[A] Paris: June 19-26

I wrote a seven page journal for my French course on my trip to Paris. Here is that journal Google translated:

A week in Paris
Alex Weaver

19/06/2010
We left Aix approximately 11 hours of the morning by the TGV, which I liked very much. The train was nearly quarter of a mile long, divided into 11 cars, each the same model, each configured in rows of seats that were faced front and back, both options being of equal access. I had a hard time to choose the direction I wanted to face. Unfazed by the stomach illness caused by the movement or velocity of such a train, this was not then an opposite reason to look back on the long road I had come with minimal physical effort. However, knowing that a cherished past is a future neglected, I took a seat toward the front side of Allie, who had previously borrowed my book of Maupassant. We talked briefly about The Tales of the Woodcock before she fell peacefully asleep, and I quickly followed suit. Our arrival in Paris was both exhilarative and of disappointment, because I very much liked that train. After I had set and walked a lot, I ate a dinner which was neither good nor bad, nor anything but free. One night in a bar Latin capped a good day.

20/06/2010
In the morning, my friend Brian and I left after breakfast without purpose. We had a number of hours to pass before the group met at the Pont Neuf for a tour of the Seine in a boat. We happened on the first cathedral of St. Paul, and, being a Sunday, there was a running service. As a Jew, I am not inclined to go to Catholic mass. However, given the circumstances, this being the first church I visited in Paris, the service almost reached its conclusion, its conduction in pure Latin, I felt compelled to stay until the rest of the crowd, particularly French, had their fill. Only fifteen minutes. Nevertheless, I saw for the first of six times how the cathedrals of Paris reached their goal. I imagined a peasant in the 15th century, when St Paul's Cathedral was consecrated, traveling to the city by the invitation of the Bishop of Paris extended to all inhabitants of the surrounding area. I compared the richness of the structure and perfection of the glass with the best compassionate approximation I could give to life of a working country man. I was amazed. We continued our walk to the tour of the Seine, that until another tour on foot, walking to dinner and the night was born again. The night before, I met some U.S. Marines and exchanged contact information, thinking little. That night, they called me to invite myself and some friends at their home, an American vessel clandestine and diplomatic on the periphery of the city. There, the drinks were free, the company spoke the same language, and I was again, albeit briefly, on American soil. This brief detour and bizarre convinced suspicion of nostalgia that so far I have felt.

21/06/2010
The next day asking more of me than the previous one, I go into Notre Dame for the third time in my life. I had been to Paris before, once with my whole family, including grandparents, the next time with my father and my sister, who was then studying in Paris. My most prominent of the first visit is my inability to digest a force of scallops fed by my father, at after all, a very good restaurant. My fight was of restaurant noise certainly less beautiful than the night. The second trip I remember quite well, as then I had sixteen. The Cathedral of Notre Dame is, in my opinion, one of the greatest treasures of mankind. This size and age and are impressive, but its craftsmanship, its maintenance and its relevance religious strengthen its uniqueness. Shortly after my visit, the group took a tour of Sainte-Chapelle and the Conciergerie, two strikingly different stories that share a wall and a courtyard. I liked to imagine the life of Clovis, the manufacturer of the 6th century palace concierge, then prison, then museum. I imagined him with a beard extraordinary. That day was the longest of the year, and what became the longest night of the trip. The music festival had kept us from our beds close until dawn.

22/06/2010
After a fruitless struggle with the clock I got up in time to meet the train to Versailles, most proud descendant of Louis the Sun King, the fourteenth, last throw of the French heart. His mouth looks over the city as his sun would have over the seventeenth century, and its opulence ride was probably no error in its assessment but sadly representative of the taxpayer. No man who has seen this castle has in the same seen lasting wealth. I spent some time in his gardens, much of it asleep, and saw the production that was perfection. The extent to which the monarchs must control their environment is most evident in the practice of maintaining the garden. The gardens of Versailles are maintained to exude the royalty of the French order. The effect is hypnotic only to those who see control as being equal to governance. For those to whom the distinction is more obvious, the gardens have an adverse effect, not insignificant. That night I went with the group to see Les Miserables, the English adaptation of the masterpiece of Victor Hugo. I was happy without equivocation.

23/06/2010
In the morning, I woke up and took the subway to the Louvre, one of my favorite places in Paris. Our visit was mainly French art, which, given the context of world art in outline, is undoubtedly the richest of all the national collections. My favorite piece was the first one we visited, one of series depicting the life of Marie de Medici, sorry for Peter Paul Rubens. The equations of Mary and Juno and her husband Henri IV and Zeus showed the wealth and arrogance on par with Versailles, the actual performance of perfect beauty as a medium. We also admired the works of David, Gericault, Delacroix and the Barbizon, the chronology maintained in advance of convenience. I was happy with our guide and her selections. Humanity as a whole, however, I did not like so cramped. In response to the crowd that is the Louvre, I went for a walk alone after our visit. Five hours and 25 kilo later, I returned to the inn, and after five hours of socializing, I was in bed.

24/06/2010
Thursday was a free day in terms of programming as the cause of delaying our visit to the Musée d'Orsay was the government through shitty strikes. I took this unique opportunity to sleep; I'd definitely not enough during the week. Around 9:30 I was moving in the room, writing postcards to my girlfriend overseas, some reading of a book abandoned for the bustle of Parisian life, or at least that of tourist. When the rest of my roommates had finally lifted, we all went to eat Chinese food at or near the Cathedral of St. Paul, then I went with Russell at the Eiffel Tower for a nap in the sun. This nap was had, and I came back to the hostel only for a little exercise, another 10 kilo to my total. After dinner, a large group of my friends and I went back to the Tower for wine and light zones. Another long night has left me asleep in my bed.

25/06/2010
The next day was very long and started at 8 am, with my departure to the Orsay Museum. I was equally fascinated, it seemed, with the works and with how much I had drunk the night before. But I did go, and I can call it my favorite museum with comfort, giving additional demand for wild experiments before finding lunch and Montmartre. There, the group took a tour of the district and the Sacre-Coeur, which is at its peak. At this stage, I was especially tired. I caught a brief respite before returning to celebrate the 22th anniversary of life of my friend Lizzie. For dinner, we chose, rather randomly, a restaurant to the Basque, Chez Grandine. I had one of the best meals of my young life. Snail in the Basque, peppers stuffed with fish and potatoes, and lots of sangria. As a group, we drove to the Eiffel Tower, to whom I looked like an old friend. I capped the night with a pancake nutella.

26/06/2010
I woke up after sleeping ready to return to Aix and complete darkness on account of yet another alcohol headache. My trip to Paris was really wonderful. I knew the city as I never had with the family, and had strengthened the friendships of youth in the process. Paris has been a change of pace of life in Aix. It was a journey into a journey, but the kind of time that was not as durable as my life here. I love traveling, but even more I enjoy settling. I had a bit of Italian cuisine before heading to the station with group, where I wrote some poetry, listened to some Dave Brubeck, and became ready to settle on my old friend, the TGV.

[A] Cinque Terre, Italy: 11-13 June

We left for Cinque Terre, after much hassle from a rental car employee, on Friday afternoon, five of us in a European compact, heading across the coasts of both countries. The drive was a tolerable five hours of tunnels interpersed with ocean views, tollways dotted with road (toll total: 40Euro). We had a small miscalculation at Genova that led to about a 25 minute detour, but by 7:30 we were in the Cinque Terre area, looking for Monterosso al Mare, the second-most west of the five towns. We took one more wrong turn, but quickly realized it, and went to turn around. As we pulled in to a driveway on a winding cliff-hung road, an Italian had to stop rather abruptly behind us to avoid an accident. He was upset. He pulled his car up even with where we had gone to turn around, got out, shaking and screaming "Che cazzo avete fatto?" [What the dick did you do?]. We, caught completely off guard, were still laughing as he went to approach us. Two more cars come down the road, and the man was forced to move, capping our first Italian encounter at incredibly strange.

We parked the car in a public lot and began the search for our hotel. Walking instructions included, "Find Ely's wine bar", "Take a right at the two dogs. They are harmless." and numerous other gems. We were in search of a man named Manuel.When finally we found the broad stairs described in the directions, Jen, Lizzie, and Andrew went up to check in, and Brian and I stayed at the bottom of the hill, as we had reserved a four person room and were not inclined to be charged for five. As Brian and I stood and chatted, I saw an older man speaking to the people around him and looking nervously in our directions. A minute passed, and finally he approached us.

"Is it that you seek a man named Manuel?"
"Yes."
"I am him, Manuel."

He directed us in English towards the check-in, where he said his nephew Lorenzo was waiting. We were not charged for five people, thankfully. The room had a fantastic view, a full balcony, and a roomy bath. Here is the view from our balcony.

We ventured into town for food around 9 o'clock. We settled at a seafood restaurant by the beach. I had enormous shrimp. Full and satisfied, we brought a few bottles of wine back up to the room and enjoyed our view as the sun set fully. Later we went back down to a wine bar, found ourselves later at an American bar with a number of strange 30 somethings, and ended the night on the beach with a few pizzas.

In the morning we set out to hike to the next town, Vernazza, and by 11 we had hit the trail, which proved to be more challenging than our wine-sweating bodies had anticipated. We made it, nonetheless, in good time, hiking through vineyards, wildflowers, and broad ocean views.

Once in Vernazza, we went in search of water, for which we had foolishly not provided, and sat out on the rocks overlooking the harbor.

Andrew and Jen went for a petite swim. We took in the view, and I appreciated, on account of the night before, the slight overcast to dim the Mediterranean sun. We then, once again, went in urgent search of food. We found, inside the old, waterborne town, what was later called the best pizza ever, and I see little historical evidence to dispute that. We ate on benches by the beach.

We later enjoyed some gelato from an Italian who enjoyed mocking us. Andrew then napped on the pier and I read nearby; the others found a similar fate on the rocks. At 3:10 we took the ferry back to Monterosso.

There we found the new part of town, which had gone unexplored the night before. On its edge are the best beached in Cinque Terre, and we enjoyed the last hours of sunlight there, all of us swimming for a spell in the relxingly salty Mediterranean. I floated away a few good minutes.

Around 6 we headed back to the hotel for showers before dinner and hopes of catching the first U.S. world cup game in the American bar from the night before. We were more inclined, however, to take our time, and happened into what was later called the best meal of all time, and I find little historical evidence to counter that either. My first plate was spaghetti al pesto, my second was frito misso, a combination of the best calamari, crayfish(ish), and anchovies I have ever had fried, alongside two bottles of Chianti. Dessert was inconceivably good. I had an apricot marmalade chocolate cream cake. What. The restaurant gave us free limoncello. It was all too good. By the time we had finished, it was 10:15, and the soccer game had ended. None of us seemed to mind. We got some beers, wandered to the new side of town, enjoyed some wine on the beach, wandered back, happened upon an outdoor beach-side dance party, wandered more, returned to the beach party, watched a dance off, watched the dance off devolve into an Italian fight, watched the police come, and headed home.

The next morning most of us had regained pulses by 11, and we checked out, left our things, and headed to the beach for the last few hours. I read up in a shaded cafe for the first half, with sme watermelon, then almost as soon as I had returned to the beach, a group of Vanderbilt-in-Italy students walked up, including my friend Sarah Reid, from both Springfield and Vanderbilt. I was not sure what was happening, but it did not last long, as by 2 we had to be on the road. We got some pizzas to go, and enjoyed them on a stone wall hanging over a small stream on the edge of town.

The drive home was uneventful until we pulled into the return station, when we realized we needed to refill gas. An hour and four exits later, we returned the car and took the bus back to Aix. Terrific weekend.

À tout à l'heure,
a

[A] Briançon- June 4-6

Brian and I took the 5:12 Friday train up to Briançon from Aix, and the entire four hour ride was a lesson in scenery. What started as rolling Provençal hills turned eventually to alps, and we found ourselves wedged between four mountain in the small town called Briançon. We had little idea of where our Hotel de Paris was other than near the train tracks, so with luck we started right towards it. The room itself was fairly bare bones, but had a balcony, two beds, and a functioning shower, so all was good. We left the room at about 9:45 in search of a late dinner. When we arrived at the town square, we found that most of the seasonal ski town's bars stopped serving food at ten. We were directed to a small ITalian restaurant where a couple german groups seemed to still be eating. I spoke to the owner in Italian, and asked if he had any food to serve us. He paused, and said "pizza?" We were appropriately ecstatic. He brought it out with two Peroni, basically unfiltered water. We devoured it, and, satiated, rolled back down the hill.

The next day at 8:30 we ventured out in search of a hiking trail we had seen on a map. It started from near the old town, which itself was up quite a hill. On the way we stopped to buy water and breakfast. The town was deserted at 9:30 am, and we walked through the streets, entered the central cathedral, hiked up to an old fort overlooking the town, and by 10:30 were ready for the trail.

We picked up some sandwiches to go, a great decision, and made our way up to the top of an alp. It was about a two and a half hour hike, taken at a good pace considering the slope, and by the time we reached the top we were gassed.

The sheer altitude we had ascended astounded us. We were looking down on things on surrounding cliffs that in the morning had seemed insurmountable. We ate our lunch, and begn our descent from 3000 feet. On the way down we refilled water at a cold, clear mountain spring routed next to the trail for that purpose.

Back at the old town, we rewarded ourselves with treats, Brian with ice cream, and I with a nutella crepe.

We rolled back down the hill and into bed until dinner, when we woke up, stumbled up to "The Club," and had our first burgers of the trip.

In the morning, being surprisingly unsore, we roused ourselves and stumbled upon an open market a-la-Aix. We bought apples, peaches, strawberries, grapes, and some delicious potato-filled ravioli, a regional special. We made our way towards what we had been told was an easy valley trail, finding ourselves instead headed straight up another mountain. It was almost as if we didn't have the energy to resist, and we continued to climb. Once we got to where a road split off lateraly, we opted instead for that, and stopped at a routed waterfall to eat some of our food. Continuing on, we found ourselves on a road frequented by motorbikes and, formerly, tour de france members (one of whom had apparently died in the course of the event on the side of this road). We were far above what we knew to be a river, but could not see it. We turned back. Out of curiosity, we went down a road that had the illusion of access to a dam. Quickly we saw that it did indeed lead to a dam, which was holding up a gorgeous, bright blue lake. We spotted a picnic table and made a beeline.

(The picnic table is in the bottom left of the second picture)

We then ate most of the rest of our goodies, and took in the view for another half an hour. We decided to catch the 1:00 train home instead of the 4:00, feeling our energy sapping. We returned to the hotel to grab our things and headed for the train home to Aix, capping off an incredible weekend trip.

Ciao,
A

[A] Week one in Aix

I have officially settled into what will be my home for the next 6 weeks. Aix en Provence is a spectacular town, bursting wiht life and culture. Adjoining our street, Rue Mejanes, is a square formally known as Place de le Madeleine and known locally as Place de la Courier, called so for the post office on the side opposite my apartment. This small square functions as a local farmers market seven days a week, with larger markets sprawling across the town on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. The markets are well priced and naturally all local, and a few times now I have constructed meals using only these fresh ingredients. The market is open every day until about 12:30.

After that, a small collection of cafés spreads into the square and sets up differently colored awnings and umbrellas under which I have taken to enjoying my afternoon coffee with my kindle and the lively square. These afternoons are much cheaper here in the center of the old town than in the new and tourist-inclined 20th century center. I find it easy to manage my food budget accordingly.

The walk to class is 10 minutes at a stroll, 6 in a hurry. The center is connected to the building of the largest collection of Cezanne's artwork in the world (Cezanne lived for much of his life in Aix), which in turn is connected to a church that celebrates is 760th anniversary in August. That is almost unfathomable to me.

My French is coming along well. I managed to learn enough in the first 3 days to bypass 102 and move straight to intermediate, 103. This was undoubtedly greatly facilitated by my knowledge of other romance languages' grammar. I am the only student in 103, and I have two teachers, Madame Iannone, who focuses on grammar and spelling, and Mademoiselle Delaveaux, who works with me for speaking and reading. This is clearly an unusually lucky situation, as it seems I now have two private tutors. My first day of class consisted of a pre-test with Madame Iannone and subsequent construction of the coursework, and a trip with Mademoiselle Delaveaux to the bookstore to find a project we would work through together (we chose Maupassant's Les contes de la Bécasse) and a brief spell at a café to chat. This is definitely more fun than school, yet I have definitely learned more here in a week than in any other in my life.

I have class only three days a week- Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday. Wednesdays are reserved for group excursions. On the weekends Brian and I plan to travel throughout the region. This weekend we are staying two nights in Briançon.

Au revoir,
A

[A] Luberon- 2 June 2010

On Wednesday we took a group excursion to the Luberon, a small mountain range in Northern Provence. We began the day in Rousillon, an old (no really) ochre mining town built onto one of its red cliffs. We began, after the hour or so bus ride, by walking to the top of the village with spectacular views of the countryside around us. [Credits to Tessa for all of these pictures. I forgot my camera at the apartment.]

We stopped at a café for lunch that was above average in terms of price, but given the limited options and advertisement of "Panoramic View- 0.00", Tessa, Brian, and I gave it a shot. Worthwhile for sure. My food was great and the view was indeed astounding. We overlooked the red cliffs of Rousillon and the valley between us and the next mountain over.

As a full group we went into the old mine, le sentier des ocres, for about an hour's hike over red rocks and sand. I had fun experimenting with canyoning. I believe there are multiple vidoes of that. The old mine was of notably craggy topography, but the trails were well-tread and the hike was enjoyable even if warm. The alpine ecology against the martian geoscape was striking. I officially geeked out. On our way back we got a great view of Rousillon.

We had a spot of glaces, and Kate Brolley and I enjoyed ours on the wall overlooking the mine. It was a beautiful day, and the chocolat noir really hit the spot. I went for the waffle cone. Risky, but a good choice.

The short bus ride to Gordes was slept by most. I opted to enjoy the views. Gordes was atop another modest mountain. Evidently it had been mostly abandoned for the first half of the twentieth century, and recolonized by a group of artists and restored to its current function.

We stopped briefly for the above view, and then continued into the town. We were set free for about an hour and a half. For the first thirty minutes I explored with a group, including a venture into a medieval cathedral, then settled after Mmd. Monchal showed Emily, Jessica, Laura, and I a primo view spot. We talked about Judaism and language, naturally two of my favorite topics.

The wind really began to pick up as we were ready to board the bus home and began blowing down signs and merchandise from the magasins atop the hill. Madames Monchal and Tucker and I hid for cover behind an ancient wall of the central Chateau. The Luberon was a wonderful day trip, and I would like to return for longer someday soon.

A bientôt,
A

[A] Cassis- 29 May 2010

On Sunday, we went to Cassis, a town on the French Riviera (famous for the liqueur of the same name) and enjoyed a day at the beach. Cassis is about an hour's bus ride from Aix to the southeast.

We began the trip with a coastline tour, traveling in and out of coves, viewing remote beaches, winding throughout ragged Mediterranean cliffs. I made the mistake of sitting at the front of the boat and, having swiftly dismissed the suggestion to bring a jacket to the beach town, I nearly froze as I was pummeled by water, but it was enjoyable. The views were incredible.

After returning to Cassis, Brian, Laura, and I got some sandwiches to take out (including my first croque monsieur) and sat near the docks to eat them. We then wandered towards the rocks at bottom of the cliff (described at one point as the largest in France?) and relaxed, took in the sea and sun.

I decided to walk into town to explore a little bit, and chanced upon an art market of all local work. It was surprisingly good quality, but stylistically it was bit from Cezanne and Matisse pretty heavily. Considering the context, I'm fine with that. After another ten minutes of walking, I sat down to have a coffee at the small harbor. Our day there was drawing to an end.

I went back out and joined the group on a platform near the rocks on which I had been, and after a dip in the water I finished Calvino's Palomar (in Italian) and prepared to board the bus. While waiting, I discussed the possibility (in French) of my moving from the beginner class to the intermediate. Mmd. Monchal seemed convinced, and put me in French 103. I am the only student in that class, and I have two professors. Life is grand.

Ciao,
A