Tuesday, November 27, 2012

Missing: If found, please report.


I have been in France for five months 20 days and counting.

I miss laughing at least 80 percent of the time.  I miss my cat meowing and taking my dog for walks.  I miss my Nature’s Gate shampoo and conditioner.  I miss my own shower. I miss my own bed.  I miss the rest of my clothes, which have been neglected for 5 months.  I miss not getting to know my new house.  I miss Carpenter Library with the tables.  I miss my job working in archives. I miss people smiling on the street.  I miss blue skies 200 days out of the year instead of 14.  I miss local things.  I miss knowing people on the street and I miss Vermont farmers’ markets.  I miss really good tap water.  I miss green spaces that weren’t artificially made but rather consciously protected.  I miss my sweatpants.  I miss swimming.  I miss responsible students.  I miss BYOB restaurants. I miss Vermonters.  I miss Bryn Mawr.  I oddly miss the United States.  I miss Bear Pond Books.  I miss the English language.  I miss my quirks.  I miss driving.  I miss playing the saxophone.  I miss my friends.  I miss my family.  I miss my oddly extended family.  I probably miss you (whoever you are reading this).  I miss understanding academia.  I miss being a true-to-the-core political science major.  I miss having the New York Times to read at breakfast.  I miss having the New York Times crossword puzzle to attempt.  I miss yarn-bombed places.  I miss snow.  I miss the bitter cold of fall in Vermont.  I miss tjmaxx.  I miss my printer.  I miss coin rolls.  I miss well water.  

Thursday, November 1, 2012

Revolution...pourquoi pas?

Living in Paris definitely has it's ups and downs.  Who knew?  Apparently Louis XIV did in the 17th century when he moved his court to Versailles (or something like that).  The gold-laden, mammoth estate of Versailles is obnoxious in all its "glory".  The buildings are huge, the tourists are everywhere and the history seems absent at times.  As my father put it, I "visited the place that caused the French Revolution."  Indeed Versailles is ridiculous to the point of unbelievable, but at the same time there is one aspect that gave my exploration a certain charm.

Versailles was one place I thought I would visit because if I didn't do it now, I probably never would.  Last year in England I visited castles left and right, but compared to England Versailles is barely a castle.  Versailles is a royal estate.  The buildings alone explain the horrible labor that the monarchy forced upon the backs of the French but the gardens bring the estate to a whole new level.  The gardens were also my favorite part.  Unlike the castles in England, Versailles feels like a dollhouse waiting for some little girl to place her dolls on the pink ottomans or have tea on the hideous green china.  The English castles, while much older and often in ruins, felt much more like the places of royalty as I could invent my own ideas of what life must have been like.  The gardens at Versailles however leave nothing to the imagination and instead bring you into a magical land of fountains and mazes and music.  

We were lucky enough that our visit landed on one of the last days of the Grandes Eaux Musicales, the spectacle that takes place at Versailles on the weekends from March to October.  Walking out to the gardens, which also meant breathing real air after a few hours inside, we walked out to water splashing and a symphony playing off in the distance.  After a quick tour of the gardens just off the side of the entrance we headed towards the main "canal."  It was here that I was mesmerized.  Music was playing all around me and I was convinced that I would turn the corner and there would be the Paris Orchestra.  Unfortunately that was just my imagination again.  My next thought was that the music was coming from the fountains themselves.  Wrong again.  I started looking for the speakers, and despite Versailles' best attempt to hide the large black sound projectors in the green trees behind fences, I soon found the source of the melodies that were seeping around us. It may seem over done, and frankly looking back it all seems like a pretty good reason to start a revolution, but in the 21st century on a bitter, cold day in the fall, I was quite pleased to have an accompagnement to my walk around the gardens of Versailles.  



Wednesday, October 24, 2012

apologies

I've been contemplating various aspects of my life recently.  Apart from that I've been very busy but I promise to write a blog post within the days to come.


Wednesday, October 10, 2012

Franchement,

My apologies for the time lapse.  I haven't felt like there has been anything particularly interesting to write about but I've come to realize that probably isn't true.  I have been here for a month and a day, or thereabouts and while Paris is a completely different experience than everything else I've done this summer, I feel like I've been here all along. Instead of adjusting to speaking French, living with strangers, and other aspects of complete immersion, I've had to re-adjust from my farm life/vacation adventures that I had this summer.  It hasn't really hit me until now how many new and exciting experiences I had this summer.  Now being in Paris I find myself aching for the simplicity of farm life and the beaches of southern France.

To begin with my recent revelations I have just had two "full" weeks of classes and have been exposed to the French university education system "le Fac."  Le Fac is not Bryn Mawr, not in the least.  It has happened that some of my professors (of which I have 6, for 4 classes) will hand out minimal syllabi or relatively detailed reading lists (what I now refer to as "winning the jackpot) as most professors will give a bibliography with 20 or so books and that's it.  At Bryn Mawr that doesn't quite cut it, and I know from my inside view into a few departments at different american universities, that professors are required to give students certain amounts of information (in written form) at the beginning of a class.  (While all professors may not actually do this, it is generally the norm, especially for small liberal arts colleges.)  Apart from the lack of clearly noted information on the aspects/requirements/expectations of the courses the manner in which these professors teach is completely new to me.  In this sense, Bryn Mawr spoils its students.  I have never had a class with more than 40 students and 98.8% of my classes at Bryn Mawr/Haverford have less than 15 students.  During these classes we usually sit around a round table and discuss the readings for the week, yes occasionally tangents will occur, but with a decent professor, those tangents will come back around to something meaningful after an hour and a half or so.  This is not the case in Paris.  At the Sorbonne (Université Paris IV) I have two classes that are split into two sections, CM (cour magistral) and TD (travaux dirigés), a lecture and a seminar.  One will never find a course that is simply CM (at least not anymore) and often courses are turning into seminar style courses like in the US.  One of my geography classes and my Francophone literature class both represent the CM/TD models.  Each part of the class is taught by a different professor and the TD is a younger professor while the CM professor tends to be a "big wig" in the field.

To give an example of "big wig" I'll tell you a story.  Once upon a time (Il était un fois)... My geography class began two weeks ago.   The "salle" was labeled as an auditorium (amphithéâtre) so obviously the class would be large. I walked into the auditoirum and there were a few students sitting in the very last row of a very large room (that doesn't even exist at Bryn Mawr) rolling cigarettes on their way out.  Apparently the class had been cancelled and later I would learn that the class wouldn't start until two weeks after the TD started (this week).  This week I had the privilege to meet this professor of historical and political geography, a researcher in the field.  He arrived in front of about 100 students, Tuesday mid-day, attempted to work a USB with a technician (it didn't work) and then proceeded to speak for one hour, saying practically nothing and going in circles about the difference between géographie historique, géographie politique, and géopolitics, all of which we already learned.  While I do not want to berate the French education system (although there are many things horribly wrong) I just thought I'd point out that coming to the Sorbonne is not what i imagined coming to the Sorbonne would be like.  Besides for my geography professor who would most likely rather be researching, my French professors are good, interesting, relatively dynamic and well rounded in their fields.  Even my Francophone literature professor for the CM (held in a movie theatre because of construction) is interesting and funny, despite his statements that Vermont was Francophone and Montpellier and Montpelier were basically the same thing.  I knew what I signed up for would be different than Bryn Mawr.  I knew I would never get communist cupcakes in a class about gender and sexuality in the Middle East, but a girl can dream.  Frankly (franchement, my new favorite french word) being in Paris is wonderful and overwhelming.   I don't think I will be able to process until next summer, and depending on my schedule, maybe not even then.

What I do believe is this: Bryn Mawr is probably the best place I could have ended up.  And I believe I have reached a level in my French that a) I can have random conversations with women about the strike happening near Montparnasse or old men fishing off the islands near Mont Saint Michel and b) I can critique the quality at which my professors' teach.  Both of these things must mean that my time in France so far has been a success, in many ways.  This post may seem un-Lianna, but in a short time I'm sure Lianna will be back.  It doesn't help that it rains a lot here and that French people actually do smell and are quite rude, but I'm living the Parisian life and growing up by leaps and bounds.



Friday, September 28, 2012

Métro-Métropolitan

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The metro in Paris has become a staple in my life.  For some it is baguettes, others small dogs, but for me, the metro.  The Paris Metro, short for Metropolitan is a symbol for the city not only for the speed and efficiency (usually) for public transportation but also for the Art Nouveau architecture that dominates the entrances and exits around the city.  Using the metro I can get from one point to another in just one transfer (if I plan carefully beforehand, or use the handy “offline” iPhone app I found).  While it isn’t as scenic as the buses that are also a large component of the Paris transport system, the metro has a quality of life that the bus just can’t match.  With about 4.5 million passengers a day I have seen walks of life that you can’t see when you walk from place to place or take the bus.  The metro truly is a unique situation.  Probably the most notable aspect unique to the metro are the “buskers” that hop from car to car hoping to earn a bit of money from each stop to stop.  Not all these “buskers” have a talent to share but they all are desperate for money, whatever their needs or wants might be.  During my first week I was on the metro and a man came on with a guitar, (I had my headphones on as I usually do to avoid the screeches of the breaks and the people on their cell phones) and he began singing and playing a song that I knew.  I took one of my ear buds out and listened, subtlety.  It turned out he was playing The Boxer, written by Paul Simon, sung by Simon and Garfunkel.  I had heard this song many times but hearing it sung by a French man in the subway was not the same and it was all I could do to keep from grinning at his pronunciation mistakes and the missed notes.  Despite my critique, his performance was the most practiced and refined of the Paris metro “buskers.”  Along with the musicians there are also the SDFs, sans domicile fixe homeless people, who hop from car to car explaining their situation and then cupping their hands hoping for some spare change as they pass through the car. 

The activity within the metro car isn’t what I find the most interesting however.  I love observing the people that ride the metro.  Most of them act as if they are disinterested in the activity of everyone else on the metro and so are consumed in their morning newspaper, in their iPhone, or in sleeping.  I can’t imagine, however, that anyone could be able to ignore the number of different people, different languages, and different situations that arise on the metro.  I find it extremely obnoxious when the British or Americans get on the train, usually middle-aged/elderly couples and they proceed to talk absurdly loud about whether or not they have to get off at this stop or the next.  Or at the station waiting for the metro in the middle of the night, loud teenagers who assume that yelling across the tracks is a productive and appropriate use of that space and time.  While I may seem like a social curmudgeon, I actually love it.  These qualities make the Paris metro, the Paris metro.  Without random people wondering where they are going, the doors not opening all the way, the number 4 metro being inhumanely hot, the metro just wouldn’t be the lovely experience it is whenever I hop on.  And while occasionally late at night around midnight, just before the metro shuts down it feels a bit strange as the SDFs get into their sleeping bags on the chairs in the stations, I feel confident and relatively safe.  Back home in Vermont we don’t have the metro, we don’t have efficient public transportation.  Until you live the metro you never really know what it means to “take the metro.”

Sunday, September 16, 2012

Paris l'amour

Paris as a city is absolutely wonderful.  While the streets don't align like in Manhattan and the people aren't quite as generous, the overall atmosphere is thrilling, vibrant, and Parisian.  I have spent my first week getting to know the 15th arrondissement (quarter).  My home base is the largest quarter in Paris and has proved to turn me around when I pop out of a new metro station.  One of the great advantages of living in a city for a extended period of time is that you can absorb the everyday life of the natives.  Two days ago I was walking to Montparnasse along a small side street near the Pasteur Institute.  On the opposite sidewalk I saw an elderly woman, probably in her 70s or 80s scootering.  This was not the automatic scooter that the elderly use when they can no longer walk, this was the stand up scooter that little kids play on.  She was extending her right foot to accelerate as she passed the car dealership and grocery store on her way to the main boulevard.  It was wonderful!

Paris is known for many different things.  The City of Love, the City of Lights, etc. but personally I think love fits quite nicely.  I have fallen in love with Paris and the ease in which I was able to become accustomed to life here.  Yesterday I changed my running route and ran to the Eiffel Tower.  Running down Boulevard Pasteur the Tower is in sight for most of the run just until the metro comes above ground.  I turned the corner at one point, keeping the direction of the Eiffel Tower in my head and I ran directly into a market.  I decided to run through the market because at 7:30am it wasn't teeming with Parisians yet.  All of the market vendors gave me slightly strange looks, a) because I wasn't buying anything and b) because I was running through their market.  Finally the Eiffel Tower was again insight but the military academy was in my way.  You cannot run through the military academy and even though my first instinct was to find a way to go through rather than around, I knew that wouldn't go over very smoothly with the French government.  So I went around and I ended up finding the UNESCO building on my left.  Further down I passed an Aston Martin dealership and finally I came to the Champs de Mars and the long park covered with trees and runners!  I ran to the Eiffel Tower which was incredible and then precieded to run around while watching all hte other people surround the structure.  I even managed to see the pompier (fireman) on their morning runs, the second time in a row as they were also in the Luxembourg Gardens.  These pompier, however took it to the next level.  First they were running with me around the park that surrounds the Tower, but before I knew it they were running up the stairs of the Eiffel Tower. 

Monday, September 10, 2012

running in Paris

My second full day in Paris has begun and this morning I started it off with a run.  I live fairly close to the Gare de Montparnasse as well as the Tour de Montparnasse.  Centrally located and from there I can see the Eiffel Tower and I'm only minutes away from the Jardin du Luxembourg, my favorite public park in Paris (so far).  When I was in Paris in 2001 we used to walk around the Luxembourg Gardens and I remember complaining occasionally and generally being disinterested as I tended to have been at 11.  I did however, enjoy see the groups of people practicing tai-chi as we walked past.  While it was quite a long time ago, I don't remember appreciating the open public space the Luxembourg Gardens provides the people of Paris.  Running this morning I was a bit early, at 7:22am most of the gates were still closed (and the people that were running in the park already most of snuck in.  (Note to self: find out how to get in early).  As I ran around the perimeter I was ready to get into the park and run like all the other Parisians.  Not too long after a security guard opened the gate and in I went.  I ran alongside the wall that parallels the roads and with me were many other runners, all at different points in their morning jogs.  I felt right at home.  The Luxembourg Gardens happen to be especially beautiful at 7:30 in the morning because they are not yet filled with the chitter chatter of high school students eating lunch nor the little kids running and playing.  Peaceful, beautiful and calm with only the pitter patter sound of the runners that come up in front and behind. 

Sunday, September 2, 2012

community WWOOFing

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The farm where I am ending my WWOOFing adventures has become the French equivalent of my Plainfield family.  With two parents who were former members of the commune Hilltop I have extended “family” throughout much of the Plainfield, Calais, Waterbury, East Montpelier area.  Similarly the people that I have encounter at L_ B_ L_ are kind, caring, funny, smart, witty, and most important, interesting!  Recently I learned that more people than I originally thought lived on this plot of farmland.  The two couples who I mentioned in the earlier post are the main proprietors of the farm and the current cultivators of the farmland, which they rent from the owner of the farm.  The son of the owner of the farm O_ lives with his partner in a loft connected to the old farmhouse that he grew up in as a child.  Then there is another yurt in their lawn and another caravan.  There reside two women who have a catering business with organic vegetarian food.  Everyone knows everyone and they have taken me along into their social life as well as their working farm life, which I have been greatly appreciative of and it has been a great way to use my French as well as meet many different people.  Sometimes it seems a bit odd as a WWOOFer to know exactly what your position is when you are working on a farm.  In some respects I am a volunteer worker and therefore these people are my bosses/supervisors.  In another sense they are much like a host family as they provide me with food and a place to sleep.  And in yet another sense, at this farm in particular, we have all become friends.   

This has been the WWOOFing experience that I was hoping for when I thought about spending six weeks working in Normandy.  While the idea of WWOOFing is an interesting and useful method to exchange work, culture, language, etc with many different people, the farm and the people that you encounter define the experience.  While the first two farms were interesting, the vibe was not the same and in the end, not worth my time and energy. However they each have given me a lifetime of stories as well as experiences that couldn’t have been matched anywhere else.  It is quite the experience to place oneself in an entirely different culture, language, and lifestyle, especially during your summer vacation.

Monday, August 27, 2012

Normand Cow


I seem to have landed into another world all together.   Yesterday I left the farm L_ G_ M_ with G_ and we have found ourselves in a much better situation.  We spent yesterday exploring the small city of Granville on the Atlantic coast and today we arrived at another farm.  This farm is composed of two couples that rent the land and each couple has their own animals and their own yurt on the land.  They share a garden as well as the surrounding farm buildings.  One of the couples, W_ and L_ have been here for three years, they built their yurt which is quite big and they raise the pigs for the meat as well as the veal.  A_ and L1 (another L)_ have been here since last October and they also have a yurt, although they eventually hope to build a house on the land.  A_ is in the process of starting a dairy from the milk from the cows (which currently feeds the veal) where he will make and sell milk, butter, and cheese.  L1_ works with A_ at the moment but would eventually like to start her own large vegetable garden.  Like V_ from the first farm I was at, L1 knows the local plants as well.  L1 also works with the vegetables at a agricultural high school in a nearby town, is a private tutor, and a volunteer firewoman.  She told us today that she likes having various different jobs and like I’ve realized working in Normandy farms, it is important to get off the farm every once in a while.  At the farm they milk the cows twice a day, but like I said at the moment the milk is only then given to the baby cows.  There are lots of pigs as well that are separated into various pastures depending on their ages.  Right now there are three mama pigs with piglets and these older females are separated from the males.  Then there are the slightly older piglets who aren’t quite old enough to be with the full-grown pigs, and lastly there is a pasture for the full-grown pigs who are getting ready for the slaughterhouse…little do they know.  There are cows as well (maybe 30 or so) and at the moment there is one that is particularly vocal because she lost her baby this morning and so she has been mooing consistently since we got here.  Apparently cows that are sad can also produce tears.  Who knew? 

While there doesn’t seem to be that much laborious work (mainly weeding so far) the farm is much more fun and interesting to be at.  The people are great and seem to enjoy what they have set up for themselves.  They only take WWOOFers when they want to and otherwise they enjoy having their lives to themselves.  And thankfully, they understand as both G_ and I do that WWOOFing is not only about working but also an exchange of culture, language and knowledge.  While the conditions are much wilder here than the other two farms, the atmosphere is great and having already had a number of good laughs and numerous smiles with the people I have met I know this will be a nice place to spend the last two weeks of my time in Normandy. 

Saturday, August 25, 2012

Adventures WWOOFing in Normandy

WWOOFing in Normandy has turned out to be an unexpected challenge.  WWOOFing here has been my first experience with this type of volunteer relationship amongst strangers and unfortunately it has not turned out, as I would have hoped.  The first farm I was at was relatively comfortable in terms of the people I met and worked with however there were severe problems with money that could not be avoided and always turned up in the discussions we had.  Last Saturday I switched farms and while I stayed within Normandy, I am in the department of Manche (which is technically in the Bay of Mont Saint Michel, although I wouldn’t exactly describe it as that).  It is a much smaller farm and V_ the woman who owns the farm lives alone and relies solely on the volunteer and presence of WWOOFer volunteers. The farm is relatively small and although she is government funded to have a “pedagogic farm” she has only owned the farm for four years and either hasn’t gotten around to that, or has decided that it is too much work.  This woman is a strong, bull-headed, independent woman who I think has suffered a lot in her life and is now trying to come to terms with her situation.  V_ has fibromyalgia and therefore she suffers a lot of pain and cannot do the things she used to love to do.  An active woman even now, V_ rode horses, motorcycles, lifted weights, etc. and now she is left to her own devices and is trying to sustain a life in Normandy. 


When I arrived the first thing I saw was a Newfoundland dog and immediately I assumed things would be fantastic!  But after the first meal I had with her and the other WWOOFers I knew that our characters and personalities didn’t mesh and that it would be a very challenging three weeks.  The one silver lining in this situation has been that when I arrived, another WWOOFer arrived as well.  G_ is a German medical student, my age, who is also on vacation and decided to make WWOOFing a part of that experience.  While working and living together may have encouraged both of us to think worse of the farm than it might have been for others, it has been great having a confidante and someone that I can trust.  A few days ago G_ and I decided to email other WWOOFing farms in the region to see if there was any possibility they would take us for the remaining time.  Luckily we got a response from a farm that is composed of two families and they said they could take us starting Monday.  While we would have liked to leave the farm a bit earlier, it took us a few days to process all the information, and to see if in fact, we really wanted to leave the farm.  Our plans were unraveling slowly and it became more clear as the days went on that we were indeed making the right decision. 

The farm has a gite on site and there is a family staying there at the moment with two small children.  Over the course of our time here the young girl has helped us every morning with the animal chores and we have gotten to know the family.  Both G_ and I felt very comfortable with them and we trusted them much more than we trusted V_.  So yesterday when G_ and I had made our decision that indeed we were going to leave the farm we confided in the family of our plans because we knew how close the young girl and become with us and because we wanted to let them know why we would be leaving.  It turned out to be a great conversation and after we told them our situation, we talked for an hour and a half over tea and tisanes.  Last night, both G_ and I slept a bit better because both of us had been quite anxious about the whole process and we decided that today we would inform Valerie of our decision and see what the next days would bring.  We worked all morning and there were numerous incidences of our clash of personalities, work ethics, etc.   Her lack of confidence in our abilities to weed the garden, feed the turkeys, etc, led us to believe that we had indeed made the right decision.  While we planned to tell her in the afternoon, we ended up delaying it until the evening because she ran some errands and we were brushing the dogs, etc.  Finally after dinner, we sat her down and said that we didn’t feel comfortable at the farm any more and that we had decided to leave.  I told her that I was sorry that we were interrupting the time we had said we would be available to work, but that it is our vacation and we do not feel like spending it here.  Thankfully, she took it fairly well and she is willing to drive us to the train station on Sunday.  Hopefully the next farm will be a bit better and Sunday G_ and I will be spending the day in Granville, a fortified costal down in Normandy. 



Monday, August 13, 2012

Far, Farm, Farming


I have been at the F__ d’E__ for about two weeks now and it has been one of the most challenging times of my life, however not physically, as expected.  WWOOFing was an adventure all in itself.  Working on organic farms all around the world in exchange for room and board seemed like a great way to spend sometime in France between my two academic programs, and for anyone or anywhere else, a great way to see the world and experience cultures that might not previously be appreciated.  Coming to the F__d’E__ I had no idea what to expect but I hoped for the best and was willing to put all my muscle effort into pure labor for the work and future of the farm.  Unfortunately the physical aspect of my work at the farm has been overwhelmed by the emotional rollercoaster that every employee and volunteer at the farm seems to be on.  

The farm is in desperate need of money.  The owners, a couple, V_ and her husband bought the farm four years ago and from what I can tell, this is the worst season they have had.  Yesterday I was on a canoeing trip with P_ who works in the vegetable garden.  He and his friends were talking about the financial circumstances of the farm and of V_’s position.  It seems the bank has refused to give V_ and her husband sufficient funds to keep the farm going.  It has become clearer the longer I’ve been here that money is very tight.  Just last Thursday there was barely any food in the refrigerator and V_ kept saying that she couldn’t do the grocery shopping because there just wasn’t enough money.  Friday and Sunday guests of the farm came for a meal that V_ prepared so she was able to earn enough money to buy some groceries for the farm.  While I’m not ignorant about the financial situation of the world at the moment, I think the conditions for this farm do not lie merely on the economic situation of France, or the economic crisis that has trickled across Europe in the past few years.  Unfortunately, the situation is much more difficult and sad than an economic lapse in judgment.  V_ is a woman that has thrown herself into an endeavor to grand for her to even grasp. She has herself in deeper than she even knows, so much that she cannot even see a practical solution, much less those around her who are trying to help.  Everyone that works on the farm is here to help, whether for money or room and board, but the organization and distribution of labor on the farm is so inefficient that it does not allow for the farm to thrive, much less make a profit for the benefit of V_ and the farm.  The animals are here merely for pedagogic reasons, occasionally an old goat or sheep is eaten, but other than that the animals play a role of tourism and unfortunately of absorbing much of the money for the life and vibrancy of the farm.  The apple orchard makes cider and juice in the fall and the gites and summer camps bring in some income, but that doesn’t seem to bring in enough to make the farm stay afloat.  

As for my role, I have tried my best to be as helpful and aware of what is going on at the farm, although at times I feel that my help is not enough for the economic sustainability of the farm.  I am very conscious of helping V_ when I can and providing her with enough questions and commentary to keep her mind off the situation she is in.  However it has been difficult for me emotionally to be on a farm with a financial situation larger than I can fix and with people that are saddened and angry about the conditions of their lives.   As my mom says, I have twenty-seven antennae and thus I absorb and listen to all the conversations and emotions of the people around me.  And while in some situations it can be nice to be aware of all that is going on, here at the F__ d’E__ it has proved to be my weakness.  It is too much to absorb the sentiments and tragedies of the people that work on this farm.  For now, I am trying my best to make the best of everything and in a week I’ll be switching farms and hoping for the best!

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

farming adventures in a small town in Normandy


A day in the life of a French farm…I suppose there is quite the history behind this farm but not the time to tell the stories.  Everyone is busy, somewhat, but at the same time, it occasionally seems like nobody really does anything.  The farm is from the 18th century and the workings of the farm are only up to the 20th century and possibly a bit into the 21st.  For example, today I hacked a weed with a tool that could have easily come with the originally farm, like a machete only longer and I hacked and hacked until I couldn’t hack anymore.  Yesterday I worked with a young woman who is part of an organization, French/German, that sends young Germans to help out in disadvantages regions in France, sort of reparation for the WWII.  There is a little house (that is called the chateau) just up the road from the F___ d’E____ and every year there are two new Germans that occupy the house and volunteer at the farms around the neighborhood.  She was very nice and so yesterday we took this large woven sack and our clippers out to one of the paths behind the farm and hacked a weed called ronce (bramble).  The prickly spines are terrible and another plant that grows right next to the ronce is also quite prickly and lives elevated red spots all over my body.  The work isn’t really that hard and in comparison to studying, I quite appreciate the physical labor and the simplicity of taking out a machete and hacking away at a plant.  The hardest part of the work here is watching the people continue day after day, working and trying to make this farm successful at the bare minimum.  V and her husband bought the farm four years ago but from my conversations with her the bank wouldn’t let them much in terms of a mortgage so their payments each month are quite steep and the farm doesn’t make enough money to make a profit each year but rather just enough to survive for the next season.  At the moment there are three large groups of kids who come as parts of summer camps and stay at the farm for a week or two which is very good for the income of the farm, however that only lasts until late august when school starts up again.  Then the harvests come and there are some vegetables and nuts and juices and cider to sell, but the quantity isn’t enormous.  The farm isn’t an enterprise with lots of apples and lots of people pressing cider; it isn’t a business to make profit but more a farm to share with passers-by. 

Besides the farm being quite the culture change from my time in the south of France, the running and seeing the villages has also been quite the shift.  I’ve been running almost every morning before the sun has completely come out from being hidden behind the clouds.  I have been running to the actual town S__ J__ le B__, of which the farm is located, but more on the outskirts.  This morning it was a bit chilly, but wonderfully refreshing from the sweltering heat of the Côte d’Azur.  My first passage is past many fenced fields, awaiting the cows that will change pastures as they eat their way through the land. Alongside the road are those nasty ronce built into walls to separate the fields from the road.  At the first “intersection” there are numerous different signs indicating “gites of France” and other lodgings, much like the F__ d’E__ for travelers on foot or on horse.  And then further on is the village of S__ J__ le B__.  Coming down the first hill from the farm I can see just the tip of the spire of the church and upon entering to town I can smell silage but I see now silos.  I hear cows but no cows are in sight.  I hear the rooster crow but only as I pass by. There are houses that are empty and for sale, there are cars but no people.  As I continue through the town, much forgotten there is a post office built at the corner of the main “carrefour” (main intersection, four corners) and on the opposite side of the road is the mayor and a small school attached to the mayor’s office.  The town is desolate, and while it may be 8am in the morning, that seems to say something about the lifestyle and the people that live in S__ J__ le B__ in Normandy.

Thursday, August 2, 2012

Calvados


Yesterday was a grand adventure.  After five days on the Côte d’Azur with a great friend of mine S____ we both went our separate ways.  Starting in Nice I left the hostel, Villa Saint Exupery Beach around 8am and took the tram to the train station.  The tram runs very frequently and traverses the Place Massena, where we were staying, as well as follows a path through much of the city.  After two stops, I hopped off and lugged my baggage to the train station.  Luckily there were no stairs, although stairs were to come.  I was early so I sat down and had some breakfast while I watched all the frantic travelers wait for their departures, or for their friends and families to arrive.  The trains were all on time, which was great because the day before all the trains had been at least an hour late.  My train eventually got a “voie [track]” so I headed over and found my car and my seat.  Unfortunately with random assignment I was not by a window but I decided to sit by the window anyways and maybe nobody else would come.  I was in the double part of the double decker train and at 9:43am my train departed for Nice and headed north for Paris.  After the first stop, Antibes I think an old man got on and it turned out that he was assigned my seat, alas, I moved to another row so that I could still have a window, but then later another couple came on and I was in their seats, so I decided just to move back to my non-window seat.  I drifted in and out of a dazed sleep and right before Avignon, the old man got up and gave me his window seat.  Passing Avignon was sweet, but then a young girl, no older than 12 got on and again I was in her seat.  But I passed the time watching the countryside of France pass before me on the TGV.  

Arriving in Paris I grabbed by baggage from the train and found the number 14 metro line to take to Bercy where I then took the number 6 metro line to Gare Montparnasse, near where our apartment was in 2001 I believe.  Lugging my bags was difficult, although thankfully it was not as hot up north as it was in the French Riveria.  I got on the train at Montparnasse and I did not have a seat assignment so I just chose a seat in on of the cars and found one without a ticket indicating cars and seats (because apparently some people did have assigned seats).  A woman congratulated me on picking such a good seat and it was only about halfway through the ride that I realized I was in first class (strange since I had not paid for first class), but nobody came to check my ticket so I had plenty of legroom as well as a seat facing the direction the train was going so I could see the countryside of even further north pass before my eyes.  I arrived at the train station in Vire, a small town in Normandy and I waited for about 15 minutes for the woman from the farm who had left a voicemail saying she would be a bit late.  Not a problem and I was glad to have the opportunity to stand for a while.  She finally came in an old car that smelled wonderfully of farming, much like our old neighborhood in West Braintree. We talked all the way back to the farm, about 20km from the train station.  Upon arriving at the farm, which is huge dinner was semi-prepared but V______ made a sauce for the pasta and we all sat down to eat, while watching Olympic swimming of course!  Not long after dinner we all headed to bed, as everyone seemed exhausted, I slept in V_____’s daughter’s bedroom.  Originally I was going to share a gite with another girl who was staying for one night, as it turns out she is coming next week, so V_____ moved me to the main house “so that I could be with everyone else.”  I slept very well and the rooster didn’t crow until 8:40 (that I heard, very impressive). 

A bit about the farm, from what I can gather: V_____ and her husband, who works at a large enterprise of pigs further north bought the farm about 4 years ago and her husband occasionally comes down, but it is mainly V_______ that runs the farm.  There are cows, pigs, sheep, donkeys, ducks, geese, chickens, goats, bunnies, kittens, and maybe more that I haven’t seen.  There are also a number of gardens of various sorts.  Before coming to this farm in Calvados, V______ worked at another farm doing medicinal and aromatic gardening so I think there is still some of that here as well. There are also a number of “gites” which are very popular around France. People, often families, can rent out the gites for a week or so and spend the time on vacation at the farm.  Each gite is equipped with a kitchen and beds etc, as well as the experience of living on a working farm.  The farm seems very old, although I am not sure what year.  Cider or apple juice (I’m not sure exactly which because we seem to have both here) is made on premises and is sold in a small boutique on the farm.  Groups of kids, families, other tourists, stop by the farm and pay a few Euros to visit the workings and the animals.  The farm is entirely organic and as V______ is very adamant about not wasting everything and recycling as much as possible.  Much of the food scraps we save for the pigs and V_____ won’t by cheese with plastic rind, etc so to minimize the carbon footprint and use of petrol on the farm.  I think I have quickly adapted to life here, it is pretty relaxed and a much different day from my time in Avignon studying all the time, or even my vacation on the Côte d’Azur where it was hot all the time.  The other people working here besides V_____ all seem to come from different facets of their lives.  There is one other WWOOFer at the moment D_____ who is in the process of looking for a job and at 37 he doesn’t seem to know exactly when he would stop WWOOFing but he lives not too farm from the farm, further north and his brother also works on the farm (although I don’t think his brother is a WWOOfer).  Then there is P_____ who I think is a volunteer.  He seems very much content doing whatever it is he does.  The brother of D_____, S_____ I’m not sure what he does, he doesn’t live on the farm, but he seems to know things very well.  I think he might be making bread this afternoon in a wood oven outside by the sheep.  Then there are two other young people on the farm who live close by and work on the farm.  I’m not exactly sure if the farm pays them or if they are volunteers but they all seem very acquainted with the workings and processes of everything.  N_____ is the last person working on the farm.  He is a student of birds and trees, from what I can understand, and he has been doing an internship for the past two months with V______ as part of his studies.  He leaves tonight and he says he is going to come back in about a month to WWOOF and finish whatever he needs to finish for his internship.  I am the only non-French person but my French seems to be holding up just fine and they seem grateful that I understand and catch on quickly to what they are saying.  This morning I helped N_____ hack some weeds over by where the geese are kept and although I’m not exactly sure what the plant was, my fingers are still a bit tingly from whatever prickly things were on the stems.  We prepared lunch all together, everything from the garden or from the animals, which is great!  A busload of kids came around lunchtime and they ate out back and then this afternoon will get a tour of the farm.  I’ll try and update when I can, there is no wifi here but I’m going to try and upload both text and photos from one computer to another, hopefully it works out.  Until next time.  Bisous.

 Click the map to enlarge.  Currently I am in a small town called Saint Jean le Blanc, near Calvados which is in the region Basse Normandie in the upper left part of the map, west and a bit north of Paris.  Avignon is in the department  Vaucluse, Provence-Alps, and  Nice is on the Cote d`Azur.
http://www.voyagesphotosmanu.com/Complet/images/carte_departement_france.jpg

Sunday, July 29, 2012

France, Italy, Monaco, France



My apologies for my lack of writing in the past few weeks but I've been traipsing across France and my time to relax has been few and far between.  I left Avignon yesterday and I am now traveling with a great friend of mine in the French Riviera, the start of my first real vacation and it has been absolutely spectacular.  The Côte d’Azur is one of the most beautiful coastal spots that I have seen in a long while.  Our first two nights we are in a small town outside of the hustle and bustle of Nice called Villefranche-sur-mer that is quaint, with gorgeous beaches and perfect for the beginning of our short and sweet vacation.  Today we went to Italy, to a small town called Ventimiglia and then back to Monaco.  It being Sunday, not much was going on anywhere but the Italians were very happy.  Monaco was insane, so much grandeur, but not as we expected and we spent two hours looking for a grocery store which was nowhere to be found, and the one we did find was closed.  We ended up spending a nice afternoon on the beach after being underwhelmed at the Monte Carlo casino.  Then we came back to Villefranche, picked up our bags, waited forty-five minutes for a bus because the five buses from the time we got to the stop were “complet” and therefore they wouldn’t take any more passengers.  Just to spite the public transportation system in the south of France, we didn’t “compost” our tickets, which means we can use them tomorrow!  I’ll make sure to update more frequently, if I have access to the internet. 

Friday, July 13, 2012

Montpellier, France


Life in Avignon seems to go on; in a good way of course.  A few days ago my host parents went to a concert at the amphitheatre in Nimes and I asked them if it was all right to invite two of my friends over to cook dinner with me.  They said of course although they were a bit worried I think that I might burn the house down, forget to feed the cat, or some other kind of incident when in fact everything went quite well.  I cooked some pasta with mushrooms and zucchini and salad.  And for dessert A___ made profiteroles.  We also had the rosé that my great uncle had given me the weekend before, “for when I was thirsty.”  Cooking the profiteroles was quite the adventure because although my host mom had showed me how to use their complicated small, gas stove, for some reason when the time came, I couldn’t get it to work, so I pulled down the toaster oven as I had seen my host mom do before and I plugged it in outside on the deck and we cooked the profiteroles in there.  They were a bit crispy on the bottom but otherwise quite perfect.  We had a grand time, the cat survived and so did we.  





 Last night I went to a performance as part of the Festival d’Avignon “In.”  The play was called The Master and Margarita.   It was performed in the Palais de Papes in the Cour d’Honneur, which is an amazing theater/performance space.  Quite the treat!  It lasted three hours and my tushy was uncomfortable for three hours.  My mind was also a bit unsettled as the performance unfolded however because the story line was unclear for the first hour and then the last two hours didn’t really relate to the first hour.  Some of the characters were quite strange including a cat puppet that spoke vulgar things and had red eyes like the “diable.”  The most impressive part of the performance, besides the space itself was the use of technology.  They had a few video cameras on the stage and would occasionally film the actors during the performance and project those images on to the walls of the Cour d’Honneur or on the stage adding some very magnificent special effects.  A good experience and great special effects! 

 


Today was a mixed bag.  My parents moved from our house that I have lived in for twenty-one years to another house in which I have never lived.  We will now be living in Montpelier, which I love as a city and I think I will grow to love the house.  Nonetheless being so far from home (if that still exists) was a bit strange knowing that my homes were in transition.  Instead of being melancholy all day I went to Montpellier, France, which is a fantastic city.  Montpellier is very pedestrian friendly and a huge college town so there are many young people and easy to use and frequently accessible public transportation of various sorts.  I went with two friends and we toured the city following a guide from the office of tourism that showed us some main sights and then we had a lunch of delicious salads in a small piazza.  After lunch we took the tram and then a bus to the beach.  We had originally thought we would rent bikes, but it turned out to be much more complicated and too expensive and the tram was quite enjoyable.  I took a nap on the beach and then took a walk to see some parasailors.  All in all the day was a good day for distraction, despite the looming reality of my former home in West Braintree.  




 












Saturday, July 7, 2012

From Lo via the International Herald Tribune, 6 July 2012

Saint-Michel


 This weekend I visited my great uncle Lodewijk Woltjer.  He lives for three months or so in the south of France near an observatory. 

After I got out from the shower after the pool I was out on the porch talking to Lo.  I asked him about my family, his work, and anything I could think of that would get him to talk.  My Uncle Lo is an astronomer. At 56 he retired.  He worked for ESO (European Southern Observatory), La Silla Observatory in Chile as well as for the European group on the Hubble.  He recounted stories of his time working in Chile where there is a large observatory. Originally there was an observatory about 500 km from Santiago. Then another observatory was built a little further away.  Finally Lo went out at some point and drove through the deserts and the mountains and found a spot, high on a mountain so as not to have the effects of the atmosphere and today there is an observatory on top of a mountain that my Uncle Lo discovered that is American, European and Japanese shared http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/La_Silla_Observatory.  Lo now works on the influence of human life on our earth and how long humans can continue to survive on the world/earth they have created.  He recently published a book that he co-authored with a Frenchman about the existence of humans and the fragility and survivability of humanity on Earth.  The book titled Surviving Centuries: Can We Do It? Lo says that while the book is not projected to a completely academic audience, it is for an educated one and recently the book has begun to be translated into Chinese.  He gave a talk in 2009 that can be found on YouTube that discusses this exact theme.  Lo said that while his co-author is French, his French is not writable, however his speaking French is impeccable, even my host mother in Avignon thinks so.  Lo said that he lost interest in astronomy because human life and the environment seemed to him, more applicable and more pertinent to the human condition and the future of the world.  For this reason he switched his focus in the 1980s as he began researching for this new book.  But Lo remembers that when his mother went to church, his father would bring him up to his study and at age 6 or so, open up the Encyclopedia Britannica and show him images of the stars and galaxies.  Lo worked also for the Observatoire de Haute-Provence in Saint-Michel in the town he lives in for three months during the summer in the south of France.  This observatory is not as successful as it once was because funding is hard to come by.  The station was started because there was a rich woman from America who inherited a lot of money (from a family like Colgate).  She married an Egyptian man who wanted his own money to be spent on the other women he indulged in but he needed a profitable business with which to place his money.  So he decided to build an observatory before the war (World War II) and he first looked in Geneva but couldn’t find anything.  He came to the south of France and found this spot in Saint-Michel and built this observatory, which still stands today.  This observatory is also the same spot that recently spotted a planet outside of our galaxy that we know today.  The observatory is placed halfway up a mountain which Lo says was erroneous as the cold wet atmosphere runs down the mountain creating problems for the telescopes and therefore the observatory is not as effective as it could be.  The Mistral also poses problems and degrades the quality of the atmosphere for viewing. For these reasons, the La Silla Observatory has become the prominent research base for the European Astronomers. If only, he says, they had placed the observatory at the top, where one side of the mountain is a sheer cliff, maybe the observatory could continue to be in use.  However with the discovery of this new planet, the observatory has 5-10 more years of funding and then who knows.  Lo says that if you look you can see 15 or so telescopes, but in reality only 4 or 5 still are working.  I asked Lo later in the evening, after two bottles of rosé, if he thought humans were capable of surviving on our earth for much longer.  He said that if humans were careful and continued to live a stable equitable lifestyle, we could continue to live.  However, he noted, that we must be conscious of our production of agriculture and our use of water.  There is enough water in the world, but the problem is a lack of pipelines, which are not always able to bring water, that is pure and safe to areas that need it.  I then asked Lo if he saw the enormous orange moon from two nights ago.  He said he did, although the trees were in the way so it was difficult to see.  He said that the great size of the moon is a trick of the eye and the brain and a mystery still.  He thinks it is a psychological process that causes man to see the moon as very large. When in reality, the moon is no bigger than usual.
  
I also talked to Lo about my grandmother, Anna, his sister.  When I first sat down outside the porch he said that I reminded him so much of Anna.  And he said, when I laughed, that I was even more like her.  I never met my grandmother and it brings tears of happiness and sadness to my eyes to bring back the memory of her to my great uncle as I sit across from him.  I have heard so many stories about her, and even more tonight, but to hear that I remind him of her and that I look just like her is a gift for both he and I.  Anna was the rebellious daughter, Lo said.  Margo, if she wanted to do something, her mother let her do it, but Anna, not so much.  Anna worked for what LO called, the UNRA, United Nations Refugee Agency during the war where she met my grandfather, Janos.  Janos was undocumented, as at the time he did not have paperwork for is Hungarian citizenship.  Anna was working as a psychologist with refugees and children (Lo thinks) and at some point (that is still unclear to me) Anna was stripped of her Dutch citizenship.  My grandmother, Anna Woltjer was stateless.  Not long after Anna met Janos they boarded an immigration ship and came to America.

Wednesday, July 4, 2012

Avignon in July


3 July 2012
I just had the most amazing run, after getting back from my Provencal language class around 3:30 I put on my running clothes, my sneakers, and some SPF 20 bronzing spray to protect my gorgeous Provencal tan and hopped down the stairs to the running/bike path alongside the ancient walls of Avignon.  Previously I had been getting up at 6am or 6:30am but it was just too early and this morning it was a little chilly so I decided that I would go running in the afternoon.  I began my usual route heading towards the Rhône, but when I got to the entrance I usually take to run down through the center city, I kept running and ran around the entire exterior of the walls.  The run was pleasant, except that the path is directly up against the traffic, but nonetheless I got to see the entire outside of the city and the elderly French men playing petanque, a French game equivalent to what many of us know as bocce which is actually just the Italian version of basically the same game.  I also passed the University of Avignon, which I have yet to explore and use their library.  It wasn’t too hot this afternoon and the Mistral, the wind that comes off the Rhône was quite pleasant as I ran along.  The only downside I can see to running in the afternoons as opposed to the early mornings is that no bread trucks with fresh baguette pass me in the afternoon so I can whiff the deliciously fresh baked bread, but maybe in the end, it is for the best. 

4 July 2012
Today was the first day of the soldes which is three weeks, mandated by the government that things go on sale in France!  You’d think it would be wonderful, for those of us who love to shop, however the first day is mere torture.  You cannot walk into a store and expect to: breathe, move, see, or touch anything.  Too many people! Too many racks!  Not enough space in the world (store).  Times like these when I miss empty space in Colorado or fields in Vermont.  I enjoy breathing and shopping, well, that can wait as long as I don’t faint from the overwhelming presence of tourists and locals.  It probably doesn’t help that I’m wearing my backpack and so I end up hitting people as a whirl around the run out of the store after five minutes of sheer exhaustion.  But with that backpack I can hop on my bike and zip away from the tourists, the locals, and the soldes.  I ended up at the opposite end of the main street from where my classes are where I noticed an outdoor book market.  I tied up my bike to a pole and went to look around.  There were old books, new books, leather books, and glossy books, books on yoga, books on Provence, comic books, and cds, and vinyls and posters.  It was quite the array.  I wandered around and found myself looking at a book about the Congo by André Gide.  It was a very old edition, kept safe in plastic and I was thinking of buying it since it said 1,55 on the inside cover and I thought to myself “that sounds like a good deal, I hope it isn’t a first edition because then I’m ripping them off.”  Much to my dismay however, the woman whose stand it was came over and told me (in French) that the book came as a duo, with another book by the same offer.  I said cool and then asked her how much it was.  “cent cinquante-cinq euros pour les deux” she said.  I smiled and thanked her.  I waited until she and found another customer to talk to and I carefully put the books back where I found them and walked away, thanking her again on the way out.  There was no way I was going to pay 155 Euros for two books.  But they probably were first editions.