Episode XII

FEUILLES FRANÇAISES EPISODE XII ~ March 23, 2010

Dear Friends,

In this Episode: piles of sand, prostitutes, peanut sauce, and play Guess What’s In My Freezer! As usual, get ready for another thrill-filled update.

I’ve had quite a busy two weeks. I am trying to cram as much in as possible because I am really only here for another six weeks before I head back home. After a much-needed weekend off from traveling I spent the usual week bending the minds of my young charges. Piano Man has been going well, particularly now that I added some incentive. When we go over the questions, candy is awarded for correct answers. Class participation has increased by roughly 1000%.

The weather has been yo-yoing between intense cold and pleasantly warm as France decides whether or not it is spring. The worst are the days when you leave for work and it is below freezing, but you leave work at lunch time, and you’re broiling in the same jacket you put on four hours beforehand.

A selection of fine wines from Bordeaux

The weekend before last I headed off to Bordeaux with Gina and Viola. Bordeaux is in the south east of France just inland from the Atlantic coast (the closest I have been to home in a while). Bordeaux is of course, most famous for the wines from the surrounding region. Bordeaux wines are characterized by typically being a blend of different grapes. Originally, each grape produced a particular wine and there was no mixing. Bordeaux wine-makers insist that this mixing technique originated there.

The Grand Theatre, which unfortunately could only be toured with a reservation.

Interestingly enough, the entire city center has been designated as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, because it is such a unique blend of historic and modern architecture. Upon arriving in Bordeaux my friends and I took up residence in a nice hotel (in an apartment room complete with a kitchen) and set about strolling along the river bank enjoying the cityscape and orienting ourselves to the city.

The Tower at St. Michael's Basilica

Grosse Cloche (literally: Big Clock)

On Saturday morning we began our day with a stroll through a massive market outside of St. Michael’s church. We tried to visit the church, but found it closed. From there we wandered towards the tourism office to explore our options. En route we stumbled across a beautiful old clock dating back to 1775. I love little things like that, it seems to happen a lot here in Europe, you turn the corner and pretty much walk into something older than our country.

From the tourism office we found the Wine Museum, which sadly was not as interesting as we wanted it to be. Luckily, there was a small wine tasting at the end, so we did get to sample some wine from the region before lunch.

Monument aux Girondins

We passed the Monument aux Girondins. During the French Revolution, the Girondins were massacred during the Reign of Terror. They tended to be more moderate in their opinions, and it cost them their heads in many cases.

St. Andre

Church of St. Louis, Bordeaux

We spent the majority of the afternoon just wandering the city popping into churches and exploring any buildings or alleyways of interest. The central road through the middle of the city is Saint Catherine, and it is a wide pedestrian street lined with shops and cafes. There were several cathedrals mixed into our explorations, St. Andre, St. Louis and St. Michael stick out in my mind, but they were not extraordinary. I am not going to say that I am tiring of cathedrals, but I did not find Bordeaux’s to be particularly noteworthy. I guess I have my favorites, which are open to additions, but Bordeaux’s did not wow me enough to make the cut.

The Mojabi? The Sahara? Nope... just France.

On Sunday we decided to head to the sea shore before heading back to Bourges. Apparently the largest sand dune (la Dune de Pyla) in Europe is located not far from Bordeaux in a small town called Arcachon. The Bordeaux tourism office told us it was a popular destination and easily accessible from the train station on foot. The woman said it was 3-4 kilometers from the station. We arrived in Arcachon and consulted a ticket agent there simply to confirm that we were headed in the right direction and she informed us that the dune was “loin” (far), approximately 5 km. We figured 5k was no big deal. The French, in many cases can be a little wimpy about walking. I have known Parisians to take the Metro one stop to avoid walking a quarter mile, so we figured she was exaggerating, and we began our stroll expecting to arrive at the dune within an hour. Well, after about an hour and a half the dune came into view quite a ways off. We were more than half way there, so we chose to continue. For the record, however, the Dune de Pyla is 12.8 kilometers from the train station in Arcachon.

That is a LOT of sand. (I think there is still plenty in my shoes)

The dune is ENORMOUS. When Viola mentioned a big dune, I was expecting maybe 50 feet high. Oh no, this dune probably rivals some in the great deserts of Africa. It is 117 meters high, around 400 feet and is about 2 miles long. You are allowed to climb the dune (with something that big, I am pretty sure they are not too worried about erosion), but it is one of the hardest things I have done. You see, in the summer, they install a plastic staircase, but being there in the off season, we did it the old fashioned way. Imagine trying to climb a very steep hill and every step you take, you sink to your ankles and slide back downwards about six inches. That is the experience of climbing the Dune de Pyla. Exhausting. But the view from the top is incredible. It is situated at the point where a forest meets the shore, and you can see all around you. It is quite beautiful. We ate a picnic lunch atop the dune (with sand everywhere just like summer) before heading back down. The descent is easier (you sink about twice as far each step, but that just speeds the downward progress), we even saw one idiot try to snowboard down. At the bottom, you have to empty half of the dune out of your sneakers before you leave. We did end up in a sticky spot being so far from the station, but we met someone who offered us a ride back to Arcachon.

The modern windows in St. Michel, these I forgive (I have decided that I do not generally care for modern windows), because they replace the originals that were blasted out during the Second World War.

Back in Bordeaux, I managed to squeeze in a last minute swing by St. Michael’s church (which has the strangest hours of operation I have ever encountered in a church) before we caught our train back to Bourges.

I had a short week of classes with my off Friday and a couple of cancellations. I even tagged along on a field trip with Jean Renoir. Apparently this all came together at the last minute, and a few teachers were absent leaving the administration lacking in bodies to accompany the students to a lecture about electronic music. (I do not really see the connection to the curriculum either, but then again, this is France). I had some free time (I usually sit around and try to get some work done on Tuesday afternoons before the club at 5, because the bus is too much hassle to go back and forth in 3 hours), and so I went. It was… interesting. I have never really been a fan of techno and such, but the kids seemed to enjoy it, or perhaps they just enjoyed missing out on an afternoon’s worth of lessons.

One evening, while seeking some frozen veggies in the freezer, I came across the following packet:

So, it's actually not a joke... they eat them... for real...

For those of you who do not speak French… “cuisses” is thighs and “grenouilles” means frogs. Yep. There are frogs’ legs in my freezer (and it is not a cute name for something else, when it comes to food, the French call a spade a spade, foie gras, literally translated is fat liver). Apparently they DO eat them after all. This is the first solid evidence I have ever come across. I guess somewhere in the back of my mind I always thought it was a joke, the French eating frogs’ legs. I am not quite sure what I will say or do if Marie-Paule offers them up for dinner. When living in Europe, I make a point of trying everything that gets put in front of me from caviar, to snails, to foie gras, squid, etc, but these look a little too similar to actual frog behinds to be ignored. I also might have to draw the line at horse. Yes, apparently horse meat is a delicacy in France, and there is a butcher not far from my house specializing in horsemeat. Usually I trust the French in all matters culinary, but I am starting to wonder about the wisdom of that policy.

Thalys high-speed train service to Holland

My week passed quickly (remarkably so, but my days are very full of late), and before I knew it my alarm was going off at 5:15 AM on Friday morning. I had to catch a 6:45 train to Paris, and from there, another train to Amsterdam. I would like to go on the record, here and now: I went to Amsterdam just to see the city. I have been told many times that it is a beautiful and unique city. I had no interest at all in any of the illicit fun to be had thereabouts (I’ll even submit to a drug test). Well, it turns out that I am very much in the minority among young Anglophones. On the train I was intensely embarrassed by a group of loud, drunk, mid-20’s Americans making a huge ruckus on the high-speed train from Paris to Amsterdam. They began drinking as soon as we started moving, and so by the time we passed through Belgium they were shouting loudly about all the things they intended to do in Amsterdam, and no, the Anne Frank house was not on their hit parade. Sometimes it is really embarrassing to be an American abroad. Too often this is the sort of contact Europeans have with us, and sadly, most of the time, these encounters just fuel the stereotypes. It really makes me feel ashamed, and it makes me angry.

Speaking of generalizations, I found the Dutch to be a very nice and welcoming people. I stayed with a total stranger for the weekend (an acquaintance’s cousin put me up), and she was very kind and welcoming. This is the second time a near total stranger has offered me lodgings (first time was in Strasbourg). It is a really nice way to see the world, not only is the rent cheap, but you get an insider’s perspective and advice about where to go and what to do. My hostess’ name was Tineke (Tina-key).

Amsterdam seems like a very lively city, but it probably helped that this seemed to have been the first real weekend of spring. After meeting Tineke and depositing my affairs, I set about on a preliminary recon mission in the city (helped with a map provided by my hostess). I began with Sint Nicolaas Kerk (St. Nicholas Church) which is right by the train station. Churches in Amsterdam are very different from churches in France. For starters they are usually brick, even the gothic ones.

From there, I wandered up the main street towards Dam Square, where the Royal Palace is located. The Netherlands are governed by a constitutional monarch, much like England, and the official royal palace is right in the heart of Amsterdam, but the Queen is seldom there, she spends most of her time in The Hague. Unfortunately (for me), the façade of the Palace was completely obscured by scaffolding because it is undergoing restoration and cleaning. Adjacent to the palace is Niewekerk (New Church), which is where royal coronations take place. But when no one is being crowned there are a series of rotating exhibits in the church.

After Dam Square I wandered east looking for a church I had read about (Oudekerk, Old Church). I followed my map and found the church. But the map does not bother to tell you that the church is right in the heart of the Red Light District. Yes, hookers in windows in front of one of the oldest churches in Holland. Call me naïve, but I had never knowingly seen a prostitute before. Well, the Lovely Ladies of Amsterdam each have there own little room with a street facing window, and each window (which I suppose is more like a glass door) is indicated by a bright red florescent light. And the ladies sit there (in various states of undress), some reading, some texting, some primping, some leering, some flexing, all awaiting their clientele. I thought about dodging into a coffee shop to consult my map to find the fastest way out, but then all the cafes in the square had pictures of Bob Marley and Jamaican flags. So I just made for the canal and got out of the District as quickly as I could. Welcome to Amsterdam.

"Coffee" shop...

I quickly learned that anything called a Coffee Shop, or Coffee House was not the ideal place to get a hot drink and a croissant. In general, these venues offer up marijuana and in some, magic mushrooms, which are legal in small doses in the Netherlands. I have a feeling that having these “Coffee Shops” that close to hookers has caused some serious trouble in the past, but I am no expert.

The Waag

I escaped from Scary Town to Nieuwumarkt and the Waag. The Waag used to be part of the city’s fortification walls, and then it became home to the official weigh house. There I found one of the new, famous, “I Amsterdam” signs. Apparently it is part of a new tourism campaign (though I am really not sure Amsterdam needs the help). Apparently every major city in Europe is currently coming up with a clever slogan to boost tourism. Every city, that is, except… you guessed it, Paris. Apparently the French are above that sort of thing.

Kind of a cool way to make your bike identifiable from the millions of others throughout the city...

Amsterdam mini-van. How many people can you fit on one bike? I bet their soccer (or football to be more accurate) moms all have killer calves. See! Even as a grown up I could still realize my childhood dreams of owning a PowerWheels!

Wandering along the canals, I am pretty sure I have never seen so many bicycles in my 25 years alive. It is really impressive how many bikes there are in Amsterdam. It is really cool that people say, the Dutch bike everywhere. The interesting thing was 95% of the bikes are old rust buckets. Tineke explained that people don’t see the need to buy a nice expensive new bike, because that would be inviting theft and vandalism, and not to mention, most Amsterdamers (Amsterdamians???) leave their bikes out in all elements, so a new bike would become a rust bucket pretty quickly. There were also a few very interesting variations on the standard format. Some were extended-frames with sort of a wheelbarrow between the handlebars and the front wheel, I discovered that this is either for transporting stuff or kids. I did indeed see the bike used as a family vehicle. Some bikes had kid seats on the handlebars, or double seats in the back. I saw tandems, I saw people riding on the backs of bikes. It was very interesting. And for those who are unable to ride bikes, there are these mini cars, that really aren’t much more than enclosed go-carts for the disabled to get around. These little adult versions of Power Wheels are allowed to use the bike lanes and such.

Proof of Evolution

I also had a very interesting animal encounter. On the banks of one of the canals, there was a small open-air seafood shop with several large delivery trucks in front of if, and perched atop one of these trucks was a massive great blue herron. He seemed to have evolved beyond hunting and was intent upon plundering the seafood stand as soon as someone’s back was turned.

The Urchin smirking out over Spui
(I passed him a number of times while getting lost, he became a helpful landmark)

In Amsterdam it is very easy to get lost. There are well over 1,000 bridges, and the canals are in rings radiating out from the center. I found it was very hard to keep track of where I was. Lucky for me, everyone in Amsterdam speaks English. I know we have all heard this before of the natives of other countries, and I have often found it to be untrue. Not the case in the Netherlands. They ALL speak English, and extremely well, too! And as far as I can tell, their prowess in English has nothing to do with it being similar to Dutch (I was completely lost in the Dutch department, it was pretty much as bad as Greek). I was very impressed.

It ain't called the Red Light District for nothing...

In the evening, after a full afternoon’s exploring, Tineke took me to dinner. So it was back to Scary Ville (it seems that all the best restaurants are located in the Red Light District). I had my first dose of Indonesian food, and I loved it. Chicken in peanut sauce, two sorts of marinated beef (one spicy one sweet), a spicy hardboiled egg (which was a little odd), and tofu and vegetables. For dessert there was a lovely layered spice cake, which was very dense, but delicious. And, in true Amsterdam tradition, after dinner, we played shock the prudish foreigner, and Tineke took me through the Red Light District at night, which was chockfull of drunk and stoned tourists gawking at the women in the windows. It was interesting to discover that the whole quarter does glow with a faint red light. It is kind of neat.

267 Prinsengracht otherwise know as...

On Saturday morning, I got up earlier than I wanted (I picked this weekend to get a nice sinus cold, ugh) to beat the crowds at the Anne Frank House. I remember reading the Diary of Anne Frank in Middle School, and I was very excited to visit the house. Now, the Franks were actually German Jews, but they fled Germany to Amsterdam just after Hitler rose to power, and they lived normally in Amsterdam for several years until the Netherlands came under Nazi control forcing the Franks into hiding. They hid out for over two years in the “Secret Annex” on the top floors of the warehouse where Mr. Frank ran and owned a pectin company. During those two years, Anne kept her now famous diary (which miraculously survived the arrest and the subsequent purge of the annex). The museum is in this warehouse.

The bookcase door to the Secret Annex

The Franks (and their friends, 8 people in total) were betrayed and arrested in August of 1944, they were deported to the various concentration camps where all but Otto Frank (Anne’s father) died. Following the arrest of the inhabitants of the annex, the Nazis emptied the hideout of all the furniture. Anne’s diary was rescued by one of Mr. Frank’s employees who helped the fugitives for all those months. Mr. Frank wished that the annex remain empty, but walking through the hallow rooms reading portions of Anne’s diary is more sobering than walking through the room of victims’ shoes at the Holocaust Museum in Washington, DC. You can still see the movie star pictures Anne glued to the wall. You can see the board game Peter Van Pels received for his 16th birthday. I cannot explain how or why this affected me so badly. But, truly, it was an experience I will never forget. I think putting a face on the Holocaust like that makes it even hard to deal with and think about it.

Beautiful organ (and the ancient vaulted ceiling of Oudekerk)
Sorry there are no pictures of the outside, it's crammed into the Red Light District, and hard to shoot.
Unique stained glass in Oudekerk

After the Anne Frank experience, I took a bit of time to wander the Jordaan neighborhood to clear my head. From there, I returned to Oudekerk (Old Church), the oldest church in Amsterdam dating back to the thirteenth century. Oudekerk is also home to the oldest wooden vaulted ceiling in Europe. Inside, I got a pleasant surprise, there was a youth choir performing, and they were absolutely incredible (I wish I had my digital recorder). There is nothing like listening to live choir music in one of these old churches. I know nothing about acoustics, but I know medieval architecture, and the construction of these old churches is designed for sound to carry. It was incredible. Unfortunately, all of Amsterdam is currently being renovated, and so half of the church was closed off. But I did stop and listen to the choir for a while, which did raise my spirits after the Anne Frank house.

Zuiderkerk (sorry for the semi-artsy photo, but I was proud of it)

I strolled along one of the many canals to Zuiderkerk (South Church), which is home to one of the best-known clock towers in Amsterdam. It is also the oldest Protestant church in the city. The tower was completed in the early seventeenth century and is filled with bells that chime out all day long. In fact, there are many clock towers in Amsterdam with beautiful musical chimes that ring in the hours, quarter hours, half hours, etc. Sadly, despite the masses of people visiting, Amsterdam is still in the “winter season” and none of these towers were open for climbing, so I was unable to do my usual and take in a birds’ eye view.

Itty bitty pancakes

Next up was lunch. Now, Tineke told me that the Netherlands does not have much of a unique style of cuisine. And I did notice that Amsterdam is very culturally diverse (a small but intense Chinatown is right next to the Red Light District). Now, Amsterdam seems to have taken the concept of Belgian French Fries and perfected it: they added peanut sauce. It is delicious. So, that was lunch. One of the few signature foods the Dutch make are mini-pancakes, about the size of a silver dollar, and served with chocolate sauce, so I did have a run-in with those, only as part of my duty to report to you about the local flavors of course. I also did come across Bitterballen: beef, broth, spices, butter, and flour; deep fried. It was interesting, I think I might have dunked mine a little too deeply into the horseradish sauce.

Enter through here... ... appear here.

After enjoying my fries in peanut sauce, I headed out in search of the elusive Begijnhof, which is a gated community of sorts. It was originally inhabited by Catholic women committed to doing good Christian service, who did not want to take a nun’s vows. So in the middle of a bustling city, you disappear through a little wooden door, and pass through a tunnel to emerge in a beautiful little square with a tranquil garden. It was neat, this little quiet secret space in the middle of such a lively city.

Me too!

Does saying something in Latin make it sound less vulgar and more wise?

ALMOST like Harry Potter, almost...
The big chess set

Next, my wanderings (aided by the tram) took me to Leidseplein past a garden of bronze iguanas. I found that Amsterdam was filled with a lot of little “just because we can” or “why not” sights, from the iguana garden, to the big I amsterdam letters, or the sign above Leidesplein (a square of sorts) reading: “Homo Sapiens non Urinat in Ventum” (Homo sapiens do not pee into the wind). In this square I found the giant chess set (made famous in America by the Amstdel Light beer commercial). I watched two locals playing a game in the rain. It was very cool.

Bike-Bus!

People-powered bike-bus

I strolled along the banks of one of the canals, not heading anywhere in particular, and I was overtaken by a multi-person bike bar. The basic concept is: you sit and pedal around the city and enjoy a beer as you progress. I hopped on and pedaled for a few blocks just for fun (minus the beer, because I am not a big fan, and also had a significant amount of cold medicine in my system).

One of the many canals in Amsterdam


I love how different the architecture is everywhere in Europe. Everything seems so close (geographically) but SO diverse.
I like all the differently shaped gables. This has always been the sort of thing I think about when someone mentions the Netherlands.

Overall, Amsterdam is not an attraction-heavy city (unlike Paris for example), but the whole city itself is designed to be wandered and taken in. I loved walking past all the different houses with their decorative gables. And the houses are really THAT narrow, I would guess some are around 15 feet wide. Apparently this is because property taxes used to be based on how much of the house was a canal-front property, so skinny houses meant low taxes, and though I did not get to go inside any, apparently the houses are very deep. There are also still a fair number of houseboats on the canals, in which people still live. I am not sure if I would care for that lifestyle, personally, it seems like it would be rather cramped, and well, it bet the flood insurance premiums are sky-high.

I am very disappointed that you cannot read the writing on this boat. I saw this on my canal ride. The red boat on the right is... AN OLD TOWN CANOE! For real! I just about fell into the water when I saw it.

The Tulips of Holland (I passed HUGE fields covered in plastic on the train, apparently they turn entire fields into greenhouses)

On Sunday I took a boat tour through the canals. It was neat to see the city from the water. Of course, as is typical of a somewhat rainy weekend, Sunday it was beautifully sunny so I skipped the overpriced museums, only sporting half their collections in some cases due to renovations (but still charging full price), and did more wandering. I found the flower market sporting the first batches of famous Dutch tulips, and an infinite number of bulbs for planting.

Only in Amsterdam. So, the first one of these I saw, I thought it was some sort of odd public art... then I saw a man using one... If you think about it, it is a clever and efficient way to stop drunk tourists from peeing on historic buildings...

I did find the museums and admissions fees in Amsterdam to be a little pricey. Most of the churches had an admission fee, and the museums did not have a youth/student price for those between 18 and 25, and they would not even take my teacher card. Honestly, I think paying 12.50 (Euros) for a museum that is 70% closed is a little ridiculous. I also passed on the Van Gogh museum, because I am honestly not a big fan.

Of course, the weekend ended, as weekends often do, and I headed back to France (via Belgium) by train. And, of course, with the EU, the only thing that seemed to care that I was hopping borders was my cell phone with borderly reminders that I could still use my phone (at significantly higher rates) in both the Netherlands and in Belgium.

Meanwhile in my normal life, school is going well, although the warm weather last week and this week has turned all the students into lazy ill-behaved children who are not interested in much other than staring out the windows, even my best students are showing signs of cabin fever. I did manage to pull off my crazy Shrek video editing project for playing emotion Bingo with my little guys. There are still a few kinks to be worked out (videos that did not convert properly), but it seems to be working somewhat, and the added bonus of candy as a prize goes a long way. Yes, I know, I know… I am using extrinsic motivators, but it is getting the kids to participate, so in very un-Monica fashion: educational theory can take the rest of the school year off. I am bribing my kids with candy. And honestly, there are less than four weeks left of school, which means I only see some of my classes one more time, so I think we’ll play some games in the coming weeks to leave them with good memories of the American. Also, I recently discovered a major drawback to the French vacation system: yes, I have been blessed with at least a week and a half of vacation every six weeks, but after Easter Break (the first two weeks of April) the teachers and students come back and go to school with just one long weekend until JULY, not June, JULY 2. Ouch. I am kind of glad that my contract expires on April 30.

When I am not at school, and not traveling (which I only do for YOUR benefit, dear Readers), I am doing the mad job hunt. I have about 20 applications out, and have one reply (won’t say where or what). It is nerve-wracking and stressful. So if anyone hears of any openings in Social Studies or French ANYWHERE in New England, let me know. I am pretty much taking the “Spray and Pray” approach, and no shot is too long. Luckily most of this process can be completed online now, which is good seeing as I do not own a printer, and every packed I do have to sent to the US costs me about $3-6.

In other news, the French are playing their favorite sport with gusto today: there is a nation-wide strike for any organization that does not want to work today. So there is no mail, few trains, limited buses, lots of absent teachers, etc. Once upon a time, when I was naïve in Paris, strikes were fun and got me out of class. Now, they are annoying and stop important application packets from being sent, and inhibit my ability to get to work. I am starting to think that the French like striking a little too much. And technically today, I was a scab, some of the teachers chose to strike, but I went to work.

The strike today did cause a situation that I found extremely frustrating. When there are strikes in France, there is some warning, but we never know the exact extent. Well today it turns out that the cafeteria workers decided to join in the fun and now show up for work. No problem. About 70% of our students or so go home for lunch. However, the students who would usually eat in the cafeteria arrived today to find there would be no lunch. Ok, so why don't they just go home like the other kids? Well, because in order to leave school for lunch, your parents need to sign a form. Most of the kids who usually eat in the cafeteria did not have this form signed, and so they were held hostage at school and consequently got no lunch. And let me remind you that a French school day is from 8 AM until 5 PM.

In the meantime, lessons need planning, cover letters need revising, laundry needs doing, and such. I am taking it easy this weekend, just popping up to Paris for a wine expo, taking it easy for my next big adventure, which reminds me: Your next episode will be in three weeks (very sorry!). Next week is my last week of school before Easter Vacation. The first week of the 2-week holiday I am being joined by one of my favorite gals on the planet: ILEA ENOS! Ilea is one of my best friends from college, and I am very much looking forward to our adventure in Hungary. Week two, however, I will be having some long-awaited mystery guests. I guess you will just have to tune in in three weeks to find out WHO!

Until next time, I remain your perpetually traveling, student-bribing, tale-telling blogger,

~Monica :o)