So the reason that I'm in France at all is that I'm headed to a conference, which runs this week. I booked a hostel with good ratings, and was looking forward to staying there, and I arrived there yesterday. I've stayed in hostels in Paris other times, so I had some sense of what I was in for, but I was still unpleasantly surprised.
When I arrived I found out that there was no elevator and my room was on the top floor... the 6th floor. Yeah. At least the guy at the desk helped me with my suitcase, actually, but the stairs were very narrow and windy (I think maybe I recognized them from an MC Escher drawing) and on top of that, the stairs were in semidarkness because there were no lights on. All the lights for common areas, like hallways and stairs, were on timed switches so they were off most of the time, which is normal. But I felt like the massive amounts of dark, narrow stairs, with me walking clumsily with my heavy suitcase and boots amounted to a safety hazard.
I also had to use said stairs to go to the bathroom, since it was down a couple of floors. The bathroom also didn't have any toilet paper, although my room did come with a roll, so I had to make sure and not forget it, or else I would have to climb twice as many stairs going back to get it.
If going to the bathroom was a workout, going downstairs to leave or ask a question at the desk amounted to an expedition. After getting the luggage upstairs and getting a bit settled in, I made the trek down to ask about wireless and breakfast. First of all, the wireless was an extra euro per day, and breakfast was an extra 5 euros, although the desk attendant told me it was "not always available" but did not give any other information about which days it might or might not be available. I really hate being nickel-and-dimed with every little thing once I get to a place I'm staying, and I think that breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and I like to know when and where it's happening, so I was a bit disappointed. I trudged back up to the 6th floor, made some calls with my euro of wireless, and went to sleep, which was difficult since it was cold, the blanket was threadbare, and I couldn't figure out how to turn up the heating.
I did finally fall asleep. I know I did, because I woke up at midnight because it sounded like the street downstairs had turned into a big loud disco. The loud music and voices lasted for another couple of hours, and I was feeling pretty nervous about my location. What with the staircase being how it was, I couldn't stop wondering... what if there's a fire? Could I get out OK? I was having some major late night paranoia. Hearing someone try my door handle, for example, did not help me relax either. Probably it was just someone drunk and a bit confused about their room number. Probably.
Eventually I did fall asleep again, and I got up at 7 so that I could beat my doubtless hungover fellow guests to the closest shower. It was down a floor, so modesty demanded that I walk down dressed, and I carry my nasty cigarette-smoke-smelling towel with me. Then it turned out the shower was this claustrophobic little room that consisted of a shower stall with a door in front of it. Small enough that it was hard to find room to get undressed and stash my clothes so they wouldn't get wet. The steam that built up inside from the couple of minutes I actually had the water on made me feel like I couldn't breathe. I was definitely feeling a little claustrophobic.
Once I was clean, I headed down for breakfast. I found out that this morning was one of those unspecified days when breakfast was not offered, and so I went next door to a bakery to get overcharged for some acidic orange juice and slightly burned croissants. It was the last straw, and I made the command decision that staying somewhere like this would be unendurable while I needed to focus on my work. So I went back to the hotel and told the guy at the desk that I was sure the hotel would be somewhere nice to stay if I were a student and on vacation, but it was very loud and I was here for work, and he was quite nice about it and told me that if I needed to leave then I would just pay for the night I had stayed and that was fine. I refrained from telling him that I couldn't get over the sense that my room was somehow a deathtrap. Then I went back to my room and used the rest of my euro of wireless to book a room at a place that was more of a hotel than a hostel, where I am now using the wireless that was included with my stay. Oh, and status update: I just put on my pyjamas and discovered that they still smell like cigarettes from staying in that place. :( On my way out of the hostel this morning, the guy at the desk actually changed his tune a bit and gave me a hard time. He told me that it was only noisy at night maybe once a month at most and that anywhere might be noisy, and blah blah... uh yeah, dude, I already booked another place, bye.
After I got to the hotel where I'm now staying, which of course included hauling my suitcase up and down lots of stairs in the metro stations, I decided that for my day to be an overall win, I needed a good lunch and some good sightseeing. So first I went to a really reasonably priced cafe that's nearby, had a club sandwich and some more coffee. I was kind of awkward taking a seat... I still can't figure out when I'm supposed to wait for someone to seat me and when I'm supposed to seat myself at these places, with the result that I often tend to look like a confused idiot for awhile until someone asks me what I want, I say "umm... to eat" and they tell me to go sit down somewhere. Oh well, I'm pretty awkward in the U.S., so I can't really expect to be less awkward in France.
After my tasty and filling lunch, I went out to the architecture museum in the Palais Chaillot, which is in the Trocadero looking toward the Eiffel Tower. On the first floor it's full of 1:1 size plaster casts carvings from cathedrals all over France, which is pretty interesting, especially since it allows the viewer to compare all of them side by side, as one never could otherwise. It was also nice to have at eye level casts of portions of cathedrals that are quite high up in real life. The second floor was devoted to more contemporary work. There was, for example, a reproduction of a unit from one of Le Corbusier's apartment buildings. Actually I found the ceilings to be low, and I don't think anyone taller than me would be comfortable living in it. And I'm not that tall. Sorry, Le Corbusier, I wasn't really feeling it as a living space. Maybe just because I was still feeling a little claustrophobic from the hostel last night, but still. My favorite part of the exhibit was about contemporary new apartment blocks and proposals to replace current budget housing in various French cities. The architects of the various projects described had all used the arrangement of public and private spaces in ways to foster community and encourage interaction between residents of the building. Sounds like something my office building could use.
Additional highlights of the museum included a display about the construction of the building it was in, as well as some very striking photos of it, and the nearby area around the Eiffel Tower, from the German occupation of France during the second world war. Also, appropriately for a museum about architecture, there were lots of windows facing the Eiffel Tower, so I had lots of good views of the area. Oh, and at one point I asked one of the museum guards a question and he told me I spoke French very well. That was a highlight for me. :) Actually, apparently my language skills were on today because the person at the entry desk assumed that I was studying here rather than back in the US.
But anyway, I'm back at the hotel for the evening. One of my strategies for eating well yet cheaply here is to have a big lunch out and then just pick up something smaller for dinner. Lately it's been quiche from bakeries, because they're cheap, tasty, and easy to find. So tonight it was quiche Lorraine (again). I am starting to wonder if I am going to turn into a quiche Lorraine, so I might have to try something else tomorrow. OK, now here's hoping for some better sleep tonight!
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Carcassonne!
Right now I am very much regretting that I can't get the photos off my camera for another couple of weeks, because I took lots of awesome photos today. But even the great photos can't really capture the amazingness of the medieval city of Carcassonne.
So I actually first heard about Carcassonne the city because I own a fun board game by the same name, and found out only after owning it awhile that it shared its name with a city. I chose to come down to Toulouse specifically so that I could see Carcassonne because I really love seeing castles. Carcassonne, the medieval city (there's also a modern town nearby), actually consists of not only a castle, but its surrounding walled city. Some of the buildings have been updated, of course, as there is a thriving tourist industry with many shops, restaurants, and even hotels also contained in the walls.
When I went to breakfast this morning, I actually met a couple from the bay area, which was neat since I hadn't met any other Americans so far, and now that I finally did, they were from pretty close to where I'm from. Amusingly, I saw them again sitting next to me on the train, and then walking from the train station in Carcassonne over to the medieval city. If it wasn't enough of a coincidence that they were from the same area as me, it actually turned out that my French instructor from last semester at Berkeley is a mutual acquaintance. Small world.
When I got to the city, I walked around the ramparts and took lots of photos. The weather was mild and slightly overcast, and I was very happy having my walk. The owner of my hotel here in Toulouse mentioned to me that because of a large forest nearby, Toulouse enjoys excellent air quality, and I have been enjoying it. This morning, standing up on the castle ramparts, smelling the cool breeze, I felt like a happy dog with its head out the car window.
After my tour of the ramparts, I went inside the city and walked around a bit. Unfortunately the castle proper was closed for New Year's Day, and so there weren't any tours running there. That was unfortunate, but in some ways I think it was still a good day to go because only about a third of the shops and cafés were open and there were probably a lot fewer tourists than usual. It was kind of nice because a lot of the people who were around seemed like they were just from nearby and were walking their dogs and so on.
After my long walk, I decided it was time for lunch, and after a search found a place that seemed reasonable. I got a set lunch menu, and the main dish was cassoulet, a local specialty. It was very good. It was a sort of thick, hearty stew with white beans and I found it also had a lovely duck leg and hunk of sausage sitting down in it. It was so delicious I ate pretty much all of it, but it's a very heavy dish. But then my dessert was so amazing that I found room for more- gateau. It was a delicious pastry with a light flavor and a lovely accompanying dollop of cream. Then I got a cup of coffee afterward so I didn't fall asleep on the restaurant table. What an excellent meal.
Afterward, I had a very gentle walk around the city center, and then stumbled across one museum that was actually open- the inquisition instruments of torture museum. I thought I would pass it by, but found myself morbidly curious, and so I went. There was also an intriguing posting in French that I couldn't quite entirely read about how the museum was in some way controversial, but the curators disagreed.
The museum was small, but kind of interesting, since I felt like taken together, the items gave quite a sense of the how a society used to function in terms of its rules and norms and how they were enforced. There were a lot of things that were just meant to be uncomfortable and embarrassing, like the stocks, but there were quite a lot of more painful things as well, ranging from ye olde nippleclamps to an iron maiden. I found it very interesting that "keeping women in their place" seemed to be a recurring theme. Ladies had to wear an awkward metal mask for awhile if they talked too much (that was more on the "uncomfortable and embarrassing" end of the spectrum), or wear a chastity belt if their husbands were worried about them messing around while they were away. The Inquisition was also pretty worried about witches... because ladies have scary lady-magic. Another recurring theme I noticed had to do with persecution of homosexuals. If we think the Catholic church isn't a fan of homosexuality now, it really didn't like it back in the day.
One more thing about my trip to the museum. So I already knew that France is a country where public displays of affection are more acceptable. I'm not really one for displaying affection publicly myself, and although unfortunately it means I have to admit to being a little bit of a puritanical American inside, sometimes seeing pda makes me kind of uncomfortable. For example, when I went to the Pompidou modern art museum in Paris, I felt like all the couples who were also there visiting needed to go get a room instead, but I couldn't really justify saying it's inappropriate. It's an art museum, and it's at least plausible that the paintings would make you feel inspired to make out. But the medieval tortures museum? Really? I was out looking at the displays in this tiny little garden, and the only other people out there were this couple who would not stop kissing each other. When I'm reading about bodies being left outside to be eaten by crows, I find it unacceptable to have to hear kissy noises coming from 5 feet away from me. Freaks.
So after leaving the museum, I walked slowly back through town toward the train station. I think a lot of blood was still in my stomach because of eating the cassoulet, rather than in my brain, and I (uncharacteristically) got a little turned around. To be fair, there wasn't anywhere open where I could get a map of the area, so I was trying to find my way without one. After a bit I decided to just use that French lesson on asking directions, and approached an older woman, who pointed me in the right direction, and told me at length that I just had to go straight that way and I wouldn't miss it. She looked appraisingly at my boots and told me I would probably get there pretty fast. I'm glad I asked her because I had been about to go the wrong way. Anyway, I got back to the hotel all right, and realized that I was tired and had been on my feet for a long time. Since getting back I've just been chilling and reading, and continuing to digest the cassoulet. I may never need to eat again.
So I actually first heard about Carcassonne the city because I own a fun board game by the same name, and found out only after owning it awhile that it shared its name with a city. I chose to come down to Toulouse specifically so that I could see Carcassonne because I really love seeing castles. Carcassonne, the medieval city (there's also a modern town nearby), actually consists of not only a castle, but its surrounding walled city. Some of the buildings have been updated, of course, as there is a thriving tourist industry with many shops, restaurants, and even hotels also contained in the walls.
When I went to breakfast this morning, I actually met a couple from the bay area, which was neat since I hadn't met any other Americans so far, and now that I finally did, they were from pretty close to where I'm from. Amusingly, I saw them again sitting next to me on the train, and then walking from the train station in Carcassonne over to the medieval city. If it wasn't enough of a coincidence that they were from the same area as me, it actually turned out that my French instructor from last semester at Berkeley is a mutual acquaintance. Small world.
When I got to the city, I walked around the ramparts and took lots of photos. The weather was mild and slightly overcast, and I was very happy having my walk. The owner of my hotel here in Toulouse mentioned to me that because of a large forest nearby, Toulouse enjoys excellent air quality, and I have been enjoying it. This morning, standing up on the castle ramparts, smelling the cool breeze, I felt like a happy dog with its head out the car window.
After my tour of the ramparts, I went inside the city and walked around a bit. Unfortunately the castle proper was closed for New Year's Day, and so there weren't any tours running there. That was unfortunate, but in some ways I think it was still a good day to go because only about a third of the shops and cafés were open and there were probably a lot fewer tourists than usual. It was kind of nice because a lot of the people who were around seemed like they were just from nearby and were walking their dogs and so on.
After my long walk, I decided it was time for lunch, and after a search found a place that seemed reasonable. I got a set lunch menu, and the main dish was cassoulet, a local specialty. It was very good. It was a sort of thick, hearty stew with white beans and I found it also had a lovely duck leg and hunk of sausage sitting down in it. It was so delicious I ate pretty much all of it, but it's a very heavy dish. But then my dessert was so amazing that I found room for more- gateau. It was a delicious pastry with a light flavor and a lovely accompanying dollop of cream. Then I got a cup of coffee afterward so I didn't fall asleep on the restaurant table. What an excellent meal.
Afterward, I had a very gentle walk around the city center, and then stumbled across one museum that was actually open- the inquisition instruments of torture museum. I thought I would pass it by, but found myself morbidly curious, and so I went. There was also an intriguing posting in French that I couldn't quite entirely read about how the museum was in some way controversial, but the curators disagreed.
The museum was small, but kind of interesting, since I felt like taken together, the items gave quite a sense of the how a society used to function in terms of its rules and norms and how they were enforced. There were a lot of things that were just meant to be uncomfortable and embarrassing, like the stocks, but there were quite a lot of more painful things as well, ranging from ye olde nippleclamps to an iron maiden. I found it very interesting that "keeping women in their place" seemed to be a recurring theme. Ladies had to wear an awkward metal mask for awhile if they talked too much (that was more on the "uncomfortable and embarrassing" end of the spectrum), or wear a chastity belt if their husbands were worried about them messing around while they were away. The Inquisition was also pretty worried about witches... because ladies have scary lady-magic. Another recurring theme I noticed had to do with persecution of homosexuals. If we think the Catholic church isn't a fan of homosexuality now, it really didn't like it back in the day.
One more thing about my trip to the museum. So I already knew that France is a country where public displays of affection are more acceptable. I'm not really one for displaying affection publicly myself, and although unfortunately it means I have to admit to being a little bit of a puritanical American inside, sometimes seeing pda makes me kind of uncomfortable. For example, when I went to the Pompidou modern art museum in Paris, I felt like all the couples who were also there visiting needed to go get a room instead, but I couldn't really justify saying it's inappropriate. It's an art museum, and it's at least plausible that the paintings would make you feel inspired to make out. But the medieval tortures museum? Really? I was out looking at the displays in this tiny little garden, and the only other people out there were this couple who would not stop kissing each other. When I'm reading about bodies being left outside to be eaten by crows, I find it unacceptable to have to hear kissy noises coming from 5 feet away from me. Freaks.
So after leaving the museum, I walked slowly back through town toward the train station. I think a lot of blood was still in my stomach because of eating the cassoulet, rather than in my brain, and I (uncharacteristically) got a little turned around. To be fair, there wasn't anywhere open where I could get a map of the area, so I was trying to find my way without one. After a bit I decided to just use that French lesson on asking directions, and approached an older woman, who pointed me in the right direction, and told me at length that I just had to go straight that way and I wouldn't miss it. She looked appraisingly at my boots and told me I would probably get there pretty fast. I'm glad I asked her because I had been about to go the wrong way. Anyway, I got back to the hotel all right, and realized that I was tired and had been on my feet for a long time. Since getting back I've just been chilling and reading, and continuing to digest the cassoulet. I may never need to eat again.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Trip to the South of France: Welcome to Toulouse!
Despite the stressful start, the 6 hour train trip to Toulouse was pretty uneventful. I had a sad, cold, overpriced train sandwich, and a sad, warm Nescafe cappuccino. Yes, apparently Nescafe cappuccino exists. So the food offered on board TGV trains isn't great, but TGV trains are pretty much wonderful. They're quiet and smooth, and they're much roomier than airplanes, there isn't the hassle of security and stressed-out flight attendants, and they almost always run exactly on time. My train pulled into Toulouse today at the exact minute it said it would on my ticket. Plus Train à Grande Vitesse sounds so cool but just means "train at great speed."
The long ride through the French countryside was not bad either. It was rather gray and foggy so it was kind of hard to see much, but as we got further south there was a bit better visibility. The landscape reminds me a lot of where I grew up in western Maryland. There were big, forested, rolling hills, and the train often went through places where there were cuts in the hillside. There were also little cottages with steep thatched roofs and every once in awhile I'd see a castle that looked like it stepped right out of a fairytale peeking out of otherwise uninterrupted forest.
After I got to the train station, it was just a few blocks to my hotel. Unfortunately, when I stepped through the door I was greeted with a huge flight of stairs. I was waiting for some people going downstairs to pass me before I started going up, but it turned out one of them was the hotel owner coming down to carry my bag for me, which was nice. After carrying my bags all day I usually feel like it's a matter of honor or something to finish carrying them to my final destination myself, but I couldn't really muster the energy to protest this time.
Also, it turns out my room is awesome. I paid a few extra Euros for a "premium" single room, which I thought just meant that breakfast came with my reservation, but also means that I get a big bed. I've also got a tv and a really nice heating unit. Plus everything is really clean and nice. I have relatively low expectations about hostels where I stay at this point. I understand and accept that the lower prices mean that the linens and mattress will be showing signs of wear and that I might have to share a somewhat icky bathroom with lots of people. But oh wow, this place is nice. I was thinking about going out to see if there was a new year's celebration happening, but I'm exhausted and I don't think I can be persuaded to move away from this lovely warm new blanket and the lovely warm wifi. Sorry to be lame, but I'm still sore from all the suitcase-carrying, and I've never really been one for holidays.
Anyway, just an hour after my train pulled into the station, I was changed, showered, and ready to see the city. The attendant at the desk was really nice and told me all about Toulouse, drawing on a map of the city that he gave me. He also told me where to get the fancy coffee. A man after my own heart. I went into town and saw a really amazing brick cathedral (and took lots of photos that I still can't take off the camera yet), and the main square, and had a look at the shops. I really like Toulouse so far. After Paris, it's a very manageable size. Visiting Paris a lot has been great, but I often find the size of cities that large to be very difficult. For example, it's so big that it's hard to know where to go for some things. If I'm out visiting some part of Paris and I want eat, I'm so often in different parts of the city that I'm constantly having to guess where to go and hope my choice isn't too expensive or awful-tasting or both. Paris is really too big for me to feel like I know even a particular part of it well. Central Toulouse seems to me like it's a similar size to central Cambridge, actually, which maybe makes sense because it's a university town. Well, Toulouse actually seems like it has more shopping available in the city center, yet somehow things are closer together. Amazingly. In the course of walking around town for a little bit, I saw a few highlights of the city, and found central, easily accessible areas where I can find something good to eat at a reasonable price.
Unfortunately, it started to rain while I was out walking around, and it was warm enough that I wasn't wearing a coat at all and didn't mind, but when it really started coming down pretty hard I realized I'd get very soaked if I didn't find an umbrella somewhere. The likeliest place seemed to be a big store that had a lot of housewares-type items, but I couldn't see right away where they were among the several floors of the store. So, I asked someone who worked there where the umbrellas were. I find the French word for umbrella to be a funny word to say: "parapluie."
Anyway, she showed me where the umbrellas were. As I started looking at them, an old man who was also looking at the umbrellas asked me if I knew what price they were. It took me a moment to figure out what he was asking. Usually when someone starts speaking to me, I'm a little slow at first because I have to not only understand the other language but get over that "Huh? Is someone speaking to me?" moment. Anyway, the umbrella prices were listed low on the shelves near to the floor, and the old man was having a hard time reading them, so I got down so I could look at them and I read them off to him. So we had a sort of cute conversation in French picking out umbrellas together. Then he asked me where I was from. Actually he said "and you are... what?" which I will assume is not rude in French, like it kind of is when translated literally into English (I don't know what I am... a giraffe?). I said I was American and he was a bit surprised, and he told me he didn't know how to say much in American (he actually said "in American" rather than "in English" which I think is as odd to say in French as it is in English). Then I told him that I was just happy that he could understand me when I spoke to him, and he said he could understand my French no problem, which I enjoyed. Then he told me happy new year in French, and then in English. And I said "thanks, you too" in English, to which he looked slightly confused. But I think we were both very happy about the interaction, on the whole.
After getting my umbrella, I went and got a quiche and an Orangina and then went back to my hotel room. The lady at the bakery heated up the quiche for me, which was nice, but unfortunately it cooled a bit as I walked back to my hotel through the rain, hurrying down the slightly seedy street where it is (I would describe this hotel as "gentrifying" the street it's on), clutching my umbrella in one hand and my quiche in the other. The quiche was tasty. And now I am writing this blog entry, and I think I'm ready to fall asleep. I've got big plans for some tourism tomorrow.
The long ride through the French countryside was not bad either. It was rather gray and foggy so it was kind of hard to see much, but as we got further south there was a bit better visibility. The landscape reminds me a lot of where I grew up in western Maryland. There were big, forested, rolling hills, and the train often went through places where there were cuts in the hillside. There were also little cottages with steep thatched roofs and every once in awhile I'd see a castle that looked like it stepped right out of a fairytale peeking out of otherwise uninterrupted forest.
After I got to the train station, it was just a few blocks to my hotel. Unfortunately, when I stepped through the door I was greeted with a huge flight of stairs. I was waiting for some people going downstairs to pass me before I started going up, but it turned out one of them was the hotel owner coming down to carry my bag for me, which was nice. After carrying my bags all day I usually feel like it's a matter of honor or something to finish carrying them to my final destination myself, but I couldn't really muster the energy to protest this time.
Also, it turns out my room is awesome. I paid a few extra Euros for a "premium" single room, which I thought just meant that breakfast came with my reservation, but also means that I get a big bed. I've also got a tv and a really nice heating unit. Plus everything is really clean and nice. I have relatively low expectations about hostels where I stay at this point. I understand and accept that the lower prices mean that the linens and mattress will be showing signs of wear and that I might have to share a somewhat icky bathroom with lots of people. But oh wow, this place is nice. I was thinking about going out to see if there was a new year's celebration happening, but I'm exhausted and I don't think I can be persuaded to move away from this lovely warm new blanket and the lovely warm wifi. Sorry to be lame, but I'm still sore from all the suitcase-carrying, and I've never really been one for holidays.
Anyway, just an hour after my train pulled into the station, I was changed, showered, and ready to see the city. The attendant at the desk was really nice and told me all about Toulouse, drawing on a map of the city that he gave me. He also told me where to get the fancy coffee. A man after my own heart. I went into town and saw a really amazing brick cathedral (and took lots of photos that I still can't take off the camera yet), and the main square, and had a look at the shops. I really like Toulouse so far. After Paris, it's a very manageable size. Visiting Paris a lot has been great, but I often find the size of cities that large to be very difficult. For example, it's so big that it's hard to know where to go for some things. If I'm out visiting some part of Paris and I want eat, I'm so often in different parts of the city that I'm constantly having to guess where to go and hope my choice isn't too expensive or awful-tasting or both. Paris is really too big for me to feel like I know even a particular part of it well. Central Toulouse seems to me like it's a similar size to central Cambridge, actually, which maybe makes sense because it's a university town. Well, Toulouse actually seems like it has more shopping available in the city center, yet somehow things are closer together. Amazingly. In the course of walking around town for a little bit, I saw a few highlights of the city, and found central, easily accessible areas where I can find something good to eat at a reasonable price.
Unfortunately, it started to rain while I was out walking around, and it was warm enough that I wasn't wearing a coat at all and didn't mind, but when it really started coming down pretty hard I realized I'd get very soaked if I didn't find an umbrella somewhere. The likeliest place seemed to be a big store that had a lot of housewares-type items, but I couldn't see right away where they were among the several floors of the store. So, I asked someone who worked there where the umbrellas were. I find the French word for umbrella to be a funny word to say: "parapluie."
Anyway, she showed me where the umbrellas were. As I started looking at them, an old man who was also looking at the umbrellas asked me if I knew what price they were. It took me a moment to figure out what he was asking. Usually when someone starts speaking to me, I'm a little slow at first because I have to not only understand the other language but get over that "Huh? Is someone speaking to me?" moment. Anyway, the umbrella prices were listed low on the shelves near to the floor, and the old man was having a hard time reading them, so I got down so I could look at them and I read them off to him. So we had a sort of cute conversation in French picking out umbrellas together. Then he asked me where I was from. Actually he said "and you are... what?" which I will assume is not rude in French, like it kind of is when translated literally into English (I don't know what I am... a giraffe?). I said I was American and he was a bit surprised, and he told me he didn't know how to say much in American (he actually said "in American" rather than "in English" which I think is as odd to say in French as it is in English). Then I told him that I was just happy that he could understand me when I spoke to him, and he said he could understand my French no problem, which I enjoyed. Then he told me happy new year in French, and then in English. And I said "thanks, you too" in English, to which he looked slightly confused. But I think we were both very happy about the interaction, on the whole.
After getting my umbrella, I went and got a quiche and an Orangina and then went back to my hotel room. The lady at the bakery heated up the quiche for me, which was nice, but unfortunately it cooled a bit as I walked back to my hotel through the rain, hurrying down the slightly seedy street where it is (I would describe this hotel as "gentrifying" the street it's on), clutching my umbrella in one hand and my quiche in the other. The quiche was tasty. And now I am writing this blog entry, and I think I'm ready to fall asleep. I've got big plans for some tourism tomorrow.
Trip to the South of France: Katrina's Expert Train Travel Tips
For a bit of variety, I traveled to Toulouse today.
A week or so ago I brought TGV tickets to go to Toulouse and return to Paris, and it turns out the cheapest time to go out here was New Year's Eve Day, probably because Paris is a hot destination for New Year's and so people don't particularly want to be going away from Paris right now. But since I'm by myself and the apartment where I'm staying is prohibitively far from the celebrations, I don't particularly care if I'm in Paris for the new year. Being freezing cold and by myself in the middle of a huge crowd and unable to go home for hours and hours isn't exactly my scene.
So anyway, this morning my train was scheduled to leave Paris Austerlitz station at 7:53. I decided to try to get out of the apartment I'm staying in at 6 to leave a safe amount of time for getting there and finding my platform, but unfortunately I didn't leave until 6:20, and when I got to the train station I had a longer than usual wait for a train, and I was starting to get pretty worried that I'd miss my train. Fortunately the train that I took was one of the ones that skips a lot of stops, so I made up a lot of the time, but I had to change train lines to get to Austerlitz, and it was a change that I hadn't done before. Signage for train changes tends to be pretty clear, but often involve quite long hikes through tunnels, and I was worried that I might take a long time carrying my heavy suitcase up a lot of stairs.
I tend to be good about doing homework, so I had written down the information for the RER train change, including which direction I needed to go when I took the C line. Both RER and metro trains are designated by where they terminate, and the C line has a lot of forks, so I knew I would need to choose between two lists of several possible destinations, so I had written down a list of places in the same direction as I was going. Unfortunately, when I got to the station I saw that the list of places I had written down was actually split between two possible platforms. Oh no! I had misread the train lines last night. I went to look at the map of the lines again, and between getting up several hours before I usually did and being really stressed about missing the train, I was having a hard time reading the big spiderweb of lines. Someone asked me if I needed help, and I couldn't remember the name of the station I was going to (yeah, I was pretty tired) so I had to dig out my tickets to tell him. Then he actually wasn't so familiar with the route to get to that station actually, but then he pointed out that it was one of the destinations of the metro line that goes through the same station. Eager just to make a decision and get on a train to Austerlitz, I thanked him and left for the metro line, but after going up a set of stairs (my suitcase was getting steadily heavier... regretting packing those extra socks) and two escalators and the metro platforms still not in sight, I realized that it would be better to go have a look at the two C platforms, where I could see the details about where the train was going, so I turned back, irritated, and went to one of the C platforms, running when possible. Just as I got to the platform, a train was pulling in, and so I asked someone getting on the train if it was going to Austerlitz and she said yes, and fortunately, it did. The C line train also had an insane step up into it, so I had to lift my suitcase up and push it onto the train before hauling myself up.
I got to Austerlitz about 20 minutes before my train was set to depart. At this point I was trying to relax since I'd probably make my train, but it was quite a distance to the TGV trains, so I was still pretty worried. There were a few sets of stairs, and the one escalator between me and my train Toulouse was not operating. Then when I got onto the TGV train, tired and stinking of stress, the only storage option for my suitcase was up high, so I had to lift my giant suitcase overhead. Even once I was in my seat with some time to spare, the adrenaline from forcing myself out of bed really early, panicking that I was going to miss my train, and the impromptu workout of carrying my bag up and down many many stairs made it really hard to unclench my muscles for quite awhile.
I can distill my travel experience today into several Paris train travel tips:
1. Even if they are at the same station, the distance between two lines of one type of train can be quite far, and the distance between two distinct types of trains is even farther. When estimating travel time, include the time for changing trains as well as the time that the train takes. If you're not familiar with the station already, you might be surprised by how far it will be.
2. Elevators and escalators are often unavailable, or if they are, hard to find, so only pack something you can carry up stairs. Not only carry up stairs, but lift over your head if you need to. So pack light. Or start lifting weights at the gym more often. Really, it's best to do both.
3. Don't necessarily trust the nice person who tries to give you directions.
A week or so ago I brought TGV tickets to go to Toulouse and return to Paris, and it turns out the cheapest time to go out here was New Year's Eve Day, probably because Paris is a hot destination for New Year's and so people don't particularly want to be going away from Paris right now. But since I'm by myself and the apartment where I'm staying is prohibitively far from the celebrations, I don't particularly care if I'm in Paris for the new year. Being freezing cold and by myself in the middle of a huge crowd and unable to go home for hours and hours isn't exactly my scene.
So anyway, this morning my train was scheduled to leave Paris Austerlitz station at 7:53. I decided to try to get out of the apartment I'm staying in at 6 to leave a safe amount of time for getting there and finding my platform, but unfortunately I didn't leave until 6:20, and when I got to the train station I had a longer than usual wait for a train, and I was starting to get pretty worried that I'd miss my train. Fortunately the train that I took was one of the ones that skips a lot of stops, so I made up a lot of the time, but I had to change train lines to get to Austerlitz, and it was a change that I hadn't done before. Signage for train changes tends to be pretty clear, but often involve quite long hikes through tunnels, and I was worried that I might take a long time carrying my heavy suitcase up a lot of stairs.
I tend to be good about doing homework, so I had written down the information for the RER train change, including which direction I needed to go when I took the C line. Both RER and metro trains are designated by where they terminate, and the C line has a lot of forks, so I knew I would need to choose between two lists of several possible destinations, so I had written down a list of places in the same direction as I was going. Unfortunately, when I got to the station I saw that the list of places I had written down was actually split between two possible platforms. Oh no! I had misread the train lines last night. I went to look at the map of the lines again, and between getting up several hours before I usually did and being really stressed about missing the train, I was having a hard time reading the big spiderweb of lines. Someone asked me if I needed help, and I couldn't remember the name of the station I was going to (yeah, I was pretty tired) so I had to dig out my tickets to tell him. Then he actually wasn't so familiar with the route to get to that station actually, but then he pointed out that it was one of the destinations of the metro line that goes through the same station. Eager just to make a decision and get on a train to Austerlitz, I thanked him and left for the metro line, but after going up a set of stairs (my suitcase was getting steadily heavier... regretting packing those extra socks) and two escalators and the metro platforms still not in sight, I realized that it would be better to go have a look at the two C platforms, where I could see the details about where the train was going, so I turned back, irritated, and went to one of the C platforms, running when possible. Just as I got to the platform, a train was pulling in, and so I asked someone getting on the train if it was going to Austerlitz and she said yes, and fortunately, it did. The C line train also had an insane step up into it, so I had to lift my suitcase up and push it onto the train before hauling myself up.
I got to Austerlitz about 20 minutes before my train was set to depart. At this point I was trying to relax since I'd probably make my train, but it was quite a distance to the TGV trains, so I was still pretty worried. There were a few sets of stairs, and the one escalator between me and my train Toulouse was not operating. Then when I got onto the TGV train, tired and stinking of stress, the only storage option for my suitcase was up high, so I had to lift my giant suitcase overhead. Even once I was in my seat with some time to spare, the adrenaline from forcing myself out of bed really early, panicking that I was going to miss my train, and the impromptu workout of carrying my bag up and down many many stairs made it really hard to unclench my muscles for quite awhile.
I can distill my travel experience today into several Paris train travel tips:
1. Even if they are at the same station, the distance between two lines of one type of train can be quite far, and the distance between two distinct types of trains is even farther. When estimating travel time, include the time for changing trains as well as the time that the train takes. If you're not familiar with the station already, you might be surprised by how far it will be.
2. Elevators and escalators are often unavailable, or if they are, hard to find, so only pack something you can carry up stairs. Not only carry up stairs, but lift over your head if you need to. So pack light. Or start lifting weights at the gym more often. Really, it's best to do both.
3. Don't necessarily trust the nice person who tries to give you directions.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
In search of good coffee in Paris
Anyone who has known me within the last, say 6 years, probably knows that I am an avid coffee drinker. My first year in college I started on iced, blended mochas, but soon enough they weren't enough and I developed a taste for the pure stuff, and haven't looked back. I'm not much of an espresso person these days, but I really love a nice filter coffee. Fortunately for me this is something of a specialty in the bay area, and so when I'm at home I have the choice of many cafés where friendly baristas will happily enable my addiction.
After the crummy day out that I wrote about in my last entry, I decided to spend a day in to get some work done, which I did. It was good to get some things done, but it left me a little bit stir crazy, even though I'm still feeling a little like I want a break from doing the tourist thing. Then it occurred to me that I should find an interesting café where I could work, soak in a little Paris ambiance, and cure a little bit of homesickness. So far my only coffee here has been the espressos in the cute little cups which are the standard offering... it's what you get here if you ask for a coffee. Brewed coffee is not popular in Europe, hence the creation of the "Americano" mix of espresso and water for the American GI's stationed in Europe for WWII who wanted something more like what they drank at home. I often asked (rather self-consciously) for an Americano while I stayed in England, where most places offered a standard range of espresso drinks, but here it seems like most cafés just offer the little cup of espresso, and don't offer other drinks like cappuccinos and so on, or if they do, they're prohibitively expensive.
Paris cafés of course have a long, storied history. Interestingly, coffee houses in Europe started out as culturally central gathering places where people (actually just men; women were barred) debated issues and shared news. Legend has it that Voltaire drank huge amounts of coffee and wrote much of his work in coffee houses. Initially, I was thinking that I would just find a famous café, where I expected to purchase the standard cup of coffee, and pay a little bit more for the knowledge that I was sitting at the very same café where Sartre or someone else notable frequently spend time. However, a little bit of time doing internet research yielded an article about attempts to revive the Paris coffee scene, which is perceived as not being very good, and a list of new cafés which are trying to provide a better product. A lot of these places looked like they'd be a bit more like what I'm used to at home, so I was curious to go.
So, this morning I headed out to the Café Coutume down in the 7e arrondissement, which was established within the last year and has lots of types of coffee on offer, including coffee from their cold brew set up, like the one that Blue Bottle has. I ordered a coffee and then stayed long enough to have a nice lunch, followed by another cup of coffee. It was a really nice time. The staff were friendly, and judging by the conversations I was hearing, the place seems to draw a lot of English speakers. I'm not sure if this is because of the place specifically or the neighborhood, which was quite highbrow and seemed to have a steady stream of wealthy tourists coming through. I wouldn't be surprised if I go back to this café, now that I've had their coffee, which I would say was on par with the better coffee I've had around the bay area. Plus I haven't yet tried any of their baked goods, which looked tasty and interesting, including a carrot cake spiced with cumin.
After the crummy day out that I wrote about in my last entry, I decided to spend a day in to get some work done, which I did. It was good to get some things done, but it left me a little bit stir crazy, even though I'm still feeling a little like I want a break from doing the tourist thing. Then it occurred to me that I should find an interesting café where I could work, soak in a little Paris ambiance, and cure a little bit of homesickness. So far my only coffee here has been the espressos in the cute little cups which are the standard offering... it's what you get here if you ask for a coffee. Brewed coffee is not popular in Europe, hence the creation of the "Americano" mix of espresso and water for the American GI's stationed in Europe for WWII who wanted something more like what they drank at home. I often asked (rather self-consciously) for an Americano while I stayed in England, where most places offered a standard range of espresso drinks, but here it seems like most cafés just offer the little cup of espresso, and don't offer other drinks like cappuccinos and so on, or if they do, they're prohibitively expensive.
Paris cafés of course have a long, storied history. Interestingly, coffee houses in Europe started out as culturally central gathering places where people (actually just men; women were barred) debated issues and shared news. Legend has it that Voltaire drank huge amounts of coffee and wrote much of his work in coffee houses. Initially, I was thinking that I would just find a famous café, where I expected to purchase the standard cup of coffee, and pay a little bit more for the knowledge that I was sitting at the very same café where Sartre or someone else notable frequently spend time. However, a little bit of time doing internet research yielded an article about attempts to revive the Paris coffee scene, which is perceived as not being very good, and a list of new cafés which are trying to provide a better product. A lot of these places looked like they'd be a bit more like what I'm used to at home, so I was curious to go.
So, this morning I headed out to the Café Coutume down in the 7e arrondissement, which was established within the last year and has lots of types of coffee on offer, including coffee from their cold brew set up, like the one that Blue Bottle has. I ordered a coffee and then stayed long enough to have a nice lunch, followed by another cup of coffee. It was a really nice time. The staff were friendly, and judging by the conversations I was hearing, the place seems to draw a lot of English speakers. I'm not sure if this is because of the place specifically or the neighborhood, which was quite highbrow and seemed to have a steady stream of wealthy tourists coming through. I wouldn't be surprised if I go back to this café, now that I've had their coffee, which I would say was on par with the better coffee I've had around the bay area. Plus I haven't yet tried any of their baked goods, which looked tasty and interesting, including a carrot cake spiced with cumin.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Not every day in Paris is an awesome day.
It's been pretty gray and rainy on and off around here, but today was the foggiest I've seen it, even foggier than I've seen in a long time, and it gets pretty foggy in the bay area sometimes. When I opened my door, I could see the damp, gray mist rolling in toward me, like someone was running a fog machine just out of sight. Since it was so grey, and the weather forecast predicted a high of 41 (F), I decided that today was the day to visit some indoor things that I was curious about.
However, it didn't all work out quite as intended.
First, I went to the Paris catacombs. I'm sort of morbidly curious about them, and going on a nice day would seem like a waste of a nice day, so today was as good a time as any. Unfortunately, I think everyone else had the same idea, and there was a very long line to see them. I don't mind lines occasionally, but I've stood in a lot of them lately, and standing in line outdoors for a long time to get into the catacombs would be a bit silly as part of the point of my going was to spend some quality time in the comparatively warm depths of the earth.
After seeing the line for the catacombs was prohibitively long, I wasn't sure what I wanted to do next, but I saw some signs for the Montparnasse Cemetery. I think this post is making me seem a bit strange, but I'm not really usually the sort of person who wants to spend lots of time in cemeteries or crypts or catacombs. But I guess I had already talked myself into going somewhere slightly creepy today, the cemeteries in Paris are typically regarded as tourist destinations, there didn't seem to be other landmarks of interest in the area, and I wanted to get something out of my trip down there before jumping back on the metro train.
I went into the Montparnasse Cemetery, which was lined with large mausoleums, all packed in shoulder to shoulder. I didn't intend that last sentence to be literal, but looking at it, I suppose it is. I walked around a bit, and came to a sign listing the names and locations of some notable... umm... residents? of the cemetery. I didn't recognize any of the names, except for noted mathematician Henri Poincaré, so of course I went and found his tomb. The tomb is for the Poincaré family (photos to come in a few weeks). Its dimensions are what I'd think of for a burial site for just one person in our more spacious, decadent American cemeteries, I suppose like our more spacious, decadent elevators, train seats, and hotel rooms. So, I can only conclude that Henri is down there sandwiched in a stack of the corpses of his beloved family.
I told Henri that it was nice to visit him, that I was sure he'd heard about his conjecture being proved true, and that I am about to visit the institute named after him, which I haven't seen yet, but hear is very nice. There were several aging metro tickets sitting on top of the memorial, weighed down by small stones from that path. I guessed they were left by people meaning to indicate that the grave had been visited. I suppose leaving a metro ticket does seem to say something along the lines of "Hi, I made a trip out here specifically to see you," so I left my used train ticket as well.
After visiting Henri, I decided I felt unmotivated to continue wandering around in the grey chill in order to see the rest of the Montparnasse Cemetary, so I continued with part 2 of my original plan for staying indoors, which consisted of visiting the covered passages, which were in a more central part of Paris. These passages date back to the 18th and 19th centuries, and although they fell into disrepair, they've been restored relatively recently (so I've read) and are now full of cute second-hand shops and so on. The photos I saw online looked very steampunk, so I thought they'd be interesting to see. However, it turns out that the passages are kind of hard to find, and since the restoration is relatively recent, they weren't marked on all my maps. So again, my plan for finding these covered passages and browsing bookshops in the warmth just resulted in me spending lots of time outside looking confusedly at my various maps. I did find them eventually, and I suppose they were worth seeing once.
When I didn't find the passages immediately, I decided that I would do better with something warm in my stomach since it was getting late and I hadn't eaten for awhile. I also really wanted to sit down. A couple of days ago I decided it would be good to do a little circuit training with lots of lunges and squats, and now walking around is really difficult. So, I settled randomly on a little café which didn't seem terribly nice inside, but it was inexpensive, and I told myself that it was probably fine, just less touristy or something. Unfortunately I was served the grossest meal I've had at a restaurant in awhile. The texture of the croque monsieur was all mushy (in a bad way, not a lovely way, because sometimes food is mushy in a nice way, like mushy peas), and it came with a rubbery looking, slightly withered hot dog. I ate the fries that came with it, and started in on the sandwich, but once the edge was off my hunger, I couldn't bring myself to finish it. I didn't have the heart to tell the waiter how horrible it was, or the energy to come up with how to adequately express my disdain in French, which is strange, since one would think that French is a particularly good language for expressing disdain. Maybe the "expressing disdain" unit in the French program at Berkeley comes in a different course than the one I took. I ordered a cup of coffee for after the meal. I thought it would perk me up a bit, and the espressos they serve here seem pretty uniform and hard to screw up. But it was the worst espresso I've had since arriving. It was a too bitter, so I added a lump of sugar, which made it, somehow, worse. I felt just a twinge of homesickness, the first I've felt since getting here.
I was tempted to go back to the place I was staying, eat something tasty, and crawl into bed early in the day, but I hardened my resolve to see at least something of what I had set out to see, and so I found the covered passages. I suppose it was worth seeing them to satisfy my curiosity, but none of them really had anywhere I wanted to shop, although to be fair, I'm not here for shopping. There were lots of people inside them, taking photos of the wrought iron light fixtures and mosaic tile floors.
After I was satisfied that I'd seen all of the covered passages that I had hoped to see, I took the train home. Unfortunately it seemed like the best way to get back on the RER line was to change at the Chatalet station, which I really dislike, because it is phenomenally crowded. I thought I had gotten used to crowds a bit by living in the bay area, but this is much more crowded. Plus, when changing train lines, it sometimes seems like I have to walk through miles of underground tunnel to get there. To be fair, Chatalet does have those moving walkways like at airports, but they're often not just flat, but angled up and down, which I find rather unsettling.
Once I got back to where I'm staying, I decided it was time for a special trip to the bakery, so at least this day has a happy ending. I wasn't quite sure what I wanted, so I asked the woman working there if she had any suggestions. She suggested that maybe I wanted some chocolate, and that the truffles are made in house, so I got a few. So far it has gone really well when I ask people what the house specialty is rather than just choosing at random. These truffles are amazing. Possibly the best I've had. They are so incredibly intensely flavored. So I went back home, ate a truffle, had some tea, and wrote about my day.
However, it didn't all work out quite as intended.
First, I went to the Paris catacombs. I'm sort of morbidly curious about them, and going on a nice day would seem like a waste of a nice day, so today was as good a time as any. Unfortunately, I think everyone else had the same idea, and there was a very long line to see them. I don't mind lines occasionally, but I've stood in a lot of them lately, and standing in line outdoors for a long time to get into the catacombs would be a bit silly as part of the point of my going was to spend some quality time in the comparatively warm depths of the earth.
After seeing the line for the catacombs was prohibitively long, I wasn't sure what I wanted to do next, but I saw some signs for the Montparnasse Cemetery. I think this post is making me seem a bit strange, but I'm not really usually the sort of person who wants to spend lots of time in cemeteries or crypts or catacombs. But I guess I had already talked myself into going somewhere slightly creepy today, the cemeteries in Paris are typically regarded as tourist destinations, there didn't seem to be other landmarks of interest in the area, and I wanted to get something out of my trip down there before jumping back on the metro train.
I went into the Montparnasse Cemetery, which was lined with large mausoleums, all packed in shoulder to shoulder. I didn't intend that last sentence to be literal, but looking at it, I suppose it is. I walked around a bit, and came to a sign listing the names and locations of some notable... umm... residents? of the cemetery. I didn't recognize any of the names, except for noted mathematician Henri Poincaré, so of course I went and found his tomb. The tomb is for the Poincaré family (photos to come in a few weeks). Its dimensions are what I'd think of for a burial site for just one person in our more spacious, decadent American cemeteries, I suppose like our more spacious, decadent elevators, train seats, and hotel rooms. So, I can only conclude that Henri is down there sandwiched in a stack of the corpses of his beloved family.
I told Henri that it was nice to visit him, that I was sure he'd heard about his conjecture being proved true, and that I am about to visit the institute named after him, which I haven't seen yet, but hear is very nice. There were several aging metro tickets sitting on top of the memorial, weighed down by small stones from that path. I guessed they were left by people meaning to indicate that the grave had been visited. I suppose leaving a metro ticket does seem to say something along the lines of "Hi, I made a trip out here specifically to see you," so I left my used train ticket as well.
After visiting Henri, I decided I felt unmotivated to continue wandering around in the grey chill in order to see the rest of the Montparnasse Cemetary, so I continued with part 2 of my original plan for staying indoors, which consisted of visiting the covered passages, which were in a more central part of Paris. These passages date back to the 18th and 19th centuries, and although they fell into disrepair, they've been restored relatively recently (so I've read) and are now full of cute second-hand shops and so on. The photos I saw online looked very steampunk, so I thought they'd be interesting to see. However, it turns out that the passages are kind of hard to find, and since the restoration is relatively recent, they weren't marked on all my maps. So again, my plan for finding these covered passages and browsing bookshops in the warmth just resulted in me spending lots of time outside looking confusedly at my various maps. I did find them eventually, and I suppose they were worth seeing once.
When I didn't find the passages immediately, I decided that I would do better with something warm in my stomach since it was getting late and I hadn't eaten for awhile. I also really wanted to sit down. A couple of days ago I decided it would be good to do a little circuit training with lots of lunges and squats, and now walking around is really difficult. So, I settled randomly on a little café which didn't seem terribly nice inside, but it was inexpensive, and I told myself that it was probably fine, just less touristy or something. Unfortunately I was served the grossest meal I've had at a restaurant in awhile. The texture of the croque monsieur was all mushy (in a bad way, not a lovely way, because sometimes food is mushy in a nice way, like mushy peas), and it came with a rubbery looking, slightly withered hot dog. I ate the fries that came with it, and started in on the sandwich, but once the edge was off my hunger, I couldn't bring myself to finish it. I didn't have the heart to tell the waiter how horrible it was, or the energy to come up with how to adequately express my disdain in French, which is strange, since one would think that French is a particularly good language for expressing disdain. Maybe the "expressing disdain" unit in the French program at Berkeley comes in a different course than the one I took. I ordered a cup of coffee for after the meal. I thought it would perk me up a bit, and the espressos they serve here seem pretty uniform and hard to screw up. But it was the worst espresso I've had since arriving. It was a too bitter, so I added a lump of sugar, which made it, somehow, worse. I felt just a twinge of homesickness, the first I've felt since getting here.
I was tempted to go back to the place I was staying, eat something tasty, and crawl into bed early in the day, but I hardened my resolve to see at least something of what I had set out to see, and so I found the covered passages. I suppose it was worth seeing them to satisfy my curiosity, but none of them really had anywhere I wanted to shop, although to be fair, I'm not here for shopping. There were lots of people inside them, taking photos of the wrought iron light fixtures and mosaic tile floors.
After I was satisfied that I'd seen all of the covered passages that I had hoped to see, I took the train home. Unfortunately it seemed like the best way to get back on the RER line was to change at the Chatalet station, which I really dislike, because it is phenomenally crowded. I thought I had gotten used to crowds a bit by living in the bay area, but this is much more crowded. Plus, when changing train lines, it sometimes seems like I have to walk through miles of underground tunnel to get there. To be fair, Chatalet does have those moving walkways like at airports, but they're often not just flat, but angled up and down, which I find rather unsettling.
Once I got back to where I'm staying, I decided it was time for a special trip to the bakery, so at least this day has a happy ending. I wasn't quite sure what I wanted, so I asked the woman working there if she had any suggestions. She suggested that maybe I wanted some chocolate, and that the truffles are made in house, so I got a few. So far it has gone really well when I ask people what the house specialty is rather than just choosing at random. These truffles are amazing. Possibly the best I've had. They are so incredibly intensely flavored. So I went back home, ate a truffle, had some tea, and wrote about my day.
Monday, December 26, 2011
The revival of my travel blog
So the stars aligned and I'm staying in France for a month. I have funding to go to a conference, the vacant apartment of a friend who is out of town, a sudden gap in my schedule, and newly improved French after taking a course last semester, so it seems like the best time for it.
I want to write a bit about how I spend my time so that I remember it better, and some people seem to be curious about it as well (which surprises me because I'm extremely boring). So, I decided to revive my travel blog from a couple of years ago. It was called Grinnell-in-Cambridge, as a play on the names of Grinnell's study abroad programs, but since it's been a long time since I've been at Grinnell, and I'm not in Cambridge, I've decided to retitle it "Where in the World is Katrina Sandiego?" for a bit of 80's and 90's nostalgia. And also since I wish I were an international supervillain capable of stealing all the beans from Lima.
Unfortunately, I won't be able to get my photos off of my camera and onto my computer while I'm here (really, I checked all the possibilities and I just can't right now) so this will be a very wordy blog for quite sometime, but I promise there are some good photos, and I will put them up after I return home in a few weeks.
I want to write a bit about how I spend my time so that I remember it better, and some people seem to be curious about it as well (which surprises me because I'm extremely boring). So, I decided to revive my travel blog from a couple of years ago. It was called Grinnell-in-Cambridge, as a play on the names of Grinnell's study abroad programs, but since it's been a long time since I've been at Grinnell, and I'm not in Cambridge, I've decided to retitle it "Where in the World is Katrina Sandiego?" for a bit of 80's and 90's nostalgia. And also since I wish I were an international supervillain capable of stealing all the beans from Lima.
Unfortunately, I won't be able to get my photos off of my camera and onto my computer while I'm here (really, I checked all the possibilities and I just can't right now) so this will be a very wordy blog for quite sometime, but I promise there are some good photos, and I will put them up after I return home in a few weeks.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)