America seems to be welcoming me back with particular fervor. Yesterday morning I went kayaking on the Shenandoah River, something that I plan to do every other day or as often as I can for exercise. I saw two bald eagles, one with full plumage and the other with brown immature feathers, shrieking and whistling at each other in a treetop. They must have been two males vying for territory, because I couldn't see any food between them. Two competing males is a very good sign for the species in this area.
Since I've gotten home I've been really lazy. The two productive activities I've actually paid attention to are chopping cherry wood for the winter and picking blackberries in our backyard. Other than that I've filled up my days with Age of Empires III ("le scent de la mort et la bruit des fusils") and the HBO TV series True Blood. I've been scouting around online for graduate school options through the Peace Corps, and I'm getting frustrated because although they specifically mention a degree in photography on the Peace Corps website, the closest actual program to a Visual Arts degree that I've found is Arizona State's Arts Education degree. I'll probably still do overseas volunteer work even if the Peace Corps can't help me with grad school.
Last night my father and I went to see Warren's play Up the Down Staircase, about a new teacher trying to make children care about education in an overcrowded and dilapidated New York public school. The play had the wrong mix of comic relief and grave issues; things like a girl's attempted suicide seemed really out of place for a comedy, yet the characters seemed to be built just a touch too much on high school stereotypes for it to be a serious drama. Not to brag on my own brother too much, but Warren was really the best part of the whole thing. As the Jim Stark/Stanley Kowalski character, he seemed like the only truly self-aware student in the whole school and was really effective in showing the sexual tension between him and the young heroine Ms. Barrett.
I'm thinking of beginning a new blog, simply because my time in Europe is over and I should draw this one to a close, leaving it as one complete work. So far I've only decided that the web address will be erichcampbell.blogspot.com. It should be up and ready by the first weekend in August. I want to thank everyone who's shown an interest in my travels, photos, stories, observations, musings, and rants over the past half-year. Hope to see y'all again in the future.
FIN
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Odyssey (4/4)
This night and the ensuing day really made me fulfilled in my status as a world traveler. I crossed the territory of seven countries and an ocean in a period of fourteen hours, and, looking back, the whole time I took it in stride. The most stressful moments of the whole affair were when I was still at Charles de Gaulle waiting to see if Scandinavian Airlines would accept my e-ticket.
I killed some time at CDG by writing the BOOM! post, then asked some girls from New York to watch my stuff and walked around to find the SAS desk. I went to sleep on the floor at around 1 and woke up again at four. As I trudged to the bathroom I noticed the rope lines for SAS were up, so I got my bags and stolidly sat down in front of the desk to wait.
No one else showed up until just before five. One guy came to stand beside me, then two girls, then a whole bunch of people started queuing up to my right. Five o’clock came and Lufthansa and TAP Portugal started operating their ticket desks, but no one came to SAS. At five twenty a bunch of those waiting next to me started leaving, and I almost did too to see what they knew that I didn’t, but then they started lining up again, this time behind me. I love the feeling that you were right and Everyone Else was wrong.
Scandinavians are never late, nor are they early; they arrive exactly when they mean to. Finally, at five forty, the SAS desk finally opened. The man at the counter simply asked for my passport and handed me my boarding pass. My luggage was marked heavy, but I wasn’t charged extra for it. Happily, I mounted the space-age moving ramp to the second floor to find my gate.
French security was annoying. I asked to have my film inspected visually so as to spare it a further risk of radiation, but they still put it through the machine. Apparently films under 1200 ISO can be used to smuggle explosives, but over 1200 are perfectly safe. They also confiscated my tiny Swiss Army knife on my keychain.
I was unconscious for most of the flight from Paris to Copenhagen.
Copenhagen Airport is like one gigantic mall, duty free shops everywhere I picked up some Danish alcohol and Swedish chocolate for my family, and got change for my euros in pretty silver kroner coins. I forewent getting food for myself, because I knew they’d serve lunch on the plane for free.
The transoceanic SAS plane was really nice. Each seat had a screen in the back that was continually playing fifteen different movies at once through the whole flight. I had time to watch Monsters vs. Aliens, Dragonball Evolution, Duplicity, Batman Begins, and part of Chicago. And I played two long games of Tetris. And I wrote the third blog post. The food was good, almost as well-prepared as the food on British Airways.
Finally we touched down at Dulles. The line moved pretty quickly through Customs. I got flagged because I was carrying a small bouquet of lavender and sent to a nearby inspection area. My assigned inspector was a very courteous Latina woman, not at all like the Parisian guards who treated me like a dangerous criminal. After x-raying my luggage, she told me I could keep the herbs. I couldn’t believe it, the system actually works! Must be a relic from the days before 9/11 and Bush.
I walked out of the gate and into the arms of my mother and my brother.
My father actually took a flight back early from his conference in San Diego, hoping to meet me in the airport, but since it was later than mine, he surprised us by showing up at home.
That evening we had hamburgers and corn on the cob.
Slept thirteen hours, and now I’m here.
I killed some time at CDG by writing the BOOM! post, then asked some girls from New York to watch my stuff and walked around to find the SAS desk. I went to sleep on the floor at around 1 and woke up again at four. As I trudged to the bathroom I noticed the rope lines for SAS were up, so I got my bags and stolidly sat down in front of the desk to wait.
No one else showed up until just before five. One guy came to stand beside me, then two girls, then a whole bunch of people started queuing up to my right. Five o’clock came and Lufthansa and TAP Portugal started operating their ticket desks, but no one came to SAS. At five twenty a bunch of those waiting next to me started leaving, and I almost did too to see what they knew that I didn’t, but then they started lining up again, this time behind me. I love the feeling that you were right and Everyone Else was wrong.
Scandinavians are never late, nor are they early; they arrive exactly when they mean to. Finally, at five forty, the SAS desk finally opened. The man at the counter simply asked for my passport and handed me my boarding pass. My luggage was marked heavy, but I wasn’t charged extra for it. Happily, I mounted the space-age moving ramp to the second floor to find my gate.
French security was annoying. I asked to have my film inspected visually so as to spare it a further risk of radiation, but they still put it through the machine. Apparently films under 1200 ISO can be used to smuggle explosives, but over 1200 are perfectly safe. They also confiscated my tiny Swiss Army knife on my keychain.
I was unconscious for most of the flight from Paris to Copenhagen.
Copenhagen Airport is like one gigantic mall, duty free shops everywhere I picked up some Danish alcohol and Swedish chocolate for my family, and got change for my euros in pretty silver kroner coins. I forewent getting food for myself, because I knew they’d serve lunch on the plane for free.
The transoceanic SAS plane was really nice. Each seat had a screen in the back that was continually playing fifteen different movies at once through the whole flight. I had time to watch Monsters vs. Aliens, Dragonball Evolution, Duplicity, Batman Begins, and part of Chicago. And I played two long games of Tetris. And I wrote the third blog post. The food was good, almost as well-prepared as the food on British Airways.
Finally we touched down at Dulles. The line moved pretty quickly through Customs. I got flagged because I was carrying a small bouquet of lavender and sent to a nearby inspection area. My assigned inspector was a very courteous Latina woman, not at all like the Parisian guards who treated me like a dangerous criminal. After x-raying my luggage, she told me I could keep the herbs. I couldn’t believe it, the system actually works! Must be a relic from the days before 9/11 and Bush.
I walked out of the gate and into the arms of my mother and my brother.
My father actually took a flight back early from his conference in San Diego, hoping to meet me in the airport, but since it was later than mine, he surprised us by showing up at home.
That evening we had hamburgers and corn on the cob.
Slept thirteen hours, and now I’m here.
Curiously Well-Timed Catastrophe (3/4)
I took the metro to Gare du Nord and then the Transilien out to Enghien-les-Bains, the town next to Montmorency. Marlène picked me up at about 8.
We picked up some baguettes and had breakfast at the house with Jean-Jacques. Warm brioche with thick honey; for one day I got to eat like a prince again, a very welcome change after Thérèse had us eating everything either canned or generic-brand. Jean-Jacques suggested I rest and take a shower before going into Paris to photograph the Bastille Day crowds.
After an exquisite lunch of Basque chicken with peppers, I went back to Gare du Nord, then Châtelet and the Champs-Elysees. I shopped for presents for my family at the Virgin Megastore, and then attempted to use up my last roll of color slide film.
I tried to balance my mini-tripod on two metal crowd barriers to shoot the Arc de Triomphe.
And the camera fell and the lens broke.
I would have flipped out right there if the situation hadn’t had the potential to be many, many times worse. I’ve finished my documentary, so I don’t need my film camera anymore at the moment, and conceivably won’t until I after I graduate. Also, the piece of the lens that broke is one of the plastic rings that joins it to the camera body, while the optics seem fine. It’s a relatively rare and prized model of Nikon 58 mm, so I’ll probably try to get the part replaced instead of buying a new one.
One more objective for the summer. Man, I need to find some way to make money, for the lens repair and the strategy games I want to buy. I’ll look for the usual opportunities to sell photos. My best chance will be to market to the rich landowner idiots we have in Clarke County, but it’s difficult to get them to buy any art that doesn’t feature horses or foxhounds. Oh well, I’ll figure something out.
I returned to Montmorency to inspect the lens further and to rearrange my stuff for the trip. I reduced all of my stuff to my giant suitcase, my large backpack, and my medium backpack.
We had a light but heavenly dinner of tabouli and sausages, and then drove to the airport at 10:15. We said a brief goodbye and then I headed into the airport to find a spot on the floor.
Farewell to the Alps (2/4)
For a while I thought that this would be my last summer spent outdoors in the sunshine in the company of others my own age (relatively), with no real worries other than the restrictions placed on us by the governing organization. Then I reflected that, if I’ve learned anything from Maia Dery, growing up doesn’t mean you have to become boring. Consider a year from now: I’ll have graduated from Guilford (God willing), and it’s very possible that I’ll be living in a tent again somewhere in the Andes with OxFam or the Peace Corps or UNICEF. That’s if I’m not still traveling with my family in Ireland on the trip we’ve been planning for the past two years.
This month has further sharpened my focus for what I want to do with my life; it’s shown me that no matter what kind of photographer I become, whether I’m shooting eagles in Tanzania for National Geographic or supermodels in the midst of Indian ruins for Maxim, I don’t want to give up being close to nature.
We actually got the goats on Saturday, six nannies and one kid. They’re pretty skittish around people. I think their smell alone, that pleasant earthy barnyard stink, helps to lend the fort more of an eighteenth-century feel. Sarah tried to convince Thérèse to accept the donkey that the city was offering as well, but she wouldn’t listen.
For my last day, Thérèse assigned me to the welcome desk at the Château. It was boring just sitting there, and I had to bite my tongue when tourists asked whether there was anything more than “just stones” inside the fort, but I was relieved after lunch. It was the windiest day we’ve had so far, and the long entranceway created a giant wind tunnel, so that I had to weigh down the papers on the desk with rocks and listen to the constant rattle of sheets of paper whipping back and forth. And it was cold!
After lunch, for a lack of direction, we didn’t really do much of anything. I got some shots of the goats. Thérèse gave me the keys to St. Blaise and let me catch the bus back an hour early so that I’d have time to pack. For dinner I slurped a bowl of leftover soup and made myself a mushroom sandwich to eat on the train. A new kid, Ken, arrived before the others and I showed him my vacated place in the tent. Thérèse had my passport and ticket locked upstairs in a box with the others’ valuables, so as the minutes ticked by and she still wasn’t back from the Château, I began to get stressed. After a couple of tense phone exchanges, she called a taxi to take me to the station. When she got back she calmly walked upstairs and handed me my documents. The taxi arrived a minute later and as I got in everyone turned out to wish me goodbye. The driver drove like a madman to the station and got me there twenty minutes early.
As the train wound down through Argentière and Mont-Dauphin, the mountain peaks were lit a brilliant shade of rose by the setting sun.
The rest of the train ride was better than others I’ve taken. Didn’t pay attention to the time, so I don’t know exactly how much sleep I got. Sometime around two we passed through a massive thunderstorm; I wondered if I was dreaming when I saw the lightning flashes.
At 6:35 we pulled into Gare Austerlitz in Paris under a sky gray with the sunrise.
BOOM! (1/4)
All that I’ve had to endure during this camp, Thérèse’s craziness, Elias’ immaturity, Yann’s complaining, the way Mathieu grinds his teeth in his sleep in the tent...
All that was worth it for today.
After posting at the Spirit I started walking up the mountain to the Fort des Sallettes. As soon as I exited the east gate of the city I saw six of the Régiment du Passé standing around the old guards’ quarters. Although the event didn’t start for another hour, I wanted to get a good viewpoint of the soldiers as they filed up the path to the fort. I got to the fort at 2:45, the soldiers marched up the path and promptly locked themselves inside the fort at three. The crowd of tourists that had followed them up were left with me standing outside wondering what was going to happen next.
Finally at 3:40 three tour guides showed up, organized the tourists into groups, and the fort was opened. All the tourists filed into the courtyard, but the guides said nothing.
Musket barrels poked out of the inward-facing gun slits of the fort’s lower firing gallery.
And then they fired, one after the other. And whatever sound effects you’ve heard used for musket fire in the movies is fake; muskets are LOUD. You can feel the impact of the sound against your body, and if more than two fire in quick succession your ears ring. I can’t even imagine how loud a full-scale battle must have been.
After that the three groups of tourists separated to take different routes through the fort, but I hung around the courtyard to watch the “cadets” of the Régiment go through marching drills. Most of them were younger than me, probably around 17. And that made me think, how many soldiers in all the wars of history were 17? The enlistment age for the Romans was 15, and I don’t even think medieval armies cared about age as long as you could wield something sharp. Even in the eighteenth century alone, how many boys exactly like these were being taught to march in time and fire muskets, only to have themselves blown apart in battles like Yorktown and Assaye? The thought was kind of eerie for me.
I thought I was going to be the only photographer there, but the Régiment had their own, dressed exactly as they were. Out of mutual respect, we tried to keep out of each other’s way while shooting the other soldiers. His girlfriend was there too, and she looked damn hot in a bodice. But as has been iterated countless times in Yachting circles, most girls look good in a bodice. Later, while everyone else was busy I glimpsed to two of them having a photo shoot by themselves in the Upper Gallery.
I think he’s the French me.
I sat in on one of the lectures given by one of the senior officers on the history of the regiment they were playing. It was formed in 1735 as a Scots regiment when the French tried to invade England via Scotland and reinstate the Stewart dynasty. After the campaign failed, the Scotsmen were relocated to Briançon. I noticed then that all the soldiers were wearing fresh-picked thistles in their tricorns.
The officer went on to explain how the troops learned all the steps of firing a musket by constant drills, so that in battle they never had to think about what they were doing. After another soldier demonstrated the fourteen movements involved in drawing the ramrod and placing the cartridge, the officer explained that a good soldier could repeat the sequence in twenty seconds, and an expert veteran in ten. Y’all remember how when we learned American history back in elementary school we were taught to be impressed that the colonial Minutemen could fire one shot every sixty seconds? No wonder we only beat the British once the French got involved.
I was also reminded of an idea I had discussed earlier with Niels when he remarked that the Fort des Sallettes would make a cool CounterStrike map. How come almost all the shooter games we have now are set in WWII or later? Wouldn’t it be cool to have an eighteenth-, or early nineteenth-, century first person shooter? Being only able to fire once every fifteen or so seconds with a musket, taking longer to reload with a far more accurate Baker rifle, or having the choice to charge blindly with a rapier, would dramatically change the FPS tactics involved. Or, knowing the impatience of the average 13-year-old gamer, maybe it would just result in everyone chasing each other with swords and bayonets.
This day was the perfect crowning touch to my month in the Alps.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Day of Anachronism (4/4)
As I type this post I'm sitting in the Spirit Bar in the Old City, which is owned by two English expatriates and is where I've been coming to post via their WiFi.
Last night Thérèse announced that the Régiment du Passé (Regiment of the Past) would be conducting a simulation of an eighteenth-century battle at the Fort des Sallettes today. It's not really a reinactment, because none of Briançon's forts were attacked until the Second World War, so it's really just a very elaborate cosplay session. But don't tell the soldiers that. This cosplay is serious business.
This morning, even though we had the choice to sleep in, I got up early as usual and walked to the grocery store, only to find that the photography boutique was closed. So I won't be able to include the soldiers in my documentary for lack of film. On the other hand, their film was horrifyingly expensive, and this way I'll be able to pay more attention with my digital camera in hand.
My next post will probably be made from home, unless I really feel like paying for an Internet cafe in Paris. I can’t believe it’s been five and a half months already. Europe was fantastic, but it will be good to get back to America.
For a little while, that is. I’ve only a year left at Guilford.
After that, who knows?
Last night Thérèse announced that the Régiment du Passé (Regiment of the Past) would be conducting a simulation of an eighteenth-century battle at the Fort des Sallettes today. It's not really a reinactment, because none of Briançon's forts were attacked until the Second World War, so it's really just a very elaborate cosplay session. But don't tell the soldiers that. This cosplay is serious business.
This morning, even though we had the choice to sleep in, I got up early as usual and walked to the grocery store, only to find that the photography boutique was closed. So I won't be able to include the soldiers in my documentary for lack of film. On the other hand, their film was horrifyingly expensive, and this way I'll be able to pay more attention with my digital camera in hand.
My next post will probably be made from home, unless I really feel like paying for an Internet cafe in Paris. I can’t believe it’s been five and a half months already. Europe was fantastic, but it will be good to get back to America.
For a little while, that is. I’ve only a year left at Guilford.
After that, who knows?
Documentary’s End (3/4)
So I finally ran outta film for my photo documentary on the Club. I have ten rolls, with 348 exposures in all. Good news is that I finally have pictures for y’all now that I’m shooting digital again. Now the real exercise will be choosing the film shots to print once I get back to Guilford. I think I’m gonna have to put together a show this time, one because I don’t have the constraints that came with printing nudes as part of my Metamorphoses project, two because all the shooting is already complete, so it makes sense that I should introduce another production element to the project, and three because I would like to learn firsthand about finding a display space and running publicity. If nothing else, I’ll probably be able to get upstairs Founders for a gallery if I reserve it far enough in advance.
Ugh, my D40x lens is filthy. And all my lens cloths are contaminated with salt from sea spray and grease from sunscreen. I ran out of disposable lens cleaners back in Madrid, and haven’t been able to find any more. Anyone got any advice, or should I just suffer through the lens flare until I get back?
Yesterday we cut more grass, but got an unexpected break at the end of the day when Thérèse decided to give everyone an hour-and-a-half lecture on how to behave at CVM. I guess Elias, Igor, and Sylvain mucked up the guided tour that they were assigned to lead and got into an argument in front of the tourists or something like that. I felt sorry for the German girls, because I knew they hardly understood anything, and just had to sit there, whereas I, being able to honestly say that I have been a picture of docility and obedience in comparison to the other guys, was able to derive some schadenfreude from knowing that the lecture wasn’t directed at me.
I thought we were gonna have today off, but that’ll be tomorrow, when I finally get to post this blog update. Today was Cleaning Day, where we scrubbed the kitchen and the bathrooms and swept out the tents, and then everyone went up to the Fort des Sallettes. After a very light lunch, Thérèse asked all of us to divide into partners and think of games to pass the time tomorrow. Of course Wink was at the top of my list, but Thérèse will probably say it’s too dangerous once I demonstrate it. Ya see, people who worry about things like that just annoy me. Life is danger. As Mr. D told us back in eighth grade English, you can die walking down the street by tripping and hitting your head on the pavement. Scrapes heal, and as long as things don’t get REALLY dangerous, as in bones breaking, why not have fun? Maybe this is my being twenty-one talking, but I hardly think it’s right to live in perpetual fear of anything, whether it be other humans, unseen microbes, physical pain, or even your own mortality. I’m not saying that you should never fear anything, because that’s just stupid, but letting fear prevent you from living an enjoyable life is nothing less than a mental handicap.
After the hour to think up games was over, no one called us to do anything and no one had given us any directions, so my partner Alexandre and I stayed where we were and discussed movies. Alexandre told me why he thought Shaun of the Dead was the greatest film ever made, and he made a pretty good argument, too.
If You Can Justify It... (2/4)
Ain’t there a novel about a bunch of teenage guys slaving away in the sun? Oh, yeah, Holes by Louis Sachar. Good book, and the movie wasn’t bad either for Disney. I still wanna read the alternate ending where Stanley and Zero come out of the desert and lead the boys in a blood-drenched revolt against the guards using the shovels as weapons, and then escape with the treasure to Mexico.
Man, these days are flying by quickly. I get up at 7:15, because if I take a shower in the morning everyone else is still asleep and I can take as long as I want. They all get up at eight for breakfast, we catch the bus at 8:45, and get to the Old City at 9:20. We have lunch at around noon and a snack (Are we in preschool?) at 4:30. We quit work at 5:50 to catch the bus back to St. Blaise at 6:15. Then we have about an hour of free time before dinner, and ideally time for a big game with everyone afterward, but these past few nights we haven’t finished dinner until 10, and we all have to be in our tents by eleven.
But today Thérèse exceeded even her normal insanity by randomly deciding that a bunch of us at the Château needed to go see the Briançon Ski Museum and a modern art exhibit in the Old City at the end of the day. The museum was unimpressive; around the turn of the century, the French Army decided to imitate what the Finns have been doing for thousands of years and use skis for their alpine troops; the trend spread to the civilian population and people have been skiing here ever since. Cut, print. Good thing it was free, because if not it woulda been a tourist trap just like everything else in this town.
On the other hand, the art exhibition was really cool. It’s times like this where I almost regret the skills I learned in twelfth grade Theory of Knowledge, because I up and started discoursing on how one triptych of paintings was a commentary on Sino-Japanese relations from the 1930s to the present. I was just showing off, but everyone else was rapt with amazement. They started asking me to analyze all the other paintings, and no matter what I said they became more and more impressed.
Here’s a link to a video I been meaning to post since I was back in Rueil. Not Safe For Work: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yKS0yISz6xQ
Man, these days are flying by quickly. I get up at 7:15, because if I take a shower in the morning everyone else is still asleep and I can take as long as I want. They all get up at eight for breakfast, we catch the bus at 8:45, and get to the Old City at 9:20. We have lunch at around noon and a snack (Are we in preschool?) at 4:30. We quit work at 5:50 to catch the bus back to St. Blaise at 6:15. Then we have about an hour of free time before dinner, and ideally time for a big game with everyone afterward, but these past few nights we haven’t finished dinner until 10, and we all have to be in our tents by eleven.
But today Thérèse exceeded even her normal insanity by randomly deciding that a bunch of us at the Château needed to go see the Briançon Ski Museum and a modern art exhibit in the Old City at the end of the day. The museum was unimpressive; around the turn of the century, the French Army decided to imitate what the Finns have been doing for thousands of years and use skis for their alpine troops; the trend spread to the civilian population and people have been skiing here ever since. Cut, print. Good thing it was free, because if not it woulda been a tourist trap just like everything else in this town.
On the other hand, the art exhibition was really cool. It’s times like this where I almost regret the skills I learned in twelfth grade Theory of Knowledge, because I up and started discoursing on how one triptych of paintings was a commentary on Sino-Japanese relations from the 1930s to the present. I was just showing off, but everyone else was rapt with amazement. They started asking me to analyze all the other paintings, and no matter what I said they became more and more impressed.
Here’s a link to a video I been meaning to post since I was back in Rueil. Not Safe For Work: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yKS0yISz6xQ
Exhausted and Bored (1/4)
I need a video game or a book or a magazine or some DVDs or sumthin’ for these evenings after the work’s finished. I’m a little discombobulated right now, but there’s nothing to do but write this post, so that’s what I’m gonna do. The others are playing card games, and it’s not that I’m being antisocial, I just don’t see the point in playing when people are getting called away for various predinner duties at random frequent intervals.
We worked especially hard today at the Château, but we got a double ration of chocolate as a reward. Thérèse finally bought a whetstone for the scythe, so I led Sylvain and Theo with the sickles in clearing the courtyard and the area around the site where Yann and Niels were slinging mortar to restore one of the walls. She told us with a smile last night at dinner that she had finally convinced the Briançon people in charge of such things to give us some goats to keep in the fort so we wouldn’t have to worry about the grass anymore, but we won’t have them until the 25th. I brought my camera along and was able to shoot for my documentary project in between annihilating stretches of grass. The sun would have been broiling if there hadn’t been so much wind that it was almost cold.
Among the tourists there have been a whole bunch of old-timers that have given me advice on scythework or else told me I’m doing it all wrong. No, I’m doing it exactly right, I must be, because it’s WORKING exactly right! And I don’t care if the scythe was your weapon of choice against the Nazis back in the day à la the black guy from the Soul Caliber games, it’s not up to you to criticize my work!
I also accidently called out a guy for looking too feminine today. As the work was winding down and Niels and I were sitting enjoying our chocolate, we saw two women sitting on one of the off-limits walls smoking. I told ‘em that tourists weren’t allowed there, addressing them as “mesdames,” but when they turned around I saw that one of them was a guy. I didn’t apologize, nor acknowledge my mistake in any way. If a guy and his girlfriend wanna git mistaken for a pair of lesbians, ‘at’s ‘eir business. And ten minutes later we saw them traipsing around one of the areas that was CLEARLY marked with a red and white security ribbon as off-limits to visitors! Stupid tourists, they deserve to have a wall fall on ‘em!
Yesterday Laurent, another CVM veteran, came to the site to demonstrate mortar techniques and the rock climbing safety we’ll need to work on the top of one of the walls. Since Sylvain and I are the only ones above 18, only we can work up there. I was thrilled to do some climbing, probably tied with kayaking as my favorite physical activity. If there were some triathlon where you had to cycle to a river, kayak down it, and climb to the finish line, I’d totally train for and compete in it. Everything seemed to be going well until Thérèse showed up to tell us that everything was n’importe quoi. I still don’t know what that means! She says it all the time. I can only remain hopeful that when something is finally importe quoi, she will inform us.
One great thing about the group here is that they may not be inclined to behave as nerds, but they’re impressionable enough that they’re revealing themselves as nerds under the influence of the intense singularity that is my nerdiness. Yesterday the team of us working at the Château totaled nine including Laurent, triggering what I call a Group Naming Effect. Much like the Wizard of Oz effect which occurs when four guys and a girl are together, nine guys activate the Lord of the Rings effect. Laurent is Gandalf, Niels is Legolas, Theo is Frodo, etc. I’m Gimli, because of my proven potential to grow a giant Gimli-esque beard. Later I settled a debate over whether the Nazgûl are the undead men or the flying beasts, and last night I introduced everyone to the Yachting Club game Rock Paper Scissors Everything.
In exactly one week I’ll be back in Clarke County, driving home from the airport.
We worked especially hard today at the Château, but we got a double ration of chocolate as a reward. Thérèse finally bought a whetstone for the scythe, so I led Sylvain and Theo with the sickles in clearing the courtyard and the area around the site where Yann and Niels were slinging mortar to restore one of the walls. She told us with a smile last night at dinner that she had finally convinced the Briançon people in charge of such things to give us some goats to keep in the fort so we wouldn’t have to worry about the grass anymore, but we won’t have them until the 25th. I brought my camera along and was able to shoot for my documentary project in between annihilating stretches of grass. The sun would have been broiling if there hadn’t been so much wind that it was almost cold.
Among the tourists there have been a whole bunch of old-timers that have given me advice on scythework or else told me I’m doing it all wrong. No, I’m doing it exactly right, I must be, because it’s WORKING exactly right! And I don’t care if the scythe was your weapon of choice against the Nazis back in the day à la the black guy from the Soul Caliber games, it’s not up to you to criticize my work!
I also accidently called out a guy for looking too feminine today. As the work was winding down and Niels and I were sitting enjoying our chocolate, we saw two women sitting on one of the off-limits walls smoking. I told ‘em that tourists weren’t allowed there, addressing them as “mesdames,” but when they turned around I saw that one of them was a guy. I didn’t apologize, nor acknowledge my mistake in any way. If a guy and his girlfriend wanna git mistaken for a pair of lesbians, ‘at’s ‘eir business. And ten minutes later we saw them traipsing around one of the areas that was CLEARLY marked with a red and white security ribbon as off-limits to visitors! Stupid tourists, they deserve to have a wall fall on ‘em!
Yesterday Laurent, another CVM veteran, came to the site to demonstrate mortar techniques and the rock climbing safety we’ll need to work on the top of one of the walls. Since Sylvain and I are the only ones above 18, only we can work up there. I was thrilled to do some climbing, probably tied with kayaking as my favorite physical activity. If there were some triathlon where you had to cycle to a river, kayak down it, and climb to the finish line, I’d totally train for and compete in it. Everything seemed to be going well until Thérèse showed up to tell us that everything was n’importe quoi. I still don’t know what that means! She says it all the time. I can only remain hopeful that when something is finally importe quoi, she will inform us.
One great thing about the group here is that they may not be inclined to behave as nerds, but they’re impressionable enough that they’re revealing themselves as nerds under the influence of the intense singularity that is my nerdiness. Yesterday the team of us working at the Château totaled nine including Laurent, triggering what I call a Group Naming Effect. Much like the Wizard of Oz effect which occurs when four guys and a girl are together, nine guys activate the Lord of the Rings effect. Laurent is Gandalf, Niels is Legolas, Theo is Frodo, etc. I’m Gimli, because of my proven potential to grow a giant Gimli-esque beard. Later I settled a debate over whether the Nazgûl are the undead men or the flying beasts, and last night I introduced everyone to the Yachting Club game Rock Paper Scissors Everything.
In exactly one week I’ll be back in Clarke County, driving home from the airport.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Shoulder Feels Stronger (2/2)
These past two days we’ve been ratcheting up the intensity of the work at both Sallettes and the Château, nailing boards and hauling back-crushing bags of chalk and concrete. We've learned that when using a hammer, precision really isn't all that important as long as everyone's hands are out of the way; you just swing from the shoulder as hard as you can with massive blows that make you feel like some Norse giant. After Niels unsuccessfully pursued two of the kids who’ve been trespassing in the Château, Elias and I have been assigned to block up the passage that we think they’ve been using with several old doors nailed together. It’s going well, except we have to put up with Mathieu’s remarks about how they did something similar last year. SHADDAP, moron, THIS is how we’re doing it THIS year!
Yesterday Niels and I left ahead of the others to pick up pasta sauce in the Old City. We stopped at the train station to reserve my ticket to Paris (night train, cheapest there was) and decided to wait for the new kid who was supposed to arrive in a few minutes. The train was delayed, so we waited. And it started deluging rain. We called Thérèse to tell her what we were doing. She insisted that we not walk home in the rain, even though it would only have been fifteen minutes and she’s the one who’s always insisting we’re not babies. She sent a taxi for us. We waited another forty minutes for the taxi, by which time the rain had stopped. And in the calling Thérèse to try to get her to recall the taxi, I ran out of phone credits. Damn Bouygue capitalists. Is it any wonder that I secretly dream of toppling civilization à la Fight Club and doing away with things like phone credits and phones and phone companies and capitalism? Does that seem callous of me? Perhaps even a little... barbaric?
Yesterday Niels and I left ahead of the others to pick up pasta sauce in the Old City. We stopped at the train station to reserve my ticket to Paris (night train, cheapest there was) and decided to wait for the new kid who was supposed to arrive in a few minutes. The train was delayed, so we waited. And it started deluging rain. We called Thérèse to tell her what we were doing. She insisted that we not walk home in the rain, even though it would only have been fifteen minutes and she’s the one who’s always insisting we’re not babies. She sent a taxi for us. We waited another forty minutes for the taxi, by which time the rain had stopped. And in the calling Thérèse to try to get her to recall the taxi, I ran out of phone credits. Damn Bouygue capitalists. Is it any wonder that I secretly dream of toppling civilization à la Fight Club and doing away with things like phone credits and phones and phone companies and capitalism? Does that seem callous of me? Perhaps even a little... barbaric?
The Fourth (1/2)
Yesterday was the closest thing to a real day off that we’ve had so far. We mounted a fourth tent in the morning and then took the bus to the Old City, where I checked my e-mails at a WiFi bar while the others explored the sites that Thérèse suggested. After finishing on the Web I met the others again briefly before diverging from them again to spend time in the municipal library’s English section finishing Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov. I had just gotten to where Humbert is speaking contemptuously of Godin when Sarah called me to say that we were leaving early to avoid the rain.
Now I see clearly why Thérèse chose Sarah to be her adjutant, or perhaps “lieutenant” would be more appropriate. Sarah’s one of those girls, like Marion and Sarah Campbell, who manages to be surpassingly beautiful, strong, and intelligent all at once effortlessly, with a level of competence that makes the rest of us look like, to borrow a phrase from Whedon, idiot children. (Marion and Sarah, I’m not even trying to flatter you, I really do regard you this highly.) And if I didn’t know that she has a devoted boyfriend, I’d almost be tempted to imagine she likes me, though it’s probably just that we’re the most similar in levels of emotional maturity. She’s a complete battleaxe when dealing with Elias, Igor, and Batiste’s puerile antics, what Thérèse must have been like many years ago.
When we got back two new kids had arrived, Mathieu and Theo. Theo’s nice, and only fourteen, but pretty smart, effectively making him the Chiyo-chan of the group. Theo-chan. Mathieu’s an arrogant wanker. ‘E’s seventeen and he has done CVM once before, and I think he showed up thinking that his prior experience would make him some kind of team leader by default. Shortly after Niels and I helped install them in our tent, Sarah and I left to buy stuff for the hamburgers. We got tomatoes, lettuce, onions, ketchup, a cheap mustard that was spicy enough to be reminiscent of wasabi, Cheddar cheese, and something called American Sauce that I suspected I had already tasted at Quick. We even bought hamburger buns and ice cream.
By the time we got back, it was sprinkling and the German girls had arrived. Enza and Vera are both fifteen but look like they’re eleven. They don’t speak French very well, so I’m gonna make it one of my goals in the time I have left here to help them as much as I can. All morning Igor and Elias had been making licentious comments about German girls, but once they actually saw them they switched their ribaldry to other unseen women. Stupid fifteen-year-olds.
I started out cooking the hamburgers myself, but then Thérèse asked me to go back to the store in the now pouring rain, knowing I’d be the only one stoic (“crazy”) enough to do it, to get more tent stakes and the Coke that we’d forgotten earlier. Sarah took over the hamburgers according to my explicit and absurdly simple instructions. On the way back, both bags I was carrying split, so I wound up stuffing 100 stakes in the pockets of my cargo shorts and hefting three bottles of Coke in my arms.
After this dinner, I will not hear about how American fast food is corrupting French culinary something-or-other. The French done corrupted American food themselves, so why are they surprised that we’re returning the favor? First there was the obstacle of convincing Thérèse and Theo that Americans put neither eggs nor onions in the beef, earlier in the day. When I walked in the house, Sarah had put six of the burgers in the oven to cook; I’d never even thought to tell her not to, and had to explain to her how Americans believe in a perfect yin and yang of hot meat and cool vegetables in a hamburger. So we had six toasted hamburgers and sixteen the way hamburgers oughta be, dammit. THEN I find that the French, and obviously the Germans as well, eat hamburgers with forks!! WHAT HERESY IS THIS?? This is taking European formality entirely too far! You might as well eat spaghetti with your hands! You might as well dunk your face in soup and drink it like a horse!
As we were going to sleep, we heard the whistle and bang of fireworks, but when we jumped out of the tents we couldn’t see them. Looks like I’m not the only American in this town.
Now I see clearly why Thérèse chose Sarah to be her adjutant, or perhaps “lieutenant” would be more appropriate. Sarah’s one of those girls, like Marion and Sarah Campbell, who manages to be surpassingly beautiful, strong, and intelligent all at once effortlessly, with a level of competence that makes the rest of us look like, to borrow a phrase from Whedon, idiot children. (Marion and Sarah, I’m not even trying to flatter you, I really do regard you this highly.) And if I didn’t know that she has a devoted boyfriend, I’d almost be tempted to imagine she likes me, though it’s probably just that we’re the most similar in levels of emotional maturity. She’s a complete battleaxe when dealing with Elias, Igor, and Batiste’s puerile antics, what Thérèse must have been like many years ago.
When we got back two new kids had arrived, Mathieu and Theo. Theo’s nice, and only fourteen, but pretty smart, effectively making him the Chiyo-chan of the group. Theo-chan. Mathieu’s an arrogant wanker. ‘E’s seventeen and he has done CVM once before, and I think he showed up thinking that his prior experience would make him some kind of team leader by default. Shortly after Niels and I helped install them in our tent, Sarah and I left to buy stuff for the hamburgers. We got tomatoes, lettuce, onions, ketchup, a cheap mustard that was spicy enough to be reminiscent of wasabi, Cheddar cheese, and something called American Sauce that I suspected I had already tasted at Quick. We even bought hamburger buns and ice cream.
By the time we got back, it was sprinkling and the German girls had arrived. Enza and Vera are both fifteen but look like they’re eleven. They don’t speak French very well, so I’m gonna make it one of my goals in the time I have left here to help them as much as I can. All morning Igor and Elias had been making licentious comments about German girls, but once they actually saw them they switched their ribaldry to other unseen women. Stupid fifteen-year-olds.
I started out cooking the hamburgers myself, but then Thérèse asked me to go back to the store in the now pouring rain, knowing I’d be the only one stoic (“crazy”) enough to do it, to get more tent stakes and the Coke that we’d forgotten earlier. Sarah took over the hamburgers according to my explicit and absurdly simple instructions. On the way back, both bags I was carrying split, so I wound up stuffing 100 stakes in the pockets of my cargo shorts and hefting three bottles of Coke in my arms.
After this dinner, I will not hear about how American fast food is corrupting French culinary something-or-other. The French done corrupted American food themselves, so why are they surprised that we’re returning the favor? First there was the obstacle of convincing Thérèse and Theo that Americans put neither eggs nor onions in the beef, earlier in the day. When I walked in the house, Sarah had put six of the burgers in the oven to cook; I’d never even thought to tell her not to, and had to explain to her how Americans believe in a perfect yin and yang of hot meat and cool vegetables in a hamburger. So we had six toasted hamburgers and sixteen the way hamburgers oughta be, dammit. THEN I find that the French, and obviously the Germans as well, eat hamburgers with forks!! WHAT HERESY IS THIS?? This is taking European formality entirely too far! You might as well eat spaghetti with your hands! You might as well dunk your face in soup and drink it like a horse!
As we were going to sleep, we heard the whistle and bang of fireworks, but when we jumped out of the tents we couldn’t see them. Looks like I’m not the only American in this town.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
The Way Home
On the 30th I called home with Skype. My mother and I decided that if I came home earlier than initially planned we'd save money on the CVM fee. And I miss my parents. And Thérèse and I don't work all that well together. And I miss... America. Took five and a half months for me to start missing it, but I do.
So I'm gettin' back early. July 15th. 3 pm. Via Copenhagen. I'll miss the fireworks from the Fort des Sallettes here in Briançon, but I'm sure the ones in Paris will be far more impressive.
My flight from Charles de Gaulle leaves at 7 in the morning. So you know what that means. Yes, but why would I go to bed early on Bastille Day in Paris? I fully expect to forego sleep that night in order to experience Bastille Day to the fullest extent that I can before grabbing the RER B to the airport before one inna mornin'. Then I'll doze on the airport floor just like I did in Rome.
Oh, this is gonna be fun.
So I'm gettin' back early. July 15th. 3 pm. Via Copenhagen. I'll miss the fireworks from the Fort des Sallettes here in Briançon, but I'm sure the ones in Paris will be far more impressive.
My flight from Charles de Gaulle leaves at 7 in the morning. So you know what that means. Yes, but why would I go to bed early on Bastille Day in Paris? I fully expect to forego sleep that night in order to experience Bastille Day to the fullest extent that I can before grabbing the RER B to the airport before one inna mornin'. Then I'll doze on the airport floor just like I did in Rome.
Oh, this is gonna be fun.
Huit!
Coffee and Scrabble mix well. A bit too well, actually: I haven’t been this hyper for this long in months. A third influence might be the spontaneous sense of community that has sprung up in the house with the arrival of three more guys. Now it feels less like we’re a small group oppressed by Thérèse and more like, between us, she’s become a much lesser evil that we’ll just have to tolerate together.
The new guys are Batiste and Igor, who came together from Grenoble on the train. I refer to them in my head as Harry and Ron. Elias is a bit of a wankster, but nice enough based on the two hours that I’ve known him so far.
Thérèse also made three significant promises just now that’ll make staying here much more fun. One: on the 4th, I’ll be in charge of cooking hamburgers and corn on the cob, if we can find it in time. Two: soon we’ll all play Scrabble in the yard with the letters on big pieces of cardboard. Three: on Bastille Day, we’ll spend the night in the Fort des Sallettes like we did last night to watch the fireworks over the city! The explosions will be less than a kilometer away and nearly horizontal with our position! If ever there was an opportunity to dual-wield my cameras!
Yesterday Sarah arrived from Paris. She’s done CVM four times before, so Thérèse made her her official adjutant, demoting me from a position I never knew I had. Definitely not complaining, though. We spent the morning building a section of roof in the Château that we’ll use to demonstrate the composition of the roof to the tourists. Then we had lunch and hiked over to the Fort des Sallettes. That morning I had misunderstood Thérèse’s directions for getting ready, so when Diane, who arrived Tuesday, told me we weren’t coming back to St. Blaise before that night, I only had time to grab my sleeping bag, tripod, and film camera. At Sallettes we hauled up pieces of scaffolding from a storeroom, twelve-foot-long metal poles. Thérèse left us in the fort with the admonition not to venture above the ground floor.
But we did, Niels and I. With the gate locked I couldn’t get outside to get a view of the city for night shots of it, so Niels showed me a relatively hidden, that is, inconspicuous, passage from the west bastion to the balcony above. I calculated for reciprocity and took six shots in forty minutes. Niels and I slept in the top of the keep, while the girls slept in the powder magazine.
Next morning Niels and I woke up before the girls and spotted a pair of pine martens that had made a nest in the east wall. We all had pound cake and chocolate for breakfast and got to work right away assembling the scaffolding and mounting a series of CVM photos for the tourists.
Sarah and I scrambled eggs with bacon and onions in the fort’s kitchen for lunch, and then we took the bus back to St. Blaise to wait for the new arrivals. When Niels and Diane got back from the Château, Niels and I got to finish the Scrabble game we had suspended two days before. We had been neck and neck, I mean NECK! AND! NECK! since the beginning, but after we resumed he hit me with a couple of really well-placed plays making use of obscure French vocabulary, and ended about ninety points ahead of me.
We gotta go to bed now. Thiiiiiiiiis is gonna be a problem.
The new guys are Batiste and Igor, who came together from Grenoble on the train. I refer to them in my head as Harry and Ron. Elias is a bit of a wankster, but nice enough based on the two hours that I’ve known him so far.
Thérèse also made three significant promises just now that’ll make staying here much more fun. One: on the 4th, I’ll be in charge of cooking hamburgers and corn on the cob, if we can find it in time. Two: soon we’ll all play Scrabble in the yard with the letters on big pieces of cardboard. Three: on Bastille Day, we’ll spend the night in the Fort des Sallettes like we did last night to watch the fireworks over the city! The explosions will be less than a kilometer away and nearly horizontal with our position! If ever there was an opportunity to dual-wield my cameras!
Yesterday Sarah arrived from Paris. She’s done CVM four times before, so Thérèse made her her official adjutant, demoting me from a position I never knew I had. Definitely not complaining, though. We spent the morning building a section of roof in the Château that we’ll use to demonstrate the composition of the roof to the tourists. Then we had lunch and hiked over to the Fort des Sallettes. That morning I had misunderstood Thérèse’s directions for getting ready, so when Diane, who arrived Tuesday, told me we weren’t coming back to St. Blaise before that night, I only had time to grab my sleeping bag, tripod, and film camera. At Sallettes we hauled up pieces of scaffolding from a storeroom, twelve-foot-long metal poles. Thérèse left us in the fort with the admonition not to venture above the ground floor.
But we did, Niels and I. With the gate locked I couldn’t get outside to get a view of the city for night shots of it, so Niels showed me a relatively hidden, that is, inconspicuous, passage from the west bastion to the balcony above. I calculated for reciprocity and took six shots in forty minutes. Niels and I slept in the top of the keep, while the girls slept in the powder magazine.
Next morning Niels and I woke up before the girls and spotted a pair of pine martens that had made a nest in the east wall. We all had pound cake and chocolate for breakfast and got to work right away assembling the scaffolding and mounting a series of CVM photos for the tourists.
Sarah and I scrambled eggs with bacon and onions in the fort’s kitchen for lunch, and then we took the bus back to St. Blaise to wait for the new arrivals. When Niels and Diane got back from the Château, Niels and I got to finish the Scrabble game we had suspended two days before. We had been neck and neck, I mean NECK! AND! NECK! since the beginning, but after we resumed he hit me with a couple of really well-placed plays making use of obscure French vocabulary, and ended about ninety points ahead of me.
We gotta go to bed now. Thiiiiiiiiis is gonna be a problem.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
28 Days From Now... (2/2)
My burden hasn’t been halved, but it has been lessened considerably. Niels, the new kid, is fifteen and pretty nice. His family was from Denmark before moving to Paris. Yesterday we set up two of the five tents and slept in the first last night. Ah, I’ve missed that smell of canvas and the feeling of rising while the sun is shining but the air still holds the night’s chill.
Thérèse is getting harder to deal with each day. She’s one of the most anal and nervous persons I’ve ever met. We can’t use towels to dry dishes, because they’re filled with germs. We can’t pet dogs in the street, even if they are collared and look well cared for. We can’t buy frozen food because it might thaw between the store and the house and unleash bacteria that could (yes, she actually said this) KILL somebody! She also insists that we clean the bathroom floor and toilets every single night. This is the problem: you’ve got a high-strung germaphobe dictating the rules for a guy who, apparently, has spent too much time at a college for dirty hippies. If it looks clean, it is clean, dammit! You’ve nothing to fear from dirt, it’s the chemicals that’ll kill ya! If I hadn’t already been inoculated against crazy French women by my stay at the Chamayous, I’d probably want to come home right now. I just keep telling myself that my current situation is not as bad as what I left. It’s like telling yourself that the shack in Kamchatka where you’re hiding from the KGB isn’t as bad as the Gulag camp you escaped from; it’s true, but it doesn’t really make you feel any better. At least Thérèse isn’t a fundie Catholic.
This morning Thérèse showed us how to mix mortar with sand, chalk, and water, and how to apply it to a wall. You literally just throw handfuls of it as hard as you can at the wall, then let it dry and repeat until it has stuck in all the cracks. That job’ll be much easier once we get more people and equipment.
After lunch Niels and I walked all the way to the Old City, and then waited two hours for Thérèse to get there too. We walked through the Château while Thérèse gave me a list of things to photograph tomorrow. A raging summer storm kicked up, but the sun came through the clouds and there was some amazing light over the Old City.
Thérèse is getting harder to deal with each day. She’s one of the most anal and nervous persons I’ve ever met. We can’t use towels to dry dishes, because they’re filled with germs. We can’t pet dogs in the street, even if they are collared and look well cared for. We can’t buy frozen food because it might thaw between the store and the house and unleash bacteria that could (yes, she actually said this) KILL somebody! She also insists that we clean the bathroom floor and toilets every single night. This is the problem: you’ve got a high-strung germaphobe dictating the rules for a guy who, apparently, has spent too much time at a college for dirty hippies. If it looks clean, it is clean, dammit! You’ve nothing to fear from dirt, it’s the chemicals that’ll kill ya! If I hadn’t already been inoculated against crazy French women by my stay at the Chamayous, I’d probably want to come home right now. I just keep telling myself that my current situation is not as bad as what I left. It’s like telling yourself that the shack in Kamchatka where you’re hiding from the KGB isn’t as bad as the Gulag camp you escaped from; it’s true, but it doesn’t really make you feel any better. At least Thérèse isn’t a fundie Catholic.
This morning Thérèse showed us how to mix mortar with sand, chalk, and water, and how to apply it to a wall. You literally just throw handfuls of it as hard as you can at the wall, then let it dry and repeat until it has stuck in all the cracks. That job’ll be much easier once we get more people and equipment.
After lunch Niels and I walked all the way to the Old City, and then waited two hours for Thérèse to get there too. We walked through the Château while Thérèse gave me a list of things to photograph tomorrow. A raging summer storm kicked up, but the sun came through the clouds and there was some amazing light over the Old City.
En français, “lamantinesque” (1/2)
I swear, the day I get home I’m doin’ what I shoulda done before I left: install Age of Empires III plus the War Chiefs expansion on this laptop. Then I’m gonna buy the Asian Dynasties expansion and Civilization IV. Because since being in Europe for almost five months with no significant video games to speak of, I’ve learned that there are some situations in which video games are not only enjoyable, but advisable, and even useful, to have.
Example: when I was in Wieselburg, Austria with Marion. Some of you may think I’m being an ungracious guest, but Marion knows just what I’m talking about. Wieselburg is a really small town, and there’s nothing to do. If I’d had a strategy game on my laptop it could’ve provided entertainment for both of us.
An earlier example: when in October 2007 I tried to observe the month of Ramadan. There were a few times in the early evening that my blood sugar was so low that I was almost in a state of panic, and video games would help me to relax until sundown. That was actually when I began my Ottoman profile on Age of Empires that would evolve into a Turkish variation of my Scottish strategy using the same fundamentals, making it an excellent strategy that’s uniquely mine, and probably my favorite of all to play.
Yes, I’m very aware that one is supposed to pray in order to get through Ramadan.
Because right now I’m alone at the new CVM house in the village of St. Blaise. Thérèse is at the CVM office where she’ll be spending the night to get work done. I thought of climbing one of the ridges tonight to get night shots of Briançon, but my tripod’s still at the convent. No books to read. Least when I was in Paris I had a stack of DVDs to watch for Cinema. Wouldn’t mind watching This Is England again. I’d even settle for The Idiots. But not Blue. This situation is crying out for several hours of gaming, but...
So on Wednesday, the day of the big move, Thérèse was going to send me to another valley, but I proposed hiking up to the Croix de Toulouse, which is on the peak above the Fort des Sallettes. She told me after I got back that it was two vertical kilometers. And it felt like it. The climb up was a pretty fair challenge, but I took a different route down that wasn’t as steep. It was kind of surreal to watch Briançon just getting smaller and smaller as I climbed, and at the summit you could see many more peaks than you can in the town, some across the border in Italy.
That evening Thérèse and I went out for pizza. She seemed a lot more relaxed than she had been, but it was not to last. She’s back to being neurotic and critical. One of her favorite things to say when I ask about something in Briançon is “You’re not a baby, you can find out for yourself.” And I might agree with her if I’d been acting immature in some way, but I haven’t been acting like a baby; if anything, I’ve been acting like a robot. I do the tasks she assigns me without question, and if I get something wrong, usually because of the language barrier, I accept her remonstrations with a manatee-like calm and move on. But tomorrow another kid is arriving, so hopefully the criticism will be halved! And a whole group is arriving on the 1st, so things are looking up.
But on a much brighter subject, yesterday Thérèse announced I was going to cut the grass in the Fort du Château, making a swinging motion with her arms. I thought, that’s not a very safe way to use a weed whacker. Oh, ye of little imagination, the Club of the Old Manor is far more committed to historical accuracy than you would initially think. So she took me up to the attic of the powder magazine and handed me two tools: a scythe and a sickle.
Never imagined I’d enjoy cutting the lawn this much, blisters aside. It’s very satisfying swinging a large blade like that, even more so than the machete clearing brush back home. I musta been a wheat farmer in a previous life. Didn’t get all the grass done because it started to rain, which means I’ll get to do more another day.
And today we moved more stuff from the convent to St. Blaise, then inspected the tents, in which we’ll all be living once the others get here, for mouse damage. Got them inside the house just as it started to pour. Guess we’ll set them up to aerate tomorrow.
I miss Guilford terribly, especially its people. I miss the way Kass strides into a room, the way Rachel rocks back in her chair when she laughs, the way Max uses his hands to express a point, the way Michelle’s smile makes you think of sunlight on an April morning, the way Bennie feigns disgust whenever I say something really nerdy. And Olivia... I miss everything about Olivia.
Example: when I was in Wieselburg, Austria with Marion. Some of you may think I’m being an ungracious guest, but Marion knows just what I’m talking about. Wieselburg is a really small town, and there’s nothing to do. If I’d had a strategy game on my laptop it could’ve provided entertainment for both of us.
An earlier example: when in October 2007 I tried to observe the month of Ramadan. There were a few times in the early evening that my blood sugar was so low that I was almost in a state of panic, and video games would help me to relax until sundown. That was actually when I began my Ottoman profile on Age of Empires that would evolve into a Turkish variation of my Scottish strategy using the same fundamentals, making it an excellent strategy that’s uniquely mine, and probably my favorite of all to play.
Yes, I’m very aware that one is supposed to pray in order to get through Ramadan.
Because right now I’m alone at the new CVM house in the village of St. Blaise. Thérèse is at the CVM office where she’ll be spending the night to get work done. I thought of climbing one of the ridges tonight to get night shots of Briançon, but my tripod’s still at the convent. No books to read. Least when I was in Paris I had a stack of DVDs to watch for Cinema. Wouldn’t mind watching This Is England again. I’d even settle for The Idiots. But not Blue. This situation is crying out for several hours of gaming, but...
So on Wednesday, the day of the big move, Thérèse was going to send me to another valley, but I proposed hiking up to the Croix de Toulouse, which is on the peak above the Fort des Sallettes. She told me after I got back that it was two vertical kilometers. And it felt like it. The climb up was a pretty fair challenge, but I took a different route down that wasn’t as steep. It was kind of surreal to watch Briançon just getting smaller and smaller as I climbed, and at the summit you could see many more peaks than you can in the town, some across the border in Italy.
That evening Thérèse and I went out for pizza. She seemed a lot more relaxed than she had been, but it was not to last. She’s back to being neurotic and critical. One of her favorite things to say when I ask about something in Briançon is “You’re not a baby, you can find out for yourself.” And I might agree with her if I’d been acting immature in some way, but I haven’t been acting like a baby; if anything, I’ve been acting like a robot. I do the tasks she assigns me without question, and if I get something wrong, usually because of the language barrier, I accept her remonstrations with a manatee-like calm and move on. But tomorrow another kid is arriving, so hopefully the criticism will be halved! And a whole group is arriving on the 1st, so things are looking up.
But on a much brighter subject, yesterday Thérèse announced I was going to cut the grass in the Fort du Château, making a swinging motion with her arms. I thought, that’s not a very safe way to use a weed whacker. Oh, ye of little imagination, the Club of the Old Manor is far more committed to historical accuracy than you would initially think. So she took me up to the attic of the powder magazine and handed me two tools: a scythe and a sickle.
Never imagined I’d enjoy cutting the lawn this much, blisters aside. It’s very satisfying swinging a large blade like that, even more so than the machete clearing brush back home. I musta been a wheat farmer in a previous life. Didn’t get all the grass done because it started to rain, which means I’ll get to do more another day.
And today we moved more stuff from the convent to St. Blaise, then inspected the tents, in which we’ll all be living once the others get here, for mouse damage. Got them inside the house just as it started to pour. Guess we’ll set them up to aerate tomorrow.
I miss Guilford terribly, especially its people. I miss the way Kass strides into a room, the way Rachel rocks back in her chair when she laughs, the way Max uses his hands to express a point, the way Michelle’s smile makes you think of sunlight on an April morning, the way Bennie feigns disgust whenever I say something really nerdy. And Olivia... I miss everything about Olivia.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Free Day
On Wednesday Therese and I are having to move from the Franciscan convent to a church in the neighboring village of St. Blaise, where CVM will host all the rest of the kids when they arrive. I guess Therese is just used to doing things herself, so despite my profuse offers to help, she let me have a "day off" to visit the fortress at Mont Dauphin. So I got up early today and hopped the train. It was a half-hour hike up to the fort, of which all I could see was a wall at the top of a cliff; I couldn't find the route at first, so I decided to take a cow path leading in the direction of the wall, which then intersected with the correct road.
This is how much of an architectural genius the Marquis de Vauban was: he designed a fortress so that not only would the enemy never be able to take it, they wouldn't even be able to find it. Hiking up the cliff I saw the wall, but if you approach from the other direction over the fields, it is completely invisible. And it's not just a fortress, it's a very heavily fortified town. Missed the guided tour, which was a shame because most of the buildings and ramparts are only visitable with a tour.
There's a music festival tonight in Briançon, so I'll probably meet Therese for dinner and then we'll go to that separately, but right now, since I'm in an Internet cafe with computers with a profuse array of video games, I think I'll play some Half-Life.
This is how much of an architectural genius the Marquis de Vauban was: he designed a fortress so that not only would the enemy never be able to take it, they wouldn't even be able to find it. Hiking up the cliff I saw the wall, but if you approach from the other direction over the fields, it is completely invisible. And it's not just a fortress, it's a very heavily fortified town. Missed the guided tour, which was a shame because most of the buildings and ramparts are only visitable with a tour.
There's a music festival tonight in Briançon, so I'll probably meet Therese for dinner and then we'll go to that separately, but right now, since I'm in an Internet cafe with computers with a profuse array of video games, I think I'll play some Half-Life.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Hands white with chalk, back red from the sun
I got to Briançon from Nice all right, although I very nearly had to sleep on the street again. The train arrived at 9:30 at night, and the address I had for CVM was only a technical address, not an actual place. After walking two villages over looking for the place, I flagged down a guy in a truck who was kind enough to drive me back to the police station in Briançon. From the police I got the number of the CVM project manager, Therese, and was able to meet her in the Old City.
There are no other kids in the program at the moment. It's just me and Therese living in an old Franciscan convent. Therese is nice. A little bipolar, but nothing compared to Madame Chamayou. These past few days we've been working on the tour schedule for the Fort des Salettes and the Château de la Cité, two forts from the eighteenth century. I've been translating documents so I'll be able to give the tours in French and English.
The scenery here is absolutely beyond belief. You'd just have to be here to experience it. I've been trying to upload pictures, but I'm at McDonalds using the WiFi and it's just too slow. Evil capitalists and their French lackeys. Hatethemhatethemhatethemhatethem.
There are no other kids in the program at the moment. It's just me and Therese living in an old Franciscan convent. Therese is nice. A little bipolar, but nothing compared to Madame Chamayou. These past few days we've been working on the tour schedule for the Fort des Salettes and the Château de la Cité, two forts from the eighteenth century. I've been translating documents so I'll be able to give the tours in French and English.
The scenery here is absolutely beyond belief. You'd just have to be here to experience it. I've been trying to upload pictures, but I'm at McDonalds using the WiFi and it's just too slow. Evil capitalists and their French lackeys. Hatethemhatethemhatethemhatethem.
Monday, June 15, 2009
This time tomorrow...
So I realized that Internet might be fairly hard to come by in Briançon. It is a fairly significant tourist destination, so there'll be at least one Internet cafe, but I dunno how busy the restoration work will keep us. And there's also the issue of mere electricity; my adapter that I bought in Munich works fine in Spain and Germany, but doesn't have a hole for the grounding-circuit-thing that all of the newer plugs in France have.
So it's possible that this might be my last post until I get back to Paris.
Spent yesterday exploring Nice. Climbed to the top of the hill where the old fort was. Tried to go back at night, but of course the paths were closed.
Now I just have to pack and go.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Surprise Poverty!
I only have €12 to my name at the moment. And come tomorrow, I'm gonna spend it on backup batteries for my N65 camera, because missing a meal is far preferrable to being up in the Alps with a nonfunctioning camera.
I dunno what Wachovia's playing at. The ATMs here say I have insufficient funds to withdraw, but I really should have €70 left. Luckily I was able to buy pasta and coffee for the weekend. And my parents have promised to send me more tomorrow night.
So in the mean time I'm in one of the number one tourist destinations in the world with no money to spend.
But why cower in the face of capitalism when you can rage against it for free? You know how I said the French don't know anything about protesting? I still maintain that they don't. But the Niçois don't fail quite as hard as the Parisians.
I saw the manifestants gathering in the plaza near the beach on Avenue Jean Medecine, Nice's main street as I walked to the shoreline. About an hour later I came back just as they were beginning to march. And so we marched for a few hours. And it was fun. Something to do.
The beaches here are cool, but way too crowded for me. I haven't seen water this blue since Costa Rica, and I desperately wanted to go in, but, no money for a swimsuit and no one to watch my camera.
At dinner I met Bella, an international wedding photographer from Australia who just finished a shoot in Paris. We chatted about photos for a while.
Once again, I am starved for the company of nerds.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Sit me down, shut me up
Barcelona was incredible. Wish I'd had more time to spend there.
After I got in from Zaragoza I got a map from the tourist office in the station, but I couldn't figure out how it corresponded to the metro plan, so I decided to just walk to my hostel. Oh, it was hot. After five minutes I had to stop and change my shoes for my sandals. I found the Avignue de Parallel, and then Carrer Nou de la Rambla, where my hostel was. After I got settled I went to Decathlon, the big sports and camping store on La Rambla to get the rest of the stuff I needed for Briançon. Got back to the hostel and went to dinner with Debra, an English girl, and Alice and Stephanie, two Canadians.
Next day I spent the morning doing laundry and going back to Decathlon for a few things I'd forgotten. After lunch I took the metro to Barcelona's most important site, La Sagrada Familia. And I was struck dumb. It's a funny feeling to know that the building before you is without a doubt the single most beautiful church in the world, that no other cathedral, anywhere, will equal it. And it won't even be finished for another seventeen years! Having seen the outside façades, I paid the fee to see the interior, and it was astonishing. The hyperboloid forms of circles grouped together at key structural points let in a maximum amount of sunlight without sacrificing any architectural integrity, and it's probably these nature-inspired forms that makes the church look as if it wasn't wrought by human hands, but rather grew on the spot by itself, or was originally one giant piece of stone that was shaped by a divine will. It makes the National Cathedral look like a high school art project that was thrown together at one in the morning! It makes Notre Dame look like the Parisians bought it at Ikea!
From there I walked along the waterfront at sunset, had dinner, and hung out with Alice and Stephanie and two Welsh guys on the roof of the hostel. Then I went back to La Sagrada Familia for night shots. Kinda disappointed with the result, since it was just spotlit from the outside, but then I realized that they probably haven't wired the inside yet.
Went back to the hostel, maybe to go to bed. And that's where things got cool.
I went into the common room and met the Welsh guys from before. We planned to go take a walk and maybe go to a bar, but they claimed they need more time at the hostel to drink; apparently some people need to be drunk to actually walk anywhere, I've never understood that. So while I waited for them I chatted with two Swedish girls, Evelyn and Lydia. They were getting ready to go to a club, and, impatient with the Welsh guys, I asked if I could come with them. They said sure, and Evelyn even called ahead to get me on the list so I could get in for free.
We walked to Club Blvd, one of the biggest clubs in the city. We got in, got drinks, and chatted some more before checking out the dance floors. There were three of them, one playing techno, one American eighties music, and one salsa. the second one had an impressive light show going, with green and red lasers everywhere. The girls knew more of the songs than I did. We danced until about three thirty and then went back to the hostel.
Didn't want to risk sleeping through my alarm like I had in Madrid, so I got my stuff packed immediately and went down to the common room to nap on the couch. I was woken up by the sound of people coming down for breakfast. Grabbed two bowls of cereal and then headed out for the train station.
Spent the train ride in a half-awake stupor, and went to bed early last night. Now I'm in Nice and it's already 11:30. Must actually get out and do something instead of blogging about stuff I already did.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Why so Zaragoza? (2/2)
Caught the train from Pamplona at about 11 and arrived in Zaragoza at 1. Immediately after I stepped out of the train station I was impressed. I'd heard about the city being modern, because it hosted the Expo Zaragoza technology fair in 2008, but all the airy, pure white architecture of the viaduct in front of the station and the Metropolitain Bridge across the Ebro was really something; Paris has plans for structures like these to be built by 2030, so it's incredible to see how far ahead the Aragonese are.
Found a hotel and set out to jouer le touriste and see the important stuff in the city. I saw the Church of St. Paul and the Holy Church of the Pillar on the bank of the river, and also the Puyente Piedra framed by the lion statues. I wanted to find the Aljaferia Palace which was built by the Moors, but my guidebook wasn't specific enough on how to get to it. After that I was just exhausted from carrying my pack everywhere, so I went back to the hotel to catch up on my e-mails.
Woke up early, repacked, and headed back to the train station. Now I'm in Barcelona!
Spanish Sky (1/2)
Spent most of yesterday on the train. John & Janet took me to the station at St. Cyprien and from there I transferred in Bordeaux, Hendaye, and Irun.
When I got to Pamplona I took the bus to the Universidad Publica de Navarra, where I checked into the Residencia de Estudiantes. As I got there it was sunshowering pretty hard, and when I came out I saw one of the brightest double rainbows I have ever witnessed. Shedding all dignity in a fit of maniacal glee, I dashed across a muddy construction site and waded through a field of waist-high, sopping wet wheat to get a good vantage point. I stood there and shot until the rainbow began to fade, then walked slowly back to my room. Just then, I turned around and saw that instead of fading the rainbow had resurged and formed a complete arc from the fields of wheat to the center of the university's campus, far too big to photograph.
Then I went into the city center to find some food. For a town of its size, Pamplona has surprisingly few restaurants and grocery stores. Finally went into a bar and had two Spanish quiches, then went back to the Residencia.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Lascaux II: Redemption (7/7)
The Lincolns took me to one of the most significant sites in this region and, in terms of sheer numbers, one of the oldest surviving sites in human history: the cave at Lascaux. Technically it wasn’t the actual site, because Lascaux II is an extremely detailed copy of the original cavern with atmospheric machines to ensure that the chemicals and microbes in tourists’ breath don’t corrupt the cave paintings. Waiting for the tour to start it began to pour down rain. I didn’t take any photos, but any pictures I’d seen of the paintings previously, even in National Geographic, were totally inadequate to convey the artistic grandeur that I actually saw. The images must have been even more powerful when viewed by wavering torchlight instead of constant electric light. You really do get a sense of movement from the murals of horses, deer, and aurochs. For ancient people the two cave rooms must have been the equivalent of the most exquisite cathedrals or mosques of the modern world. It was definitely one of the most moving sites I’ve visited in France thus far, and I highly recommend it to anyone else who comes to Aquitaine.
The rest of the day we spent seeing the scenery on the way back, and when we got home I took some film shots in the garden. The Lincolns’ neighbors, an American couple, also came over with their daughter and her friends from St. Andrews in Scotland. We talked for a while, and they invited me to use their WiFi tomorrow before church, so after more than a week, I’ll finally get to post all these accounts of what I’ve been doing. Have fun reading them all!
Six Hundred Stone (6/7)
Today John suggested we go for a drive to see some of the sights of the valley, especially the fortress of Castlenaud, which I had expressed interest in because of the medieval warfare museum within. Okay, two-track mind: fashion shoots and pointy metal things.
They dropped me off at the visitor’s entrance to the castle; I opted to take the unguided route through the structure. Right from the outset I could tell that these Franks had reached Imperial Age from the presence of a trebuchet on the ramparts. There were several more trebuchets inside, as well as a bombard cannon, showing that they had researched Chemistry at their University; placards on the walls were abundantly clear that they had researched Murder Holes as well, further increasing their defensive capability.
The museum was intense, especially the Crossbow Room. There were over a dozen different models of crossbows on the walls, as well as a giant ballista in the center of the room. The Artillery Room was cool too; they had one cannon that was basically constructed as a musket on a 5x scale. In the Sword Room I met an American couple from Pennsylvania, Emma and Jed. Emma had completed a year in Toulouse, and had gone to high school with my friend Max Reitman! She knew about about Guilford and the Yachting Club! I won’t dwell on exactly how serendipitous it was that I met her, but WOW!
After the castle the Lincolns took me to their favorite restaurant, where I had a superb Maigret de Canard, filets of rare duck meat in sauce. I couldn’t bring myself to try foie gras. Curse you, M. Potts, with your French V unit on social problems and animal rights!
When we got back to the house we had the Lincoln’s neighbor Christian over for wine and cake. We had a very interesting conversation about lots of various topics. He left just as it was beginning to rain. There are violent storms predicted for tomorrow, probably with hail, but the worst of it should pass to the east.
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