Sans sunshine, sanguinity, or significance, Sunday starts--soft and sleepy.

             It’s a lazy gray Sunday and getting cooler in Angers. My friends Laura, Christian and I got caught in a two-minute intense hail storm yesterday which, within minutes, turned into brilliant sunshine. Oh France, I love ya. I find myself with homework that I actually need to do…how unpleasant…I suppose that seeing as how I’m “studying” abroad this shouldn’t really come as a surprise but, what the hell?! I didn’t sign up for any real work…

            I always listen to music while I write these and my iTunes has just shuffled to “Wide Eyes” by the Local Natives which floods me with nostalgia for summer drives in Jack’s bright orange element, staring out of the skylight, the smell of tobacco, and the feeling of being perfectly content (probably because I was stuffed after devouring the farmer’s breakfast at the VK). In a way I relish all the homesickness from being so far away, it makes me so appreciative of everything I have at home. I remember things I haven’t thought about in months. I received my Valentine’s Day package from my family and some of my friends which was the most beautiful little quilt made up of squares that each one of them made. I love it so much. I cried, obviously…its perfect.

          Let’s see, what’s been going on lately…

          I only have class Monday-Wednesday (muahah) but that unfortunately makes those days kind of a struggle so I didn’t do much for the beginning of the week. Thursday night was this big event called “Blue Moon” which was basically just a French rave. These are exactly like American raves. They are sweaty and loud and I spent half of my time trying to find people I knew who had wandered away. People were puking inappropriately (my favorite…), people who cut aggressively at the bar, I lost ten euro somehow, it was all very, meh. Plus, Europeans go out super late and never return home before 5AM. Gross. I would like to be comfortably in my Yoga Pants eating Frosted Flakes and watching Friends by no later than 3AM, thank you very much. Also, everyone in Europe seems to think that product will invariably make your hair look better. 94% of the time this is blatantly incorrect. With all these greased-up, guido-esque, v-neck wearing, cig-smoking assholes everywhere I’d almost rather stay in. Not my scene. Also, half the normal looking guys seem gay when you meet them. Sorry…it’s just kinda true. I explained what “Gaydar” was to one of my French friends last night. It was difficult, I was forced to make some weird boat reference to establish what radar was…planes really might have been more effective, who knows anything about boats anyway? Not this girl…But anyway I told him that my Gaydar didn’t work in Europe because none of the same rules apply. In fact, I haven’t met any actually openly gay men here, which seems strange. It would be much easier to stay in the closet here since you could still rock a deep V, a purple pashmina, pointy-toed dress shoes and simultaneously sing Cindy Lauper without anyone thinking anything of it. Obviously these are not necessarily gay stereotypes, they’re just added challenges when I’m trying to figure out if a guy is interested in me and I should try to avoid him or if he really just has a vested interest in 80s pop divas…

              

             Bittersweet by Kanye just started playing. Seeing as how it woke me up all summer when I was working at the Essex and getting up at 4:45, I don’t have very positive associations with this song…blech.

On Friday I slept nearly all day and finally peeled myself out of bed to go downtown and pretend that it wasn’t a complete waste of a day. The sun was shining and it was easily 55˚ and I was giddy with happiness. Literally, giddy. I just giggled and took pictures of fountains. Despite my day-long snooze, Laura and I were both still struggling so we went and got coffee at La Belle Epoque and lounged on their patio for an hour. The fact that people expect you to linger in France is really wonderful. Take-out coffee does not exist. You order, you wait while the owner chats with the people at the bar and kisses all her regulars on the cheek, you get your café crème (espresso with milk, yum!) and you just sit and no one bothers you for as long as you please. Not feeling very talkative, we simply reveled in the comfortable temperature of the patio, listened to the French chatter, breathed in the omnipresent second-hand smoke, and sipped slowly.

            Afterward we wandered slowly around centre-ville and though we’d eaten a massive amount of grilled cheese and tomato soup mere hours ago, we decided that cheeseburgers were in order. Almost immediately we stumbled across something akin to a mom n’ pop Wendy’s and devoured an obscene amount of French fries. The French don’t understand why we call them that. Neither do I for that matter…

            Saturday was lazy as well. We intended to go to the big market on Avenue Foch but it was pouring so we changed plans. Cointreau, the orange liquor, is from Angers and they have a museum so we found the bus to take us there. The museum is in this weird middle-of-nowhere part of the suburbs. Inside, however, it was very chic. We had only stepped in the door when we were informed that we couldn’t go in unless we’d made a reservation and no we could not make one for that day because they were very busy. There was no one else there…but whatever. What kind of museum requires you to make a reservation? 

           Anyway, we opted for the Musee de Beaux Arts downtown which was lovely. Like an idiot I forgot my camera, but that’s okay. I wandered slowly while Christian whined and demanded I hurry up. Should never take that kid anywhere…just kidding. There was an unfortunate amount of Fragonard and Rococo stuff which I think is pretty stupid looking. Fat, pastel-colored women in fields with frilly dresses is just really not that appealing to me. But other things were really lovely. There was a few Greuze’s, Ingres’, Guérin’s and a sweet little Rodin sculpture. There was also some more contemporary stuff that I found less interesting (if I wanted to look at rhinestones stuck on a door mat, I could make that myself…) but they had a really fascinating temporary exhibit called “Vu pas vu.” Francois Loriot and Chantal Melia created this really interesting, I guess you’d call them installations that play with light and sound and creating images out of light by projecting the light through ordinary objects which then create an image in shadow. Does that make any sense? Here’s some pictures to show you…

            After this visit we decided to get some food and I tried my first Kir which is Crème de Cassis in white wine. It was delicious! Though very small…and I was not about to pay 5 Euro for some stupid bottled Evian. We asked for a pitcher of tap water and our waiter said “That would be very difficult” and walked away. Good thing you don’t rely on tips, darling. But I ate a very large pizza with olives, corn, artichokes, onions and mushrooms which was quite tasty and happy and full returned home. We tried to go out later and met up with our friend Thomas and his friends, but the last bus back out to the dorms is quite early so we weren’t there for long. I was not really in the mood to crash on the floor of a strange apartment. Christian almost got into a fight with one kid who claimed that Americans did not know how to drink and came to Europe had one 8% beer and couldn’t handle themselves. I don’t really think this guy has met very many Americans. The French may drink frequently, but not often to excess. No self-respecting Frenchman would be caught dead at a party with a Jenny-light keg…When one of the guys called me a bitch for not having a cigarette to give him we took that as our cue to leave and yell English obscenities at him. Thomas graciously apologized for his friends’ behavior, but it really didn’t phase me. There are plenty of drunk assholes stateside.

            So here I am on Sunday avoiding my homework and the unpleasant idea of cleaning up my pigsty of a room and doing my laundry. Instead I think Laura and I will go get McFlurries from Mac Do. Good ol’ Mac Do.

Marche Madness and Sublime Sunshine.

           If you’d have asked me a year ago what I thought I would be doing on February 5^th 2011, the thought of the date would have conjured up images of snow and blankets and tea and runny noses and my purple Saint-Mike’s sweatshirt (which I miss sooo much, why did I ever leave it behind??). But today, February 5^th 2011, I awoke quite early for a Saturday and was out the door by 10.30 and headed downtown with a couple of friends to explore the open-air marché on Avenue Foch au Centre-Ville. Without really thinking I put on a sweater and hiking socks, my winter coat and a scarf and packed mittens just in case, but when I stepped outside a soft 53˚ breeze fluttered my bangs and the sun shone playfully through the trees. Everyday it’s so perfect outside all of us can’t help but remark on how lovely it is for this to be the weather in February. Not being much of a winter-girl myself (perhaps the understatement of the year…) I am blissfully happy every time I feel the warmth from the sun and can wander around outside without immediately losing all circulation to my fingertips.

          We arrived in Centre-Ville and strolled leisurely up toward Avenue Foch stopping to have des cafes au lait on the patio of La Belle Epoque. Coffee service here is far superior to the hectic mess of Starbucks. We ordered inside then sat out on the patio and minutes later the pleasant French owner brought our four espressos with cream to the table with free gingerbread cookies. For delicious espresso, France is definitely less expensive than the States. Our coffees cost only 1.70 € each which is about $2.20 and I usually spend at least $3.50 on my large cappuccinos at home. Coffee, bread, wine and cheese are all so cheap! The French know what’s up. After our brief stop during which we could only marvel at the weather and giggle about sitting on a patio in the first week of February, we wandered up to the market.

           I don’t know if I’ve ever seen so much produce in one place. It was gorgeous. I wish I’d bought more but I was completely overwhelmed by the spectacle of it all and was content just to wander through it without a plan or purpose. It seemed like you could find anything. They had usual winter vegetables like potatoes and beets and carrots and the like but there were also fresh tomatoes and lettuce, apples, avocados and grapes. Where are they getting all this stuff? There were cheese vendors and bread vendors and olive vendors and spice vendors and soap vendors (he was my favorite) and one very loud and boisterous clementine vendor who insisted that we taste his clementines. It wasn’t dirty, I swear…

I'm sorry these pictures have ended up crooked again...I can't seem to figure it out...last time they just magically corrected...

           All the displays were perfect and there was such pleasant French chatter and negotiation all around. Down the street a ways (aways? Now that doesn’t seem like a real word…I’m confused) anyway, we stumbled into the seafood section which was astonishingly extensive. The stands on either side formed a tunnel of dead fish and oysters, shrimp, crabs, eels, any size and kind of fish you could imagine. Now, I love me some seafood, but this got a little intense. I don’t think I’ve ever been around so many dead crustaceans at one time. If only I knew how to cook, then perhaps I’d be less afraid of all the meat, but I think the French are much more adventurous than I in terms of meat…I’m just not too thrilled about cutting the head off of a chicken I’ve bought or gutting a fish or breaking down shrimp with their little googly eyes staring at me. No thank you. I’ll stick with smoked salami and packaged sliced turkey for now.

           

          I did buy a baguette and snacking on it as I wandered through the market in the sun with my jacket unbuttoned, I think I found my happy place. I had a sudden feeling of being incandescently happy to be exactly where I was. My only wish would be that my friends and family could be seeing what I’m seeing. It’s a beautiful view…

Nantes, Nutella (nom nom) and Negligible Nothings

 Les profiteroles did not stand a chance.

         So this past Saturday my friend Laura and I decided to take a day trip to Nantes which is only a 30 minute TGV trip. It was actually sunny (for once) and decently warm so we picked the perfect day and getting to Nantes is ridiculously easy…We mostly just wandered and explored their chateau and the downtown area. There’s this really cool shopping center called “Le Passage Pommeraye” which is sort of just a city block and there’s an open tunnel that cuts through the middle of it with all of these little boutiques. It’s kind of hard to explain, but hopefully you get it. Anyway that was really interesting. Nantes actually felt really big and busy compared to Angers. The more I live here the more I love Angers. It has this amazing calm and sweetness to it that you wouldn’t expect from a downtown area. Nantes was definitely more cosmopolitan and busy and so we decided to get tea at this place I’d heard about called “La Cigale” which is Nantes most famous restaurant. It was absolutely stunning inside, my pictures definitely don’t do it justice because I felt like an idiot photographing a restaurant. Anyway, we got a table and wanted only tea but I guess we didn’t time it right so they gave us the lunch menu and we were like “shit…” and when we asked about it the guy just brought us some tea and was like “so, what would you like for lunch?” oops…anyway we decided just to go for it and got a glorious 60 euro lunch of French bread, these cold crab raviolis with a light balsamic dressing and I tried my first beef carpaccio (just cause I had to try it sometime) and it was actually delicious. It had arugula pesto and fresh parmesean all over it and then greens on top. Yummm. Laura and I nearly cried when she got her dessert. There are these things called profiteroles which are similar to small ice cream sandwiches but ice cream between two fresh French pastries and they pour molten chocolate over them at your table. Ahhhh killme, they were sooo good. We were just laughing the whole time eating them because they were so heavenly. But yeah after 2 hours of stuffing our faces and spending most of our money we decided to head home and both passed out in food comas on the train.

        I recently bought nutella which was both a blessing and a curse. It takes all of my self-restraint not to just sit in my room and eat it from the jar with my fingers.

       This is the first real week of all of my classes which is rather tedious though I suppose I can’t complain because Wednesday is my Thursday and I only have one class tomorrow…But I was thoroughly disappointed with my “Francais pour etrangers” courses, which are supposed to be teaching me French. They were horribly unstructured and didn’t seem to require us to do anything. Sleeping seemed to be a perfectly adequate way to participate. (Don’t worry Mom, I wasn’t the one sleeping…) I’m forced to be very organized and keep track of all of my notes and paperwork for each class so that I may (in theory) get some UVM credit when all of this is over. Needless-to-say this is a heinous struggle for me. So, to counteract the gross order of my paperwork, I have clothing and jewelry and shoes strewn about my room in utter chaos. So there.

       I recently learned that some of the French kids I met had read this blog…Embarrassing. But anyway—shout out to Leo and Thomas—I hope I mildly entertain you though my sense of humour is more idiotic than it is intelligent.

       I will try and post again this weekend because I think I need to make some virtual record of thoroughly mundane parts of my life like Super U and the patisseries and boulangeries, etc. I was recently talking to my dad and lost it a lil bit about how much pressure I felt to have the MOST fun and learn the MOST French and lead a thoroughly fabulous life when sometimes I really just wanted to nap, and he told me that some of his favourite memories of living in France were just the small things—the everyday things—that you barely consider when you live there and then find yourself missing when you leave. So for the next couple days I’m going on a life-appreciation binge and will try to photograph all my favourite little mundane things so that I may never forget them. I’ll let you know what I find…