11 octobre 2011
This past weekend the Trinity group went to Normandy to explore the sites of World War II, to avail ourselves of the dairy products and apple alcohols, among other things. Thursday, the night before we left for Normandy, my French Theatre class ventured over the Comedie Française to see Molière’s “L’Avare” (The Miser). It was really a great show, and I think everybody enjoyed it. In the show, this old dude named Harpagon, counts every single nickel before spending anything. He has two unhappy kids, and he’s hot and ready for marriage. I’m not going to give away much more than that, because if you give a damn you can go to wikipedia yourself.
The theatre was particularly impressive, having been built in 1799, it was almost destroyed by a fire and rebuilt in 1900. Sitting down in the orchestra, I sort of felt like I was in an aquarium as I looked up and all I could see were balconies and private boxes. The show was 2 hours and 45 minutes, so a bit long, but it was worth it. As I was changing and getting ready for the theatre, after showering and scrubbing up, I happened to look down, only to discover a fairly major problem. No, it wasn’t that my gut was sticking out and blocking my view of the tiger patterned rug in my room, and it wasn’t finding a dead body on the floor (though I’d rather it was), it was largest spider I’d ever seen in my life, crawling across my crotch.
For those of you who think I exaggerate to make my stories better, good for you: you’re right. NONETHELESS, shitting you not, this S.O.B. was the BIGGEST spider I’ve ever seen. After making a conscious effort not to poop my pants, and post-initial scream, I swatting him to get him to fall off. Because he was a direct descendant of spider man, and nearly as big, he held on and was too strong to fall. Making matters even worse, he kept on trucking on, like my fat little hand didn’t even hurt. So I swung and went for round two. This time the stunned spider fell onto the tiger striped rug. Well, I wasn’t done with him yet. I ran (yeah, actually ran) to the kitchen to get a juice glass to catch him. Arriving back in my room, and winded, I tried to find him. How could a giant spider just go missing? Seriously. Now scared that I would wake up in the night to a giant spider on my nose, I was convinced I needed to find the monster. Onto my hands and knees, I searched like Indiana Jones. I finally found him, limping off into the darkness of the land under my bed, and I caught him. Here’s the kicker: when I put the juice glass over him, I caught two legs under the lip… on opposite edges of the glass. Yeah, he was that big.
I then brought him into the living room to present to my host mother and to see if these things were normal in Paris. I sort of felt like a tomcat dragging a dead squirrel in to give it to my owner, but oh well. She was shocked at his size and a bit shocked to know that it was in the house. After calming down a bit, I left for the theatre. Really needing a drink.
Notice that his legs aren't even spread out and one is caught under the glass.
Dead for 12 hours. Size comparison
The next day we left for Normandy. After waiting for about 30 minutes for the last stragglers to sober up enough to swerve their way onto the metro, we were off. Lunch was at Honfleur, a great little fishing town that ended up being the new hometown of my umbrella, where it was left after lunch. Major bummer. From there we loaded back on the bus, this time waiting 30 minutes for the professors to come back to the bus. I guess Trin time carries on to other time zones as well. Then we bussed to Mont St Michel, an island abbey town which has its roots over a thousand years ago. It was really awe inspiring and super amazing. Literally, words can hardly describe the village and abby, which reek of the Middle Ages. It was just one of those places that is totally worth the effort to see.
Honfleur, the town from whence Champlain came to discover MDI in 1604
From there it was off to our hotel. After the last hotel, nobody had high expectations for this one. I, however, was keeping a weather eye for the nearest bar to soften the blow of a crappy hotel. I couldn’t have been happier to find two bars within eyesight of the hotel. And a third inside the hotel. After dinner, it was time to go to the bar, and almost all of the Trinity kids availed themselves of the hotel bar. Since we were in Normandy, I decided it would be a good idea to try a local beverage: calvados. Basically it’s high test cider: 45-55% alcohol. It was literally like drinking kerosine but, knowing that there are sober teenagers in the third world, I finished it off before ordering a different drink. It was a fun time to be as a group, drinking, laughing, and enjoying one another. The biggest problem came when Pascal, the hotel owner/desk worker/bar tender, decided to shut off the best customers in the hotel, who were still mostly sober. I’m not econ major, but I know that’s a bad business decision.
Le Mont St. Michel - The Romanesque Abbey
The next day, after two hours on the bus, we found ourselves at the artificial port at Arromanches, Omaha Beach, and Point d’Hoc. I’ve been to these sites before, but there is literally nothing more awe-inspiring to stand on the beach, look up at the cliffs, and consider the incredible sacrifice made by the solders in World War II. It’s also absolutely breathtaking to stand in the American cemetery, looking out, and only seeing 10,000 white marble crosses and the occasional Star of David. There are really no words to describe the emotion and scene, and the American Cemetery at Omaha Beach is something that every American has to see. It’s on the top ten American sites of the world, according to me.
Now sufficiently depressed and sombre, we did what any Trinity group would do to revive our emotions: drink. Off we went to a cidery, where apples are turned into apple cider (which in France is alcoholic, 4%), pommeau (17% alcohol and used as an apéritif), and calvados (45-55% and used as a digestif.) After trying out all the different flavors - multiple times - we were all in a very good mood, and many people bought some to bring back to Paris, including myself.
On our way from the cidery to Bayeux, where we were staying that night, we happened to pass La Cambe, the main German cemetery at Normandy. It was completely different in style than the American cemetery, but still beautiful. I’d never considered where the Germans were buried, but further research on the topic shows that there are multiple German cemeteries in France. In La Cambe, are over 21,000 Germans, more than twice the number in the American cemetery. Reading on Wikipedia, the source for all information, I came across the message on the sign:
The German Cemetery at La Cambe: In the Same Soil of France
Until 1947, this was an American cemetery. The remains were exhumed and shipped to the United States. It has been German since 1948, and contains over 21,000 graves. With its melancholy rigour, it is a graveyard for soldiers not all of whom had chosen either the cause or the fight. They too have found rest in our soil of France.
It’s interesting to think that the Americans and Germans were interred in the same field before the American remains were moved to their current location. At the end, however, both the Americans and Germans, found rest in the soil of France.
Dinner in Bayeux was followed by drinks in our hotel and subsequent drinks in local bars. We met some locals and enjoyed some more local drinks. This time I drank something called Embuscade, which was about 50% white wine, a shot of grenadine, a shot or two of calvados, and then beer. It was really great, actually. All in all it was an interesting night, and one I won’t soon forget (unlike others that I cannot remember).
Cathedral de Bayeux
The next day, three cups of coffee later, we were headed back to Paris, by way of the Port de Bassin, another fishing town. This one wasn’t nearly as quaint as Honfleur, but they had a great market going on, which had awesome food.
Finally, three days later and many hours of bussing, we arrived back in Paris. I got home to find Alexis with his friend, Stephanie, and the two mothers drinking coffee in the living room. After the guests left, we had dinner (pompiettes of veal, which is essentially stuffed veal - and really awesome). After dinner, as usual, Alexis cleared all the dishes, whether or not we were actually through with them, and left his mother and me at the table talking. Apparently we had a lot to talk about, and we didn’t leave the table until after 11pm, and after solving the world’s problems.
Since this disturbs his mother’s usual pattern of watching tv after dinner, it bothers Alexis a great deal that we sit at the table. So much so that at one point he came out to turn off all the lights in the dining room, even though we were sitting at the table. I had to laugh because it was really very funny. Laughing, his mother asked if the restaurant was closed. Straight faced he responded: Yes, it’s too late to be at the table.
He’s also started to tell me that my phone is ringing so that I leave the table, hoping that I wont come back. He gets rather angry that I don’t give a damn that my phone is ringing, and what he doesn’t realize is that my phone doesn’t ring. It vibrates, and I know he can’t hear that from his room.
Last night, though, was an example of one of his better antics: having bought chicken, I wanted to cook it so that I would have chicken with which to make sandwiches. My host mother was okay with this, but then Alexis caught wind. He went all to pieces. Since dinner was over, there was absolutely no reason for me to be in the kitchen, let alone at the stove. It was not necessary, and not allowed in his book. His mother came in as I was getting the chicken out of the refrigerator to see if I wanted a coffee and, sensing chicken activities, Alexis came running. He tried again to get me to give up my cooking plans, and told me I was vraiment fou (absolutely crazy). Well, it’s not the first time I’ve been called crazy (try eating warm apple sauce with vanilla ice cream!), so I just responded, yeah, I know, I’m crazy. To that, totally straight-faced, he looked at me and said, “WELL STOP!” I lost it. His face, his tone of voice, everything. I laughed. And I laughed hard. Even his mother gave a chuckle. Realizing that I was going to cook, he left, but he wasn’t finished yet.
I was in the kitchen, cooking away, and out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of Alexis. I didn’t pay much attention, and next thing I know, he hit the light switch and left me in absolute darkness in the kitchen. I turned around and said, “well, is the kitchen shut down too?” He looked at me and said, “Yes, it’s too late. Go to your room.” Silly boy, I don’t respond well to orders, so I hit the light switch and cooked up a storm.
Maybe I’m vraiment fou, but I have to say: my chicken sandwich was pretty damned good today.
PS- I'd like to send a shout out to Ann Lawson, who figures that being mentioned on my blog will bring her immediate fame. Clearly she's correct, especially after last week's major boost due to a facebook posting. There are now nearly 700 hits on this site, from countries all over the world. It's sort of cool to be famous, I'm not even going to lie.
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