Pas de Pub SVP

So I've been quiet for a while. No worries, though. I've been quiet because I've been keeping busy, not because I'm on the brink of despair. My homesickness seems to be conquered. I think joining the gym was one of my better ideas since getting here (other than eating all those pastries and chocolates, that is). I've not only been kicking my butt into shape again, but I've also learned a lot of new vocabulary that you would only learn in fitness classes.



You're probably wondering what these photos are about. Well, how about I tell you? Most everyone here has mail slots, and to avoid unwanted junk mail, a lot of people post stickers or signs near the slot to announce that they don't want any "pubs" (ads) "svp" (s'il vous plait). I love the diversity of the signs, and so I decided to do a little photography collection. I just carry my camera around as I make the rounds and try not to look creepy as I photograph mail slots.

Just think of this as my quirky little gift to all of you who have been expecting great things of a blogger in France. I have no good excuses other than that I've been busy doing things besides blogging. I hope you'll forgive me.

So here's an interesting tidbit for you. As amazing as the French are with pastries and chocolates and food, I have to say I've been gravely disappointed with their coookies. The cookies here just aren't...well, let me just say that I've been an understudy of the Cookie Monster since I was a child. Cookie jars are not safe around me. And I don't discriminate either. Chocolate, chocolate chip, white chocolate macadamia, oatmeal raisin, cranberry, peanut butter, shortbread...they all work for me. But here cookies are just not quite right. I can't even say what it is that makes them inferior. They just aren't cookie-y enough or something. They don't have that butteryness that makes eating a cookie so amazing. They tend to be neither crispy nor exactly moist, lying somewhere in between.

My friend Val and I got nostalgic for cookies, so we bought a box mix. That was our first mistake. The cookies were ok, but we both agreed that we could do infinitely better. And then we discovered that allrecipes.com has a metric converter, at which point we both got way too excited. Now the problem is what kind of cookie to make. Please leave some suggestions in the comments if you like.

Just so you know, there will be some interesting posts coming up. On Sunday I will be leaving to meet my boyfriend in Strasbourg. We'll be staying there a couple days and then going to Paris. I know I've already been there, but it's Paris, and you can't see everything in one visit. Besides, he wants to see the Pompidou Center, and I'm not about to argue with that.

I'm hoping we can go up the Eiffel Tower at night. I still haven't done that, and talk about the perfectly stereotypical romantic thing to do in Paris! How can I resist? I may also try to get back to Laduree for some more macarons. I am obsessed with those things. Hey, I guess macarons count as cookies, so I have to amend my judgment of French cookies. Macarons: amazing. Other cookies: just get the macarons instead.

Ok, so there's a Star Trek movie coming out here (I just saw the preview so I don't know if it's actually French or if it's American dubbed in French--I hate it when they dub movies), and I am very excited. This is a confession, I guess. I really like Star Trek. I am absolutely not a Trekkie, but there's just something about Star Trek that pulls you in in spite of yourself. Let me also say that I've read almost all of Virginia Woolf's and William Faulkner's writings, and I am currently reading Moby Dick thank you very much.

It's coffee time for me. Man, I love espresso.

Can I eat that?

One of the more frequent questions I get when I work at farmers' markets is, "Can I eat the rind on that cheese?" The question is usually in reference to a bloomy cheese (a cheese with white mold covering the outside, like camembert). My stock answer is "Well, it's a matter of taste, but yes, you can eat it and many people consider the rind and that little gooey layer just beneath it to be the best part." I then mutter something under my breath about "death and pestilence to those who throw away the rind." But seriously, my point is not to attack everyone who finds the thought of eating the moldy casing of a cheese disgusting.

My point is that I generally prefer the French approach to food over the American (with a few exceptions that I will talk about later). It has been my belief for years that Americans have no idea how to eat or what to eat. When it comes to old-fangled foods we are especially silly, pooh-pooing the idea of using lard in our biscuits or of eating eggs produced by real, live chickens that peck around in a field and lay brown, blue, speckled eggs as opposed to white ones. The fact that we have come to value processed, artificial, convenience foods over traditional foods bothers me immensely, and particularly since I started working on a farm I have viewed it as my mission to educate people on the values of real food. I can be preachy, but if you want my opinion the future of our planet, our governments, our economies, our lives, relies on food, and therfore, in my little mind, I feel justified.

But since coming to France one of the things I've noticed is that people here get food. They understand it. They don't shrink from it. They look it in the eye. I never hear French people talking about going on diets or replacing butter with margarine (although I have no doubt that both of these things occur; I simply think it's less common here), and I often see svelte women munching pain au chocolats or drinking rich hot chocolate. But the difference does not lie solely with the fact that they eat richer foods in general and are, in general, slimmer than Americans (a fact that should make you think twice about where obesity comes from).

The French are also very aware of what they eat. When you buy a chicken at the market, chances are it will still have it's head on. Same for fish--you buy them scales and all. Liver and tongue are sold raw by the kilo, and all right before your eyes, not wrapped in plastic or concealed in hermetically-sealed jars. I personally find this honesty refreshing. I think it's important to know what you're eating, and if it's fresh enough to still have its head, all the better. Nothing a swift, sharp knife can't remedy.

You should understand that I used to be a vegetarian. Thus, it might strike you as odd that I would prefer to see dead chickens with their heads than without. I defend my position, however. I think that if we are going to eat meat (and we are omnivores, like it or not, as a species), we should approach it as it is, and animals generally have heads and blood, which is something you're not going to find at your supermarket. I'm in favor of raising the animals yourself if you can, but I realize that to do that you need land and know-how among other things. The next best thing is to buy your meat from a direct source, which is a farm, which means your meat probably won't be doctored up, injected with red coloring to simulate freshness (yes, fyi, this is a common practice), and there might be a couple feathers sticking to that chicken.

And yes, you can eat the rind.

Bon appetit!

Printemps

It would appear that spring has come for good. After a week of glorious, sunny, warm weather I find myself being mostly happy with where I am and what I'm doing, even if it gets a little boring sometimes. But the good news is that I joined a gym, and so I'm hoping that my health will blossom along with the camellias and forsythia. I'm planning on trying out a yoga class this afternoon (at least I think that's what it is--they have enigmatic names for their classes here: Bodybalance is the one I think is yoga). If it is yoga I will be one happy Ashevillain. I realize that I've gotten spoiled with things like that--my home university has 3 free yoga classes a week not to mention yoga classes that you can enroll for (and Tai Chi and meditation and...).

I've been doing yoga more or less consistantly since I was 13, so naturally I miss it when it's not there. Granted, you can do yoga alone and in pretty much any space, but I find that when I do it in my room I get distracted easily. It helps to be in a studio where's there's nothing to compete with the poses for attention. There's also something therapeutic about doing yoga with other people--you feel more energized for some reason.

It's about time for me to register for classes for next semester. I can't believe it: I'll be a senior! Thank goodness the enrollment system is simpler for my home university than it is here. Online registration is something I took for granted until I came here and had to deal with paperwork. If you've ever seen L'auberge espagnol (The Spanish Apartment in English), the opening scene shows this guy in a gigantic office building running from office to office trying to figure out where to go to get information about such and such a dossier or such and such a form. The scene is in fast-forward motion, and it's pretty disorienting, probably to highlight the difficulties of French bureaucracy. Well, that scene is not an exaggeration, as I have come to find out. Signing up for courses here was a little what I imagine running a marathon to be like, and I'm not entirely convinced that, even though I've filled out all the paperwork and turned in the forms, I am indeed officially registered for anything. I would not be surprised if, at the end of my semester, they told me that they'd lost the forms and that I am not on the record as having taken any classes. Hopefully that won't happen because that, my friends, would be the day of my nervous breakdown.

But we'll not think of that right now. After all, it is a glorious day.

Le mal du pays

My blogging has been a bit spotty lately, and for that I apologize, but to be honest my day to day life offers up little for the blogosphere. And, I have to come clean, I have been hit by an attack of the homesickness. I was pretty sure that of all the things that would happen to me in France, homesickness would not be one of them. But then, I guess what I've come to realize through coming to France is that I have a pretty great life in the States. Nothing luxurious or spectacular, but I have a job I love, a family that loves me and would probably do anything for me, I'm happy with the university I chose, I have good friends and fresh air and mountains and contra dancing and a million little things that really makes my life quite rich. All of that just came back to me and hit me like a mad billy goat this past weekend, and I've had a really hard time shaking the melancholy of it.

Part of the problem is that I have too much free time. If you know me, you'll know that I'm a workaholic. I can't sleep past 8 a.m. even when I want to. I prefer to have a full schedule and have often been known to find things to keep myself busy rather than have to sit down and relax. At home, I have a million little things I do to occupy my time--everything from spinnning wool to making handbound books to baking bread. Here, I have been stripped of all those things. I can't even bake a batch of cookies because my host family has a pretty meagerly-stocked kitchen, not to mention you can barely turn around in it.

So, essentially, I can do a handful of things with my time. Usually, I go to the library and stay there for hours on end reading, compulsively checking my emails, and writing blog posts whenever I have something I think I can rattle on about for a while. The problem with this is that I've almost run out of things to read for my classes. Remember those giant Victor Hugo tomes that I talked about earlier? Yeah, they're done. I've read everything except two tiny Victor Hugo books that should only take me a day or two to finish.

Now that the weather is glorious, I can spend more time outdoors, but, as much as I enjoy walking around, I'm in a city. I'm used to being in the country, or at least in a fairly rural area where you can pretty much roam the fields and trails as it were. Here, you can roam the streets and try to avoid the dog poo. This gets old fast. I mean, Angers is a really beautiful city, but I'm feeling claustrophobic. Remember how I said I could never live in Paris? Well, I'm not so sure I could live here either. It's just too much, too big, too many people and cars and buildings that block out the sun.

Another issue is my health. In the States I live a very healthy life. I know how to enjoy a good slice of pound cake with whipped cream, but in general I eat lots of organic fruits and veggies, whole grains, raw milk and farm fresh eggs. I've been able to find those things here, but it's difficult to stay on a budget and eat healthily. Not to mention the allure of the chocolates, pastries, etc. that I have to walk past no fewer than 10 times a day. I also have a pretty physical life in the States. My job is very physical, and I'm used to going to the gym about 3 times a week. Here I don't work, and I would go to the gym, but it's prohibitively expensive (the universities here aren't all-in-one packages like they are at home--no campus gym). So, apart from a few little exercises I try to remember to do in my room, there's not a lot of activity. True, I walk everywhere. This has been my saving grace, but it's just not enough to suit me.

Getting sick twice has also made me realize how a change of scenery and lifestyle can affect your health. At home, I have an immune system of iron. Here, I feel weak and sickly and tired way more often than I'm comfortable with. In short, this isn't the lifestyle for me.

I'm feeling a bit more optimistic today. I have some social activities (yay, St. Patrick's day!) to keep me occupied and the promise of a box with some peanut butter in it and my spindle and some wool (thanks, Mom). The day is nice, which means a promenade this afternoon and possibly dinner outdoors. Nothing like moving overseas to make you appreciate what you have at home.

Little girl, big city

I don't need to tell you that Paris is big. Huge. In French, enorme. I also don't need to tell you that, being something of a small-town girl, I feel like I'm about to go to the moon. I'm a little nervous, very excited, and doubtless will have lots of trouble sleeping tonight.

I've been to Paris before, but only for a couple of days (and as we went to the Louvre, the museum that never ends, most of one day was eaten up by that), and with a large group. The thing about traveling in a large group is that you tend not to notice things, being too distracted by what the people around you are saying/doing. As such, I don't remember a lot about Paris except thinking that the Mona Lisa was really tiny, being swept off my feet by the austere beauty of the cathedrale de Notre Dame de Paris, and feeling weak because I was dehydrated (this time I have my trusty water bottle; and no I'm not afraid of Paris tap-water).

This visit to Paris will be drastically different. I will be with a friend, but no doubt he has certain things on his agenda that aren't on mine, and vice-versa. I have a lot of chocolate on my agenda. I'm guessing he doesn't. But the more I look at the metro map, the more confident I am that I'll be just fine. Paris is an amazingly accessible city, and thanks to a Paris guidebook that a friend is letting me borrow, I have detailed maps of the city and the transport systems. Being a student, I get discounts on museum tickets, although I only plan to visit 2 museums a day, max. Museums are great, and I'm a museum-goer if there ever was one, but to be honest, after looking at paintings for a couple of hours, sensory overload starts to set in and really impressive works of art become ho-hum.

But if you want to know what I'm really looking forward to (here comes nerdy little me again), it's just sitting and taking in the city. Sitting at fountains, in cafes, on park benches, and watching people walk by is what I want to do. I just want to be a sponge. I don't want to try to see everything in four days because that would be exhausting and disappointing (because there's no way you can see Paris in four days). I want to take my time, see, taste, smell, listen, be. Being is highly underrated.

I've already talked to at least 4 people who aren't going to Paris this weekend, but are planning to later in the semester, so I will doubtless have the opportunity to go back multiple times if I choose. And who knows, I may decide that four days of Paris is enough (or my wallet may decide that for me). I might rather see Belgium or Switzerland or Germany or Spain or, why not, Finland. Cities are nice, but I think I'll always enjoy the countryside more. So, I'm hoping that these four days when I will not be posting will whet your appetite and that you'll check in later next week for lots of photos and notes on Paris. A bientot!

oiseau et chateau

I'm in the library slogging through Les Travailleurs de la mer by Victor Hugo (actually "slogging" is a bit harsh--it's quite a good book, but slow reading as there are lots of words I have to look up), and I thought I'd share a photo with you. I don't know why I like this photo so much. It's grey on grey, no contrast; by the laws of photography this is a horrible photo. But it's one of my favorites so far. Something about the grandeur, the immovable, unshakeable stone of the chateau and the tiny, brittle bird flying from the ledge really strikes me. I hope you like it too.

some things I miss

I've talked a lot about how much I love being in France (and I do). I've talked about the beautiful, old buildings and the wonderful people and the incredible food. And I hold to all of it--I am exaggerating nothing here. I am having an absolutely wonderful time. But...

But there are some things I do miss. Not enough to be homesick, but there are definetely some things I have taken for granted in my 20 years (it feels so strange to say that I'm 20!--a score!) in America.

1.) Contra dancing. I'm seeking out a dance class that I can go to here. I've heard they have a dance club dedicated to learning traditional Bretonne dances. But contra dancing is just something altogether different and wonderful and exciting.

2.) Cheap food. Yes, food is much more expensive here. It's difficult to stick to a budget of 20 euros a day even when you're trying really hard to be good. Now, the food is amazing here. The bread is like nothing you can buy in most places in the states (I can think of 1 or 2 good bakeries that I know of). The pastries are so good that they really can make you salivate without even taking a bite. But it would be nice to be able to go to my grandmother's and have as much as I want to eat without having to pay for it (and now that I think of it, grandmothers should be paid for all the work they still do to feed so many people with so little praise). I went to McDonald's yesterday with Anne-Claire (my host mother's daughter) so she could buy her lunch. Not being a fan of McDo. I didn't buy anything myself, but I was shocked to see the prices for fast food. A combo meal here is almost 6 euros (a euro is about the equivalent of $1.30)! 99c value menu? Nope, doesn't exist. The cheapest thing on the menu was over 1 euro.

3.) Central heating. I'm totally a wimp when it comes to cold weather. I do like wearing sweaters and cozy clothing, but I get cold very easily, and so I spend a lot of time here propped up against the radiator like a cat. Radiators are nice because they're instant-gratification heat. In other words, you can put your hands on the radiator and be warmed up immediately. But radiators don't heat a house very well.

4.) Having a regular class schedule. Being self-motivated helps a lot here. If I weren't self-motivated I probably wouldn't do my work or bother to go to class because, unless you have teriffic foresight, it's hard to be motivated to do work that won't matter until exam day. Here there is no homework (in general), no tests or quizzes, no worksheets. Just a final exam. And be it known that when I walk in to take my final exam I will have gone to maybe 10 classes for each course I am taking (5 total). It's really nice to be able to do a lot of work for a class and not have to rely on one exam for your grade. It's also really nice to get to know the instructor's exam-giving style and learn what he/she expects from you on an exam.

5.) Knowing "how things work." How Things Work is a term I am using in a general sense. For instance, when I first wanted to go to a cafe here, I had no idea that you go to a bar to get a coffee. I thought that bars were where you buy alcohol. Not necessarily so. You can buy alcohol at bars here, but as many bars are open at 8 a.m., the main attraction of the bar is not alcohol, but coffee or hot chocolate. I was also uncertain of how you order. At most cafes in the states, you order at the counter and either wait at the counter for your drink or wait at a table until someone yells out the name of your drink. Let me assure you, there is no yelling here. You sit down as if you were at a restaurant, someone comes to take your order, and they bring it to you with the check. If you need change, you take the check with your money to the register, and they give you change. If you do not need change you can leave the check and your money on the table. All of these things seem really small and insignificant, but knowing how things work saves you a lot of headache and worry that you're doing the wrong thing.

6.) Of course (this should go without saying, but I'll say it anyways), I miss my family, my dad's corny jokes, my grandpa's even cornier jokes, my mother's cooking (and both my grandmothers' cooking, and my great-grandmother's cooking), my sisters and the constant ear-splitting noise that follows them everywhere they go, and little Oliver of the white fur.

Thankfully, I brought a jar of peanut butter with me, so I don't have to miss that too. Believe it or not, while every US household has at least 1 jar of PB rolling around in the pantry, PB is not that popular here, Nutella being the common substitute. A small jar of PB here is prohibitively expensive, so I would advise you to bring your own jar if you know you couldn't live without PB and ever decide to visit Europe.

market fever

Ok, this post is for all of you who have lamented the lack of photos on this blog. And really, I do apologize again and again, but if you had any idea how much it rains here you would understand. But enough of that. Enjoy, but believe me--it's a lot better in person.

The above vendor is selling honey of all colors and all types--everything from wildflower honey to lavender honey, and even bee pollen for the health-foodies.


"La tendresse du jour" is a very French way of saying "this is what's good today." Literally, it means something like "today's tenderness." I love the French. The sign is advertising cheeses.

Need I tell you the cheese is my favorite part? And the most difficult to decide on? Imagine putting a small child in a candy shop--candy floor to ceiling, wall to wall--and telling him to pick one thing. That is my predicament. Have pity.

My favorite cheese vendor. He doesn't sell cheeses that he makes himself, but they are all cheeses from France. Nonetheless, he is always cheerful, singing, talking, dancing...I get the impression he really loves what he does.

Now this is another cheesemaker who definetely makes his own. This is the stand I buy my raw milk from. Today I also purchased some natural yogurt, which I'm antsy to try.

Bread. The bread here is unbelievable. All of it. Even second rate bread is good here. And absurdly cheap. I bought a loaf of the bread you see below.

This was the delight of my market journey this morning. There was a cider-making demonstration and tasting. Cider is a famous product of this area, and there are all kinds--sweeter, drier, lighter, richer...And it's not the cider that we have so much of in the states. Not at all cloyingly sweet, it's slightly alcoholic (though nowhere near wine) and effervescent. Traditionally, it is drunk with crepes, which they were conventiently selling for .80. Need I tell you that I had one?

Here's the press. The older man looking at me was incredibly friendly. He invited me over to look inside the press and made sure I tasted the cider before I left.

My market bounty this morning: cheese (morbier), yogurt, milk, a bottle of local cabernet, eggs, bananas, blood oranges, bison sausage, dried dates, an avocado, and a loaf of bread. Not to mention the croissant aux amandes (croissant studded with slivered almonds and dusted with powdered sugar) and crepe au confiture de framboise (crepe with raspberry preserves) I had for breakfast. And all for 20 euros. I feel like a queen.

at least Angers isn't in a drought

I'm trying to be very patient and good-natured about all this rain. It's still raining. Cold, horizontal rain. Every day. But I am trying very hard to think about the drought in NC and the southern states; about the farmers who have to end their growing season early because they don't have enough water to irrigate their fields; about all the people whose well have gone dry. I am trying, in short, to look at all this rain as something of a blessing for these people because there's no doubt that a lot of really fine-looking veggies and high-quality wines come from this region because of all the rain. Nonetheless, I would like to see the sunshine for a day or two.

In other news, I've made a small but endearing discovery that probably won't interest you but that I found to be particularly charming. I will preface this by saying that I am a sucker for aesthetics. Well, one of the first things you notice when you go to a supermarket in France is that the yogurt aisle is probably the most well-stocked aisle (and often there are two yogurt aisles). There's every flavor you can think of, some interesting, some a little bizarre, and of course there are all the traditional flavors. But there are some really fine specimens of yogurt here--yogurt that's more like a dessert than yogurt. Imagine Greek-style yogurt. And a lot of the higher-quality yogurts are packaged in tiny glass, or even terra-cotta, containers. I fell in love immediately. Don't ask me why this matters. Of course, glass is easier to recycle and more environmentally sound, and you can also save the containers and use them for juice glasses. But apart from that, they're just so darn cute.

Another observation: as you know, most of the buildings in Europe, apart from the newer skyscrapers (and there is not a single skyscraper in Angers), are very old. Often, they are hundreds of years old. They are well-built, but they also tend to be very outdated. By this, I mean the interiors are not at all like what Americans decorate their homes to look like. They aren't matchy-matchy here, and you get the feeling that most people don't replace or add things to their homes unless it is absolutely a necessity. So the interiors look a little shabby. I actually like this. It shows something of a frugality and a common sense approach to décor. Not that I haven't seen American interiors that I like, but you know what I mean.

People here are also very, very vigilant about turning off lights, conserving water, and turning off the heat when they leave the house. Most people here (even in newer buildings) have radiator heat. Even the newest bulding at the university, the library (which is absolutely beautiful, by the way), has radiators. They're smaller and sleeker and more modern-looking, but they're very different from the central heating that most Americans have. They're nice because you can lean up against them or put your hands on them and be instantly warmed up. But then, they aren't nearly as effective as central heating, so I've been wearing sweaters and layers in the house. Not necessarily a bad thing, but certainly different.

Romanesco!

It looks like something from another planet (or me when I wake up in the morning), but really it's just a less-humble cauliflower called a romanecso. A market find. I've been looking for one of these for years and had to come to France to find one. This is in lieu of cheese photos. I didn't take my camera to market this past week because it was raining too much. But there will be many, many more photos to come, and you'll get sick of looking at cheese.

Quelle cauchemar!

Yesterday was an interesting day. I think days here will be interesting for quite a while. If you have gone through or are going through the university system in the US you know that when you register for courses you usually do so weeks, if not months, in advance, and you do so online. At UNCA we have advising sessions with our chosen advisor, and then we sign up on a designated day. Easy peasy.

Here it is not. Maybe it's a little different for French students, but I get the impression that, no, it's not all that different. You see, you look up courses online, which I did last semester as I had to pre-approve my courses with UNCA. Come to find out, the courses that were listen online last semester may or may not be given this semester. The ones listed online at this moment may or may not be given this semester. The ones that are offered this semester may not be correctly listed online, and even if they are listed, the hours, dates, and classrooms are not found online without much blood, sweat, and tears. Oh, and you don't even have to sign up for courses until mid-March, so you can fool around and go to different courses to see which ones you like. Thanks to the brilliant international program here, international students who are already confused and bewildered don't figure out which courses they will be taking until after the first course has already been given in most cases. And many courses here are only given once a week or once every two weeks, so in my mind missing the first course is downright horrifying. But when I express concern about this, the people in the international studies office just smile a knowing smile and say that it's really not that important to go to the first class. I hope they're right.

Looking at my schedule, I have soooo much time on my hands. Most weeks I only have one or two classes. Some weeks I have three. That's right: one or two classes in all in a week. I signed up for as many as my French professor told me to, so I don't want to sign up for too many. And I am aware that since most of my classes are literature classes, I'll have a good deal of reading to do, which will take up plenty of time. But I can't help but feel anxious at how different the system is here. Thanks to a really nice Italian exchange student I was able to figure out my course schedule (I had to go to the university secretary to do so), and I've found that when you ask someone for help they're quite obliging and friendly. In short, I'm getting used to being clueless and feeling embarrassed. I'm also overcoming my perfectionist tendencies. There is no place for it in France.

les poissons

Here they are--the fish, as I promised. I really wish I could take a video of the fish stalls at market because this is only one, and there have to be at least 10. I love the way everything is sitting out in the open for you to browse. Unsanitary? Probably, but we could all use a few more germs.

il pleure dans mon coeur...

And on the first day, it rained. And on the second day, it rained. And on the third day...

I wish I could send a little of this rain back home. I've nearly forgotten what drought looks like.

You'll forgive me if I talk about the marché again, won't you? I'm certain it will become one of my favorite things in France. Yesterday it was rainy (as usual) when I woke up, so I was very disappointed because I had been looking forward to going to the market. I got up and took my time over a leisurely breakfast of a palmier from the bakery next door. All that butter and flaky pastry dough compensated for a little of the disappointment. But then, after breakfast, I started feeling hopelessly antsy. I think I have market ingrained in my mind after months of marketing, rain or shine, earthquake or flood, fire or brimstone. The market demon might come get me if I miss one. So I collected my raincoat, umbrella, and waterproof shoes and headed to market anyway. And, as if my voyage out were sanctioned by a higher power, the rain let up and then ceased altogether. Unfortunately, I didn't take my camera for fear of it getting wet, but there will be plenty of time for market photos.

I'm certainly glad I trekked to market yesterday, for I found something I had hoped to find: raw milk. Yes my dears, the thought of being able to buy raw milk with impunity was in the back of my mind for months before departing for France. Now that I've become accustomed to drinking raw milk, I knew that I would have to find some somewhere, and the French did not let me down, oh no. I procured a litre of raw, organic, locally and artisanally produced milk yesterday from a small farmer who also sold all manner of amazing dairy products like crème fraîche, butter, and mild, unaged cheeses. And let me tell you, the flavor of this milk is absolutely unsurpassed. Many people tell me that they don't like goat's milk because it has a certain flavor to it. Sometimes people call it a goaty flavor or just a strong flavor. After tasting this milk my hypothesis is that after drinking ultra-pasteurized, and thus flavorless, milk for years upon years, the national palate has become accustomed to flavorless milk. So when people encounter raw milk or even fresh, gently-pasteurized milk, the flavor throws them off. This milk, although it was cow's milk, had a flavor unlike any milk I have tasted before. Rich, buttery, even slightly grassy, this milk was absolutely amazing. Flavor of this kind cannot be purchased from the grocery store.

In other news, I also found the cheeses to my liking yesterday. Particularly the roquefort and mimolette, which I couldn't pass by without buying a petit morceau (a little piece). The thing that thrills me about the cheese vendors at market here is that they're piled high with cheese and this cheese stinks. I mean, it reeks. It takes me right back to the cheese kitchen at Spinning Spider. That strong, musky, piquant scent that sort of tickles your sinuses is indicative of real, honest cheese. Most vendors don't have samples out, but I can take one look at these cheeses and ascertain that they are fabulous. Cheese nerds know exactly what I'm talking about. By smell and sight you can usually find the fromage of your dreams. I think I'm also a little biased against samples because we fool with them so much in the states, and I know many people (yes, I am talking to you) who take their fill of samples from the cheese plate and seldom buy anything. I'm sure that if I had asked, the cheesemonger would have given me a little piece to taste, but I really didn't think that necessary. And my intuition was spot-on.

Oh, there were plenty of things to drool over yesterday, even if it was rainy. And the crowds were less pressing too. Here's to all the hardcore market-goers out there. Salut!

la cathedrale

One thing that I remember very clearly from my last visit to Europe is that cathedrals really sneak up on you. You're walking along, minding your own business, trying not to look like a tourist, and wham! There it is. Of course, you'd think they would be obvious. I mean, look at it. It's incredible. Nonetheless, they're still sneaking up on me. This cathedral is on the Maine river overlooking the water. I haven't been inside yet, but there's plenty of time for that.

The weather here is incredibly unpredictable. So far, it's rained almost every day, and if not during the day, it rains at night. But it's a sneaky rain--one minute rain, the next sunshine, the next rain, and so on. The wind is ferocious here as well. This morning it was a struggle to walk through town because of the wind, and on my way back to the house it rained sporadically and even hailed a little bit. And of course because of the wind, it rained horizontally so the backs of my jeans got wet. A little problematic. And strangely enough, the temperature here has been remarkably temperate for winter. Coming from the mountains, I expected freezing temperatures and snow, but every day has reached the upper 40s at least. The weather here is known by its "douceur angevine," which is hard to translate, but it means something like "gentle weather of the anjou region." I don't know if I would apply that term to it, what with all the rain and wind, but the grass is quite green here, and not having to wear snowboots is a mercy (since I didn't bring any). This is a huge difference from the drought-stricken southern US.

the peculiarities of french dining

I'm really fascinated by how the French eat. I may already have touched on this subject, but I think it deserves a lot of space because it really is fundamentally different from how Americans eat. And having been in France for a mere week, I am hardly an expert. I'm just going to recount what I have seen so far.

French people really do walk around with baguettes under their arms. It's a stereotype, but it contains a little grain of truth. I find this to be truly endearing for many reasons: 1) I am a romantic, especially when it comes to food; 2) you can't carry merita bread under your arm, thus exhibiting the hardiness of the baguette; 3) seeing bread walk past you on the street all the time is a testament to a cultural phenomenon that gives me hope for the future of good, crusty bread. I could go on in this vein, but bread might not be as interesting to you as it is to me.

I have very quickly fallen in love with the café. Sure, there are cafés in the US, but they tend to be superfluous and pretentious, serving things like skinny-triple-caramel-mocha-with-whipped-cream-and-grated-nutmeg. I exaggerate, but we've all been there, standing in line behind the creep who has the nerve to order something that will take 10 minutes to make. Here, there is none of that. You have your coffees, your espressos (and darned good espresso at that), your cafés au lait, and your chocolats chauds among a few other simple drinks, but that's it. If you want a dessert, you go to the pâtisserie or the chocolatier, not the café. I also love the way they serve these boissons chauds (hot drinks)--with a little cookie or sometimes a piece of chocolate or a chocolate covered almond. Nothing much and certainly not fancy, but the attention to detail is magnificent. Oh, and the tiny spoons they give you for serving are absolument mignon!

Tonight I witnessed another intriguing tidbit: French people eat pizza with a fork and knife. I am not alone. For years, I have eaten finger foods like pizza, bananas, and even pb&j sandwiches with a knife and fork. I don't really know why. Maybe because I tend to be a self-conscious eater or because I watch some people eat and think, ''why not just stick your face in it; you're halfway there already.'' In any case, I feel vindicated. But really, French people are impeccable diners. They eat slowly (these are generalizations based upon what I have seen--I'm sure there are French people who are exceptions to everything I will say on this blog, just as there are Americans who are atypical), even thoughtfully, usually holding their fork in their left hand and using their knife or a piece of bread to move food onto their fork. I'm sort of clumsy with my left hand, so this will take some getting used to. They eat heartily, but because they take their time the food isn't a strain on their stomach, and typically there is a lighter and a heavier meal of the day. I think traditionally lunch was the heavier meal, but since most people work, dinner is generally the heavier meal.

And then, there's the French enigma: how do croissant-eaters stay so thin? Enigma no more, my friends: lots of walking or riding a bike and very few snacks between meals. Going to lunch today, I walked a good 20 minutes. After lunch I visited one of the public gardens and walked around for a while before heading back to the house, which was 20 minutes more. I did the same going to and coming from dinner tonight. Walking is excellent for the digestion, so there's little wonder that the French (again, in general) stay reasonably thin.

Let me reassure all of you once more that, come Thursday or Friday, there will be photos. I will not forget.

Observations on the French culture

France is a very interesting place. There are plenty of similarities between France and the US; after all, we're all human beings, and as globalization continues to intensify, we're all becoming a little more similar. But then, there is a truly different atmosphere here; something...je ne sais quoi...

One thing I would like to report to appease all the nay-sayers out there is that I have yet to meet a mean French person. Everyone I've talked to so far has been amazingly nice and patient when I ask them to please repeat what they just said, and a little slower if you don't mind. The people working in shops are especially friendly and competent, and extremely fast. You go to the bakery to get a half-baguette, and despite there being a long line in front of you, you'll be in and out within a minute. And even better, I haven't encountered lines at the post office yet, even though I go by every day to mail letters.

On Saturday I went to the open-air market for the first time, and it was amazing. Anyone who knows me knows that I love farmers' markets in general, but this was in a different league altogether. I have heard stories about French markets and how they sell pumpkin by the slice (a stroke of genius; if you've ever bought a pumpkin to roast, not for pie but just for serving by itself as roasted pumpkin, and you're not serving 15 people, a whole pumpkin is rather cumbersome) and whole rotisseried chickens, but until I saw these glories for myself I had no idea.

Fruits and vegetables of all kinds (some vendors even sold already roasted and peeled beets), spices, honey, sea salt (from local sources if you can believe that), eggs, cheese (yay, fromage!), breads and pastries, meats of all kinds both raw and cooked, patés, fish, fish, and more fish, oysters so fresh you could smell the seawater on them, shrimp still jumping around, olives, local wines, flowers, plants, orange trees (!!!)...it was at least three blocks long and extraordinarily busy. People pulled rolling suitcases through the streets to carry home their market bounty. Of course, I couldn't resist the flowers, so I bought a tiny bouquet of yellow and pink roses for my room. I can't wait to go back next Saturday.

Since my last post I have also had the opportunity to visit the chateau of Angers and the chateau of a nearby suburb. I think every French town must have a chateau. Maybe it's obligatory. The chateau of Angers was built in, get this, 843. The year 843. Of course, it was added onto until the 13th century, as if 400 years really matter with something that old. What amazes me is how well it has held up to time. Sure, it's weather worn and covered with moss, but it's still there, intact, and gigantic. I think I was right not to take any photos of where I live to show them to my host family--I don't want to embarrass myself any more than I do anyways. I really admire things that are built to last. That is how France strikes me. A lot of the architecture here is pretty simple (except, of course, for the chateaux and cathedrals and things like that--and there are a lot of them), but there are very few buildings here that look flimsy or faddish.

I promise I will post photos as soon as I can get connected to wireless internet. I have some lovely photos of the chateaux and the cathedral and some fish heads I saw at market. Lots of delightful little trouvailles for you in the weeks to come.

La belle France

My first two days in Angers have been uneventful but enchanting. I've done a lot of walking, getting lost, finding myself again. This is actually quite a large town...larger than I anticipated. I can't imagine living in Paris. I think I read somewhere that Angers is the 16th largest city in France.

What can I say? It's France! I walk out the door in the morning and the smells are wafting from the boulangerie/patisserie. You know how good chocolate chip cookies smell when they bake; imagine the smells wafting from baguettes and croissants and brioches and pain au levain and all those little pastries you thought were only true in fairy tales...that is the smell that I must walk past multiple times a day, my friends. Lucky and cursed at the same time.

It's really fascinating, the square that my famille d'acceuil lives near is like a little village within the city. There's the boulangerie, un tabac (which is like a newsstand that sells cigarettes as well), un magasin des fruits et légumes (a fruit and vegetable shop), un fleuriste, and une pharmacie. So, the necessities are within a short walk. In about 15 minutes I can get to the main street that runs through town. This is where all the shops and restaurants are. I love not having a car!

Yesterday at the tabac, I bought a magazine that I thought looked interesting because Barack Obama was on the cover. Actually Obama is on the cover of quite a few French magazines this month. It seems to me that the French are just as interested in the nouveau président américain as much as Americans are. This particular magazine (Le nouvel observateur) had a lot to say about Obama's perceived cool. In other words, his calm, his seeming inability to get upset. One article was devoted to the secret life of Barack Obama, which, at least thus far, is still speculation. But the article assumes that anyone as cool and private as Obama must have a secret life, and <<plus les autres se projettent sur vous, moins vous etes obligé de dévoiler votre personnalité profonde...et plus vous avez tendence à croire en votre infallibilité>> (the more others project upon you, the less you are obligated to unveil your true personality...and the more you will have a tendency to believe in your own infallibility). I like that quote. It seems quite French to me.

I've mailed a few letters, bought a wonderful little brioche chocolat, and made a trip to the supermarché. It has been amazing to see how different everyday errands are in another country. It's that little aspect of the unknown--foreign currency, foreign language, less-than-obvious means of flushing the toilet--that makes everything interesting. I'm already finding the language aspect easier than anticipated. I imagine that within a few weeks I'll be humming along in French.

Another thing that has interested me is the compactness of the city. The streets are very narrow, the cars are small if not tiny (and the only oversize vehicles you see are oversize because they have to be--delivery vans, garbage trucks, etc.), and everything is within walking or biking distance. I love the way there are individual shops for everything. Obviously, you can get everything at once at the supermarché, but the fact that all these little shops still exist in the face of mass-production is incredible to me. And they aren't like our specialty shops in the US: everyone goes to these; in the mornings you can watch lots of women with their paniers (baskets) going from shop to shop, picking up a baguette here, a chicken there...

...

There are pedestrians and cyclists everywhere. You have to pay for plastic bags at the supermarché if you don't bring your own bags (which most everyone does). But even more fascinating is the way all these things that seem so progressive in the states are completely integrated into the French lifestyle out of necessity. In the states, everyone at Food Lion can pin me down as a treehugger because I bring my own bags, but here it's just what you do. People have small cars, walk, or ride bikes here not necessarily because they're thinking all the time about the environment, but because Europe is small, France is smaller, and Angers is a speck on the map. There just isn't space to park SUVs or trucks, and even if you have a car, you walk a lot because there's no guarantee you'll find a parking space where you're going. Students can rent bicycles free, and there are bike lanes and bike racks all over. It's amazing to me how something that takes a veritable crusade in the states is just a way of life here. More later...à tout à l'heure.

Goat update

It's been awhile since i posted about the goats, and that's really a shame. They're remarkable creatures, and they deserve a shoutout every now and again for the hard work they do.

We've been down to milking once a day for quite a while now, and some days we don't milk at all. Breeding season is over, but after contact with the bucks the ladies are smelling quite funky, and as a result the milk is a bit more...well...pungent, shall we say. I haven't really been bothered by it. I just pour it on the cereal and don't smell it. I think it's easy to psych yourself out about things like that, and i have a certain antipathy to finickiness, so i just don't allow myself to think about it too much. I couldn't tell a difference in the flavor, but when you're eating honey nut cheerios you don't really taste the milk so much as the honey nut goodness.

In any case, end-of-season milk has a much higher fat content, mostly because they're eating much less grass now and much more hay, alfalfa, and grain. Thus, less watery, succulent matter and more dry matter. This does affect the cheese, and although you might think it would be positive it's actually a pain in the ass. The high fat content promotes geotrichum growth. Geotrichum is the white mold that makes camemberts and bries so tasty. As the mold develops on the cheese it works its way into the curd and creates that amazing creamy layer between the rind and the harder curd. Unfortunately, right now the mold growth is so fast (and we have some wild geotrichum growing on the cheese too--uninvited guests) that the rinds on our lovely little bloomy cheeses are slipping off, creating an awful mess. I've been trying to wrap the cheeses before they get runny, but sometimes it happens so fast that it's all you can do to peel them off the drying mats and hope the rinds don't break off. Needless to say, we're selling the cheeses cheaper. They taste just as fabulous, but they're hardly beauties. I actually prefer a rustic looking cheese, but i have been known to love homely, even ugly things. This summer i had a passion for this monstrous looking reishi mushroom, which i thought was just the coolest thing ever.

Unfortunately, today was my last day in the cheese kitchen before i go to France for the spring semester. It was very sad. I didn't even mind tubbing chevre, which happens to be the most tedious job i can think of. To think that i still love my job after all the blood, sweat, and tears (i'm pretty certain all three were involved at some point this past summer) is really amazing. I never thought that would happen to be honest. I thought i'd end up resigning myself to a tolerable job. But no, i really love what i do, and i don't see that changing.

I've been battling a lot recently about what to do with myself. My life. I should remind you that i'm a French major. I chose this because i like it. The end. I feel i should have a degree for multiple reasons, only one of which is a backup plan. I mostly feel i should get a degree because i want to learn as much as i can while i can. I believe learning is something to be done every day, all your life. But i do know that i will not be able to do as much learning, by the book learning, that is, when i start working full-time. Hence, i am a student bearing my academic cross for now. I've been thinking maybe i should get a teaching licensure even though the thought of teaching children, tweens, or teens appals me. But then, with the advice of a former teacher i decided that would be an unfortunate mistake. If i'm not cut out to be a teacher, i shouldn't be one. Students should have teachers who are passionate about what they do. There are already too many nonchalant teachers. Besides, i'm having more and more trouble withholding what i think, and i am told that tact is important for things like teaching.

So, i've decided to forge ahead with my plans to farm. Someone needs to do it, and it might as well be me. It won't be easy, and i'll probably be poor all my life, but that's fine. I really don't think i'll mind so long as i have bread and butter (and maybe some sorghum molasses--this has been my fix of late) and goats.

Back to the farm. We recently had a buck die. You'll never guess why. It's actually funny. You have to develop an odd sense of humor when you work on a farm. See, during breeding season the bucks are "in rut," which essentially means that they are horny, in a way that only goats are horny. They give off this musk that is augmented by their own urine, as they piss on themselves and on the other bucks (if you'll believe this, they piss on their own faces--a sight to behold, really). They fight amongst themselves, hump each other, and mostly stop eating. That's right, they get so horny they stop eating. This is why bucks don't live as long as does. The stress of rut is pretty hard on their bodies. So this year our new buck, Savoy, was going through rut, and he completely stopped eating and died. I think to think of it as dying of horniness, which is essentially true. The humor in this lies in the fact that the animal died of the characteristic that goats are known for--their virility. It's like a pig dying of overeating (which also happened fairly recently--but that's really, really disgusting, and i won't describe it) or a hen literally pecking another to death or something. Again, odd sense of humor.

I plan to return to the farm when i get back from France. I'm very attached to the place. I really can't imagine coming back to anything else. So there will be more posts about the farm, just not for a while. I have contacted a farming family in France that i hope to visit and work with for at least a week or two, so that could make for some interesting future posts. I plan to have a seperate blog dedicated to my escapades in France, but i haven't created it yet. I'll be sure to let you all know when that's up and running. It is possible that i won't post much or at all during the christmas season simply because i will be very preoccupied with travel prep and just the hubbub of the season in general, so whether my next post is tomorrow or sometime in january, when i'm in France, cheerio!

Fin de semestre

Whew...sorry guys. It's been quite a while. En lieu d'une explication trop longue, let me just say...fin de semestre. Visa application process. Mon dieu!

I have to say, applying for a visa might be the most anal thing I have ever done, and I thought I was pretty anal. Apparently I could never beat a bureaucracy. The paperwork, the forms, the fees, the online applications. I think I've managed to corral everything into one manila envelope, but I'll be checking the list every few hours just to satisfy myself. I would hate to make the drive to the French consulate in Atlanta and find that I'd forgotten something. And that is, folks, what I have to do. I myself could not believe it when I first heard it. I thought there must be some mistake. I have to do what?! But no, they were correct, and I have dutifully made my appointment. On the 9th of December I will be making my way to prove to the French government that I will not be a burden to them. That I will go to school, live with a reputable family, etc.

Don't let my sarcasm fool you. I am very, very excited. I recently emailed my host mother, and she emailed me back! Very cool. I've managed to register for some really rough-sounding courses at the university (which my professor seems to think I will be able to handle "no problem" alongside actual French students). I get to read Camus's La Peste for one course, which is exciting, and I take some comfort in having read the English translation already. Maybe I'll try to get a jump on reading it before the semester starts.

I've been out of the country before, but it was only for about 17 days, and I travelled with a bunch of other people. This will just be me, by myself, alone. I'm thrilled and scared to death (mostly about the in-transit part--airports seem to me to be incredibly disorienting places, and I am not at all confident that I will be able to navigate one). I'm anxious to form my own opinion of France and French people, who, I am convinced, I will love. They cannot, after all, be so drastically different from people I know already.

The farm is really slowing down. We're milking once a day now, and that really takes the pressure off in terms of pasteurizing to keep up with the milk flow. Yesterday I had a marvelous day in the cheese kitchen pasteurizing some chevre, tubbing some more chevre, and fooling around will a lot of cute, molded bloomy cheeses. When the molded cheeses (think crottins, pyramids, buches, etc.) are dry enough, you take them out of the molds and salt them or ash/salt them. I find this kind of fun even though you end up with cheesemaker's lung by the end of it. You will get the ash up your nose, and you will be sneezing in shades of black for a few days.

I always think of London when that happens. I only spent two days there, and by the end of it my eyes watered and I was fairly certain that in spite of my distaste for cigarettes I would get lung cancer if I stayed there much longer. I remember they were in the process of cleaning the St. Paul Cathedral (an absolutely incredible building), and the uncleaned portion next to the cleaned portion was like one of those opposites flash cards you have when you're a child--light and dark.

Anyhow, my point about the fabulous day in the cheese kitchen was that this is how I know I have found my metier. The fact that I can, after over a year, still walk into that place and actually have fun while I work for 8 hours. Maybe a year isn't a very long time, but for me it is. To be really happy with one's job after a year of back-breaking (please allow me to indulge in a little hyperbole :) labor is something to consider. I, in any case, think it a good sign. Still gettin' down with the cheeses.