Into the West...

Last weekend we went on another excursion to Normandy and Brittany! It was a whirlwind trip taking place over just two days, or actually, about 36 hours.
Both regions were beautiful. There was a lot of blue velvet, red curtains, bumpy terrain and...oh wait, that wasn't France, that was our bus! Yes, a lot of this excursion was spent traveling on a large purple bus. We all wished for one more day, perhaps leaving Friday afternoon instead of Saturday morning, but at least we got to go!
We first arrived in Caen (almost like caw with a silent "n") mid-Saturday morning at Le Memorial, a museum dedicated to D-Day and WWII. After having a quick but tasty sandwich, we viewed a video with actual footage from 1944. Afterward, we had a little over an hour to take in an overwhelming amount of information. The museum was really great, our audio guides told us some unique information as we looked at old letters, artifacts, and more footage of speeches given by the Fuhrer himself. It was interesting to hear France's take on things. They admitted that their defense was really a lazy offense at the beginning of WWII, and it really wasn't until D-Day that they sprang into action. There was little mention of the Vel d'Hiv, the round up of French Jews that happened right in Paris! I hear there's a memorial museum, remind me to look that up...
Then we jumped on the bus again and headed towards Omaha Beach. It was absolutely gorgeous there, ocean as far as the eye could see. It was almost spooky in a way, however; standing there listening to the waves gently beat out a rhythm on the shore and imagining the sky completely black with fog, planes, and parachutes. Some unfortunate soldiers didn't even make it to the beaches, their gear was so heavy they drowned when their parachutes landed in the sea. Here across the ocean were an overwhelming amount of graves. Thousands and thousands of souls rested in one of the most peaceful places in France (well...technically we were on American soil, but as we're on a separate continent, I say it's in France) that was once wrought with action and despair. I got shivers not from the cold, but thinking of the impact that this very place had in both France and US history.
Again, we loaded on the bus and napped our way to St. Malo, a fortified city in Bretagne, or Brittany. It was charming, more winding streets and little shops. There was not much color compared to Collioure, but there were many more crepes! Brittany is the home of the crepe, and not just your average looks-like-a-pancake- throw-some-Nutella-on-there-oh-and-add-a-banana-for-good-measure crepe. For dinner, I had steak (yes, I'm still trying new things!) with onions and tomatoes in a buckwheat crepe, which I had never seen before! It was like compressed wheat bread, but so much better. Go try it, you'll see.
After getting a comfortable night's sleep we departed the next day for Mont St. Michel, one of the 7 marvels of the world! Yes, marvels are made by man, and wonders are stumbled upon and we wonder (get it?) who made them! After trekking up a hill of adorable shops and more creperies we made it to the entrance which presented us with more stairs. We made our way up and finally got to explore the abbey. It was comprised of many empty stone rooms, all of which monks used for prayer, eating in the refectory, and a chapel for burial. Of course, outside on the terrace provided us with more incredible views. The tide was out, the sand stretched along one side of the abbey and the other side reminded me of a green patchwork quilt. It was the quintessential french countryside, which we saw more of as we made our 5 hour journey home. Cows and sheep grazed lazily in their fields and I have to admit I was a little jealous, as most of my body began to insensate on the bus. It was a busy weekend but it was interesting to see such historic places and regions that were completely unlike Paris! It's good to be home, though.

The Strike (part deux)

Well, we're heading in to week two of the metro strike. It started last Tuesday with more demonstrations full of music, marching, and even free food. The majority of the population opposes the reform Sarkozy is proposing, and therefore support the strike. The story goes that the retirement age from 60 to 62, and one can no longer collect a full pension at 65, they must wait those extra two years until age 67.
A lot of American students I have spoken to are thoroughly exasperated with this issue. "I'm going to have to work til I'm 80," we all say, "62 looks pretty good to me." It's true, the reaction France has had to this idea of Sarkozy's has only reinforced stereotypes of the French: lazy complainers.
On the one hand, it seems futile. Why inconvenience a nation when really, it isn't so bad to work two more years. After all, they are notorious for the 35 hour work week and they are privileged with a great amount of vacation time. It seems unlikely that Sarkozy will change his mind, he's called this retirement issue "non-negotiable," so why all the fuss? The strike is making life a lot harder not for the elite, who are in control of the decisions, but the general, every day people. It's a good idea; rally the everyman together and effect change. Except it doesn't seem like that's happening.
I admire the French for standing up in what they believe in and trying to make a country for and by the people. After all, America had no problem voicing its opinion during Vietnam. Where is our fire now? But on the other hand, I missed out on a trip to Provence because of this! The one place I had my heart set on to visit in France, and I never got to go. I lost a good chunk of euro-change on the hotel as well. Luckily, I will be reimbursed for the tickets, but it almost doesn't matter when I think about everything I could have seen and experienced. This could have been a perfect catalyst for action. Although I'm an American, I could have done some research and found a way to complain or tell Sarkozy, or a representative of my district, that I don't agree with the changes to the retirement age.
But I didn't. As a foreigner, I feel I shouldn't bother in other countries politics, especially when I'm not entirely educated on the subject. But are people in France who do know what's going on taking action? My guess is no. So why go on?
This Thursday there will be a vote as to whether or not the strike should keep on rolling. Of course, everyone from API is praying for an end. As for the rest of the country, I guess we're going to have to wait and see how far they'll go to get their voices heard.

You know you've adjusted to living in Paris when...

You don't smile at passersby, other people on the metro, tram, or RER. Silly American, smiles are for kids!
You've mastered the withering stare. No, I'm not scowling at you, but I certainly won't smile.
A baguette is a better accessory than a purse or a puppy.
Metro strikes don't phase you, they're a part of life. Finding an alternate route? That's your specialty.
If you want to open the doors of the tram or the metro, do it yourself.
You can walk up the hill of Montmatre in heels. At night. (I still haven't mastered that one myself)
You can contain yourself and have a conversation quietly. Those cafe chairs are close together, you don't want anyone else hearing about your business!
Tip? What's that?
Crepes aren't an indulgence, they're a way of life.
You have one, or more, panini stands that you frequent. Bumping into your panini proprietors at the grocery store is common.
You don't need to speed-walk down the street. Actually, why not stop in the middle of it and finish your conversation? Others can walk around you, pas de problem.
Brushing past someone to get onto the metro first isn't offensive, it's just part of the morning commute.
The key to making it through the commute- layers. Even when it's 19C (that's right, I said Celsius), the metro is still a sauna. Wear things to take off without ending up french beach style.
Forget personal space. Just forget it.

I've learned so much in just three weeks! In three months I will be truly Parisian...and then it's time to re-adapt to America...

Day Trippin

Last weekend was spent in the southern region of France, Roussillon. We stayed in Collioure, a small town in a valley about a half an hour’s drive from Perpignan, the city we flew in to. It was charming and quaint, a perfect getaway from the city. The streets were small and winding, with shops and gelato stands every few meters (not feet, this is France!). Each building was a different color, red or pink or yellow. The Mediterranean was almost as blue as the sky, and the Pyrenees towered above us the entire weekend. We took a tourist train ride up the mountains, and the view was incredible. It was so surreal; you learn about the Mediterranean and the Pyrenees in class when you’re young, but do you ever think, someday I’ll go see them! Someday I’ll walk on the mountains and swim in the sea.
Yes, I swam in the Mediterranean. In October. It was as much fun as it was cold.
The city of Perpignan was a little bigger, a little busier than Collioure. We were able to see old city walls that at one time belonged to Spain. There’s a long history of territory battles between France and Spain, and a lot of it happened right in Perpignan. The ownership of the city went back and forth until the very late 1400s. We also saw the Cathedral of John the Baptist, that looked from the outside as if it was built during the Renaissance, but it dated back to the Middle Ages. It was very simple on the outside but extravagant on the inside.
The last day of the trip we traveled to Villefranche de Conflent, where we saw famous grottos, or caves, of Les Grottes des Grandes Calanettes. Imagine, one hundred years of a human life only adds up to a second in the life of the stalactites and stalagmites. The “galleries,” basically certain sections of the cave, were enormous. The largest gallery was called the Cathedral, and it looked like one that was made entirely by Earth itself. Some stalagmites rose out of the ground as tall as me! The man who discovered one of the galleries gave us a tour, and what a character. He was so passionate about his findings and the knowledge he was giving to us. His charismatic demeanor came through even though he spoke only French and Spanish, and Annemarie had to translate.
It was an active weekend, yet I felt entirely relaxed as I gazed out over the sea up past the mountains. The sea air was refreshing, and it was so interesting to see a new side of France. I can’t wait to see more!