Deutschland, naturlich

So, I'm in Germany. I love being able to just be in a completely different country lickety split. Different country, different language, different architecture, different food... It's quite exciting. It's also kind of fun to be able to say to all my friends back in the States, when they ask me what I did today, "Oh, not much, you know, I just went to Germany, that's all."

But in all seriousness, Germany is nice. Mostly because my boyfriend is here, and before yesterday I hadn't seen him in a couple of months. Needless to say, I was very anxious to see him. But Germany is nice for other reasons as well. I love the architecture here. Half-wood houses have a very homey look about them. I would show you photos, but I left my USB cable for my camera in France (zut alors!).

Where I am, Tubingen, the terrain is also quite lovely. As much as I love Angers, I miss the mountains. I am defienetly a mountain woman ( I would like to think that someday people will refer to me as the "mountain woman who makes goat cheese," and I will have the crazy hair and gnarled hands befitting a mountain woman), and having hills around is like being in a cradle for me--protected, secure. There's also a little river flowing through town, and there are mallard ducks that paddle up and down it (I even saw some swans on the train yesterday. I've heard they can be a nuisance and even an environmental problem if they become too numerous, but they're so darned pretty...). In short, another hopelessly picturesque European town. None of my photos will do it justice, I'm sure.

The only thing I don't like about being here is that I don't speak much German. a.k.a. I can say hello, good morning, good night, goodbye, thank you, and a handful of other words. When someone lets loose a string of German at me, I just smile and try to look charming and either attempt to speak French or English, which, mercifully, most Germans seem to know, and then I thank them profusely afterward. I've made a resolution to take some intensive German language classes when I get back to the States.

German is actually quite a nice language, I think. French is beautiful, elegant, poetic. German, while hardly beautiful, is interesting and sturdy, and the pronunciation actually makes sense. In French, the words are inundated with vowels, half of which are not pronounced, making reading French and speaking French two different battles. German is phonetic and loaded with consonants, all of which are somehow pronounced. I suppose German and French are opposites in a sense. Obviously, I'm partial to French, but I think German has a nice cadence to it.

Well, this morning Jacob had class (Wow, someone who actually has classes. Go figure.), so I was left to explore Tubingen on my own for a few hours. I had a lovely, liesurely breakfast in a cozy cafe where I read Victor Hugo (I'm on page seven hundred something and am still going--the man was a genius, but those romantics knew how to pile it on thick). Then, I set off for my stroll. I walked along the river for a ways and then made a big loop and headed back to the center of town through the older quarter of Tubingen. Beautiful houses with colorful wooden shutters, whimsical cottage gardens, cobbled streets, lovely, lovely, lovely. And then, wouldn't you know it, I found a market! As you might imagine, I was thrilled. It was small, but comprehensive, and everything that I have come to expect from European markets--super fresh veggies and fruits, amazing breads, beautiful cheeses, and assorted odds and ends (this market had a spice vendor and an organic olive oil vendor). I bought salad fixins for a nice dinner for J. and I, and didn't have too much trouble with the language barrier, although German numbers tend to throw me off, since I've gotten so used to French ones.

Observation: coffee here is actual coffee and not espresso. In France, ask for a cafe and you can expect a tiny little cup of espresso. Here, order Kaffee and you get a cup of coffee. I have to say, I've become attached to espresso, but it's nice to have a cup of coffee for a change. You feel like you're getting more for your money, and a cup (you can't really call it a "cup") of espresso doesn't do much to drive the cold from your bones, whereas a Kaffee or a Milchkaffee (coffee with milk) is perfect for these cold mornings.

Oh, and do I even need to tell you that the bread here is fabulous?

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!

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.

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.