first day out: an intro to cycling in Beaujolais

We started out our cycling tour on Dad's birthday which was more than fitting. I got up early and made sure that everything was packed because my host family had told me that anything I left I'd have to return to get. The morning itself went pretty smoothly. I arrived earlier than anticipated at my parent's hotel and because the door was locked in the morning, waited outside until Dad came and got me. From there we made our way to the train station and, as we found ourselves with plenty of time, were able to stop for coffee and tea. As we'd purchased some croissants and fruits the day before in Beaune we didn't have to worry too much about for breakfast but it was nice to sit down and stop for just a bit.

When our train came through we boarded and got ourselves comfortable, Dad taking control as the Man In Charge of Baggage. Naturally as we were so anxious to get going and a bit nervous about the trip in general, we made a few mistakes. Our train made several stops before our destination and one of them at 8:45. As this was the time of our expected arrival in Macon, we got up and got off. At the wrong station. The train pulled away and both Mom and I were left to explain to Dad just how we'd gotten off at the wrong station (the time, we didn't ask a conductor, nerves). Regardless it became apparent that we couldn't just catch the next train headed to Macon as the next train wouldn't arrive until 1PM.

Mom attempted to hitch a ride with a group of French cyclists (doomed from the start), called Cyclomundo to tell them the situation and I talked to the station master to try to figure out how to get to the right place. We soon figured out that a bus would be coming in about a half an hour and that it would reach Macon a half hour later. Multiple forms of French public transportation was our saving grace. When the bus arrived mom made me double check with the driver that the bus would drop us off at the Macon train station and I did so.

The half hour passed relatively quickly and it was only traffic that slowed our arrival. Once there we soon spotted our guide who helped us with our baggage and then set off for our Hotel (Chateau de la Barge) where we'd be starting our trek. As we drove there we looked at the maps she'd given us that marked our daily trips. I can remember clearly as my Dad's eyes widened in fear at the small maps which marked our journey. In our little flip books they were maps of the area with all the small intersecting roads, town and land mass names overlaid with thick blue lines that showed our journey each day. There were no turn by turn directions and the path was anything but clear.  He asked "do we get a GPS?" and when our guide said yes he sighed in obvious relief.

The Hills of Beaujolais with Solutre Rock in the background.

When we reached our Hotel (a picturesque manor set back from the road) we changed into our cycling gear and then Dad set about working (with our guide) to get our bikes all set up. Both he and Mom had brought each of our pedals and then their seats and he worked on getting us all road ready. Mom and I filled our water bottles but mostly left our personal bike mechanic to it.

As soon as the bikes were set our guide showed us how the GPS worked and this was where the warning bells went off. Firstly our guide clearly did not have any idea how to work the GPS (and we later learned that this GPS had never been used before). Secondly we soon discovered there was no turn by turn navigation. Thinking everything would be alright we set out but things kept going wrong. We rode up and down hills, took turns and then turned around all the while being told that we were "off course". There were repeated stops at the side of the roads with both Mom and I examining our maps trying to figure out both where we were and how we could get on track. Dad made the discovery that our GPS loop never began at the hotel and that we didn't have any actual directions to get to the beginning of our loop. Our GPS was just an arrow on whitespace that turned as we did and marked the path we were going on (but only once Dad told it to) but only said "off track" when we were off track. I had horrible visions of the rest of our trip: us cycling and then stopping, consulting maps, getting lost in the Beaujolais countryside and only barely making our destinations.

When we finally did get on our intended track and figured out our route, I had never been more relieved. By this time it was one in the afternoon and we had only just started a 70K (40 mile) route in the hilly Beaujolais countryside. We made minor stops to take pictures but for the most part we were focused on the road and making as much mileage as was possible.

At around two o'clock we began looking for a place to get some food but every restaurant or cafe we passed in the villages was closed. I felt myself getting increasingly more hungry and tired. The worst hit as we were going up a very gradual hill. I felt incredibly slow and since the hill had such a low gradient my opinion of my cycling skills plummeted. Dad dropped back to be with me while Mom kept going steadily up. At one point I stopped, exhausted and didn't know how I'd get back on and get to the top of a hill that wasn't in sight but Dad coaxed me back on and road by my side in a high gear. His presence was an immeasurable help and when he put his hand on my back and helped to push me onward I felt both relief and failure. When he later told me that he had to do that sometimes for his own cycling friends the failure slipped away and I was just grateful.

Photo via Dad of the Beaujolais hills.

Eventually with his coaching and encouragement we made it to a turn. We stopped where Mom was waiting and I inhaled some energy gummie bears. Our day was far from over but with a little more energy in me I felt capable of continuing even though there was plenty more climbing to do. It wasn't until the top of the climb when my parents noticed that my legs were shaking that we knew we all needed food fast and that we'd have to take a short-cut because the rest of the ride at my state and at the time of the day was just impossible. I recognized the name of a town that our map marked on a road sign and instead of following our path we took it. Going downhill was a relief but it didn't relieve our hunger. At the first village we stopped and I asked a shopkeeper where we could get some food only to be told "nowhere". Apparently in the Beaujolais region, Tuesday was a day in which nothing was open. After the Sunday in which nothing was open and the Pentecost Monday in which little was open, to find out that the one time in which we really needed some food was a day in which nothing was open as well, was laughable (for the future) but mostly incredulous. Dad said "It's a fasting ride" and Mom answered by saying that she hardly thought I needed a fast.

With this new information in mind, I asked the woman directions to the town in which our Hotel was situated and when she gave them to us, we set off. The ride back was mostly downhill and went by pretty rapidly with the only incidents being GPS related that we quickly resolved. At the Hotel we asked if we could have some food seeing as how we'd missed our lunch destination, and they offered some salads and cheese. We changed and they brought out beautiful salads as well as a cheese cart with which we were able to pick from. Mom made sure I drank my entire bottle of electrolyte enhanced water while we had our well earned food.

After we changed into our swimsuits and cooled off in the pool. In my swim suit I noticed that the sun and my cycling shorts had resulted in a very clear tan line that would persist well until the end of the summer.

Cooled off and with nourishment we all napped and then woke up in time for dinner outside. Dinner itself was an incredible treat and was both fancy but also filling. I had beef as the main course while my parents both had duck which our waitress jokingly (in what we think was a laughing at us situation) told us that it was "lady duck" which apparently makes a difference as long as taste goes. For dessert mom and I had hoped that Dad would get a candle (since we had asked that morning and they'd told us they would) but there was no candle and instead we just wished him a happy birthday.

Stomachs full and with a long day ahead of us we went to bed.

one plus two makes three: the family back together again

The morning of June 11th was a very surreal one for me. In many ways it felt similar to the evening I flew out of Boston. The days until my parents arrival had slowly ticked off but they were so drawn out that it was quite strange and exciting to know that in a mere hour or so I would be able to not just see them via skype but be able to hug them and then show them France.

I don't believe there were any troubles at all with customs or with getting bags because about an hour after the flight was supposed to land I saw them come through the door. I hadn't bought tickets for us ahead of time in case of a delay or any unforeseen difficulties so we made our way down to Terminal 2 where we bought tickets to Dijon and also RER tickets to Paris (as Charles de Gaulle is outside of the city).

Mom and Dad at lunch on their first day in France.

We decided on a train that would leave in a few hours. There was one much sooner (almost too soon) but tickets were only available in First Class and it would have been a tight squeeze with my tired traveling parents. Instead we opted for one that would arrive in Dijon at about 1PM. This turned out to be an excellent decision as it gave us time to rest outside of Gare de Lyon (where my mother first thought she might floss her teeth until I reminded her we'd just been traveling on the metro and hadn't washed our hands), get a bit of food in our system and also arrive in Dijon just after check-in at their hotel began.

Mom and Dad both fell asleep on the train - though before sleeping Dad did get quite a few Hipstamatic shots with his iPhone - and I was glad to be there so that they didn't have to worry about much more then walking.

Our arrival in Dijon was another reminder of how much warmer Dijon is than Paris which to me can be almost shockingly chilly at times. Mom, who had been worried about the fact that she had not brought pants (apparently me telling her she ought to bring a jacket was not enough of a hint that she should have also brought a pair of jeans), was relieved with the warmer weather. I was a little nervous that my parents would think their hotel was too far away when our walk from the train to the hotel felt awfully long but was quite relieved when they agreed that the fact that it was nestled in old Dijon, in a quiet area that was closest to the heart of things was best.

Mom and I at Place de la Liberation, photo via Dad and
his Hipstamatic iPhone.

Once there I checked them in in French which felt an awful like a final exam as what I was communicating was quite important. We all freshened up a bit and then set out for lunch. Mom and Dad didn't have much of a preference, so I picked a cafe in the Place de la Liberation. Mom and I both had delicious croque monsieurs with salads and Dad had an omelette. The waiters at this particular cafe could all speak English and told my parents they could have English menus but both of them chose to let me do the translating for them which made me feel quite happy with myself as one of my goals upon coming to France wasn't to achieve fluency but competency and in traveling with my parents I found I'd achieved this.

After eating we walked around Dijon, enjoying the sunshine, and all of the shops. As we'd arrived after 1PM it was too late to go to the market in Les Halles but I think we made up for this fact by walking in to a cheese shop. It must be said that most people get excited about going to France for the wine but my dad was most excited by the prospect of cheese and upon walking into a traditional cheese shop he found himself in heaven. I don't think he knew which way to look or which cheese he wanted to try.

Dad in one of his favorite sorts of shops: those that sell cheese.

I had never been into this particular cheese shop but had gone to the cheese factory and had seen my host father ask the woman there if we could have a tasting. She readily said yes and so when I asked if we could try some cheeses she asked me back "which ones?". Dad was naturally in a sort of heaven and after trying some cheeses (our 'degustation' was, like the one before, free). We bought a bit of epoisses to eat with bread for the evening and then bought a simple French baguette.

We wandered around a bit more and I pointed out some hidden bits of Dijon, gave what dates I knew of certain buildings (several of which go back to the 13th century) and also brought my parents past the chouette (owl) on the side of Dijon's Notre Dame. We ended up doing a large circle in order to touch it going in the right direction but time wasn't an issue so it didn't really matter.

Dad, reviewing his pictures, in la Place de la Liberation.

Afterwards we went back to the hotel where I helped Dad get a code to use to WIFI and then we all had a little nap until it was time for dinner. I chose crepes for our first night as I knew that not much would be open on Sunday and it was absolutely necessary to have them at least once. We did, each of us having a savory dinner crepe (mine was goat cheese and honey) and Dad and I splitting a desert crepe with chocolate and bananas.

After dinner we walked around a bit more, although all the stores were closed, and then headed back to the hotel where we had our cheese and baguette and then I headed back to my small room at Place Wilson.

The next morning I made my way to my parent's hotel. The night before I had suggested 9AM and mom and dad had both scoffed and we made the meet-up time earlier with both my parents saying they'd probably get a coffee while they waited for me. I was a bit skeptical of this because most cafes wouldn't be open before 9AM but agreed to it. I put an emphasis on them wanting to meet up earlier because at 8:30 when I pushed open their door and announced my arrival (quietly) they were blurry-eyed, very sleepy and could have probably slept well past 9AM.

My dish of canard (duck) at the restaurant Epicerie & Cie on our second
 night in Dijon.

We all had breakfast in the hotel and both my parents learned that nutella wasn't some sort of vegetable paste similar to Vegemite but actually a delicious chocolate treat. After breakfast our first mission was to find an espresso for Dad. By the end of our trip he became quite good at asking for "un double espresso à emporter". This task turned out to be much more difficult that initially anticipated and we ended up moving from seat to seat in one cafe because we weren't being served and then finally moved cafes. I've always found the process of being served in French cafes to be bizarre because you typically sit down without being seated and wait for the server to come to you. Usually it's quick but at this one particular cafe a waiter never came to us despite the fact that we were visible and clearly agitated.

Regardless of our troubles Dad did finally get his double espresso, mom did as well and I got my tea. After the caffeine intake we walked across the Place de la Liberation towards the Palais des Ducs where I hoped we'd be able to go up to le Tour de Phillipe le Bon. There were a number of scheduled times to visit the tower but there were about three differing schedules and we weren't sure. As a result we ended up waiting (sitting by the small fountains of the Place de la Liberation), then eating lunch (sandwiches to go at a bakery) and then a bit more waiting.

Beaune, via Dad.

Finally after worrying that we'd missed the scheduled time, we ascended the Tour. I'd gone up to the top once before with Kendra, Sean and Michelle but it was towards the end of winter and a tad bit overcast. This time the weather was very nice and we were able to see quite far away. I pointed out what landmarks I knew from the top but otherwise we relied upon the maps at the top. On the way down Dad purposely sneezed very loudly and it echoed throughout the tower sending Mom into fits of laughter that thankfully did not result in her tumbling down the spiraling steps of the tower.

I had been worried about what to do for Sunday as not much is open and was very relieved and excited to find out that the World Inline Skating Championships would be in Dijon, specifically at Place Wilson. Knowing this I was able to show my parents the apartment building I'd lived in, the small bathroom where I cut my foot and the room that I'd spent the last week in and then also watch the race. The two races that we saw were simultaneous and were the most advanced men's and women's races. We stayed there for a few hours, watching the progress until the men's race had a winner and until a winner for the women's became obvious. The women's winner wore a pair of sparkly pink skates which could have only been worn by someone very good (a kin to the runner who had the golden pair of cleats) and by winning she proved her worth.

The wine cellars in Beaune with some wines that go back to before WWII.

When the excitement began to die down we made our way back into town. We took a small detour so that I could see if some restaurants at Place d'Emile Zola were open. A friend had recommended one restaurant there and I hoped that it would be open so that we could have some good French food for dinner. We were rewarded and after seeing that they were open we headed back to the hotel where we had a nap and then headed back out again.

The restaurants themselves all lined the square and the outdoor seating of each filled the center of it. As it was very nice outside we chose the "terasse". Mom and Dad both had massive salads with all sorts of treats inside of them while I chose the duck. Naturally we drank Burgundy wine with our meal.

Tasting wine in one of the caves of Beaune.

The next day we left Dijon for Beaune. While Dijon is the political capital of the Burgundy region, Beaune is the capital of wine and in order to taste wine and buy the best it was best to visit. We we were able to buy inexpensive train tickets there and back again and though we missed the first train because of someone that took ages in buying one ticket we caught the next one soon after.

In Beaune our first stop was a cave that a friend had recommended but when we found out that the cave was just tasting and not a tour, we had to look elsewhere. Naturally by the time we found an alternative it was lunchtime and therefore the caves had closed. To pass the wait we visited the Wine Museum which presented a rich history of how wine in Burgundy is (and has been) made, stored and drunk. Dad remarked to a Frenchmen that came into a room where we watched a documentary on barrel making that you could see that the barrel maker was missing several fingers.

A family hug at the train station in Beaune, via Dad.

From there we bought sandwiches and some cold drinks and sat in the shade until the cave opened. The cave in particular was the Marché aux Vins which turned out to be very commercial and did not have the best wine. This was a little disappointing as far as our taste buds were concerned but I was glad we all had the experience of walking through the wine cellars and tasting wine all the while surrounded by very old wine.


After the wine tour dad bought a bottle of wine that could be drunk at the moment (and not aged) and we headed back to the train station. Naturally while there were frequent trains running from Dijon to Beaune, there were less frequent trains during the middle of the afternoon and we discovered that the next train back would not be for several hours. With this news we headed back to Beaune where we decided to buy our mustard and also our Creme de Cassis (although this could have been purchased before going to the train station) as it was likely that by the time we eventually got back to Dijon all of the stores would be closed.

Mom loves this one but this us her and I, and I think
I'm laughing at Dad who wouldn't stop taking
photos of us. This is his of course.

Back in Dijon we dropped off our purchases and then after a small break headed to Place Wilson where I introduced my host parents to my Mom and Dad. M et Mme de Regloix were very gracious and offered us an apertif (Creme de Cassis and a cremant) as well as a bit of food to snack on. We had a mix of conversation in French and English with me translating when either side did not understand. It turned out from a slideshow I had shown the de Regloix that they thought we had moved houses at one time as the different views of my house made it seem as if the houses were two different kinds. In talking about the differences between the US and France, property rights came out and I was forced to explain that in the US - or at least in New Hampshire - the individual has more power than the state. Mme quickly responded that the opposite was true in France. Mom later said that she was very glad dad hadn't stated the New Hampshire state motto of "Live Free or Die" and therefore forced me to translate it!

At the train station again, via Dad.

We were luckily able to stop the conversation in order to get food (for a little bit it looked like we wouldn't get away in time to eat) and said goodbye to the de Regloixs. M was very insistant on me coming back the next year and I could only answer "we'll see" because my return to France is a certainty but an unknown and definitely not within the next year. For dinner I had hoped to eat Moroccan but it was Pentecost Monday and therefore most things were closed. As a result we went back to Place d'Emile Zola but instead of eating at the same restaurant as the night before, we had pizza. Afterwards I walked my parents to a point where they could get back to the hotel on their own and then we went our separate ways for the final night in Dijon.

Lastly while we poked fun at Dad for video-taping us walking through the streets of Dijon, he had the right idea and here's his capture of a beautiful city: thank you dad.

of bookstores and artistic communities

I should start this by saying that at this very moment I am sitting very comfortably on the couch in our living room, looking out the window at our dog, Curly Joe, run around the hard like an idiot. So I will: I am home. However, since the time that I last wrote a blog entry about Versailles, I've done quite a lot and I still think that regardless of being once again in the United States, I ought to write it down. So what will follow are a series of entries written about the last week leading up to my parent's arrival in France, their arrival in France, our time in Dijon together, our cycling tour of Beaujolais and our three days in Paris.

La Rue da la Liberté in Dijon full of all sorts of unfurled flags. I never
understood the significance of them.

I, somewhat unfortunately, spent my last week or so in Dijon largely alone because all of the other exchange students had gone home. Amy left at the very end of May. Sean, Nick and Kayla left a few days into June. Michelle's sister came around the same time and the two of them set off traveling around France, and Kendra set off to England to visit a friend and is currently doing research in New Orleans.

So from the 5th to the 9th I was alone and also in a different room than the one I'd spent my entire semester in. My host parents had new students coming and so I was relocated to a small room above. Ironically enough I had a fridge and a microwave for the last week despite not really having one for the preceding four months. Not much went on in this period of days aside from an accident in the new shower (new room - new bathroom) where I sliced the top of my foot open.

The Sorbonne Square, the historical home to the University of Paris, one
of Europe's oldest Universities.

The shower itself was basically within a closet and the doors to the small shower swung inwards and when I was getting out of it my foot cut caught on the door swinging to close. To cut the entire ordeal short: I was very glad to have a first aid kit and only now - after my return to the US - am I able to walk around in sandals although my foot is still healing.

On the 9th I left for Paris where I stayed once again with Becky and her family. My parents didn't fly in until the 11th but I wanted a full day to see some things I hadn't had the chance to see previously and might not get to see with my parents.

I was particularly excited about visiting the bookstore Shapespeare & Company mostly because I'd seen some very lovely pictures of it and I very much love bookstores. Before going to Becky's house, I was shown where it was so that I could come back the following day, and on the 10th I took a bus that stopped several times in the Quartier Latin (Latin Quarter) and found it.

Unfortunately while it was full of things I loved - books - I found the selection to be disappointing and honestly below average as far as bookstores go. Perhaps I have the extreme luck to work in a bookstore with not only an incredible selection but also the friendliest booksellers. Upon buying a British edition of A. S. Byatt's The Children's Book I was handed back my book with the receipt tucked in with not a word from the person behind the counter. No smiles, no eye-contact and no "Have a good day" in English or French. I found the entire experience to be very bizarre and was even more astounded when I told the story to Becky and she said "That's the French".

Perhaps that's the Parisian French - in all the small shopping I've done throughout Dijon and in my visiting I've always been greeted with a smile - but to have little to no customer service in a bookstore? It felt very wrong. For all the history Shakespeare & Company has with great writers frequenting it to read and talk together, I left it nonplussed. I suppose the only good thing I've gotten out of it was the book which I'd long heard great things about and am only now enjoying.

After the bookstore I made my way towards food. The Quartier Latin is mostly known for its student life and is home to the Sorbonne and also has a large number of multi-cultural restaurants. I had a craving for falafels to which I blame Amsterdam for fostering a love of and luckily found a good place where I could grab some pita bread filled with hummus, falafel and all other sorts of delicious stuff.

Food eaten I decided to go to the opposite end of Paris (naturally) and go up to Montmartre. I'd been one before when I was 16 and visiting with a group and school but on the first trip to Paris this year hadn't made it with the others. If you recall there were some problems with meeting up and communication. I was very glad when this trip to Paris and the subsequent one with my parents went much more smoothly.

In Montmartre I mostly just walked around while avoiding people attempting to sell me crap. I didn't have anything specific to see, aside from Sacre Coeur. The Basilisque in question sits on top of the hill which is Montmartre and overlooks Paris. Construction of it began in 1875 and was finished in 1914 making it incredibly recent. I later found that it is actually a double monument: a national penance to the excess of the Second Empire and the Paris Commune of 1871 and an embodiment of conservative moral order. The irony that Montmartre is the home of the Moulin Rouge and has for a long time been a community of artists which once hosted Picasso, Van Gogh, Monet, Dali and others does not escape me.

Apart from Sacre Coeur, I mostly just wandered, looking at shops and people watching. When it got to be later in the afternoon I headed back towards Becky's house.

The next morning I woke up very early - 4:45 to be precise - and began making my way via bus and RER towards Charles de Gaulle airport and my parents.

Versailles: the center of absolute monarchy

This is somewhat belated but it needs to be recorded so you have my apologies. Last weekend, to celebrate the last weekend we would all be together (as of today I am the last UNH student in France), Kendra, Sean, Amy, Kevin and I took a trip to Versailles.

We had decided to do it the weekend before but with a round-trip ticket that only costs 18 EUR it was well worth it despite the fact that we had to take a train that left at quarter till 6 and didn't arrive at Paris Bercy until 9AM. In Paris we bought tickets for the RER which took us directly to Versailles. With some walking and puzzling out of the metro maps, we arrived at the Palace by about 11AM. Once there we found out that as students studying in the European Union (with visas and student cards to prove it) we were able to get into the Palace and the Gardens with only paying 8 EUR. This turned out to be an enormous deal as without this handy student discount we would have ended up paying around 25 EUR.

In the chamber of the king which seemed to be made entirely out of gold.

We waited in a very long but fast-moving line to get into the Palace and once inside the sheer excess and riches of Versailles was before our eyes. The Palace is less famous as a building and more as the symbol that it represented: absolute monarchy. Built by Louis XIV, it was the political capital of France from 1682 (when Louis XIV moved from Paris) to 1789 when the French Revolution broke out. The reasons for building Versailles were largely based off of Louis XIV's desire for more power. By shifting the center of government and requiring nobles to spend a certain amount of time at Versailles he effectively prohibited them from establishing regional control.

The hall of mirrors.

At the time of the visit I was mostly struck by the sheer wealth of the Palace, but in re-visiting it I'm reminded of Apollo's Angels (a book by Jennifer Homans that masterfully tells the history of ballet) and how ballet began with Louis XIV, in Versailles as court etiquette. Ballet's five positions are in fact derived from the movements courtiers could make without turning their back on the king.

Symbolically and historically I find Versailles to be very fascinating but the sheer wealth that wafts from the Palace isn't my cup of tea. It's a sight to behold for sure but I prefer things much more quieter, intimate and with a personality that isn't derived solely from wealth and status. That said Versailles was very cool to see but not somewhere I'd want to live and certainly not my favorite place visited in France (a question I also have no answer to).

Kevin taking a photo.

The Palace itself had an exhibit of various thrones of kings, courtiers, ambassadors from all around the world. The exhibit itself took time to explain the differences between "authority" and "power". While many (myself included) might think of these as being one in the same, there are notable differences.. Authority, for example, is traditionally shown seated while power is shown standing. The physical manifestation of authority is therefore that of a throne whereas power is shown through a crown and a sovereign should ideally have both objects and project both authority and power.

Versailles is, of course, more than just the palace. The gardens and their many fountains are an equal treat. The French garden style, it must be noted, is very different from the gardens I know best. The entire point of French Gardens is to impose order over nature and because of it they seem to be mostly made up of hedges with flowers growing in between them to create patterns. While there were flowers growing the main attraction of the gardens at this time of the year seemed to be the fountains which at certain times during the day went off in intricate patterns.

The Gallery of Battles where, among works depicting Jeanne d'Arc and the
siege of Orleans we also saw one with George Washington.

We wandered the gardens for more than an hour, partly because there was so much to see and partly because we were waiting for the water shows to begin. When they did we saw a few in action and then headed for the Grand Trianon, the retreat of the Royal Family. Given that the French monarchs saw fit to construct massive castles which functioned as hunting lodges it should not be surprising that they had to build a retreat from their massive castle.

The Grand Trianon itself sits right next to the Petit Trianon which is best known as the favored house of Marie Antoinette. We were unfortunately a bit pressed with time and didn't get the opportunity to visit the Petit Trianon and also the village Marie Antoinette had constructed but were able to get a glimpse of what "low-key" meant for French royalty.

The floor of the Grand Trianon.

From the Trianon we hiked our way back to the Palace, then to the metro stop and finally to the train station where we were able to grab sandwiches for our ride back and also catch the train with time to spare.

jazz and an arrest that rocked France

It is a profoundly strange feeling knowing that I am nearly done with my semester in France. At the moment I am currently in my last week of classes, will be taking one exam this week and the rest on Monday and Tuesday. Some of our group - those who have been taking classes at the university - are already done. It seems so strange knowing that June is just around the corner and that my five months in France is nearly up. I can remember quite clearly passing through security in Logan airport: scared and exhilarated for France. It's very weird to think that in a month I'll be in Charles de Gaulle going back.

Amy and Kayla, who posed for my first picture taken with Rory II.

I am; however, still in France and the next month and the past few weeks have not been just waiting for the entire semester to be done. Classes are still the same, though harder simply because the weather is so beautiful, my host family is still very friendly and welcoming (I've continued to have many conversations in which I try to explain things that are already hard to explain in English such as aperture, depth of field, and Jacobinism in Scotland) and I once again have a working camera.

Does this look familiar to anyone? It might, I took a picture of the same
place but in January when the statue was missing. For a comparison,
here's the first: finalement le soleil.

I unfortunately had to pay 66 EUR to pick it up from La Poste because of taxes but did not care at the time and don't particularly care now because it's here and I'm much happier because of it. In the past week or so we've celebrated someone's 21st birthday (American style because it is only significant in America), had a pizza party at the Place Wilson fountain and went to the Dijon Jazz Festival.

A saxaphonist in a jazz line by Les Halles (the markets).

Another shot of the jazz line.

The Jazz Festival itself was pretty cool. None of us had any idea of what to expect because the only information we had on it was where it would be and at what times. As for what the Jazz Festival was: there was a jazz line walking around the market which was very good and also very cool to see (and follow), a gospel choir by the carousel (every French city has one) and performances at Place de la Liberation. I'm not much of an expert in jazz so I can't quite attest to the quality of the performances but I can say that we thoroughly enjoyed everything and that the last and main act, apart from being German, looked and sounded quite professional.

The first performance at Place de la Liberation.

Another fixture in Dijon this past week or so has been news surrounding Dominique Strauss-Kahn (or DSK as he's called in France), former head of the IMF and possible candidate for the Socialist Party in the upcoming 2012 election who was arrested on the 15th in New York City for sexually harassing a maid in his New York City hotel. The French reaction in general has been one of embarrassment and I've heard and seen much critique in the way in which the "American justice system" has treated DSK. A Professor expressed shock at the pictures of DSK's perp walk as it showed such the humiliation of a public figure. The New York Times has a very good article discussing French reaction that I find to be very accurate here. I can also attest to the fact that DSK's reputation with women was widely known as two months ago we discussed several potential candidates for the 2012 elections and his multiple affairs were made well known.

Friday night, the night of Jazz Fest, was one with some very forboding
clouds and it actually started raining which resulted in my view of the
stage consisting of umbrellas.

Much of the discussion surrounding the scandal has in fact been not over the charges but the fact that he was stopped in the United States and the resulting differences in treatment and the subsequent ruin of his political career. In fact, in the past few weeks I've come to realize just how different the French treat their public figures who are awarded an incredible amount of privacy. There is some sort of journalistic code where private lives of politicians are not discussed publicly regardless of scandals. I think it will be very interesting to follow the way in which French journalists cover politicians now and if they'll continue to keep quiet about affairs to "protect privacy" or if they'll begin digging and publishing articles that could be quite condemning.

The last and final jazz performance by an amazing German group.

All in all it's been very interesting to actually be in France in the aftermath of the outbreak. I personally found the news to be interesting for both the differences in the way in which the crime was treated but also in the impact it will have on the 2012 election. Nicolas Sarkozy is not a very popular President but with the threat of the Front National and without DSK in the race (he was previously the front-runner for the Socialist Party) it will be very interesting to see the results and lead up to the 1st tour (where the many political parties put forth a candidate) and the 2nd tour (where the two candidates with the highest percentage of votes run against one another).

eternal thanks

There will sadly be no photos in this entry mostly because upon getting back to France I've discovered that my camera is well and truly broke. From the internal problems that began in Rome, to the issues of dust I've been having throughout the semester and then the cracked LCD screen from Amsterdam, my camera became broken enough that it was more expensive to fix it than it was to buy a new one.

Armed with this reality I prepared myself for the reality of having a camera for the rest of the semester that would  work enough to take photos and then begin saving up for a new body when I got back to the US. This would have been the future of my picture taking adventures while in France were it not for my extraordinary parents. After talking with them upon getting back they told me, almost instantly, that I needed to have a camera and that they would buy a new one - we would split the price - and that it would be shipped to me in France. I must say that this meant so very much to me.

The first few years that I had my camera I obviously played around and then began experimenting with certain techniques as a way to make myself a better photographer. This past summer I felt was a particularly good one for me and my camera but this quite simply did not compare with my photographic experiences so far in France. Forcing myself to always have my camera with me - and I mean always - as well as attempting to take a photo as often as I can, has resulted in a true passion for photography. I loved photography before coming France but in going two weeks without a camera I've realized how much I ache for my camera and its ability to capture the world around me.

None of this would have been possible were it not for my parents and this is why I must say that I am forever grateful for everything they've done. I have been blessed with parents who have been there for me from day one and who have continued to be loving, supporting and very inspiring. This is more than just a thank you for a camera but for helping me to be me. I love you both beyond words.

That said (and always thought) the first two weeks back in Dijon have not been very eventful. Dijon itself is gorgeous now that it is basically summer and most of the days these past few weeks have been 70 degrees or above, most in the 80s. Dijon itself somehow seems much more alive in the spring and summer with cafe terraces everywhere and just about everyone enjoying the sun. I, unfortunately, got a sun-burn on my back a week-end ago but it's much better now and I've re-adopted a strict sunscreen regime.

Classes are going well and nearing their end which is weird as I feel like I've been in France for quite a long period of time but simultaneously feel like I've hardly been here at all. I now know the dates of all my exams and find myself trying to plan what will come after classes are over and done with. As my parents won't be arriving till the 11th of June and I will finish exams on the 31st of May there are quite a number of days that I have to fill. The current plan is to ride at least an hour a day (in preparation for my parents coming) depending on the accessibility of a bike and also potentially take some day trips to places around Dijon that as of now I have not yet visited.

As for the new camera, according to the USPS it arrived in France this morning and I hope that either tomorrow or by Monday I will have it!

Amsterdam: bicycles, canals and fields of orange

My first impression of Amsterdam was by way of Schiphol, Amsterdam's airport. Schiphol actually has an interesting story: it was built on a lake which was prone to violent storms that often resulted in the loss of many ship and it garnered its name from this as Schiphol means "Ship's Grave" in English. Regardless of the origin of the name, I found Schiphol to be incredibly clean and modern looking. This theme continued all the way to Amsterdam which with it's buses, trams and many bicycles felt like a very different sort of European city.

From the airport we took a quick train ride to Amsterdam itself and then went to our first hostel which was located in the heart of the Downtown area. As we incidentally ended up in Amsterdam for the days leading up to Queen's Day, most of the hostels were very booked up and we were forced to book two (one for the first night, another for the rest of our trip).

As Amsterdam was the last stop on our European tour and we all felt the hole burning in our bank-accounts we went for a very inexpensive lunch, choosing to have falafel which turned out to be a great choice not just for our pocket-books but also for our taste buds. Our first night I was also able to see just how wonderfully oriented Amsterdam was to bicycles. The others found them to be dangerous for pedestrians but I marveled over how unique it was to be in a city where there weren't just bike lanes but almost separate roads, stop-lights included, for bicycles. Coming from the US it was incredible to see a city where bicycles weren't just a mode of exercise and enjoyment but the most practical way of transportation.

One of the many canals of Amsterdam.

The next morning we checked out from our hotel and then trekked across the city, which is actually relatively small, to Uptown where we left our bags at our new hostel and wandered back into town until it was time to actually check-in. Check-in itself took far longer than any of us liked with a ten minute wait turning into over a half-hour wait. We were all irritated at seeing four people at the reception desk and not one of them helping us when it was clear that one of them was able to do so. Regardless we finally did check-in and were glad to find that the bunks in our rooms were comfortable and also came with towels (often a luxury in hostels).

The group of us were somewhat split about what to do next but Kendra and I decided that we'd be foolish not to visit the Van Gogh museum which was a street over from our hostel. I was actually glad that only Kendra and I explored the museum as we could look and think at our own pace and also seemed to appreciate Van Gogh on the same level.

 I've already written about how I really fell in love with Van Gogh when I visited the Musée d’Orsay in Paris but in between that weekend and my vacation I had also read a work of fiction called Leaving Van Gogh which focused on the last year of Van Gogh's life. The concentration of Van Gogh was purely accidental but I found my accumulated knowledge to really hit home how interesting, unconventional and tragic Vincent Van Gogh's life was.

An actual stop-light for bikes. If only we had these and their
accompanying roads in the US.

As for the Van Gogh museum, it was divided chronologically, moving from one period in Van Gogh's life to another. I thought the museum's decision to include work from other artists, to show his influences, to be particularly powerful as it highlighted his choices in color (Japanese prints) and also his varied styles. Before leaving we each bought Van Gogh mugs, Kendra's with sunflowers and mine with almond blossoms.

For dinner we had tapas which was new for most of us but still delicious. The next morning we found another bagel shop, which we treasured, and then mostly wandered around the city. Among many things we stumbled upon the famous floating flower market which is on the Singel, one of Amsterdam's oldest canals. I didn't realize until I was back in Dijon that it is called a floating flower market because all of the tulips are displayed on barges and not just simple stalls like I thought they were!

I was actually quite surprised by how easy it was to navigate a city that has an impressive network of canals but where Venice's canals had a much more winding feel, Amsterdam's were actually constructed so that they formed consecutive rings that moved outwards and are incredible success of city planning. While walking over the canals I found myself thinking of how the Netherlands was once one of the most powerful trading empires in the world. I think many people these days, myself included, have a tendency to forget that before the British East India Company there was the Dutch East India Company and that the merchants and the Dutch Republic were very influential on world affairs.

Just a glimpse into some tulips of the Keukenhof gardens.

After wandering and exploring some more we had burritos for dinner and then set out to find a night tour of the canals. We had some minor difficulties finding the right company which was affiliated with our discount ticket but eventually did and despite some rain and lightning in the distance had our tour which gave information about the history of Amsterdam and its canals. On the tour I was particularly interested in the house boats which are capped at about 2,400 but which I would absolutely love to live in.

The next morning we rose early but gladly in order to visit the Keukenhof flower fields. Originally we had thought of renting bikes and then riding out to the tulip fields but the practicality of this turned out to be more difficult as the Keukenhof gardens were too far away from Amsterdam to ride on town bikes. Instead we signed up for a tour of the gardens through a company which provided entrance to the gardens and transportation but then left us to our own devices. As the largest flower garden in the world and with more then seven million tulip bulbs planted the Keukenhof gardens were a veritable feast for the eyes filled with tulips of all different colors and varieties. We had no trouble at all walking through the paths and enjoying seeing thousands of tulips many of which were arranged to form patterns.

I was having more camera troubles throughout the gardens, of the dust-in-the-sensor type, so took some photos when my camera was cooperating but will link you to the garden's official flickr so that you can see how Van Gogh the flowers were like in uniqueness and vibrancy.

When we got back to Dijon after our visit to the gardens our first mission to see was the Anne Frank house. We didn't have any intention of waiting and paying in line (perhaps another day) and had hoped to just see the house from the outside but it was rennovated for the purposes of the museum and seeing as how Anne Frank and her family hid, the most important parts were on the inside.

Buildings on the edges of Amsterdam's canals. Sadly the lovely
differences are missing.

That night also happened to be Queen's Night, the evening before Queen's Night. Queen's night or Koninginnedag is the Dutch national holiday that celebrates the birthday of Queen Beatrix. Her actual birthday is in January but the holiday remains April 30th in honor of her mother and also because the weather is better. We sadly left on Queen's Day but did get to see some of the craziness of the night before which is mostly filled with a lot of orange (the national color) and a lot of drinking.

Due to all of the anticipated craziness of Queen's Day we rose and checked out early so that we could get to the Schiphol train station early in case of any major delays or incidents involving public transportation. There were no difficulties getting out but we did run in to many people who clearly thought we were crazy for leaving on the biggest holiday. One man at the train station even told us that it was "unfortunate" we could not stay in Amsterdam for the festivities but that we were "wise" for leaving early.

As our train was in the afternoon and we couldn't change it without lots of fees, we ended up waiting in the station for a good period of time and amused ourselves with cards and also with watching all of the orange clad people run around the station on their way to the city. I was sad to miss what was clearly a very fun day but was glad that my last impression of the city was one of national pride.