I’m going to be honest here. Forget cultural sensitivity or relativism or whatever. This is objective truth. The French are weird. It’s not a bad thing. Nor is it a fault in character. It is just they way they are. And let’s embrace that, shall we? Let’s explore just how different the French are.
The French…
~ don’t mind being cold – Seriously. I expected to have to wear slippers (see below) to too keep my feet warm, but this is ridiculous. Two examples (in no particular order). 1) I see my breath during Sunday Mass on a regular basis. That means either it is actually freezing INSIDE the Church, or the Holy Spirit is wafting out of my lungs. I’m inclined to believe the former. 2) They sit outside in any weather. All the cafés have outdoor seating and there is always a French person braving the elements. Be they sunshine, wind, rain, sleet, hail, snow, etc., these people are more dedicated than the U.S. Postal Service.
~ wear their shoes, always – It makes sense to take your shoes off when you enter the house in America, but not in France. Instead, you just wipe your feet on the (tiny) rug just inside the door. If it is raining and your shoes are wet, no biggie. Wipe them off as best you can and try not to slip. Sure it may get a little messy, but that is no bother. Most of the houses here are pretty old, so the dirt just adds a little more character. I brought slippers, but I actually just keep my shoes on for most of the day. It is just easier.
~ like to strike – Relatively speaking, America’s workers are pacifists. There are threats of striking, but rarely does anything actually transpire. Not in France. Perhaps it is the tradition of rising up against the man (see French Revolution in any history book). Perhaps they just like to make signs, march around all day, and yell. Either way, there is always a strike here. Workers at oil plants. Air traffic controllers. Even Ikea employees. All this in the past month. All covered thoroughly on the national news.
~ like to eat lunch – Every day, between 12:30 and 2PM or so, France shuts down. Retail stores close. Businesses shut down. Even the government (non-essential personnel, that is) locks its doors. The only places open are food related (restaurants, cafés, grocery stores, and bakeries). They like to take their time, savor the experience, and talk. Also, I’m not sure the French like to do work. Not that anyone likes working, but I think the French try to avoid it as much as possible.
~ vote on Sunday – We are in election season here (and will be for the foreseeable future). This Sunday is the first of the elections. Yep. Sunday. Isn’t separation of Church and State beautiful? What I don’t understand is that virtually every store/business is closed on Sunday, supposedly in observance of the Lord’s Day. And yet, they hold public elections on a day when, traditionally, French people don’t actually leave their house. Am I missing something here?
~ stare – In America, we are taught not to stare at something out of the ordinary. It is impolite. France must have missed that memo. As an American, I can just feel the eyes glued to me as I walk past. I can sometimes pass for French, but if I do something out of the ordinary (like breath funny) and French eyes spot it, they stick like magnets. And runners? Forget about it. If runner jogs past a bus stop, every single head in the vestibule turns as he or she passes. The synchronization is impressive.
So there are some of the little things that they just do differently here. No judgments. I’m just saying the French are strange, that’s all.
March 11, 2010
March 9, 2010
Bon Marché
I didn’t visit any 16th Century castles or world-renowned French monuments this weekend. Instead, I stayed in Angers. That is not to say that my weekend was unworthy of a new post. Quit the opposite. Quite the opposite, indeed.
Every Wednesday, Thursday, and Sunday morning there is a market at different squares/parks/places around the city. There are possibly markets on Monday and Friday mornings that I am unaware of. The big market, however, is on Saturday morning. And is it an experience.
Saturday’s market is located near the centre-ville at the Place du Géneral Leclerc (Wikipdeia tells me he was instrumental in ending WWII – more on French street names and the like later), about a 10 to 15 minute walk from my house. On every day except Saturday morning, this Place is a parking lot. Once a week, however, it becomes a fresh produce paradise.
The colors were pretty remarkable. The past few times I’ve been, I noticed an awful lot of orange citrus (oranges, clementines, etc.) and kiwi fruits. The French really like kiwi fruit. This week, there were a lot of strawberries. The season must be around now.
Aside from the citrus and strawberries, there is a pretty good selection of nearly any fruit you can think of. Well maybe not any fruit, but the basics are covered and then some.
Not in the mood for fresh fruit? How about dried fruit and nuts or some olives?
We are in France, so let’s not forget the shallots and onions or the mushrooms (so many kinds of mushrooms).
There is an equally abundant assortment of greens and vegetables.
Fruits and vegetables. That is the bulk of the market in the Place du Géneral Leclerc. But there are a lot of people crossing the street, and it looks like there are a couple of carts set up on the sidewalk over there. I’ve got time to kill. Let’s explore.
The first thing I see is a display for kitchen tables. The second, a display for mattresses. What is going on? Who on Earth would buy a mattress at a weekly outdoor market? I guess I’ll never know. Trudging ahead, I see exactly what I came for.
WARNING: The squeamish (and vegetarians) may find the next few pictures unsettling. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Butchers. There were a lot of butchers. Most sold a combination of raw meat (cows, baby cows, pig, lamb, all kinds of animals that fly and their respective reproductive orbs, etc.) and their own concoctions (i.e. sausage – cured sausage, raw sausage, boudin – its probably best we don’t know what’s in it – and others).
By my unscientific count, I’d say there were 6-8 butchers of this caliber, and there was a line at each one.
Here we have a problem. Long lines + tiny walking paths = traffic jam. I’ve learned in these situations, you just push on through. Don’t look back if you bump into someone. Knocking someone down may merit a backwards glance (not because you are concerned about the person’s well-being, but because there is someone on the ground and that doesn’t happen very often). But don’t apologize. Never apologize in France. They will know you are American.
Just past the butchers were the seafood counters. This is pretty exciting. Look there!
Escargot. The snails are not actually green. The vendor said that they are covered with a special butter that tastes really good (I’d imagine he is a little biased, though). The far right are little snail tartlets. Now behind you!
Oysters. There were a good number of vendors who sold only oysters. (Huitres = Oysters). Over there!
The French certainly like their fish. You can buy them whole, without the head, or only the head:
Not in the fish mood? How about some shrimp? Here are some:
How fresh are these "langoustines?" Well, they are actually still alive. If you look closely, they are moving! This is too much. (I have a video or two for proof, but uploading video is a lot more time consuming than I anticipated. Just trust me here. They were alive. You would have loved it.)
Here is some sort of shellfish that I didn’t understand the French name for it. Before and during shucking:
I was sure to go by the eel counter. In the past, there has been a bucket of live eels. When asked, a surprisingly young and friendly man would pick one out of the bucket, place it a table covered in what looked like sand, take his sharpest knife/axe, and get us one step closer to dinner. Unfortunately, the bucket was sitting behind the counter this week, and asking to take a picture/video of the live eels would have been awkward (and likely impossible in French).
And no French market would be complete without cheese. Every kind of cheese you would want.
There were about eight cheese counters similar to this one with all different varieties (cow’s milk or goat’s milk or ewe’s milk; fresh cheese, aged cheese, blue cheese, and herbed cheese). And the French don’t mess around.
Say cheese.
That’s it for the food. But there is so much more to explore. The Saturday market is also a flea market. What would the French want to buy/sell at a flea market?
There were quite a few stands selling large spools of fabric. You know, for when you want to make a table clothe or drapes.
Other than that, nothing huge of note. Flea markets work the same here as they do in America. Just think of a lot of crap. All kinds of crap. Only most of the crap here is old. But not so old it is antique or valuable. Just old. Just junk: Records, old and useless books, broken china, the ugliest furniture you’ve ever seen, and more. All sold from the back of some shady, cigarette smoking, thirty-something, French guy’s truck.
Moving towards the front, I came across more legitimate inventory. Shoes and women’s clothing were hot commodities as were men’s underwear (of all things). There were a couple of stands selling games and toys, and a few more selling candy and non-perishable goods.
Finally, there were flower stands. Angers and the surrounding region (known as Anjou) are well known for their flower industry. Spring is almost here, and the flower shops and stands are getting ready. A nice little taste of spring:
And that is the Saturday market.
Let’s tell a French person, “It’s a good market.” Direct translation: “C’est un bon marché.” Only, we accidentally told them, “It is cheap,” which is also true (the prices are right) but not what we were going for. Gosh darn those silly idioms! Now you are getting a funny look. Oh well. We’ll live to speak French (and go to the market) another day.
** There is now a video of the shrimp on my facebook page. You should probably go and watch it right now.
Every Wednesday, Thursday, and Sunday morning there is a market at different squares/parks/places around the city. There are possibly markets on Monday and Friday mornings that I am unaware of. The big market, however, is on Saturday morning. And is it an experience.
Saturday’s market is located near the centre-ville at the Place du Géneral Leclerc (Wikipdeia tells me he was instrumental in ending WWII – more on French street names and the like later), about a 10 to 15 minute walk from my house. On every day except Saturday morning, this Place is a parking lot. Once a week, however, it becomes a fresh produce paradise.
The colors were pretty remarkable. The past few times I’ve been, I noticed an awful lot of orange citrus (oranges, clementines, etc.) and kiwi fruits. The French really like kiwi fruit. This week, there were a lot of strawberries. The season must be around now.
Aside from the citrus and strawberries, there is a pretty good selection of nearly any fruit you can think of. Well maybe not any fruit, but the basics are covered and then some.Not in the mood for fresh fruit? How about dried fruit and nuts or some olives?
We are in France, so let’s not forget the shallots and onions or the mushrooms (so many kinds of mushrooms).
There is an equally abundant assortment of greens and vegetables.
Fruits and vegetables. That is the bulk of the market in the Place du Géneral Leclerc. But there are a lot of people crossing the street, and it looks like there are a couple of carts set up on the sidewalk over there. I’ve got time to kill. Let’s explore.The first thing I see is a display for kitchen tables. The second, a display for mattresses. What is going on? Who on Earth would buy a mattress at a weekly outdoor market? I guess I’ll never know. Trudging ahead, I see exactly what I came for.
WARNING: The squeamish (and vegetarians) may find the next few pictures unsettling. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Butchers. There were a lot of butchers. Most sold a combination of raw meat (cows, baby cows, pig, lamb, all kinds of animals that fly and their respective reproductive orbs, etc.) and their own concoctions (i.e. sausage – cured sausage, raw sausage, boudin – its probably best we don’t know what’s in it – and others).
By my unscientific count, I’d say there were 6-8 butchers of this caliber, and there was a line at each one.
Here we have a problem. Long lines + tiny walking paths = traffic jam. I’ve learned in these situations, you just push on through. Don’t look back if you bump into someone. Knocking someone down may merit a backwards glance (not because you are concerned about the person’s well-being, but because there is someone on the ground and that doesn’t happen very often). But don’t apologize. Never apologize in France. They will know you are American.
Just past the butchers were the seafood counters. This is pretty exciting. Look there!
Escargot. The snails are not actually green. The vendor said that they are covered with a special butter that tastes really good (I’d imagine he is a little biased, though). The far right are little snail tartlets. Now behind you!
Oysters. There were a good number of vendors who sold only oysters. (Huitres = Oysters). Over there!
The French certainly like their fish. You can buy them whole, without the head, or only the head:
Not in the fish mood? How about some shrimp? Here are some:
How fresh are these "langoustines?" Well, they are actually still alive. If you look closely, they are moving! This is too much. (I have a video or two for proof, but uploading video is a lot more time consuming than I anticipated. Just trust me here. They were alive. You would have loved it.)
Here is some sort of shellfish that I didn’t understand the French name for it. Before and during shucking:
I was sure to go by the eel counter. In the past, there has been a bucket of live eels. When asked, a surprisingly young and friendly man would pick one out of the bucket, place it a table covered in what looked like sand, take his sharpest knife/axe, and get us one step closer to dinner. Unfortunately, the bucket was sitting behind the counter this week, and asking to take a picture/video of the live eels would have been awkward (and likely impossible in French).And no French market would be complete without cheese. Every kind of cheese you would want.
There were about eight cheese counters similar to this one with all different varieties (cow’s milk or goat’s milk or ewe’s milk; fresh cheese, aged cheese, blue cheese, and herbed cheese). And the French don’t mess around.
Say cheese.That’s it for the food. But there is so much more to explore. The Saturday market is also a flea market. What would the French want to buy/sell at a flea market?
There were quite a few stands selling large spools of fabric. You know, for when you want to make a table clothe or drapes.
Other than that, nothing huge of note. Flea markets work the same here as they do in America. Just think of a lot of crap. All kinds of crap. Only most of the crap here is old. But not so old it is antique or valuable. Just old. Just junk: Records, old and useless books, broken china, the ugliest furniture you’ve ever seen, and more. All sold from the back of some shady, cigarette smoking, thirty-something, French guy’s truck.Moving towards the front, I came across more legitimate inventory. Shoes and women’s clothing were hot commodities as were men’s underwear (of all things). There were a couple of stands selling games and toys, and a few more selling candy and non-perishable goods.
Finally, there were flower stands. Angers and the surrounding region (known as Anjou) are well known for their flower industry. Spring is almost here, and the flower shops and stands are getting ready. A nice little taste of spring:
And that is the Saturday market.Let’s tell a French person, “It’s a good market.” Direct translation: “C’est un bon marché.” Only, we accidentally told them, “It is cheap,” which is also true (the prices are right) but not what we were going for. Gosh darn those silly idioms! Now you are getting a funny look. Oh well. We’ll live to speak French (and go to the market) another day.
** There is now a video of the shrimp on my facebook page. You should probably go and watch it right now.
March 5, 2010
TV Time
I’ll be the first to admit that TV is a very, very important part of my life. NBC Thursday Night Comedies? Yes, please. MTV/VH1 guilty pleasures? The more the merrier. Food Network? ALWAYS. TopChef? Duh. The list goes on and on and on. (Nickelodeon, ok, but I draw the line at Disney Channel).
Understand my horror when I saw the TV in my host family’s house for the first time. It is small (likely around 25 inches diagonal). It is probably about as old as I am (seriously). And it is the only one in the house. Ohhh the humanity! This seems to be about the standard in France. I’ve only been in a select number of homes, but the French TV does not seem to be the home-theater, super deluxe, surround sound, high definition wall ornament like its American brother. They have those in the electronics stores, but I don’t think the French have noticed.
I turned it on. What a relief, its color (small victories, people). And… what’s this? There are a lot of channels. Maybe this won’t be so bad. Lets channel surf!
The low numbers are mostly network channels. America has ABC, NBC, CBS, and FOX. France has France 1, France 2, all the way up to France 6. The French are remarkably creative, aren’t they? The networks are followed by a whole host of French channels. Quite a few are dedicated to fashion and the rest span the gamut of French interests. Translation: I’m not interested. There is EuroSport (channel 72) that covered many an Olympic biathlon (there was always a biathlon on) but is now reserved for football (soccer, that is) and rugby. Then the European cable news stations, all in French, and, CNN (in English). Things are looking up.
Then, I spotted a gem among more French channels. CusineTV -- France’s Food Network. Cheesy hosts + mediocre recipes = delicious TV. And it is all in French. After pulling myself away from the wonders of French cooking shows and flipping through no less then 15 channels dedicated to soccer, I found them: Nickeloden, Disney Channel, MTV’s galore, and E!, among other American cable channels. All the same shows. All dubbed in France. All fantastic.
Here is something interesting: French shows start at the strangest times. In America, our programming starts on the hour or half-hour, no questions asked. Logical. Here, programs start whenever the mood strikes them. For example, a lot of prime time programming starts at 20h40 (8:40PM) or 20h35 (8:35PM) or 19h55 (7:55PM). And this changes from channel to channel and night to night. The good news is that commercials are severely limited. There are no commercials during the news. During half-hour shows, no commercials. During hour-long shows, there is one commercial about halfway through. I could get used to this.
So what is there to watch in France? My TV time during the day is severely limited, but it seems the channels are littered with soap operas, unimportant news shows, and reruns. I have yet to see a French talk show à la Regis&Kelly/Ellen/Oprah (you can imagine my disappointment). The primary news program is broadcast on France 1 at 1PM and 8PM.
During prime time, there are a few of options: a documentary or two on anything you can imagine as it relates to Europe, France, or Paris; a French TV show (there are relatively few of these), but none of them seem to be very popular (or good if you ask me); a soccer game; a movie (Borat was on earlier this week); or American TV shows – my salvation.
Want to watch a little CSI? 'Les Experts' is on Sunday nights. 'Dr House' is on Tuesday nights. Law&Order? 'New York police judiciaire' is on randomly through the week. My favorite: 'New York unité spéciale' (Law&Order: SVU) on Saturday evenings. These are just a few of many. There are a couple channels that dedicate the majority of their programming to American TV. It’s a fine thing.
In fact, I found an old TopChef episode (dubbed in French) a couple weeks back. I kept a lookout for said program while searching through the TV guide. You’ll never guess what I found. 'Top chef'. French contestants, judges, and everything. The whole kit and caboodle. It is on Monday nights for… two and a half hours. The French don’t kid around, do they?
So that is French TV. I’d have to say that I’m pretty happy with it. I miss my beloved shows at home*, but there are some definite saving qualities here. Now, if you’ll excuse me, 'Weeds' comes on soon. It’s the one where Nancy finds the tunnel that leads to Mexico under her maternity clothing store. I bet I’ll learn a bunch of new words related to drugs and human trafficking. I better take my dictionary.
*I orignially intended on watching my shows via websites like Hulu. That doesn't work here. Sites like Hulu (and even NBC.com) only boradcast in America. They know I'm in France. Big brother is watching (no really, Big Brother: Season 12 on CBS starts this summer).
**Author's note: About 4 hours after I originally published this post, I learned something. Apparently, there is a TV tax in France. When you buy a TV, you pay a tax on the sale. However, there is also an annual tax to have a TV in your house. This may explain the relatively few TV's in French homes. Or maybe they just don't like TV.
Understand my horror when I saw the TV in my host family’s house for the first time. It is small (likely around 25 inches diagonal). It is probably about as old as I am (seriously). And it is the only one in the house. Ohhh the humanity! This seems to be about the standard in France. I’ve only been in a select number of homes, but the French TV does not seem to be the home-theater, super deluxe, surround sound, high definition wall ornament like its American brother. They have those in the electronics stores, but I don’t think the French have noticed.
I turned it on. What a relief, its color (small victories, people). And… what’s this? There are a lot of channels. Maybe this won’t be so bad. Lets channel surf!
The low numbers are mostly network channels. America has ABC, NBC, CBS, and FOX. France has France 1, France 2, all the way up to France 6. The French are remarkably creative, aren’t they? The networks are followed by a whole host of French channels. Quite a few are dedicated to fashion and the rest span the gamut of French interests. Translation: I’m not interested. There is EuroSport (channel 72) that covered many an Olympic biathlon (there was always a biathlon on) but is now reserved for football (soccer, that is) and rugby. Then the European cable news stations, all in French, and, CNN (in English). Things are looking up.
Then, I spotted a gem among more French channels. CusineTV -- France’s Food Network. Cheesy hosts + mediocre recipes = delicious TV. And it is all in French. After pulling myself away from the wonders of French cooking shows and flipping through no less then 15 channels dedicated to soccer, I found them: Nickeloden, Disney Channel, MTV’s galore, and E!, among other American cable channels. All the same shows. All dubbed in France. All fantastic.
Here is something interesting: French shows start at the strangest times. In America, our programming starts on the hour or half-hour, no questions asked. Logical. Here, programs start whenever the mood strikes them. For example, a lot of prime time programming starts at 20h40 (8:40PM) or 20h35 (8:35PM) or 19h55 (7:55PM). And this changes from channel to channel and night to night. The good news is that commercials are severely limited. There are no commercials during the news. During half-hour shows, no commercials. During hour-long shows, there is one commercial about halfway through. I could get used to this.
So what is there to watch in France? My TV time during the day is severely limited, but it seems the channels are littered with soap operas, unimportant news shows, and reruns. I have yet to see a French talk show à la Regis&Kelly/Ellen/Oprah (you can imagine my disappointment). The primary news program is broadcast on France 1 at 1PM and 8PM.
During prime time, there are a few of options: a documentary or two on anything you can imagine as it relates to Europe, France, or Paris; a French TV show (there are relatively few of these), but none of them seem to be very popular (or good if you ask me); a soccer game; a movie (Borat was on earlier this week); or American TV shows – my salvation.
Want to watch a little CSI? 'Les Experts' is on Sunday nights. 'Dr House' is on Tuesday nights. Law&Order? 'New York police judiciaire' is on randomly through the week. My favorite: 'New York unité spéciale' (Law&Order: SVU) on Saturday evenings. These are just a few of many. There are a couple channels that dedicate the majority of their programming to American TV. It’s a fine thing.
In fact, I found an old TopChef episode (dubbed in French) a couple weeks back. I kept a lookout for said program while searching through the TV guide. You’ll never guess what I found. 'Top chef'. French contestants, judges, and everything. The whole kit and caboodle. It is on Monday nights for… two and a half hours. The French don’t kid around, do they?
So that is French TV. I’d have to say that I’m pretty happy with it. I miss my beloved shows at home*, but there are some definite saving qualities here. Now, if you’ll excuse me, 'Weeds' comes on soon. It’s the one where Nancy finds the tunnel that leads to Mexico under her maternity clothing store. I bet I’ll learn a bunch of new words related to drugs and human trafficking. I better take my dictionary.
*I orignially intended on watching my shows via websites like Hulu. That doesn't work here. Sites like Hulu (and even NBC.com) only boradcast in America. They know I'm in France. Big brother is watching (no really, Big Brother: Season 12 on CBS starts this summer).
**Author's note: About 4 hours after I originally published this post, I learned something. Apparently, there is a TV tax in France. When you buy a TV, you pay a tax on the sale. However, there is also an annual tax to have a TV in your house. This may explain the relatively few TV's in French homes. Or maybe they just don't like TV.
March 2, 2010
Chateaux de la Loire
I learned something this weekend. There are a lot of castles in France. A lot of them. I suppose I knew this on some level or another. But, it is one thing to look at pictures and read statistics in a textbook, and another thing to actually see them all. Just right there. Sitting so casually, some for hundreds of years, others for a thousand or so. Waiting for you to visit. And that is what I did this weekend. I visited some castles.
This is CIDEF excursion two of three. That means we are getting on a bus, this time for the better part of the day. Alas, the soccer bus was taken this weekend, so we had a run-of-the-mill motor coach. A few things to note on the bus ride. First, the bus was a stick shift. Last week’s bus was a stick shift. All the cars here are stick shifts. I don’t think there is an automatic transition in all of Europe. Second, those roundabouts seriously are everywhere. Finally, maneuvering a tiny car (and all the cars are tiny) on some of the French streets (bloated sidewalks, more like it) is impossible. And yet our fearless bus driver drove onward like it was her job because, well, it is her job.
Okay. So we leave Angers on the bus and get play-by-play on everything going on outside our window. Look! There is a good restaurant. Look! There is a really cool castle from the 15th Century. Look! There is an even better restaurant that Nicolas Sarkozy ate at a couple months ago. Look! There is an old abbey. An old castle, only this one has been modernized into a hotel (and it has a really good restaurant). Another castle that is over 1000 years old, originally built by a not-so-nice guy named Fulk Nerra (Google him if you are interested). Over there is the oldest nuclear power plant in France turned museum next to a more modern, active nuclear power plant. Do you get the idea here? There is just stuff everywhere.
The better part of the journey to castle one took us along the Loire river.
A couple of interesting facts on the Loire: It is the longest river in France. Of the big five rivers in France, it is the only one that is one hundred percent French (i.e. neither it nor any of its tributaries originate outside of France) and, hence, a major source of pride. The river floods about twice a year (November and February). In fact, the road we are driving on right now is elevated so as to contain the water during flood season. Also, due to the ever-changing water levels, the riverbed (under and near the water) is extremely dangerous. It is illegal to swim in many (possibly all) locations along the river.
After an hour of driving, we finally arrive at castle one: Azay-le-Rideau. The original fort/castle was burnt down sometime in the 15th Century. Lucky for us, some rich guy (and his wife, the heiress to some other rich guy’s fortune) bought the property and built the existing castle in the 16th Century. Think Renaissance. I wouldn’t know Renaissance architecture if it came up and introduced itself to me, but the brochure says Renaissance, so I believe it. Take a look for yourself:
There are apparently some Gothic themes floating in there too. Whatever. It just looks like a cool building to me. Interestingly enough, this castle is one of the first to proudly display its stairs. In the Middle Ages, the stairs in castles were located in the back or out of sight. Here, the stairs are right in the front door. Also, the castle sits on top of the river Indre, a tributary to the Loire.
The inside was a little of a let down. Only two floors were open and about 6 rooms per floor. Nothing all that interesting; just a couple of displays with what the furniture might have looked like at certain points in the castles history. Through the years, the castle changed hands between rich people and even richer people. Apparently, Louis XIII stayed a few nights while visiting the Lord of Rideau. What I found most interesting was that the wood floors squeaked like crazy when you walked on them.
Everyone back on the bus. But wait. There is a soccer practice/game going on. I played soccer next to a run down middle school. These kids get to play soccer next to a castle.
The route to castle two was more of the same. Castles and villages and the like. Notably, we passed by the great French romantic Balzac’s house. He had a pretty big house in the Loire Valley where he penned many a novel (about the surrounding area) and successfully avoided his Parisian creditors. The locals are very proud of their former resident (and the many other French novelists that have lived/stayed near the Loire over the years).
Castle two.
This is Chenonceau. Your eyes are not deceiving you. It is actually built on top of the river Cher, a tributary of the Loire. The castle was originally constructed from 1513 to 1521 by a rich guy for his wife (that is love if I’ve ever seen it) and then added onto over the years. It comes complete with a chapel, library, lots of bedrooms, a giant kitchen (the entire basement), and lots and lots of gardens. There were no bathrooms that I saw, but I'm sure they got by somehow.
And who is they? Who exactly lived here? The story of Chenonceau is pretty juicy. Henry II gave the castle to his mistress, Diane de Poitiers. When he died, the queen/widow/really angry wife, Catherine de Medici, took the castle away from Diane and kept it for herself. She lived there off and on as did her daughters and daughters-in-law. Francois Premier and Louis XIV also stayed in the castle at least once as did a selection of their obscure family members (i.e. Cesar de Vendome, the uncle of Louis XIV). Sadly, Louise de Lorraine (daughter-in-law of Catherine de Medici) retired to Chenonceau when her husband, King Henry III, was killed. She lived a life of prayer and silence and, per tradition of royal mourning, only wore white.
The gallery (long hallway over the river). I’m not entirely sure of the function of this room. It is really long and skinny. Maybe shuffle board. The natural light, even on a cloudy day, was stunning.
One wing of the kitchen (there were a couple of others). The most important part of the entire building.
The bedrooms all seemed to have the same set up, just different colors.
Above, Diane de Poitier’s bedroom (something tells me she spent most of her nights with Henri II, if you know what I mean) and Louise de Lorraine’s bedroom (she was really upset about her husband’s death).
Perhaps as impressive as the castle were the grounds. Two giant gardens aptly named “Jardin de Diane de Poitiers” and “Jardin Catherine de Medici,” respectively below (Catherine’s has some construction going on).
Also on the grounds, a farm (with animals) and a labyrinth. The latter is actually a maze made from hedges (think Harry Potter and the Goble of Fire).
Unfortunately, the castle was under a bit of construction, but you have to give the French some credit for trying to “cover” it up.
Okay, it is time to leave Chenonceau. To castle number three.
Chambord
Isn’t that roof impressive? Symmetrical asymmetry. You got to love it.
Construction began on Chambord around 1519 (Renaissance yet again), under the command of Francois Premier (king of France). He wanted a hunting lodge, so he built himself one. Would you believe that the man reigned for 32 years (Chambord was built early in his reign) and stayed in this giant for a mere 72 days? Believe it. Other notable residents/visitors: Louis XIV and a slew of obscure royal family members.
To match its excessive exterior, Chambord has an equally outlandish interior. Guess how many rooms it has. Go on. Guess. Whatever you said, double it. Yeah. This castle has 426 rooms. Now guess how many fireplaces it has. Pop culture claims 365: one for each day of the year. The brochure claims 282. Either way, it is way more than necessary. Some of them are still used today! The place is monstrous, and to install central heating would cost a lot of money and probably look bad, so they still heat the castle the old fashioned way.
Francois Premier had this place built, and he wanted everyone to know it. To ensure his legacy would live on, he had salamanders and giant F’s carved all over the place (his sign/trademark is the salamander). Look at the walls and exterior of the building (they were all over the ceilings too).
Perhaps the coolest part of the castle is the central staircase: two giant spiral staircases wrapped around each other (a double helix if I’ve ever seen one).
And the whole reason the castle is here in the first place. The grounds.
Chambord is now a national park. It is the official hunting ground of the President of France (but the current president doesn’t hunt).
One last bit of history. The Nazi’s actually controlled Chambord during WWII. It was the source of a lot of propaganda. The Allies strongly considered bombing the place. Also, the Mona Lisa (that ugly painting everyone seems so excited about) stayed in Chambord for a couple of days during the war in an attempt to keep it safe from destruction.
I’m tired and hungry. Lets go back to Angers. How long is the bus ride? Three hours. On the bright side, we get to take the French toll road back. Actually, this is not a bright side. The French toll ways are just as boring as American toll ways. I guess some things ware the same everywhere.
Coming Soon: Chateau d’Angers. Angers has a castle all its own that I visited a while back, but I’m saving it for a special occasion (i.e. when I don’t have anything else to write about).
This is CIDEF excursion two of three. That means we are getting on a bus, this time for the better part of the day. Alas, the soccer bus was taken this weekend, so we had a run-of-the-mill motor coach. A few things to note on the bus ride. First, the bus was a stick shift. Last week’s bus was a stick shift. All the cars here are stick shifts. I don’t think there is an automatic transition in all of Europe. Second, those roundabouts seriously are everywhere. Finally, maneuvering a tiny car (and all the cars are tiny) on some of the French streets (bloated sidewalks, more like it) is impossible. And yet our fearless bus driver drove onward like it was her job because, well, it is her job.
Okay. So we leave Angers on the bus and get play-by-play on everything going on outside our window. Look! There is a good restaurant. Look! There is a really cool castle from the 15th Century. Look! There is an even better restaurant that Nicolas Sarkozy ate at a couple months ago. Look! There is an old abbey. An old castle, only this one has been modernized into a hotel (and it has a really good restaurant). Another castle that is over 1000 years old, originally built by a not-so-nice guy named Fulk Nerra (Google him if you are interested). Over there is the oldest nuclear power plant in France turned museum next to a more modern, active nuclear power plant. Do you get the idea here? There is just stuff everywhere.
The better part of the journey to castle one took us along the Loire river.
A couple of interesting facts on the Loire: It is the longest river in France. Of the big five rivers in France, it is the only one that is one hundred percent French (i.e. neither it nor any of its tributaries originate outside of France) and, hence, a major source of pride. The river floods about twice a year (November and February). In fact, the road we are driving on right now is elevated so as to contain the water during flood season. Also, due to the ever-changing water levels, the riverbed (under and near the water) is extremely dangerous. It is illegal to swim in many (possibly all) locations along the river.
After an hour of driving, we finally arrive at castle one: Azay-le-Rideau. The original fort/castle was burnt down sometime in the 15th Century. Lucky for us, some rich guy (and his wife, the heiress to some other rich guy’s fortune) bought the property and built the existing castle in the 16th Century. Think Renaissance. I wouldn’t know Renaissance architecture if it came up and introduced itself to me, but the brochure says Renaissance, so I believe it. Take a look for yourself:
There are apparently some Gothic themes floating in there too. Whatever. It just looks like a cool building to me. Interestingly enough, this castle is one of the first to proudly display its stairs. In the Middle Ages, the stairs in castles were located in the back or out of sight. Here, the stairs are right in the front door. Also, the castle sits on top of the river Indre, a tributary to the Loire.
The inside was a little of a let down. Only two floors were open and about 6 rooms per floor. Nothing all that interesting; just a couple of displays with what the furniture might have looked like at certain points in the castles history. Through the years, the castle changed hands between rich people and even richer people. Apparently, Louis XIII stayed a few nights while visiting the Lord of Rideau. What I found most interesting was that the wood floors squeaked like crazy when you walked on them.
Everyone back on the bus. But wait. There is a soccer practice/game going on. I played soccer next to a run down middle school. These kids get to play soccer next to a castle.
The route to castle two was more of the same. Castles and villages and the like. Notably, we passed by the great French romantic Balzac’s house. He had a pretty big house in the Loire Valley where he penned many a novel (about the surrounding area) and successfully avoided his Parisian creditors. The locals are very proud of their former resident (and the many other French novelists that have lived/stayed near the Loire over the years).
Castle two.
This is Chenonceau. Your eyes are not deceiving you. It is actually built on top of the river Cher, a tributary of the Loire. The castle was originally constructed from 1513 to 1521 by a rich guy for his wife (that is love if I’ve ever seen it) and then added onto over the years. It comes complete with a chapel, library, lots of bedrooms, a giant kitchen (the entire basement), and lots and lots of gardens. There were no bathrooms that I saw, but I'm sure they got by somehow.
And who is they? Who exactly lived here? The story of Chenonceau is pretty juicy. Henry II gave the castle to his mistress, Diane de Poitiers. When he died, the queen/widow/really angry wife, Catherine de Medici, took the castle away from Diane and kept it for herself. She lived there off and on as did her daughters and daughters-in-law. Francois Premier and Louis XIV also stayed in the castle at least once as did a selection of their obscure family members (i.e. Cesar de Vendome, the uncle of Louis XIV). Sadly, Louise de Lorraine (daughter-in-law of Catherine de Medici) retired to Chenonceau when her husband, King Henry III, was killed. She lived a life of prayer and silence and, per tradition of royal mourning, only wore white.
The gallery (long hallway over the river). I’m not entirely sure of the function of this room. It is really long and skinny. Maybe shuffle board. The natural light, even on a cloudy day, was stunning.
One wing of the kitchen (there were a couple of others). The most important part of the entire building.
The bedrooms all seemed to have the same set up, just different colors.
Above, Diane de Poitier’s bedroom (something tells me she spent most of her nights with Henri II, if you know what I mean) and Louise de Lorraine’s bedroom (she was really upset about her husband’s death).
Perhaps as impressive as the castle were the grounds. Two giant gardens aptly named “Jardin de Diane de Poitiers” and “Jardin Catherine de Medici,” respectively below (Catherine’s has some construction going on).
Also on the grounds, a farm (with animals) and a labyrinth. The latter is actually a maze made from hedges (think Harry Potter and the Goble of Fire).
Unfortunately, the castle was under a bit of construction, but you have to give the French some credit for trying to “cover” it up.
Okay, it is time to leave Chenonceau. To castle number three.
Chambord
Isn’t that roof impressive? Symmetrical asymmetry. You got to love it.
Construction began on Chambord around 1519 (Renaissance yet again), under the command of Francois Premier (king of France). He wanted a hunting lodge, so he built himself one. Would you believe that the man reigned for 32 years (Chambord was built early in his reign) and stayed in this giant for a mere 72 days? Believe it. Other notable residents/visitors: Louis XIV and a slew of obscure royal family members.
To match its excessive exterior, Chambord has an equally outlandish interior. Guess how many rooms it has. Go on. Guess. Whatever you said, double it. Yeah. This castle has 426 rooms. Now guess how many fireplaces it has. Pop culture claims 365: one for each day of the year. The brochure claims 282. Either way, it is way more than necessary. Some of them are still used today! The place is monstrous, and to install central heating would cost a lot of money and probably look bad, so they still heat the castle the old fashioned way.
Francois Premier had this place built, and he wanted everyone to know it. To ensure his legacy would live on, he had salamanders and giant F’s carved all over the place (his sign/trademark is the salamander). Look at the walls and exterior of the building (they were all over the ceilings too).
Perhaps the coolest part of the castle is the central staircase: two giant spiral staircases wrapped around each other (a double helix if I’ve ever seen one).
And the whole reason the castle is here in the first place. The grounds.
Chambord is now a national park. It is the official hunting ground of the President of France (but the current president doesn’t hunt).
One last bit of history. The Nazi’s actually controlled Chambord during WWII. It was the source of a lot of propaganda. The Allies strongly considered bombing the place. Also, the Mona Lisa (that ugly painting everyone seems so excited about) stayed in Chambord for a couple of days during the war in an attempt to keep it safe from destruction.
I’m tired and hungry. Lets go back to Angers. How long is the bus ride? Three hours. On the bright side, we get to take the French toll road back. Actually, this is not a bright side. The French toll ways are just as boring as American toll ways. I guess some things ware the same everywhere.
Coming Soon: Chateau d’Angers. Angers has a castle all its own that I visited a while back, but I’m saving it for a special occasion (i.e. when I don’t have anything else to write about).
February 25, 2010
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.
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.
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