...aka, italian drivers. i'm sure you've all heard about them. (apparently they're bad as a species, affreux in rome, and unimaginable in naples) i can't compare, but judging only by what i saw in palermo and trapani, the word "ape-shit" comes to mind. they're maniacs. or else they're incredibly calm... i saw very few screeching stops, violent swerves, fiery collisions...
you can start breathing again, mom. i didn't see any of those. i did learn to cross the street against the light while cars and motos continued to come towards me; that's the only way to do it.
but where was i? wednesday night, oct 31, the opening festival milonga. quick vocab note: "milonga" has many meanings (style of dance, style of music, event). here i am using the third meaning, milonga as a social dance where instruction is pretty much not allowed, songs are played in sets of 3, 4, or 5 (each set is called a "tanda"), separated by a short song of a non-tango style (the cortina). this structure allows for dancers to become accustomed to each other and build their connection with each song that they dance. of course, it's permissible to say "thank you" and leave your partner after one song if you really don't like them. men generally ask women, and many dancers (men and women) are wary about dancing with someone before they've seen him or her dance already. this made me a little nervous as i prepared to go to the first milonga because i didn't know anyone...
it was supposed to start at 10:30, but i should have known that being on time would mean being early. waiting in the lobby, i met a british guy (OH, how jealous i am of the pound! and annoyed by EU citizens who whine about the current exchange rate for them... between the euro and the pound. thank goodness i'm not studying in britain!) and overheard a USian tell him about the amaaaaaazing trip that his wife and he had just made along the sicilan coast (the resort pool was too cold to swim in, but the ocean lapping at their private beach was warm enough for a barefoot stroll). it sounded lovely, but i'm sorry, he was a tool.
eventually i seated myself in the milonga room (a basketball gym, but fairly ambient, with candles and flowers on the tables, fabric draped over the hoops, decend acoustics...for a gym) (the festival milongas and classes were held in a fancy sports center),waited to be invited, and scoped out the crowd. most of the dancers there were italian, and many were actually from palermo. i saw eugenia parrilla and the other masters come in (she was the only one i recognized at first). i was unequivocally impressed by the quality of dance on the floor. fernando, my partner for the classes, arrived from madrid around 1 am. he and i danced a lot, to get comfortable for our classes the next day. when the milonga ended at 3 am, we walked back to the dance school, dodging doggy doo doo with his roller suitcase. getting ready for bed, i cut the tip of my left index finger with my razor and started bleeding profusely. we heard the doorbell ring. distracted by the blood spouting from my finger, we decided to hope that it was for another door... but a few minutes later we heard someone walking in the hallway of the school and then a figure appeared.....Gabriella Riccio! (this is her website : www.gabriellariccio.it )
and this is where i leave you, until next time
(because, although my university is on strike, i still have my wonderful methodology and grammar class! woo! for 2 and a half hours this afternoon)
mardi 27 novembre 2007
samedi 10 novembre 2007
ciao ragazzi!
well, i successfully made my trip to palermo and returned in one piece (albiet with a cold and very little energy) to montpellier. how sweet was the sound of french to my ear! in palermo i stretched my brain to new lengths by communicating in four languages... i spoke french with the sicilian festival organizers who didn't speak english, spanish and english with my partner fernando and our italian roommate gabriella, and very broken italian with all of the denizens of the island who didn't speak french, spanish, or english. which was most of them. my friends who spent their university vacations in florence, rome, and venice didn't have any problems. everyone spoke english... but in the south, and especially in sicily, that is not the case.
the first chapter of my adventure...
early monday morning (oct 29) i left montpellier by train to girona, spain (a lovely small-ish city about 100 km from barcelona). the hostel where i had tried to book a room for the night was full, so i spent the whole afternoon walking around the city ringing the doorbells of pensions looking for a bed. i finally found one for 20 euros in the heart of the old city, and promptly took a nap. i got up in the evening and walked around listening to catalan and exploring the street fair...full of vendors of artisanal cheeses, sausages, candies, and breads. the next day i got up again at the crack of dawn (traveling internationally by myself, i always give myself huge buffers of time to get to where i need to be. during the whole trip i was always early, but i was never frantic.) to take the shuttle from the bus station to the girona airport, from where ryan air flies to several locations around europe and jsince only recently, to morocco.
waiting in the airport terminal to board, i heard the woman next to me speaking french to her son. she had cut her finger and was digging in her bag for a bandaid. i happened to have one in an outside pocket of my duffel bag, so i offered it to her. she thanked me and asked where i was from (i'm content for the moment to still be identifiably foreign when i speak french, but not obviously american). i told her and she said, oh! i'm irish! we can speak english. so we did. she and her husband and son, who was about 11, were going on a volcano -themed vacation, primarily to see Etna. we boarded the flight together (there are not assigned seats on ryan air flights) and they let me look at their copy of "italien pour les nuls" (italian for dummies). the little boy was sitting in the window seat in the row in front of me, and from time to time he turned around to smile at me as we both watched the passage of the spectacular mediterranean clouds below. we touched down in trapani (about 2 hours from palermo) around 1 pm, and i parted ways with the family of volcano enthusiasts.
the information desk agent was absent, indefinitely, for lunch, so all of us from the flight who were trying to get to palermo were left to our own devices to find out when there was a bus to the city. everyone had heard something different, and there was no information to be found. a man asked me in english if i knew anything about it, and i told him that i had heard that there was one every 20 minutes (not at all true). he said, oh, you speak english a lot!, thinking that i was italian or spanish. i laughed and said, well, just a little bit. i'm from the states... we started talking, and spent the next 4 hours (waiting for the bus and when it finally came, during the two hours on the road) in conversation about linguistics, etymology, politics, travel, and all of the random facts that he knew about everything.... he's a norwegian named hans, about 40 years old, who works about 6 months out of the year and travels the rest (given that oslo is one of the most expensive cities in the world, everywhere else he goes is cheaper than living at home). every winter he spends 2 months in india, every november 2 weeks in sicily with friends... he told me that geologically, sicily belongs to africa, given that it's on the same tectonic plate. he also pointed out something that i had never payed attention to, geographically- that sicily is farther south than the northern regions of tunisia and algeria. the climate and flora attest to that.
the theme of the sicilian landscape is contrast. there's the sea; the jagged, striated, rocky mountains jutting from the rolling fields, covered with scrubby plants and trees in browns and dark greens; rows of gnarly olive trees (which were being harvested) growing next to clusters of flowering cacti; sheep and goats grazing in pastures contained by timeless rock walls; vineyards; banana trees, mimosas, fig trees, and dozens of other tropical plants. when we finally got to palermo, hans gave me his city map, which he didn't need, and his email address.
one never travels alone.
i set off to find the piazza politeama, where the festival organizers with whom i had been in contact had told me to go to receive directions to the dance school where i was staying. i finally made it there and was met by the school's secretary (who spoke decent french), who welcomed me and gave me a set of keys. later i met one of the main festival organizers, who was teaching tango classes at the school that night. she used to live in france, so although she didn't speak english, we had no trouble communicating. the festival didn't start until the next evening, so i had all of that night and the next day to rest and explore, find a grocery store, and get to know downtown palermo.
to be continued.... (get on my case if i neglect to do so :D)
the first chapter of my adventure...
early monday morning (oct 29) i left montpellier by train to girona, spain (a lovely small-ish city about 100 km from barcelona). the hostel where i had tried to book a room for the night was full, so i spent the whole afternoon walking around the city ringing the doorbells of pensions looking for a bed. i finally found one for 20 euros in the heart of the old city, and promptly took a nap. i got up in the evening and walked around listening to catalan and exploring the street fair...full of vendors of artisanal cheeses, sausages, candies, and breads. the next day i got up again at the crack of dawn (traveling internationally by myself, i always give myself huge buffers of time to get to where i need to be. during the whole trip i was always early, but i was never frantic.) to take the shuttle from the bus station to the girona airport, from where ryan air flies to several locations around europe and jsince only recently, to morocco.
waiting in the airport terminal to board, i heard the woman next to me speaking french to her son. she had cut her finger and was digging in her bag for a bandaid. i happened to have one in an outside pocket of my duffel bag, so i offered it to her. she thanked me and asked where i was from (i'm content for the moment to still be identifiably foreign when i speak french, but not obviously american). i told her and she said, oh! i'm irish! we can speak english. so we did. she and her husband and son, who was about 11, were going on a volcano -themed vacation, primarily to see Etna. we boarded the flight together (there are not assigned seats on ryan air flights) and they let me look at their copy of "italien pour les nuls" (italian for dummies). the little boy was sitting in the window seat in the row in front of me, and from time to time he turned around to smile at me as we both watched the passage of the spectacular mediterranean clouds below. we touched down in trapani (about 2 hours from palermo) around 1 pm, and i parted ways with the family of volcano enthusiasts.
the information desk agent was absent, indefinitely, for lunch, so all of us from the flight who were trying to get to palermo were left to our own devices to find out when there was a bus to the city. everyone had heard something different, and there was no information to be found. a man asked me in english if i knew anything about it, and i told him that i had heard that there was one every 20 minutes (not at all true). he said, oh, you speak english a lot!, thinking that i was italian or spanish. i laughed and said, well, just a little bit. i'm from the states... we started talking, and spent the next 4 hours (waiting for the bus and when it finally came, during the two hours on the road) in conversation about linguistics, etymology, politics, travel, and all of the random facts that he knew about everything.... he's a norwegian named hans, about 40 years old, who works about 6 months out of the year and travels the rest (given that oslo is one of the most expensive cities in the world, everywhere else he goes is cheaper than living at home). every winter he spends 2 months in india, every november 2 weeks in sicily with friends... he told me that geologically, sicily belongs to africa, given that it's on the same tectonic plate. he also pointed out something that i had never payed attention to, geographically- that sicily is farther south than the northern regions of tunisia and algeria. the climate and flora attest to that.
the theme of the sicilian landscape is contrast. there's the sea; the jagged, striated, rocky mountains jutting from the rolling fields, covered with scrubby plants and trees in browns and dark greens; rows of gnarly olive trees (which were being harvested) growing next to clusters of flowering cacti; sheep and goats grazing in pastures contained by timeless rock walls; vineyards; banana trees, mimosas, fig trees, and dozens of other tropical plants. when we finally got to palermo, hans gave me his city map, which he didn't need, and his email address.
one never travels alone.
i set off to find the piazza politeama, where the festival organizers with whom i had been in contact had told me to go to receive directions to the dance school where i was staying. i finally made it there and was met by the school's secretary (who spoke decent french), who welcomed me and gave me a set of keys. later i met one of the main festival organizers, who was teaching tango classes at the school that night. she used to live in france, so although she didn't speak english, we had no trouble communicating. the festival didn't start until the next evening, so i had all of that night and the next day to rest and explore, find a grocery store, and get to know downtown palermo.
to be continued.... (get on my case if i neglect to do so :D)
vendredi 21 septembre 2007
"tu viens visiter mon tipi?"
... the cute saying on my cute agenda. "school diary". who knows what that's supposed to mean. two weeks after la rentrée, the first day of class, the back-to-school fervor has calmed down somewhat. i know where and what my classes are, where to find the least disgusting bathrooms on campus, and which coffee machines put chocolate in the cappucino. the semester feels like it's really started, and i'm beginning to ease back into a studious mindset.
i finally realized my dream of having a 4 day weekend. every week. that is, no class on monday or friday. imagine: i can sleep in as late as i want on a friday after salsa dancing at the cotton club, then leisurely get up, make coffee, read mérimée (or hugo, or sarmiento, or whatever else i have for class or pleasure), then go run my errands without worrying about long waits. (in fact, that's what i did today)! or, i could take an early tgv to paris on a friday and come back late monday (what i plan to do in october or november to see friends and go to the paris banlieues tango festival). it's so good to have options.
i do have a lot of reading, and some small assignments for my classes... méthodologie is 4 hours a week of grammar, vocab, and french pedagogy (with other americans who i know from préstage); beginning arabic is an hour a week of class, with an hour of listening lab work every other week; latin american literature (survey of post-colonialism up through the avant gardes and modernists) and post-independence literature and history of mexico make 3 hours a week of spanish fun; and the mythology of hell and the devil plus a section on the birth of the modern myth of the grand inquisitor makes for 3 hours of french literature. so far i like all of my professors, books, and prospecti (and there happens to be at least one other american in each of my integrated classes).
in other news, i've started taking an argentine tango class once a week, have been salsa dancing at least twice a week, and am planning a trip to palermo, sicily, for a tango festival the first weekend in november. i ran into a friend of isabelle's the other day and had a coffee with him before dinner (he studies, teaches, choreographs modern dance), and wound up attempting, with uncertain success, to explain contra dancing to him. i do miss contra, and mountain waltzing.
however, i'm starting to really love this city, as i get to know the back roads, little cafés, and people on the street. i have moments when i really feel like i'm speaking french, and not just putting the words together. i do a little dance when people ask, "wait, you're not french?" or even, "so where are you from? the US? really??"
there are other moments when i can't for the life of me find the word i want, or when i butcher the syntax like a big italian meat monger.
oh well.
i'm going to see my first live opera on sunday afternoon! the magic flute, for like 4 euros.
i'm so excited!! i just wish i had opera glasses... or a monacle.. and long gloves...
sigh.
i finally realized my dream of having a 4 day weekend. every week. that is, no class on monday or friday. imagine: i can sleep in as late as i want on a friday after salsa dancing at the cotton club, then leisurely get up, make coffee, read mérimée (or hugo, or sarmiento, or whatever else i have for class or pleasure), then go run my errands without worrying about long waits. (in fact, that's what i did today)! or, i could take an early tgv to paris on a friday and come back late monday (what i plan to do in october or november to see friends and go to the paris banlieues tango festival). it's so good to have options.
i do have a lot of reading, and some small assignments for my classes... méthodologie is 4 hours a week of grammar, vocab, and french pedagogy (with other americans who i know from préstage); beginning arabic is an hour a week of class, with an hour of listening lab work every other week; latin american literature (survey of post-colonialism up through the avant gardes and modernists) and post-independence literature and history of mexico make 3 hours a week of spanish fun; and the mythology of hell and the devil plus a section on the birth of the modern myth of the grand inquisitor makes for 3 hours of french literature. so far i like all of my professors, books, and prospecti (and there happens to be at least one other american in each of my integrated classes).
in other news, i've started taking an argentine tango class once a week, have been salsa dancing at least twice a week, and am planning a trip to palermo, sicily, for a tango festival the first weekend in november. i ran into a friend of isabelle's the other day and had a coffee with him before dinner (he studies, teaches, choreographs modern dance), and wound up attempting, with uncertain success, to explain contra dancing to him. i do miss contra, and mountain waltzing.
however, i'm starting to really love this city, as i get to know the back roads, little cafés, and people on the street. i have moments when i really feel like i'm speaking french, and not just putting the words together. i do a little dance when people ask, "wait, you're not french?" or even, "so where are you from? the US? really??"
there are other moments when i can't for the life of me find the word i want, or when i butcher the syntax like a big italian meat monger.
oh well.
i'm going to see my first live opera on sunday afternoon! the magic flute, for like 4 euros.
i'm so excited!! i just wish i had opera glasses... or a monacle.. and long gloves...
sigh.
samedi 1 septembre 2007
le musée fabre: nicest restrooms in montpellier
this afternoon entailed a program-paid visit to the visiting impressionist exhibit at the musée fabre, located off the esplanade in montpellier. the exhibit celebrates the relationship between french and american artists, philanthropists, museums, and public that contributed to the movement, and contains masterpieces by monet, manet, renoir, degas, pissarro, caillebotte, cassatt, sisley, and morisot. there were too many americans to my liking (and i cannot abide being rushed, slowed, or spoken to in a museum) so i broke away from my tour group and took my time going through the exhibit. the works that i found most captivating were degas' Petite danseuse de quatorze ans and Renard mort; renoir's La rêveuse and Coco écrivant; and cassatt's Caresse maternelle. once we have our student id cards, we can get in free to the permanent collection any time.
in other news, our excursion to carcassonne last sunday was a disaster. the city itself is interesting, as a study in restoration techniques (look up Viollet-le-Duc) and artisan biscuits, but it's full of tourists. also, it was bloody hot when we were there, and most of us very nearly perished while watching the jousting knights and mangy squires. the real adventure began when we left to return to montpellier. the bus i was on was leaking oil, so we had to stop to refill the tank. of course they neglected to tell us what was going on, so we sat in the furnace of the bus waiting indefiniately, and then found the door to be locked when we decided to get off. we got back on the road, only to stop again. the other bus went on home, and we got back in our death mobile to go a few kilometers to wait for a rescue bus to pick us up. in all, what should have been a 2 hour trip took more than 4. hopefully the excursion to avignon tomorrow will go more smoothly...
in other news, our excursion to carcassonne last sunday was a disaster. the city itself is interesting, as a study in restoration techniques (look up Viollet-le-Duc) and artisan biscuits, but it's full of tourists. also, it was bloody hot when we were there, and most of us very nearly perished while watching the jousting knights and mangy squires. the real adventure began when we left to return to montpellier. the bus i was on was leaking oil, so we had to stop to refill the tank. of course they neglected to tell us what was going on, so we sat in the furnace of the bus waiting indefiniately, and then found the door to be locked when we decided to get off. we got back on the road, only to stop again. the other bus went on home, and we got back in our death mobile to go a few kilometers to wait for a rescue bus to pick us up. in all, what should have been a 2 hour trip took more than 4. hopefully the excursion to avignon tomorrow will go more smoothly...
mercredi 22 août 2007
a little bit about montpellier...
by french standards, montpellier is a young city: its first stones were laid around 985, when the nearby cities of nîmes and arles were already 1000 years old. it's the eighth largest city in france, with 250,000 inhabitants in the city proper, and 450,000 in the agglomeration. 70,000 are students. in a couple of weeks, when the world cup of rugby starts, i'm sure the city will swell a bit more (the australian team is setting up headquarters here for the duration....). the games that will be played at the stadium here are US vs tonga on 12 sept; samoa vs tonga on 16 sept; australia vs fiji on 23 sept; and south africa vs US on 30 sept.
apparently algeria is playing in some sort of game soon, because people have been running around wrapped in flags, wearing jerseys, honking horns, and playing drums and shouting all the time.
tomorrow night a french band called the stingles is playing at la verre anglaise. yes, they play mostly covers of sting and the beatles. according to the guy who told me about them, who helps manage the bar where they're playing, they're good. and know the lyrics (unlike the musicians in sommieres who mumbled beatles hits all night long).
for breakfast today i had triple chocolate meuseli (since i didn't feel like having the other kind of chocolate cereal we have). that is to say, chocolate meuseli with little squares of dark, milk, and white chocolate. what a splendid way to begin the day...
in other food news, i've eaten a couple of times at the resto U, one of the university cafeterias. for €3, you get a large hot or cold plate (cold = 5 types of salad), one small plate from another salad bar, dessert, bread, cheese, and/or fruit (and water). really good deal, for the quality, variety, and taste. i'll never be able to eat in lenoir again.
apparently algeria is playing in some sort of game soon, because people have been running around wrapped in flags, wearing jerseys, honking horns, and playing drums and shouting all the time.
tomorrow night a french band called the stingles is playing at la verre anglaise. yes, they play mostly covers of sting and the beatles. according to the guy who told me about them, who helps manage the bar where they're playing, they're good. and know the lyrics (unlike the musicians in sommieres who mumbled beatles hits all night long).
for breakfast today i had triple chocolate meuseli (since i didn't feel like having the other kind of chocolate cereal we have). that is to say, chocolate meuseli with little squares of dark, milk, and white chocolate. what a splendid way to begin the day...
in other food news, i've eaten a couple of times at the resto U, one of the university cafeterias. for €3, you get a large hot or cold plate (cold = 5 types of salad), one small plate from another salad bar, dessert, bread, cheese, and/or fruit (and water). really good deal, for the quality, variety, and taste. i'll never be able to eat in lenoir again.
lundi 20 août 2007
best late-night food: nan fromage
i'll spare us all a full recount of my time in sommieres - most of it was spent resting, eating, and fending off the persistant guitarist who cornered most of us at one time or another while we were on the computer (there was a jazz workshop going sharing the facilities). one remarkable thing that we saw, however was a stand-off between a cat and a mouse over a sewer grate. the cat was a sleek young thing, with a collar and a bell. she wasn't very fierce, and the mouse pretty much ignored her as she patted him squeamishly. once or twice she put her mouth over his back, but to no avail. the mouse went back underground and the crowd that had gathered applauded.
we returned to montpellier on thursday late afternoon, and were met by our host families at IML (the institute of mediteranean languages, i think, where the UNC program has its office). isabelle and i almost died getting my luggage through the crowds to her house, but luckily we met fidel on our way and he took over my book suitcase. (fidel, a spanish guy, and cindy (short for cinderella), a german girl, are also living with isabelle. their program ends this week, however, so they'll be moving out. the next new student who'll move in is a guy from the phillipines.)
thursday night i went exploring and returned to the shakespeare, as i've said. friday night isabelle and i went salsa dancing at el café cuba (of course i had to drink a cuba libre). the style is a bit different, and it's bizarre not to see any mexicans, but i still felt at home, and danced with most of the guys who were there. a group of latinos trooped in later in the evening, and i danced (and spoke spanish with a couple of them), which was very comforting. one thing that's different about dancing here is that the dance floor clears after each song, and people change partners. that makes it a little difficult to get accustomed to each partner, especially if you haven't danced with them before. the dj was quite good - he played a mix of salsa, bachata, merengue, reggaeton, and african reggae-like songs. the cafe is right across from the last tram stop, so it will be easy to go to by myself if i ever need to. isabelle's friends are very diverse and interesting. they came over on saturday for a dinner party in the garden, which was very relaxing and fun. later that night i was out with my friends and got nan fromage at a kebab store... so delicious. hot, cheap, and satisfying. mmmmm.
we returned to montpellier on thursday late afternoon, and were met by our host families at IML (the institute of mediteranean languages, i think, where the UNC program has its office). isabelle and i almost died getting my luggage through the crowds to her house, but luckily we met fidel on our way and he took over my book suitcase. (fidel, a spanish guy, and cindy (short for cinderella), a german girl, are also living with isabelle. their program ends this week, however, so they'll be moving out. the next new student who'll move in is a guy from the phillipines.)
thursday night i went exploring and returned to the shakespeare, as i've said. friday night isabelle and i went salsa dancing at el café cuba (of course i had to drink a cuba libre). the style is a bit different, and it's bizarre not to see any mexicans, but i still felt at home, and danced with most of the guys who were there. a group of latinos trooped in later in the evening, and i danced (and spoke spanish with a couple of them), which was very comforting. one thing that's different about dancing here is that the dance floor clears after each song, and people change partners. that makes it a little difficult to get accustomed to each partner, especially if you haven't danced with them before. the dj was quite good - he played a mix of salsa, bachata, merengue, reggaeton, and african reggae-like songs. the cafe is right across from the last tram stop, so it will be easy to go to by myself if i ever need to. isabelle's friends are very diverse and interesting. they came over on saturday for a dinner party in the garden, which was very relaxing and fun. later that night i was out with my friends and got nan fromage at a kebab store... so delicious. hot, cheap, and satisfying. mmmmm.
samedi 18 août 2007
bienvenue à ma vie montpellieriène
well, i've been convinced to start a blog. hopefully this will be more efficient than sending mass emails.
i'll give a quick summary of my trip so far:
i left rdu at 5:15 sunday evening, august 12, and caught my connection at dulles to dublin. the crossing was fairly enjoyable. i had room to spread out, some decent food, and was able to sleep for a couple of hours. the real adventure began when my plane touched down in ireland, 40 minutes behind schedule. by the time i got throught the passport control and found british airways to check in for my flight to london, the plane had been closed for 20 minutes. so i found the aer lingus service desk, where a very kind woman named kathleen found me a new connection to montpellier through paris later that day. she also gave me an €8 voucher so i could have a real breakfast. however, she couldn't transfer my checked bags, because they hadn't made it on the flight from DC. i was too tired to really care at that point, so i just enjoyed my eggs and toast. at charles de gaul i had a lengthy wait, so once i found my gate (by walking about half a mile, taking a bus, and riding never-ending moving sidewalks, i bought a heineken and let myself be exhausted for a while.
on the plane i found myself seated in the window seat of the emergency exit aisle, so the strapping young male flight attendant explained how to open the window in case of an emergency (no illustrated pamphlet on french planes..they believe in personal connections, apparently). i turned to the woman sitting next to me and remarked, in french, that an american flight attendant would never do that, or at least not in that manner. she said, oh! la la, you're not french? we should give you a test to make sure you understood everything... i had a comforting conversation with her before we took off (comforting that i could communicate clearly enough) - it turns out that she and her husband are citizens of gabon, and had just been on vacation in france. she seemed slightly envious that i'd be living in montpellier for a whole year. then i passed out and slept until the cheese sandwich came around.
once i landed in montpellier, after 8 pm, i had to report my lost baggage and find a taxi. the group from unc had left 4 hours before to go to sommieres for a few day-long un-jet laggin retreat, so i was to spend the night with my host mother and take the train to join them in the morning. the taxi driver couldn't take me to her door, because she lives in the labyrinthine medieval centre ville, where cars are not allowed. he dropped me off at the prefecture, which is very close, and showed me where it was on his map. unsurprisingly, i couldn't find it. i wound up at a pub called the shakespeare, where i got accurate directions. i found the street, but didn't see isabelle's name on the door that i supposed was hers, so i returned to the pub and used a nice british chap's cellphone to call isabelle. she came and collected me, and i was home at last.
the adventure continued the next morning on the train to lunel. i missed the stop because i couldn't figure out how to get off the train ( the doors didn't open automatically, the stop wasn't announced, and the only person who looked like they were going to exit was more confused than i was). so i got off at the next stop, nîmes, where i found a train going back the direction i had come. of course it was late, and changed platforms while i was waiting, but eventually i got off in lunel, found a taxi, and found my group in sommieres.
i went back to the shakespeare the night before last, and saw the two guys i had met there before. one of them is actually a bartender there; the other is a british journalist who just goes there a lot. it was the anniversary of elvis' death, so everyone was glum, and a brilliant wig was passed around as we sang his songs forlornly.
time's up, so à bientôt.
i hope everyone is doing well wherever you happen to be
i'll give a quick summary of my trip so far:
i left rdu at 5:15 sunday evening, august 12, and caught my connection at dulles to dublin. the crossing was fairly enjoyable. i had room to spread out, some decent food, and was able to sleep for a couple of hours. the real adventure began when my plane touched down in ireland, 40 minutes behind schedule. by the time i got throught the passport control and found british airways to check in for my flight to london, the plane had been closed for 20 minutes. so i found the aer lingus service desk, where a very kind woman named kathleen found me a new connection to montpellier through paris later that day. she also gave me an €8 voucher so i could have a real breakfast. however, she couldn't transfer my checked bags, because they hadn't made it on the flight from DC. i was too tired to really care at that point, so i just enjoyed my eggs and toast. at charles de gaul i had a lengthy wait, so once i found my gate (by walking about half a mile, taking a bus, and riding never-ending moving sidewalks, i bought a heineken and let myself be exhausted for a while.
on the plane i found myself seated in the window seat of the emergency exit aisle, so the strapping young male flight attendant explained how to open the window in case of an emergency (no illustrated pamphlet on french planes..they believe in personal connections, apparently). i turned to the woman sitting next to me and remarked, in french, that an american flight attendant would never do that, or at least not in that manner. she said, oh! la la, you're not french? we should give you a test to make sure you understood everything... i had a comforting conversation with her before we took off (comforting that i could communicate clearly enough) - it turns out that she and her husband are citizens of gabon, and had just been on vacation in france. she seemed slightly envious that i'd be living in montpellier for a whole year. then i passed out and slept until the cheese sandwich came around.
once i landed in montpellier, after 8 pm, i had to report my lost baggage and find a taxi. the group from unc had left 4 hours before to go to sommieres for a few day-long un-jet laggin retreat, so i was to spend the night with my host mother and take the train to join them in the morning. the taxi driver couldn't take me to her door, because she lives in the labyrinthine medieval centre ville, where cars are not allowed. he dropped me off at the prefecture, which is very close, and showed me where it was on his map. unsurprisingly, i couldn't find it. i wound up at a pub called the shakespeare, where i got accurate directions. i found the street, but didn't see isabelle's name on the door that i supposed was hers, so i returned to the pub and used a nice british chap's cellphone to call isabelle. she came and collected me, and i was home at last.
the adventure continued the next morning on the train to lunel. i missed the stop because i couldn't figure out how to get off the train ( the doors didn't open automatically, the stop wasn't announced, and the only person who looked like they were going to exit was more confused than i was). so i got off at the next stop, nîmes, where i found a train going back the direction i had come. of course it was late, and changed platforms while i was waiting, but eventually i got off in lunel, found a taxi, and found my group in sommieres.
i went back to the shakespeare the night before last, and saw the two guys i had met there before. one of them is actually a bartender there; the other is a british journalist who just goes there a lot. it was the anniversary of elvis' death, so everyone was glum, and a brilliant wig was passed around as we sang his songs forlornly.
time's up, so à bientôt.
i hope everyone is doing well wherever you happen to be
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