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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Guilford’s Worst Nightmare (5/7)

Dalek Geese. Dalek. Geese. We are totally and unequivocally doomed. All we can do is barricade the door and hope the Squirrel Doctor shows up in time.

On the morning of the 4th I woke up early and gathered all the stuff I thought I’d need for Briançon into my traveling backpack and put everything else in my suitcase and school backpack and stowed them in the Binets’ basement to pick them up when I fly back out of Paris. If I get the extension to July 26, they might be on vacation in Brittany at that time, but in that case they promised to leave the stuff at their son-in-law’s bookstore in the 19th arrondissement.

I thanked them profusely for the stay, and Jean-Jacques drove me to Anguine, where I caught the Transilien to Gare du Nord and then Line 4 to Montparnasse. I arrived in Libourne on time and tried to book my ticket to Pamplona, but there wasn’t time. I hopped on what I thought was the train to Sarlat, and luckily it was. During the long ride out into the country I met some Russian girls who had been studying in Oregon, and near the end of the line I also started a conversation with an older lady who was also from Virginia and also attended the Episcopal church.

John and Janet Lincoln were there to meet me at St. Cyprien, and then we drove to Sarlat, which despite its small size is one of the most visited towns in France, probably because it serves as a hub for travelers who want o sample all the delights of the Perigord region. We explored the town for a bit, and found the aforementioned gansine abominations. They were actually a monument to the region’s raising of ducks and geese. The Perigord is also famous for truffles, nuts, and of course wine.

This region is absolutely beautiful, and it’s an immense relief to get out of the city. As relaxing as my stay in Montmorency was, now I feel like I can really breathe. When the English held Aquitaine this valley was the frontier zone, and it’s known as the “Valley of Five Castles.” They live virtually in the shadow of one of them, Beynac, in the village St. Vincent de Cosse.

Feat of Heroism (4/7)

Jean-Jacques got back Tuesday afternoon, and on Wednesday we planned to go to the Musée Nationale de la Renaissance, I’ve forgotten the town. But that morning Jean-Jacques was working on something and called me into the garage to help him with a drain that funnels the waste water from the house showers to the town sewer. The drain was blocked somehow, probably by leaves. I reached my hand into a foot of murky brown water to see if I could locate the blockage by touch, but it was too deep. Now watch me get some horrible skin disease on my arm. Ugh, then there’s that whole business of going to Japan to find the Great Forest Spirit to ask him to heal me...

Anyway, we used a coat hanger to feel deeper, and eventually I located the blockage, and after a while of prodding the obstruction it came loose. Turns out the leaves had decomposed to form a thick mud and that’s what had been clogging the pipe. Jean-Jacques and I cleaned the rest of the mud out with the garden hose. I was really happy to have helped my hosts with the task; really, what are American lads good for but helping the French with things they cannot handle themselves?

After lunch Jean-Jacques drove to the museum, another of François I’s chateaux. I say “another” because during the program Dr. Costello seemed to have a particular affinity for stuff belonging to François I, or maybe it was because that guy simply had so much stuff that it’s impossible to walk around the Île-de-France without running into it. How many chateaux can one king have?! Millions, apparently. The museum was silent and unguided; the exhibits were interesting enough, although of course my favorite was the weapons room.

That night Marlène served a dish which she would only tell me what it was after I had finished, and all through dinner she gleefully anticipated what I would say afterwards; turned out it was beef kidneys with mushrooms in cream sauce. Maybe I should have affected a more shocked reaction, but come on, kidneys? I come from the country that invented “prairie oysters,” try some of those and we’ll see who reacts with shock.

After dinner Jean-Jacques and I watched a documentary on France 3 on French collaborators during the German occupation. Really amazing to see how some of the last troops defending Hitler’s bunker in Berlin were French soldiers of the Charlemagne Division.

Auvers (3/7)

Okay, I guess I’ll just continue with this business of writing blog posts in Pages to post them online later, since the Binets have WiFi but don’t know the password for their network.

On Tuesday, (the 2nd, cos who knows when I’ll actually get this posted) Marlène and I drove to Auvers sur-Oise, since Jean-Jacques was still in Brittany. Auvers is best known as the deathplace of Vincent Van Gogh, but it was also the home of several of his artistic contemporaries such as Daubigny. It was a pleasant drive, and Marlène pointed out various things about the towns we passed through, among them Anguine, where Jean-Jacques managed a pharmacy for eighteen years.

We crossed the Oise river and first visited the cemetery where Van Gogh and his brother Theo are buried. Marlène picked some rose petals from a nearby bush and scattered them over the tombstones. I wanted to explore the whole cemetery, but we had to get to the town’s chateau for the Impressionists’ Museum multimedia tour.

The tour was done by audioguide. Normally I’m not crazy about guided tours by humans, much less one done by machine (because it’s one step closer to the Robot Revolution), but this one was different. I didn’t really know what to expect from an exhibition that prided itself on having no actual Impressionist works involved, and some parts were kitschy, but in its entirety it was incredibly informative and engaging. The audioguide led through a series of rooms in the museum which were each dedicated to showing a crucial part of the life the Impressionists led in Paris, from the glamour of high society to the daily lives of the prostitutes who were usually hired as models. Having no paintings, I noted with pride that the museum had plenty of photographs from the 1860s and 70s, showing how Impressionism and photography influenced each other. It was also interesting to see how the disagreement among the Impressionists over the importance of railroads and bridges in paintings marked the first roots of Expressionism and its emphasis on mechanical forms.

After the museum I walked through the town while Marlène took the car to meet me at the church. The streets of Auvers have been kept as close as possible to how Van Gogh left them; there were climbing roses everywhere, and all the buildings retained their nineteenth-century façades. The last year of Van Gogh’s life at Auvers was his most prolific period, because he painted night and day to stave off thoughts of suicide, and it’s easy to see how the town constantly provided inspiration.