Gallivanting Post-Study Abroad

Ireland
Immediately after my semester in Angers ended, I took off for ten days in Ireland. It was my first solo international trip, and covered Dublin (lively), Galway (quaint), and various side trips to ancient Newgrange and the dizzying Cliffs of Moher.
(And yes, those are people playing basketball in kayaks...)

..........

France
Paris
After a jaunt down to Nice, I met up with the rest of my family in Paris. We spent a week on a houseboat on the river Seine, dallying around the Ile de la Cité, lollygagging in Montmartre, and eating large quantities of ice cream from Berthillions (with flavors like rasberry à la rose).
(And yes, that is a squadron of firemen posing with their truck in downtown Paris...)

The Rodin Museum -- Sorry for the corny captions; it couldn't be helped.

The Ardèche
Escaping Paris in a 3-hour bottleneck, we headed south to the Ardèche, a hot, festival-filled paradise for French vacationers. No matter how high the temperature climbs, the vineyards stay a vibrant green. Houses with brightly colored shutters roost on the slopes of the gorge, and tiny river fish swarm the toes of wading tourists.

And last but not least, our nuclear Livelybrooks family wound our way north and east to Annecy and its surrounding areas. We had excellent hosts and guides in Meline (our previous French exchange student) and her family, who treated us to raclette (a fabulously stinky cheese eaten over potatoes), and jaunts around the region.
(And yes, I did take a deplorably small number of photos of this leg of the trip -- my apologies)

Conclusions

Angers, the river Maine

It’s been a week since the end of my semester program in Angers, and I thought I would write a concluding entry about my impressions and experiences.

            First of all, I should mention my host family, who went above and beyond to make sure I had a good experience. They would invite me to have tea with them, offer me cookies (delicious, healthy 22% butter cookies) to take on excursions, and I couldn’t escape them without a tin of foie gras. Obviously, they had decided the way to my heart was through my stomach, and I wouldn’t disagree. They were one of the biggest factors in my progression with the language and my knowledge of French culture.

The Angers cathedral

            As for the program, I think it was well worth it. We had lots of chances to explore local France, from chateaux to subterranean villages, and the semester length was just right. I landed with a great group of people, and a fantastic site director. I took a few too many classes, but had humorous professors. I learned a bit of Breton dancing, performed a scene of Chinese opera, examined French art from the period of the revolution to modern day, and heard some absorbing (and gruesome) tales of French history.

            I found it a bit hard to connect with French people my own age. Being a slightly shy, rather unfashionable person didn’t help, but there is also a definite cultural barrier to cross. That said, I also met countless generous French people who were willing to make an extra effort to make sure I was comfortable and engaged.       Several suspicions about Americans abroad were confirmed for me – we are definitely loud and smiley. We also eat (incorrectly) with one hand in our lap, wear unstylish raincoats instead of umbrellas, and we ladies wear far too few tights. We score points (in my book, at least) for our free toilets, fast restaurant service, and cheddar cheese (oh how I’ve missed you). On the other hand, I would, if I could, import the numerous student discounts, the beautiful shop windows, the intricate historical architecture, and maybe just a few cobblestones.

            On the whole, I would say that I didn’t fall in love with France, but was nevertheless charmed, indulged, and impressed by it, and I hope that we can enjoy a long-lasting friendship.

I won’t promise anything, but seeing as I am doing a month of post-Angers travel in Europe, you may see additional blog posts in the near future…

London and Harry Pottering

Clockwise from top left: Part of a huge display of posters, letters, advertisements etc. used in the Harry Potter films, at the Harry Potter Studios; the changing of the guard; Goblin prosthetics, HP Studios; Big Ben tower; Some excellent fish and chips; Potions class at HP Studios; Model of Hogwarts used in filming

As you can see, the Harry Potter Studios were my major London highlight. The (obligatorily) steeply priced gift shop aside, the Studios themselves are worth it for any Harry-Potter-inclined nerd. Animatronics, sets from Umbridge's office to the Weasley's kitchen, Death Eater masks, the incredibly intricate model of Hogwarts, and delicious, frothy butterbeer are just some of what's crammed into these rooms. And I couldn't make it out without a wand, of course.
Aside from that, we (my study abroad group on an unofficial trip) spent this long weekend whisking around London proper, between the National Portrait Gallery, Fortnum and Mason, St. James' Park, and Harrods (a department store the equivalent of a Christmas feast for the eyes -- exorbitantly priced fashion, a toy section filled with enough flashing lights, plush and robots to entertain for hours, and a room practically just for pet clothes).

Spring Break Part 3: Ukraine: 7 Days, 4 Cities, 3 Trains, and Mountains of Easter Cake

Kievo-Pecherskaya Lavra

Despite having lived with three Ukrainian students, by the time I boarded my plane to Kiev I had managed to memorize only a handful of words, and had absolutely no understanding of the Cyrillic alphabet. So, I was a bit nervous. Thankfully, most everyone I met was willing to try out some of their English on me (whether they had visited the U.S. and were practically fluent, or had taken it 35 years ago as a middle school student). I also laughed my way through a few conversations in mime.  Nevertheless, I’m not sure if I would have survived without the translations of Mariya (my family’s second exchange student) and her family and friends, who were my truly generous hosts for the week. To respect people’s privacy, I try to avoid writing specifics about everyone I meet, but I would like to say that the Ukrainians (and Russian) I met were unquestionably my favorite part of this country.

For the sake of brevity, I’ll divide my week by city:

Eaten by a cat in Landscape Alley

Kiev: My first and last stop in Ukraine, Kiev is a city built on rolling hills, which means you can find great views, but the (impeccably clean) metro runs at times almost 350 feet below ground. Buses are crammed, monuments majestic, and the sun when it hits the copper domes of the churches creates some of the most beautiful light I’ve ever seen. At Kievo-Pecherskaya Lavra, a number of churches have been constructed over caves, which serve as catacombs. Although the caves had closed before my visit, the bright icons and ornate architecture still made a lasting impression. Toward the heart of the city, you can walk along Landscape Alley, where bizarre sculptures in rainbow tile and seesaw benches entertain passersby of any age.

Snowbells on Ai-Petri

A more tame monkey at the Yalta Zoo

Yalta: This southern city on the coast of the Black Sea was the setting of the Yalta Conference and Anton Chekhov’s short story “Lady with a Dog.” Today it is a touristy, pretty town where you can encounter a lot of nature, but are also likely to have a chinchilla shoved in your face for a photo opportunity (not free, of course). The tulips and daffodils blooming in the Nikitsky Botanical Garden and the wild (and legally protected) snowbells on the slopes of the nearby Ai-Petri are equally beautiful, although the latter is especially worth seeing for the view of the coast below.  At the Yalta Zoo, I had my first experience of feeding a giraffe by hand (and a zebra, and a monkey, and a pelican). Despite what must be an irregular diet, the animals looked like they were in good shape. Unfortunately, some of them didn’t discern between oranges, sleeves, and fingers.

 And finally, after it becomes too dark to enjoy the scenery and the exotic animals have gone to bed (and especially when you have excellent instructors) there are some excellent opportunities go rollerblading next to the sea.

Easter display in Kharkiv

Kharkiv: Kharkiv is the second largest city in Ukraine, and is well known for its industry (including the production of excellent tanks, in case you are in the market) and universities. Although it was founded in the 17^th Century, not much of historical Kharkiv survived the devastation of World War II. As a result, the city center is mostly modern, with (among other things) pleasant green spaces, a “dolphinarium,” and an expansive square, which is occupied by a Christmas village in the winter, an Easter display in the spring, and so on with the season. Near the campus of the Kharkiv National Aerospace University (which is adorned with small planes), runs a short stretch of railroad managed by children. Even though it’s been explained to me multiple times, I’m not sure I grasp this concept…  

Locks representing people's wishes for a long-lasting relationship,
and in the distance, the monastery of Poltava

Poltava: Poltava lies between Kiev and Kharkiv, and with its smaller size comes a more relaxed atmosphere. In its tree-filled neighborhoods, you can find the home of the creator of modern Ukrainian language, monuments to the Battle of Poltava (the victory of Peter the Great over the Swedes), and even a Paul Bunyan sized bowl and spoon to celebrate a local dish. I was also able to visit the monastery in Poltava, which is perpetually under construction, but many-spired and dignified nonetheless. Because I’m not an Orthodox Christian, it’s hard to know what to look for when entering an Orthodox church, and it became more difficult as I was getting sidelong looks at the hastily tied scarf over my hair and the other to hide my jeans. What I did glean from the experience was the image of a solemn, candlelit service, with an intricate golden altar, and (in this particular service) steady, peaceful singing.

Photo credits are shared with Mariya

A few things that I learned in Ukraine

*How to order a pineapple juice and count to ten in Russian

*How to turn when you’re rollerblading (haven’t quite mastered this one)

*How to tell the difference between a Ukrainian and a Russian-style church (the former has a domed roof that narrows at the bottom, and the latter a half-sphere roof)

*That even the cutest monkeys shouldn’t be trusted

*That Ukrainian lemonade is… unexpected

*That the right Ukrainian taxi driver can tell you anything from local legends to the health benefits of red wine

*To expect fees at any local attraction (whether it is the viewpoint for a waterfall or the greenhouse of orchids at the botanic gardens)

*That it’s best to travel Ukraine with a big appetite           

*That it’s best to wear less on train rides, because air-conditioning is not a priority

*That (at least among younger generations) you’ll be surprised what you have in common -- bizarre YouTube videos, TV shows, bands, books and video games

Spring Break Part 2: Nights and Lights in Paris and Extravagant Versailles

This post is under construction...

Next stop, Ukraine...

Clockwise from top left: The Seine at dusk, Notre Dame, "Only a flesh wound" (Notre Dame),
The Eiffel Tower after dark, the clock in the Musée D'Orsay

Spring Break Part 1: Bondée* in Southern France

Cassis, France

            Friday the 6^th marked the start of my two-week vacation from the Centre International des Etudes Français, and without delay, I jumped on the train for Aix-en-Provence. On the invitation of the fantastic Méline (who lived with my family for part of her US exchange experience), I was to spend three nights camping, and two in her hometown.

The calanques

            Friday evening, we staked our tent in Cassis, a seaside town in the south of France.  Tile roofs and beige, gold, and rose colored houses (not to mention the sea itself), gave the town a very Mediterranean feel. The most memorable part of the area, however, is found just outside the city. There, the sea stretches blue-green fingers into the craggy coastline, in formations called calanques. Despite the rough terrain, you can meet people from age six to age 70 hiking, or alternately, rock climbing up and down these slopes.

            After a Saturday of rambling, it was possible to sleep through almost anything. Not, however, the tent above your head lunging free of its tethers at 3am.  A wind that had been gaining strength since the early evening had peaked at full tent-snatching, car-door-slamming force, and (feeling a little guilty) I took one of the prime sleeping spots in the car. I should say at this point that I owe a lot to my campmates, who would speak in English and slow French for my benefit, created great meals (often featuring Tomme, a formidably strong cheese), and introduced me to the calanques, which I wouldn’t have been nearly ambitious enough to explore on my own.

            Sunday and Monday morning were filled with the sun and the sea as well, and we left Cassis and the calanques in the afternoon, with color on our faces and (for me, at least) stronger legs.

            Tuesday, I got a taste of Annecy, France, a city close to the Swiss and Italian borders. Despite the rain, it was very picturesque. The modern center and oldest parts of the city cluster around Lake Annecy, and foothills curve around the opposite shore. I spent a lovely afternoon walking in the narrow streets not too far from the lakeshore, crisscrossing the canal and goggling at the countless ice cream shops with their rainbows of flavors on display in artful swirls.

           

*packed, crammed-full (such as the state of the car when loaded with all of our camping gear, and us as well)

Next stop, Paris…

Sunshine, Antlers and Vitruvian Men

Dog on the warpath at Chateau Amboise

            While a foot of snow was falling this past week in the Willamette Valley, Oregon, the Loire Valley began to show the first signs of spring. The inhabitants of Angers have been casting off their black and navy outerwear in exchange for bright colors (although they retain an inexplicable penchant for wearing scarves), and the trees have started to bloom. It was in this weather that CIDEF held its final excursion, with stops at the Chateaus Amboise (and the nearby former residence of Leonardo da Vinci), Blois, and Cheverny.

A view of the Loire from Amboise

           Rising high above the town of Amboise, the chateau Amboise has some of the best views of my travels thus far. Peering over one wall, you can join the gargoyles in watching crowds of diners and dog-walkers in the streets below; from another, you can find a panoramic view of the Loire. 

In a corner of the chateau, a chapel celebrates the patron saint of hunters. This seems like a strange idea to me, and only becomes more bizarre upon noticing the antlers growing from the steeple, and a prominent sculpture of a stag sprouting a cross between his ears.

            At Clos de Lucé, the manor where da Vinci lived part of his life, the day continues on its peculiar bent. Something about the manor house and grounds reminds me of an unfinished renaissance Disneyland, with its giant banners (albeit emblazoned with calf-muscle illustrations and the Vitruvian man), strategically placed and overpriced cafés, and numerous da Vinci exhibits (which, if you press a button, will rhapsodize about da Vinci’s notes on rabbit fat). Particularly disturbing is the pigeon loft at one end of the property, brought to life with fake bird noises from a speaker, and flashing red and purple lights from several pigeonholes.

Salle des Etats, Blois

            After a short bus ride, we arrive at chateau Blois, which has four principal sections from four eras in four different architectural styles. Inside, the walls and ceilings are a riot of color and patterns, with detailing that looks suspiciously like gold leaf.  Even the floors are multicolored, with small tiles. Someone must have had an eye for color, though, because the vibrant mess of design that is each room is somehow quite pleasing to the eye.

            At the end of the day, we return to our hunting theme with Cheverny, a chateau famous for its hunting dogs and for being featured in Tintin. The chateau sits amid wide green lawns (which we are forbidden to cross), across which one can hear the baying of the French Tricolor Hounds. Although a large sign near the kennels attests to the care of the dogs, I wouldn’t recommend this visit to animal lovers, or to anyone sensitive to the smell of disinfectant.

            All in all, it was a slightly strange trip, but nothing could really put a damper on a day of warm sunshine and the promise of spring.

Hedgehog, symbol of Louis XII, at Blois

Anjou Troglodytique

A modernized troglodyte dwelling -- complete with sink!

            Until the early 20^th Century, before there was the danger of a tractor crashing through your roof, many subsistence farmers in the Anjou region lived in caves. Today’s excursion started off with a tour of one of these underground (troglodyte) villages, where everyone, including the cows, had a subterranean living space.

            Although you might find something green (or heaven forbid, furry and grey) growing on your walls, living in caves was quite practical. You would carve your home (or church or stable) into the soft rock, and then use the excess to construct chateaus and other structures aboveground, or in the fields as an agent to counteract the acidity of the soil. If (to borrow an example from our guide) you had a child on the way and needed to expand your home, you would simply pull out your pickax and hack away at a wall. The thick rock acts as an excellent insulator, keeping you and your perishables cool in the summer and warm in the winter, and is a free and plentiful building material. In the particular village I visited, people had been quarrying the rock since the 1200s (although I’m not sure if they lived there at that point), and had constructed an underground chapel during the religious wars of the 16^th Century.

            After the troglodyte village and a wine tasting came the much-rumored underground restaurant. In a room where some of us had to duck not to hit our heads on the damp tuffeau, we ate a four-course dinner of buttery bliss.  Pork and mushrooms were a distinct theme, and the main course was fouace, a pita-like bread that you slit open and fill with some combination of butter, beans, pork, and mushrooms. After apple pie for dessert and the traditional coffee, I was ready to sleep my way home as the bus took us back along the banks of the river Loire.

"Snapshots" of Paris

I was that person who forgot to check their camera batteries before spending a weekend in Paris, so I will format this post a bit differently…

Some “Snapshots” of People in Paris

--Tourists and policemen on roller skates

--A homeless man watching passersby from a mountain of blankets and sleeping bags

--A group of singers enthusiastically chanting “Hare Krishna’s” in front of Notre Dame

--A three-piece band, two accordionists and (possibly) a zither player, jumping onto metro cars on Sunday to play for change

--A human statue dressed as a sarcophagus in front of the obelisk in Place de la Concorde (there was a panda as well, but it looked as if his choice of theme wasn’t making him much money…)

--The rich and famous, dressed in striped fur coats and neons, exiting an event for Paris Fashion Week

--A band of stilt-porting folk dancers performing under the Eiffel Tower

And my lesser-known highlight of Paris:

Shakespeare and Company (http://www.shakespeareandcompany.com/index.php), a bookstore just across the Seine from Notre Dame de Paris. Jammed full of fiction and non fiction from the old to the contemporary, my favorite part of this bookstore was the upstairs, where former proprietor (and poet) George Whitman used to house penniless writers in exchange for help around the shop. One nook houses a piano, free for the playing, and another a typewriter and a myriad of books suited to the aspiring author. Out the window, some creative soul has constructed a dramatic scene on the roof with plastic dinosaurs.

Brittany and Normandy, Under the Fog

Saint-Malo

            For this weekend’s excursion, we headed north to Brittany and Normandy, stopping at Saint-Malo and then at Mont-Saint-Michel. Bombed numerous times by numerous nations in World War II, Saint-Malo is a walled city that, on Saturday, was enveloped in fog. Looking out towards the sea, the view from the top of the wall was of 300 meters of rock, sand and water and beyond, nothingness.  The city itself is not without its virtues, however. It is known for (not necessarily in this order) its ice cream, socks, crepes, and seafood. Therefore the best part of this stop was not the view, but a lovely Crêpe Tatin, which is a crêpe, folded over applesauce, topped with rich vanilla ice cream and caramelized apples flambéed in Calvados.

            Back on the bus (as we felt slightly sick after copious amounts of sugary, starchy food), the Director of CIDEF treated our group to a running commentary on our surroundings. This included whistles, trills, the occasional dry English translation (“leeks,” for example), and many other sound effects. At one point, we passed through the town of Fougeres, formerly known for its crystal, which was pointed out with a melodious “ting” that lasted for several minutes (I assume they must have made very pure crystal).

Mont Saint Michel

             The approach to Mont Saint Michel is rather bleak -- long stretches of coastal farmland, and then the road jutting out into the sea. In the past, water would have flooded the pathway with the tides, but today, dikes allow vehicles to pass and park at all hours. Above dozens of cars and tour buses, the ancient abbey and its surrounding community make soaring steps skyward, until the Archangel Michael on the highest steeple is almost invisible through the fog. With construction beginning in the 700s, I expect Mont Saint Michel will be one of the oldest structures I will see in France.

The abbey church
~Every stone a different color,
each and all in tones of water

            Throughout the centuries, Mont Saint Michel has functioned as an abbey, fortress and a prison. Now, as souvenir shops and hot dog vendors encroach on its foundations, it has become a tourist hot spot. Glad as I am to have seen it, I’m also a little embarrassed to have photographed and gawked my way through such an old religious site. Still, there is some unshakeable silence there, something that comes from being far away from shore and high above the water. Each room in the abbey is designed for prayer and contemplation. The abbey church has a lofty interior, with graceful arches and high windows, which light the hundreds of subtle shades of blue in the stone. The cloister was one of my other favorite spaces, with arched walkways blooming with stone flowers and foliage, and views of their small garden and the sea. 

The cloister

            Passing back through the gate at the base of Mont Saint Michel, the mist had released its hold on the abbey, and everything seemed a bit closer to the earth. It wasn’t hard to imagine that people would make pilgrimages and brave the tides to visit this place, an island and a fortress, for contemplation, silence, and the wonder of it all.

Three Chateaus, One Day

Chenonceau

             Leaving at 8:00 in the morning and returning at 8:00 at night, our group of international students spent Saturday touring three chateaus – Azay-le-Rideau,  Chenonceau, and Chambord. In three tour buses, we threaded through narrow streets of country towns, and past at least another half dozen chateaus we didn’t stop at, although a guide informed us of their presence over a bad speaker system. Our route took us by many examples of Anjou troglodytique dwellings – houses built in, or sometimes emerging from freestone rock faces. Beyond resort hotels, I hadn’t realized that this was a practiced mode of living, but many of the houses I saw seemed well maintained and occupied.

            Our first stop was Azay-le-Rideau, a small chateau built in the 1500s (as were Chenonceau and Chambord), and complete with all the intricate engravings of dragons, cherubs, and gargoyles that are required of a proper castle. Although different rooms are furnished in different period styles, I didn’t grasp how old it was until I walked up a spiral staircase and could feel the dip under my feet where centuries of shoes had worn away the rock. I also didn’t realize at the time that, in terms of size and trimmings, Azay-le-Rideau is only a modest chateau.

The Caryatids

            Chenonceau, in contrast, is a sprawling creation, introduced by a long, tree-lined drive. Numerous trails sprout off of this lane, one of which leads to a labyrinth (commissioned by Catherine de Médicis) and the caryatids, a group of mysterious pillar-figures whose expressions and appendages have crumbled with time. The chateau itself extends out into the river Cher in a series of arches, and the building’s underbelly offers a glimpse into a medieval kitchen (in which one apparently did a lot of cleaving, if the contents of the racks on the walls are anything to go by). Much of the furnishings in the three chateaus seem to run toward a similar taste (opulence), with reds and golds, tapestries and heavy drapes (the exception being the bedroom of Louise de Lorraine in Chenonceau, which has walls and ceiling painted a gloomy black).

            Chambord, although its interior is barer, does not fail to express a clear message of wealth. It is a behemoth. Crowned with hundreds of chimneys and towers, the feeling I had upon seeing this last chateau was probably exactly what its past owners had in mind – awe and inferiority. It is located in a hunting reserve the size of Paris proper, and has gaping, drafty halls. Ascending the central spiral staircase, the roof looks and feels as if it is its own miniature city. Columns, domes, and crosses abound, and sculptures, many of them in varying degrees of anguish, peer down at the crowds below.

The Roof of Chambord

            The bus ride home was a long one, but I had a lot of food for thought. What would it be like to be able to get up in the morning and decide on a whim that your roof needs another tower, or two, or fifty?

Etre Cidéfien, c'est la belle vie

            I’m now into my second week at the Centre International d’Etudes Françaises (CIDEF), at the lovely Université Catholique de l’Ouest (UCO). It is truly an international program – although the majority of the student population at CIDEF is Asian, the current group of 452 students represents 33 countries from all over the world. It’s not uncommon to see nuns (some in full habit) throughout your daily studies, because they come to learn French as the language of their motherhouse. In addition to diverse cultural backgrounds, students arrive with varying levels of proficiency in French, some with only a handful of words, and others in their 4^th or 5^th year of language. Using a fairly bewildering system, CIDEF accommodates us all.

            The main entry to the UCO is banked by trees, from which you can hear birdsong whether the temperature is below zero (Celsius), or it’s a balmy spring afternoon. The site itself was first home to a University in the 1300s, although the current buildings date back to (I believe) 1875.  Much of the interior was recently renovated, and we now have walls and floors in greens, purples, and oranges. Once you get past the black ice on the drive, it’s quite a pleasant place to study.

Word of the Day

Truc: (pronounced trook) meaning whatchamacallit, doodad, whats-his/her-name, trick, knack, or just “thing” in general.

Ex: If you saw a poster advertising la varappe, and you wanted to know what varappe was, you might ask your friend “qu’est-ce que c’est, ce truc-la?”

(La varappe is rock climbing, by the way)

In my French classes, we always learned “chose” as the French equivalent of “thing.” Truc is much more popular, although less formal.

Some scenes from the Chateau d'Angers. More on this coming soon!

A First Glimpse

            After 17 hours and 22 minutes of flying, I have reached France. The first clear sign that I’m in another country is the escalator to Immigration, which doesn’t unfurl in regular steps, but in a series of smooth, rolling hills. As you drift along, you are not-so-subtly acclimatized to Paris (or maybe only a popular conception of Paris) by strains of La Vie En Rose by Edith Piaf, and ads for Parisian fashion featuring women with miniature Eiffel towers strapped to their heads.

            However, I don’t have a chance to see Paris today, and after negotiating the airport shuttle and the Charles de Gaulle train station, I am on my way to Angers. Unlike the American trains I have experienced, the French train almost tempts you to go to sleep, gliding along as if the tracks were greased with butter. The warmth inside is deceiving, however, and my arrival in Angers is accompanied by below-freezing temperatures and snow.

            Although Angers is not included (or given only a few words) in most guidebooks for France, my first impression is of a thriving city with much to explore, whether you’re interested in art, history, Cointreau (a type of orange liquor), or shopping. In between modern storefronts, you can catch a glimpse of the restoration of a 16^th Century hotel, and the spires of the Romanesque and Gothic Cathedral are visible above the rooftops in much of downtown.