FEUILLES FRANÇAISES EPISODE XII ~ October 15, 2010

Dear Friends,

Welcome to the final episode of Feuilles Françaises. It’s been one heck of a run. I am very sorry for the delay in getting this out to you all, reentry from life in Europe is often like the space shuttle, you kind of burn up on the way back in, and everything comes at you so fast. And, to be honest, I have been dreading this a little, because it really closes out the experience, and that means letting go. I have been chipping away at this episode for the better part of 6 months on weekends, evenings, and lunches...

At the Baths in Budapest with Ilea!


The baths, complete with people would oughtn't wear Speedos...

Here are the promised photos from the Spas in Budapest. I have finally caught up with Ilea on this continent to get them from her waterproof camera.

My final week and a half in France was much like the rest of my stay. After my extended vacation with Mom and Dad, I returned to work on Friday. Unfortunately, missing the majority of that week of classes meant that I did not have a final class with about half of my students. That was a real bummer, not getting to say good bye to a lot of my kids.

The medieval town hall of Nevers

For the most part, I spent that first weekend back in Bourges, doing laundry, and starting the arduous process of packing to come home. However, with so little time left, I could not pass up the chance for a little day trip. The town of Nevers is located about 45 minutes from Bourges, and I had often heard it was a charming town. It is also the final resting place of the Saint (the only one that I know of) who shares my birthday, Saint Bernadette who discovered the healing spring in Lourdes.

So, apparently modern stained glass windows can be pretty afterall...

So I headed out to Nevers for the morning on Saturday. It is a small town, a lot like Bourges with the medieval houses and such, but it seems to have three times as many churches. There was one on every corner, and the neat thing was, each one was in a very different style. Their main cathedral is a little confused, one of those that took so long to build, that the style changed entirely over the course of the construction, so it was began in the Romanesque style, and finished in Gothic. And in Nevers, I actually may have found the first modern stained glass windows I actually like. They were very cool and created a riot of color in the cathedral. The entire thing was lit up with patches of intense color. It was very cool.

Saint Bernadette (I did not take a photo of the Saint, it is a photo of a post card, I didn't want a trip to Hell for photographing a Saint).

I ended my visit with a trip to see Saint Bernadette. No, not her tombstone, her. She is a bit peculiar, she never decomposed at all. When she was exhumed for inspection at the outset of her canonization process, she was found to be exactly as she looked when she died. So she is on display in a gold and glass coffin (which looks suspiciously like the one Snow White was in).

From Nevers I headed back to Bourges, and by a happy coincidence I ran into Jessie Reynolds at the station. Jessie is another assistant (from Montana) in a village a bit outside of Bourges. So we ended up passing a relaxing afternoon in the sun sipping wine and eating ice cream (there is a stand in Bourges that sells melon ice cream, not sorbet, but cream-based ice cream… Oh. My. GOD!). We experienced some fantastic weather that weekend, you would have sworn it was summer.

That evening I proposed an outing to the movies and with Gina, Viola, and Jessie I saw Les Aventures Extraorinaires d’Adele Blanc-Sec. It’s a new French film based on an old comic. Adele is part Indiana Jones, part Anne of Green Gables, with a little bit of Jurassic Park mixed in. It was a fun movie. Not exactly Oscar caliber, but fun. Though, in the CGI department, the French have a ton of catching up to do.

On Sunday Jessie and I went to the market near my house. I will miss that quite a lot. Something about going to the market like that seems so very French, everyone does it all the time. Not like in the US where going is some sort of strange treat. Nowadays, I look at the produce section and Shaw’s and get depressed, the selection and quality leaves much to be desired.

Jessie also wanted to see a fencing match in town, and having never seen one, I chose to go along. It was rather neat. It was the Bourges team against another town fighting for a spot at the Nationals. Bourges ultimately lost, but it was actually fascinating to watch, extremely fast, and very exciting.

It was a nice relaxing weekend overall, and that was nice. I love to travel and move all the time, but every once and a while it is nice to have a break and hang out in Bourges.

Monday began my last week of school. With the majority of my classes, we just played games that last class. Many of my students seemed surprised that I was leaving so soon. But it does make sense, the third years (last year of middle school) had a big exam le Brevet (bruh-vay) coming up which determines whether or not they get to move on to high school, and the same goes for the Terminals (last year of high school), so I can see why the assistant contracts expire in April. It was very hard to say good bye to a couple of my classes, and especially my English conversation club.

Gina, Viola and I did manage to keep up our Monday supper tradition right until the end, though the last Monday we went out to dinner to save someone the burden of cooking. I really miss them and our adventures. There was something so special about sharing that experience with other people in the same situation. They were like a family away from home, and I miss them both terribly.

Between classes I had a very busy week, I had three weeks of job application back-log to sort out, a massive blog to write, and had to start squeezing in farewells.

I was very upset on my last day of school (my contract expired on Friday, April 30, but that was an off-Friday for me, so I am talking about Thursday here), I was on my way to my last class ever in Bourges, a 4th year class that I enjoyed very much, when the Assistant Principal called me and told me my class was cancelled. I was really crushed. But, as Viola pointed out, at least it ended as it always ways, so they get points for consistency.

My bed on the over night train...


Sleeper car with 6 bunks... I was first on and managed to snap a couple photos!

Carcassonne

My wanderlust would not be contained for two weekends in a row, and so for my last weekend in France I took off adventuring again. On Thursday night at about quarter to midnight I hopped a train to the South of France to the medieval city of Carcassonne. I took an overnight train, a European first for me. It was sort of cool. I had a bed in a compartment with five other women (three bunks on each side), and I did manage to sleep on the way down. It was sort of cool to just go to sleep in one city and wake up in an entirely different one.

The incredible vaulted ceiling of the Jesuit church in Toulouse.

Upon arriving in Carcassonne, (very early in the morning), I dropped off my luggage, and headed out to Toulouse. I had a mission that has developed over the course of the year. I have a French planer with a map of France in the back, and one day I decided to mark all the cities I have visited on my various sojourns in France. And as I began marking I noticed that I had been to more than half of the regions (remember France is divided into 22 regions), and so whenever I got the chance, I have been ticking them off. Toulouse happens to be in the Midi-Pyrénées, one of the unvisited regions, and only an hour from Carcassonne. So I went for the day.

Town Hall in Toulouse

Toulouse was not as interesting as I had hoped it would be, or just not very well adapted for tourism. Honestly, it was easily one of the least interesting cities in France I have ever visited. One good thing came on the day, by chance I ran across two fellow Americans in a church and we ended up spending a portion of the afternoon in a café, the Castlemans were from San Francisco and were very fun to talk to. I saw them the weekend before last when they came to visit me at Minute Man. It was very strange, like having two worlds collide.

Outside the walls of Medieval Carcassonne

The castle within the fortifications

Fun fact: the fortress of Carcassonne can be seen in the Kevin Costner version of Robin Hood

Carcassonne by night

I spent the evening and all day Sunday exploring the medieval city of Carcassonne. Carcassonne is home to the most complete medieval fortress in Europe. The first portions of the fortress date to 100 BC, they are Gallo-Roman fortifications. Like many other fortresses of similar age, Carcassonne took many centuries to reach its final size (which is huge) and the final construction was completed in the 13th century. The fortress was heavily restored beginning in the 19th century when the remaining medieval and pre-medieval structures were to be destroyed. The public outcry began a movement which saved the structures.

Touring the ramparts

(It was a long tour around the ramparts)


Ok, so maybe I took a few pictures...

A wonderful little wine bar I found in the old city of Carcassonne right around the corner from my hostel

Walking the ramparts of Carcassonne is like going back in time. It is amazing! You expect to see knights clad in armor cantering their steeds through the portcullis at any moment. It is such an interesting place to visit! It is a little touristy, but all the same, it is beyond compare. I stayed at a hostel within the walls of the fortified city, and I ate in restaurants within the walls. I spent the majority of the weekend meandering and exploring on my own.

Inside the Cathedral within the fortress of Carcassonne

Cathedral of Carcassonne


One window tells the entire book of Genesis, this of course, is Noah and the Arc


Carcassonne Cathedral


I do miss being surrounded by such intense beauty all the time!

There was a beautiful Cathedral within Carcassonne. It had few windows, but those that there were were absolutely stunning.

Canal du Midi

On Sunday, I took occasion to tour the Canal du Midi which was a 150-mile long canal connecting south-western France with the Atlantic Ocean and the Mediterranean Sea. The canal was built in the 17th Century and much of it survives today (though it is seldom used for much other than tourism).

Detail of the decor at the Palais Jacques Coeur

I again took the over night train to return to Bourges where I resumed my packing and farewell-ing. On my final day in Bourges, I took the opportunity to visit the Palais Jacques Coeur, which was a block away from Littre, but I had never visited it (even in Europe it is true that one never visits one’s home town). Jacques Coeur was a wealthy merchant who rose to the position of finance minister to the King of France. The palace is more of a mansion, but the masonry and statuary are beautiful, and I am glad I took the time to visit before I left.

I also took one final trip to the cathedral, and finally toured the crypt, which was not terribly exciting, just the tombs of bishops and cardinals and such.

Packing up my things was as difficult as ever… trying to fit everything and redistribute it properly so as to not have to pay for excess baggage, or worse be so over the weight limit that you have to throw things away there at the airport. So there was much unpacking and repacking and weighing my final evening in Bourges. Somehow I managed to fit everything (though my carry-ons may have been more than double the permitted weight, but Iceland Air needed not know that).

I purchased my return tickets long before the trouble with the Volcano happened, and because it was cheaper, I elected to fly home via Iceland, and my flight passed within view of the legendary volcano.

On Wednesday, May 5, I left Bourges for good. Marie-Paule took me and my voluminous luggage to the train station where I caught a train to Vierzon, changed to a train directly to the airport (thus avoiding the metro), waited in line FOREVER at the airport (somehow my luggage came in underweight), boarded my plane for Iceland (NO VOLCANO TROUBLE YIPEE!) We flew right past the volcano, which was very interesting, and a little scary.

My flight from Iceland to Boston was uneventful, and as always, when I sailed through customs, my family was there waiting to take me back to my normal life in Merrimack.

This summer flew by in an absolute blur. Within 24 hours of arriving back home I had scheduled a job interview and scored a date (I didn't feel the need to broadcast it at the time, but I suppose it is fair I confess, Drew and I broke up in Venice). A week later I resumed work at Minute Man, continued interviewing, and before long had a full-time boyfriend (who conveniently lives nine houses up the street). The rest of May, and much of June was spent interviewing for various jobs. All in all I sent out 50 applications, sat for 6 interviews, and in the end only one of each mattered. At the end of June I was hired by Epping Middle School as their 8th Grade Social Studies teacher (which is why this blog is so incredibly late). I am almost two months into my first year, and for the most part I love it. It is far more work than I ever anticipated (and I expected it would be a lot of work), I am always on the edge of exhaustion, I make board games on my weekends, and get up at 4:15 AM, but I could not imagine it any other way.

On a side note, I met a friend from France in Boston a few weeks ago, Tatiana, one of the girls who "rescued" me that first night in Bourges and took me to my hostel. Her family came to visit on vacation, and giving them the grande tour of Boston was funny in a way. I felt as though I came full-circle.

Epilogue

This is always the hardest part of my blogging, the end. But, for me, it is one of my favorite parts, and, to be honest, this part I do for me. My experiences over 7 months total some 7,000 photos, 300+ pages of blog, a few hundred lessons, and a stack of train tickets an inch thick. It is a lot to process.

I always knew that this experience would be different from Paris in 2006. When I lived in Paris, every day was very exciting. I was always running off to this Museum or that historic site. Bourges was just not that exciting. But, it generated an entirely different experience. In Paris, I always felt like a bit of a tourist. I never left my apartment without my camera and in some ways (maybe because of the strike in part), my six months there was more like a long vacation.

In Bourges, I developed a daily life, a routine. More days than not, the camera stayed in the case in my bedroom. I went out with a purse rather than a backpack, I bumped into people I knew at the grocery store. I found a group of friends. I knew people in Paris, but we only saw each other occasionally. In Bourges, Gina, Viola, Anne, James, Marie-Paule, the Brels, etc became fixtures in my daily life, not just people I saw in passing. That made leaving harder this time. Before, I was just leaving Paris, and my independent life there. This time, I was leaving a different sort of home.

Things I will not miss: Cobblestones (they hurt my ankles), Sundays/Mondays (NOTHING is open), Pause de midi (NOTHING is open), Dubbed Films (it’s like 2 hours of bad lip-synching), being a constant pedestrian (yielding is not a law over there), my salary (I now make in two weeks what I made in a month).

Things I miss: Food (all of it), Wine (all of it), traveling all the time (having Europe as your playground is a little too fun), trains (I really hate commuting), my friends (I am worried that I will never see some of those people ever again).

Home. Home is where the heart is, and mine is truly divided. Everyone has been asking me how I feel/felt about coming “home.” And there is no easy answer. The trouble is, I live two lives on two continents. They are different, and I am not sure that I love one more than the other. So, it is always sad to leave one, but always nice to come back to the other. In France, I love the adventure, I love the challenge, I love having all of Europe as my playground, I love the food, the wine, the History. But, America is where my family and friends are, reenacting, hockey, real bacon and cheddar cheese, where it snows always in winter, and the leaves put on a show to rival any stained glass I have seen. The real trouble with my two lives is, they are mutually exclusive to an extent. Sure, I could move to France, but that would mean missing weddings, and Barbeques, Homecoming and Thanksgiving. And from America, I can always visit Europe (so long as I have the budget), but it is not the same.

On teaching. Wanting some more experience in a classroom was one of the driving forces behind this adventure. After five and a half years in school myself (and a brief stint student teaching), I was not ready to step into the role of full-fledged teacher. Many people told me I was ready, but I doubted myself, I don’t any more. This program gives the participants an enormous amount of liberty, in some cases it can be like my Paris experience, you come to have fun and work a little on the side. I approached everyday as a professional. I planned my lessons, I created activities, I managed my classroom. And though I had the option, I did not just chuck the difficult students out, I kept them, because now that is not an option, and I am grateful for the learning experience.

This experience also presented me with a very real teaching challenge: managing a classroom in my second language. On a good day, I am bilingual, French flows as easily and naturally as English, but there are always days when I simply cannot get my brain or my tongue around the words, and of course, when one is frustrated in ANY language, one’s language capabilities drop like a rock. Effectively managing a classroom in French without resorting to shouting or dismissing students can be a battle, and with very few exceptions (one being the student who chucked his neighbor’s pencil case out the window), I succeeded.

I am also very pleased with a lot of my lesson accomplishments. I think I really had some great ideas and some things that worked out very well. I am almost disappointed that I am not a French teacher (or not presently certified as such), because some of the lessons I made would work very well teaching French (incidentally, I am currently tutoring a freshman in my neighborhood in French).

A lot of people ask about or comment on my pictures. It is very flattering, but I must confess, most of it is luck, a lot of it is volume (when you shoot 7k, you are bound to end up with a few good ones), and there is a little bit of know-how (but not a ton).

When am I going back? Haha… I don’t know… maybe never, you never do know where life will take you. I always seem to go to France looking for something… in 2006 I was looking for a new start, in 2009, I was looking for some experience, and to a certain extent a last hurrah (quarter-life crisis???). I am now finally ready to begin my professional life, to become a full-fledged adult. I am living at home for the moment, but that is more a function of economics than attempting to cling to my adolescence. So I suppose, the true adventure begins here. This last year was a nice stay of execution before reality set in, but now that it has (student loan payments are a monthly reminder), I am ready to face it head-on, because I’ve been on adventures before, and I have learned that I always come out just fine.

And so, dear friends, thank you for joining me once again on my adventure, it was a pleasure to share my experiences with you. I pondered keeping a blog about teaching, but frankly, I do not have the time. So with a touch of regret, I am signing off one last time, I hope to blog again some day, but in the meantime… I remain your grateful and humble French blogger,

~Monica

At Pumpkinfest in Keene over the weekend with Nate, my boyfriend.

Episode XIII

FEUILLES FRANÇAISES EPISODE XII ~ April 29, 2010

Dear Friends,

Sorry for the delay, this blog never seems to be in synch with my vacations, and then there was that whole volcano business. As I sit down to tackle this mammoth episode I feel like I may actually match the word count for War and Peace. Hang in, because you are in for an adventure.

It is hard to believe that it has been an entire month since our last entry, but that is not entirely my fault. Emphasis on entirely. :o)

Spring in Bourges

This is one of the fuzzy things that lives in my garage. I am NOT a cat person, but how can someone resist that little face!

Spring has sprung in France, and the evidence was everywhere in late March. Beautiful pink flowering trees exploded in bloom all over Bourges. We set our clocks ahead a bit later than you folks back home, but with all the sunshine, it was not too hard to readjust. Also, as I was uploading the last entry, a stray cat who adopted us (Marie-Paule and I) started having kittens in the garage. I guess I can add cat midwifery to my resume. So there are five kittens gamboling around our property these days. I was worried about them for a while, apparently here in France people have no problem with drowning unwanted kittens, but I managed to find people to adopt them as soon as they are old enough to leave their mom.

Am I really going to put that in my mouth????

Yep, raw fish... gulp!


I liked the non-raw variety of sushi: shrimp, avocado, rice.

I believe we left off with me heading to the spring edition of the Paris Independent Winemaker’s Expo held on March 26, 27, and 28. I headed up to Paris and stayed with Anne and Julien again for a weekend of pre-vacation relaxation and relishing in life as a wanna-be wine connoisseur. I reached Paris on Friday evening, too late to head to the tastings, so instead I tempted my taste buds with their first sushi. Yep, the girl who won’t even really eat fish cooked, ate it RAW. Granted, it was only one piece (Julien and Anne shared their real-deal while I enjoyed the vegetarian variety), but raw salmon did, in fact, enter my mouth, was chewed, tasted, and swallowed. I am not sure I will be repeating the experience, but, I did it. The taste was not bad, but the slimy texture bothered me.

Golden wine = Ambrosia, I am certain.

The next morning we headed off to the wine-tasting. And, as in November, there was just too much to take in. There were over 500 different independent wine-makers there offering their wares for all to taste. I did learn a few important lessons from the November Expo: 1) If you like it, write it down and describe it, or you won’t remember 2) Bring a big bottle of water for rinsing (mouth and glass) and hydrating 3) Eat lunch 4) Spit. No, really, spit. I spent the first day tasting and picking my favorites. After a long hard day of sipping sumptuous wines, we played American and went to the movies. We caught Alice in Wonderland in 3D, which was really not worth the 10 Euros I paid, but it was nice to go to the movies. That is really something I miss about home. However, there is a French film that recently came out that I really want to see, the main character is Adele Blanc-Sec and she is a female Indiana Jones placed in a Jurassic Park scenario wearing Anne of Green Gables wardrobe. It just looks like a good time.

Day two of the wine tasting, as it often does, turned to buying. I returned to my favorites, and sampled them one more time to be sure that they were as good as I remembered them, and did leave with a few wines to enjoy after I have left France. I really think that wine is on the list of the top five things I will miss about France. Nothing quite compares to a glass of cool, sweet, golden wine.

After the wine expo I had one more week of classes (well, partially) before vacation. The majority of my classes at Jean Renoir were cancelled because all the English teachers had taken a group of students to England for a week-long exchange, so as we’ve learned, no colleagues = no class. However, the classes I did have were difficult, with the turn of the weather and the fast approach of Easter Break a number of my students went bonkers with Spring Fever. I had a 15-year-old throw his neighbor’s pencil case out the window (which I had opened to tempt a breeze into the stifling classroom). I was most grateful for the shortened work week.

ILEA!!!!!!!!!!!!!


Just one of the vistas from atop Galleries Lafayette

The ceiling of the opera house painted by Chagall

On April Fool’s day, a day which the French call “Poisson d’Avril” (Fish of April) and go around sticking paper fish on each other’s backs, I caught the dawn train to Paris and found one Miss Ilea Enos waiting on the platform. It was so good to see my friend. We made our way to our hostel and I set about doing what I do best: personalized guided tours of Paris. For those of you who know Ilea, you will find our fist stop odd, I took her to Galleries Lafayette, a department store offering Channel, Prada, Dior, etc. But, I only go there for the view. Absolutely one of the best views of Paris, and it’s FREE! After stealing a quick squirt of Channel #5 we headed to the Paris Opera house (the setting for the Phantom of the Opera).

Sacre Coeur

Paris from the top of Tour Montparnasse


Paris by night

Next up was knocking her socks off with Notre Dame (and a crepe with Nutella), followed by a nip into Shakespeare and Company. For good measure we popped up to Montmartre before heading to the Tour Montparnasse to watch the sunset behind the Eiffel Tower. We spent quite a bit of time at the top of Montparnasse (the only real skyscraper in the heart of Paris), but it was worth the wait to get some beautiful views of Paris at night (something I had never done before).

Yep, that's what I want to have done when I die, to be stacked into a pile with all sorts of other people I don't know as some morbid form of artistic expression.

Miles and miles of bones.


"Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio"
(Sorry, could not resist a shameless Hamlet joke!)

We began our second day with Sainte Chapelle where I discovered that my lovely teacher pass also gives me the right to bypass the hour-long line. I still, after all this time, think Sainte Chappelle might be my favorite sight in Paris. From there we went underground, literally. Ilea wanted to see the catacombs which are home to an estimated six million people who were removed from over-crowded cemeteries, stacked in quarry tunnels in somewhat artistic patterns (wouldn’t you love that to be your job?). I usually do fine right until the end telling myself that it’s not real, and such, but it sinks in eventually and being surrounded by millions of corpses begins to bother me after a while. That evening, as is a Paris tradition, I took Ilea for a ride on the Seine to admire Paris all lit up from the river.

I am particularly proud of this photo of Paris' prettiest Lady


The Louvre Pyramid

The Louvre, childhood residence of Louis XIV


I had way too much fun with Ilea's tripod!

Day Three began again at Notre Dame, this time to spend some time with our favorite uglies. It was raining slightly, but that sort of added a bit more character to the whole gothic cathedral experience. But a rainy start turned into a brightly sunny day so we visited Rodin’s Thinker in the late afternoon. Now, I only invited Ilea to France for one reason, so she would bring her tripod (I never have room for mine when I pack for one of these long-stays) so I could finally take some decent night shots of Paris, and on our last evening before heading to Hungary we did just that. Ilea is as much of a camera nut as I am, so it was a blast.

Wanna talk about funny money, let's talk Forints. You choke every time something rings up in the thousands.

Chicken Paprikash (everytime I say it I think of When Harry Met Sally)

On Easter Sunday we left early in the morning for Budapest. In the airport we swapped our Euros for Forints, which, if you thought Euros were funny money, you should try Forints. For example, 200 Forints equals about one US Dollar. For those of us who are not talented in mental math, it was nice to have a cell phone with a calculator. By the time we arrived and got settled it was dinner time, and the hostess at the hostel was kind enough to make us a reservation at a local restaurant for dinner. The restaurant was a traditional Hungarian place, so I ordered the house wine, the goulash soup, and the chicken paprikash with homemade noodles. It was all very good, and of course, heavy on the paprika (well, except for the wine). After dinner, Ilea and I decided to lay low of the evening and tackle our new surroundings in the morning.

Our first day in Eastern Europe proved a little difficult. Turns out that Easter Monday is about as big of a holiday as Easter Sunday thereabouts, so not much was open, even finding something for breakfast was a challenge. We did quite a bit of aimless wandering in the rain trying to find the tourism office and trying to find something that was open.

St. Stephen's Basilica


Inside St. Stephens

Figuring that churches are always open, we headed to St. Stephen’s Basilica, St. Stephen was the first king of Hungary (who also brought Catholicism to the country). The Basilica reminded me more of the Italian churches, or maybe of Sacre Coeur (both are 19th-century churches). It was definitely not gothic, that is certain. The church is home to the scared right hand of Saint Stephen, which, allegedly, was found to be undecayed when he was exhumed for canonization, so logically, they decided to chop it off and put it on display. Rather creepy in my opinion. We decided to climb to the top of the Basilica to look out over the city, and were rewarded with a fantastic view of Buda, Pest, and the Danube River (bet you didn’t know that Budapest used to be two separate cities).

The Grand Staircase at the Budapest Opera House

Eventually we stumbled upon the opera house which was also open, modeled after the one in Vienna, and took the tour, where we ran up against an interesting tourist policy. There were two sorts of tickets to buy, a ticket for the tour, or a ticket of the tour which came with a wrist band that allowed you to take photos. Never, in all my travels, have I run up against this sort of policy, but it must be working, because more than half the people on our tour were sporting red photo-permission bracelets. The opera house was very beautiful, very elaborate, with many incredible wood carvings.

Finding nothing else open, we returned to the hostel to have some dinner and, armed with half the literature in the tourism office, to develop a plan for the coming days.

Hungarian Parliment

A beautiful Hungarian embroidered lace table cloth.


Hungarian cookies! But, in all seriousness, my Mom's are better!


Maybe my Hungarian heritage is where I get my liking for spicy food!

Our second full day in Budapest was more productive despite a slow start. We tried to visit the Parliament building, but arriving at 10 for the 10:00 tour was not a wise idea, tickets went on sale at 8 and they sold out around 9. So, we wandered in the general direction of the Central Market and stumbled across a wide pedestrian street lined with shops and churches. It was not what I expected when I thought about going to Eastern Europe. The market place was huge and on the ground level offered all sorts of fresh food, from fruits and veggies to liver. There I found “Hungarian cookies,” as we call them at home. Every year at Christmas, my family makes cookies from a recipe from the Hungarian side of the family, they are fruit-filled and delicious, and I found the real deal in the “mother country,” and they were good, but I think my mom’s are better. The second floor was more directed towards artisan crafts: leather work, carving, and embroidery.

The Victim's Wall at the Terror Museum

We spend the afternoon in the Terror Museum, which was about the Soviet occupation. The museum seemed interesting, but it was poorly adapted for visitors, even Hungarian ones I think. None of the artifacts were labeled in ANY language, and there were large sheaves of text, but it ended up being a lot of reading, and often the text did not seem to exactly correspond with the various themed rooms. However, the parts I did understand were very cool, because this was my first view of what life must have really been like behind the Iron Curtain. I was only about three when the Berlin Wall came down, and so I do not really recall the Cold War, but crossing that invisible line and hearing the other side of the story was very interesting, particularly seeing the lasting impact of the Soviet dictatorship on the development of the country.

Heroes' Square

From the Terror we needed a break from intense Communist history (I am really not sure I have done that much reading since I finished my Masters Thesis) and strolled down to Heroes’ Square (passing some beautiful magnolias on the way). The plaza commemorates both the rulers of Hungary, and those who have given their lives to protect their country. However, during the Communist dictatorship the entire plaza was destroyed and replaced with a memorial to Marx and Engels, but after the fall of the Iron Curtain, the square was rebuilt.

Transylvanian Castle in Budapest... apparently the architect didn't do so well in Geography in school

We also visited city park which is home to a replica of a Transylvanian castle, Vajdahunvad Castle. The castle houses a couple of museums, but we arrived after they had closed, so we wandered the grounds for a bit. We chose to cook dinner at the hostel that night partially looking to save a little money, partially to avoid walking all the way back into the town center. We did have quite an adventure at the supermarket. In Greece many things were labeled in English as well as Greek or if you were unsure of something you could always ask the staff. Not the case in Hungary. It took almost 15 minutes to determine whether or not a small foil-wrapped rectangle in the refrigerator case was butter and the staff must have thought we were insane. We bought it, and turns out we were lucky, well, we think we were, it tasted like butter, and even if it wasn’t, I would rather live in my delusion than find out it was actually duck brains I ate on my bread.

Matthias Church and Fisherman's Bastion as seen from Pest, scaffolding and all

The very bright roof of St. Mathias church (and King Stephen on horseback)


Inside Matthias Church, which was very elaborately painted.


Hungarian stained glass.


Fisherman's Bastion has seven tours which apparently represent the seven original tribes of Hungary.


Inside Fisherman's Bastion, there are thousands of columns, all carved, and I did not find any two sets that were the same.

On Wednesday, April 7, we planned better and arrived at Parliament when the ticket office opened to book our spots on the 2:00 tour. After getting two of the coveted passes we crossed the river for the first time to explore the Buda side of the city, which is much smaller and hillier. We hiked up to the royal palace (home to another museum), and headed towards Matthias Church and Fisherman’s Bastion. It is a beautiful terrace that looks out over the river. Matthias Church was built in the fourteenth century and the first thing I remarked (aside from the damn scaffolding) was the brightly colored roof tiles. Not something you see on most Gothic churches. Inside there was a beautifully painted ceiling and unique stained glass. You all know me and my fascination with stained glass, I love how every country seems to have a different style. I loved the patterns and colors in these Hungarian windows.

Hungarian Parliament, which apparently was modeled after the British Parliament, but I fail to see the resemblance really, and I prefer the Hungarian one...


Above the grand staircase in Parliament


The Hungarian Coronation Relics

The Buda side of the city was much quieter and seemed more relaxed than the Pest end of things. We enjoyed a leisurely lunch and discovered Hungarian funnel cakes before heading back to Pest for our tour. After a thorough security check we headed into the lavishly decorated state building. It was very ornate, gold leaf marble and stained glass. We walked up an impressive grand staircase leading to the room containing the original Hungarian coronation regalia, including the crown believed to have originally belonged to St. Stephen. The guide said that the cross is not believed to have been bent originally but said historians believe that the crown was damaged at some point. The crown sits just below the main dome which is 96 meters high representing 896, the year Hungary became a kingdom. The tour then moved to the former Parliamentary chambers (these are the older ones no longer used), the guide spoke for a few minutes about the Hungarian system of government, and then announced the tour was over. It had lasted less than half an hour, and though she espoused that the building contained almost 700 rooms, we only saw three of them, and we paid nearly $16 for the tour. I was very disappointed. I mean, the bit we saw was cool, but I am not sure it was $16 worth of cool.

Gotta love the communist propaganda!


I honestly cannot figure out why, but this statue really does scream "COMMUNISM!" I cannot explain it... any art historians out there have any hints?

After our shenanigans in Parliament were over and the indignation wore off I convinced Ilea to accompany me in my quest to satisfy the cravings of my inner history geek. A lot of the tourist literature mentioned a park “just outside the city” containing all statues preserved from the Soviet occupation. Seeing as after the fall of communism many such things were destroyed (remember, there is only a small segment of the Berlin Wall left), I (being a nerd) thought this would be a great opportunity to look at some real communist propaganda (I know it’s what you all love to do on your vacations too). Well, our first attempt was entirely unsuccessful; I got us on the wrong bus (loser). After we went around in a big circle and got on the right bus, we rumbled out of the city, through several residential areas, and out to a hill top with all the telephone and electrical wires to get to Memento Park. So much for it being “just outside the city.” But it was very cool, and possibly one of the highlights of Budapest for me. Seeing real statues of Marx, Lenin, and Stalin; statues clearly illustrating the importance of the worker, and the blatant propaganda was fascinating. One of my favorites had to be Stalin’s boots, during the brief revolution of 1956, an enormous statue of Stalin was torn down and all that remained on the plinth was his boots. Another great one was the Soviet-Hungarian Friendship Monument.

Liberty Bridge connecting Buda and Pest across the Danube

We stayed at Momento Park until about sunset and headed back into the city for some supper, and to try to take some night pictures, but we were mostly unsuccessful in the photography department.

For our final day in Budapest Ilea and I decided to visit a well-publicized labyrinth in Buda. Most of the literature seemed interesting, and Hungary is somewhat known for its caves (especially surrounding Budapest) so we figured that this would be somewhat taking care of that activity. The first part of the labyrinth was ok, aside from me being a little edgy being underground in the dark. However, towards the end it turned outright stupid, with panels talking about explorations into the labyrinth uncovering a footprint of unknown and possibly alien origins, and the footprint was of a converse sneaker. And it just went downhill from there, “artifacts” (hairdryers, cell phones, coke bottles) were in molded plastic cases and there was stupid music. Basically we got taken in for about nine bucks. More than any other time in Hungary, I really wish I spoke Hungarian, I would have told the ticket office just what I thought of their tourist trap.

From the labyrinth mess we had to descend the hill in order to climb the neighboring peak sporting the citadel. It was quite a climb, but the view was nice (except for it being a rather hazy day. We climbed down to revisit Central Market to pick up some souvenirs we had been mulling over, and for lunch. From there we made our way back to the hostel, leisurely to get ready to go to the Baths.

Budapest is very well known for its hot springs and thermal baths and so Ilea and I made use of one of the most famous (conveniently located right near our hostel), Széchenyi, which is apparently the largest medicinal bath in Europe. We spent the first hour circulating between hot baths of various temperatures and trying not to stare (in horror, I assure you) at male bathers wearing Speedos in varying states of shabbiness and excessive smallness. The rule should be, if your bathing suit is so small that I can’t see it under your gargantuan tummy, Mr. 60-year-old gorilla-man, you should be required to wear swim trunks. Also white Speedos should be banned from the planet. From the hot indoor baths we moved to the heated outdoor pool where we remained until my fingers were the most wrinkled they have ever been. It was wonderfully fun and relaxing. From there we headed back to the hostel to pack up our things to head back to Paris in the morning.

A tranquil angel in Pere Lachaise, not the tomb of anyone famous, just a beautiful piece of sculpture.

The trip back to Paris was uneventful (not that I would know, I slept the whole way). We installed ourselves once again in yet another hostel; we set about doing a few more last-minute Paris things on Ilea’s list, one of which was Pere Lachaise cemetery, the final resting place of Jim Morrison, Oscar Wilde, Edith Piaf, Chopin and many other high-profile corpses. Aside from its famous guests, the cemetery is just really beautiful, as far as graveyards go. It is full of old tombs and monuments, many of which are topped with beautiful statuary. We did some wondering and of course kissed Oscar Wilde and Victor Noir as you are supposed to.

Me and Ilea

After our cemetery stroll we had a very important rendez-vous with a certain tower, Mr. Eiffel’s to be precise. We were smart and booked our tickets for la Tour Eiffel before we went to Budapest, and so with our reservation we were able to skip the incredibly long lines of tourists waiting to climb one of the most scaled monuments in the world. We tried for a sunset viewing from the top floor, but the clouds would not budge. We called it a fairly early evening as we had a couple of VIPs to meet at the airport the next morning.

The next morning we crept out of our hostel quite early and headed to Charles de Gaulle airport to receive my long-anticipated surprise guests…

Mom and Dad in Paris!

Seeing Mom and Dad come out of baggage claim there at Charles de Gaulle was one of the strangest things. For several years now, I have lived two lives. My life in France, and my life in the US, and though I have had other visitors, it was so strange to have my two lives merge like that. And of course, I was overjoyed to see them.

We headed back into central Paris and deposited our bags at the hotel, we met a little snag with the arrangements, and though I had called to confirm the addition for a roll-away for me, Miss Fussy Britches at the desk informed us that was not possible and that we had only booked a room for two. After some discussion we got things mostly sorted and were free to head on our way.

My parents’ visit to Paris began as all should, with croissants for breakfast directly under the Eiffel Tower, which was conveniently located very near our hotel. With breakfast out of the way we headed out to the Palace of Versailles.

The chapel at Versailles.

The fountain of Apollo at Versailles, Louis was a big fan of Apollo, he called himself the Sun King, afterall.

Another of the glorious fountains of Versailles.

Looking up at the Chateau of Versailles from behind the Apollo Fountain.

The royal bed chambers where Louis never really ever slept (the nobles would but him to bed, and then when they left, he would get out, take off all the frilly bedclothes, and go sleep in a small comfy bed in a side room, and then do the reverse every morning before the nobles came to wake him up)


Louis XIV, France's greatest and longest-reigning King, he outlived his son, and grandson, and was thus succeeded by his great-grandson. His father, Louis XIII died when he was barely four, and so he became king and ruled for over 72 years.

Versailles is, of course the palace of King Louis XIV (often known as the greatest king of France), Louis XV (considered to be one of the worst), and Louis XVI (who was rather stupid but paid for Louis XV’s mistakes with his head). In 1682 a young King Louis XIV moved the French court out to a palace built on the former site of a hunting lodge. The humble origins of Versailles were soon forgotten as it became the gold standard for royal luxury and the envy of all the monarchs of Europe. Versailles is vast, its grounds are mammoth, and no expense was spared, neo-classical art is everywhere, and Louis seemed to think gold leaf grew on trees. The chateau itself is overwhelming to take in, simply trying to comprehend the excess and luxury of it all is about enough to short circuit your brain, and so for a break you take to the gardens, where on weekends in the spring and summer you can enjoy a stroll through the magnificent grounds and watch 50 fountains project cascades of water. Apparently there are some 22 miles of pipe supplying the fountains. It is said (and this is so typically Louis’s character), that when the king would promenade through his gardens, servants would run ahead to turn on each individual fountain as he passed and wait until it was out of sight to extinguish them because there was simply not enough water power to run them all at once, and there still is not. The largest fountain, the Neptune Basin cannot be run all the time, all the others need to be switched off for it to be running. If you are ever in Paris on a weekend from April through September (I think it is), you must go see the fountains of Versailles, it is truly a display fit for a king. And if the fountains, perfectly manicured gardens, and gleaming artificial lake are not enough, during the spectacle Baroque music is pumped through loud speakers throughout the grounds. All I need to do is close my eyes, and I can see Louis walking through his garden, entourage in tow, laughing at the world.

Can you can can?

Sacre Coeur by night, it looks almost ghostly all lit up.

After a long day of playing at Louis XIV’s palace of wonders we headed back to Paris for dinner in the Latin Quarter and some much-needed sleep for Mom and Dad, who did not sleep on the plane and had been awake for about two whole days. I am a little ruthless, I guess. I learned from Mr. Powers I think (my French teacher in High School who led my first trip to Paris), sleeping was not allowed the first day. You get on a plane in the evening in the US, and then seven hours later you appear in France where it is early morning. We were not allowed to sleep, he ran us hard all day, we collapsed that night, and woke up the next morning on local time. So Mom and Dad survived the jet lag test and were allowed to sleep. Meanwhile, Ilea and I took to the town and went out on another photography expedition.

On Sunday morning we got up (Mom and Dad on local time) and headed to Mass at Notre Dame. Nothing like kicking off your visit to Paris with the Lady herself. Most of you know that I am not very religious, but something about Mass at Notre Dame really is inspiring. I suppose it is me being a history buff more than anything. To be in a place that has served relatively the same purpose since its construction almost a millennium ago. I cannot help but think about all the millions of people, from kings and queens (and Emperors *rolls eyes*) to common folk, who have been in there over all those years. Not to mention, it is so beautiful. I have been there countless times, and still, every time, I am awestruck.

From mass we strolled the adjacent gardens and headed up along the banks of the Seine browsing the bouquinistes (the little used book stalls along the river bank) to Shakespeare and Company. Dad loved Shakespeare & Co., (it is from him that I get my love of reading). I’ve said it before, I will say it again, Shakespeare and Company is everything a bookshop should be.

We lunched on raclette in the Latin Quarter and my mother discovered an alcoholic beverage she likes. She found kir, which is typically served as a pre-meal drink (apéritif). Kir is made by taking a white wine (typically a sweet one) and adding either crème de cassis (blackcurrant liquor) or another flavor (often strawberry, peach, or raspberry). Often in the Latin Quarter the restaurant staff lure in customers with promises of free drinks.

I also took them up to Montmartre to visit my artists and see Sacre Coeur which forms quite a stark contrast to Notre Dame. Montmartre was as lively as ever with the typically street performers doing their acts for the enjoyment of many spectators using the wide steps as make-shift bleachers.

On our way to dinner we took a quick detour past L’Arch de Triumphe just in time to see the daily ceremony at the tomb of the unknown soldier. We supped in the Latin Quarter (this is a theme) before calling it a night in a new hotel room with an adequate number of beds.

We began the work week with an early-morning trip to Notre Dame (our second in as many days), this time to climb the towers for some face time with the gargoyles. However, when we reached the last leg we found the top-most tier to be closed. Why? Because someone called in sick. God, I love the French. Ugh.

Of course no guest of mine would ever make it through two whole days in Paris without seeing Sainte Chappelle. As the original subscribers to the blog, I am sure Mom and Dad probably know it by heart, and probably feel like they have already seen it, but I am sure they will now agree, no picture can capture how glorious those windows really are.

At lunch time we wandered past Tour St. Jacques and Hotel de Ville on the way to the Maurais (Jewish Quarter) for L’As du Falafel. Yes, my parents got to eat at the restaurant I have been raving about non-stop for the past four years. And for good measure, we washed our kosher vegetarian delight down with some crepes.

From there we took the Metro back to my old stomping grounds, the 17th arrondisement (neighborhood). It is a little odd to go back there, it seems so long ago. We even went past the McDonalds where I used to use the Wi-Fi to upload Paris Papers.

Late in the afternoon Mom and Dad finally got to meet my friend and former professor (he was a doctoral candidate and essentially a TA when I was at Paris VII) for a drink. We passed a nice hour chatting with my friend (and collecting some things I left at his place for ease) and headed off to dinner.

On Tuesday we all seemed to need a bit of a late morning, so we slept in. Our time in my old neighborhood was cut a little short the previous day, so we went back and had lunch in my old favorite park, Parc Monceau. We had a very French lunch there, bread, cheese, strawberries, and wine. I used to spend a lot of time in Parc Monceau. It was just as I remembered it. Experiences like that remind me of my favorite Nelson Mandela quote: “There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered.”

As is always the case with Paris, there was a little surprise outside my park, a lovely little antique market begging to be explored. Some things about Paris never change, whereas in other ways, it is in a constant state of flux. I think that is one of the reasons why I love it so much. From our adventure in the 17th we headed on a mystery adventure.

When I was little, my parents planned some great surprises for my sisters and me. For example, the day we got Jasmine, our dog, they told us we were going to get compost and then out for icecream or something like that. Pretty sure we never got the icecream, but we got our dog (and she is so much better than King Kone), so they would take us somewhere and not say where, like when we went to see Phantom of the Opera while we were in Toronto. So, I learned well.

Paris Rental Bike station

All over Paris there are these bikes called Vélibs (a contraction of vélo meaning bike, and libre meaning free, as in not belonging to anyone). It is a program that has been going on in Paris for a while. You pay with your credit card (its very cheap too) and you can take a bike, ride it all over Paris, and just plug it back into the next docking station you come across. Mom and Dad remarked that they thought it was neat, and being their daughter, I already had a scheme in process.

Peacock strutting his stuff in the Bois de Bolougne

I took them to the Bois de Boulogne (sketchy at night, pretty by day) and went biking to try to show Mom the magnificent rose and iris gardens they have there. Sadly the gardens were not blooming yet (so my plan was somewhat foiled), but we did get to go for a nice afternoon ride, and we saw some peacocks strutting around.

Tuilleries Gardens and the Louvre

We headed in the general direction of the Louvre stopping at Place de la Concorde to admire Napoleon’s stolen obelisk, and wandered through the Tuilleries Gardens. Once we reached the Louvre, we headed underground to the cleverly hidden shopping mall and, perhaps one of the best travel tips I have to offer.

Internet is a commodity in France. The French have never glommed on to the internet like Americans. I know many French folk who only check their email once a week. I check mine hourly. So internet is not always available, and it is almost never free. Almost. Just outside the back entrance to the Louvre is an Apple Store. I don’t exactly when or how I learned it, but the Apple Store is full of computers, and unlike Best Buy or whatever, they are all hooked up to the internet, and so, whether or not he intended to, Steve Jobs created the best free internet café in all of Paris. This will be very important later on folks.

We grabbed a quick drink in a café before going to the train station to fetch Miss Ilea (she took a quick trip to Normandy) and take her out to dinner. And, since this is a tell-all blog, I have taken another step towards truly becoming Parisian; I got caught on the Metro without a ticket. Well, Ilea got caught slipping in on my ticket, but it was my idea so I took the hit. I’ve seen people do it millions of times, and laughed when they got caught, but this time it was my turn. Live and Learn I guess.

On Wednesday I proposed a visit to Chateau de Vincennes and we arrived to find out that after months and months of renovations and restoration the Chapel would be open… the following day, so we opted to turn our tickets back in and return the following day.

Opera Garnier (which is the proper name of the Paris Opera House), which is now a prestigious ballet school.

My Plan B for the morning involved going to the Paris Opera House so that my folks could see the building that inspired one of their favorite musicals (I have very early memories of listening to the soundtrack), but apparently I was not going to get any luck, the Opera was closed for the day because of the Israeli Ballet visiting.

A Rose Window at Saint Eustache, I really like the heart-shapes

So after a trip to the top of Galleries Lafayette, we headed over to Chalet to grab a sandwich for lunch, and while we were there I took them into the church of Saint Eustache, which is almost as big as Notre Dame, but not as well known. A visit to France is never complete without stopping in every massive cathedral you come across.

We took a quick swing past my old school before heading to the Mosque of Paris for some mint tea and Middle Eastern pastries. We meandered over to Isle St. Louis (the smaller of the two islands in the Seine), and on to Place de La Bastille and Place des Voges (any of this sounding familiar PP readers?).

We went for a fairly early supper in the Latin Quarter. The Latin Quarter is really the best place to go for dinner when you are visiting Paris. It has an exceptionally lively ambiance; the crowded streets are packed with restauranteurs literally begging for your business. Most restaurants have a menu or a formule (which means a 3-course meal for a fixed price ranging from 10-30 Euros). Most places offer traditional French cooking (escargots, French onion soup, coq au vin, steak with pepper sauce, fondue, chocolate mousse, crème brûlée, etc), but there are a few couscous places, Greek restaurants, you get the idea. You wander the street until you find one that grabs your attention and you eat there. I almost never eat at the same place twice in the Latin Quarter.

Well, we wanted to catch a boat cruise on the Seine, so we were a little more pressed for time than normally, so we picked one of the first places we came to. It was quiet, and a little more expensive than the norm, but it had a less touristy atmosphere, and it seemed good. Unfortunately, we seemed to have picked the lemon of the Latin Quarter. My French onion soup was more like brown water, mom I think was served the oldest chicken in the world (one tough bird), my steak was all gristle, and Dad’s steak was leather-tough, all came with a skimpy serving of fries and none of the promised green beans. The waiter never came back to check up on us (he was busy flirting with the table full of young girls in the middle of the place), so we never had a chance to complain, and seeing as we had a boat to catch (literally) we ate it and hoped that dessert would be more satisfying. Long after we had finished the waiter came over and collected our plates and asked how the meal was, and I answered him honestly, and he was quite miffed, but brought over the dessert menus, and I mentioned that we were in a hurry. He dropped the menus and resumed his schmoozing with the girls. After 15 minutes of ignoring us, I proposed we leave, yes leave some money on the table, but to leave. Of course, the minute we stood up, Mr. Flirty was over in a flash asking where we were going, and I told him, flat-out, (in a very Parisian manner, I must say) that we were leaving. His cohort (who was busily pulling in victims from the street and not bothering to help inside the restaurant) bustled in and asked what the problem was. And so I told him very quickly about how bad the food was, and when he cut me off to tell me that he’s never had another customer complaint before, I told him flat out (in French) that the majority of his customers were probably tourists who didn’t know any better, but I live in France, I have studied French cuisine (I took a course when I was a student in Paris), and that what we ate was an American meal, and if I wanted an American meal, I would go to the United States of America (and that ladies and gents is pretty much one of the lowest blows you can deal to a Frenchman, hit him where it hurts, in the cuisine). And with that, we dropped 30 Euros on the table (which pretty much covered our meals minus the desserts we never got) and left. Had I been wearing tighter jeans, high heels, and smoking a cigarette, I would have been a Parisian. And, I must admit, I was damn proud of myself.

View of Paris from the Seine

We indeed did catch our boat cruise (and even had time to grab a quick crepe to replace our missed desserts), and despite the cold, we had a good time. I really do love floating along the Seine admiring my favorite city.

Inside the Vincennes Chapel

On Thursday morning we made a second attempt at Chateau de Vincennes. This time the chapel was open to be visited. I was there in 2006 when that was the only part that was open, and on a frigid day, I had a very nice private tour from an apparently extremely bored guide. As much as I whine and complain about scaffolding everywhere any time I go somewhere, but it always pays off in the end. The chapel was gleaming again, white and clean. It was very nice.

The demo room for the 3D devices, those are the barcodes on the wall.

Dad playing with one of the toys!

The chateau was fun as always. Mom and Dad were as excited as I was about the moat the first time. And, as luck would have it, there was a demonstration going on that day. I mentioned a while back that at the chateau they are experimenting with some 3D devices that allow you to scan a barcode and on a hand-held device look at how the room was furnished/decorated in its heyday. We got to play with the toys! It was SO cool. Again, history nerd moment… WOW! It worked incredibly well, scan the barcode on the wall, and then you can look at the tapestries, or the furniture, or the wood paneling. It was amazing, and of course, the ultimate goal (according to the demonstrator): 3D glasses. I don’t think this should entirely replace traditional visiting, but SO COOL! Too often these medieval buildings are shells of their former selves, and it becomes hard to imagine and visualize how it was intended to look. Imagine having this at a battlefield (yes, Ranger readers, I thought of one at the North Bridge), talk about really making the experience tangible.

We spent much of the afternoon revisiting a few places to pick up souvenirs. And of course, we had to take a swing by the Eiffel Tower, because no one comes to Paris and misses out on getting their picture taken in front of it!

On Thursday night we began packing up our things to go back to our respective homes. However, the gentleman at the font desk mentioned that here had been some trouble with the airports because of some volcano in Iceland and that Charles de Gaulle was shutting down for the evening as a precaution. We got ready none the less, not thinking that would affect Mom and Dad’s flight the next morning. How silly of us to forget the number one law of the Universe, Murphy’s Law.

We got up and readied ourselves for the airport, and then discovered that Charles de Gaulle was still closed and would remain thus until 2 PM, however, my parents were scheduled to leave at 11:20 AM. So we tried to track down Lufthansa or United Airlines to confirm that their flight had indeed been canceled and not simply delayed. I was eventually able to confirm this, but it took a while. At that point, I am pretty sure we were clueless about the extent of the crisis.

We took an adventure to the Apple Store to try to figure some things out (not that it helped much, Lufthansa still said their flight was on time over an hour after it was scheduled to leave and Charles de Gaulle Airport was closed). And we ran into a number of other people there doing the exact same thing. Most of Friday was spent alternating between watching the news and trying to call the airlines to figure out what was going on. Overall, it was pretty stressful, and by the end of the day we had not made much headway. One thing was certain; Mom and Dad were not going home as planned.

The Paris sky, empty of all air traffic. The largest disruption of air traffic ever... unbelievable!

Finally after about 36 hours of trying, I managed to get in touch with United Airlines and get my folks rebooked on a new flight home leaving on Thursday, April 22, almost a week after their original flight. That was a huge sigh of relief, because then we were free to go out and do things and did not feel the need to be glued to the TV or the internet or trying to go sort things out at the airport.

We took a stroll down the Champs Elysses grabbing lunch on the way. By accident we bumped into another marooned American and had a great chat. It was just like a scene out of the Champs Elysses song everyone seemed to learn in public school French classes.

We opted for a stroll through the Tuilleries Gardens before heading to check out Monet’s waterlillies in the Orangerie, which were impressive as always. From there we braved a Parisian Laundromat, we were getting a little low on spare clothes. We grabbed couscous for dinner, which was wonderful and called it a fairly early night.

Dad had said jokingly that if they were stuck for any certain amount of time he would like to see Normandy, well Dad, the Volcano Gods were listening.

We had booked tickets online for a train to Caen and then onward to Bayeux for Sunday morning, Bayeux was a good base point for a tour of both Mont. Saint Michael and the D-Day sites. We figured there would be no train trouble given that we booked without a problem. Again, I forgot about Murphy’s Law, the French Version: when you need to get somewhere, there will be a train strike. Yes, you have all heard me at times rave about striking (it was rather to my benefit in 2006, see Paris Papers) and rant about it (mostly minor inconveniences), but now I can say that I unequivocally DETEST the striking nonsense. I can understand having a grievance against your employer, believe me, I’ve worked some bummer jobs, but holding a massive rail strike over something petty (I cannot even find out the grievance, probably wanting an extra 10 minutes added to their already hour-long lunch break, or the quality of toilet paper in the staff restrooms at rail stations) during and INTERNATIONAL transportation crisis is just plain cruel. Granted, we were not trying desperately to get home (the train does not run from Paris to Boston) like a lot of the stranded Europeans, but it was a mess. The train was double-booked so badly that the ticket agent could not advance through the cars to check tickets, and a lot of people had not even bothered to buy one. So after a hellish trip from Paris to Caen, we emerged in Caen to find that our correspondence to Bayeux had been cancelled on account of the damn strike, with no other trains for the next four hours. Lucky for us, and I am not sure how this even occurred, a train bound for Bayeux happened to appear, Mom just happened to being paying attention at the right moment, and we made it to Bayeux after all. But, honestly. I would say that usually, the SNCF (train system) is one of my favorite things about France (and I have a HUGE stack of tickets to prove it), but this strike monkey business really, REALLY has to stop. People are very dependent on the trains running, and when they don’t it’s a disaster. Again, I feel bad for the poor Brits on our train just trying to make it to the northern coast to catch the ferry home.

The Bayeux Tapestry

Once we got settled in out hotel in Bayeux, I proposed an expedition to see the famous Bayeux tapestry. There is a photograph of the tapestry in every World History book I have ever seen, you’ve probably seen one yourself. The tapestry is about 70 meters long (so almost as long as a football field) and was created sometime in the mid-11th-century (sometime after 1066). It tells the story of William the conqueror and the Battle of Hastings, when William walloped England on their home turf.

It was very cool to see, they had an audio guide that walked visitors through the story being told which kept things moving and provided very detailed explanation of the events. I suppose this makes me such an uber-dork, but I love coming into contact with things from my history books, like the Parthenon, like the Bayeux tapestry, I always feel that much more connected with the history afterwards.

Notre Dame de Bayeux

We also visited Notre Dame de Bayeux, the cathedral that William the Conqueror had built. The church is very different from a lot of other gothic churches I have seen. It has a tower with a domed top and no spire, which is interesting. The cool thing is though, the cathedral at Bayeux is one of the few entirely original cathedrals standing in Northern France. So many were destroyed or badly damaged during the two World Wars, the Bayeux Cathedral is truly a rare gem.

We took Sunday evening off (it had been a stressful couple days) and laid low in the hotel to prepare for another big day of touring.

At 7:30 AM we checked out of our hotel and were collected by our guide, Josephine. I had found an all-day Mont St. Michel and D-Day tour package through a little company called Gold Beach tours. Normandy is hard to see, it is one of the few places NOT completely criss-crossed by dozens of train lines, so the only real way is to attach ones self to a tour or rent a car.

Mont Saint Michel

We were the only people on the tour that day, which was nice. We headed first to Mont Saint Michel. I seem to have a running tradition of going there whenever I am in France. This time it was not planned ahead of time, but I am three for three none the less. It is hard to explain Mont Saint Michel, basically it is a huge rock in a tidal bay surrounded by quicksand, and sometimes (high tide) it is almost completely surrounded by water (except for the man-made causeway now connecting it to the mainland). Mont Saint Michel has been inhabited since early in the first millennium AD, sometime around the third century. In the eighth century an abbey was built on the mont. William the Conqueror enters into our story again in 1067 funded the renovations. Mont Saint Michel was not always a peaceful little island, it was frequently attacked but never fell throughout the Hundred Year’s War.

In the cloister garden of the MSM Abbey

We visited the abbey and had a bit of a look around town. There are no cars on the island because the streets are too small. Only about 40 people actually live on Mont Saint Michel today, but there is one hotel, Mere Poulard where allegedly the original land lady invented the omelet to feed the hordes of hungry pilgrims flocking to see La Merveille (the Marvel). I wish we had more time at Mont Saint Michel, it is just such a cool place, I love just wandering the ramparts and trying to remember where the tiny staircase is (it is about 18 inches wide, if that).

The D-Day part of the tour began at the town of Arromanches, the location of the British landing site, Gold Beach, where the British installed their ingenious artificial floating harbor that supplied the Allied troops with much needed supplies throughout the liberation of Europe. Many pieces of this “harbor” remain and can be seen from the beach.

From this key Allied position we headed to Longues-sur-Mer, a German gun emplacement. The guns were placed on a hill facing the ocean so as to spot and eliminate any incoming Allied ships attempting to reach the European continent. However, pre-D-Day bombings battered the battery and the guns were mostly useless on D-Day, our guide said that the Germans failed to strike a single target on June 6th, lucky for the Allies.

Grave of an unknown solider at the American Cemetery

From the German Battery we headed to one of the most sobering places on Earth: the American Cemetery. The cemetery overlooks Omaha Beach and is legally and officially American soil. The French gave the land to the United States. 9,387 Americans are buried there, 307 are unknown soldiers, and 1,557 missing soldiers are commemorated on a memorial. The American flag flies alone above all the graves facing west towards home (normally graves face east). There is not much in this world more gut-wrenching than standing on beautiful green grass, on a beautiful sunny day so close to an ocean looking down at a white marble cross reading: “Here rests in honored glory a comrade in arms known but to God.” Knowing that beneath that cross is a young American whose name no one knows whose life was lost so far from home. I have been three times, and each time I still get chills, nothing quite makes one understand the price of war like this experience.

Omaha Beach

After paying our respects at the cemetery we moved to Omaha Beach. Of course, this is the best-known of the D-Day beaches where thousands of Americans poured from landing crafts onto the sand in a desperate attempt to break through the German defenses and begin liberating Europe from Hitler’s clutches. Over 3,000 American lives were lost on the beach. The landing was a difficult beginning to an even more difficult advance. Today, the beach looks like most others, with locals flying kites, children playing soccer, people walking dogs. The mines, tank traps, landing craft and bodies are all gone, but they left a lasting imprint. Two memorials and a few plaques commemorate the struggle and sacrifice of June 6, 1944. However, it is just one of those places you know and feel that it is more than just a beach. I am no mystic, but I am a historian, and I do believe that the past lingers in such places and though it cannot be heard or seen, the importance can be felt within.

Our tour concluded with Pointe du Hoc, another German gun emplacement perfectly positioned to rain Hell down on Omaha and Utah Beaches. On D-Day, 225 US Army Rangers were given the task of scaling the 100-foot cliff face with rope ladders to disable the guns. Pointe du Hoc had been heavily bombed in the weeks leading up to D-Day. Of the 225 rangers who began the assault, only 90 remained after the mission. Point du Hoc is riddled with craters most of which are larger than a mini-van, and this is almost 70 years later. In the US, we do not have many places where you can gain a true understanding for the devastation of modern warfare, we are very lucky in that regard, visits like this really give me a sense of perspective about what war really means.

Monday was one of those heavy days, were at the end of the day your brain just kind of quits. We took the train back to Paris (this time with comfortable seats) and settled back into our hotel there.

On Tuesday I was reminded that the Louvre is closed one day a week: on Tuesdays. Oops. So we went and laid in the grass and watched pétanque (a silly French sport that only the French seem to care about or understand, like the Brits and cricket). We then did something I had never done before, we hit up the Paris Hard Rock Café. And I must say, I really missed Ranch Dressing! We ate a little early and a little quickly to take an evening bike tour of Paris. It was pretty cool. I had done Paris by bike once before, so it was nice to do again. The company is called Fat Tire Bike Tours and the all-American staff was very nice. Apparently they hire additional guides for the summer. Not that I am thinking about filing that away for future reference or anything, nope, nope, nope…

Wednesday promised to be Mom and Dad’s last day in Paris (for the second time), not that I was anxious for them to leave (I honestly was not).

We spent the morning doing a little bit of wandering and lunched on Montmartre in a café I used to frequent in my student days. I got to cross one more thing off my Paris To Do List. On the Metro Line 2 there is a stop called La Chapelle, and I have always wanted to hop off there and investigate, and so we did. There was a church there, but it was not open for investigation, but at least I now know there is a chapel there to be explored at a later date. We grabbed an afternoon snack at Angelina and hit the Apple store one last time to make sure everything still looked good for traveling the next day.

The Death of Icharus in the Louvre

In the evening we decided to pay a visit to a little museum called the Louvre. It was as fantastic and as overwhelming as always. I really do miss being a few metro stops away. I went there frequently, but probably not often enough when I lived in Paris.

We finished packing and ended our vacation in style, with a bottle of champagne under the Eiffel Tower.

On Thursday we headed to the airport (things had been open and running pretty smoothly for about 24 hours at that point). There were a million people at Charles de Gaulle, but United Airlines had things very well organized. Mom and Dad successfully got checked in with little fuss and without excessive waiting. And so our whirl-wind accidentally extended vacation came to a pretty calm and peaceful end. I hopped the next available train back to Bourges (funny enough the strike sorted itself out about the same time as the airports got up and running again). I spent Thursday doing laundry and settling back in. It’s kind of funny. I dumped out my suitcase of the contents of the last three weeks, and while laundry was washing, I began refilling the suitcase with things to go home. I also managed to lock myself outside in the garden for three hours... we have a sliding door that automatically latches if you shut it too quickly. Never a dull moment.

It was really fantastic to have Mom and Dad over here, to show them my life abroad. It is an important part of who I have become in the last decade really. I hope they had a good time, and I will be interested to hear more of their thoughts when I get home (it can all be a little overwhelming in the moment). Also, you might want to keep an eye on things here at Feuilles, because we are currently negotiating a one-episode contract with potential guest bloggers (this is also one of the reasons for the lack of photos in this segment, they may have their own to share). Stay tuned for more information as the talks progress.

I will not recount the tales of this past weekend now, I think you have probably had your fill of blog for the moment (not to mention, I need to save a little material for the last hurrah). This week I have been saying good bye to my students and starting the horrible packing process. I do have one last adventure in me though, this weekend I am headed South, and I guess you will have to find out in two weeks where I went.

Until next time, I remain your foreign correspondent, history buff extraordinaire,

~Monica :o)