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Marseille

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Vieux Port de Marseille
  Bonjour à tous!

   I'm sorry I haven't written in a while. The closer I come to finishing up here, it seems the less free time I have. But I have another entry for you!

  This past weekend, I took a trip to visit my French penpal in France's second biggest city, where he goes to business school. All I'd known about Marseille before I got there was that it was the setting of a few films I'd seen, like the Count of Monte Cristo and Marcel Pagnol's Marius and Fanny, as well as the warning of safety my host mom gave me before I left. Marseille is a port town famous for it's murders, drugs and organized crime, making it the most dangerous city in France. The wealthy have an entirely fenced in district, where they hide from the crime and reality around them. My friend Simon has witnessed someone's credit card get snatched out of their hand and his roommate has had a knife held to him a few times. Needless to say the French are surprised when you say you actually liked visiting Marseille.



  In spite of the madness, Marseille is still a Mediterranean town, and beautiful in it's own right. Life goes on, and families flock to the Vieux Port, the Old Port, on a Saturday afternoon for a café or to promenade next to the boats that no one seems to be using. At night, the port is for the young, with bustling bars and outdoor terraces because it would be a sin to sit inside when the weather is so nice.



View from Notre Dame de la Garde

   Mostly because of Simon's adorable five year old sister (who drew me a picture of a snowflake and sang Frozen songs with me!), we rode the little tourist's train up to Notre Dame de la Garde, the Catholic church that stands on a hill and looks over the city. In the distance, you can see the islands off the coast, most famous of them the Chateau d'If, formerly a prison and an important setting in Alexander Dumas', the Count of Monte Cristo.

   What I loved about visiting Simon and his family in Marseille is that I experienced a different cultural French life than I have in Montpellier. I have learned more French slang than I have from my sixty year old host mom, to no fault of her own. For example: the French word d'accord means okay, in agreement, but the young will tend to say d'ac, a shortened version.



   After dinner in a Pakistani restaurant, where I taught him and his family the meaning of the word "food baby", Simon and I went back to the Vieux Port where we drank on a terrace with his friends and enjoyed the mid-spring evening. They introduced me to a incredibly delicious cherry flavored beer, called Kir, that miraculously and thankfully didn't taste like beer at all. We bonded over TV shows, music, traveling and more, forever alternating between French and English. When they spoke amongst themselves, I was proud that I could mostly understand them. However, there were still plenty of times where I awkwardly, fake laughed because I had no idea what they were laughing about. I've perfected the art of the fake laugh and look of comprehension over these past two months, because sometimes, after the fifth time you've asked someone to explain something, it's necessary to admit defeat.
   At midnight, led by Simon, they erupted in a chorus of Happy Birthday for me. I blew out the flame from a lighter as my candle. This has been my third year that I've been away from home for my birthday, and while I miss being with my family, I am lucky to always find a group of new friends to celebrate with.
  The next day, after a Moroccan lunch, I said goodbye to Simon and his family. It is one of the many goodbyes I am going to have to make when I finish my program here, and I realized I am completely unprepared to leave. It's one thing to say goodbye to your friends and family back home. It's another to say goodbye to people you don't know when you'll see again.
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April in Paris

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     It's been said that Paris is at it's loveliest in April. Images of budding flowers with a blurry Eiffel tower in the background come to mind. Though it is true that Paris is beautiful in every season, from my experience, April in Paris better relates to the phrase: April showers bring May flowers.

   I arrived in a rainy Paris by the TGV, the high speed train that can bring you from a Mediterranean city like Montpellier to Paris Gare de Lyon within a few hours. This being my third time in Paris, I am embarrassingly proud of my ability to navigate the city's metro system. Without my backpacker's backpack and blond hair that screams "tourist", I like to believe I would have blended in.

  The more I visit Paris, the more I fall in love. Walking the street's of France's capitol, you get the "anything's possible" feelings of New York with the beauty of Old Europe. You can find every kind of person imaginable, whether you're promenading the Seine or between the streets of the lower 15th arrondissement or on the metro.

  My friends and I stayed at an apartment rented through Airbnb. I've never had a bad experience through the website. The couple (who have been together eight years and are the cutest imaginable) who rented us their apartment for Easter weekend, Clementine and Romain, went above and beyond to make sure we had a pleasant stay. They bought us a bottle of wine and placed little bowls of candy around the place for us to eat. It was a small apartment, but with character. They had polaroids of themselves on the doors, on bookshelves, on their desks, as well as positive affirmations hanging on the wall. They are the epitome of relationship goals.
Taco dinner at the apartment

    Saturday, another rainy day, was filled with pictures at the Eiffel Tower and waiting two and half hours in line to climb to the top of Notre Dame. It's something I've never done before, and around the time my toes were about to fall off from the cold I wondered if it was worth it. But, of course, it was. I should never doubt a good view of Paris.


Notre Dame de Paris


   
Crêpes avec Nutella while waiting in line

View from Notre Dame

    The gargoyles brought me back to my childhood, watching the Hunchback of Notre Dame. I saw the bells, and stood on top of one of the towers. Paris seemed to extend forever. Paris is it's own world.

   After the Notre Dame, I tracked down the bakery that made the best thing I ever tasted, the raspberry and pistachio eclair I mentioned in my last entry. I was giddy in my search, in the most embarrassing way. I knew I could find it at a bakery to the left of Notre Dame and I remembered how it was set up, the display case on the left and the eclairs prominently in the front. I found them with no problem. There they were, as if nothing had changed and I was eighteen again on my first trip to Paris, about to eat the most amazing thing in the world.


    I would like to tell you that it was everything I remembered. I would like to tell you that my taste buds were just as in awe as they were almost three years ago. But that was not the case. On my phone, there's a video of me trying it again and the hope that drains from my face is so sad that no one is ever going to see the video
  Maybe the recipe had changed. I like to imagine an elderly French baker, beloved by all, had made it a few years ago, and even though his legacy was still being carried on after he passed or retired, the pastries were never the same. Whatever the reason, the pastry part of the eclair was somewhat tasteless, and the pistachio was neither sweet nor tasted like pistachio.

   Sunday was the third Easter I've spent in another country. In Sweden, I went to a Catholic service in Gothenburg. In Italy, I was lucky enough to get a glance of the pope in St. Peter's Square. But this Easter was definitely the most interesting way I've spent the holiday, at the Catacombs of Paris.

  The Catacombs are a series of tunnels under the city filled with thousands of bones neatly stacked along the walls. Back in the 1800's, when the city's cemeteries were getting overcrowded, many of the bones of the dead were moved to the catacombs, which had been old quarry tunnels. In between the bones were plaques with morbid phrases, such as "Death is a gain" and the ones below.

Entrance to the Catacombs, says "Stop! This is the empire of the dead"


"Believe that each day is, for you, the last"

"For me, death is a gain"

"God is not the author of death"
   While my friends went to Versailles, I fulfilled a lifelong dream by visiting the Shakespeare and Company Bookstore, the most famous English language bookstore in Paris. On my half an hour walk to the store, I walked the cobblestone sidewalks along the Seine, following the leisurely pace of tourists and locals alike. It was finally sunny. Along the sidewalks on the side of the river are rows and rows of green stands, where you are less likely to find cheap tourist trinkets and more likely to see books, paintings, or copies of old newspapers. I struck up a conversation with an elderly Parisian vendor after he saw that I was looking at a French copy of Renée Descartes' Méditations métaphysique. I know absolutely nothing about philosophy and I am far from understanding the entire book, but I bought it in hopes of one day reading it.

Green stands along the Seine

   I arrived finally at the Shakespeare and Co. Bookstore. Although every bookstore is different, entering into each new one is like coming home. In this one, I was transported into a time of artistic importance in Paris, where authors of the "Lost Generation" such as Ernest Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald thrived.
   


   Everything in the store encouraged literary expression, from sections entirely devoted to French life, authors, fiction and culture to printed out advice from writer's taped to in random nooks and crannies.
  

Writing Advice (found under the staircase) from Raymond Chandler, American author
   Waiting in line to enter the store, I struck up conversation with the young woman my age who was letting people in person by person so it didn't fill up. She was from Philadelphia and was telling me about how the owner of the store encourages young writers or even avid readers to stay in the apartment above the store for free in return for volunteering a few hours in the store during the day. "If you go upstairs to the rare book section, you'll see my bed." Sure enough, I came across a blue cot that looked completely out of place in the corner of the room filled with books.

   Afterwards, I felt as inspired and passionate about the literary culture and history of Paris as Owen Wilson in Midnight in Paris (great movie if you haven't seen it). I walked the Seine to the Musée d'Orsay, and visited my favorite place in the city. Waiting in the half hour line, I read the Hemingway novel I bought at Shakespeare and Co, one of his many that I was never required to read in school, the Sun Also Rises. The impressionist and post impressionist paintings found in the Orsay are impressive as ever. One can find Monet, Manet, Van Gogh and more in the rooms of the former train station turned museum.
Inside the Musée

Monet
   Paris always makes me question the fact if I could ever live in a city, and it makes me want to try. 
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Avignon

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Avignon, France
    Walking from the train station to the Palais des Papes (Palace of the Popes), it's hard to imagine this small, provencal city was once one of the most powerful in the world. Just around the corner from the Palais is a Sephora and a McDonald's. It's tourists shops sell more lavender products popular in Provence than anything related to the golden years of Christianity in the city. If it weren't for the giant cathedral and palace, Avignon would seem nothing more than charming, medieval city. But from the years 1309 to 1377, the city of Avignon, not Rome, was the seat of the Catholic Church.
            Like most papal doings of the time, the land for the Catholic seat was bought somewhat unethically. The fiery former Queen of Naples, Joanna I, sold the land to the pope on the condition that she would be exonerated for alleged murder of her husband (her first of four).
            During the sixty eight year reign of the popes in Avignon, the palace and cathedral was built and modified by seven different popes.

Palais des Papes

Courtyard of the Palais des Papes
     And what is a day trip in France without an unbelievably interesting meal. For lunch, my friend and I ate in a restaurant just off of the courtyard around the corner from the Palais. Because le mistral, the chilly wind that runs throughout the south of France, was very present that day, we ate inside. One thing to remember when coming to France is to specify how you want your meat cooked, otherwise they will place in front of you a steak as red as a flamenco dress and as raw as a cow still breathing on a farm. One thing that is so universal it makes me happy inside is that French fries always taste incredible in every country, and no matter how fancy the meal, they are always acceptable. 

Moelleux au chocolat

    Now, I'm going to be 100% serious when I write this next paragraph, because dessert in France is serious. Up until this past weekend, I'd always remembered the best thing I'd ever eaten. The year: 2012, summer. The place: also in France, in front of Notre Dame. I'd bought it at the bakery around the corner, a raspberry and pistachio eclair. Ditch the preconceived image of those stale Stop & Shop eclairs lined with cheap chocolate. This eclair was filled with an almost frosting like consistency, a pistachio cream in the center, lined on the outside with the most perfectly ripe raspberries you've ever tasted. It was heaven to enjoy, and gone too soon. How could anything compare to this dessert that made me feel closer to God than the giant cathedral before me?
  My answer didn't come until this past Saturday, in Avignon, eating this chocolate cake that was so much more than chocolate cake. Beneath the thick and moist cake was a liquid center of pure chocolate batter than flowed slowly out of the opened cake. The small glass on the side was filled with Madagascar vanilla cream that you could pour over the dessert at your leisure. When every last bit of the cake was scraped off the plate, I was brought back to that same place of utter contentment I only felt once before: when I ate that raspberry and pistachio eclair almost three years ago.

From the park, the Alps in the distance
     After a quick sunbathe and nap in the park, we visited our last destination for the day, the ancient bridge that crosses the Rhone, the second largest river in France.

From the bridge

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Fun Fact: La semaine de la langue française

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Un café

      This week is la semaine de la langue française, French language week. The French adore their language so much that they have an entire upper organization called the Académie Française devoted to preserving it. Any new word that comes into the language isn't officially a French word until it is approved by the Académie. Our classes have been all about French influences in other languages this week and we viewed a video announcement against inputting English words into French conversation. For example, someone would say: "Je suis overbooké" (I'm overbooked). The Académie is as horrified by this as I was when I heard Zayn was leaving One Direction.
     Don't get me wrong - the French love to use English words in their daily conversation, especially the young. It's considered very cool. But others fear use of these words decrease the value of the French language. 
    And now for some fun facts: 1) There is no French equivalent of the phrase "fun fact" and that makes me sad and 2) the English word "mushroom" came about when the English sailed to France, pointed to the mushrooms and asked what they were. In French, mushrooms are champignons, but a meadow where mushrooms are grown are called mousseron. The English heard mousseron (and ignored champignon) and by the time the word settled into English, it became mushroom.




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Sète and Carcassonne

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Sète and Carcassonne
(And More of Montpellier)

Sète
    In the past few weeks, I've been able to explore a little bit outside of Montpellier. Though Montpellier is a city with an unimaginable amount of things to do, the other areas of the Languedoc-Roussillon region are worth visiting.

    Last weekend, some new friends from England and Switzerland and I took the fifteen minute train ride to the port city of Sète. It's a town heavily dependent on it's fishing industry, and one of the problems plaguing their industry is over fishing by larger companies.

   After a (now typical) lunch of a baguette and cheese, we made our way up Mont Saint Clair, the small mountain that looks over the city and Meditteranean. We couldn't find trail up to the top, so we followed the cars and took the much longer route up to the top. The panting, the heavy stomachs, the ill prepared hiking attire, the feeling like giving up and realizing how out of shape you actually are, and the occasional bickering on the way up (we all had different ideas on what the French "dead end" road signs meant), it was all worth it. It always is.




   This past weekend, I went on the excursion with my school to Carcassonne, the medieval town where Robin Hood (the Kevin Costner version) was filmed. It was a chilly day, and the wind made the visit slightly miserable. But the castle was straight out of a fairy tale, perched on top of a hill overlooking the countryside.




   This past Monday, I got roped into volunteering at a local middle school by one of the directors at the Accent Francais. I was nervous out of my mind because 1) I had to ride the tram to get there, and me and the tram had decided to live separate lives after the tram workers decided to give me a 35 euro fine for not stamping my ticket, and 2) I had no idea what to expect.
   I should learn never to trust my anxiety, because the experience was beyond anything I expected. I walked into the classroom, decorated in American and British flags and a cardboard display the length of an entire wall advertising the Fast and the Furious, and was greeted by the sprightly English teacher. He explained to me that he hadn't told his students I was coming and was very excited for me to help them learn English. Some students shied away, some giggled when I said hello to them, and some waved enthusiastically and exclaimed a hearty hello in return. The teacher had them ask questions in English and write down my responses also in English. I was told not to speak any French, but having just come from a class where I had to speak French and nothing but French, I slipped up a few times. 
   Their questions ranged from "Where are you from?" to "Do you have any brothers or sisters?" to "Do you see famous people?" to "Will you marry me?". Their faces became an amusing look of incomprehension when I said that I was from Connecticut. They were very interested in the fact that I had a twin brother. One boy was very upset I didn't listen to heavy metal or Doctor Who (but not too upset, this was the same boy who asked me to marry him). A group of girls strongly recommended I watch the TV show Empire, so I told them I would watch it and let them know what I thought. 
   They are all so bright and curious, and it was thrilling to be back in a classroom, listening to the teacher-student dynamic, finding out what they're learning and answering the students' questions. I'm looking forward to my Monday afternoons now.
   
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Une Semaine à Montpellier

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One Week in Montpellier

My walk to school
     I'm back at it, here in a new city where I have absolutely no idea what's going on half the time. Where I smile and nod and politely lie about understanding the French phrases rapidly spoken to me. Where it feels like an unnecessarily long amount of time to greet everyone with the customary three kisses on the cheek. Where I've eaten more bread in the past week than I've eaten in two months back home.
   But it's also where I feel like laughing during conversations at dinner with my host family because I am so ridiculously happy for the opportunity to work my way through their dialogues. It's where the people love coffee was much as I do and sit outside at the numerous cafes, sipping their espressos and talking with their friends. Where I can have wine with my lunch and eat as much bread as I want because the French assure me this habit won't make you fat (ask me again how I feel in two months).

    Montpellier is located in the south of France, fifteen minutes from the Mediterranean. It's known as a student city because of it's many universities, and one of the best places to study medicine (Nostradamus studied at the University of Montpellier in the early 1500's). 

  I am living with a host family in the centre historique, the historic district that's a four minute walk from the Accent Francais, my French school. Next to the school is the main town square, the Place de la Comédie. 

Place de la Comédie
    According to Jean-Paul, Accent Francais' beloved animated tour guide, Montpellier is regarded as a new city, new in the French sense that it was built after the Greek and Roman empires (which is consequently the reason the architecture looks more Parisian). But compared to the historical timeline of the United States, Montpellier is an ancient city. Many of the buildings are older, hundreds of years older, than the United States itself.


Place de la Comédie at night

    My classes are an adventure, and I've never concentrated so hard in my life. The classes are taught and explained all in French, and my classmates include people from Belgium, Colombia, Switzerland, Qatar and Japan. 

   In the afternoons, I walk around the city and find myself wandering through streets or stumbling upon churches. Or, sitting at cafe, sipping un café and doing homework or reading a book (I've started reading, or trying to read, Wild by Cheryl Strayed in French).

   I've found myself feeling 1000 different emotions everyday. From excitement to nervousness to homesickness to the desperate need to express myself to the intense joy when I understand a word I hadn't a week ago. It's an incredible way to live, and I'm looking forward to two more months of it.
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Emilia Romagna

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Exploring Northern Italy
Center of Parma
    It's been a while since my last post! I apologize, what with our 5 day excursion to the Emilia Romagna region of Italy and final papers and exams, I've been a bit busy. But last week, as part of our program, our group went to the Emilia Romagna region and experienced a whole new side of Italy.


   Emilia Romagna is located north of Tuscany and was a 9 hour drive away from Castellammare in the Campania region. Going to the north of Italy was like going to another country after being in the Naples area. The area is greener, cleaner and is more industry based than the south of Italy. It felt more European whereas southern Italy has it's own culture entirely, as well as most areas of Italy.

  Our first two days we were in Parma, easily my favorite city in Italy so far. It charmed me with it's student vibe, unique history and architecture and of course, it's cheese. Parma is the home of parmesan, parmigiano, cheese. There's something about putting freshly grated parmesan cheese on pasta that makes it taste so much better. The north of Italy is famous for it's stuffed pasta as well, and we sprinkled the parmesan over a ravioli dish stuffed with ricotta cheese and herbs. 
Parma Cathedral

La Pilotta, bombed in WWII then partially rebuilt

All wood amphitheater 

Baptistery, made of marble from Venice
   Parma is great because everyone bike rides. They even have stations on the sidewalks where you can "rent" bikes for free. You put a coin in the slot, get the bike and use it, and when you return it you get your coin back.

  The next day we ventured outside of Parma to the most extraordinary countryside I've ever seen. Most people think of Tuscany when they think of quintessential Italian countryside, but Emilia Romagna should not be overlooked. It's filled with rolling green hills and small Italian towns. We went to Torrechiara, a 15th century castle with an interesting back story, situated between some of the rolling green hills with a view of the Apennine Mountains in the distance. 
Castello di Torrechiara (photo credit: wikipedia)
    Though the above photo isn't mine, I wanted to show the beauty of the area. We went on a rainy day and couldn't see much in the distance. The castle was built by Pier Maria II Rossi, a wealthy count and excellent soldier, for his mistress, Bianca Pelligrini. It was one of two castle he built for her. In fact, a lot of the artwork depicted in the castle are a tribute to how they had to no choice in falling in love and it was as if they were hit by Cupids arrow.



Surrounding area

On the balcony of the castle
  The rest of our trip took place in Bologna and around the city. Bologna is called the red city because of the many buildings built of red brick. Some of the historical buildings like their castle fortress was bombed in WWII and they've done an excellent job at restoring it to look like the original.

Labor Day Protests


  It was Labor Day for the Italians on the day we walked around Bologna. It's tradition to take to the streets and protest on labor day. Specifically, I saw a protest against Coop, which is a supermarket chain in Italy. 

  Something that is popular in Bologna and other cities in the north is aperitivo, which is like happy hour but included in the price of your drink is a small buffet where you can eat appetizers.

On the last day of our excursion, we went to a balsamic vinegar tasting and a wine tasting. The balsamic vinegar tasting, at San Donnino Vineyard outside of Modena, included tasting 5 different kinds of vinegar. Balsamic vinegar is popularly used on bread here in Italy, but depending on how long the vinegar has aged, it can be used on almost anything. We even tried balsamic with ice cream which was interesting. The older the vinegar, the better quality and the more expensive. 

Balsamic on ice cream

Balsamic vinegar storage
  We tasted red and white wines at the San Polo vineyard not too far away. The owner walked us through the process of producing the wine and how it's changed over the years.
San Polo vineyard
  We ended our trip at a stop at the Ferrari museum, where we were brought through the different stages of Ferrari's, from racing cars to the ones we have today. 

My future car
   I only have one week left of my program, a week in France after that and then I'll be home. It's going to be hard saying goodbye to the friends I've made here and the most amazing view, but I'm excited to visit Paris again and to see my friends and family (and puppy Sophie!) at home.

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