  Sometimes it seems like Europe is some magical, progressive problem free land, but it turns out that although their fashion trends may be ahead of the curve, their solutions to social and economic problems are not.  It's not any better or worse than in the U.S., just different.  And not perfect.
8. Addendum to #7.  Europeans, contrary to popular belief, do not always dress stylishly.  I've seen 6 mullets in the last 2 weeks. 
9. The word for magic wand in French is "baguette" like the bread.  This made for hilarious Harry Potter subtitles.

Marche de Noël

List 2:  Things I am excited to go home for

1. Toilet seats.  Most of the public restrooms (not that there are many here...) don't have toilet seats.  I've been doing just fine without them, but I'm looking forward to not worrying about falling in a toilet for a long long time. 
2. On a related subject, public bathrooms.  I know I've talked about this before, but you never really notice how useful they are until they don't exist.  My (french) professor agreed that French and European bathrooms in general, are not up to par with American bathrooms (except for the Swiss, because they've got their ducks all in a row). 
3. Margaret, cutest guinea pig in the world, and the rest of my dearly beloved.
4. Milk.  Not demi-creme lait, I'm ready for some good ole skim milk.
5. Snack food.  I guess I could have been snacking the whole time I've been here, but it's just not so popular here.  Better have some Cheez-its ready Mom!  Maybe in the car on the way home?
6. English.  As much as I love French, its going to be nice to not have to think really hard while trying to eavesdrop on people in public.  Or think really hard while I watch TV.  Or think about the best way to say "I'd like some chips with my sandwich too".   
7. America, in general.  I'm a patriot.

My professor bought us coffee/hot chocolate for our last class!

List 3: Things I will miss about this place

1. Fluffy, cutest dog in the world... and the rest of the Von Trapps.  
2. The food.  Looking forward to some American cooking, but I'm already dreading the cheese withdrawal.  And what will I do without my daily dose of pain au chocolat?
3. Old buildings.  A country that's only some 234 years old (I mean the U.S.A., if history's not your thing) just can't compete with centuries of architectural development.
4. French people.  Maybe its just because I find french a funny language sometimes, but French people really crack me up and I'm going to miss them.  
5. The Grenoble area - I'll miss looking out my window at the Alps every morning.  Everything about this place is beautiful in a very special way.
6. Generally living here.  I think part of the study abroad experience is very personal and independent, and I'll miss that.  It's sort of an odd contradiction because I'm excited to go home and not have to be so independent (even though I lived with a family here), but at the same time I'll miss that part of the experience.  

jam for sale at the Marche de Noël

In conclusion, I've had a really great experience here.  It was difficult at times and absolutely incredible at others, and I know that I learned so much, both academically and personally.  It's hard to share every aspect of the experience through a blog, emails or even talking, but I've tried to share what I could.  Best wishes to you all!  And don't worry, you can expect another blog post when I'm waiting in the airport!

*I found the quotes I was thinking of.  They are "My time grows short" and "My time upon this globe is very brief, I believe it will end when the clock strikes 12".  I guess they're not as astoundingly elegant as I thought, but I'm in a Christmasy mood.

Chapitre 8: Cooking conquests, but only in french.

Bonjour once more friends!  My semester is quickly coming to a close.  I really feel like just yesterday I was gaping at only having a month left, now here I am looking at single digits.  I feel like I have about a billion things I could post here right now, between summaries of my experience, feelings about going home, final exams and papers, and my life here, but I'll settle on just one thing for this post.  I'm sorry for the delay in posts, I guess life's been catching up with me, but I promise to post at least once more before going home.  

Domestic Goddess?

Anyway, in this post I decided to share a little more about french food - specifically, the french food that I've been making!  That's right, I've been learning to cook here!  One of the hosts mothers for our program, who went to culinary school and loves cooking, offers a cooking class to the students each year.  Since I don't (didn't) really know how to cook (assuming pasta, brownie mixes and grilled cheese don't count) I figured that there's no time like a semester in France to start learning.  After all, as one of my professors is fond of mentioning, France is renowned worldwide for its delicious meals.  Although I've yet to discover the passion for cooking that some people seem to have, I've learned quite a bit and I've been quite proud of how my dishes have turned out, which is to say, they've all been better-than-edible.

meal in progress (my soup is on the back left burner)

But here's the thing [and I hope this doesn't make me sound like a pretentious student who's gone abroad and pretends to only know french when they get back] : I'm afraid I only know how to cook in french.  Of course I know I'll be able to look at a recipe and understand what its saying, but cooking is more than just a recipe.  Maybe for my classmates who actually knew cooking terms in english before this class, this isn't the case; for me, I didn't know some of the terms or techniques until I learned them here.  Now I'm going to have to look them up online to translate them back into english!  Oh, the struggles.  As if that wasn't enough, French people don't use cups or the farenheit scale.  So not only do I have to translate the words, I'll have to do calculations if I want to use these recipes at home!  As much as I love America, I have to ask: why couldn't we have just switched to the metric system back in the 80's or whenever they tried to get that going?  But that's enough griping for one day.  Allow me to now make you salivate with tantalizing stories of my cooking conquests.

Two weeks ago, I made un gateau roulé (cake roll) with raspberry currant jelly inside.  Did I waste 3 eggs in my struggle to separate the whites from the yellow?  Did I not beat the egg whites for as long as necessary?  Did I forget the baking soda?  Did the cake taste wonderfully despite my errors?  Answers: Yes.

Cooking friends and I, minus Robert

The first week, I made the potage, vegetable soup.  I chose well, as this was essentially impossible to ruin.  I peeled and chopped the appropriate vegetables, put them in boiling water, and then blended it all up when the were done.  Success!  In fact, over the course of our 6 classes, I'm happy to say we had nothing but success.  A few errors here and there, but all in all everything tasted great to me.  For our last class, which was this Monday, I started back where I began with a vegetable soup, this time a bit more complicated and even more delicious, if I do say so myself.  It was a tomato soup with onions and cheese.  The true art of this soup lay in the cheese - you have to wait "au moment de servir" to put the cheese on so that it melts across the top just as it is served.  I was nervous, but it worked out.  The dessert for our last class was îles flottante and a bûche de Noël - directly translated as: floating islands and a Christmas log.  Sounds delicious, eh?  Îles flottante is meringue floating in a custardy-cream sauce, and it was quite a spectacle to watch it being made.  It's not my favorite type of dessert, as I'm not a huge fan of custard flavors, but it was genial nevertheless.  The Bûche de Noël is a traditional Christmas cake.  A cake roll filled with chocolate frosting, then frosted on the outside with chocolate and decorated to look like a yule log.  It was delicious and lots of fun to decorate, although I didn't actually make it.  

Buche de Noel

I'm really glad I decided to take the class, because I learned a lot and got over my fear of cooking and because it was another great oppurtunity to learn about French culture and spend time with a different French family (plus my wonderful classmates/friends!).  Our teacher, Nicole, made the whole experience wonderful.  She is a stereotypical older French woman - stern on the outside, but warm and kind on the inside.  Each time I made a mistake, she'd say "Ah, c'est pas TROP grave" in a way that made me fear for the future of our meal, while at the same time remedying what she could and showing me how to avoid the mistake or do it differently in the future.  She takes great pride in her work and rightfully so.  Some of the recipes we made were her own creations and they were all fantastic.  She'd tell us if something didn't come out quite right, adding in something like, "Well, I know the meat was good because I cooked the other half at lunch and that was perfect, and I know the problem wasn't the recipe, because I wrote that myself".  Ah, the French know how to be proud, but it was a nice, well-meaning and well-deserved pride in this case.

Meal from last week - I made the clafoutis de carottes (in the back left), we also had ratatouille and a beef dish

In conclusion, although I've always enjoyed eating, I've never felt like a food connaisseur.  In fact,  I still don't feel this way, but there are certain aspects of French cuisine that I've come to appreciate which I will certainly miss back at home, like unpasteurized cheese and undefined meat dishes.  I can't say I'll miss everything (no crême brulée for me please ... and no cow face) but I'll always cherish my Grenobloise and Savoyarde specialities.    (Cooking class photo credits go to one Callie Feingold, thanks!)

p.s.  My host family's puppy is the cutest thing in the world.  Her name is Fluffy, which was inspired by yours truly.  We pronounce it "Flooofy" though, since the "uh" sound doesn't really work in french.  

Chapitre 7: An American Thanksgiving in Grenoble

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!  Since I can't be there with all of you, I figured a blog post is the best I can do.  As it turns out, Thanksgiving is a difficult holiday to explain.  The first problem, of course, was the language.  In trying to explain the Thanksgiving story, I quickly realized that I didn't know how to say "pilgrims", "Native Americans", "pumpkins" and other relevant words in French.  But even once those details were ironed out, people don't seem to understand how this romanticized story of friendship has led to what we now celebrate as Thanksgiving.  And to be perfectly honest, I guess the reason its so hard to explain is because I don't really know how Thanksgiving evolved myself.  How do I explain to the Russian woman in my class that Americans watch football and eat turkey together to celebrate the survival of the pilgrims?  Answer:  I don't.  She told me she'd ask one of her friends who lives in the U.S. to try to explain it to her again.  

Mountains, snowy and even more beautiful now!

Now, if you'll pardon my nostalgia and sentimentality for just a moment, what I can tell you about Thanksgiving is something that I assume, or hope at the very least, we all know: that, putting aside pilgrims, turkey, football and pies, Thanksgiving is a day to be grateful for what we have.  This year, I'm thankful that I had the opportunity to study abroad and meet so many wonderful people here in France.  I'm thankful for my host family, who have been kind enough to welcome me into their home and their life.  I'm thankful that my program director organized a Thanksgiving dinner for my group last night.  And above all, I'm especially thankful for all of my family and friends.  You guys are the best, really.  I would not have been able to do something like this without knowing that I have all of you to return home to. Plus, no one would read my blog if it weren't for you.  Lastly, despite all the fun, adventures and life experiences I've been enjoying over here, I'm grateful that I'll be home in just over 3 weeks.  I hope you all have found things to be grateful for this year, and I wish you all a very happy Thanksgiving.

I didn't have any pictures of turkeys, so swans will have to do.

As I mentioned, my week was not completely turkey-less.  Wednesday night my group all ate a Thanksgiving dinner prepared especially for us.  Although it wasn't quite the same (people here just don't get the idea of eating until you can't move), it was really nice to spend the evening with my fellow patriots and speak english unabashedly.  As a pleasant surprise, there was even cranberry sauce to go along with the turkey, potatoes and green beans!  For dessert we had french-style apple pie with whipped cream and sprinkles.  The sprinkles really topped things off.  All in all, it was nice to share a little bit of Thanksgiving spirit here.

One last bit of exciting news: my host family got a puppy today!  It is absolutely adorable.  I'll try to get a couple of pictures for you.  I'm looking forward to plenty of fun with it for the next few weeks, ideally something like the Snoopy and the lawn chair scene from Charlie Brown's Thanksgiving.

Chapitre 6: "And he's walking - you say he's walking to gay Par-ee?"

The title of this post comes from the book Going After Cacciato by Tim O'Brien, and I think of it everytime I think of Paris, although I don't think anyone in the book ever makes it to Paris.  Nevertheless, a good read and I did indeed make it all the way to gay ol' Paris, which was rainy, kind of cold, exhausting and wonderful.

  After learning about Paris, talking about Paris, acting out scenes that take place in Paris for 6 years of french classes, it was really exciting to be there finally.  We took the TGV (train de grande vitesse... this acronym always reminds me of the R.O.U.S. from the Princess Bride for some reason) from Grenoble straight to the Gare de Lyon à Paris.  As I was planning out the places I wanted to go and everything I wanted to see, I found myself mentally referring to 10th grade French class project where we had to make a map of Paris with 10 destinations and a certain number of roads and arrondisements.  I realize that, as great as I'm sure my map was, it was probably not so accurate, but it still came in handy when I was trying to visualize where the Sacre Coeur was.  So that's the mindset that I went to Paris with, a 10th grade idea of things that looked cool when I googled Paris.  Along these lines, when asked what my goals were for the weekend, I said, "To eat a crepe by the Eiffel tower.  To eat crepes all weekend."  And Paris did not disappoint.  I was overwhelmed by the very Parisianness of it all, and I must say, it was remarkably similar to my 10th grade map in the best sense possible. Oh, where to begin...

I suppose le Tour Eiffel is as good a place as any, since as my host father said today, "When you say France to an American, they think Paris, and when you say Paris, they think Eiffel Tower."  On Thursday night we arrived to a somewhat damp, cloudy Paris and I could just see the tip of the Eiffel tower in the distance.  After getting dinner in the Latin Quarter, fairly close to our hotel, at a Greek restaurant where we were literally dragged to the dancefloor and where practical jokes abounded, we decided to stroll down to the Eiffel tower.  Now, many of you are probably not familiar with the layout of Paris, but as it turns out, the Latin Quarter is VERY FAR AWAY from the Eiffel Tower, but we were lulled into following the searchlight from the top of the tower, like a moth to the flame.  So as we strolled along the Seine, saying at every new block "almost there now!", it started to rain.  And then the steady rain, which was doing a pretty good job of getting us soaked as we walked miles and miles, turned into a veritable deluge, which is to say, it POURED on us.  At this point every one of us looked like a drowned rat, completely soaked, which left us nothing to do but laugh and keep on walking.  So that's what we did, just laughed as we strolled through arrondissement après arrondissement until the rain let up just as we walked around a corner to see le tour Eiffel in all her shining glory.  I know its 'touristy' and 'uncool', but I was really impressed by the Eiffel tower.  We didn't get the chance to go up because of the weather, but I did get to eat a chocolate crepe at the foot of the Eiffel tower, so I met my goal for the weekend.  I actually met this goals twice, when we returned to the Eiffel Tower Friday night to see if it was open, alas it was not.  The crepes were delicious in any case.

The other major attractions I saw were the Louvre, Notre Dame, the Arc de Triomphe, Sacre Coeur, and the Pompidou Center.  From this list, my two favorites were the Sacre Coeur and the Pompidou Center.  Sacre Coeur was simply beautiful.  While I found Notre Dame very impressive, Sacre Coeur was more pure and, simply put, more beautiful to me.  The Pompidou Centre was fantastic.  It is the national musuem of Modern art (from the beginning of the 20th century til now) so it housed some really impressive pieces by Picasso, Miro, Pollack and others.  There was also a really interesting exhibit by female artists that was great.  I guess  I prefer more modern art... as cool as it was to see the Mona Lisa, Venus de Milo and other great works in the Louvre, I'm not at all interested by them.  I'd much rather look at some crazy optical illusion paintings in a building that looks like a hamster cage.  And although the Pompidou Center is huge, the Louvre is just too big.  I was drained after our 2.5 hours there, and we didn't make it to the 2nd floor at all nor to all of the wings.

I also ate lunch at the oldest cafe in France, home to the desk of Voltaire himself and the room where Marat wrote L'Ami du Peuple.  Sure, it was overpriced, but it was a lot of fun.  We read the quotes from all the famous french philosophers and writers on the wall and even pulled out our dictionaries to better understand them, we asked the waitstaff to take our pictures with the desk, we got the crumbs brushed off our table in between the main meal and dessert.  It was AWESOME!  Plus, our waiter was the epitome of a Parisian stereotype.  His voice sounded just like Michel from Gilmore Girls and he had the perfect air of snootiness, although he was actually very nice and obliging.  After he checked to make sure we spoke french, he asked us if we were Parisian, even though every person in the restuarant knew the answer to that question.  It was a nice bit of fake flattery though and I appreciated his efforts nonetheless.

A summary of Paris:

• I loved it, and, at the same time, I can't tell you how glad I am to not live there
• It is impossible to do everything there.
• Paris was cold and gray, but that seems to be the general theme of France in November
• Notre Dame = big and dark; Sacre Coeur = big, light and beautiful
• Louvre = too big, too tiring, too old; Centre Pompidou = just right.
• Eiffel Tower > Arc de Triomphe
• Crepes in Paris = delicious; crepes in general = also delicious
• I'm glad to be safe back in my little mountain city for my last month in France.

One last note on Paris: there were Starbucks, McDonald's and other American things all over the place, which made me a little sad in thinking about global commercialization, but was kind of nice to see as well, a little taste of home.  It was this latter mindset that prompted me to get a McFlurry at McDonald's on the Champs-Elysees.  The McDo's was massive and absolutely packed; there were at least 8 registers open with lines at every one of them.  If it makes anyone feel better about me going to McDonalds in Paris, let me just say that I found my McFlurry disappointing.  I think what I was really hoping for was more along the lines of a Dairy Joy M&M mix in, but that will have to wait for spring time at home I suppose. 

Pictures! 

1. The Eiffel tower at night

2. Sacre Coeur 

3. Me in front of the Pompidou Center

4. The Arc de Triomphe 

5. Inside Notre Dame

6. Winged Victory in the Louvre

7. My friends and I at the Eiffel tower!
8. Your truly with Voltaire's desk at the oldest cafe in France
9. The streets of Paris

Chapitre cinqo: Barcelona!

Hello family and friends!  I'm sorry for the blogging delay, things have been busy around here!  This entry will consider the following 3 topics: 1. commentary on french life, 2. I WENT TO BARCELONA and 3. I'm about to go to Paris.

Section 1.  General life update

I've been watching France a un incroyable talent, the French version of America's Got Talent with my host family for the last few weeks.  I'm pleased to announce that, in my humble opinion, France has no more talent than America.  There are at least as many people dancing with cats and making bad jokes on the French version as in America, if not more.  There are definitely more mimes in the French version.  Instead of the token, mean British judge, Incroyable Talent has a quick-to-the-buzzer Québécois at the reins.  The other aspect of daily life I have to share with you is that last night my host family decided to have "English Dinner".  No, not bangers and mash, we ate our regular french meal, but we spoke "only" in english!  It was a lot of fun and somewhat hilarious as well, since most of the family doesn't speak english very well.  I tried not to laugh too much, since, mercifully, french people don't often laugh at me when I mispronounce things, but there were a times when I just couldn't hold back a laugh.  For example, "sore throat"is apparently a difficult phrase for french speakers.  A few times they asked me to repeat a word in english, but with a french accent so they could understand better.  Eventually the conversation disintergrated into my host siblings looking up the english words for different animals and designating everyone their own species.  All in all, a hilarious evening that I think everyone enjoyed and benefited from.

Section 2. Barcelona!

Last weekend I decided to voyage outside the country, courtesy of easyjet.com and their relatively cheap airfare.  Along with 2 friends, I jetted off to Barcelona, Spain for a few days.  On the flight there, I had one of those moments where all the funny thoughts in your head become unbearably funny and you start laughing out loud, apparently for no reason.  In this case, I was thinking about how I've taken to referring to Grenoble as G.Nobes in my mind and occasionally out loud (since abbreviations are popular with the younger crowd these days).  It then crossed my mind that Barcelona could be easily shortened to B.Lones, and G.Nobes and B.Lones was just too much for me to contain.  Sorry, Easyjet, for interupting an otherwise quiet and tranquil flight.  Back to the real story: Barcelona was beautiful!  

We found our way to the city center, to our hostel, and then to the beach!  The beautiful Mediterranean beach that was warmer than Maine beaches, despite it being November!  I won't spend too much time describing everything we saw, suffice it to say that everything was interesting.  I particularly enjoyed the Gaudi architecture that we were able to see.  Antoni Gaudi was a famous architect from Barcelona known for his whimisical takes on traditional structures.  We spent Friday morning exploring a park he designed and it was quite a whimisical experience between the architecture and the numerous street performers gathered there, bombarding us with songs, crafts, and other 'talents'.  One entrance to the park is on the top of a steep hill, but conveniently, the city of Barcelona has installed escalators on this hill to ease your journey up!  No excuses not to visit!  Another highlight of the weekend for me was the Chocolate Museum!  The entrance fee was about 3 euros, which was completely worth it, if for nothing else, because the ticket was a chocolate bar.  And not any old cheap milk chocolate bar, this was a delicious 70% cacoa chocolat noir.  Confession: I bought a bit of chocolate in the shop at the end of our visit that I thought I might bring home to give to a lucky winner.  Unfortunately for you all, I ate it on Sunday while I was doing my homework, so don't get your hopes up about getting delicious French chocolate for Christmas, odds are it won't make it back to the States.  

Another interesting aspect of the weekend was the language, and by that I mean, no hablo español!  I guess I didn't realize how accustomed to French I've become until I was confronted by a language that was not French!  Not to mention that many people in Barcelona speak Catalan, which is not french, spanish or english!  Suffice it to say that as we were eating lunch in a restaurant just after our arrival, I was so overwhelmed by the language issue that my conversation with the waitress went soemthing like this:

"Waitress: (something spanish... or catalan... clearly implying that she could take the menus)

KK: merci! uh wait.. thanks.. no.. aah.. non, oui.. gracias!"

By the end of the weekend I got used to "si" and "gracias" but it was a struggle.  I almost said gracias to the ticket lady in France when I was buying my bus ticket back to Grenoble.  Too many languages!

One last commentary on Spain before I return to France.  Although I have been thoroughly enjoying all the baked treats at my disposal, the Spanish have something that will never exist in France: the churro.  And not only do they have these wonderful fried dough sticks available throughout the fine city of Barcelona... they have churros con chocolata, which is to say churros with hot chocolate!  A delectable culinary experience which I highly recommend if you have the chance. 

Section 3:

This weekend, I'm heading to Paris with my program.  In fact, by the time this is posted (due to some uploading issues, etc), I may actually be in "Gay Par-ee".  Some thoughts before I head out:

1. Paris is a notoriously touristy city (one of the reasons I didn't want to study there for a semester).  However, since I've never been to Paris, I'm ready to embrace my inner tourist and braves the crowds to see the Eiffel Tower lighting up the city, the Arc de Triomphe being triumphant, to walk along the Champs-Elysees à midi ou à minuit.  Hopefully the Parisians will forgive my tourist tendancies.
2. The ultimate question of the semester: how many of my stereotypes of France can be fulfilled in one semester?  The bread and wine questions were decided within the first hours of being here, the striped shirt craze shortly thereafter, but the jury is still out on berets, accordians and snobbynish.  I'll leave it to Paris to seal the deal on these remaining issues.  I hope to be pleasantly surprised by the charm of Paris.  
3. Earlier this week one of my professors told us that there was a grève des poubelles (literally, a strike of trashcans; in effect, garbage collectors were on strike) rendering Paris a smelly and unpleasent place to be.  Luckily, I have since been informed that the poubelle issue has been resolved, so at the very least, I expect Paris not to stink.  

photo guide:

1. Beach in Barcelona!

2. One of many intricate details of the Sagreda Familia, famous cathedral designed by Gaudi

3. Casa Batllo, a house designed by Gaudi... talk about keeping up with the Jones'

4. My friend and I with a lizard man outside Parc Guell, Gaudi's park.

5. A headless man showing off in Parc Guell

6. Famous lizard statue in Parc Guell

Chapitre 4: KK and Suzie have an adventure (as promised)

This weekend, my friend Suzie and I ventured into the wilderness around Grenoble.  Thanks to Suzie's planning with the help of the people at the Maison de la Montagne in Grenoble, we made reservations to stay at a lodge in a tiny village called Chichiliane located in the parc regional du Vercors.  Friday morning we met at the train and bus station, looking for the train or bus that could take us to Clelles, the nearest village to Chichiliane where the bus goes.  At the train station window, the woman told Suzie there was no train and sold her tickets for a bus to Clelles.  We walked next door to the bus station to ask where the bus would be.  The woman there kindly informed us that there was a grève so there was only a train, not a bus.  We walked back over to the train station and the man at the welcome desk told us there was no train, only a bus.  He then explained that it was a bus run by the train company, hence the reason the bus lady was in the dark about this whole situation.  We made it easily onto the bus without futher issues.  

After about an hour, the bus pulled into an abandoned parking lot outside an old fashioned looking train station with a sign that said "Clelles".  Suzie and I hopped out here and found ourselves in what appeared to be a ghost town.  

We found a map posted on the side of the closed train station, and guessed a direction to walk in.  After just a minute or two of walking, we stumbled across a sign pointing to a path that said "Chichiliane".  We continued to follow signs like this through fields and woods and along the road until eventually we found our selves in the little hamlet of Chichiliane.  After wandering around this tiny village for a few minutes (it was impressive how lost we were considering there were really only 4 roads in the town), we came across the Maison de Mont Aiguille Welcome center, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.  A frazzled looking woman told us to come in and sit down while she finished something.  We were a little nervous because she seemed quite strict, actually, she seemed terrifying.  After a minute or so, she looked up again and explained that she was reading some important document that no one could understand and she wanted to finish so she'd have some chance of figuring out what it was saying.  Once she finished, she started talking to us and it became evident that she was, in fact, the nicest woman in the world.  She asked us about the U.S., about our studies and time in Grenoble, told us all about the Vercors, the town of Chichiliane, the mountains, everything.  She gave us maps and pamphlets, the student discount, led us to our room for the night and showed us how to turn on the heat.  She even told us our french was pretty good.  After this delightful interaction, we ate our lunch of bread, peanut butter, and nutella outside before starting our hike for the afternoon.  This time equipped with a map, we consulted our map and the sign posts as we made our way up to Col de l'Aupet at the foot of Mont Aiguille.  

Before starting on our way though, we had to get out of the town, which was harder than it sounds.  Two guard dogs, some angry geese, a sketchy path between 2 yards, and a return to the town center to start over, we found ourselves on the path to Col de l'Aupet.  As we walked along, we commented on how it was a bit odd that the mountain was called Mont Aiguille, which means Mount Needle, because it appeared to be quite broad and flat, not at all like any needle I care to imagine.  We decided to let it slide and continued our hike, through forests that reminded me of my dear New England, past fields of sheep and cows, into the woods and eventually onto the side of the mountain.  Periodically as we marched along, we stopped to look out at the beautiful scenery that surrounded us: the snow covered Alps to one side, the rest of the Vercors to another, the beautiful valley and land in between.  As we remarked, I feel like an old romantic poet when I start to talk about it, but it really was beautiful and inspiring everytime I looked around.  There were a few minutes when we stopped to look around, then looked at each other and said, "How did we get here?"  It was that kind of place.  

A couple hours later, we arrived at our destination, put all our sweatshirts and warm clothes back on, had a refreshing snack of some kiwis, and posed for pictures (of course!).  Since the afternoon was quickly fading away and there was a chilling wind blowing on the exposed point, we didn't hang around for too long, but got back on the trail to Chichiliane.  As we got back closer to the town, a farmer and his son pulled up in a truck next to us.  They asked where we were going, then offered for us to hop in the back of their truck (which was filled with nordic skis).  We rode the last few meters into town like this, the perfect ending for a wonderful hike.  The fun didn't stop there though, as we found ourselves back in our room ready for dinner.  Pasta, salad (yes, salad - you know who you are) and a wonderful dessert, followed by warm beds and lots of laughs topped off our day.

Saturday morning we rose and realized we actually had no idea when/if a bus or train was coming.  We picked a scenic path back to Clelles, and stopped by the Welcome center to turn in our key, say thanks and ask if our new friend knew when the trains usually come.  She showed us the usual schedule, gave us more pamphlets, showed us a video about the parc, and sent us on our way, letting us know that if there was no train we could come back and spend the night for half price (tempting).  We wandered our way through the countryside on our way back to Clelles, stopping to admire a cute little church in Tresanne along the way.  It was right about here that we looked up at Mont Aiguille again, this time from the other side where the mountain appeared narrow and pointy - like a needle!  Mystery solved. In hindsight, it probably shouldn't have taken us that long to figure it out, but what can I say?  The walking continued after lunch until our arrival in Clelles at about 2:10, where we found a note on the door telling us that the next bus back to Grenoble would be at 5:25. 

With 3 hours to kill, we wandered down into the center of Clelles (a hopping place).  It was here that I witnessed a "WC" at its finest.  We saw the signs "WC DAME" and "WC HOMME" and made our way over, when we heard a terribly loud sound of rushing water.  We opened the door to the WC, only to find a a hole in the ground, through which a Niagra-like amount of water was rushing.  Conviently for us, there were footrests on the sides of said hole in the ground.  Apparently the good people of Clelles have rigged their public WC's to 'automatically flush' every few minutes.  Once the déluge stopped, we both used the WC without event, but we were terrified that the water would start while we were in there.  I'll be honest, it was one of the more heart-racing moments of the trip.  Imagine what would have happened had it flushed while I was using this toilet: the ultimate bidet nightmare!  I feel like I narrowly escaped a terrible fate.  

After recovering from the harrowing WC escapade and wasting some time in the town sitting on a bench, we headed back to the train station to continue sitting on benches for the remain 1.5 hours.  It was then that we discovered the train station was actually open, so at least we could sit inside and be warm.  Eventually, we boarded our bus (there was a total of 4 people on the bus) and headed back to Grenoble on a somewhat nauseating ride through the curvy mountain roads.  All in all, it was probably one of the best weekends I've had here.  It was absolutely refreshing to be breathing in crisp mountain air and feeling the sunlight and wind on my face, not to mention that the number of farm animals I saw makes me want to live in a tent surrounded by sheep for the rest of my life.  

The weekend was also one of those surreal moments that I suppose everyone has as their getting older, where you feel like you're a child pretending to be a grown-up, when in fact you really just are becoming an adult (aaah can't believe I just said that, I don't want to grow up!).  For example, cooking dinner for ourselves in lodge that we rented ourselves, in a town that we got to all by ourselves, without parents or teachers or coaches directing us or giving us advice, made me feel like a little kid playing house (not that I ever played house since I was too busy pretending to be an animal...), except it was real!  I really did all those things all by myself!  Unbelievable!  I'll end my philosophy discussion here before things get too weird.  I hope you're all doing well, and I'd love to hear from you, feel free to send me an email and I promise a response (kjericks@colby.edu)!

photo guide:

1. Mont Aiguille
2. Train station at Clelles
3. Cute town of Chichiliane
4. Me!  At the Col de L'Aupet
5. Handy signs that guided us through the mountains
6. WC nightmare
7. Suzie and I realize why its called Mont Aiguille
8. Cute church in Tresanne with the mountains
9. Another picture of me at the Col de l'Aupet
10. Pretty flowers around a house we walked by