An alternative title might be: “Conquistadoring Some Capital Cities in our Mid-twenty-something Glory Days.”
That’s right.
My friend Sarah is studying Visual Culture at the University of Edinburgh. She showed up for school in Scotland back in August, and I plopped down in Besançon just a short month after that, in late September. Pretty soon after we were both fairly ‘settled’ in our respective European locales, we’d begun musing over our arriving anxieties of living so far away from home, dealing with cold, rainy weather, and our frustrations of trying to blog about seemingly indescribable things and experiences. Before we knew it, we were planning a trip together for the spring ... something to patiently look forward to.
Our trip wasn’t very complicated : she sees a little of France, I see a little of Scotland, and we nonchalantly snag something in between the two. It wasn’t terribly hard to choose...London was a bit too hard to pass up.
One afternoon in 2001 Sarah saw Amelie. After that, she loved everything French. She even took a few French classes in college to prepare for the dream day that she’d step foot in a Parisian café or spot a sly cat skittering under a rickety staircase to hide from the rainy streets of Montmartre.
I got to witness this gal’s passion for Paris, and it was so relieving that it was everything she’d imagined. Paris doesn’t do a very good job of letting you down. It’s just that kind of city. Now, I know there are stereotypes about Paris.... Most Americans think Parisians lean a just a wee bit on the side of complete pretentious snobs, and I cannot completely disagree with that. It’s a big city so I mean, c’mon, the residents are pissed most of the time. The problem is that most Americans also think that Paris equals France. And so they think that all French people are complete pretentious snobs. It just doesn’t make sense. Before I left to teach here, I swear that about 50% of the people who asked me about my journey started off by saying, “so, when do you leave for Paris?” After about the sixth person asked me that I wanted to punch them in the face. “Well,” I said, “I’m not going to Paris.” “OH!? Really? Where are you going, then?” Like, really, people where could I possibly be going if I wasn’t going to Paris? And why would I go anywhere but Paris? Gah.
Get this: many French people don’t like Paris either. I’ve had conversations with a number of non-Parisians about how they detest Paris because it rules everything. It’s like the ‘monarchy’ of the country in terms of politics, media, globalization, transportation, history, culture, etc, etc. Think of it this way: Many people compare Paris to New York. To compare a French person to an American you can easily compare a Parisian to a New Yorker. Both cities are crowded, mobile, cultural. While each, nonetheless, has it’s respective national identity. However, could you maybe compare Washington D.C. to Paris? errrr... it’s just.not.the.same. Our capitol hill is in Washington D.C., while France’s capitol hill is in Paris. Their government rests in their biggest, brightest city - where everyone goes to laugh, cry, love, eat croissants, and make laws. Practically speaking, Paris is like overkill for the French. For many of them, it’s just too much. Of course this is all relative. You must know that I am not (and cannot) be talking about all French people. Some of them still love Paris. The thing is, where there’s power there’s always growth and progress, there’s always opportunities and expectations, there’s always a dream to look forward to and a light to be lit. Plus, there’s a place for everyone : the posh art critic, the economist, the hippie literature student, the old man with a striped shirt, the indie songwriter, a yippy pup, the wasted kid, the elderly woman in the park, the poor, the rich, the sane, the insane, the insanely sane, etc, etc, etc....
In the end, when you can get over the tricks and trades of it all, it’s mostly just illuminating.
For Sarah, a large part of feeling Paris was about allowing her favorite film, Amelie, to come to life. One of the things I like about traveling with different people (considering you like the person....and your interests rest somewhat in the same area) is that you get to share each others’ different enthusiasms, and in that sense, you have the opportunity to see things differently.
If it weren’t for Sarah, I would never have gone to Café des Deux Moulins or found the obscure fruit stand that was in the actual film. I would never have seen Youri (youri-music.com) play for such an earnest crowd at Sacré-Coeur. I would probably not have made it to the Rodin museum (decided second favorite museum in Paris! after Pompidou)
. Oh, and Shakespeare and Co. with Sarah was a must! I like to think that I’d go there all the time if I ever lived in Paris, but I say that also about the jardins de Luxembourg and the Pompidou and Montmartre, and, well, a lot of places. Sarah and I ate homemade veggie baguette sandwiches in the sun at Montmartre and got to watch the conmen try to put bracelets on tourists and take their money. Warning if you go to Paris, people! Watch out for these guys! They tie or slap a bracelet on your arm and then make you pay for it. It’s annoying as hell, and it totally disturbs the ambiance, but watching them try to catch people for twenty minutes was kind of like watching a spectacle. I wanted to see who fell for it and who paid up and how they avoided the conmen. When someone walked in front of me, I was like “gah! move-it! I want to see if that person gets tricked!”
Jordan, whose apartment is like my second ‘home-base’ in France (I’ve stayed at his place every time I’ve visited the City of Lights this past year), was our excellent host and took us to l’Afghani restaurant, where I had Afghan food for the first time and oh.my.gosh! I cannot describe the delicate and delicious taste that my dish contained. I was looking at the menu, trying to decide between the “sweet and spicy” dish, with ginger as the spice and something I have shamefully forgotten as the sweet, and a “curry” dish. I went with sweet and spicy - squares of chicken alternating with potato wedges to create an outer circle on the dish with rice in the middle. A gentle sauce and a booming flavor! It was divine, and I want to go back. Here's the three of us:
On this visit, I also saw the catacombs for the first time.The art of the dead. This one was thanks to Jordan. Here’s an excerpt copied from the official website:
“The Catacombs gather the remainders of approximately six million[*] Parisian, transferred between the end from 18e century and the middle from the 19e century, progressively of the closing of the cemeteries for reason of insalubrity. Along a labyrinth of obscure galleries and narrow corridors , the visitor discovers the bones laid out in a ‘romantico-macabre’ decoration. Pillars, bells of subsidence or bath of feet of the quarrymen evoke the origin of the places, the limestone quarries, while sharpening the curiosity of the visitor.”
*six million. I don’t know about you, but when I hear the number six million associated with a group of dead people I think holocaust. To be honest, I didn’t read this website until after my visit to the catacombs, and I didn’t even know the approximate number of ‘bodies’ that were down there, but it was intense. Now that I know it’s about six million, well, that just gives me yet another idea of the massive prosecution of the Jews. In the catacombs (originally a vast quarry), you first walk through a long corridor before you even see any bones. When you finally pass under the sign engraved Arrête, c'est ici l'empire de la Mort ('Stop, this is the empire of Death').
it is pretty creepy, but it's soon fascinating, and eventually it’s just a bit disturbing...because it goes on and on and on and on. So, six million? huh.
*****
Four days in Paris, and “hop!” we were off to London, sadly leaving Jordan behind in the grad school grind.
First and foremost, London was really a taste of home, a capitalistic powerhouse - people running around with to-go coffees, newspapers, wet business shoes. The museums are free, as well as the evening and daily papers near the Metro stations. Education is practically free, and so is health care. They charge for things like cleanliness, reliable transportation, and entering cathedrals. Sarah and I did a lot, but there was no way we could have done it all.
Fortunately, we got to stay with my friend Ned, who I know from when I studied in Grenoble.
He was an excellent host, and he had some of his specialty stew cooking for us when we arrived! Ned is like a monkey. No literally, this boy can climb! He had to work most of the time we were there, so we saw him more-so at night. We met his happy girlfriend, Claire.
They are an intensively active pair, and inspiring in that way. Here’s Ned:
After our first long day in London, we watched Death at a Funeral, the BRITISH version by director Frank Oz (none of this cop-out Chris Rock stuff) and it was, hands down, the funniest movie I’d ever seen. Go rent it! (tonight, people, see it tonight!)
As far as tourist visiting, London was London. Here’s mostly a run-down of what we saw:
London knows how to do cleanliness. I was shocked when I saw a woman calmly cleaning the already-shining metro signs at Paddington Station. The Paris metro is grungy and just plain nasty. Of all the hundreds of times I’ve been down in the Paris metro, I’ve never once seen someone cleaning down there! Granted, the Tube is très chèr, but whatevs, people have respect for it. Ned and Claire even told us that all the drunkies actually make an honest effort to completely avoid puking on the seats...even when their drunk...especially when their drunk.
We saw these Italians try to cross Abbey Road for about the 9th time. I've unfortunately had some uploading issues, but maybe I'll get the video on soon! It was the funniest part of the day! ****
Edinburgh. For months I’ve been preparing myself for the grace of Edinburgh that Sarah so beautifully captures in her photos (see her blog). Although I had planned to stay for a week, we did a little swing of “Edinburgh in a day.” The Royal Mile. Salisbury Crags. Calton Hill. Prince’s Street Gardens. The Meadows. a picnic.
Needless to say, I was delighted to see all these places numerous times, spending leisure time in Edinburgh reading and writing in parks, treating ourselves to some Scottish shortbread and tea, homemade scones, and ice cream just because it was sunny! The weather was phenomenal and the people were happy. We climbed to the top of the Salisbury Crags a number of times.
...one time I did a jig...
...we also went at sunrise, but it wasn’t sunny...
We went to Portabello beach one day (although there were no portabello mushrooms in sight, and we also went without our winter coats in lieu of our bathings suits):
We biked an entire day along Union Canal and stopped for a warm café in an “inn” halfway through our trip. We had a short little chat with the group of old Scottish men sitting next to us, and Sarah asked them what there was to do in the area. One of them said (you must read this with a Scottish accent, it’s not the same w/out):
“Nothin’”
“Nothin’,” said the other, “you know it’s a small rural town.”
“Nothin’,” said the third, “well actually there is and that’s why there’s so many kids.”
Har-dee-har-har, Scottish humor! We chuckled at the wise joke and were off on our bikes again...
We saw Rugby in Glasgow! I must admit, rugby is SO much better than American football. OK, OK, it might be a sin for me to even murmur this, not only because I’m American, but because I went to Texas A&M. I’m sorry, but football players are a bit woosy compared to these guys. The medic is out there every five minutes and people don’t clap when someone gets up from being hurt because it happens about every two minutes. Granted, they do turn into a cheerleaders for throw-ins....I don’t know they lift each other up by the thighs to get the ball! It was intriguing to watch because I didn’t know all the rules and trying to figure out how the hell the ball just POPPED out of that jumble of men was hilarious. Glasgow was the underdog and we won! so ha!
We ate a Scottish breakfast! Fried egg, baked beans, sausages, ham, grilled mushroom, grilled tomato, fried potatoes, and toast. Quite hearty. Here's Sarah eating it for her first time, too! She's been there for nearly 7 months and finally mustered up enough gut to give a try. We were troopers.
Some of the British also apparently eat pigeons, even to this day .... I've gotten first-hand verification from Sarah's father (who tried it!), an Irish friend, and a Welch friend. They claim these are not street pigeons. I don't know about you, but I just think of Home Alone pigeon lady and New York allies. No, merci ;)
At the writer's museum, there's focus on three major Scottish authors: Robert Burns, Walter Scott, and Robert Louis Stevenson. It is located in the actual home of the one and only Lady Gray (the lady, not the tea).
On your right, you have a view out Sarah's window. It's like you're there yourself, isn't it?!
I was due to leave Edinburgh Saturday, but then there was the Cheerio infusion (aka - volcano cloud). Stay with me here:
The day Sarah and I left for Glasgow, we were waiting for the bus in Edinburgh and I said to her, “it smells like cheerios.” “You’re right!” she replied. When we returned home that night and descended the bus, Edinburgh still smelled like cheerios. For the next four days, as we strolled around Edinburgh, we would get whiffs of this distinct cheerio smell.
Ironically enough, there happened to be an apparent (non-visible) volcano ash cloud covering the skies of Britain ... headed from Iceland. Logically, Sarah and I put two and two together and decided that any news/facts we read about this volcano ash smelling like "sulfur" was complete nonsense, and that it actually smelled like cheerios. I don’t know how to explain how strong the smell was at some points. One night Sarah's room was really warm, so she opened the window and it was as if someone had just emptied out a box of fresh cheerios and stuck it over my head (it wasn’t suffocating-feeling, but just intensely potent).
Anyway, I was in Edinburgh for four extra days because of this volcano debacle, and Sarah had to get on with her life. That included her going to committee meetings with nine other students for an upcoming exhibition. She was telling them about the cheerio scent of Edinburgh when the ever-so bright and swanky Scot of the group explained that it was not, after all, the volcano, but obviously the HOPS coming from the Caledonian beer factory in the city! OK, we couldn’t argue and, in the end, decided that it was a better fit. Them Scots like their beer .... they’ve got entire cities that even smell like beer.
On Wednesday morning I arrived at Edinburgh airport for my rescheduled flight. It was the first day the skies were ‘open’ after six days of British airspace being closed, so I expected the airport to be jam-packed. There was no one there when I arrived, I literally walked through security without a soul in front of me or behind me. It turns out that Easyjet was the only airline flying that morning. ALL the other airlines were still closed. So that was reassuring .... I immediately went to the news stands and started reading what the papers had to say about this.
I mean, there had to be a reason all the other airlines were still closed. I didn’t know what to think. The British airport and airplane committee or whoever is 'in charge' had decided to allow certain airlines to fly, but they would recommence things slowly and smoothly. There had been thousands of people stranded everywhere and everyone couldn’t just come be running back in at once. That I understood. On the other hand, there was this: one reason that Easyjet had decided to begin flying again was because, one article explianed, their employees had a “responsibility to get their customers home.” Uhhhh, I don’t think that ash particles dispersed in the air is their fault, so they can let the complaining customers suck it up and keep the rest of us safe, right?
I fly a lot. I have no problem with flying. In fact, you could say that I enjoy flying. But that day, I just had to put it out of my mind. I had to convince myself that they wouldn’t be so stupid as to put us in a dire situation. After all, there had been a few safe flights (three maybe!) within the UK the night before.
One of the first things that the pilot informed us of over the announcer was that they just had a plane safely land in the Netherlands. In other words, "you're our next try. hope it goes well!"
All said and done, we landed in Lyon two hours later safe and sound, and people clapped when it was all over. However, get this: we had to wait for the descending stairs to arrive for about ten minutes because we pulled into a different place than scheduled. Why did we pull into a different space? Because "unexpected aircrafts" had landed at Lyon and they took our spot. “Unexpected aircrafts????” Unexpected as in unscheduled to land as in landing because they had to because there was still volcano ash in the air!
Whatevs I’m alive, and holy wowsers, that was the trip of a lifetime.
Charly came to visit last weekend and it was a total revival, and a bit of “home.” Charly lived with our family for a year back in 2000-2001 and we have kept in contact with her, each of us doing our fare share of visiting. I probably see her about every two years, and it was certainly time for another visit. It was really nice having her around for three full days (plus some) to be able share experiences with her, to relax, and to discover new things! The big bonus of the weekend was that she came in her car! I was excited to introduce her to Besançon and the Franche-Comté region and it’s unique (and tasty) culture.
She arrived on Thursday night, and we went out to Vieux Comtois for a Mont d’Or dinner. Mont d’Or is a winter cheese fabricated in the region. It is produced in round wooden boxes and the traditional way of eating it is one of the best ways to eat cheese .... MELTED. You drop a bit of white wine in the middle of the cheese, stick it in the oven for 20 minutes, and voilà it’s like fondu (but stronger and better). It’s served with boiled potatoes (of which you remove the skin, of course) and varieties of ham (dry, smoked, cooked) and sausages. Miam!
After, we grabbed a glass of wine at the Green Man, one of my favorite chill bars!
When we awoke on Friday morning our plan of going to the Citadelle wasn’t looking so bright and neither were the skies. It was cloudy and raining. So, using a regional guide book I’d borrowed from a friend, we decided to make a little day trip in the car to explore the Jura (the region just below Franche-Comté, covered by the Jura mountains). Another bonus that Charly brought along with her car was her new, fancy-schnazzy GPS that works throughout all of Europe! Literally all we had to do was type in the next city, town, or village we wanted to go to and the GPS would lead us directly there. In German. First, we hit Arbois, the town known for it’s Arbois wine and Louis Pasteur’s home base. The town was cute, but it happened to be 12:30 in the afternoon and raining, so everything was closed (as it always is during lunchtime in France) and no one was out. But it was quaint nonetheless ... and we caught the closing of a fresh market where we picked up some dried apricots and figs.
We stopped and got lunch in Poligny, where there is a large factory for the production of the famous Comté cheese. We didn’t have comté with lunch, but Charly bought some at a fromagerie just next to the restaurant after we ate. We also shared a small pitcher of Jura Sauvignon wine. Little did we know that 10 minutes later, en route, we’d get waved down by the douanes (immigration) police! As we approached the four men in blue, Charly was like, “oh no, are they asking us to come over? I just had a glass of wine!” Sure enough, they asked for our identification, our reasons for traveling, and (logically) if we had any firearms. Because we look like we’re ready to shoot someone.
“Do you have anything to declare?” asked the interrogator.
“Um, no, we just bought some cheese though,” I replied.
Let’s just say he let us off the hook. I guess some cheese can’t do any harm.
I didn’t have my passport, either ... but I spoke charming and impeccable French so he took my word for it when I explained that I lived and worked in France (yay!).
We continued en route to Champignole and passed through many farm villages (Louille, Pont-de-Chaux), typing each carefully into the GPS. Sometimes it told us to go down what looked like a cobblestone driveway, but somehow ended up being a road. Quite fun. We continued to catch the beautiful N5 route along the Ain river and lucky we found this:
Gorges de la Langouette. This place was absolutely breathtaking, I mean I was actually trying to catch my breath, all I could say over and over was, “Oh my God! Oh my God!” It was the most powerful and naturally astonishing construction of nature I’ve ever seen. A deep mossy limestone crevice (13ft wide, 154ft deep, according to the guide book) cuts straight down, and the water is forced to flow in this beautiful narrow split.
We parked close by, and as we were walking up to the footbridge I said to Charly, “I hear it but I can’t see it.” Once we stood on
the bridge right above the crevice, we caught the glimpse of the flowing water. But this was not even the breathtaking part. We spotted a little pathway on the other side of the footbridge and followed it up to the real gorge. A waterfall came falling to a river and all of a sudden the gorge took a sharp turn and all the water was forced into one concentrated enigma of bursting, blasting explosion of water! And man, was it moving fast .. “renne und renne schnell!” (a German phrase I “learned” [it’s most likely incorrect here] while trying to read Charly’s German version of Twilight to her...clearly I butchered the language and she laughed at me making what were supposed to be German-sounding words. But I learned at least that one phrase, “I’m running and running fast!”...in case I’m getting attacked and want to unnecessarily state the obvious). Anyway, the gorges was a hidden treasure, which is part of what made it so remarkable. This is how I felt:
We continued en route veering through more small villages (Syam, Conte, for example) and stopped to catch a view of la “Source de l’Ain.” We stopped listening to the GPS for a moment and followed some road signs in an attempt to find the source. We stopped where we saw a car park and stared at the tourist sign for about 3 minutes before we decided to follow a lady down some steps, agreeing that of course she must be going to the source! We walked down a bunch of steps and a small path to see a pretty mini waterfall, but it was not the source. Ha. We hiked back up to the car (haha, “hiked,” it took about 3 minutes) and drove a bit deeper into the forest, where we again got out of the car and discovered the source. It was very dark back there and everything was thoroughly moist. Pictures didn’t really turn out, but it was beautiful. Droplets of water were spurting from all sides of the gooey stone walls that surrounded a calm basin of extremely clear water. Refreshing.
Our last stop of the day was at Métabiéf, capital of the Mont d’Or cheese! There is a cheese factory there, but by the time we reached it the daily tours were no longer running. Luckily, however, the store was still open. Charly picked up some Mont d’Or to go with her Comté and Morbier that she had purchased in Poligny...as well as a bottle of Jura Chardonnay.
We stopped at a large grocery store on the way back to Besançon to pick up a (cheaper) bottle of white wine to go with dinner. And that is were I had some displacement issues. As we were driving along the highway, I saw a Buffalo Grille, then a Halles des Chausseures, then a Kiabi, and there was also a Casino Géant, and a McDonald’s, and an Intersport.....ALL the same stores that rest at the bottom of Besançon at a place called Chateâufarine, where people do their big discount shopping at the giant commercial chain stores. I was totally confused. Surely we weren’t already to Besançon, plus our faithful GPS told us that there was still a 50 minute drive to be had ... and it definitely wasn’t 50 minutes from Châteaufarine to my apartment! Where WERE we? It was the like SAME place! There literally were all the same stores, and all situated in very frighteningly similar proximity to each other. I was confused even as we were walking up to the Casino Géant. There, I came understand commercial France. It wasn’t much different from commercial America (the only difference is that nearly all of America is commercial). Things are planned once, then multiplied. The Casino Géant had the exact same floor-plan as the two other Casino Géants that I had ever been in, just like most Targets and Wal*marts are the same. I could be standing in Wal*Mart in Michigan City, Indiana and literally have no idea that I was in the midwest and not in College Station, Texas, for example. They’re the same. The Casino Géants are the same, but what was even more astonishing was that even the stores surrounding the Casino Géant were the same. Perhaps it was also so surprising because it was unexpected. I mean, we had just been driving around rural French farmland all day and then BOOM! there we were next to huge warehouses full of mass-produced discounted anything you need! It reminds me of numerous occasions in Texas when a bit of my materialistic excitement was crushed when I’d discovered a store or restaurant was really a chain that started in another city and not a unique College Station establishment (like Freebird’s, for example). It’s like this:
My mom’s friend, Tommy, gave me big reusable grocery bags to bring here to France that she found in China, there’s large Chinese lettering on it. I use one as a laundry basket. The other week I was at my desk with nothing to do, just looking around my room, and I realized in small letters on the side of the bag it says, Carrefour! CARREFOUR! What the heck? She bought the bag in China, brought it the the states and gave it to me, I brought it to France, and the whole time the people who ordained its production were the French??? Everything is coming from the sky and going in a circle.
But back to the weekend extravaganza with Charly!
Saturday we went to the Besançon Citadelle, architect Vauban’s masterpiece and Besançon’s claim to fame. Louis XIV would stand at the the high walls of the Citadelle and make sure his troops were training to their full potential! Cool.
The city of Besançon is surrounded by the Doubs river, which is surrounded by mountains. It is the perfect city for defensive battle, as long as there’s a fort, that is!
Today the Citadelle is not only the Citadelle...it’s also a ZOO and there is an incredible (and very large) museum on WWII and the occupation and resistance. Besançon stood in part of the occupied zone of France during WWII. In the museum there are very morose photos of the holocaust (this was a part of the museum particularly touching for me. The museum displays the very heavy subject to an extent that doesn’t let you think about it for a minute before before showing the freedom troops. They have very detailed, gruesome photos for four enitre exhibition rooms). During the occupation, resistance fighters and those involved in any way in the resistance were captured and hundreds of men were shot to death at the Citadelle itself. This is chilling and real.
After the Citadelle we putzed around centre ville and for dinner we ourselves prepared some of the famous Saucisse de Montbéliard, potatoes, and salad.
Saturday we saw the Astronomical Clock here in Besançon, which is quite cool and you can walk behind it and see all the dials. We then went to the Musée du Temps (time museum) which has the most complex watch of the early 1900s displayed - made in Paris by a company situated in Besançon.
Sunday was also CARNIVAL! People celebrate Carnival all across Europe. Charly told me that she heard the tradition of the celebration is to dress up and scare away the demons of winter to welcome spring. This is ‘word of mouth’ and she said she cannot promise that it’s right, but it sounds good to me! I was impressed with the parade that went around and around all afternoon. It was something quite impressive for Besançon, I must admit!
Sunday night we went out to La Cornemuse, a crêperie in Besançon! MIAM!
Charly sadly left Monday morning .... but not before we had some quiche lorraine and cafe in a boulangerie.
