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

Chapitre 4: Manifestations et Moutard

Dear Readers,
When I last left you, I had gone on a whirlwind tour of several beautiful places, places so beautiful and interesting that I couldn't bring myself to interrupt them with menial details about life in Grenoble.  With that said, although daily life here is not as exciting as a trip to Mt Blanc or exploring Roman ruins, interesting and funny things do happen here day in and day out.  Sometimes these manifest themselves as a simple slip of the tongue.  For example, a few nights ago at dinner with my host family, we were once again discussing the words for various berries in French and English.  My host father, Captian Von Trapp, who speaks English quite well in fact, misheard me when I said, "raspberry" and was under the impression that the english word for framboise was "flaspberry".  We all laughed and moved on, but the memory still makes me laugh out loud, maybe because it brings Willy Wonka to mind.  I've also been enjoying meeting people from many cultures and walks of life.  Two weekends ago, I went out to dinner with a few friends to a little Lebanese restaurant we had stumbled upon during the day.  When we stopped by during the day, the owner and chef at the restaurant was so diligent and earnest in his explanations of the food that we decided to return for dinner.  We were not disappointed, as he once again explained everything on the menu in a wonderful mix of French and English, with the tiniest bit of Arabic thrown in.  After serving us, he showed us the proper technique for eating Lebanese food, told us all about his life, finger fed us a different type of dish he was preparing (he came around to us individually and put the food in our mouths), informed us of the subtleties of baclava and the price of pine nuts in France (which is why he imports directly from Lebanon).  In short, it was a perfectly lovely evening and I was glad to make his acquaintance.  In some ways personal interactions like that are more interesting than all the historical and cultural sites I've seen here, but I guess its hard to quantify that type of thing.  I also met a melancholy Irishman named Luke.  He was an unemployed writer bubbling over with philosophical statements and melancholy.  He's here in France because he can't get a job and a girl he knows invited him on holiday.  I swear that he was an actor practicing for a role in an upcoming film, but he was nevertheless an interesting character to meet.  But I digress.

The weekend before this past weekend (the 15-17), I ventured into the land of mustard: yes my friends, I went to Dijon.  Friday morning, my group departed from Grenoble, with the town of Cluny as our destination.  After a delicious lunch of regional specialties, we headed out for a tour of the Abbaye de Cluny with Lesley, our charming guide.  Despite the fact that it was wintery in Cluny.  L'abbaye de Cluny was the largest church in Europe before St Peter's Cathedral in Rome was built.  Interestingly, it had a direct line to the Pope, meaning it wasn't under the authority of any bishop, etc, except for the Pope.  This gave the Abbey an amazing amount of liberty at the time, liberty which was quickly transformed into power.  The history was truly fascinating, but somewhat complicated, which is why our program director allowed us to have our tour in English.  I was grateful for this, mostly because I felt like I appreciated the tour a little more than I would have if it was in french and also because our tourguide Leslie had the most charming English accent and kept asking us if we "wanted to come along now" and all sorts of wonderful other things.  After our interesting if somewhat freezing tour (it was winter in Bourgogne), we continued on to the city of Dijon.  We had a group dinner that night at a nice restaurant around the corner from our hotel. 

For the entrée, we had a choice of a few things, all regional specialities, including escargots.  Now, we'd been warned that escargot would be an option, so I'd been thinking about it all day, and had already shared with my lunch table that I was a bit scared to try escargot because as soon as I hear that word, I just think of myself as a fifth-grader, walking through the hallways of Webster school seeing piles of sawdust covering the vomit from several 4th graders who tried escargot at the end of the year french party.  When it came down to decision time though, I decided to live on the edge.  I thought of all my other friends who have done adventerous things while abroad - bungee jumping and ostrich feeding come to mind - and decided to have my own adventure.  I ordered the escargot.  I must admit, I was terrified when they brought out a little dish with 6 snail shells on it.  I'd been hoping to avoid seeing them in snail form, but when I finally managed to get one out of the shell (harder than it seems), I was wonderfully surprised to find that I liked it!  It turns out that snails don't have any flavor, so the only thing I could taste was the delicious butter and garlic that it was soaked it.  I was proud of myself for trying something new, however, despite some people's suggestions that I should try grenouille (frog!) next, I think I'll just stick with the snails.

The weeked continued with food indulgence, another wine tasting (they never end...) and, of course, a strike!  On Saturday in Dijon there was a manifestation, a demonstration by people who are on strike and hoping to stop a law that would raise the retirement age.  The manifestation ran its normal course during the day, full of families and older people with signs and megaphones, but as things started to wrap up, the people who remained were the young rabble-rousers, who are called casseurs (breakers, because they break things).  As we were getting off the bus from the wine tasting, our director advised us to avoid the area of the manifestation as things can get a little edgy at the end.  Of course, it happened to be right near our hotel, so we walked past several lines of police men in full riot suits facing a bunch of young french people with bandanas over their faces.  My friends and I ducked into the store H&M as there was a new coat mission in progess.  Much to our surprise, a few minutes later we found ourselves locked in H&M because the manifestation was going on right outside and they were afraid a window or door could be broken.  The young people went about their business lighting trash cans on fire and generally harassing the police, as the police/storm troopers continued to push them away and break up the event.  We were able to escape from H&M out of the side fire escape, but certainly was a memorable event for me!

The fun continued in Dijon when I was able to meet up with a few other students from Colby who are spending the semester in Dijon.  It was really nice to see some familiar faces and to be able to talk about good ol' Mayflower Hill, so I was really glad that I was able to meet up with them! 
We wrapped up the weekend with a stop at Beaune, where they have a lovely tiled roof and one of the oldest hospitals in Europe.  We took a tour there, again with a charming tourguide who was french this time, but dying to speak in english to us.  My favorite parts were 1. when she explained to us in English why they used to call a certain oil "Oil of a thousand flowers": "because it was made from cow poops and cows ate all the flowers" and 2. when she told us they still raise money to take care of 'the needies".  I know that I make mistakes all the time in french, so maybe its wrong for me to laugh a little when French people make mistakes in English, but it was really cute and I couldn't help myself.  I really enjoyed the tour though, and the exquisite lunch that followed.

Beautiful tiled roof on L'hospice de Dieu in Beaune

All in all, another good weekend but Sunday night, I found myself happy to back in Grenoble with a warm bed waiting for me.  So, that was last weekend.  This weekend I found myself in Vercors Regional parc, but that's a whole other story.  Coming soon to a blog near you: KK and Suzie have an adventure in the french countryside. 
Once again, a brief photo explanation:
1. Model of the Abbey of Cluny in its heyday
2. Part of the remaining structure at Cluny
3. Escargot!
4. Colby friends in Dijon
5. Tiled roof

Chapitre 3: Daytripping my way around France

Quick stop in Annecy for hot chocolate

Bonjour mes chers amis!  A long awaited (I imagine) update for you all about my adventures and gallivants all over Europe.  Let's begin two weekends ago:

 

Thursday, a few of my friends realized that since we have no class on Friday, we didn't have anything to do.  Thus, we decided to catch a 6:20 am train to Geneva, Switzerland on Friday.  The train ride was lovely, we rolled past Lac Aix-les-bains (maybe you remember this lake from an earlier post) and the beautiful mountainous countryside.  The ride was about 2 hours in total, not bad at all.  We arrived in Geneva just after 8:30, and much to my dismay, didn't have to show our passports or anything.  We did have to change some money into Swiss francs, because Switzerland isn't a member of the European Union, so they don't use euros.  Then we wandered the streets and found a lovely cafe, where I got hot chocolate and pain au chocolat. 

I felt that since I was in Switzerland, I should try to have as much Swiss chocolate as possible.  I continued this trend by stopping at a patisserie on our way from breakfast to a museum for some delicious treats.  After looking around in the Musée d'Art et Histoire, we stopped for lunch, including chocolat mousse for dessert.  The afternoon concluded with some exploring, a tour of the Espace Rousseau, the house where Jean-Jacques Rousseau was born, and some lounging by Lake Geneva.  All in all, it was a great day in a wonderful country.  I had plenty of excellent chocolate, I put the little guidebook I got to good use, and I was able to use clean, public restrooms that Switzerland obligingly provides to its citizens (unlike some other countries I've spent a semester in...).

Marathon weekend continued Saturday, when I roused myself once again before 6 am to go to Avignon and Orange, a trip organized by the CUEF.  Orange is a town in the Provence region of France famous because of its Roman history.  We first stopped at an Arc de Triomphe built by the Romans celebrating their capture of the town, then went over for a tour of the ancient Roman amphitheater, one of the largest left standing in Europe.  It was huge!  It was truly hard to believe that it was built by the Romans, I can't imagine how long it must have taken them.  

From there, we board the bus again and headed over to Avignon.  The name Avignon might sound familiar to you if you've ever heard the song "Sur le Pont d'Avignon" (On the bridge of Avignon).  The Pont d'Avignon is very old and famous, and was quite fun to walk out on and explore.  Sometime in the 17th or 18th century, part of the bridge was swept away by a flood, so it doesn't go all the way across the river, which is kind of funny.  The other major sight in Avignon is the Palais de Papes (Papal Palace?).  Avignon was the seat of the Catholic church during the 1400's, so the Pope lived there in his palace.  It was very cool to walk around and see the some of the ornate paintings still left of the walls and some of the decorations.  I thought it was especially interesting to compare the ornate decor of the Palais with the simplicity and lack of decor at the Abbey we visited; obviously the Pope (at least back then) lived a different lifestyle than the Monks.  

Another interesting thing I saw in Avignon was a feather-footed pigeon.  In fact, it was horrifying.  It appeared to be a normal pigeon, until I noticed that its feet were completely covered with fluffy feathers!  I realize that this description doesn't sound very horrifying, but if you had seen it, you would agree, it was truly disgusting.  The day concluded with a stop at another pont that is actually not a bridge at all, but a Roman Aquaduct.  It was a beautiful place since the sun was setting behind the hills and river as we walked around on this ancient structure.  But I was ready for a nap when we finally got on the bus to go home (about a 3 hour drive) around 8.

But the weekend didn't end there, my friends!  Nope, on Sunday I got up at 7 once more to go hiking in the Chartreuse.  With a few friends, we boarded a bus headed towards St Pier en Chartreuse, a quaint ski town according to my host family.  We got off a stop before St Pier at a monastery.  It was a beautiful day and we hiked around in the Chartreuse Mountains behind the monastery.  After hiking, everyone else headed into the Monastery museum.  Having been to several museums in the past few days, I opted stay on the hill behind the monastery and enjoy nature... and the donkeys that lived in the field.  

I shared my apple with one of them, and enjoyed watching a French family struggle with one.  For some reason, this donkey took a liking to their blanket and would not leave it alone.  My favorite part was when the mother was sleeping on the blanket and the donkey was essentially standing over her, chewing on the blanket.  The father then came over and tried to push the donkey in the opposite direction, while the little children waved dandelions in the donkey's face, to no avail.  It was really funny.  Anyway, I returned to Grenoble thoroughly exhausted, ready for a shower, a big meal and a good night's sleep.  

This past weekend, I stayed in Grenoble on Friday and Saturday, which were adventures of their own accord.  On Sunday I once again boarded a bus at 7 am, this time with Chamonix-Mt Blanc as my destination.  Mt Blanc is the tallest mountain in Europe, and Chamonix is the adorable ski town at its base.  Prepare yourselves for a description that seems fake and impossible to believe:  As we wandered around the most picture-perfect ski town I've ever been to, with the snow-covered mountains all around us, we stumbled across a troupe of alpine folk wearing lederhosen and playing Alp-horns in the town center!  If only we had seen a mountain goat, I would have died from the quaintness of it all.  But since there were no mountain goats in sight, we took a ride up le télépherique d'Aiguille du Midi, a gondola-type contraption that is essentially a giant box with a 70 person capacity pulled up the mountain by cables.  

At the first stop, about halfway up, a bunch of people got out to do parapente, which translates roughly to "running really fast and jumping off the side of a tall mountain with a parachute" so that was neat to see.  We continued upwards to the snow covered peak, and it was incredible!  It was so cool to look out and see all the mountains and countryside and snow and ice below us.  It was definitely one of the most incredible places I've ever been.  As we looked around and commented on how thin the air was and how out of breath we were after walking up some stairs, we saw some alpinists arrive at the top after hiking up.  No big deal, they walked and I rode; only difference was I didn't have to bring my ice pick or crampons.  

After some time spent exploring, we rode back to the halfway point and explored the alpine biome.  It was beautiful there too because the rocks were all covered with bright green lichens and mosses and there were reddish flowers and bushes all over the place that made a really beautiful color scheme.  Eventually we made our way back down with enough time to eat delicious desserts and hop back on the bus to Grenoble.  All in all, 2 wonderful weekends full of interesting and awesome adventures!

Editor's note: I didn't add captions to most of these pictures because it gets really frustrating with the blog formatting, so I'll give a little explanation here.  

1. Annecy, where we stopped for breakfast on the way to Mt Blanc; 

2. Flower clock in le Jardin Anglais, Geneva;

3. Yours truly in front of the lake in Geneva;

4. The amphitheater in Orange; 

5. The Pont D'Avignon; 

6. Mountains and Monastery; 

7. French family vs. donkey; 

8. Chorus of Alp-hornists;

9, 10, 11 are all views from Mt Blanc!

Chapitre 3: Disillusionment

Disclaimer:  This post is one giant complaint.  It contains very little information about the goings-on in my life.  If I were you, I'd read it anyway; but if you really just want to know what I've been up to, I have another post on the way just for you.

Well friends, I'm sorry to announce that my fairytale relationship with public transportation and city life in general has sadly come to an end.  After enjoying a month of cramped tram rides, hectic bus transfers and generally smelliness, I've finally had enough.  I'd love a 20 minute drive through the countryside to get where I need to be.  I'd even love to drive from the Colby campus to Walmart.  I just don't want to have to sit next to that guy and his smelly dog anymore.  And I really don't want to ride a tram to campus with every student in Grenoble who has class at 8:30.  Allow me to provide some context for my sudden disillusionment:

1. The stereotype that France is a country prone to going on strike is based in reality.  There have been at least 5 strikes since I've been here, with another scheduled for Tuesday.  Luckily, I've made it through the strikes relatively unscathed due to the location of my house and campus, but its still stressful to have to wonder if I'll be able to get to campus or if there will be a manifestation in the way.  Plus, I can't help but wonder if the strikes of the public transportation system are really targeting the right people.  I suppose they can be crippling enough to affect everyone, but I feel pretty confident that Nicolas Sarkozy and company aren't riding the tram to work.  I, however, would love for the people of France to be able to retire at 60.  Unfortunately, I can't vote here and I really need to use the public transportation system.  I just want to ride my bus in peace and harmony.
2. This post has actually been transcribed from the notebook it was originally written in, at 2:00 this afternoon as I sat in the hot sun watching a bus stop to see if any buses were coming.  Answer:  Non.  I already knew that the trams had stopped, but rumor had it some buses were still running.  This was false.  Apparently there was some sort of "incident" which led to nearly a complete shut down of the trams and buses.  This was inconvenient for me because I had class in the morning until 10:30, but then not again until 5:30.  While I had originally planned on going to the gym and doing some errands in between, my plans changed when I realized I would have to walk anywhere I wanted to go.  I opted to stay on campus for my nice 7-hour break, which was a great time to do some homework.  Then I had a nice 45 minute walk home after my class.  In all seriousness, the weather was lovely so it really wasn't bad at all, but a tram would have been much more convenient.  By a happy coincidence, I happened to have 1.5 changes of clothes, shampoo, a towel, an apple and a banana with me, so I considered finding a little corner of campus to call my own, but since I don't have class on Friday I decided to make the trek home.

I suppose the lesson I learned here is that public transportation really is great when it works... and when it doesn't work, it's the pits.  I've now added "normal cars and roads" to the list of things I never imagined I would miss.  Here are a few other things on the list:

1. Good ol' college-ruled paper.  Almost all of the paper here is either graph paper or a strange mutation of graph and ruled paper.  Although my 3-d drawing skills have increased immensely (architect school, here I come!), I actually get dizzy looking at my notes sometimes. 
2. Milk.  I know I've mentioned this before, but I'm still trying to get over it.
3. Window screens.  They don't have them here and there are flies everywhere.

In summery, things I will not miss about France:

1. Constant strikes/unhappiness and public transport problems 
2. This darn cat.  I might miss it a little, but I've thrown it off my bed at least 6 times in the last half hour. When will it learn that I don't want its disease and craziness (fur) all over my pillow? 
3. French keyboards.  I used one earlier today, it was so hard!  The A is where the Q is, the M is where the colon is, the W is where the Z is, its all a big mess and I want no more of it.
4. Lack of milk.
5. Flies