Barcelone? Ouai! Pourquoi pas?!

I've decided to create an ongoing list of things that I do and do not enjoy about France, so that list will continue to grow as my time here goes on.


My most recent addition to the list of things I will miss about France is the ability to travel to other countries on a whim, and for a relatively low cost at that...which brings me to the story of one of the most unbelievable weekends I'll ever experience.


Some of my friends here met a couple guys from the area who have a house in the Alps. They planned to spend this past weekend there, and asked if we wanted to join. We decided to rent a car and drive the hour and a half to get to there and spend the weekend in Quentin's 5 bedroom house, skiing and snowboarding during the day, and hanging out in the house at night.


Friday, when the time came to go pick up the car, we got a text from the boys saying that there was a massive snow storm in the Alps, and they didn't think we'd be able to get to the house without chains on our tires (apparently my Minnesota winters don't compare to snowfalls in the French Alps...who would've thought). So now we have 2 cars rented for the weekend, and nowhere to go. So we researched.


We wanted to find someplace close enough so we could get there easily and quickly, since dusk was approaching quickly, so we chose Montpellier (1.5 hours from Aix) and Perpignan (3 hours from Aix). The plan was to spend the night in Montpellier, sightsee the following day, head to Perpignan Saturday night, and then come back to Aix on Sunday. We found a hostel, contacted the boys, and suggested the plan. They were in. 7 French boys. 7 American girls. Driving to Montpellier and Perpignan for the weekend. On a whim. 


The 5 of the boys couldn't leave until around 8:30, so the girls and 2 of the boys left Aix at around 7:30, got to Montpellier at around 9:30. We found out, when the boys (who had a GPA...not bitter...) informed us that our hostel wasn't even IN Montpellier, but was in a city outside of it...which posed slight problems considering we wanted to experience the nightlife. The plan was to meet at the hostel, and decide if we wanted to stay there or find a different place closer to town. However, we could not - for the life of us - find the hostel. We spent an 45 minutes driving in circles. If I ever see another roundabout, I will scream.
FINALLY, we got to the hostel. at around 10:30...but it was locked. You couldn't get in. And there was no one sitting at the front desk.


There was, however, this little ATM-machine-looking thing that seemed promising. Apparently, you had to type in your reservation number and then pay for the hostel, and it would give you a code to get into the building.


But it couldn't read my card.


So we couldn't get in.


We're almost 2 hours from home. 14 people. With no place to stay. 


We re-grouped and debated going into the center of Montpellier to find a different hostel...and then one of the boys chirped up and said "Barcelone?!" ("Barcelona?!" in French). We all looked at him to see if he was actually serious. He was. So we looked at each other, and said "Why. The Hell. Not." 


(Cheering on the boys part)


Everyone got back in their cars, and we were off to Spain for the weekend! 14 people. No place to stay. No internet connection to find a place to stay. But we were going to Barcelona!
Luckily, we had friends in staying in Barcelona for the weekend, so we texted them, and they were kind enough to find and reserve a hostel for the 14 of us for Friday and Saturday nights. Now we just had to get there. It was going to be about 3 or 4 hours until we got there (with an ETA of 2 or 3 in the morning). Which was fine, because people in Barcelona don't even go out until after 1. 


(approx. 2:30 am): 30 km outside of Barcelona, we had somehow lost the boys far behind us. 
Very important side note: A French GPS won't work in Spain


They told us to just keep going and that they would find the hostel themselves (I think they FAR overestimated their navigation abilities, but we'll save that for later).


So the 2 girls cars were on their own. Luckily, we had a girl who's half Peruvian with us (fluent in Spanish, of course), so we called the hostel, and had the man give us directions. He told us to follow signs for downtown Barcelona and then call him.


So we did.


Meanwhile, as we were going downtown Barcelona, we took an exit ramp.


The other car did not.


So all 3 cars were now completely separated from each other. Downtown Barcelona. 


When we called the man at the hostel back, we got directions. Then got lost. Then asked somebody. Then got lost. Then asked somebody else. And got lost. So we asked a taxi driver to help us find the landmark the hostel-man told us to look for. And we found it. But then got lost again. So we called the hostel-man back and just had him stay with us on the phone while he kept track of where we were on a map; giving us directions the whole time. 


Things were looking up until we got to a roundabout (I was serious about those roundabouts). I was supposed to stay in the roundabout, but a bus pushed me off onto a side street (side note: this side street was a one-way street). So, because that it's nearly 4 o'clock in the morning, we were desperate. I did something very very illegal (sorry Mom...). I checked to make sure the coast was clear before gunning it back (the wrong way) to the roundabout. We were back on track! And then a cop pulled up along side me and looked at me like "What the hell do you think you're doing?" He told me to pull over.


So I did.


(We're still on the phone with hostel-man)


Hostel-man said to absolutely not to speak a word of English and to just hand the phone to the police officer. So I did. I don't know what he said to the cop, but it worked. The police officer explained to my friend (the Spanish speaking one) that he was going to accompany us to the hostel.


So we got a police escort to the hostel. At 4 o'clock in the morning. In Barcelona. 
We went to check into the hostel and to somehow get the other two cars to find us. When we checked in, the hostel-man kept asking us why we had brought 3 cars, and we told him that the 2 other cars were lost...and he asked how many people were in the other cars...we said there are 10 more..."TEN?!" 


"...yes...?"


Apparently our friends made the reservation for 3 people. Not 14. 


So not only do we still have 2 cars lost in Barcelona, but we don't even know if we're going to have beds available to them once they get to the hostel. 


Finally, the other girls' car arrived (meanwhile, the hostel-man is frantically trying to figure out how he's going to fit all of us WHILE he's trying to clean the hostel and prepare for the breakfast that's about to happen in 2 hours). 


About 15 minutes later, the boys arrived. So we all survived. It's 5 o'clock in the morning by this point. 10 hours after we left Aix. And it's STILL not guaranteed we even have somewhere to sleep. 


Somehow, the hostel-man pulled through and found places for us, so we paid and finally got to sleep.


I got to bed at 6:30 am.


I woke up at 10:30 am. 


We went a did touristy things the next day (went to a Market where you can actually buy pigs feet or an entire cow's head, went to the Barcelona Cathedral, and even saw the Barcelona Hard Rock Cafe!) before napping and then going to the COOLEST bar I've ever seen! L'Ovella Negra (The Black Sheep). I don't even know how to describe it, but here's a picture of it:

It has cafeteria-styled wooden tables, and you can buy beer or sangria in enormous vats with about 6 spigots that can easily quench 10-15 people. 


We missed the window of free cover for the discotecas, and since I wasn't about to drop 20€ at this discoteca for only about an hour inside it (I had to wake up early and drive home in the morning), a group of us took the metro back to the hostel - teaching the French boys English the entire way. I got into bed at 4 o'clock in the morning. 


Needless to say: One of the most unforgettable weekends of my entire life. 


However, I WILL be coming back to spend more quality time in the city. And to see Gaudi's architecture, of course.


Hasta pronto! 

Paul Cézanne

Quick biography of an artist from Aix:

Paul Cézanne

Born in 1839 in Aix-en-Provence. Cézanne was a Post-Impressionist artist who bridged the gap between late 19^th century Impressionism and early 20^th century Cubism. He died in 1906.

Some of Cézanne's paintings:

(Mont Sante-Victoire, 1882-1885) 

 (Road before the Moutains, Sainte-Victoire, 1898-1902)

 (Jas de Bouffan, 1876)

(Pyramid of Skulls, 1901)

If you look at Cézanne’s paintings, a lot of them are inspired by Provencal elements, and one of his most well-known paintings is actually of a mountain right outside of Aix. Montagne Sainte-Victoire (or St. Victoire, for short).

Funny thing is, for 1€, you can take a bus to the base of the mountain, spend the day hiking, and catch the bus home for another €. Pack yourself a picnic, and you have a beautiful Saturday.

Which is exactly what we did last Saturday. With minor difficulties finding the correct bus (there are only a zillion buzzing around Aix at any given moment, so you can understand the level of difficulty we Americans were facing), we finally made it to the base of the mountain. The beginning of our journey, we stumbled upon an ENORMOUS body of water – still not sure if it’s a river or a lake, but it was BEAUTIFUL. And the hills just jet right out from the water’s edge towards the sky. Then, you keep following the path, and you find yourself at the top of the most picturesque canyon of rocks and trees (with what looks to be The Tree of Life from Disney’s The Lion King off in the distance), keep going, and you venture over the biggest dam I’ve ever seen. On the left side, the lake/river I was talking about before, and on the right, the canyon. On the other side of the canyon is where the real hiking begins. Climbing up rocks and over tree roots at a steep incline, you come to a clearing filled with wild Rosemary. Of COURSE I grabbed some, and am planning on cooking with it. Cross your fingers it wasn’t poisonous.

However, this was the highest point we saw, because we had to catch the bus home. But! Rumor has it, you can hike up the mountain, and if you bring your own firewood, you can spend the night in the old monastery at the top J

…needless to say, my relationship with St. Victoire is not in the least bit over.

À Bientôt!

Elie

Pictures of Mont Sainte-Victoire:

 The Mountain

 The Lake/River

 The Canyon

The Dam

Yummm

Alright. So I’ve covered one of the topics that all American women wonder about when it comes to France (men). Now for the other one.

Let’s talk food.

There are 3 staple foods in France: bread, cheese, and wine (yes, I’m considering wine as a food). And trust me, I’ve made sure to have my fill of all three. On every street corner in Aix, there are Boulangeries where you can find pre-made sandwiches (ham, chicken, vegetarian, salmon, you name it) on a baguette for around 4€. In those same Boulangeries is the most beautiful assortment of tartes (raspberry’s been my favorite so far), éclaires, and other little desserts. I’m determined to try one of each by the end of my stay here. Oh. And they sell pieces of pizza in Boulangeries. They sit out in the window, cold, and then they’ll throw them back in the oven to warm them up. And each piece has an olive on it. Provence is known for its olives and olive oils, so they like to incorporate olives into as many dishes as they can.

Speaking of Provencal dishes, I WILL cook several of them as soon as I get my hands on either a cookbook or an internet connection in my apartment. There’s this thing called Ratatouille (no, it’s not just a Disney movie) that involves throwing as many vegetables as possible into a pot and essentially creating a thick vegetable stew. However, the two ingredients that need to be included are zucchini and eggplant. It’s SO good! There’s a place in Centreville called Crêpes-a-Go-Go that makes Ratatouille crêpes, and you can get it with either egg, cheese, or ham for less than 5€. It’s an entire meal. In a crêpe.

So I WILL be making that someday. And it’s perfect because every Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday, there are several Farmer’s Markets here in Aix. Fresh vegetables for WAY cheaper than going to Monoprix (our version of Target…kind of). When I went, I got an ENORMOUS red bell pepper, a zucchini, 2 shallots, 2 tomatoes, 4 little potatoes, an eggplant, 3 avocados, 4 bananas, and 3 apples for 6,40€. I died.

I’m so excited to cook!

Oh. And I found this wine shop around the corner from my apartment that sells wine from this region (red, white, rosée) for 2 or 3€ a bottle! And, honestly, it tastes better than the wine that I would pay 8$ for in the States. Again. Goal is to taste each one by the end of my stay.

There’s also a cheese shop right next to it, and apparently they put on wine and cheese tastings every once in a while, so I very much want to look into that.

What’s my favorite thing I’ve had to eat so far?

Ratatouille and Ham Crêpe

Mozzarella, Pesto, and Tomato Crêpe (in Marseille)

Nutella Crêpe (I’m waiting impatiently to try to Nutella and Coconut one)

Pain au Chocolate (Croissant with Chocolate in it)

Croissant aux Amandes (Almond Croissant)

I haven’t been eating out a lot just because it’s so expensive, and I love cooking, but some of the girls have been talking about trying a new restaurant every week, so I’ll hopefully be adding to that list very soon J

Happy eating and drinking!

À Bientôt!

L'Amour

Des yeux qui font baiser les miens,
Un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche,
Voila le portrait sans retouche
De l'homme auquel j'appartiens

Quand il me prend dans ses bras
Il me parle tout bas,
Je vois la vie en rose.


Il me dit des mots d'amour,
Des mots de tous les jours,
Et ca me fait quelque chose.


Il est entre dans mon coeur
Une part de bonheur
Dont je connais la cause.


C'est lui pour moi. Moi pour lui
Dans la vie,
Il me l'a dit, l'a jure pour la vie.

Et des que je l'apercois
Alors je sens en moi
Mon coeur qui bat

Des nuits d'amour a ne plus en finir
Un grand bonheur qui prend sa place
Des enuis des chagrins, des phases
Heureux, heureux a en mourir.

Quand il me prend dans ses bras
Il me parle tout bas,
Je vois la vie en rose.


Il me dit des mots d'amour,
Des mots de tous les jours,
Et ca me fait quelque chose.


Il est entre dans mon coeur
Une part de bonheur
Dont je connais la cause.

C'est toi pour moi. Moi pour toi
Dans la vie,
Il me l'a dit, l'a jure pour la vie.

Et des que je l'apercois
Alors je sens en moi
Mon coeur qui bat



One of the first things that I did when I got to France was download The Absolute Best of Edith Piaf album. I felt as though it was wrong to not listen to one of the most well-known French singers while I was in her country. [Above] is my favorite of the songs on the album. There's something about the French and love. Their love of their country. Their love of their traditions (although sometimes they don't make sense at all). And their love of each other. For those of you who are knew to the French traditions, every single time they greet each other, they do so by doing what they call "La Bise" (google it). The subtle sign of intimacy is enough to show how much more comfortable the French are with their bodies, their sense of sexuality, and themselves as a whole.


We were also warned, as foreigners, that the French have a very different idea of relationships than do Americans. I have yet to see a first-hand example of this, but we were told that a simple smile carries sexual connotations, and that if you initiate a conversation with a French man, or if you agree to go on a date, there is a chance he will jump to the conclusion that you two are an item. The worst part of all of this is that French men are used to hearing "no" (because French women don't want to seem to "easy"), so men are not as easily brushed off as they are in America. 


Will I see support of this? We'll see :)


À Bientôt!
Elie

Cliché

Bonjour tout le monde!

I’ve been in France a week now, and the more I see, taste, smell, and experience, the more I realize I need to find a way to document everything, so I’ve decided to be a total cliché and create a blog.

So where am I, exactly? Aix-en-Provence, France. A beautiful little city about 30 minutes from the Mediterranean Sea.

A for Aix!

Aix was built primarily in the 17^th century, and walking down the cobble stone streets, staring up at the iron-barred windows with their shutters wide open, it’s like stepping into a time machine. On one of our first days in Aix, we were taken on a tour of the city, and we stopped at a church to learn a little bit about the history. The tour guide explained that parts of the church had been added at different times in history; the first being in the 15^th century, the second in the 17^th, and the third in the 18^th. We went inside the church, and in the 15^th century rotunda-like room filled with pillars, lit only by the stained glass ceiling, there are still remnants of the pool where children were baptized. It still blows my mind to think that that church was originally built before America was even discovered.

One of the streets of Aix

Cathédrale Saint-Saveur (3-centuries cathedral)

Remnants of the paintings in the 5th century part of the Cathedral

Place de L'Hotel de Ville

Place d'Albertas

Despite the amount of history and antique architecture in the city, it is, in fact, quite modern. Aix, as it turns out, is a bit of a tourist town (which is unfortunate for a student like me, because that means everything is rather expensive). There are boutiques, restaurants, and cafés lining the streets where the aforementioned 17^th century-styled windows line the sky, which makes walking down the streets a rather paradoxical experience. However, being in a modern city does have its perks, such as a wide array of patisseries (I’m making it my goal to get a croissant from each one in order to discover which is the flakiest and sweetest), amazing shoe stores (and I’m not even that drawn to shoes), and this gelato shop that has a Nutella-flavored ice cream that you should never ever get. Because - I promise you - you won’t stop thinking about how badly you want it again afterwards. Seriously. I had it on Friday, and I’m still thinking about it. It’s the following Thursday. I bought some Nutella, and once I cave and buy ice cream, I will be determined to find a cheap way to re-create it on my own. Wish me luck.

So what am I doing here? It’s the second semester of my junior year at the University of Wisconsin – Madison, and I’m studying abroad. However, this semester, I’m going to be a student at Aix-Marseille Université. The largest university in France, and a piece of shit. In France, universities are primarily just one building (as opposed to the American idea of – in some cases – an entire city devoted to the school). And this building looks as though a janitor has not stepped into it in about 20 years. There is graffiti everywhere, there are cobwebs in every corner, there is no central heating, and the toilets don’t have seats…or toilet paper. What I did not know before I got here was that the French don’t pay NEARLY as much money as we do to go to school. In order to get the French equivalent of a Bachelor’s degree, a student must attend school for 3 years. Their first year is free, and the other two years, they’ll pay a grand total of about 1,400 € a year. Compare that with the almost 9,000$ I pay for tuition at Madison. And that’s in-state.

One of the hallways in the "Fac"

Graffiti and peeling paint...I wasn't kidding

Aw. Eugene <3

At least the walk to my school is somewhat nice...

Université Sciences Politique D'Aix-en-Provence 

(Political Science school where some of the kids in my program attend. Built in 1792. 

Famous alums: Émile Zola and Paul Cézanne)

So as romantic as the image is of the South of France, there are definitely things here that – put very nicely – one would describe as “charming.” For example, my apartment. I’m living in a two-bedroom apartment with Kate, another girl from my program. We moved in yesterday, and are quickly discovering more and more “charming” things about our apartment. Like the radiator that doesn’t seem to work. And the lack of flooring in the corner of my bedroom. And the lack of air circulation which make the apartment smell slightly like a wet towel that’s been sitting out for weeks. And the 8-inch hole in the corner of the kitchen that goes to God-knows-where. Our landlord said something about it having a valve to turn on the water in the courtyard? Who knows.

Speaking of my landlord, let’s talk about him for a little while. Dr. Guigou (pronounce Guee-Goo – hard “G” on both syllables) is a psycho-analyst (psychologist who practices Freudism; a theory that is practically extinct in todays society because it includes such theories as men being sexually frustrated because of their latent fear of being castrated by their fathers…you get the point), and is therefore quite an interesting man. I had been warned about him by the girls who lived here before, and when he came to sign our lease, he was exactly what I expected. I opened the door to a mid-sixties man with thin tufts of gray, curly hair and enormous glasses that take up about half of his face. When he spoke, he mumbled, and never looked you in the eye. And for a not-native French speaker, it was nearly impossible to understand a single word he said, so I just nodded and said “Oui, d’accord.” He didn’t come with any paperwork, but instead wrote the conditions of the lease on a piece of paper and had us sign it. Oh. And he doesn’t have a phone. So if there’s ever a problem with the apartment, Kate and I are more or less on our own.

The perks of living in France J

However, it’s not ALL horrible and “charming.” There are actually some really charming parts of living in this apartment. Like the spiral staircase that brings me up to the loft where my bedroom is. And the two-story windows that essentially make up one side of our apartment. Also, said windows open up to one of the most picturesque stone-wall enclosed courtyards; complete with a little set of white iron table and chairs, a fountain, and grass infested cobble stone (for the purposes of making you jealous, let’s pretend that I’m actually allowed out in the courtyard). Also, I found out that the furniture in the apartment (armoires, dressers, couches) is most likely hundreds of years old.

 I think I can easily make it feel like home. As long as I can find a place to buy some candles. And a new space heater. Since I’m pretty sure I broke the one that was here.

Courtyard (AKA my backyard)

Anyway, overall, my first week here has been full of surprises, adjustment, and overall love of my new home. I can't wait to keep exploring and learning more about the beautiful city of Aix. 

À bientôt!

Elie