Mont Saint Michel

Please remember I left you last in Saint Malo, France. To Mont Saint Michel!

The journey from Saint Malo to Mont Saint Michel (henceforth know as MSM) was filled with anticipation (and those crazy roundabouts). During the ride, our faculty member/chaperone (who is the big soccer fan and scored us that awesome bus) was happy to provide commentary on nearly everything that passed out of the window. For the first third or so of the journey, we saw a heck of a lot of cabbage (white cabbage, red cabbage, cabbage for people, cabbage for animals, etc.) and a variety of other vegetables. The part of Brittany we were driving through makes up a good portion of France’s agricultural industry.

Soon enough, the number of cabbage fields dwindled and the road began to follow the coast. We could see the English Channel. Only… wait… the water is a good distance away (up to 8 kilometers at points). What gives? The tide was out. This area of France is hugely affected by the tide (and, therefore, moon). What do the fishermen do? They have these special boats that have wheels and can drive the long distances on land before getting to the water. The French are pretty crafty people. Fun fact: when the tide is in, MSM is an island all its own; when it is out, you can drive to it. Another fun fact: the tide can rush in/out as fast as 18 miles per hour (or was that kilometers… who cares, its fast). Go impress your friends with that little kernel of knowledge.

Hold your horses. Is that what I think it is? That little grey spot on the horizon? It’s the MSM! We’re here! Well… actually the MSM is a pretty big protrusion from the earth’s crust. We still have about half an hour until we actually get there. In the mean time, check out all of the abandoned windmills (none of them red for those of you wondering—French humor: Mulin Rouge = Red Windmill, but that is another trip). Some of these windmills were turned into houses, some of them are being preserved because Victor Hugo wrote some book or poem or play or something inside of them (there is only one like this that I know of). Now draw your attention to the many oyster and muscle pools. This area is known for its oysters and muscles. Another little culinary tidbit: Normandy/Brittany is also known for its lamb, which is prized for its natural saltiness. Why? Ocean water is salty and washes over some grass/marsh when the tide does its thing. The salt from the ocean stays with the grass. The grass gets eaten by the lamb. Bam! Salty lamb. I, however, neither saw nor tasted one of these animals.

We made it to the MSM! First glimpse:


Impressive.

History lesson: The MSM is a mont (whatever that is, but it is NOT a mountain). Construction started on said mont in the year 708 when a certain Bishop Aubert commissioned a sanctuary in honor of Saint Michael the Archangel on what was then called the Mont-Tombe. Through the years, the sanctuary has been added to (to say the least). In the Tenth Century, construction on the abbey commenced. Over the years, the architecture adapted to the political climate in France (i.e. Hundred Years' War). From the French Revolution (late 1700’s) until 1863, the abbey was used as a prison (you got to love separation of church and state). Since then, the MSM has been a place to go and see. It is a national monument and listed by the UN as a ‘cool place to see’ (UNESCO).

End of history. Start of real life. Whoever designed this architectural feat must have had rocks for brains. Yeah, it is really awesome to look at. Cool. Neat. Only in actual use, I had to walk up steep inclines and steps, then more steep inclines and steps. So many steep inclines and steps. Was it worth it? Personally, I’m not sure, but you be the judge:


So once atop this Everest-like mont... we go through the abbey and take lots of pictures that don’t come out or are of no importance to anyone but the person who took them. As far as abbeys go, this one is pretty plain (no ornate decorations or fancy paintings) albeit GIANT. So many rooms. Here is one example:


Every now and again, the path from room to room would take us outside where we would take pictures of the abbey or the (desolate) landscape. Look, here are two now:


And don’t forget the steeple.


See the golden statue on top? It actually looks like this:


This is just a replica that you can take a picture of. The real one was made in 1897 by Emmanuel Frémiet. I just wonder why this man went through all the trouble of making such in intricate sculpture when no one can really see its finer points on account of it being so high up. Perhaps I’ll never know.

The MSM is not just an abbey. It has a tiny little ‘city,’ complete with a number of pastry shops, cafes, restaurants, and shops that all charge at least 10 times more for the same service anywhere else in France. Location, location, location. Because there are no cars on the mont, the roads are really narrow.


Alas, our decent is complete and it is time to go. One last picture for the road.


It is now time for about a two-and-a-half hour ride back to Angers complete with more commentary on the passing countryside. This time, an American cemetery with soldiers from World War Two, and cities with their subsequent castles. I don’t have any proof, but I’m almost certain that we went out of our way to cover some of these obscure cities in lieu of taking the most direct route back. It is not out of the realm of possibility.

Alas, we arrive back in Angers with empty stomachs and full cameras. This concludes the Saint-Malo Mont Saint Michel excursion.

Some notes:

When I decided to go on this trip, I did so for the Mont Saint Michel. I didn’t know Saint Malo was included (full disclosure: I didn’t even know it was a city) until after I signed up. Despite my ignorance, I really enjoyed Saint Malo, perhaps more than MSM. Don’t get me wrong, the MSM was really impressive and well worth taking the excursion, but Saint Malo was a neat town I wouldn’t have seen otherwise. I was pleasantly surprised.

The MSM is a behemoth. It is also an insane tourist trap. We went on a Saturday in February. The odds of having the weather we did (i.e. not rainy with pokes of blue sky and sunshine) are worse than winning the lottery. Because of these terrible odds, there were relatively few tourists with us. On a Saturday in summer, I understand that MSM fills with more tourists than a Justin Bieber concert does 14 year old girls. Also, walking up all those stairs in the summer? That is a recipe for crabby people.

Saint Malo

The program I am studying under (CIDEF at UCO – the French love their acronyms – this is probably best left unexplained, just trust me here) offers five, daylong excursions to various French monuments/landmarks/tourist traps. The reality of the situation is that if a train can’t get me there in €40 or less, then I’m not going, so these subsidized excursions (they aren’t free!) offer me a chance to see places in France I would otherwise miss. Of the five excursions, I chose to go on three. Last Saturday happened to be the first:

Saint Malo and Mont Saint Michel.

Okay, listen CIDEF excursion people, I don’t really care about this Saint Malo business. Take me to the Mont Saint Michel. Take me to the Mont I’ve seen in pictures for years. Take me to the Mont everyone who goes to France takes pictures of. Take me to the Mont. Right now.

They didn’t listen to me. The bus driver drove to Saint Malo instead. In protest, I slept (it was 7:30AM and a 2 and a half hour bus ride complete with fog/mist, give me a break).

Two notes on the bus ride: 1) I rode on the Angers professional soccer (football) team’s motor coach (the director of CIDEF is a crazy fan and takes pleasure in reserving their bus for excursions like these). Check that life-goal off the list. 2) France is seriously full of roundabouts/traffic circles. Full to the brim.

We arrived in Saint Malo mid-morning. The weather was beautiful, contrary to what the weatherman said. Sunny and just a little bit cool. Three hours in Saint Malo. Go!

What exactly do you do in Saint Malo? Well, you could start by walking the city walls. Saint Malo is a fortified city. It has a giant wall all the way around. Some proof:


These arches are the main entrance way to the city (compete with intricate stone carvings above). There are a couple of other archways scattered round, but I’d say most traffic goes through here.


The wall literally goes all the way around. It was a nice walk on a nice day.

The city sits on the northern coast of France (on the English channel) in the French region of Brittany. Its proximity to England made/make it the perfect port for shipping and… war. The city played a major role in the 100 Years War (it is pretty old, after all). That is where the city walls come in. Need to keep people out? Just put up a giant wall made from the local abundance of granite. More recently, the Germans occupied the city during World War Two. In a successful effort to take back the city, the Allies ended up burning three-quarters of it. Never fear, for the French rebuilt nearly everything and brought the city (walls and all) back to its Middle Ages glory!


Me, leaning on the wall, with the English Channel and an island (with what may have at one time been a prison – just a guess).


The actual castle part of the city was a little bit of a let down. But it looks pretty impressive from this angle.

Okay. Now that we walked all the way around, what else is there to do here? Let’s go inside, shall we? Stores, restaurants, shops galore. Two examples:


We are in Brittany after all. The sea food here is abundant, being on the coast and everything.


You are seeing this picture correctly. Three creperies right in a row. Saint Malo is littered with creperies. Brittany is known for its galletes and crepes. Fine by me.

How about a visit to the Cathedral?


This place is pretty impressive. Apparently it is sort of a mélange of different architecture styles. Gothic, romantic, art deco? Who cares? It is pretty.


You know what else this Cathedral has? Graves. Lots of them. Dead priests and bishops and the like, some from way back in the day (i.e. 13th Century). Also, this guy:


Jacques Cartier: He’s the guy we should thank for the 2010 Olympics (and probably hockey). He discovered Canada in the 16th Century (1534, actually).

Well, time is running out and I’m hungry. I forewent the crepe and galette to maximize my sightseeing time. What to eat? What to eat?


Kouign Amann. This is a dessert specialty of Brittany (the name is in Breton). It tasted like an elephant ear minus the cinnamon, plus about 80 pounds of butter. Mine was warm and oh so delicious. Brittany is also known for a flan-like dessert with dried fruit (possibly prunes) called Far. It wasn’t nearly as good or as photogenic.

I should note that many of France’s famous authors and poets came to Saint Malo at some point. My host dad assures me that Chateaubriand lived on an island you can see from Saint Malo (or something like that). When asked if I knew who Chateaubriand is, I lied and said yes. It is just so much easier that way.

Alas, it is time to leave for Mont Saint Michel. Saint Malo, you surprised me. Adieu.

Next time: Mont Saint Michel.

Soldes Season

I’ve only been here a couple of weeks, but I am already starting to see just how bureaucratic France really is. Through the course of this blog, I’ll try and keep you informed on different examples of the crazy French government. The first: Sales.

Do you remember that walking tour we went on a couple of weeks ago? Do you remember the signs that were in virtually all the clothing store windows we walked by? No? Let me refresh your memory.



And of course the Lacoste store.


There are plenty more where these came from. I was going to take more pictures, but that seemed like a waste. If you are not convinced that nearly every store had a “Soldes” sign in the window, then I don’t know why you even bother getting up in the morning. I just don’t.

Explanation: “Soldes” means Sale. You know. Like the sale that is likely going on at any department store in the United States. Example: “Sale – 20% 40% 60% OFF All Winter Apparel!”

Here is where the French government comes in. And oh, do they ever. Look back up at the Lacoste sign. Do you notice the dates (these pictures were taken before 9 February – apologies for the delay)? In France, the government tells the stores when they can have Soldes. If the H&M in Angers wants to have a Sale, they can’t just put the red signs up and mark down their prices (that would be chaos, sheer and utter chaos). Instead, they have to wait for a certain season dictated by the government. January happens to be one such season.

I have learned, however, that stores can get around this. Well, kind of. Indeed, the stores can discount their items, but they cannot call these price reductions sales (or soldes as the case may be). So the French public doesn't constantly pay the top dollar for everything (although clothes are relatively expensive here). They still get their sales, excuse me, discounts… just not for face value.

Why the bureaucrati-mania? Nobody knows. And if somebody did, I’d imagine they would have to do a heck of a lot of paper work before they could make the reason public.

And you were worried about a healthcare overhaul. Just something to keep in perspective.


But honestly, they were everywhere.

Just another Tuesday: It seems that today is Ash Wednesday. That means yesterday was Mardi Gras. (Please note the lack of ! at the end of the preceding sentence) In fact, the Fat Tuesday celebrations in France are surprisingly subdued despite their French moniker. You might get a king cake, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up (also, why would you get a relatively bland cake when there are dozens of other delicious options at your neighborhood bakery/pastry shop?). Perhaps it is the town of Angers that sticks their nose up at the normally delicious holiday, but there was no mention of any celebration in all of the “hexagon” on the news last night. Imagine that.

Host Family Dinner

As part of the living arrangement, my host family has to serve me at least one meal a week. I know. This seems strange in the United States where you might shower a foreign student with mountains of (processed and reprocessed) food, let them use your washing machine, and talk to them until their ears fell off. The French are a little subtler than that. Some may call them frugal and others cheap. Some may call them cold and others “Jack Frost.” (From my perspective at the time of posting, even the Russians would find them cold, but that is a blog to come). Indeed, the French are only a little bit nice, but they operate on a different scale then we do. It is one of those cultural barriers we all need to get over.

I digress. This post is not a dissertation on “The subtle cultural differences and oddities as expressed by the French, specifically concerning those in Angers, France” (again, a blog to come). Rather, it is about the dinner we shared on Monday. Crepes.

The dinner started with Madame (Mme.) and I in the kitchen. We usually eat in the dining room, but the crepes are made to order so that would just be crazy. Monsieur (M.) was on the phone with one of his daughters. He was speaking so quickly, I don’t even think she knew what he was saying. That is not important. The crepes are important.

But the crepes have to wait. The first course in this meal of meals was the galette. Galette? I want a crepe, lady. But the galettes were actually delicious. Traditionally, galettes (here, Breton galettes – i.e. galettes from Brittany) are essentially crepes but they are made with buckwheat flower, a “very French” flour Mme. assured me. They are almost always savory. She asked if I wanted cheese, ham, or egg. All three? Yeah, duh. She cooked the galette and then added the cheese to melt, the ham to warm, and the egg to cook (sunny side up style). It was fine. It was even better than fine. Runny egg yoke, gooey cheese, and ham all stuffed in a (who are we kidding) brown crepe? It was good. (For those of you keeping score, M. has arrived to the dinner party and is now enjoying a galette he insisted on preparing himself.)

After the galette, Mme. served some salad (lettuce only) with a simple vinaigrette. Clearly this was not the star of the dinner. But why would the salad even try when there are crepes involved?

And then she asked what kind of crepe I wanted (I have been waiting days for this moment). For the first one, I asked for her favorite. Let me ask you a question: Have you ever eaten something that blows your mind? I have. It was a crepe with butter, sugar, and lemon. Probably the best crepe I have ever had. Definitely. Forget the chocolate or Nutella (although I did have a Nutella crepe as my second and it was delicious) or fruit jams or whatever. When I put this one in my mouth, the sweet/sour flavors made me want to yell. They made me actually want to open my mouth and sing. It took all my might not to. But really. When I ate this crepe, my mouth sort of tingled. It was an experience.

Both Mme. and M. had a crepe with some of that Sander’s hot fudge sauce I gave them. They both loved it. The hot fudge seemed to remind them of a chocolate/caramel candy (bonbon) that is a French staple (score one for me!). I am going to seek this bonbon out, and I’ll let you know my feelings on the matter.

And that was dinner. We still have so many more to go. Mme. has a lot to live up to next week, but I’m sure she will pull through. She is French after all.

Ye of little faith

My Dear Reader,

Fear not! I have not forgotten about you. It seems I have come across some unforseen technological mishaps which include, but are not limited to, the following:

~I do not have an Internet connection at my house.
~The school administration has not given me a password to use the WiFi (pronounced Wee-Fee) yet.
~I am currently typing on a French keyboard: A is Q and Q is A. W is Z and Z is W. M is a , and , is a ; (press shift and ; to get .) and ; is M. Up is down and down is up! This last one is hardly true, but not inconcievable.

Rest assured that these problems will soon be fixed and my blogging will take on an air of regularity.

Wishing you and you family all the best,

Dennis

A Walk to Remember

I would like to introduce you to a town, a city even, that calls itself Angers, France. Reader, Angers. Angers, Reader. (This would be a polite time to shake hands or touch cheeks if your feeling French)

We start our tour at the Catho (alias; Université Catholique de l’Ouest = my school away from school). Not two steps off the campus sits a quintessential European traffic circle.


Five roads (possibly all with different names) meet here. The center island is called the Place André-Leroy. No one knows what he did to get this prestigious title, so don’t even bother asking. Anyway, each street proceeds only when directed by the appropriate traffic signal. This is not a free for all like the roundabouts I’m used to at home (although I saw one of those here as well).

Take a right at the circle and a left on the first street. This is Rue Bressigney:


The roads are indeed skinny (not unlike the people here). To be fair, the cars are also much smaller here. Rue Bressigney is a pretty happening place full of cheapish food, bakeries, and the like. Its close proximity to the Catho means that I will likely visit often.

Walking down this same road leads us closer to the downtown area. There are all kinds of stores, restaurants, cafés, bakeries, etc. The narrow roads create this intimate environment that is like no other I’ve experienced in the States. Another thing I haven’t experienced in the States:


Two thoughts: 1)SuperMan France Edition still has a place to change clothes, and 2) this could possibly be the entrance to the Angers branch of the French Ministry of Magic (perhaps I should dial 62443).

Further down the road, I took these pictures:



Regarding the first – This is a sign announcing a Chocolatier. Forgive me. I was really excited to see bakeries and pastry shops until I realized they are, indeed, everywhere.
Regarding the second and third – These may or may not be the Cathedral. There are quite a few tall, gothic looking buildings in Angers. It is hard to keep them all straight. In any event, they are pretty.

Ahh yes. Le maison d’Adam (Adam’s house). This is a perfect example of what buildings in Angers used to look like (and there are still quite a few around, but this one is probably in the best condition and the only one I’ve seen that is one-third blue):


There are really intricate carvings all over the exterior. I’ll likely go back one day and get better pictures and more information. Stay tuned.

From there, we went to the Cathedral. It was pretty amazing. Unfortunately for you, that is another blog. But really. Make sure to check back because this involves 15th century stained glass. C’mon. That is old, people.

It is cold outside. I don’t know if you notice, but it is also cloudy and trying to rain (although it never actually succeeds). So let’s go get some hot chocolate, shall we? My first patisserie:

Inside, I got a hot chocolate and my very first macaron!



The hot chocolate came with a cube of sugar on the spoon and a little cookie. It was so chocolaty. I put the clean spoon in and it came out coated in chocolate (see the picture above). The macaron was café flavored. There were others, like pistachio, lemon, and chocolate, but I’ll save those for another time. It was delicious. Soft. Light. A creamy filling. Just. Good.

It is getting late, so lets head back. We end up passing this:

This is known as the Place de (someone I can’t remember and let's face it, you really don't care that much). You see, Angers is currently undergoing major construction, which you will hear about soon enough. This giant square used to be a parking deck, but they knocked it down to complete the aforementioned project. The reason I bring this up is twofold: 1) This is where the guillotine (humanely?) killed people during the Revolution, and 2) during the demolition/excavation, they found human bones that dated back to the 2nd Century (don’t tell Bob Dutco of 103.5 WMUZ The Light Detroit, MI, because he won’t believe you).

And this concludes our tour, for now. I have so much more to show you. Alas, I am tired and have some unpacking to do.

Until next time. À bientôt.

Are we there yet?

Hello. Are you there? I’m here. Where? Angers. Duh.

Indeed, I made it safely to my European epicenter. There is so much to share. All in due time. First things first.

Total Duration: ~35 hours
Total Active Travel Time: ~14 hours
Here’s how it happened.

1) Drive [Home to Chicago] – Something like 5 hours of listening to Sirius Classic Vinyl as a gray (read ugly) Midwestern landscape slowly passed by the window. Halfway through, we stopped for Mass at Notre Dame with cousin Corryn. From ND to Chicago, we relied on Dad’s new Garmin to get us to the hotel/airport (one in the same). While I’m still convinced we owe the state of Illinois potentially hundreds of dollars in unpaid electronic tolls, the Garmin got us where we needed to go safely with minimal yelling (oh yes... there was still yelling – the Garmin voice lady has a temper).
2) Plane [Chicago to NYC] – After a short and restless night in Chicago, I hopped a plane to NYC where I would meet all the other ND students traveling to Angers. Mom and Dad walked me to the Delta counter and, naturally, told the woman checking my bags everything she didn’t want to know about us being there. It turns out Katherine W. (said Delta employee) studied in Angers (same program as me) for a year in 1997-1998. Small world. I said goodbye to Mom and Dad at the security checkpoint and made it to JFK no problem.
3) Concrete Jungle (where dreams are made) – In order to make my international flight, I arrived in New York at 11AM. The Air France flight didn’t leave until 5PM. You do the math. I collected my bags at the baggage claim of terminal 3 and made my way to terminal 1 via the airport’s AirTran (the only free transportation in all of New York). Over in terminal 1, the Air France counter wasn’t open. I found a couple of ND students there already and we sat until 1:30 when the counter finally opened. I checked my bags, got through security and then sat in the international terminal for a couple of hours (not as exciting as you might think).
4) Plane [NYC to Paris] – I was pretty excited for this one, people. I like the airport. I like planes.


Say hello to captain Jean Philippe and the co-captain (whose name I don’t know).


The plane had about 6 sections: First class, Business class, Elite class, Business elite class, First business elite class. And coach. I was in the last, but I still had a nice touch screen entertainment system.

Not 30 minutes after takeoff, the crew started serving dinner. We had the choice of beef or ravoli. I chose the ravoli.

Clockwise from bottom middle: Middle Eastern salad with chicken (surprisingly good), Cheese ravioli (actually burnt to a crisp), Chocolate/Café flavored brownie/cake (bad), Chocolate pudding (good), water, Montery Jack Cheese (the white square), and bread. We had our choice of drinks (including wine or bubbles), but I had mineral/sparkling water. Afterwards, I had tea in that red cup you see at the top of the tray.
After dinner, I watched the movie Away We Go and liked it. Then, I turned to the radio/music options available through the entertainment system to find a mix of American and French hits from the early 2000’s. This will put me to sleep for sure, I thought to myself. Two hours in and out, maybe. After realizing the music was hardly working, I watched the entire This Is It Michael Jackson movie in 25 minutes, fast-forwarding through the songs I didn’t know (most of them).
During the movies, I had the following through process: I’ve been watching this movie for a while. I wonder where we are. I wonder the exact speed and altitude among other statistics of this flight in both English and Metric units. Yeah. That is what I wonder.
At any time duing the flight, I could see these and other statistics of the plane and a map of where we were (à la flighttrackers). Here is picture of us approaching Europe.


At 3:30 Paris time, continental breakfast was served (no pun intended):


Orange juice, muffin (mystery flavor - it was fine), plain yogurt, and le café.
From then on, we were flying over France. Thus, my window seat entertained me from there. We landed in Pairs at 5:27AM in blizzard like conditions. I was excited to be in France, not so much for the snow.
All of the ND students assembled outside the plane and headed toward the exit. I had my first conversation in French on French soil with the customs guy. It went something like this: “Bonjour.” “Bonjour!” (I give him my passport) “Merci.” “Merci!” (I'm the one with the !)
I’d call that a success, wouldn’t you? When we got to the baggage claim, my bags were there. Thank goodness! One girl didn’t get her bags (but she had a hunch before we left – connecting flights between airlines are no good).
And then… we waited. Another girl in the program (not the one that lost her bags, that would just be crazy) missed the plane due to another connecting flight delay (again, no good). We waited no less than 2 hours in the baggage claim for her. I did some crosswords and KenKen to kill some time. The others in the group got restless, so they decided to get a computer out and play American pop music and, this is the best part, dance. I wanted to, well you probably know.
5) Train [Paris to Angers] – After that fiasco, we walked to the train station with our luggage. Apparently the French are concerned about cars using the escalators because there were concrete poles in the way of each one making it difficult getting up and with full suitcases. After some typical downfalls (trying to validate our train tickets at an electronic kiosk where you buy train tickets), we made it to platform 6 and loaded the train to Nantes.
Once on the train (again no easy task with 2 suitcases), I stashed the big case up with the other luggage and the smaller one above my seat. I tried to watch the French countryside pass by, but promptly fell asleep. There will be other train rides, I suppose. I can tell you that many of the over passes (the ones I saw, at least) had graffiti on them. Imagine that! Graffiti in France. Go figure.
Thank goodness I woke up just as we were arriving in Le Mens, France (some of my readers may know that as the namesake of a certain building at a certain College across from a certain University). A mere 20 minuets later, the train pulled into Angers. The big suitcase that we last saw when I stashed it with all the other luggage was buried under everyone else’s luggage, so it was a challenge getting it out. I’ll remember that next time.

I made it to Angers. We met Professor McDowell at the train station where I then met Mme. Bechu. We got in the car together and drove less than 5 minutes to her (my?) house. She then took me around the block to she me how I will walk to the Catho (the University).

Upon arriving at the house, not unlike now, I was tired. So here is where I stop. For now. I’ll be back soon with updates on my host family (excellent). My house (excellent). My third floor (deuxième étage) flat (sans foreign roommate!). And other pretty awesome stuff. Stay tuned.

Sorry for the length, but you can imagine what it was like to live through it. So, you know what? I'm not sorry. See you in a few. Au revoir!