Lisa Felberg • France
Last month, I decided to take some time to get to know my region of France better. France is divided into 22 regions, which, as the American I am, have started to liken to States in the US. In many ways they are that, with local governments and very diverse cultures and traditions. So, I hopped on the train and headed thirty minutes south to the town of Châtenois, nestled on the footsteps of the Vosges Mountains, in the heart of Alsace.
Before that weekend, I had learned quite a bit about Alsace. My first encounter was in October, when there was a small festival on a main street of the city. I wandered down, and window-shopped for lunch, finally settling on a tarte flambée. After my delicious meal, I saw a group of about ten adults, all dressed in really colorful outfits. The men were wearing what looked like lederhosen, sans the leather, and the women were wearing bright, full red skirts, with frilly white blouses and enormous bows on their heads. One lady was sitting on a stool and rocking out on the accordion, while the rest of the group was doing some sort of traditional dance. I watched them for a bit and came to the conclusion that it must be a regional thing. It surprised me that the region had so much culture and identity independent of France. But after several history lessons from eager Frenchmen and some research on Wikipedia, I am finding Alsace to be quite a character.
First, the history of the region is complex, and starting from the late 19th century, it was handed from France to Germany and back several times. This gives it the sort of half-France, half-Germany feel, and has heavily influenced the culture and cuisine. Alsace holds claim to the invention of the pretzel, or bretzel, and a palette of other delightful dishes like choucroutte, tarte flambees and delicious smoked pork. The cheese of the region is Munster, a firm, but creamy cheese, with a very distinct smell. The region is also home to several different vineyards that traditionally produce sweet, white wine and several well-known French beers, like Fischer and Kronenbourg.
Apart from the food (my current obsession), the colorful architecture and lore make the region unique as well. Buildings with wooden exoskeletons and colorful facades line the streets, and they all have ‘overbites,’ meaning that the second flood protrudes over the first. My friend Nathan explained to me that the structure of the home was a way to get the most out of their money. Back in the day, taxes were imposed on houses, but only on the area of the ground floor, so people added a bit of square-footage on upper levels by building out.
The lore is everywhere. I recently discovered a book entitled Legends and Tales of Alsace. The introduction explains that most stories have been passed on orally, but the author compiled some of his favorites into the book. Like most good stories, they are full of princesses and witches, ghosts and enchantments, but I was also impressed at the lengthy description the author gives to locations and places. He details monasteries that are still standing, and forests that lie in the heart of Alsace. Being an American, a country that is relatively young, I sometimes forget what a heavy weight the past hold, and it always amazes and surprises me to hear such stories. The symbol of the region is the stork, or cigogne and they can easily be seen about town in the spring, perched in their nests on churches and houses.
During my trip to the countryside, I noticed one aspect of Alsace that isn’t as apparent in Strasbourg. The dialect, Alsatian, like the rest of the culture, isn’t German, and it isn’t French, but bears resemblance to dialects spoken in Austria and Southern Germany. Now it has grown more complicated, for its speakers mix in French and German words as well, allowing me a semblance of understanding at first glance. It is more common in the countryside than in bigger cities, and Châtenois was really the first time I felt immerged in it.
Coming to France, I was pretty unaware of what I was getting myself into. I was ready to enjoy a year of typical French living: red wine, cheese and baguettes at a chic café on a river, and I am happy to say that I have had so much more. I have met people and a region with such a deep culture and sense of identity, I have enjoyed my red wine and cheese, but I have also biked around castles and enjoyed beer at a microbrewery down the street and heard jokes in Alsatian and eaten my weight in tarte flambée. It’s been a great year.
After a solid nine months of traveling and touring, I have picked up some tricks of the trade. I don’t claim to be any sort of expert, but I have toured six countries and over twenty cities in less than one year, and did it all on a student’s budget. So, here is what I have learned, through getting out there and trying, and I want to share it with all of you, especially people who are planning to travel or study abroad themselves.
Getting around:
In terms of getting from one place to another, Europe is a dream come true. You can traverse countries in mere hours, and options for getting around are sometimes limitless. But, I know too many people who have wasted too much money because they didn’t think ahead and travel smart. Here are some tips.
1. Plan ahead. Sometimes, it’s nice to be spontaneous and decide during the weekday to get away for the weekend. But, the fact of the matter is that most forms of transportation are so much cheaper a month or so in advance. Many bus companies have reduced rates if you purchase tickets far enough in advance, and train tickets, especially in France, can be bought up to 50% reduced price if you know what you are doing.
2. You are a student. TAKE ADVANTAGE of that fact. (Sorry if you are not a student.) But really, students have it good. One of the first purchases I made in France was a carte 12-25. It is a reduction card that allows me to get up to 50% off on my train tickets. Everywhere you go, students have reduced prices, from museums to restaurants, so enjoy.
3. Flying. There are several discount airlines that allow cheap flights all over Europe. These include Ryanair, Germanwings and Easy Jet. They have sales all throughout the year, and you can buy tickets for as low as 10 bucks! Just one thing to keep in mind if you are going to fly with them. Because these airlines are so cheap, most of their airports are in the middle of nowhere. So, you may find a ticket from Strasbourg to London for 15 dollars, but, in reality, the airports are in Karlsruhe-Baden and London Stanstead and you have to pay for transport to and from the airport, which may include several different bus and train trips that can add up to more than a pricier, direct flight. Like I said, plan ahead.
4. Driving. I am not a big fan of charter buses, so just google them. In terms of driving, there are two options. One, car rental, which is fun, and a great idea if you are over 23 (most rental places have an age limit) with a larger group to split the cost of gas and feeling adventurous about driving across Europe, which can be monumentally challenging at times. Also, keep in mind that if you are traveling to a larger city, it may not be worth it to hold onto the car, because parking can be expensive and a huge pain, and most cities have amazing public transportation systems. I love driving, but am too young to rent a car. For this reason, I am eternally grateful for learning about car-sharing. The easiest way to explain it is organized hitchhiking, I would say. Basically, people post their driving route, when they are going and how many people they can take. With that information, you can contact people and drive with them, for pretty cheap prices. The best network is probably the German carsharing, Mitfahrgelegenheit. The French version, Covoiturage, is less known, less extensive and a bit more expensive, but it is always worth a try.
5. Group Travel. Not only is traveling with a group of friends fun, but if you travel by train in Germany, you can find sweet deals. The two that I have used so far, the Schönes Wochenende Ticket and the Länder-Tickets. Both of these are group travel tickets that allow up to five people travel on regional trains for only 30 to 40 euros. I have used these before, and traveled across Germany for under 10 euros. Just keep in mind it is going to take a little while.
6. Public transportation: amazing here. No joke, I have gotten used to buses and trams and metros. I recommend getting limitless day passes if you plan on moving a lot within a city. Of the various types in the all cities I have been to, my favorites have been the U-Bahn in Munich and Berlin, and the Tube/buses in London. The London system was so logical and straight forward, and helped you orient yourself in the city very easily, and there is nothing more fun than hopping on a bus, and watching London fly by from the front of a double-decker!
Where to stay:
In terms of housing, I have been lucky to know people in most of the cities that I have visited. Staying with someone I know, and who knows the city has always been preferred for me, as opposed to finding a hostel or hotel. For this reason, I am a fan of Couchsurfing as well. It is an online network, not unlike Facebook, but more specifically, “a worldwide network for making connections between travelers and the local communities they visit.” You can contact people in cities throughout the world and stay with them for a few nights, and see their city through their eyes. I have done it a few times while in France, and have been very happy with the results. I find it to be a great alternative to staying in a hotel, and a great opportunity to meet new people.
What to do:
When you get to a new city, where do you start? I have developed a few rules and guidelines to make the most out of a city.
1. Old towns, museums and parks. Those are three things that I like to see in each town I visit. European towns all have a pretty similar layout: a city-center, the older part of town with all the pretty, historical buildings, usually with cobblestone roads, and the rest of the city that kind of fans out from it. Also, in case of bad weather, it’s a good idea to plan to visit one or two museums. In London, most of them are free, and in Paris, many are free to students at European schools, so bring a student card. Finally, parks are generally well maintained, very gorgeous and centrally located in cities. It’s always fun to meander around and see some nature to take a break from a busy day of sightseeing.
2. Free tours. In Prague, I discovered New Europe tours. It is a company that gives free tours in ten cities in Europe and is growing slowly. I really enjoyed my tour in Prague, and although we had to listen to a bit of publicity for sponsored bars and museums in the city, I had a great time.
3. Eating out. Eating out can add up very quickly, so when I visit a city, I decide on a few key, must-have food items, e.g. fish and chips in London, Currywurst in Berlin and Pierogis in Poland. Other than that, I like to find local supermarkets where I can buy food for picnics or cooking in.
4. WWOOFing. I heard about the World Wide Organization of Organic Farms before I came to Europe, but I had not found time to do it until this April. It is a network of organic farms in a country, and once you become a member, you can contact organic farms and arrange for a time to stay and work with them. I worked on a farm in the mountains for a week, and I had a blast. They house you and feed you for the duration of your stay, and in exchange, you help out with daily chores. The variety of opportunities available is impressive, from cheese farms, to bakeries, to ranches and goat farms. It was a great change from the big city, and fast-pace tourism. I met a lovely couple who had bought a house in the Vosges and are working on turning it into a bed and breakfast. Around the farm I helped feed the animals, clear trees and brush, build a chicken coop and clean the goat’s stall. It was a great time to clear my mind and reflect on the past year.
So there, a year of my knowledge, lessons learned and tricks of the trade, boiled down to 1,500 words or less. Take note and travelers, I hope my tips help you wherever you go. Bon voyage!
First, before I even start this article, let me apologize for the lack of updates during the past month or so. The month of April was filled with excitement and travels, and for that reason, I was way too preoccupied to even think of updating, although it was always on my mind. But of course, with all my travels, comes many stories and now that I have time, I would love to share with all of you dear readers!
My first trip in April was to Montpellier, a lovely city in southern France. I was excited to go for several reasons. First, my best friend and roommate of two years is studying there, and we hadn’t seen each other for five months. Also, I hadn’t done much traveling outside of my region and Paris, and was really excited to see another part of France, maybe even the beach. So, I woke up at 5:00 to catch my eight-hour train, and before I knew it, I was greeting Elena and her beautiful city. The first afternoon was spent walking about and seeing the city, and even from the start, it felt so different from Strasbourg. The city was made in a style mimicking Paris, so the whitewashed, tall buildings were familiar but so different from the hearty, Alsatian buildings I have grown used to. It was a sunny day, so we climbed to the top of the Opéra and enjoyed the view. The weather was great, and every street I walked down, I observed in amazement and happiness. I loved the feel of this bright, sunny, Mediterranean town, and was feeling reticent about going back to Strasbourg and the dreary, cloudy weather that awaited me.
And from then on, I was continually surprised. Even on the streets, life seemed just a bit louder and more open. People spoke with more exuberance, and I do believe I received some catcalls. That night, Elena and I went to a student bar. The mood was nice: it wasn’t too crowded and the music was pretty good. We were talking to each other, when the booth next to us invited us for drinks. I was astounded. This had never happened to me in Strasbourg. So, we joined them, and we got to know Valentin, Romain and Guillaume, three history students. The next night, Elena and I went to another bar, and once again, were accosted by a group who had overheard us speaking English. They were full of questions: where we were from, what we were studying, why we were in Montpellier?
I passed four nights in Montpellier, and every night, I met someone new and had a great time. This got me really thinking. Someone once told me that, in France, as you get closer to the sun and the sea, the people are more open and friendlier. I quickly discovered the truth in that idea and it seems to be a trend in the States as well. We tend to associate sunny weather with smiles and warm people. Being raised in Texas, I have grown very used to southern hospitality and to warm, open attitudes, so coming to chilly Strasbourg has been hard at times. I had to get used to keeping a solemn face when walking down the street, so people didn’t think I was crazy, and I quickly got accustomed to the silent calm of the city. People keep to themselves, talk with lowered voices, and keep a sense of mystery about them. From time to time, I find myself missing the loud, boisterous Texan style and Sunday night dinners with my family. My stay in Montpellier made me realize that I had really gotten used to the private, calm, peaceful vibe of Strasbourg.
I also realized how affected we all are by the weather. Lately, and by lately, I mean for the past month, the weather in Strasbourg has been dismal. It’s cold and rainy, humid and cloudy, and my mood has taken a turn for the worse. I hate to admit it, but it is very impressive how strongly we are affected by weather. When it’s cloudy and wet, all I can think of is curling up in bed and watching a movie, but when the sun finally shows up, it’s like I am on top of the world. And this is definitely the case for the attitude of a city as well. The people in Southern France are generally more open, boisterous and lively in comparison to Alsatians. When my four nights in Montpellier were up, I was a bit reluctant to go home, but when I left, I brought some sunshine and southern comfort with me.
The first days of learning French, all the way back in middle school, were spent learning about cognates in English and the language’s influence on English. More than a third of all English words are derived directly or indirectly from French, and it’s estimated that English speakers who have never studied French already know 15,000 French words. My first day, we learned words like ballet and parade and gala. It was so surprising to see all these words that I had known so well used in another language as well. But since my arrival in Strasbourg, I have been continuously shocked by the heavy influence that English and Anglophone cultures seem to have over the rest of the world.
Before I came abroad, I met with a student who had studied in Strasbourg the previous year (from 2007 to 2008). I had asked her about how living in France was, how she managed with the French language etc. Her response was that she had lived almost 100% of her life here in French, all of her close friends communicated in French and all of her classes were taught in French. So, of course I arrived with the same expectations, only to be disappointed. All of my neighbors in university housing are native English speakers, and a recent all-English program has opened up at the University, and with it has come a large population of students that speak little to no French. I love the kids at the school, but at the same time it is frustrating to have traveled halfway across the world only to speak my own language. To top it all off, I am constantly surprised at the vast knowledge that my pupils have on American culture and people’s excitement to try to communicate with me in English.
This omnipresence of all things English is the one aspect that really bugs me about life here. Not only does it irk me, but also it makes me feel really conflicted. From the start, this has always been a subject of constant conflict in my mind.
For example: I spent the entire summer researching in Germany, knowing no German and relying heavily on the fact that most Germans I have met speak amazing English. I traveled through four countries, to over eight cities, on just English alone! For that, I am grateful that it is my native language. But because it is slowly becoming such an international language, this fact also makes me feel so lazy. People have always asked me about various TV shows, actors and bands that I know very well, like How I Met Your Mother or Radiohead, all of these things are so well known internationally, but ask me to name ONE German actor, or one French TV show (before I came abroad) and it would be something I would really have to think about. In this way, I feel like there is such an uneven exchange of culture in the world. Turn on the radio in Germany, and you will hear about 60% Anglophone music, 30% German, and the rest international, do the same thing in the US, and unless you stumble across a college radio station or Feliz Navidad around Christmastime, you will be hard pressed to hear something other than English. I have yet to really figure out the answer.
Even in the academic world, English is powerful. As a scientist, I have noticed that many developments of the past century have been in my language, and as a result, knowing it is a very powerful tool. Papers and textbooks are published, computers are run, and many lab procedures written out only in English. My friend Taru, from Finland pointed out a very astute observation. She realized that as English is growing larger in the world; it puts her language at a disadvantage. Native Finnish writers will always feel a conflict, between publishing works in their native language, with an audience of 5 million people, or working in English and receiving a much larger audience worldwide, reaching 79 million.
Yet, the most frustrating part of all this for me is probably English in my everyday life. I have not wavered in my will or my passion to speak French, but I also have grown to be good friends with some of my American neighbors, but if we go out, I prefer speaking in French if I can help it. For after a few months in this country, I am tired of being accosted by people who have overheard my conversation in English in bars, or on the street. I feel like if two people were speaking together in Korean or Finnish, people wouldn’t think twice, maybe try to figure out what language they were speaking, but then move on. But in my case, I sense the people around me on the tram perking up and listening in when I start a conversation with my friend Kendall, a fellow American, and my neighbor is Strasbourg. And that sense of scrutiny, that shopkeeper that tries to address me in broken English at the first time of confusion, the friends who insist on speaking to me in English, is what really irritates me.
Even with all of my complaining, I go to sleep happy. This week, I am in lab from 8:30 to 5:00 p.m, and after a full day of breakneck-speed French, I am exhausted and elated to rush home to talk to my neighbors about my day. I may be a bit resentful and conflicted about the global status of English, but sometimes there is nothing more comforting than knowing it is right next door.
I could not say that I was ever a huge foodie before I came abroad. Yes, I enjoyed food, I appreciated it, and I have never been much of a picky eater, always willing to dive in and try all sorts of new food. But my parents are not and ever have been star gourmands: Mom is a whiz with baking goods, and Dad, well, who doesn’t love frozen peas? Two years of Hinman didn’t help much. I grew to love the salad bar and Stir-fry Steve, but catch of the day… The memories of that mystery fish entrée still linger in my mind and taste buds.
However, upon landing in Germany and spending time in so many different countries, I was converted to the great following of food. And I am still obsessed. It was not only the first time that I started to cook for myself, but also a time for me to encounter several different cultures, each with hundreds of years of traditions and customs in the kitchen. And so began my year of culinary enlightenment, starting off slowly and growing with every plate I tried.
It all started in Germany, at the beginning of the summer. Germany is definitely not renown for its excellence in the kitchen, but summer is a great time to be there, as each sunny day is filled with barbecues and delicious beer. Barbecues are the epitome of German food; kilos and kilos of meat are cooked on the fire and eaten with simple German rolls and bread. The meat ranges from steaks, marinated in spicy and salty sauces, to bratwurst, round and pink, to my favorite, small sausages, filled with cheese and wrapped in bacon. Tasty. Of course, every BBQ must be accompanied by loads of amazing, refreshing beer. Other than barbecues, afternoons were spent picking strawberries in a local field and eating them right off the vine, and cooking with my friends and roommates.
This past summer, I also had the chance to visit Poland, Austria and many different parts of Germany, and with each country came a whole slew of new tastes and flavors. Visiting my friend Peter in Vienna, I had a traditional Austrian dinner the first night, consisting of glazed ham and Semmelknödel, dumplings the size of my fist, made of potatoes. To drink, we had white wine, mixed with mineral water. The next day, we tucked into an afternoon snack of Sachertorte and coffee. Sachertorte is a dense chocolate cake, filled with apricot jam and traditionally eaten with whipped cream. The original cake itself is only made in Vienna and Salzburg, and is shipped from there to other parts of the world. Another weekend, I visited Poland, where my friend Maciej was staying with his grandmother. Hello homemade pierogis and delicious plum dumplings! I had meal after meal of amazing homemade food, salads of homegrown cucumbers and tomatoes, and delicious sour cream. We headed out to the countryside for a day, and the first thing we were greeted with was a delicious midnight snack of rye bread, simple cheese, whole tomatoes, and of course shots of polish vodka.
My last night in Freiberg, Germany was spent at the Kartoffelhaus, a restaurant completely dedicated to potatoes, with potatoes in every dish, plates from all over the world, and complimentary glasses of homemade potato schnapps. Then, it was off to France, the country of la baguette, l’escargot, le croissant and le fromage.
Strasbourg is the capital of Alsace, a region that has been passed from Germany and France for such a long time, that much of its culture is quite of mix of both, yet not quite either. And the food is the same. At its heart, Alsatian cuisine is rich and hearty like German food, with a French twist. We have choucroutes (sauerkraut), bratwurst, boiled potatoes and cooked pork and ham, and Alsace produces most of France’s beer: very German indeed. Alsace is also known for its foie gras and rue de vin that houses many wineries that produce amazing French wine. And last but not least, a personal favorite, tarte flambée. It consists of thin bread dough rolled out in pizza form, covered in crème fraîche, onions and bacon bits. Legend has it, the tarte flambée was originally used by Alsatian farmers to test the heat of their wood-fired ovens. At the perfect heat, the oven could bake a perfect tarte flambee in one or two minutes, allowing the crust to be nearly burned by the flames. They are available everywhere in Strasbourg and are very addicting.
During the rest of the year, I have had the delight of encountering other small gastronomic traditions, especially around Christmas. I have already raved about the markets here; the likes of which I had never seen before, and the food was no exception. Crepes, made on the spot, filled with sugar and nutella on paper plates, chestnuts, roasted by street vendors and sold in rough paper cones, and hundreds of different types of cookies, all locally made. And at every Christmas Market that I visited, I saw some of the same staples, including vin chaud, delicious, spiced wine, and candied nuts.
Christmas came and went, and I continued my travels. Next, I hopped on over the pond to England, where I enjoyed delicious, loose-leaf tea, fish and chips, a must, and some of the most amazing Asian food ever. That was one thing that I really missed in France. I had grown up on Chinese and Thai, but France, with a large number of its immigrants from Africa and Turkey, specializes in other genres of food. From my first bite of curry chicken with fried rice, it was like I was back home. Even as an American, I was surprised at the number of fried chicken and fast food places that crowded the streets of England – aren’t we supposed to be the McDonald’s obsessed ones? The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I guess…
And finally, we come to la Raclette. This dish is the reason that I started this article, my inspiration, my muse. It all started the week before I went on a two-day skiing trip with my university. During that week, all I heard about the trip was excitement about this mysterious raclette, about how amazing and delicious it was going to be. I finally got around to asking someone what it was, and I got a long-winded, complex explanation. “It is an amazing dish, copied from the Swiss.” “It is delicious, awesome, epic and legendary, and as soon as you eat it, you fall into a food coma,” raved my French friends. The night of the raclette arrived and I was ready, with an open mind and an empty stomach.
I was not disappointed. We all sat down at the dining table, which had an odd sort of grill in the middle. Everyone started to get excited and impatient, and finally, slices of cheese, plates of ham, sausage and prosciutto, and large glass bowls of baked potatoes were brought out and placed in front of us. We heated up the grill, which had two levels, one on top for the meats to fry on, and one just underneath, with little shovel-like spoons. The idea is to put a slice of cheese in the spoon, place it in the grill, and let it get nice and warm, until the cheese has completely melted and is mind-blowingly gooey and tasty. You then pour it on the meat and potatoes and dig in. It is pure heaven, but then again, melt cheese, pour it on anything and I am there. So, we spent the evening enjoying the raclette with white wine and each other’s company. And what they say is right; with a tummy fully of cheese, potatoes and white wine, I was drowsy by 8:00 and in bed by 9:30! The raclette had done me in.
I have finally started to really appreciate an activity that I spend a good amount of time doing, and I wonder what the rest of the year has in store for me… Escargot? Amazing Moroccan food? Frog Legs?
Stay tuned to find out.
It was the best of times… and yup, that about sums it up. Am I missing something?
I recently spent time in two great European capitals, Paris and London, and have come to this conclusion: I am going to live in both of them… eventually… when I am filthy stinking rich. After spending a week in Paris and a week and a half in London, I felt as though I had just started to see the city. Therefore, residence is the only option. The two cities are so interesting, so different, and my visits to each of them really reflect that. Paris instills me with feelings of peace and wonder. I remember it fondly with afternoons spent laughing over cups of coffee in chic cafés and long quiet walks through neighborhoods that look they come from 100-year-old impressionist paintings. On the other hand we have London. I remember a bustling city, markets with vendors advertising their wears, and bars crowded with students taking advantage of 1.25£ pint night. This is an account of two great cities through stories, memories and places.
For me, Paris has become an embodiment of all things magical and beautiful about France. I have heard that it is not really France, that it is an anomaly of the culture and the country. I have heard tourist horror stories and lists of complaints, but I plan on keeping my rose-colored glasses on. My Paris isn’t perfect, but it will always be beautiful. My Paris is complex and interesting and unexpected. I know it by its monuments; from museums to churches to cemeteries, everything has a story.
The first thing I noticed about the city was the pace. People walk quickly, briskly one may say, as if they always have somewhere to go; yet my visit quickly resumed a simple pace. Get up every morning at ten, eat a breakfast of tea and croissants. Shower, leave at around twelve and go see something. Later in the afternoon, we grab a coffee, and head to a museum. Head back to the apartment at about 7 and eat dinner. Later that night, we would watch a movie, or get a drink, then head home and go to sleep. My days breezed past as I wondered around Paris, seeing sight after sight. Even on my second visit, I still had many monuments to check off the list.
On Saturday, I went to the Père Lachaise Cemetery, where icons like Molière, Jim Morrison and Chopin are buried. I spent a good hour wandering about the massive, 120 acre site, looking at crypts and tombstones, each one so different from the next. I found the grave of Oscar Wilde, and was a bit taken back. The large concrete block has a winged figure carved into the side, and his names engraved in a simple font. The grave is covered in hundreds of colorful kisses, flowers and notes of love. From there, I moved on to Colette, Edit Piaf and Marcel Proust, to name a few. The next day, I visited the Louvre. They say everything is bigger in Texas, but visits like these, to old, grand, historic places, make me feel like Europeans are big, ole hypocrites. Everything about the Louvre screams big! A museum with 35,000 pieces of art? No big deal. With paintings over five times as big as me, and a circulation of nine million people a year, there is nothing small about this place. You could spend hours, days wandering through the galleries and appreciating room after room of precious artwork. But after a few hours, I was exhausted and overwhelmed, and decided to get my afternoon cup of tea.
The rest of the week was filled with l’Arc de Triomphe, the Eiffel Tower, les Halles, Notre Dame, les Invalides, l’Hôtel de Ville and the Montparnasse Cemetery. But my favorite memory by far was my visit to the Pompidou Center. I went by myself, the last night of my visit. I was a bit hurried, arriving at 7:45, when the museum closed at 8:50. The building is so odd and out of place, an amalgamation of multicolored pipes, about a five minutes walk from Notre Dame. The Center is a combination of a library, a music center and Europe’s largest modern art museum, which is located on the upper levels of the building. I arrived, quickly bought a ticket, and found the escalator to the galleries. What they don’t always tell you, a very important fact, is that with the central location of the building, and its great height, the Centre Pompidou offers one of the best views of the city. Luckily, the architects were clever enough to put the escalators on the sides of the building, covered by large glass tubes, allowing the amazing city view to be observed by all museum-goers. And luckily for me, I arrived to the 5th floor just in time to observe the Eiffel Tower, exploding into a serenade of lights as it does every night, and the view took my breath away. For the next five minutes I stood there, frozen, taking in the view, waiting for the light show to end, and reveling in my little discovery. L’Arc de Triomphe, Notre Dame, l’Hôtel de Ville and Sacre Coeur were all laid out in front of me, a picturesque summary of the past week and of my past trips. Soon enough, the lights on the Tower flickered off, and I left to enjoy some modern art.
My time in Paris was like a dream: glamorous, relaxing, cultured, and I was ready to get to London and see what it had to offer. Being in London was like being in a parallel universe of the States. Here I was, back again in an Anglophone country, but things were – different. When I landed in Stanstead, a small city forty-five minutes out of London, I was exhausted and stressed. I knew it was going to be another hour, at least, until I could meet up with my friends and find a place to stay. I found the bus that would take me to the city, and boarded, taking one of the last available seats. It was only until about twenty minutes into the journey that I took time to observe my surroundings, and it was only then that I realized that we were on the left side of the road! For the rest of the trip, I tried to keep it in mind, but even the memory of those first ten minutes didn’t stop me from almost getting run over a few times in the city for looking the wrong way.
Some of the first memories I have were from the bus ride in, as I gazed out the window. This was my first time in England, and as a self-proclaimed Francophile, I had never made much of an effort to learn about London. I was visiting with a blank slate, a fresh page, so to speak, and it was quite interesting to build my impressions from scratch. I had of course asked my trendy London friend, Ned, for guidance, and so for the rest of the week I wandered around the city, with an unlimited travel card in one hand, and a list of his recommendations in the other. With each place checked off the list, I grew fonder and fonder of this Bizarro World. After seven days I had passed, I managed to visit every place recommended by Ned, and a few others on top of that.
By far, my favorite places were the markets. Each has their own distinct character, but they are all absolutely delightful. First, I did the South Bank Walk, working my way from west to east, ending at the Borough Market. Several stalls, covered by bright red canopies, where vendors were offering samples to passerbys, greeted me. There were all sorts of food: buckets of pickled olives, cheeses from every corner of the world, pestos, dried meats, cookies, cakes and pies. My mouth watered with everything I saw, as I was offered curries, brownies, and apple slices to try. I settled on buying an almond pastry, and inhaled it as I explored the sprawling market. And I was only at the entrance. I followed the crowd, through a tunnel, and found another square, and another one beyond that. I spent a good two hours there, circling the grounds, and taking in the liveliness and excitement of the place. The next day I headed over to Camden Town. On the tube, I wondered what I would find, and I was not disappointed. As soon as I stepped out of the station, I knew I had come to the right place. Crowds and crowds of people walked past the colorful and eclectic buildings that lined the streets. Shop after shop sold jewelry, tee shirts and souvenirs. I continued down the way to find blocks of stands and stalls. There were so many choices to takes in, markets upon market. I found a food area, comfortably located on a little river, and bought some bite-size samosas, and munched on them as I explored some more. I also visited Notting Hill, Shoreditch, Oxford Circus and Russell Square. I visited Hyde Park, Hampstead Heath, Buckingham Palace, the London Bridge, the London Towers, and Platform 9 ¾. I was a super-traveler. Neither wind nor rain could stop me; I was on a mission. I ran all over London, and even traveled to Oxford for a few days. But after almost two weeks in England, I was exhausted and very ready to return home, to small, quiet Strasbourg.
Going home over Christmas break, one of the questions I was asked the most seemed to be: what do you miss about the U.S.? Or what is different about France?
Aside from the obvious answers, like the language, the culture, the first thing that springs to my mind, and always has, is the doorknobs. Now to a sane person, this response might seem slightly odd or a bit unhinged.
It is.
But, I have come to learn that it is the little things, the ones that we bury in the back of our minds, that really come to focus when you live abroad. So, sitting at my desk, looking around my room, I started to compile a list of these little things. It sure is random, but for some reason each of these have really stuck with me.
To start, I should explain the doorknobs. The first time I traveled to France alone I was fifteen. I won a scholarship and was sent to stay with a host family for three weeks. Unfortunately, I did not have a very good time. From what I remember, I was miserably homesick, I cried buckets, and I did not get along with my host sister. Yet, through my misery, I remember how weird the doorknobs were. There were no nice, round knobs, smooth and chilly to the touch, just these odd, European ones, long and thin, fragile in comparison. Now, five years later, I am back, and the doorknobs have not changed.
Next: colored toilet paper. I never thought about it before, but it doesn’t really exist in the U.S. But, here, I buy TP that is as pink as those spring-colored marshmallows, and didn’t think twice about it until my mom pointed it out during her visit. And then suddenly, not only was the paper white and pink, but every pastel color of the rainbow! How silly.
Milk and juice in boxes: it’s almost as if I am back in elementary school. Here most juice and milk can be bought in liter boxes, en vrac and un-refrigerated. At first it was really weird to pick up a half-gallon of milk that had just been sitting there for who-knows-how-long at room temperature. But upon tasting it, I discovered that this long-lasting milk, as it’s called in the UK, is really tasty, a bit richer and creamier than American milk.
Finally, the last differences were actually pointed out to me by French students, questioning what they had heard or learned about the States. The first was a question from my friend Adrien, who asked me, quite worried: “Is it true that at university, you move in and live in the same room with someone who you have never met?” I remember the question in his voice, his curiosity in this odd American idea. Then, it dawned on me: that is bizarre. The tradition of freshman roommates is pretty common throughout the States; I remember how I awaited move-in day with excitement and nervousness. My freshman roommate and I had exchanged a few awkward Facebook messages and phone conversations, but before moving in, I did not know her. Somehow, this idea never seemed weird to me. I had grown up knowing that freshman year of college, I would move in with someone who I had never met before, sharing a small room together, learning to coexist and survive our first year of college together. But here was someone, peering in from outside of my culture, helping me view at it from a different perspective. I couldn’t help but laugh. I acknowledged the truth in the question, and was left to reflect upon what I had just learned.
After that first question, several est-ce que c’est vrai (is it true…) questions followed. I have been asked about food, about music, about culture, even about bathroom stalls. And here I am continuously getting lost in the little things, learning to live abroad and enjoy these differences.
All right, a quick update. February is probably the busiest month I have had abroad and for that reason, I have been quite irresponsible with my blogging. But that will soon change as the month passes and I return to a more regular schedule of school, spring and studies.
What exactly have I been up to? Let me tell you, for it is quite exciting!
From the 28th of January to the 4th of February, I was in Paris, for a chemistry forum, and it was amazing spending time in the amazing city. I really fell in love.
From the 4th to the 6th, I had visitors! My friends who are currently studying in Tübingen, Germany came to Strasbourg for an AIR concert.
From the 11th to the 24th, I was in England, spending time in both London and Oxford, seeing sights and catching up with old friends.
Finally, this weekend, an old friend is visiting from Germany. Last night, we saw a Plastiscines concert, and we are using this weekend to enjoy Carnaval in the city.
But, posts will come soon! With all this excitement comes plenty of stories, so get ready. I have some stories to tell. But for now, enjoy some of my favorite pictures from my travels this month, and some music from both of the concerts.
The sheer awesome-ness that I find in most things French continues to awe and intimidate me on a daily basis.
I feel like that pretty much sums up my feelings on the subject, but I guess I should give it some context.
I have spent the past week in Paris, visiting two friends: Etienne and Laurent. Etienne lives near the Rue du Commerce in the 15th arrondissement and Laurent lives in the 17th. Arrondissements are little districts of Paris, starting from the first, in the heart of Paris, where the Louvre is located, and spiraling out from there. Even where they live sounds cool. And this aura of cool that surrounds all things French, my friends, is the root of my fear.
There is something, some unnamed quality, some unknown cosmic force, that gives the French this air of mystique, this timeless sense of chic that leaves me feeling frumpy and frazzled in comparison. This dazzling je-ne-sais-quoi hit me everywhere I went in Paris. On the metro, I observed guys wearing gorgeous pea coats, almost tailor fitted pants and sharp, shiny oxfords. Their hair is one magnificent swoop that perches on top of an amazing, chiseled face, that leaves everyone in a half mile radius breathless. Girls sashay down the streets, cigarette in hand, long wavy tresses fluttering behind them. They are wearing beautiful winter coats, dark stockings and gorgeous high-heeled leather boots. No UGGs or Northface to be seen. And while I feel completely inferior, the classic elegance of French style is such a relief in comparison to the atrocious fashion don’ts I observed on a daily basis back in the States.
On top of the amazing style that every French person innately has, I am continuously awed and delighted by the food. I could probably fill several pages with that topic, but I will be careful and limit myself to this one paragraph. First, something that is iconically French, and is very dear to me, la baguette. Plain, simple, essential, but always delicious, baguettes are something that every French person probably takes for granted. But, as a foreigner, I was shocked to discover that I could pay as little as 30 cents for a baguette that would cost me about $3 back home. And I take advantage of this fact daily. Bread is an essential part of a French persons daily routine, from croissants, to pain au chocolat, to baguettes, the absence of bakeries on every street is something I will sorely miss when I return to the U.S. Other than that, the best way that I can summarize the quality and deliciousness of French food is with the words of my friend Kendall. As she succinctly puts it: in comparison to the U.S., you pay a little more, because in the US you can find really cheap food, but for that little increase of price, you get an infinite increase of quality. Also, many products are locally grown, very fresh, and don’t have that chemically enhanced, tomatoes-the-size-of-my-head quality that I find so frequently in the U.S.
The cherry on this amazing and intimidating cake is the language itself. Other languages have their own merits: English is incredibly flexible and constantly changing, German is logical and structured. But French is and probably will always remain the most beautiful the language that I have ever heard. From my analytical chemistry teacher explaining how nuclear magnetic resonance works, to my friends gossiping at breakneck speed, all of it just sounds good. And when inspected in more detail, French is a language that lends itself to an elegant way of expression, that transforms everyday prose into poetry. It was not until I came abroad and started really learning French that I realized how difficult it is to really master a language, and that this feat can’t be accomplished in one year. For this reason I am continually awed listening to my friends speak with such eloquence and composure (even if they are native speakers).
Not to say that there is nothing wrong with France and the French. People complain about everything, the bureaucracy is a headache, and the price of living is quite expensive. I have heard all about these faults, from my very American friends abroad with me. And my response to them is as follows: you made a conscious decision to come to this country. No one forced you, as far as I know, you had just as equal an opportunity to stay in the States. But you chose to come here, to a country several hundreds of years older than your own. Of course there are going to be things that you find frustrating and different, but you just need to suck it up and deal with it.
As for me, I couldn’t be happier with this amazing country that continues to awe and inspire me.
As promised in my last post, I’m going to back up and introduce myself. Let’s see…I guess it was about this time last year that I made up my mind to go abroad. The possibility had always been a lofty one, and with one complete year at NU under the belt, I was quite reticent to leave the amazing, engrossing community in Evanston. But, after endless talks with friends and parents, a long examination of my degree requirements, turbulent fall and winter quarters, mounds of paperwork, and seven classes spring quarter, I was packing my bags and looking for my passport in preparation for a year abroad.
I had managed to find a job for the summer in Freiberg, Germany and I had been accepted to study at the Université de Strasbourg for the ‘09-‘10 school year. Before I knew it, finals were over and after 24 hours of traveling and encountering several kind German strangers, I had arrived.
To give you an idea of what Freiberg is like, let me tell you that if you google it, Google will ask you if you are looking for another German city; it is that depressingly small. But other than that, Freiberg is a charming college town, with a university, the world’s largest mineral museum, and a mine. It is about 30 minutes away from Dresden, deep in Eastern Germany. My time there passed in a heartbeat, and has become one of the best summers of my life. I traveled to Berlin, Heidelberg, Munich, Dresden, Poland, Prague, and Vienna. I also went strawberry picking, camping, worked at a festival and went swimming in an old rock quarry. (I found time to work as well, in the research department of the energy and engineering department at TU Freiberg.) Soon, my last night in Germany had come. I ate dinner at the Kartoffelhaus – literally, the potato house, everything including the schnapps had a potato base – and spent the night at a friend’s place. The next morning, I woke up before the sun to several Happy Birthday text messages from my German friends, and rushed to get ready to go to the train station. I was driven there by my boss, and greeted by two friends, who serenaded me with ‘Happy Birthday’ on the accordion. Then I gathered ALL six of my bags and hopped on the train. I was lucky enough to make all of my transfers, and I soon arrived in Strasbourg’s Central Train Station.
Since the day off my arrival time has just flown by. I’m not here with a program, so all of the responsibility of registering, choosing classes, figuring out visa procedures needed to be done, and soon, I was starting classes at l’ECPM – the European University of Chemistry, Materials and Polymers. I had two weeks of intensive lab, with the rest of my year, and it was quite a challenge. Not only did I have to adjust to an entire course load in French, but also, all of my peers were native French students, and no number of French classes would have prepared me for carrying on conversations with them. I got home every night, after 8 hours of lab a day, completely exhausted and overwhelmed. But, I stuck with it, and now, a few months later and one semester gone, I have finally started to settle in.
I came abroad for so many reasons: to work on my French, to see the world, to experience life in a foreign country, to become more independent, and to grow up. I feel my time here racing through my fingers, and with every new adventure, I hope to grow and learn.
