Yesterday was supposed to be a lazy day around the house for me. Angela and Susan went to Limoges to buy porcelain (and believe me, they did, as well as half of an old wine barrel). I woke up and decided I needed to book my flight to Dublin for the conference in June. I looked around and found the cheapest flight I could, but I had to get to Paris to go (it would cost like $450 to fly out of Lyon, and that's ridiculous). So my plan is to use Patrick or Susan's frequent traveler miles to take the train to Paris (they approved this idea). I booked my flight; it was an Air France flight that got me into Dublin around 10 pm the night before the conference and had me leaving in the late afternoon the day after the conference. The problem arose, however, that the plane gets into Paris too late to take a train, I would need a hotel, which would cost me an arm and a leg. So I called Air France to see if I could change to an earlier flight. I get the customer service agent and say, "Est-ce que vous parlez anglais?" (Do you speak English?), she says "Non" (No). So I busted out my French, and it worked. I understood everything she said, and she understood me. The most important fact, however, is that somehow my flight got booked through airfrance.de (that's Air France's website in Germany), and I had to talk to them about changing my ticket, so she gave me the phone number and I called them. This conversation went like this:
Agent: Guten tag (guttural sounds that indicated the man may have been killing a puppy).
Me: Guten tag, sprechen sie Englisch?
Agent: I do.
Me: Oh, thank god.
The good news is, because I had booked the flight less than an hour earlier they voided the whole thing without any charge, SCORE!
Later in the day Patrick and I decided to go to Olympique Lyonnais' final home game. OL as they are called have been doing decently this year (they are in third place, and if they stay there they qualify for the European Champions League), however, they were expected to do better. Many fans are angry about this, but when the French get angry it is a sight to behold. The OL fans blame the manager, Claude Puel. The game began and there were some organized chants and signs being held up asking for Puel to be fired, not too out of the ordinary.
Lyon was expected to win this game easily (they were playing Caen who is in 15th place). As the game continued and Lyon didn't score, the angry fans became angrier. What I witnessed is two things, 1) something one would never see in the United States, and 2) evidence of the stereotype of the French as being fantastic protesters. In the US if a team isn't doing well, the fans stop coming, write angry letters to the newspaper, maybe hold up signs or wear paper bags on their heads at games, pretty mundane stuff.
In France if a team isn't doing well, they begin with the signs. These signs slowly morph into chants. These chants morph into lighting fires in the stands and throwing burning road flares at the field, security, players, etc. At one point smoke billowed across the field and I counted 3 fires burning in various parts of the stands. I am not exaggerating, I actually feared for my life at multiple times during this game and after. I had always thought that if I was going to die at a sporting even it would either be while I was dressed in Mets gear in Philadelphia or if I ever had the opportunity to be at a championship game that any Detroit team wins.
As the game continued OL looked worse and worse, and the fans got rowdier and rowdier (I also have to add, there is very little alcohol sold at these games, these people were doing this whilst sober). The game ended in a 0-0 tie and I turned to Patrick and said, we should leave, NOW!
We left the stadium and moved towards the Metro stop. Near the Metro stop there was a bit of a protest/riot occurring. At least one fire had been set, people were setting of large firecrackers and the police in full riot gear were arriving. One cop slowly strolled up to the riot with two giant guns, one looked like a FAMAS assault rifle, the other looked like it shot either tear gas or beanbags. We quickly entered the Metro and got home. I will reiterate, I actually did think there was a chance I would get killed or seriously injured at more than one point in this game. That being said, it was a blast, like nothing I have ever seen before.
Also, I must add, that the majority of the people at the game were not protesting. They were there to watch the game and enjoy themselves. Overall, I find the French to be a fantastic and friendly people who abhor violence.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Monday, May 16, 2011
Okay, so I'm really far behind.
Okay, I'm about a month behind, sorry. In the middle of April I had to go to London to present at the Political Studies Association Annual Conference. The conference went well, and Angela got a couple of days in Jolly Ol'. We flew in from Nice the night before I was supposed to present. This trip was a nightmare, and I can give you details if you ask, but it's too long to go into now.
We landed at Gatwick at about 7:30 pm. In case you've never been to London, Gatwick is about 30 to 45 minutes outside of Central London. On the flight we bought two tickets for the Gatwick Express which brings you right into Victoria Station. At this point, I want to say that EasyJet sucks, but the Gatwick Express was fantastic. It was the best part of this trip. We were staying in efficiency apartments in the borough of Islington, which is on the northeast side of London. We took the Gatwick Express to Victoria and then got on the Underground to get to our hotel. The Underground took about 45 minutes to get halfway across London. Moreover, the nearest metro stop is about a half-mile from our hotel. This wouldn't have been so bad, but the wheel on our suitcase blew out in Nice. I basically had to drag a 45 pound bag through the streets of London at about 9:30 at night. We got into the hotel and had no food and sure as hell weren't going to eat out in London if we could avoid it. We went across the street to the smallest store I've ever purchased food in and somehow put together a really tasty dinner.
The next day was the conference, which happened to be on the southwest side of the city, as far from my hotel as you can get by metro. At this point I want to say that the London Underground has a reputation as being fantastic, but it is the worst urban transport system I have ever seen in my life. It is slow, unreliable and illogical. We finally got to the conference, and it went fine, which was good.
That night I saw my friend Ana from high school who I haven't seen in a decade and lives in London. This was possibly the best part about England. We went to a pub called Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, which apparently dates back to the 1500's. The food was decent pub food, the beer was good and the company was better. I would recommend stopping at this pub if in London, it's in the shadow of St. Paul's and was just a nice place.
The next day we went to Stonehenge. I don't know what all the fuss is about. It's a bunch of rocks stacked on each other, but it was another sight I can say I've seen. We got back to London and needed to do some serious sightseeing. We began in Kensington and decided to walk. We walked past the British Museum, but didn't go in as the line was about a mile long. I would have liked Angela to see the Rosetta Stone and the frieze from the Parthenon, but we'll just have to go back. We then walked to Harrod's, which is the most amazing store I have ever seen. It was huge, glitzy and glamorous. There was something called the Egyptian escalator, which was an escalator room that looked like if you had put an escalator in a pyramid. The room with the food was amazing, the flowers in the perfume area were gorgeous, and the wine cellar was unbelievable.
From Harrods we walked down past Parliament, Westminster Abbey and Big Ben. We cross the river and walked along the south side of the Thames, which is the most disgusting river I have ever seen. I don't think it actually has water in, at this point it is free flowing sludge and pollution. We walked down to the Tower Bridge, crossed it and walked up past the tower of London. That night we went home and cooked for ourselves again.
The next morning we had a 7:30 easyJet flight out of Gatwick. This is where the shit hit the fan. We got up at 4:30 am to get to Victoria by 5 and catch the Gatwick Express at 5:15. That would be at 30 minute trip to Gatwick and we would be just fine. Here's what really happened:
4:30 - Woke up
4:45 - Left the hotel
5:00 - Got to the metro stop
5:02 - Realize the metro stop is closed
5:03 - Realize the metro doesn't open until 6:57
5:04 - Bitch and complain, seriously what "Major World City" doesn't open the subway until 7am?
5:10 - Begin to panic
5:11 - Find a bus stop
5:20 - Decide the bus won't get us to Victoria in time
5:23 - Decide to get a cab
5:24 - Realize we have no Pounds left (JUST USE THE DAMN EURO BRITAIN!)
5:25 - Get 20 Pounds from an ATM
5:27 - Hail a cab and ask him how much to Victoria, his response was "About 20 quid." and for those of you who don't speak whatever language it is they speak in Britain that is 20 Pounds.
5:28 - Get in cab
5:38 - Begin to worry as we approach Victoria but realize the meter is about to hit 20 Pounds.
5:40 - Tell the cabby we only have 20 Pounds. He said not to worry.
5:44 - Get dropped off right at the Gatwick Express.
5:45 - Leave for the airport on the train
6:15 - Get in line for our flight. It is important to note that 6 other easyJet flight were leaving between 7:30 and 8 that morning, so we were at the back of about 1,000 people waiting to get on a flight. You know how they say be there at least an hour before take-off, well with easyJet try 4 hours before your 7:30 departure.
7:20 - We got called out of line because our flight was leaving soon. We were put on a slightly shorter but slower moving line.
7:35 - We finally got moved up to someone to check us in.
7:36 - He says, "Do you have your confirmation number?" We say, "No." He chastises us and says, "Next time you should bring your confirmation number." (Trust me easyJet there will not be a next time). I said to his comment, "Next time you don't leave us standing in line for over an hour." At this point he refuses to check us in. Long story short, we got checked in, but easyJet is staffed by the most dickish group of douches I have ever met, never fly them, I repeat, NEVER FLY EASYJET! He tells us that the gate is closing and that we might be able to make it if we run.
7:40 - Get to security and see no one else there.
7:42 - The moronic security "officer" at Gatwick makes Angela unpack her gels and creams because the ziplock bag we have them in isn't one of their identical ziplock bags. My first question is, why do we have to use their bags. This is especially an important question considering no one had made her repack her bag in our many travels in the last 2 months, and what is the difference. Angela said that she had been traveling with that bag for a month already. The security "officer" told her they are trying a new procedure. The best part about this is that it was Easter weekend coming up. They decided at good time to try a new procedure was Easter weekend!
7:50 - We got through security and began walking to the gate, which was no exaggeration, over 1 mile away. Angela had had foot surgery 4 weeks earlier and couldn't move fast, but tried to run. Finally, I told her to walk and that I was going to run and try and talk them into keeping the door open until she gets there (my thought was at the very least delay the flight attendant long enough for Angela to get there). I took off running and lo and behold, when I got there, they hadn't even begun boarding yet. If you remember, the man who checked us in told us the gate was closing. We ran through Gatwick Airport, Angela on two surgically repaired feet, because the douchebag at the counter told us it was closing, when in fact it hadn't even begun boarding. Douchebags doesn't even begin to describe these people.
The plane took off at about 8:15 with us on board. The long and the short of this story is that London is not that great (not that bad either, but not that great). The transportation system is antiquated, the people are nice (although I don't know what language they speak) and easyJet is the worst airline I have ever flown in my life. Please tell everyone you know to avoid easyJet like it was some hybrid form of the plague and leprosy.
We landed at Gatwick at about 7:30 pm. In case you've never been to London, Gatwick is about 30 to 45 minutes outside of Central London. On the flight we bought two tickets for the Gatwick Express which brings you right into Victoria Station. At this point, I want to say that EasyJet sucks, but the Gatwick Express was fantastic. It was the best part of this trip. We were staying in efficiency apartments in the borough of Islington, which is on the northeast side of London. We took the Gatwick Express to Victoria and then got on the Underground to get to our hotel. The Underground took about 45 minutes to get halfway across London. Moreover, the nearest metro stop is about a half-mile from our hotel. This wouldn't have been so bad, but the wheel on our suitcase blew out in Nice. I basically had to drag a 45 pound bag through the streets of London at about 9:30 at night. We got into the hotel and had no food and sure as hell weren't going to eat out in London if we could avoid it. We went across the street to the smallest store I've ever purchased food in and somehow put together a really tasty dinner.
The next day was the conference, which happened to be on the southwest side of the city, as far from my hotel as you can get by metro. At this point I want to say that the London Underground has a reputation as being fantastic, but it is the worst urban transport system I have ever seen in my life. It is slow, unreliable and illogical. We finally got to the conference, and it went fine, which was good.
That night I saw my friend Ana from high school who I haven't seen in a decade and lives in London. This was possibly the best part about England. We went to a pub called Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, which apparently dates back to the 1500's. The food was decent pub food, the beer was good and the company was better. I would recommend stopping at this pub if in London, it's in the shadow of St. Paul's and was just a nice place.
The next day we went to Stonehenge. I don't know what all the fuss is about. It's a bunch of rocks stacked on each other, but it was another sight I can say I've seen. We got back to London and needed to do some serious sightseeing. We began in Kensington and decided to walk. We walked past the British Museum, but didn't go in as the line was about a mile long. I would have liked Angela to see the Rosetta Stone and the frieze from the Parthenon, but we'll just have to go back. We then walked to Harrod's, which is the most amazing store I have ever seen. It was huge, glitzy and glamorous. There was something called the Egyptian escalator, which was an escalator room that looked like if you had put an escalator in a pyramid. The room with the food was amazing, the flowers in the perfume area were gorgeous, and the wine cellar was unbelievable.
From Harrods we walked down past Parliament, Westminster Abbey and Big Ben. We cross the river and walked along the south side of the Thames, which is the most disgusting river I have ever seen. I don't think it actually has water in, at this point it is free flowing sludge and pollution. We walked down to the Tower Bridge, crossed it and walked up past the tower of London. That night we went home and cooked for ourselves again.
The next morning we had a 7:30 easyJet flight out of Gatwick. This is where the shit hit the fan. We got up at 4:30 am to get to Victoria by 5 and catch the Gatwick Express at 5:15. That would be at 30 minute trip to Gatwick and we would be just fine. Here's what really happened:
4:30 - Woke up
4:45 - Left the hotel
5:00 - Got to the metro stop
5:02 - Realize the metro stop is closed
5:03 - Realize the metro doesn't open until 6:57
5:04 - Bitch and complain, seriously what "Major World City" doesn't open the subway until 7am?
5:10 - Begin to panic
5:11 - Find a bus stop
5:20 - Decide the bus won't get us to Victoria in time
5:23 - Decide to get a cab
5:24 - Realize we have no Pounds left (JUST USE THE DAMN EURO BRITAIN!)
5:25 - Get 20 Pounds from an ATM
5:27 - Hail a cab and ask him how much to Victoria, his response was "About 20 quid." and for those of you who don't speak whatever language it is they speak in Britain that is 20 Pounds.
5:28 - Get in cab
5:38 - Begin to worry as we approach Victoria but realize the meter is about to hit 20 Pounds.
5:40 - Tell the cabby we only have 20 Pounds. He said not to worry.
5:44 - Get dropped off right at the Gatwick Express.
5:45 - Leave for the airport on the train
6:15 - Get in line for our flight. It is important to note that 6 other easyJet flight were leaving between 7:30 and 8 that morning, so we were at the back of about 1,000 people waiting to get on a flight. You know how they say be there at least an hour before take-off, well with easyJet try 4 hours before your 7:30 departure.
7:20 - We got called out of line because our flight was leaving soon. We were put on a slightly shorter but slower moving line.
7:35 - We finally got moved up to someone to check us in.
7:36 - He says, "Do you have your confirmation number?" We say, "No." He chastises us and says, "Next time you should bring your confirmation number." (Trust me easyJet there will not be a next time). I said to his comment, "Next time you don't leave us standing in line for over an hour." At this point he refuses to check us in. Long story short, we got checked in, but easyJet is staffed by the most dickish group of douches I have ever met, never fly them, I repeat, NEVER FLY EASYJET! He tells us that the gate is closing and that we might be able to make it if we run.
7:40 - Get to security and see no one else there.
7:42 - The moronic security "officer" at Gatwick makes Angela unpack her gels and creams because the ziplock bag we have them in isn't one of their identical ziplock bags. My first question is, why do we have to use their bags. This is especially an important question considering no one had made her repack her bag in our many travels in the last 2 months, and what is the difference. Angela said that she had been traveling with that bag for a month already. The security "officer" told her they are trying a new procedure. The best part about this is that it was Easter weekend coming up. They decided at good time to try a new procedure was Easter weekend!
7:50 - We got through security and began walking to the gate, which was no exaggeration, over 1 mile away. Angela had had foot surgery 4 weeks earlier and couldn't move fast, but tried to run. Finally, I told her to walk and that I was going to run and try and talk them into keeping the door open until she gets there (my thought was at the very least delay the flight attendant long enough for Angela to get there). I took off running and lo and behold, when I got there, they hadn't even begun boarding yet. If you remember, the man who checked us in told us the gate was closing. We ran through Gatwick Airport, Angela on two surgically repaired feet, because the douchebag at the counter told us it was closing, when in fact it hadn't even begun boarding. Douchebags doesn't even begin to describe these people.
The plane took off at about 8:15 with us on board. The long and the short of this story is that London is not that great (not that bad either, but not that great). The transportation system is antiquated, the people are nice (although I don't know what language they speak) and easyJet is the worst airline I have ever flown in my life. Please tell everyone you know to avoid easyJet like it was some hybrid form of the plague and leprosy.
Friday, April 22, 2011
I needed a tuxedo
This post must be prefaced with the point that I have always wanted to be James Bond. I have always had this dream of driving to Monaco in an Aston-Martin, going to the casino gambling with millions of the British taxpayers pounds and then possibly killing some Russians. Well, Angela tried to make part of this dream come true for, she took me to Monaco for my birthday. First she bought me an awesome panama hat, then we flew down to Nice and checked into our bed and breakfast. The next day we hopped a train to Monaco and got there at about 11 am, all while wearing my panama hat.
(Me in my hat)
We walked out of the train station into one of the most gorgeous places I have ever seen. We first walked along the water and looked at all the yachts. Words cannot describe these yachts. The best way I can describe them is "floating mansions." They were monstrous. At this point I felt exceedingly poor (this is a theme that would persist throughout this trip).
(Yachts, we couldn't even get them all in the photo they are so big)
As we walked down the water we realized that we were lost. I walked up to a Monegasque (someone from Monaco) and said "Ou est le Grand Casino?" He point in a direction and we walked up a hill (another theme that would persist throughout this trip). We came to a gorgeous staircase that we followed up. There was a building that looked like it might be the casino. Lo and behold, it was.
(Le Grand Casino)
This was the most gorgeous casino I have ever seen. It rivaled St. Peter's Basilica in ornateness. It didn't open until 2 pm so we went and had lunch and spoke to a nice Monegasque man for a while. We then walked back to the casino. As we walked in I was told to take off my hat, which is certainly not a normal occurrence in American casinos. They then checked out passports because the Monegasques are not allowed to gamble in the casino. We paid our 10 euros to enter the casino and they printed our names on the ticket (they are serious about not letting Monegasques gamble). We wandered around the casino admiring how gorgeous it was. Then I decided I had come this far, I can't leave without placing a bet. I found a roulette table with a 5 euro minimum bet, placed my 10 euro note down and got two chips. I placed one on red, and won! I then took my winnings and again placed it on red, and won again! One thing I remember my dad teaching me was quit while you're ahead. I had doubled my money and decided I had accomplished what I wanted. Not only had I gambled at Le Grand Casino in Monaco, I had a winning percentage of 100, and I had doubled my money. I cashed in two of my chips and saved two for souvenirs (which were the cheapest souvenirs in Monaco I might add).
We then took a bus up to the top of the old city of Monaco and saw the most beautiful blue water you could ever imagine. There is no doubt that this is one of the most gorgeous places in the world, if not one of the richest (the sheer number of cars that cost more than $500,000 in this city is amazing).
(View from Vieux Monaco)
The next day we spent in Nice, which I think can best be described as nice. It's a pretty place right on the water. The views are beautiful, however, the beach is rocky and there seems to be little else for Nice to offer. I must add we had a fantastic meal at a Lebanese restaurant called "Adonis." If you're ever in Nice look it up, you will not be disappointed. The next day we left for London.
(Me in my hat)
We walked out of the train station into one of the most gorgeous places I have ever seen. We first walked along the water and looked at all the yachts. Words cannot describe these yachts. The best way I can describe them is "floating mansions." They were monstrous. At this point I felt exceedingly poor (this is a theme that would persist throughout this trip).
(Yachts, we couldn't even get them all in the photo they are so big)
As we walked down the water we realized that we were lost. I walked up to a Monegasque (someone from Monaco) and said "Ou est le Grand Casino?" He point in a direction and we walked up a hill (another theme that would persist throughout this trip). We came to a gorgeous staircase that we followed up. There was a building that looked like it might be the casino. Lo and behold, it was.
(Le Grand Casino)
This was the most gorgeous casino I have ever seen. It rivaled St. Peter's Basilica in ornateness. It didn't open until 2 pm so we went and had lunch and spoke to a nice Monegasque man for a while. We then walked back to the casino. As we walked in I was told to take off my hat, which is certainly not a normal occurrence in American casinos. They then checked out passports because the Monegasques are not allowed to gamble in the casino. We paid our 10 euros to enter the casino and they printed our names on the ticket (they are serious about not letting Monegasques gamble). We wandered around the casino admiring how gorgeous it was. Then I decided I had come this far, I can't leave without placing a bet. I found a roulette table with a 5 euro minimum bet, placed my 10 euro note down and got two chips. I placed one on red, and won! I then took my winnings and again placed it on red, and won again! One thing I remember my dad teaching me was quit while you're ahead. I had doubled my money and decided I had accomplished what I wanted. Not only had I gambled at Le Grand Casino in Monaco, I had a winning percentage of 100, and I had doubled my money. I cashed in two of my chips and saved two for souvenirs (which were the cheapest souvenirs in Monaco I might add).
We then took a bus up to the top of the old city of Monaco and saw the most beautiful blue water you could ever imagine. There is no doubt that this is one of the most gorgeous places in the world, if not one of the richest (the sheer number of cars that cost more than $500,000 in this city is amazing).
(View from Vieux Monaco)
The next day we spent in Nice, which I think can best be described as nice. It's a pretty place right on the water. The views are beautiful, however, the beach is rocky and there seems to be little else for Nice to offer. I must add we had a fantastic meal at a Lebanese restaurant called "Adonis." If you're ever in Nice look it up, you will not be disappointed. The next day we left for London.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Rome is the most expensive city on Earth
Okay, so this is a little late, but it has been ridiculously hectic here. We went to Rome for Angela's birthday, and had a fantastic time, although I will take this first opportunity to let you know that EasyJet absolutely blows (there will be a post dedicated entirely to EasyJet so I won't go into this right now). We landed in Rome around noon and went to get on our bus to the center of the city. We had read that a company called Terravision was really good, we soon learned differently. We missed the first bus we could have made because it was full. So we waited, and waited, and waited for about 30 minutes. Finally a second bus pulled in. Picking up our bags we were ready to board, that is until the bus backed up and left without anyone on it. Another 30 minutes went by before we finally got on a bus. It took about 45 minutes to get into central Rome and we were starving, so we decided to eat. We had a pretty good, if not expensive meal near the train station and got on the Metro across town.
We checked into our bed and breakfast, RomAnticaRoma, which was 75 yards from the Vatican wall and was fantastic. We immediately set out to see some of the city. We walked clear across the city from the Vatican to the Pantheon to Trastevere, which is across the Tiber River and south of the Vatican. In all, we probably walked about 5 miles, which isn't much, but Angela did just have surgery on her foot about 6 weeks ago.
The next day we got up early and got to the Vatican Museum about 45 minutes before it opened. We got into the museum rather quickly, and took some pictures from one of the most beautiful courtyards I've ever seen. We then made a beeline for the two things that we wanted to see, the Sistine Chapel and the Raphael room. Both were absolutely amazing. After the museum we went into St. Peter's Basilica, which is the most ornate building I think I have ever laid eyes on.
(The Raphael Room)
(One of many pictures of St. Peter's Basilica)
Later that day we tried to go see the Spanish Steps and the Trevi fountain, but it was so crowded we couldn't say anything. So we forgot that idea and went to have a glass of wine at Piazza Navona, which was so much better than the Spanish Steps and the Trevi Fountain. That night we had what may be one of the 10 best meals I have ever had in my life at a restaurant called Virginiae (I would like to post a link, but I can't seem to fine one).
(Piazza Navona and wine)
The next day, Angela's birthday, we got up early to see the Spanish Steps and the Trevi fountain without people. They were both much better when they were abandoned. We saw the Coloseum, the Forum, the Circus Maximus. We then went and had a drink in a rootop bar overlooking the city, had a mediocre dinner by the Pantheon. The next morning we woke up early, got on our flight back to Lyon and our whirlwind trip to Rome was complete. Finally, we had a trip where nothing ridiculous happened.
(The Coloseum)
We checked into our bed and breakfast, RomAnticaRoma, which was 75 yards from the Vatican wall and was fantastic. We immediately set out to see some of the city. We walked clear across the city from the Vatican to the Pantheon to Trastevere, which is across the Tiber River and south of the Vatican. In all, we probably walked about 5 miles, which isn't much, but Angela did just have surgery on her foot about 6 weeks ago.
The next day we got up early and got to the Vatican Museum about 45 minutes before it opened. We got into the museum rather quickly, and took some pictures from one of the most beautiful courtyards I've ever seen. We then made a beeline for the two things that we wanted to see, the Sistine Chapel and the Raphael room. Both were absolutely amazing. After the museum we went into St. Peter's Basilica, which is the most ornate building I think I have ever laid eyes on.
(The Raphael Room)
(One of many pictures of St. Peter's Basilica)
Later that day we tried to go see the Spanish Steps and the Trevi fountain, but it was so crowded we couldn't say anything. So we forgot that idea and went to have a glass of wine at Piazza Navona, which was so much better than the Spanish Steps and the Trevi Fountain. That night we had what may be one of the 10 best meals I have ever had in my life at a restaurant called Virginiae (I would like to post a link, but I can't seem to fine one).
(Piazza Navona and wine)
The next day, Angela's birthday, we got up early to see the Spanish Steps and the Trevi fountain without people. They were both much better when they were abandoned. We saw the Coloseum, the Forum, the Circus Maximus. We then went and had a drink in a rootop bar overlooking the city, had a mediocre dinner by the Pantheon. The next morning we woke up early, got on our flight back to Lyon and our whirlwind trip to Rome was complete. Finally, we had a trip where nothing ridiculous happened.
(The Coloseum)
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Scusi, salami?
Well, Angela and I were supposed to go to the Alps last weekend, but those plans feel through early in the week. On Wednesday Angela came to me with a great idea, we drive to Pisa and Florence for the weekend. I jumped at this opportunity. So on Saturday morning we jumped in the car and began our journey to Tuscany.
We drove into Italy and we stopped at a roadside rest stop. The interesting thing about rest stops in Italy in comparison to the US is that they are fantastic. We each got a cappuccino and a panini (at 10:30 in the morning). They were both delicious. We continued down the road and stopped 2 more times for cappuccino (it's that good), when I noticed that we were approaching Genoa. Now any good carnivore knows that Genoa is world famous for salami. So we decided to stop in Genoa and buy some salami (who wouldn't). The problem that we encountered is that Genoa is a huge city with a metro area of just about 1.5 million people. It's not as if we could simply zip off the highway, find the local butcher and buy ourselves a salami.
We got off the highway and quickly realized that we had no idea where to actually buy a salami. We drove around a bit to the center of the city when Angela suggested we roll down the window and ask someone, but we encountered another problem with this idea, neither of us speak Italian. We gave some serious thought to rolling down the window and yelling at a person on the street, "SCUSI, SALAMI?" And for a second this seemed like a good idea, maybe he/she could point us to the nearest salami (I think there is a law in Genoa that says all people at all times need to know the location of all butchers and sausage makers within a 200 yard radius of them). Unfortunately, Angela didn't actually do what she said she was going to, and we continued driving. We eventually entered into a neighborhood that we most definitely a working neighborhood and we passed by a fresh vegetable, fruit and meat market. Our next goal was parking. After about 30 minutes of trying to park we found a spot and ran in an bought our kilo of salami (for those of you who don't know metric, i.e. almost everyone reading this, a kilo equates to about 2.2 pounds; yes that's right, we bought over 2 lbs of salami).
We got back in the car and continued to an area in a national park called Cinque Terre (thanks for suggesting this Catherine). This is 5 fishing villages right on the Mediterranean, and is freakin' gorgeous. Although it was raining and a little cold we had a good few hours here just seeing the beautiful Italian countryside.
There is also one more thing that needs to be said about our trip to Cinque Terre, but this must be prefaced with a disclaimer that I brain farted this entire trip. We pulled into a parking lot in the town on Montrosso al Mare which is one of the 5 villages. I walked over to the parking meter (which in most European cities is one of the ones where you park, walk over, put in your money and then put a little piece of paper in the window that says how long you've paid for). As Angela is putting on her raincoat I decide to pay for parking. I have almost no coins on me, and the machine doesn't take bills, but it sure looked like it might take cards. The key words in that sentence are "looked like" and "might." It in fact did not take cards, but this didn't stop me. I found a hole in the parking meter that my card appeared to fit in. The next conversation with Angela, still putting on her coat, went something like this.
Me: Babe, I think I did something stupid.
Angela: What?
Me: I think I lost my credit card.
Angela: What?
Me: Do you have tweezers?
Angela: What?
Luckily Angela did have tweezers and I was able to extract my credit card from the machine. CRISIS AVERTED!
When we left Cinque Terre we drove to Pisa and checked into our hotel, which was quite nice and cheap. We had a room on the fourth floor that gave us a beautiful view of the mountains in the morning. We woke up early and went and took pictures of the tower, did some shopping (yes Angela bought a lamp shaped like the tower). We then got in the car and decided to drive down to Livorno for some lunch and over to Florence for two nights. We needed to get some gas, however. At this point I want to say two things, the part of the story cannot get back to Susan just yet (I'm looking at you Betsy) and we were driving Susan's diesel Mercedes-Benz A-class. If you read that last sentence and you think you put together what happened next, congratulations, you're a freakin' genius. We pulled over to a gas station and I started pumping gas. I want to point out that I was brain farting this entire trip. Although I kept reminding myself it was diesel my thought process went something like this;
"You can't pump diesel into a regular engine because the nozzle is too large, therefore the regular pump probably won't fit into a diesel gas tank."
I should have just thought back to when I learned basic shapes. A 2 inch circle can't fit into a 1 inch hole, but a 1 inch circle can fit into a 2 inch hole. I proved this logic correct when I pumped 8 liters of Super into a diesel engine. The ensuing conversation with Angela went like this:
Me: Babe, I did something stupid.
Angela: What?
Me: I accidentally pumped Super into the car.
Angela: What? How much?
Me: Just about 2 gallons.
Angela: What?
Me: Can you look in the manual to see what we should do?
Angela pulled out the manual, I'm guessing looking under the tab of "my fiance is a moron who put Super into a diesel engine, what should I do?" When she did this a ran into the gas station and asked the attendant in a panic, "Do you speak English?" His response was "a little." I said to him, "I accidentally put Super into my diesel car?" He looked down at his computer and said, "8 liter, fill diesel, fill diesel." There was another mechanic standing nearby. I looked at him for affirmation. He threw up his hands and said in a very nonchalant manner, "Fill diesel, fill diesel." I said, "Okay," and left to fill diesel. The attendant thinking that I must be some sort of functioning idiot came out to fill diesel for me. I got back in the car, closed my eyes and started the engine. The good news is that nothing bad happened to the car and there is no longer any Super in the gas tank, the bad news is that Angela and I still need to tell Susan about this incident.
The rest of the trip was relatively pain free. We stayed in very nice bed and breakfast in Florence called Althea Rooms, ate possibly the best meal of our lives at Osteria Santo Spirito and had a great time. On the way back we stopped in Parma and bought a kilo of Parmaggiano-Reggiano and 2 kilos of prosciutto di Parmia, which we just dug into and is delicious. All in all it was a memorable and awesome trip.
We drove into Italy and we stopped at a roadside rest stop. The interesting thing about rest stops in Italy in comparison to the US is that they are fantastic. We each got a cappuccino and a panini (at 10:30 in the morning). They were both delicious. We continued down the road and stopped 2 more times for cappuccino (it's that good), when I noticed that we were approaching Genoa. Now any good carnivore knows that Genoa is world famous for salami. So we decided to stop in Genoa and buy some salami (who wouldn't). The problem that we encountered is that Genoa is a huge city with a metro area of just about 1.5 million people. It's not as if we could simply zip off the highway, find the local butcher and buy ourselves a salami.
We got off the highway and quickly realized that we had no idea where to actually buy a salami. We drove around a bit to the center of the city when Angela suggested we roll down the window and ask someone, but we encountered another problem with this idea, neither of us speak Italian. We gave some serious thought to rolling down the window and yelling at a person on the street, "SCUSI, SALAMI?" And for a second this seemed like a good idea, maybe he/she could point us to the nearest salami (I think there is a law in Genoa that says all people at all times need to know the location of all butchers and sausage makers within a 200 yard radius of them). Unfortunately, Angela didn't actually do what she said she was going to, and we continued driving. We eventually entered into a neighborhood that we most definitely a working neighborhood and we passed by a fresh vegetable, fruit and meat market. Our next goal was parking. After about 30 minutes of trying to park we found a spot and ran in an bought our kilo of salami (for those of you who don't know metric, i.e. almost everyone reading this, a kilo equates to about 2.2 pounds; yes that's right, we bought over 2 lbs of salami).
We got back in the car and continued to an area in a national park called Cinque Terre (thanks for suggesting this Catherine). This is 5 fishing villages right on the Mediterranean, and is freakin' gorgeous. Although it was raining and a little cold we had a good few hours here just seeing the beautiful Italian countryside.
There is also one more thing that needs to be said about our trip to Cinque Terre, but this must be prefaced with a disclaimer that I brain farted this entire trip. We pulled into a parking lot in the town on Montrosso al Mare which is one of the 5 villages. I walked over to the parking meter (which in most European cities is one of the ones where you park, walk over, put in your money and then put a little piece of paper in the window that says how long you've paid for). As Angela is putting on her raincoat I decide to pay for parking. I have almost no coins on me, and the machine doesn't take bills, but it sure looked like it might take cards. The key words in that sentence are "looked like" and "might." It in fact did not take cards, but this didn't stop me. I found a hole in the parking meter that my card appeared to fit in. The next conversation with Angela, still putting on her coat, went something like this.
Me: Babe, I think I did something stupid.
Angela: What?
Me: I think I lost my credit card.
Angela: What?
Me: Do you have tweezers?
Angela: What?
Luckily Angela did have tweezers and I was able to extract my credit card from the machine. CRISIS AVERTED!
When we left Cinque Terre we drove to Pisa and checked into our hotel, which was quite nice and cheap. We had a room on the fourth floor that gave us a beautiful view of the mountains in the morning. We woke up early and went and took pictures of the tower, did some shopping (yes Angela bought a lamp shaped like the tower). We then got in the car and decided to drive down to Livorno for some lunch and over to Florence for two nights. We needed to get some gas, however. At this point I want to say two things, the part of the story cannot get back to Susan just yet (I'm looking at you Betsy) and we were driving Susan's diesel Mercedes-Benz A-class. If you read that last sentence and you think you put together what happened next, congratulations, you're a freakin' genius. We pulled over to a gas station and I started pumping gas. I want to point out that I was brain farting this entire trip. Although I kept reminding myself it was diesel my thought process went something like this;
"You can't pump diesel into a regular engine because the nozzle is too large, therefore the regular pump probably won't fit into a diesel gas tank."
I should have just thought back to when I learned basic shapes. A 2 inch circle can't fit into a 1 inch hole, but a 1 inch circle can fit into a 2 inch hole. I proved this logic correct when I pumped 8 liters of Super into a diesel engine. The ensuing conversation with Angela went like this:
Me: Babe, I did something stupid.
Angela: What?
Me: I accidentally pumped Super into the car.
Angela: What? How much?
Me: Just about 2 gallons.
Angela: What?
Me: Can you look in the manual to see what we should do?
Angela pulled out the manual, I'm guessing looking under the tab of "my fiance is a moron who put Super into a diesel engine, what should I do?" When she did this a ran into the gas station and asked the attendant in a panic, "Do you speak English?" His response was "a little." I said to him, "I accidentally put Super into my diesel car?" He looked down at his computer and said, "8 liter, fill diesel, fill diesel." There was another mechanic standing nearby. I looked at him for affirmation. He threw up his hands and said in a very nonchalant manner, "Fill diesel, fill diesel." I said, "Okay," and left to fill diesel. The attendant thinking that I must be some sort of functioning idiot came out to fill diesel for me. I got back in the car, closed my eyes and started the engine. The good news is that nothing bad happened to the car and there is no longer any Super in the gas tank, the bad news is that Angela and I still need to tell Susan about this incident.
The rest of the trip was relatively pain free. We stayed in very nice bed and breakfast in Florence called Althea Rooms, ate possibly the best meal of our lives at Osteria Santo Spirito and had a great time. On the way back we stopped in Parma and bought a kilo of Parmaggiano-Reggiano and 2 kilos of prosciutto di Parmia, which we just dug into and is delicious. All in all it was a memorable and awesome trip.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Father-in-law, Son-in-Law bonding
Last night Patrick and I attended the Olympique Lyonnais vs. AC Arles-Avignon football (soccer) match. Before coming to France one of the things high on my "to do" list was go to a soccer game. If you are unfamiliar with French soccer it works like other European soccer leagues. There are a number of different leagues (i.e. Ligue 1, Ligue 2, etc). The bottom three teams in Ligue 1 at the end of the season move into Ligue 2 and the top three teams in Ligue 2 move up to Ligue 1, and so on. Olympique Lyonnais last year was second in Ligue 1 (since they can't move up any further they just stayed put). Arles-Avignon was also in the top three last year, the top three of Ligue 2. This year Lyon is sitting in third place in Ligue 1 and Arles-Avignon is, you guessed it, in 20th (last) place. Not only are they in last place, they have only won 1 game this entire season and are 14 points behind the team in 19th place. Suffice it to say, they are bad. They make the North Texas football team look like the Pittsburgh Steelers (minus the sexual assault).
Patrick and I took the subway to the game, which was quite easy. As we came out of the subway I was expecting to see the stadium rise above everything else around, like when you come out of the "el" in the Bronx or at Willets Point. We crested the top of the stairs and there were throngs of people, but Patrick and I both did the same thing; we turned around in circles trying to figure out where to go next. Finally, I noticed what appeared to be a high school football field in Texas and said, "Oh, I think there's the stadium."
Patrick and I walked over to the stadium, which was built in 1930, and looked as if it hadn't been renovated since 1946 (and that's even questionable). But I didn't care, I wasn't going to the game for the stadium, I was going to watch some fantastic European soccer. In fact, the stadium gave it a little character. Patrick and I found our seats in the upper deck (superieur). This is where the size of the stadium really helped. We were in the upper deck and couldn't be more than 150 feet from the playing field It was great!
Now, I don't know if any retransmission, rebroadcast or account of the game without the express written consent of Ligue 1 is prohibited, but I'm going to go ahead anyway. Arles started with the ball, and they had it for about 7.4 seconds before Lyon took the ball away. This kind of set the tone for the entire game. They scored 2 goals within 20 minutes and then proceeded to win 5-0. Nobody would have confused this game with competitive, but I had a blast. This old stadium was moving with the excitement of 35,000 fans screaming and shouting. There were guys waving flags and banging drums. There was face paint, OL scarves everywhere. These fans had so much more zeal than fans at American sports. When Lyon scored a goal (which as stated above was often) the old stadium would literally shake and creak from the screaming of fans like it were struggling just to keep its walls up. In all, Patrick and I had a beer, watched a fun game and had a fantastic time. I can't wait for the Lyon-Marseilles game.
Patrick and I took the subway to the game, which was quite easy. As we came out of the subway I was expecting to see the stadium rise above everything else around, like when you come out of the "el" in the Bronx or at Willets Point. We crested the top of the stairs and there were throngs of people, but Patrick and I both did the same thing; we turned around in circles trying to figure out where to go next. Finally, I noticed what appeared to be a high school football field in Texas and said, "Oh, I think there's the stadium."
Patrick and I walked over to the stadium, which was built in 1930, and looked as if it hadn't been renovated since 1946 (and that's even questionable). But I didn't care, I wasn't going to the game for the stadium, I was going to watch some fantastic European soccer. In fact, the stadium gave it a little character. Patrick and I found our seats in the upper deck (superieur). This is where the size of the stadium really helped. We were in the upper deck and couldn't be more than 150 feet from the playing field It was great!
Now, I don't know if any retransmission, rebroadcast or account of the game without the express written consent of Ligue 1 is prohibited, but I'm going to go ahead anyway. Arles started with the ball, and they had it for about 7.4 seconds before Lyon took the ball away. This kind of set the tone for the entire game. They scored 2 goals within 20 minutes and then proceeded to win 5-0. Nobody would have confused this game with competitive, but I had a blast. This old stadium was moving with the excitement of 35,000 fans screaming and shouting. There were guys waving flags and banging drums. There was face paint, OL scarves everywhere. These fans had so much more zeal than fans at American sports. When Lyon scored a goal (which as stated above was often) the old stadium would literally shake and creak from the screaming of fans like it were struggling just to keep its walls up. In all, Patrick and I had a beer, watched a fun game and had a fantastic time. I can't wait for the Lyon-Marseilles game.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
I have lost faith in humanity
I realize it has been a long time since I last posted, but I've been really busy. As many of you know I am working on my dissertation which takes up a lot of my time. Throw into the mix my 20 hours per week in class learning French plus my research positions with professors at the University of North Texas my time is limited. But this is changing. Next weekend Angela and I are going to the Alps, which will be a nice beginning to Spring. We now have trips planned to Rome, Monaco, London, Sicily, Andorra, Barcelona and Dublin, which should be a blast.
My French is coming along, I just finished what would be the equivalent of 2 semesters of college French in the US. I'm still having a lot of trouble understanding when people speak, but I can form sentences, read simple French fairly well and write very simply. I am basically the equivalent of a 3 or 4 year old French child, maybe a stupid 5 year old.
In order to get my visa validated so that I can stay in France for more than 3 months I had to fill out some paperwork, and buy a 55 Euro stamp (un cinquante-cinq Euro timbre). These stamps are the French government's way of imposing taxes. In order to do certain things you have to buy the stamp, if you have the stamp you've paid your tax. It's really quite efficient. This is particularly true since you can usually buy them at a Tabac. The problem is that Tabacs don't seem to carry the 55 Euro stamp, so I had to go to the treasury. I went at around 1pm to avoid crowds. I walked up to the Accueil desk (which is like the welcome desk) and two people were sitting at it. I said to them, "Je voudrais un cinquante-cinq euro tampon, s'il vous plait." The woman sitting at this desk started speaking to me in French, I nodded, and then she gave me a number and pointed to the seats. While she was doing this the other man, who looked like a cross between Ron Jeremy and a mailman (he was wearing a track suit at work) got up and walked away. I went to go sit in a chair when my number was called (I might add at this point I was the only person there). They went through all of the trouble of giving me a number rather than telling me I could go and talk to the person who can help me. My thought on this was, "well maybe the number has something to do with accounting what they do." Like, they have to do it so they can show their boss that they were in fact working, or so they can keep track of how many people come in, etc. I walk over to the worker who called my number, it was the same guy who had been sitting at the Accueil desk and had heard me ask for the 55 euro stamp. He looks right at me and asks me what he can do for me, making me labor through my French again, all the time knowing damn well exactly what it is that I want.
I have one last story, the one that corresponds with the title of this post. Yesterday I was riding the bus from our apartment to the nearest Metro stop. It's about a 12 minute ride from my bus stop to the Metro and there are about a half dozen stops in between. As the bus pulls up to the stop before the Metro and woman with Down Syndrome gets on the bus in nothing but her underwear and a t-shirt. I might add it was below freezing yesterday morning. She was shivering and crying. I was watching her hoping that somebody who speaks French would ask her if she is alright, but nobody did. In fact, people seemed to be moving away from her. Finally, I got up and walked over to her and in English asked her, "Are you okay?" I didn't understand her response except for the word, "non." As we pulled into the Metro stop I signaled for her to come with me. She followed me and I walked her over to some police. I told the police in English the situation and told them that I don't know what her problem is, but she is certainly distressed. A police officer who spoke some English told me that they would help her. I walked away and got on the Metro. I'm not writing this so people know how great I am for helping this woman, but rather to point out how shitty other people are. It really made me question people's humanity.
My French is coming along, I just finished what would be the equivalent of 2 semesters of college French in the US. I'm still having a lot of trouble understanding when people speak, but I can form sentences, read simple French fairly well and write very simply. I am basically the equivalent of a 3 or 4 year old French child, maybe a stupid 5 year old.
In order to get my visa validated so that I can stay in France for more than 3 months I had to fill out some paperwork, and buy a 55 Euro stamp (un cinquante-cinq Euro timbre). These stamps are the French government's way of imposing taxes. In order to do certain things you have to buy the stamp, if you have the stamp you've paid your tax. It's really quite efficient. This is particularly true since you can usually buy them at a Tabac. The problem is that Tabacs don't seem to carry the 55 Euro stamp, so I had to go to the treasury. I went at around 1pm to avoid crowds. I walked up to the Accueil desk (which is like the welcome desk) and two people were sitting at it. I said to them, "Je voudrais un cinquante-cinq euro tampon, s'il vous plait." The woman sitting at this desk started speaking to me in French, I nodded, and then she gave me a number and pointed to the seats. While she was doing this the other man, who looked like a cross between Ron Jeremy and a mailman (he was wearing a track suit at work) got up and walked away. I went to go sit in a chair when my number was called (I might add at this point I was the only person there). They went through all of the trouble of giving me a number rather than telling me I could go and talk to the person who can help me. My thought on this was, "well maybe the number has something to do with accounting what they do." Like, they have to do it so they can show their boss that they were in fact working, or so they can keep track of how many people come in, etc. I walk over to the worker who called my number, it was the same guy who had been sitting at the Accueil desk and had heard me ask for the 55 euro stamp. He looks right at me and asks me what he can do for me, making me labor through my French again, all the time knowing damn well exactly what it is that I want.
I have one last story, the one that corresponds with the title of this post. Yesterday I was riding the bus from our apartment to the nearest Metro stop. It's about a 12 minute ride from my bus stop to the Metro and there are about a half dozen stops in between. As the bus pulls up to the stop before the Metro and woman with Down Syndrome gets on the bus in nothing but her underwear and a t-shirt. I might add it was below freezing yesterday morning. She was shivering and crying. I was watching her hoping that somebody who speaks French would ask her if she is alright, but nobody did. In fact, people seemed to be moving away from her. Finally, I got up and walked over to her and in English asked her, "Are you okay?" I didn't understand her response except for the word, "non." As we pulled into the Metro stop I signaled for her to come with me. She followed me and I walked her over to some police. I told the police in English the situation and told them that I don't know what her problem is, but she is certainly distressed. A police officer who spoke some English told me that they would help her. I walked away and got on the Metro. I'm not writing this so people know how great I am for helping this woman, but rather to point out how shitty other people are. It really made me question people's humanity.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
You make Ken Jennings look like a chump
It's been a while since I posted, but the last week has been hectic. On Monday I started my French classes; 4 hours a day 5 days a week. When I come home I'm exhausted and I have to work on my dissertation/work that I get paid for, so that doesn't leave too much time for blogging, but it is my duty!
My class has been going fantastically, I'm really enjoying it and learning a lot. After one week I'm stringing together grammatically incorrect rudimentary sentences, almost as if a 2 year old were drunk, but I've heard that's the first stage of learning, drunk 2 year old. My problem arises when someone understands what I'm trying to say/ask. As you can imagine, since drunk adults can barely understand what is happening, a drunk 2 year old has no idea. It makes me think of a story that I heard years ago about a family I knew who went to Spain. This family is 4 people, mother, father, and 2 children (an older son and a younger daughter). The son had taken a number of years of Spanish in high school and they were looking for something (I think it was the train station). His whole family said, "you took spanish, go and ask where the train station is." So he walks up to a man and yells, "WHERE IS THE TRAIN STATION?" His thought process behind this was that if he asks in Spanish the answer will be in Spanish and thus useless. I kind of feel this way in France, but I figure if I continue speaking in bad French it will eventually get better and I'll begin to understand.
So in my class I have three teachers, a nice woman named Luce on Monday and Friday, a slightly birdlike woman named Julie on Tuesday and Thursday and a man named Wassim on Wednesday. My classes with Luce and Julie went pretty smoothly the first week, my class with Wassim, however, was the scariest class of my life. There were 9 students sitting in the classroom when a middle aged man of Arab decent walked in. Now maybe this is simply some sort of socialization, but I found him incredibly intimidating, not frightening like I was going to die, but intimidating like I don't know what will happen if I don't speak French by the end of the day. Without saying a word he walked over to the board and wrote the letter "A." He turns toward the class and points at me, not knowing what to do I simply say, "Ah?" Wassim let out a little "oui," and pointed to the next student who also said "Ah," and the third student who said, "Ah," and so on. This continued for an hour and a half as he went through every vowel combination and consonant he could think of making us saying them with only the response of "oui," "non," some clicking sound that meant "non," or the occasional correction. I sat in this classroom with this man for an hour and a half was still not sure what his voice sounded like. I left the class during the break and immediately called Angela. I think my words were, "My teacher is the scariest man I have ever met, he could be a Bond villain." After the break we went back into class and he turned out to be one of the nicest teachers I've ever had, in fact, I think he liked me too because on Thursday I saw him in the hallways and he winked at me, is that strange?
These classes have also taken their toll on me in terms of sleep and fatigue. This fatigue caused me to do something I wouldn't normally do. I was sitting on the Metro on Thursday morning riding to school when on the same train car, about 15 to 20 feet away was Mickey Rourke. At first I didn't believe it, but then I started thinking, well he's a big star, maybe he's filming some movie in Lyon. The more I thought about this, the more it made sense. I even created a scenario in my head in which he was staring as some sort of Jason Bourne type character, which is probably a terrible casting decision.
Well, a little known fact about me is that I think meeting celebrities is AWESOME, and I have a strange desire to meet as many as possible. I don't know why I want to do this, maybe I think that meeting celebrities will one day pay off. I'll be on "Jeopardy!" and it will be my interesting story.
Alex Trebeck: Christopher, you once met John Travolta, tell us about that.
Me: Well Alex, I met John, that's what I like to call him, in the produce aisle at Waldbaum's. He was squeezing honeydews and I was picking out Ruby Red grapefruits. I said to him, "Any good melons," and he said, "Not yet."
Alex: Did he eventually find any good melons?
Me: No but I found 4 delicious grapefruits.
Well, I decided that this was my "Jeopardy!" moment. I would become friends with Mickey Rourke and I could tell the story on "Jeopardy!"
Alex: So Christopher, you're good friends with Mickey Rourke, tell us about that.
Me: Well Alex, we met in the Lyon metro back in 2011.
Alex: Wow, Christopher you are the most interesting contestant we have ever had. You make Ken Jennings look like a chump.
Now, I realize there are two major glaring problems with this scenario that was playing in my head. First and least importantly, being friends with Mickey Rourke would not make me the most interesting contestant to ever be on "Jeopardy!" Second, and most glaring, my plan had two steps, 1) meet Mickey Rourke, 2) go on "Jeopardy!" It never even occurred to me that Mickey Rourke and I wouldn't become friends and/or I might not be able to get on "Jeopardy!"
This being said, I decided it was time to meet Mickey Rourke. The train stopped at Bellecour and Mickey got off the train, which was fortuitous because Bellecour was also my stop. I walked quickly to catch Mickey. As I gained on him I began thinking about how to introduce myself, should I say, "Hey I loved the Wrestler," maybe I could say, "How's it hanging Mick!" I even contemplated the ol' shoulder punch for a second, but quickly dismissed it, Mickey used to be a professional boxer, he might not be expecting to be punched. As I sidled up next him I said, "Hey Mickey" to which he turned to me and said, "Excusez moi!"
My class has been going fantastically, I'm really enjoying it and learning a lot. After one week I'm stringing together grammatically incorrect rudimentary sentences, almost as if a 2 year old were drunk, but I've heard that's the first stage of learning, drunk 2 year old. My problem arises when someone understands what I'm trying to say/ask. As you can imagine, since drunk adults can barely understand what is happening, a drunk 2 year old has no idea. It makes me think of a story that I heard years ago about a family I knew who went to Spain. This family is 4 people, mother, father, and 2 children (an older son and a younger daughter). The son had taken a number of years of Spanish in high school and they were looking for something (I think it was the train station). His whole family said, "you took spanish, go and ask where the train station is." So he walks up to a man and yells, "WHERE IS THE TRAIN STATION?" His thought process behind this was that if he asks in Spanish the answer will be in Spanish and thus useless. I kind of feel this way in France, but I figure if I continue speaking in bad French it will eventually get better and I'll begin to understand.
So in my class I have three teachers, a nice woman named Luce on Monday and Friday, a slightly birdlike woman named Julie on Tuesday and Thursday and a man named Wassim on Wednesday. My classes with Luce and Julie went pretty smoothly the first week, my class with Wassim, however, was the scariest class of my life. There were 9 students sitting in the classroom when a middle aged man of Arab decent walked in. Now maybe this is simply some sort of socialization, but I found him incredibly intimidating, not frightening like I was going to die, but intimidating like I don't know what will happen if I don't speak French by the end of the day. Without saying a word he walked over to the board and wrote the letter "A." He turns toward the class and points at me, not knowing what to do I simply say, "Ah?" Wassim let out a little "oui," and pointed to the next student who also said "Ah," and the third student who said, "Ah," and so on. This continued for an hour and a half as he went through every vowel combination and consonant he could think of making us saying them with only the response of "oui," "non," some clicking sound that meant "non," or the occasional correction. I sat in this classroom with this man for an hour and a half was still not sure what his voice sounded like. I left the class during the break and immediately called Angela. I think my words were, "My teacher is the scariest man I have ever met, he could be a Bond villain." After the break we went back into class and he turned out to be one of the nicest teachers I've ever had, in fact, I think he liked me too because on Thursday I saw him in the hallways and he winked at me, is that strange?
These classes have also taken their toll on me in terms of sleep and fatigue. This fatigue caused me to do something I wouldn't normally do. I was sitting on the Metro on Thursday morning riding to school when on the same train car, about 15 to 20 feet away was Mickey Rourke. At first I didn't believe it, but then I started thinking, well he's a big star, maybe he's filming some movie in Lyon. The more I thought about this, the more it made sense. I even created a scenario in my head in which he was staring as some sort of Jason Bourne type character, which is probably a terrible casting decision.
Well, a little known fact about me is that I think meeting celebrities is AWESOME, and I have a strange desire to meet as many as possible. I don't know why I want to do this, maybe I think that meeting celebrities will one day pay off. I'll be on "Jeopardy!" and it will be my interesting story.
Alex Trebeck: Christopher, you once met John Travolta, tell us about that.
Me: Well Alex, I met John, that's what I like to call him, in the produce aisle at Waldbaum's. He was squeezing honeydews and I was picking out Ruby Red grapefruits. I said to him, "Any good melons," and he said, "Not yet."
Alex: Did he eventually find any good melons?
Me: No but I found 4 delicious grapefruits.
Well, I decided that this was my "Jeopardy!" moment. I would become friends with Mickey Rourke and I could tell the story on "Jeopardy!"
Alex: So Christopher, you're good friends with Mickey Rourke, tell us about that.
Me: Well Alex, we met in the Lyon metro back in 2011.
Alex: Wow, Christopher you are the most interesting contestant we have ever had. You make Ken Jennings look like a chump.
Now, I realize there are two major glaring problems with this scenario that was playing in my head. First and least importantly, being friends with Mickey Rourke would not make me the most interesting contestant to ever be on "Jeopardy!" Second, and most glaring, my plan had two steps, 1) meet Mickey Rourke, 2) go on "Jeopardy!" It never even occurred to me that Mickey Rourke and I wouldn't become friends and/or I might not be able to get on "Jeopardy!"
This being said, I decided it was time to meet Mickey Rourke. The train stopped at Bellecour and Mickey got off the train, which was fortuitous because Bellecour was also my stop. I walked quickly to catch Mickey. As I gained on him I began thinking about how to introduce myself, should I say, "Hey I loved the Wrestler," maybe I could say, "How's it hanging Mick!" I even contemplated the ol' shoulder punch for a second, but quickly dismissed it, Mickey used to be a professional boxer, he might not be expecting to be punched. As I sidled up next him I said, "Hey Mickey" to which he turned to me and said, "Excusez moi!"
Monday, January 31, 2011
Test Tomorrow
Well, tomorrow is February 1. This means two things, 1) I am taking my French placement exam tomorrow, and 2) Two days until Groundhog Day. Although I am usually quite a flutter with the prospect of Groundhog Day (I say 6 more weeks of winter weather, at least for Punxsatawney, PA; Staten Island Chuck and Malverne Mel might have different things to say, and don't get me started on Sun Prairie Jimmy, that rodent is ridiculous), I am nervous with anticipation for my exam. I don't exactly know the format of this exam, but I'm taking guesses on my overall score. My guess is that I will get somewhere below 4% of all questions correct.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
No, Americans don't eat cats
Susan and Patrick had to leave town for the weekend, they had a conference in Lille. Susan left on Thursday morning and Patrick left very early Saturday. This meant that Angela and I would have to go to the supermarket by ourselves. As Angela is infirm due to her surgery, she is unable to drive or walk for a long period of time. This meant that I had to drive, and yes, do most of the shopping. Now I must point out that driving in France is a lot like driving in a video game, speed limits are not always observed, the roads meander, the likelihood of hitting another car is pretty great. The only exception to this video game analogy is that if you do hit something, there is no re-start button.
As you might glean, I'm a little petrified to drive in France, but to make matters worse, Susan has left the keys to her Mercedes, expecting me not only to drive in France but to drive her company Mercedes. At first I thought Angela wouldn't be coming along, but she decided that she was going to come; this calmed my nerves a little. There was still a little problem with Susan's car, it is a Mercedes A-series. If you are unfamiliar with the A-series the important things to know is that it is a well made, cute car, however, it is only one step up from the Smart Car in size. Anyone who knows me knows that I am not an enormous person (about 6 feet and 195 pounds), but this car made me feel like a giant. I lowered the seat as far as possible and my head only cleared the ceiling by about an inch and a half. This wasn't the biggest problem however, the biggest problem was that I was so high in the seat that the rearview mirror blocked my entire view out of the right-side of the windshield. This would present a problem to most people, it became even more frightening when I was blowing through round-a-bouts at 60 km/h. Oh, and to make matters worse, in France the car to the right has the right of way, all of most of the time. If that doesn't make sense to you, don't worry, it doesn't really make sense to me either. I've been told the car on the right always has the right of way, except in the this case, and this case, and this case. Frankly, I understand it to mean, there really is no rule and people do as they please. Well, despite the other drivers best efforts, we got to the supermarket in one piece.
We walked into the supermarket. Before going any further this store must be explained in greater detail. It is a large market that borders upon a Wal-Mart (except it has more food, and less cheap plastic crap from China). On our list we had a number of different goods, from food for the weekend to non-food items such as an alarm clock (I will get back to the alarm clock later). Angela collected some things that we needed and her foot was starting to bother her, so I went and took everything she had, put it into the big cart, and she went and sat down. It had been rather uneventful until this point, but there were a few items left on the list that I hadn't been able to find. At this point I want to ask everyone out there if they know what the French word for sweet potato is? As far as I can tell it is not "pomme de terre sucre." I still haven't found the sweet potatoes, but I digress.
Angela was sitting on a couch outside of the store (it's in a mall), and I'm looking for the last items on the list. Susan and Patrick have a cat and they needed some food for the cat. I wandered this store for about 20 minutes without finding the cat food, when I finally found an employee and asked, "Ou est le chat . . ." and then it occurred to me that I don't know the french word for food. I decided the best course of action was to pantomime the international symbol for "eat." The look upon this man's face was one of complete confusion/horror. He either had no idea what I was looking for, or he thought I wanted to buy one of those delicious roasting cats. I can only imagine that this Frenchman now believes that Americans love to eat cat, in fact we love it so much that we travel to other countries and look for it in the supermarkets, and we cannot fathom the idea that a supermarket wouldn't sell cat. Realizing how big of a fool I must have looked like, I just walked away, eventually finding the cat food.
After finding all food items on the list (with the exception of "pomme de terre sucre"), I went to go find some other items, we needed batteries, pens, and an alarm clock. I found the batteries and pens with no problem. Now it was time to get that alarm clock. I walked over to the homewares section of the store, thinking it'll probably be near the bed linens, maybe near some of the other small appliances. I didn't find an alarm clock, but I kept walking through pockets of horrible stench. Apparently, there was a Frenchman with awful gas wandering around the home section of Carrefour. As if the stench weren't bad enough, however, I was walking all over this section of the store and I kept running into the same people, who no doubt smelled this odor as well, and who I swear were looking at me with disgust. I wanted to clarify that I was not the one leaving the aroma behind, but remembering my cat food experience and realizing I don't know what the French word for crop-dusting is, I simply proceeded to checkout and left.
As you might glean, I'm a little petrified to drive in France, but to make matters worse, Susan has left the keys to her Mercedes, expecting me not only to drive in France but to drive her company Mercedes. At first I thought Angela wouldn't be coming along, but she decided that she was going to come; this calmed my nerves a little. There was still a little problem with Susan's car, it is a Mercedes A-series. If you are unfamiliar with the A-series the important things to know is that it is a well made, cute car, however, it is only one step up from the Smart Car in size. Anyone who knows me knows that I am not an enormous person (about 6 feet and 195 pounds), but this car made me feel like a giant. I lowered the seat as far as possible and my head only cleared the ceiling by about an inch and a half. This wasn't the biggest problem however, the biggest problem was that I was so high in the seat that the rearview mirror blocked my entire view out of the right-side of the windshield. This would present a problem to most people, it became even more frightening when I was blowing through round-a-bouts at 60 km/h. Oh, and to make matters worse, in France the car to the right has the right of way, all of most of the time. If that doesn't make sense to you, don't worry, it doesn't really make sense to me either. I've been told the car on the right always has the right of way, except in the this case, and this case, and this case. Frankly, I understand it to mean, there really is no rule and people do as they please. Well, despite the other drivers best efforts, we got to the supermarket in one piece.
We walked into the supermarket. Before going any further this store must be explained in greater detail. It is a large market that borders upon a Wal-Mart (except it has more food, and less cheap plastic crap from China). On our list we had a number of different goods, from food for the weekend to non-food items such as an alarm clock (I will get back to the alarm clock later). Angela collected some things that we needed and her foot was starting to bother her, so I went and took everything she had, put it into the big cart, and she went and sat down. It had been rather uneventful until this point, but there were a few items left on the list that I hadn't been able to find. At this point I want to ask everyone out there if they know what the French word for sweet potato is? As far as I can tell it is not "pomme de terre sucre." I still haven't found the sweet potatoes, but I digress.
Angela was sitting on a couch outside of the store (it's in a mall), and I'm looking for the last items on the list. Susan and Patrick have a cat and they needed some food for the cat. I wandered this store for about 20 minutes without finding the cat food, when I finally found an employee and asked, "Ou est le chat . . ." and then it occurred to me that I don't know the french word for food. I decided the best course of action was to pantomime the international symbol for "eat." The look upon this man's face was one of complete confusion/horror. He either had no idea what I was looking for, or he thought I wanted to buy one of those delicious roasting cats. I can only imagine that this Frenchman now believes that Americans love to eat cat, in fact we love it so much that we travel to other countries and look for it in the supermarkets, and we cannot fathom the idea that a supermarket wouldn't sell cat. Realizing how big of a fool I must have looked like, I just walked away, eventually finding the cat food.
After finding all food items on the list (with the exception of "pomme de terre sucre"), I went to go find some other items, we needed batteries, pens, and an alarm clock. I found the batteries and pens with no problem. Now it was time to get that alarm clock. I walked over to the homewares section of the store, thinking it'll probably be near the bed linens, maybe near some of the other small appliances. I didn't find an alarm clock, but I kept walking through pockets of horrible stench. Apparently, there was a Frenchman with awful gas wandering around the home section of Carrefour. As if the stench weren't bad enough, however, I was walking all over this section of the store and I kept running into the same people, who no doubt smelled this odor as well, and who I swear were looking at me with disgust. I wanted to clarify that I was not the one leaving the aroma behind, but remembering my cat food experience and realizing I don't know what the French word for crop-dusting is, I simply proceeded to checkout and left.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Orange orange
Angela and I are having internet woes in the new apartment. We can't piggyback off of Susan and Patrick's internet because the router is too far away. So Susan had a good idea; we can just use 3G USB modems. I figured, it'll work and its already included with Patrick's cell phone. So Patrick plugged in the USB modem and it didn't work in his computer. I plugged it into my computer and it didn't work their either. Long story short, we brought it to the Orange store (the cellular company), and they decided that the USB modem was broken and Patrick needed a new one (we also found out that it wouldn't work for Angela and I because it would cost a ton after the first 2 hours of usage).
Patrick filled out the requisite paperwork to get a new USB modem and they told him it would be available in a few days. Well last night we went to go pick it up. I figured we would have to go to the Orange store again, I was mistaken. We drove to a town nearby St. Didier called Champagne Au Mt. D'Or. In this town there was a long street with a lot of stores from boucheries to fromageries to boulangeries. We found a parking space that and began walking down the street. We did walk into another orange store, but notice how the word orange was not capitalized here. It was quite literally a market that sells fruit. We walked in and a swarthy looking man comes walking out from the back. Patrick talks to him for a minute and then the man walks into the back again, comes out with a box, opens it and gives Patrick a brand new USB modem. It seemed like some sort of back alley deal from the Sopranos. I know this isn't standard French operating procedure though, because as we walked out of the fruit store I said to Patrick, "That was bizarre." His response was simply, "Yes, it was."
Patrick filled out the requisite paperwork to get a new USB modem and they told him it would be available in a few days. Well last night we went to go pick it up. I figured we would have to go to the Orange store again, I was mistaken. We drove to a town nearby St. Didier called Champagne Au Mt. D'Or. In this town there was a long street with a lot of stores from boucheries to fromageries to boulangeries. We found a parking space that and began walking down the street. We did walk into another orange store, but notice how the word orange was not capitalized here. It was quite literally a market that sells fruit. We walked in and a swarthy looking man comes walking out from the back. Patrick talks to him for a minute and then the man walks into the back again, comes out with a box, opens it and gives Patrick a brand new USB modem. It seemed like some sort of back alley deal from the Sopranos. I know this isn't standard French operating procedure though, because as we walked out of the fruit store I said to Patrick, "That was bizarre." His response was simply, "Yes, it was."
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Lost in Lyon
Angela had her foot surgery on Friday and it went well. She doesn't appear to have any complications and it looks like it worked. She just got out of the hospital today so I've been keeping her company at the hospital the last couple of days. Well, yesterday she was tired and said she was going to take a nap. I said that's fine, I could get Emma her french tag at the store down the street and then I could get some lunch. This seemed like a good idea about, but about halfway down the street I said to myself, "Oh crap, you're probably going to have to ask somebody to make the tag for Emma." Just so everyone is clear, I speak virtually no French (I know basic phrases, and can maybe pick out a word here or there when a person responds). I decided I was going to try this anyway. Well, I walked around a little and deciphered that dog tags in France are known as "nom d'l chien" or something like that. So I went up to an employee and asked "Ou est le nom d'l chien, sil vous plais?" I was quite proud of myself, he brought me over to where they are and in bit of French and English I figured out that it would take 1 week for them to make. This store is kind of far from our house, so I decided it didn't make sense to drive across the city to come and pick up the dog tag in a week, so I politely tried to thanks him by saying "Merci beaucoup." However, I didn't know how to say, I don't want to buy it. So the scene played out something like this:
Me: "Merci beaucoup,"
Homme: Awkward silence as the man starred at me (4 or 5 seconds goes by)
Me: "um...I don't think I need it."
Homme: "Que?"
Me: "Un week est too long."
Homme: "Dacour" (man walks away)
I got away with one there, but not without embarrassment.
At this point I was pretty hungry and decided to go and find some lunch. I continued walking down the street I was on, but unfortunately it was all apartments. So I decided to make a right turn, which was also all apartments. I walked a few blocks and made another right turn, more apartment (for a country known for its food and restaurants they sure are hard to come by). After a while I made another right and a left because I started to see some places (a boulangerie, a patisserie, etc.). Before I knew it I was in a big plaza with tons of food. I walked into one patisserie/boulangerie but I they were out of sandwiches, I think, I wasn't exactly sure what the woman said, but I thought that's what it was, so I just turned and left, I hope she didn't ask me what I wanted or something. Well, I walked around the plaza and walked into a brasserie and asked the man, "Manger?" but unfortunately they were not serving food anymore because it was after 2pm, 5 minutes after 2. This is the French way, food only until 2 and then restaurants don't serve anymore. Apparently nobody in France ever has a problem in which they end up missing lunch. Anyway, le garcon told me "Boissons." I left and I finally found a patisserie/boulangerie with sandwiches. I got poulet and an eclair chocolat. I was very proud of myself because the woman asked me, "Vous voulez blanc, le chocolat ou le café." I actually understood what she meant, there were three different types of eclairs, vanilla, chocolate or coffee. I ordered my chocolate eclair, sat down and had a nice little lunch in Cour Lafayette.
I started to walk back to the hospital and decided to pick up some flowers for Angela, and I walked into a store that said "Fleurs." This was in fact a florist and I'm thinking alright, I'm getting the hang of this. No real problems in the florist, and I walked out with a red begonia in a pot. I began walking back to the hospital, or where I thought the hospital was, and this is the point I realized that Lyon is not laid out on a grid, my exact thought was, "Oh shit, where the hell am I?" I walked under some trains tracks, which I should have known not to do, since I hadn't walked under any earlier in the day. After getting turned around I found a map at a bus stop, which I apparently misread, and walked in the exact opposite direction of where I was going. After getting mediocre directions from a nice British couple, I ended up even further from where I was supposed to be. I walked up to a bus stop again to look at the map, but I couldn't find where I was or where I was going. I knew the hospital was on Boulevard de Stalingrad near Parc Tete D'Or. All I needed to do was find Stalingrad and walk towards the park. Standing at this stop were two elderly French men. I turned to them and said, "Excuse moi, ou est le Boulevard de Stalingrad?" To my surprise they understood me, unfortunately that is where the comprehension ended.
They started talking to me in French and quickly realized that I was only understanding about two or three words of what they said. Trying to communicate I finally figured out how to get to where I was going, then they started telling me which bus I need to take. I decided I needed to tell them that I was walking, but unfortunately I didn't know the word for walk was "marche." But I thought, no big D, it must be close to the Latin word (considering I had 8 years of Latin I thought I could do this). Thinking to myself, Latin don't fail me now, I remembered the word "to walk" in Latin was ambulare. I don't know why this seemed like a good idea in my head, but at the time it was the best idea in the world; I decided to make up a word for "walk," and that word was "ambulaire." Now, for those who don't speak French, this is not the word for "walk," it isn't even a word. Trying to inform them that I will be walking, I say "J'ambulaire." The looks on their faces cannot be described. Here, standing in front of them was a person that they thought was an American, making up words while holding I giant freakin' begonia. Finally, they understood when I pantomimed walking with my fingers. Well, I eventually found my way back to the hospital after about a 3 or 4km walk whilst holding a potted begonia. I told this story to Angela and she nearly crapped herself laughing. I, however, am slightly vindicated; the word "ambulatoire" means "ambulatory," which is kind of close to walk.
So, that was my day wondering around Lyon. What felt like the entire day was actually only about 1 hour and 15 minutes. The most annoying part is that the flower shop that I bought the begonia at was probably only 500 meters from the hospital. But a word to the wise, if walking in Lyon, remember the city is not on a grid.
Me: "Merci beaucoup,"
Homme: Awkward silence as the man starred at me (4 or 5 seconds goes by)
Me: "um...I don't think I need it."
Homme: "Que?"
Me: "Un week est too long."
Homme: "Dacour" (man walks away)
I got away with one there, but not without embarrassment.
At this point I was pretty hungry and decided to go and find some lunch. I continued walking down the street I was on, but unfortunately it was all apartments. So I decided to make a right turn, which was also all apartments. I walked a few blocks and made another right turn, more apartment (for a country known for its food and restaurants they sure are hard to come by). After a while I made another right and a left because I started to see some places (a boulangerie, a patisserie, etc.). Before I knew it I was in a big plaza with tons of food. I walked into one patisserie/boulangerie but I they were out of sandwiches, I think, I wasn't exactly sure what the woman said, but I thought that's what it was, so I just turned and left, I hope she didn't ask me what I wanted or something. Well, I walked around the plaza and walked into a brasserie and asked the man, "Manger?" but unfortunately they were not serving food anymore because it was after 2pm, 5 minutes after 2. This is the French way, food only until 2 and then restaurants don't serve anymore. Apparently nobody in France ever has a problem in which they end up missing lunch. Anyway, le garcon told me "Boissons." I left and I finally found a patisserie/boulangerie with sandwiches. I got poulet and an eclair chocolat. I was very proud of myself because the woman asked me, "Vous voulez blanc, le chocolat ou le café." I actually understood what she meant, there were three different types of eclairs, vanilla, chocolate or coffee. I ordered my chocolate eclair, sat down and had a nice little lunch in Cour Lafayette.
I started to walk back to the hospital and decided to pick up some flowers for Angela, and I walked into a store that said "Fleurs." This was in fact a florist and I'm thinking alright, I'm getting the hang of this. No real problems in the florist, and I walked out with a red begonia in a pot. I began walking back to the hospital, or where I thought the hospital was, and this is the point I realized that Lyon is not laid out on a grid, my exact thought was, "Oh shit, where the hell am I?" I walked under some trains tracks, which I should have known not to do, since I hadn't walked under any earlier in the day. After getting turned around I found a map at a bus stop, which I apparently misread, and walked in the exact opposite direction of where I was going. After getting mediocre directions from a nice British couple, I ended up even further from where I was supposed to be. I walked up to a bus stop again to look at the map, but I couldn't find where I was or where I was going. I knew the hospital was on Boulevard de Stalingrad near Parc Tete D'Or. All I needed to do was find Stalingrad and walk towards the park. Standing at this stop were two elderly French men. I turned to them and said, "Excuse moi, ou est le Boulevard de Stalingrad?" To my surprise they understood me, unfortunately that is where the comprehension ended.
They started talking to me in French and quickly realized that I was only understanding about two or three words of what they said. Trying to communicate I finally figured out how to get to where I was going, then they started telling me which bus I need to take. I decided I needed to tell them that I was walking, but unfortunately I didn't know the word for walk was "marche." But I thought, no big D, it must be close to the Latin word (considering I had 8 years of Latin I thought I could do this). Thinking to myself, Latin don't fail me now, I remembered the word "to walk" in Latin was ambulare. I don't know why this seemed like a good idea in my head, but at the time it was the best idea in the world; I decided to make up a word for "walk," and that word was "ambulaire." Now, for those who don't speak French, this is not the word for "walk," it isn't even a word. Trying to inform them that I will be walking, I say "J'ambulaire." The looks on their faces cannot be described. Here, standing in front of them was a person that they thought was an American, making up words while holding I giant freakin' begonia. Finally, they understood when I pantomimed walking with my fingers. Well, I eventually found my way back to the hospital after about a 3 or 4km walk whilst holding a potted begonia. I told this story to Angela and she nearly crapped herself laughing. I, however, am slightly vindicated; the word "ambulatoire" means "ambulatory," which is kind of close to walk.
So, that was my day wondering around Lyon. What felt like the entire day was actually only about 1 hour and 15 minutes. The most annoying part is that the flower shop that I bought the begonia at was probably only 500 meters from the hospital. But a word to the wise, if walking in Lyon, remember the city is not on a grid.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
One Week Down
Boy have we had a busy week, not an exciting one, just a busy one. If I haven't told you already we are living in an apartment on Susan and Patrick's property that has been vacant for sometime. Due to the vacancy Susan and Patrick turned off the furnace. Well, long story short, it did not want to turn back on. This did not stop us, we called the furnace repairman, made an appointment and got to work getting the apartment set. The carpeting in the bedroom in our apartment had been torn up exposing the hardwood floors, which were covered in glue which formerly held down the carpet. This mean, break out the sanders. Angela, Susan and I spent a day sanding the floor until it looked brand new (I'm going to say it's oak, maybe French oak, which could be used to make wine, why should we be standing on it). Angela then varnished the floors and painted the room. We put together some furniture, and began setting up the apartment; it is almost completely ready now.
In addition to the apartment, Angela is having a slight medical procedure done tomorrow that involves a 2 night hospital stay. Well, in order to prepare for this she had to visit a few doctors. We are sitting in the doctor's office (which is in a hospital of sorts) and in walks a guy decked out in New York Mets gear. Anyone who knows me knows that I think of the Mets fans as a bit of a special organization. The Mets are the second baseball team in New York, rarely win and I suspect nobody would really want to be associated with the Mets unless they were actual Mets fans (hell, many of us don't want to be associated with them and we are Mets fans). Looking at the man wearing all of this gear (jacket, hat, etc.) I feel an instant camaraderie with him, like he and I are in on some sort of secret information that other people are not privy to, we know what being a Mets fan is all about and feel for each other. He's my people and I'm his. Well, it turns out, that this mutual understanding was less than mutual. As he walks by I look right at him and say "Let's go Mets." His response was to look at me like I'm insane and walk right past.
How am I the insane one in this situation. You're the guy wearing paraphernalia of an organization which you don't know from Adam. Seriously, for all this guy knows, the Mets could be some groups of misfits who can't do anything right and succeed at only crushing the dreams of children and adults alike; oh wait, I guess that is a pretty good synopsis of the Mets, but you get my point.
I recovered from the embarrassment I sustained when I spoke to the pseudo-Mets fan and the next day Angela and I decided we needed to go to the grocery store and buy some food for the house, so we went to the Casino. Now before you start getting ideas, the Casino is a supermarche (supermarket) here in France, it's not like we're degenerate gamblers who are blowing our money on blackjack when we need food. It was a bit of a windy and cold day, so I was wearing a scarf, and we purchased a whole bunch of food, including a baguette. This was my time to really be French, I had my scarf and my baguette. I threw my scarf around my neck, my baguette under my arm, and went home, tres francaise.
Many other things have happened since we've been in France, but most of them are pretty boring, even more boring that what I wrote above. The only thing I have to say is I bought a 5 Euro bottle of wine at the supermarche yesterday and it was one of the more expensive bottles of wine in the entire store. And this wasn't a small wine section, there were 3 aisles of wine. Moreover, I would put this wine as one of the 25 best wines I've ever had. Just fantastic, it was a 2006 Cotes du Rhone (rouge) made by Domain Mireille and Vincent. Just so you know, the French don't tell you what kind of grapes are used in the making of a wine, you're just supposed to know. I just looked this up and the two most popular red grape varietals in Cote du Rhone are grenache and syrah, so my guess is this was probably a blend of those two grapes.
That's all I have for right now. I suspect this blog will become more interesting after I start my classes and I butcher the French language. Who knows I might try to buy a shirt and end up in another country, never underestimate my ability to not speak French.
In addition to the apartment, Angela is having a slight medical procedure done tomorrow that involves a 2 night hospital stay. Well, in order to prepare for this she had to visit a few doctors. We are sitting in the doctor's office (which is in a hospital of sorts) and in walks a guy decked out in New York Mets gear. Anyone who knows me knows that I think of the Mets fans as a bit of a special organization. The Mets are the second baseball team in New York, rarely win and I suspect nobody would really want to be associated with the Mets unless they were actual Mets fans (hell, many of us don't want to be associated with them and we are Mets fans). Looking at the man wearing all of this gear (jacket, hat, etc.) I feel an instant camaraderie with him, like he and I are in on some sort of secret information that other people are not privy to, we know what being a Mets fan is all about and feel for each other. He's my people and I'm his. Well, it turns out, that this mutual understanding was less than mutual. As he walks by I look right at him and say "Let's go Mets." His response was to look at me like I'm insane and walk right past.
How am I the insane one in this situation. You're the guy wearing paraphernalia of an organization which you don't know from Adam. Seriously, for all this guy knows, the Mets could be some groups of misfits who can't do anything right and succeed at only crushing the dreams of children and adults alike; oh wait, I guess that is a pretty good synopsis of the Mets, but you get my point.
I recovered from the embarrassment I sustained when I spoke to the pseudo-Mets fan and the next day Angela and I decided we needed to go to the grocery store and buy some food for the house, so we went to the Casino. Now before you start getting ideas, the Casino is a supermarche (supermarket) here in France, it's not like we're degenerate gamblers who are blowing our money on blackjack when we need food. It was a bit of a windy and cold day, so I was wearing a scarf, and we purchased a whole bunch of food, including a baguette. This was my time to really be French, I had my scarf and my baguette. I threw my scarf around my neck, my baguette under my arm, and went home, tres francaise.
Many other things have happened since we've been in France, but most of them are pretty boring, even more boring that what I wrote above. The only thing I have to say is I bought a 5 Euro bottle of wine at the supermarche yesterday and it was one of the more expensive bottles of wine in the entire store. And this wasn't a small wine section, there were 3 aisles of wine. Moreover, I would put this wine as one of the 25 best wines I've ever had. Just fantastic, it was a 2006 Cotes du Rhone (rouge) made by Domain Mireille and Vincent. Just so you know, the French don't tell you what kind of grapes are used in the making of a wine, you're just supposed to know. I just looked this up and the two most popular red grape varietals in Cote du Rhone are grenache and syrah, so my guess is this was probably a blend of those two grapes.
That's all I have for right now. I suspect this blog will become more interesting after I start my classes and I butcher the French language. Who knows I might try to buy a shirt and end up in another country, never underestimate my ability to not speak French.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Viva la France! We have arrived!
We left DFW around 11:30 am CST. Our flight was on time, we breezed through security (I didn't even have to get patted down), we got to Dulles International on time, and then a suspicious package was found near the baggage claim area at Dulles. We got delayed at the gate (on the plane) for about 2 hours. This wasn't really that big of a deal, and they gave us free wine because of the delay, which was pretty cool. We got into Geneva a little late because of the delay in DC, but all in all, our travel experience wasn't too bad.
So we are now here in Lyon. Both Angela and I took some jet lag naps (the best kind of naps) and I'm about to head to bed. I just thought it was important for me to document our arrival in France.
So we are now here in Lyon. Both Angela and I took some jet lag naps (the best kind of naps) and I'm about to head to bed. I just thought it was important for me to document our arrival in France.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
T-minus 6 Days
It's been a while since I posted here, mostly because nothing has happened that is worth sharing with people. Well, at least nothing France related. Now that we are less than a week from moving I thought it should be noted for the world to see on the world wide superhighway. Angela and I are moving in 6 days. We leave DFW on January 6th, land in Geneva on the 7th, and drive to Lyon that day. We're both very excited, and I can't speak for Angela, but I'm freakin' nervous. I've never lived in another country, and this move has just descended upon me very quickly. It seems like everything has come together quite fast. When this idea of studying French for my degree was first hatched by my then Ph.D. advisory committee (read Mathieu Turgeon) 2 years, I thought it was a great idea that would be lots of fun, but I would have only given it at most a 20% chance of happening. It seems strange to me now that in only 6 days I'm moving to France. It should be a blast thought.
On a different note, my visa came on December 23 (sweet), Emma was able to get on a flight with Susan to Lyon on the 29th (double sweet), but we have to get our lives packed up in 6 days (sour or savory, whichever is the opposite of sweet). Well on that note, I should probably get to work. Happy New Year to all and we hope to see many of you in France in the coming months.
On a different note, my visa came on December 23 (sweet), Emma was able to get on a flight with Susan to Lyon on the 29th (double sweet), but we have to get our lives packed up in 6 days (sour or savory, whichever is the opposite of sweet). Well on that note, I should probably get to work. Happy New Year to all and we hope to see many of you in France in the coming months.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
The Great Visa Debacle
Well, as many of you know, my visa appointment was yesterday. Since we don't have a French Consulate here in Dallas I had to drive down to Houston. All visa appointments must take place before noon, so I got myself a 10:30 am appointment thinking the latter the better. Sunday afternoon I got in the car and drove down to Houston. After a very boring 5 hour drive due to traffic in Big D, I arrived at my "hotel" in Houston. I use the term hotel very loosely here. I'm a grad student and don't have much money, but when you pay $45 for the night I guess you get what you pay for. It was 85 degrees out (yes that's right 85 degrees a week before December) and the AC didn't work too well, and by not too well, I mean at all. The humidity was terrible. The bed felt like it was filled with rocks, and the creme de la creme (that's French for cream of the cream) was the two roaches I killed in the bathroom at 2 am. I got about 4 hours of sleep and awoke at about 7:30, which was an hour before I planned on awakening, but decided it was just best for me to leave. I packed up my things, threw them in the car, found a Starbucks and had a coffee.
I headed over to the Consulate at around 9:30 thinking I'll get there early. This was in fact a fantastic idea considering my Tom Tom had no idea where I was. The Consulate was actually 1.5 miles from the Starbucks, but with Tom Tom's stellar directions I got to drive 13 miles and take 45 minutes to find my way there. I got in at 10:15, informed them I was there and sat down.
I was called over to talk to the friendly French woman who would be interviewing me, and I must say, she actually was quite friendly and helpful. Unfortunately, she did not design the French Consulate's webpage. I had almost everything I needed. The long and the short of it is that I do not have my visa as of yet, because I need to fill out an application on a website called Campus France, which is essentially a common application for French universities, the catch, however, is that I have already been accepted to the Catholic University of Lyon. I simply have to fill out my personal information, and my acceptance along with $140 to Washington, DC, and they will send me back an e-mail saying I am approved. I then have to send this to the Consulate in Houston and they will be able to finish my visa application. The biggest problem is that a Campus France application takes about 3 weeks to complete, and then I need 7 to 10 days for my visa to be processed. I will get my visa somewhere between December 23 and January 3, hopefully. If I don't, I will likely be forced to push my flight to France back a week. Gotta love bureaucracy!
I headed over to the Consulate at around 9:30 thinking I'll get there early. This was in fact a fantastic idea considering my Tom Tom had no idea where I was. The Consulate was actually 1.5 miles from the Starbucks, but with Tom Tom's stellar directions I got to drive 13 miles and take 45 minutes to find my way there. I got in at 10:15, informed them I was there and sat down.
I was called over to talk to the friendly French woman who would be interviewing me, and I must say, she actually was quite friendly and helpful. Unfortunately, she did not design the French Consulate's webpage. I had almost everything I needed. The long and the short of it is that I do not have my visa as of yet, because I need to fill out an application on a website called Campus France, which is essentially a common application for French universities, the catch, however, is that I have already been accepted to the Catholic University of Lyon. I simply have to fill out my personal information, and my acceptance along with $140 to Washington, DC, and they will send me back an e-mail saying I am approved. I then have to send this to the Consulate in Houston and they will be able to finish my visa application. The biggest problem is that a Campus France application takes about 3 weeks to complete, and then I need 7 to 10 days for my visa to be processed. I will get my visa somewhere between December 23 and January 3, hopefully. If I don't, I will likely be forced to push my flight to France back a week. Gotta love bureaucracy!
Friday, November 19, 2010
Best City in Europe to Visit
I'm starting to get really geared up for this move, and in particular, I'm excited about the prospect of travel around the continent. I mean, if we're going to be in France, we really should take advantage. There are a number of places that I really want to visit while we're over there, such as Barcelona, Athens, Berlin, Lisbon/Porto, Edinburgh, Budapest, Sicily/Capri, Istanbul (no Constantinople), Sofia, etc. I think it's important for us to decide what is tops of our list, and I figured why not open this up to all of our friends to let us know the places that they really liked/hated. Now this in no way means that we will actually visit the spot you suggest, and we may well decide to visit the places you hate. I'm just hoping for some input, and maybe some information gleaned from personal experience about what there is to do in these cities and when we should visit. So, I open the forum to all of you, leave your comments and we'll certainly think about looking at them.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Fly the Friendly Skies
Does United still use that slogan? Well, whether they do or not doesn't matter, we're flying United Airlines from DFW to Dulles to Geneva, Switzerland. You may ask, why are you going to Switzerland and not France? Well the answer to your question lies in a 21 pound ball of cuteness and annoyance. Most airlines have restrictions on dog weights in the cabin, and we can't check Emma because of her flat little face. American Airlines restricts cabin dogs to 20 pounds (Emma weighs too much). Delta doesn't seem to know if French Bulldogs are allowed on their airline at all (we called and the three people I talked to all had different answers). Most of the European carriers restrict dogs in the cabin to 8 kilos (about 17 pounds). We can't fly any airline that will bring us through Heathrow because of quarantine issues. Finally, Continental won't allow dogs in the cabin on any transatlantic flights. United Airlines doesn't have a weight restriction, just a size restriction in inches, which Emma meets, so United it was, however, there was just one more problem.
United and Continental are in the midst of a merger, but they are not completely merged yet. This means that United will sell us a ticket on Continental and call it a United flight even though it is operated by Continental. The problem with this is that Continental's pet policy will still apply. Therefore, we had to find a United flight that was operated by United so Emma could get on. This posed two more problems, almost all United flights out of DFW are operated by Continental, and flying into France was around $1,200 per person. We thought we might have to catch a Southwest flight to Chicago to get a United flight operated by United into Paris. After hours of searching we finally decided to look for flights into Geneva, afterall it's only an hour and a half drive from Lyon. Lo and behold, there is one flight leaving at around noon from DFW to Dulles to Geneva, so we jumped on it and we're going to Switzerland. You've gotta love the Swiss, except for that tacitly supporting Hitler thing.
United and Continental are in the midst of a merger, but they are not completely merged yet. This means that United will sell us a ticket on Continental and call it a United flight even though it is operated by Continental. The problem with this is that Continental's pet policy will still apply. Therefore, we had to find a United flight that was operated by United so Emma could get on. This posed two more problems, almost all United flights out of DFW are operated by Continental, and flying into France was around $1,200 per person. We thought we might have to catch a Southwest flight to Chicago to get a United flight operated by United into Paris. After hours of searching we finally decided to look for flights into Geneva, afterall it's only an hour and a half drive from Lyon. Lo and behold, there is one flight leaving at around noon from DFW to Dulles to Geneva, so we jumped on it and we're going to Switzerland. You've gotta love the Swiss, except for that tacitly supporting Hitler thing.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
France Calendar
As most of you know, Angela and I are moving to Lyon, France for 8 months. I will be taking classes in French (bonjour, look I can already speak it), I will also be doing some field research in Brussels/Strasbourg. Angela will be teaching English for a large amount of time that we're there, and we will both be traveling A LOT! This being said, we still want visitors, but with all the interest people have in visiting us in France, Angela and I thought the logistics might get slightly overwhelming. Therefore, we've created this public calendar so people can keep track of our schedule in France and can block out time to visit. If you're interested in visiting you can reserve some time, we will block it off on the calendar so that others can see what days are available. So without further adieu, our calendar is below.
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