Church Chairs in the Cathédrale Saint-Maurice de Vienne.

In preparation for my May Rome adventure, and because it is only a 50 minute train ride, I went to Vienne this Wednesday with Australian assistant Jacinta. Like my current French hometown Valence, Vienne is on banks of the Rhône River in the Rhône-Alpes region. Vienne gets most of its tourism for its Roman monuments, which were built after Vienne became a Roman colony in 47 BC. There weren’t many other tourists on the rather rainy day we picked to visit, leaving some of the sites eerily empty.

Someone had carved out the faces on these at the Cathédrale Saint-Maurice de Vienne. A lot of the statues and carvings had been decapitated.

The city has a very handy self-guided walking tour that goes through town, starting at the tourism office. There were yellow arrows painted all over the ground with bronze tree markers leading the way. There were even designated stopping areas to gaze on a particular building from the appropriate angle. We did veer off the path a few times, but overall it was a great way to see the city without getting lost. We first walked past some ruins from the Roman town that had been incorporated into an ugly shopping center and then went by the Eglise Saint-Pierre. It’s more of a museum than a church now, but is significant as being one of the oldest medieval churches standing in the country. Our path then took us to the Cathédrale Saint-Maurice, a stunning Flamboyant Gothic church.

Abandoned glove in the Cathédrale Saint-Maurice de Vienne that may or may not have been used to press down those five broken piano keys.

The Cathédrale Saint-Maurice was completely empty and a little bit creepy. Most of the statues and even some of the carvings on the walls had been decapitated or had their faces dug out. I assume this happened during the French Revolution, but I couldn’t find any information. There were also odd things sitting around, like this dusty glove on a broken piano. Bizarre as some of it was, I enjoyed the unsettling vibe the church gave off. I know it’s awful to say, but after seeing so many Gothic cathedrals in France they all start to run together. But I don’t think I’ll forget the faceless Saints and angels of the Cathédrale Saint-Maurice.

Temple d'Auguste et de Livie.

A short distance from the cathedral was the Temple d’Auguste et de Livie, a Roman temple originally dedicated to the cult of Augustus. It managed to survive over two thousand years of history by being transformed in a Christian church and then a temple of reason during the French Revolution. It was later a museum and a library and today seems to be used as a centerpiece for the square that was built up around it. I was disappointed there was no way to walk through it, but it was still spectacular to come around a corner and suddenly see such a well-preserved Roman temple.

Spiky-teethed characters on the side of L’abbaye Saint-André-le-Bas.

We circled L’abbaye Saint-André-le-Bas and walked across the river to an archaeological site where there are excavated remains of the Roman civilization. You had to pay to actually get in, but we were able to see a lot from the fence. After that we had fougasses for lunch. They’re a specialty of the south of France and are basically soft bread with a filling inside. Kind of like a sophisticated hot pocket, except bigger and with better ingredients.

A crying statue in the Chapelle Notre Dame de Pipet.

We next went by the Roman theater and then up the hill behind it to the the Chapelle Notre Dame de Pipet. It was a bit of a steep climb, but the view of the valley and the city was worth it. Unfortunately, at this point it started to rain, but I’d brought an umbrella from my broken umbrella collection so we stayed relatively dry. It’s so windy in Valence that I’ve given up on buying new umbrellas because I know they’ll just get turned inside out. I should be used to high winds after living in Oklahoma for most of my life, but I still haven’t mastered the art of umbrellas in stormy weather.

The last part of our walk took us past more Roman ruins and we continued south to the Pyramide du Cirque Romain, which is the only thing remaining from the Roman circus. There is a legend that it is the tomb of Pontius Pilate, but that’s never been confirmed. Today it’s at the center of a traffic circle, around the corner from a kebab shop with a miniature Pyramide outside.

I’m going to Marseille tomorrow! The weather looks rainy, but at least I’m avoiding the apocalyptic snow that seems to be charging through Oklahoma. Be safe people back home!

Château de Beauregard. This gate looked like it went to a secret garden, but turned out to be the grave of M. Charles Beauregard.

After several months spent living in Valence, I finally went up to the castle ruins on the cliff overlooking town. The weather was perfect for a hike, so me and Lauren went across the river to Guilherand-Granges in the Ardèche. On our way up the road, we explored the Château de Beauregard, seen above. It seemed empty, although internet research tells me you can rent rooms and host events in it. In the picture above, there’s a rusty gate and behind it was a garden full of bushes. I thought it would be a charming little English garden, but hidden by the raised bushes was a slab of concrete with a cross on it. The carved words on it were almost worn off, yet I could make out the name Charles. I feel like “The Hidden Grave of M. Charles Beauregard” would make an excellent title for a short story. Although it also sounds like if Edgar Allan Poe wrote a Hardy Boys book.

Valence, seen from the Château de Crussol.

I remember once when I was growing up in Bartlesville, Oklahoma and was on the top of the Price Tower, where there is a view of the whole downtown. I was shocked at how small it was, that there was farmland just after the baseball stadium. It was a bit of the same with Valence. The view from the Château de Crussol made it seem so small, and the centre ville where I spend most of my time was even smaller. Beyond it was farmland and in the distance snow peaked mountains.

Ruins of the Château de Crussol.

The Château de Crussol is the remains of what was once a 13th century castle. After the Crussol family married into a family with a better castle, they moved away from the limestone structure and it was abandoned. However, there was more devastation for the poor castle to come, as it was set on fire during the Guerre des Religions and there was later a mining explosion in the quarry underneath it. It was even struck by lightning about 50 years ago. But it seems to be having a bit more luck these days and it was getting some of its stone walls fixed while we were there.

Remains of walls over looking the valley.

We spent some time wandering around the ruins and climbing on the large rocks overlooking the valley. Don’t worry, I didn’t get too close to the edge. Apparently there is a trail that goes from the castle to Soyons, where there are caves, so we might do that soon.

Me and Australian assistant Jacinta went to see Pitié, a really really really weird play. There was a lot of cathartic dancing and screaming and people taking their clothes on and off. I think it was the story of Christ, but there was so much going on that I’m not sure. I think the music was by Bach.

I celebrated St. Patrick’s Day last night at Penny Kennys, the only Irish pub in town. It’s pretty crazy that I was in New York City for St. Patrick’s last year and France this year. Where will I be next year? There was a good crowd, probably the biggest I’m seen for a nonstriking even in Valence. Speaking of which, there is yet another strike tomorrow, so I’m off of work. But everything will be closed, so I’m not quite sure what I’ll do. You might see more strike pictures here. I have a trip to Aix-en-Provence planned for this Saturday which I’m looking forward to.

Tain l'Hermitage, photographed from Tournon-sur-Rhône.

I would be an awful host if I didn’t take my Valence guests to the Valrhona chocolate shop, so during my friend Randall’s visit we took a 10 minute train ride to Tain l’Hermitage. There are a little over 5,000 citizens of Tain l’Hermitage, but it gets a steady supply of visitors thanks to the delicious chocolate and wine grown on the hills behind town. You can see the vineyards in the above picture, although everything is dead right now. We started by sampling some of that amazing chocolate in the Valrhona store, along with about 20 Japanese tourists that seemed to have come out of nowhere and were buying the place out. Which was good, because then I didn’t feel guilty about not purchasing anything. I was very poor at the end of February.

Tournon-sur-Rhône. Welcome to the Ardèche!

The departments of Drôme and the Ardèche are divided by the Rhône river, and across from Tain l’Hermitage in Drôme is Tournon-sur-Rhône in the Ardèche. We took the bridge over and walked around Tournon, which has about twice the population as Tain l’Hermitage. It also apparently produced a wine that Charlemagne liked. I unfortunately did not find this wine (although I really didn’t look), but Tournon had good French charm and was nice to explore. Oh, there’s a castle, Château de Tournon, which you can see in this picture and is said to be one of the most beautiful castles in the Ardèche. As you may guess, the Ardèche is not celebrated for its castles, but the natural landscape is stunning and makes up for it, I promise.

A horse working on a vineyard in Tain l'Hermitage.

After crossing the river back to Tain l’Hermitage, we decided to walk around the vineyards overlooking the town. It was gorgeous and incredibly steep. The vines are dormant now, but the sun was setting and the lighting was amazing.

Vineyard overlooking Tain l'Hermitage.

I really don’t know how some of the vines were planted without the workers tumbling down to a rocky crevice, or how anyone could drive up the terrifyingly narrow road we were walking on. I can understand why the wine from Tain l’Hermitage is so expensive with all the effort it must take to grow and transport the grapes.

Church on the top of the vineyard hills.

The crowning achievement of our walk was making it up to the tiny church on the top of the hill. It may look easy from the above picture, but we somehow took a wrong turn and had to scramble up what seemed like a 50 degree angle with no traction. I’m probably exaggerating. It was worth it though and I don’t think any of the pictures I took really show how spectacular the view was from up there. Originally, the vineyards were planted so that pilgrims to the church would have some wine to drink when they got there. There was no wine for us, but I like that story anyway.

Sledder seen from the car window on our drive to les gorges d'Omblèze.

Sundays are always slow in France. Barely anything is open, save a few cafes, one pharmacy, one bakery, and maybe a kebab shop or two. It’s easy to end up watching Top Chef on the internet while eating the last of your grocery store supplies. But why waste a beautiful winter day doing things I could do back home? This past Sunday we took advantage of the rare sunlight to take a day trip up to les gorges d’Omblèze to go hiking.

Walking on the road in les gorges d'Omblèze.

I went with Becca, an American assistant from Wisconsin, a French guy named Fred who drove, and his group of friends. Apparently Fred and these friends usually go rock climbing in les gorges d’Omblèze, but the freezing weather had made the rock too cold for that last Sunday. Les gorges d’Omblèze are east of Valence in the Vercors mountains of the Drôme department and include steep cliffs as well as waterfalls. On our drive over there we passed lots of sledders and children building snowmen. Becca and I also got a lesson in French chansons and even got a sing-a-long performance to a “Les Copains d’Abord” by Georges Brassens. We first stopped on a road at the bottom of the gorges and walked by a waterfall, many gigantic icicles, and stomped through the snow. I did not wear appropriate footwear, although my tennis shoes with no traction are about as good as it gets with my France shoe collection. I could only bring so many shoes in my suitcase, although I guess I don’t have any hiking shoes back in Oklahoma. That’s what working for a year in an art gallery will do to your wardrobe, I suppose. Anyway, it was beautiful, although a bit cold.

View of a cliff. There were rock climbers on this. Little specks on the stone.

After the road walk, we drove to another area and took a steep path down to the Cascade de la Druise, a 72 meters (236 feet) tall waterfall. My shoes were yet again not very good for traction and I slid down most of the hill, only attempting a short cut through the brush once where I was attacked by a thorny vine. We eventually caught up to the fast rock climber group after exploring some random ruins (we were behind anyway) at the bottom of the trail that would make a good hermit house. I’m not in the market, but it’s always good to have places in mind.

Cascade de la Druise.

But we did make to the waterfall and it was spectacular. The spray coming from the plummeting falls was freezing, but we still got as close as possible by maneuvering over slippery rocks and the rocky sides of the river. The water was incredibly clear and after leaving the waterfall turns into rapids over rocks that swerve through the canyon.

View from the hike back from the waterfall.

We all made it up the steep path back to the cars and then returned to Valence. There was a stop at a sausage store, but I didn’t buy anything and just went in with everyone, trying not to stare with horror at the saran wrapped pig snouts. Back in Valence, we drank hot chocolate at Becca’s apartment and after I went to my apartment to scrape the mud off my shoes and jeans.

Entrance to the cross country skiing/snowshoeing trails.

I’ve tried skiing and snowboarding and usually went sledding every year back in Oklahoma, but last weekend I tried a winter sport that was new to me. Along with Liza and Lindsey, two other American assistants, I went on my first snowshoeing (or raquette à neige en France) outing. We drove to the Parc Régional du Pilat in the Loire département, which is northwest of the Drôme département where I live. The Parc is free to use and has beautiful winding trails through a snow-covered forest that might as well be Narnia.

This is the forest we walked through.

The snowshoes were pretty cheap to rent, although I didn’t realize that you usually wear your own shoes on top of them and I had stupidly worn Vans. So, I rented boots as well. There is basically no learning curve for snowshoeing. If you can walk, you can snowshoe. The snowshoes are big plastic ovals strapped to your feet that keep you front sinking into the snow. They also grip the ground, making it easier to walk up icy hills.

Statue of Mary on top of the mountain.

After about an hour of walking through the trails and admiring the snow covered trees, we had a picnic overlooking a snowy village. It was decadent. It will be hard to have a picnic that beats eating a Camembert sandwich and drinking Orangina while surrounded by powdery snow and mountains. We then did some more exploring through the trails and off. I saw a lot of cross country skiers and I think that will be my next new winter sport to try. I hear it isn’t too hard, but that it takes a lot of muscle. Unlike snowshoeing. Okay, we weren’t really doing hardcore snowshoeing. I saw some professional-looking people with ski poles that seemed to be heading for more difficult ground. But I’ve been getting enough pain from snowboarding, so I didn’t mind a sport that was slow and injury-free.

View from our picnic.

After our day of snowshoeing, we got ice cream in the restaurant down below. I know that ice cream is an odd choice for when it’s cold, but I can’t resist Mövenpick, one of my favorite ice-cream brands. Plus, you could watch skiers falling on the surface lift. I know it is horrible to be entertained by other people’s misfortune, but I have had bad run ins with the surface lifts and considering how much I fall snowboarding, I think I have earned it. I’m going to Deux Alpes this Saturday, so entertainment value for others is predicted to be high.

My second day in Paris was New Year’s Eve, but I still woke up early to see two amazingly nerdy exhibits centered on the history behind and story of Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables. Anyone who knows me well, or maybe not even well, is familiar with my almost embarrassing obsession with this novel. So the excitement of learning obscure historical facts about the locations mentioned in the book or seeing real drafts of the novel was enough to propel me out the door in the morning. I first went to Paris au temps des Misérables de Victor Hugo at the Musée Carnavalet in the Marais. The permanent exhibit at the Musée Carnavalet is a stunning display of relics from the history of Paris and is free, just a note for anyone who may find themselves in the neighborhood. This exhibit took the paths of the main characters in Paris and followed them chronologically from 1815 to 1833. However, the exhibit presents a pretty clear thesis that Paris is the actual main character of the novel, and it’s one that’s hard to argue with. I guess the novel is always in the back of my mind in Paris, as is the work of all the Paris-based authors I’ve loved (Sartre, Balzac, Beauvoir, oh so many more). Basically, any place in Paris mentioned in Les Misérables that was concrete or made-up by Hugo, or even inaccurately identified by him, was explored in the exhibit. There were some very cool maps of the character’s paths through Paris. I was fascinated by all this, although I don’t see how anyone who wasn’t deeply familiar with the novel would enjoy speculation on the area where Hugo invented Cosette’s convent or  each prison where the Thénardier family was imprisoned. The Hugo exhibit even spread to the rest of the museum, with little side notes next to permanent items stating how they related to the book or the time period in the book. So really, I could have spent all day just there, but I had promised to meet the rest of my group for lunch. I might go back when I’m in Paris at the end of this month to check out more of that.

After leaving the Musée Carnavalet I walked down the street to the Place des Vosges to the Maison Victor Hugo to see Les Misérables un roman inconnu?. While the previous exhibit had used its extensive Parisian history archives to illustrate the novel and Hugo’s Paris with paintings, photographs, objects, old maps, and art, this exhibit looked directly at the story of the book with a mix of history and fiction. It was a lot more romantic of an exhibit, in that the emotions of the book were emulated with modern art pieces that had no historical connection, but which reflected the state of certain characters or events. The exhibit also examined parts of the novel that may have been forgotten or not even known by people who have only seen versions of the book as a movie, musical, or play. I’ll admit it’s been a long time since I’ve read the entire thing, and I should probably give it more time now that my French has improved. I left this exhibit thinking about why Les Misérables has influenced me so much. Is this why I want to be a writer, to create something like this? How could a person even write something this massive, this all-encompassing in their lifetime? And Hugo wasn’t just a novelist, he was a politician, a poet, a playwright, an academic, and a huge public figure. Is there anyone around like that? Now that I am older I think about things like this, but when I first encountered Jean Valjean, Javert, Marius, Fantine, and the rest of the abased I was in middle school. Then it was the emotion of the book and the use of words that, even in their English translation, were more powerful than anything I’d read.

Les Catacombes...my mind has spent so much time here.

After my trip through literary nostalgia, I went back to the apartment and met up with everyone for lunch and a trip to Les Catacombes. Also known as the setting for my novel. Well, not really, but I’d like to think that’s why the line was extraordinarily long. We took the Vélibs to get there. These are bicycles that you can rent throughout Paris for only 1€ for the day. The only catch is you have to have a French credit card (or something with a chip in it) and 150€ on your card. As long as you know where you’re going and aren’t afraid to ride in the same lane as the buses or spin through the same roundabouts as a herd of crazy French drivers, it’s a great alternative to the bus or métro. We had a pretty long train of bikers, I think about 8, weaving through the Paris traffic. After we left the catacombs to go back to the apartment, we biked on a bridge over the Seine where we could see lights sparkling on the Hôtel de Ville and I can’t think of many moments in my life more magical and surreal than that.

Skulls in Les Catacombes.

Once we made it through the catacombs line, we took the never ending stairs down to the tunnels. Even though I’d been before, it’s hard to jade yourself to millions of skeletons. I hadn’t visited the catacombs since I decided to use them as the setting for most of my first novel, so it was interesting to compare how the place had transformed in my imagination to what was actually there. Les Catacombes is a large series of tunnels under Paris originally dug for mining, but part of them were later used to house skeletons dug up from the overflowing city cemeteries starting in the late 1700s. Instead of just throwing them down there, the skulls and bones were carefully arranged in formations that are surprisingly artistic and oddly reverent of the dead. It seems to me that whomever arranged them respected that these weren’t just objects, but were once the parts of living people. The hands that placed each skull facing outwards surely knew that they would one day be bones.

Happy New Year!!

That evening we had a New Year’s Eve dinner at the apartment and headed out to the métro with the goal of reaching the Eiffel Tower. The métro was free all night, which meant it was packed. However, we were moving along pretty well and seemed like we were going to meet our goal when we got stopped at the Louvre. The doors never closed and after waiting 15 minutes there was an announcement that the firefighters were on the way. We never found out why, because we decided it was better to get out where we were than to be stuck in the métro at midnight. So we started walking towards the Seine to get a view of the Eiffel Tower. I should mention that we already knew the fireworks had been canceled for no apparent reason. This is France, there doesn’t have to be a reason to randomly cancel things that people may have come a long way for (keep this in mind for any France travel). Nevertheless, we thought it would be more fun to see it sparkle like it does every night, at every hour, than nothing at all. We made our way to a bridge overlooking the Eiffel Tower about 10 minutes before midnight. I thought since France is the capital there would at least be a countdown, but there wasn’t even that. We made the most of it though and when the Eiffel Tower sparkled its blue lights we popped open a bottle of Champagne and our group of 11 foreigners (and one French native) muddled our way through “Auld Lang Syne.” Passing cars honked their horns and we saw a few amateur fireworks before deciding to head to the Champs Elysée.

I’d heard that the Champs Elysée was crazy on New Year’s Eve, but I wasn’t prepared for the mayhem. The street was blocked off and there were drunk people everywhere and the gendarmerie seemed more interested in getting their pictures taken with tourists than anything else. We made it out alive, though, and despite me being a lame worrier at the time, it is cool to think back on seeing the Arc de Triomphe with absolutely no cars. After we got out of there we went to a café for the first drinks of 2009. When it came time to go back to the apartment, we thought we would take the free métro, but it was closed. This despite there being tons of maps printed up by the city that specifically stated which lines would be available. After more wandering, we passed by a station by the Opéra Garnier that was opening so we went inside. We were there about 15 minutes before métro workers came by and told us it was closed. We decided to take the Vélibs back and finally all made it in at about 5 am. I don’t know that I would recommend Paris as  a New Year’s destination, but I can’t say it wasn’t memorable.

Every time I’ve lived or studied abroad before, Bush has been president. I am overjoyed to finally have a president I can be proud of. I’ve had so many French people congratulate me on Barack Obama, it’s ridiculous. The other night, when me and another American were talking in the street, people behind us started saying “Yes we can!” What’s strange is that everyone who knows I’m from Oklahoma knew that McCain won there. Not only that, but what percentage voted for him. At least people are interested in me? The night of the election, I set my alarm in hour increments to check MSNBC and could finally sleep soundly at around 4 am. Too bad about Oklahoma’s senate race and prop. 8 in California. I guess everything won’t change over night, and I’ll take this victory for the next four years.

Here is day three of my Bordeaux trip. Me and Randall went to Blaye to see the Citadelle there. There is not much else in Blaye.

The Citadelle in Blaye.

The bus ride to Blaye was beautiful and we passed many chateaux surrounded by vineyards. The grapes are all gone, but the leaves were changing colors and the rows of yellow and red were gorgeous. The Citadelle de Blaye is on the edge of the river and was as a defense and communication center. At least that’s what I gathered from the oddly placed and uninformative information signs. The Citadelle just became a UNESCO site this year, so I hope that they put some money into maps and information. Most of the placards were about information unrelated to the location in which they stood. However, there was no admission, and we were basically allowed to walk where ever we wanted. I imagine that that’s going to change now that it’s a UNESCO site and there will be guided tours led by 17th century soldiers.

Entrance to the Citadelle.

I should also mention that before we went to the Citadelle we got sandwiches at this cafe that seriously had the craziest people inside. I thought I’d just stepped into the cantine of the mental institution. These two men were talking about something completely undecipherable and cackling about it. And this was the only option for food in Blaye as the bakeries closed between 11 am and 3 pm for some reason. That is a very long lunch break.

This may be the location of the tombs of Roland and Saint-Romain. Too bad no one knows or seems to care.

Anyone who has taken a French or world literature class has probably had to read Le Chanson de Roland (The Song of Roland), the oldest work of French literature. In it, the hero Roland, Charlemagne’s nephew, is referred to as the Comte de Blaye (the Count of Blaye). Now this is where fact and fiction get fuzzy. Apparently there aren’t a lot of historical mentions of Roland, but lots of legends. This is according to most English language research I did. But most of the French language information has him concretely as a real person. Anyway, as we were walking through Blaye we saw a sign that said the tombs of Roland, Saint-Romain, and some kings were in the Basilique Saint-Romain in a direction towards the Citadelle. Yet when we walked that way, there was only a parking lot and no more signs. Moreover, no on in the town even knew where this Basilique was. You would think that having the tomb of Roland, even if he wasn’t as great of a man as in the legends, would be a big tourism draw. After much wandering and confusion, we finally decided that the above ruins must be what’s left of the Basilique. I’m going to go ahead and make that my story and say I saw the tomb of Roland. It was just so weird to have such a clear sign and then absolutely no information. But so is France.

Monument aux Girondins in Bordeaux.

After catching the bus back to Bordeaux, we walked around the city at night. Above is a fountain that was right by where a carnival was set up. The carnival was an odd place indeed, with several scary looking people and lots of flashing lights. I especially liked the bumper cars with the flags of the European Union attached. When we walked by, I think France, Germany, and Italy were battling in a World War II fashion.

Carnival!

I paid a euro for a Pomme d’Amour, which was basically an apple covered in delicious sugar, and Randall got one of the ubiquitous churros. Their fair food wasn’t quite as decadent as the food in the state fairs back home. Probably for the best. There’s only so many fried oreos and twinkies the world can handle.

Place de la Bourse in Bordeaux.

The next morning I walked around the city a little before I caught the train back to Valence. It was a rather long train ride, which was okay because I think riding on trains and it allowed me to finish reading The Satanic Prophecies by Salman Rushide. That was definitely not a disappointing book, although it was kind of intimidating. Apparently, it’s not even his best book, but it’s so complex and detailed. I can’t imagine the amount of time and research he put into that. I should avoid reading books like that when I’m trying to write my own. Then again, it’s one of the best books I’ve read this year and it’s one of those books I’ve been meaning to read forever due to the controversy.

Next post will be about my day in Provence. Life is good here!

I can’t say I’m too impressed with France’s Halloween celebration. The only trick or treating the kids can do is in the mall, and I even saw them get rejected from mall stores that didn’t have candy! They also seem to have the choice of witch or skeleton for their costumes. And there was not one Halloween decoration to be found. Since Halloween is my favorite holiday, this made me sad. It’s one of the few times of year you can celebrate and cause fear, become the things you fear, examine the fear of death from a safe vantage point. According to a French person I talked to, the French don’t like to bring any humor to death. Anyway, I was determined to do something for Halloween! All of the other assistants were still on vacation, so I decided  to go see Rear Window at the little art movie theater here. It was definitely worth it, as I’d never seen a Hitchcock film projected in an actual movie theater. I’d also forgotten how good of a movie it is, although maybe getting older and learning more about films has made me appreciate camera angles and suspense in a way I didn’t in middle school. Anyway, going to a movie alone is one thing, but going alone to a bar is another. I knew that the Irish bar in town was actually celebrating Halloween, so I worked through tinges of social anxiety and made myself go. And I actually ran into some people I had already met here and had a great time. However, there were very few costumes, no jack o lanterns, only a pumpkin on the bar. But, they were showing Nightmare on Elm Street behind the band that was playing, which would have been the exact movie I’d be watching on my computer if I’d decided to stay at my apartment. I’m taking that as a good omen, however convoluted.

Beach at Arcachon

Enough about Halloween. I’m now going to post about my visit to Bordeaux, where I visited my friend Randall who is also an assistant and studied in Clermont-Ferrand with me. I got there late on Saturday due to SNCF train delays and we went to another assistant’s super creepy apartment for wine with several Bordeaux assistants. I guess she’s living on a floor of this older woman’s home, and the furniture and ambiance were straight out of The Shining. (I hope they had a Halloween party there!) Anyway, that was about it for the first day and I was tired from the 7 hour train journey. The next day, we met two assistants at the train station and planned to go to Biarritz. Unfortunately, due to it being a holiday, all the trains were full. We then spent about half an hour staring at a map of France on the wall until we finally decided to go to Arcachon. This was decided about 2 minutes before the train was supposed to leave, necessitating a mad sprint to the train. Of course, this being the France, the train never left the station because of some mechanical problem and we had to get on another train anyway. Arcachon is a little beach town in the same region as Bordeaux. It was a little cold for swimming, not that I didn’t find a way to get my shoes and socks covered in freezing water when the tide came quickly in.

La Dune du Pyla: The largest sand dune in Europe!

There was also another Bordeaux assistant there with her mom that joined our group of four. The thing to see in Arcachon is La Dune dy Pyla, which is actually in a smaller nearby town. It’s the largest sand dune in Europe and, according to Wikipedia, contains 60 million cubic meters of sand. Incroyable! Our group of six rented bicycles in Arcachon and started towards the dune. The ride was mostly flat, but had some extended hills that were painful. The bikes were also a little hard to control and tended to swerve whenever we took our hands of one side of the handle bars. I was most impressed that the assistant from Spain in our group, who hadn’t ridden a bicycle for 10 years, made it all the way. Even more so when I realized halfway there that she had her bike set on 7th gear! According to google maps, Arcachon and the dune are about 6 miles apart, but I don’t know if that’s exactly how far we biked. We did stop for paninis by the beach, which was lovely. Mine had eggplant.

Dune du Pyla. Photograph taken while collapsed on side of sand dune.

The bike trip, despite getting lost a couple of times, was totally worth it. It was beautiful. It was also more difficult than I expected to climb up a steady slope of sand. There’s something really surreal about seeing so much sand after leaving metropolitan Bordeaux in the morning.

Someone paragliding on the dune.

Before we biked back, sand had worked its way into everything I brought. My wallet, my phone, my clothes, my socks. I even found more sand in my purse today. After the bike ride back to Arcachon I rewarded myself with an apple crumble-flavored ice cream cone. It was delicious.

That was the first day of adventure in my Bordeaux trip. More to come!

Oh, I forgot to mention that I was interviewed by a French radio station here about the presidential election. It’s rather difficult to talk about the electoral college in French, but I think it worked out. They want me to give another interview after the president is elected. Hope November 4 is free of voting controversy and confusion!

"Viral marketing" for the sheepherder protest. Translation: "Sheep, you are not alone!"

I’m back from Bordeaux! It was an epic adventure with a giant sand dune and what may or may not have been Roland’s grave, but that’s a story for another blog post. Here is the sheepherder protest post I promised. For a couple of weeks, I’d seen the above phrase spray painted around town. I thought it was an abstract statement, like the sheep are not alone because humans behave like sheep, or something like that. But no, it was more literal than I could ever have imagined.

400 sheep start their march through the center of Valence.

I was walking back from the bus stop after teaching on Thursday when I saw a herd of 400 sheep in the middle of town. There was one sheep dog on a leash to control them all, who was let loose a couple of times to round up wandering sheep. Apparently, it was a protest of the status of sheepherder jobs in this region. So most of the people marching were sheepherders, looking every bit the stereotype I have of that in my head. There are actually some videos of the protest on La Dauphine’s website that show the sheep in action. I, however, decided to follow the protest as it winded through the cobblestones because I had nothing better to do, rather than for any news value. I’m a writer, not a reporter! Not in France, at least.

The sheep and their people set off for the town.

I found this all to be hilarious, but the French reaction seemed to be to just stare blankly. Or take a camera phone picture. However, the man in the black jacket in this picture is mirroring my reaction. You can see that the sheep were marked with paint to keep them identified for the later round-up. For now, though, they moved as one great sheep herd, blending their sheep races into an indistinguishable white mob of protest.

The 400 sheep destroy the city's vegetation.

The sheep stopped cars, buses, and pedestrian traffic. They also devoured all plants and flowers in their path. And this being a “Ville Fleurie,” there was plenty to go around. The sheepherders made a half-hearted effort to stop them, but it seemed to just be for show for the police escorts (yes, the sheepherder protest had several police escorts). Good thing it’s freezing cold outside and the plants were going to be replaced anyway. There was one point where someone threw a leafy tree branch in front of the sheep and they all scrambled towards it, tearing it to shreds with their flat teeth. Like furry velociraptors.

The sheep in the corral, going round and round.

After about 45 minutes of walking through town, the sheep were all herded into a corral that had been built in the Place Belat near where I live. The corral blocked one street, and I was amazed that people were just pulling back part of the gate and walking nonchalantly past the sheep to the other side rather than walking around. When they first got in the corral, the sheep kept circling the fountain while the sheep dog whimpered from outside the corral, probably seeing a need for some leadership. However, they eventually stopped and stood silently while the sheepherders made speeches that I couldn’t really understand.

So that is what I did with one of my afternoons here in France. Bordeaux posts soon!

Go sheep, go!

I have to go catch a train to Bordeaux, but this Thursday I saw 400 sheep herded through the center of Valence as part of a protest of sheepherder’s work status. Or something like that. You can see more pictures on my flickr and I will make a proper post about it when I get back.