Since I don’t have much touristy news to share (spent the last two weekends traveling to and from the US), thought I would write a few comments on why I am in France. Let’s start with a little background on ArvinMeritor, the company I have been working for since last June.
The somewhat clunky name for the business is a result of a misguided merger in 2000 between companies named Arvin and Meritor. Arvin produced light vehicle (light vehicle meaning cars like you drive everyday versus heavy, or commercial vehicles like tractor trailers) components, primarily exhaust related, but also including sunroofs, springs, and shocks. Arvin’s genesis goes back to 1919; you can read a bit more about its evolution at http://www.arvinmeritor.com/about/history.asp. Meritor focused on commercial vehicle parts, such as axles, transmissions, and brakes, but also had light vehicle business in door modules, window regulators, and steel wheels. Meritor was initially a division of Rockwell and was spun off as an independent company in 1997. Aggressive management at Meritor, with the erroneous concept that any growth is good growth, pursued the merger with Arvin a few years later. The idea was that there would be synergies between the light and commercial businesses that could be leveraged to increase profits. In reality there was very little success transferring tangible benefits between the businesses. For example, one would think that knowledge of how to manufacture commercial vehicle brakes could be used to enter the light vehicle brake market, but due to a lack of management cohesion and the dramatic differences between building brakes for large and small vehicles, this never occurred. You could apply this example to each of the other products manufactured by ArvinMeritor. Basically the product line remained separated; the only benefit was combining corporate overhead functions. A basic business principle is that for a company to achieve maximum efficiency (therefore maximizing profits) it must focus on a few things rather than dabbling in many. The broad product line distracted senior management from setting a productive strategic direction.
This past May management announced their intention to spin off the light vehicle business into a standalone company, called Arvin Innovation (about $2 billion in sales). The commercial vehicle business (about $4 billion in sales) would retain the name ArvinMeritor. A significant amount of work is already under way to complete this; the stated goal is to complete the spin within twelve months of the announcement. I will be joining the Arvin Innovation. From a long-term perspective this a good move, the separate companies will be better able to focus on what they do best and investors will be able to choose to buy stock in either a light or commercial vehicle business. In the short-term, particularly considering the current wariness of banks to lend money and the downturn in light vehicle sales, this is a very risky maneuver. Innovation will need to generate sufficient cash flow to maintain the ability to invest in new development and meet financing payments, without the benefit of having a large partner to absorb any hiccups.
One of the reasons why management believes Innovation can succeed is the remarkable global diversity of the business (we’re getting closer to why I am in France). The majority of Innovations products are manufactured outside of the US and new facilities are going up in India and Romania to further lend international weight. The largest sites are located in France, Germany, Czech Republic, Slovakia, China, Mexico, and Brazil.
Now, who can tell me which countries are different from the others in this list? France and Germany are remnants of the period prior to the current globalization of manufacturing. We have the opportunity to witness a great leveling of living standards across the globe as other countries are rising toward the level of the US. In my opinion a fantastic time to be alive, we are seeing something that will be a closed issue within a few generations. Right now there are industries entering countries that have never manufactured the product of that industry. The challenges of producing a component new to a geographic region are complex. Differences between countries, such as cultural expectations (the flexibility and aggressiveness of US workers versus the unfocused and rigid French), and historical conflicts (try asking plant workers in the Czech Republic to cooperate with German engineers) create unique opportunities. Not to mention the roadblocks caused by governments that must be worked around.
At dinner with coworkers a few weeks ago, I asked “What language would be the language of business if the US was not the dominant world economy?” My Czech colleague, who speaks English, Czech, French, German, Russian, and Slovak well, provided a typically flippant response: “English, because it is easiest” and proceeded to point out the difficulties of the Czech and French languages. He may have a point, I am certainly no language expert, but I am not so sure. My unscientific opinion is that if there was another country that dominated economically, the language of that country would be the language of business. Or, if there was no clear world leader, there would be a mishmash of communication without a “language of business”. Considering how strong the ethnic biases are in Europe and Asia this could have been chaos. Maybe I am wrong, and the fact that the British Empire spread English to so many corners of the globe would make this the default communication medium. But it is interesting to think how much more difficult it would be to conduct business without an agreed language.
France and Germany are no longer desirable locations for manufacturing. Not only because they are fully developed with high standards of living, but in some ways the more important cause is the restrictiveness of government regulation. Leaning more toward socialism, both of these countries have instituted rigid rules intended to protect workers and prevent companies from cutting employees. The required severance packages are so exorbitant that companies consider maintaining a production site that is no longer profitable just to avoid paying the large cost of letting go the employees. This also works the other way, when an employee decides to leave a job he must announce this several months in advance (versus two weeks in the US), significantly reducing the mobility of the workforce. Then there are the rigid safety standards; a good idea on first look, but too costly for the benefit achieved. Couple all of this with high taxes, and there is more to the movement of manufacturing to Asia and Eastern Europe than simply lower wage rates. In many cases the lower wages are cancelled out by a lower level of education and therefore lower productivity. If allowed to compete on a level playing field, the well educated German would fare better against his Low Cost Country counterparts.
So, why am I in France? Innovation has three manufacturing plants and an administrative office in France. Going back to its time as a division of Rockwell, there was an office in Paris for the business that produced window regulators and door modules. Over time this grew to the current sites, with the administrative office joining one of the plants in the tiny town of Sully-sur-Loire (the Loire river runs by the town, “Sully by the Loire”). Located in the Loiret region of central France, a beautiful area of farms and forests, the office seems out of place. Well chosen if you intend to keep a low profile.
The Sully office is the headquarters for the largest of Innovations business groups. After spending one year in an assignment in business group finance in Detroit for the light vehicle segment, I will spend the next year a bit closer to the product, but in a similar financial analyst role. I am part of the Body Systems group, which produces sunroofs, window regulators, door modules, and door latches. I am looking forward to having a closer view to how industry globalization works and to learn how a Fortune 500 company is split apart.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Monday, July 14, 2008
Le Tour! or The Long Buildup to a Few Minutes of Spectating
Pictures:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2004878&l=8e38b&id=1173293194
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2004880&l=d30aa&id=1173293194
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2004882&l=83810&id=1173293194
Once I learned that I would be in France during the month of July I began to make plans to see one of the world’s great sporting events: The Tour de France. For the uninitiated the Tour is a bicycle race that lasts 3 weeks, traveling throughout France, and is known as the premier test of physical endurance in any sport. Each day, or stage, is a bike race unto itself with different specialists vying for their chance to win. The flat stages showcase the powerfully built sprinters, the mountain stages in the Pyrenees and French Alps are lead by the lean and light climbers, while only the best riders have hopes of capturing the overall Tour win in the General Classification (GC). What sets the Tour apart from other races is the long and grueling climbs through the mountains. These climbs are categorized by their length and steepness: a 5 is the lowest category, a relatively short and shallow mountain, a 1 is the second to highest, extremely steep and long, and above a 1 is the dreaded Hors Categorie (HC), which means “beyond category”, so steep and long it is beyond mere mortals to attempt.
Fortunately this past Sunday was the first mountain stage of this year’s Tour. The mountains are where the action occurs, the top contenders for the GC begin to attack and put large chunks of time between themselves and lesser riders. Also, the mountains are better for spectating simply because the riders are moving slower and are more spread out as they climb. Yesterday’s stage traveled from Toulouse to Bagneres-de-Bigorre, including two category 1 climbs, the second of which, up the Col d’Aspin appeared to be a prime place to watch the race. This was the first stage in the Pyrenees between France and Spain.
Once again my travel plans were somewhat unrefined. I was disappointed to learn that none of my coworkers had an interest in seeing the Tour; I would be on my own to figure this out. I was able to find some info on the web, including this humorous write-up (http://gearchangeup4.blogspot.com/2006/07/brit-what-happened-at-tour-de-france.html) by a Brit who followed the Tour the year Floyd Landis “won”. I knew that I would be camping somewhere along the race route, so decided the best plan was to get to Bagneres-de-Bigorre and then use the GPS to travel to Arreu, the town at the base of the climb up the Col d’Aspin. My assumption, which proved to be correct, that in the mountains there would be few roads between towns, so that I was sure to be on the road of the Tour stage. I had food to get me through the weekend, a sleeping bag (a tent didn’t fit in my luggage), and my suitcase full of clothes. Besides a map of the stage, including the times when riders were expected to be at checkpoints, that was the limit of my planning.
The drive to Bagneres-de-Bigorre took over 6 hours and I arrived in a steady rain on Saturday about 5 pm. Climbing out of the town up the side of the mountain I was forced to shift to first gear on the hairpin turns. These were the curves the riders would descend the next day. All that I knew is that I wanted to camp somewhere on the other side of the mountain, along the road the riders would be ascending. Nearing the top I could not believe the way campers were parked at the side of the road with their wheels not more than a couple feet from steep drops. I was beginning to think that I would spend the night in such a precarious position. Fortunately when I reached the peak, the spine of the mountain opened up into a clearing where hundreds of cars and campers were parked along the slope. Interestingly in socialist France, capitalism was alive and well at the peak of the Col d’Aspin, for only 5 Euro I was allowed to drive my car along the hill and park in the grass. The rain was still heavy, so those with tents were hurrying to setup. Not having the luxury of a tent, I knew that I would be spending the night in my Renault Laguna. A fairly roomy car, I was glad that I had not asked for a small car at the rental. Not so good was my choice of parking locations. The car was clinging to a rather steep slope, so steep that when I reclined the passenger seat and spread my sleeping bag out, gravity persuaded my body to nestle in the crack between the seat and the door. After a few machinations with the sleeping bag I was able to add sufficient padding to prevent hard plastic from leaving imprints in my body.
The rain was severe enough that I scratched plans to roam the area. I had meant to bring a rain coat along from the US, but in the hurry to leave I made a poor trade for a tiny umbrella that barely covered my head. It would be uncomfortable, without the added discomfort of being wet. The revelry from the other spectators was dampened as well, I could hear drunken singing at a nearby campsite, but most were bunkered down in their tents. That night it continued to rain hard and the wind rocked my car as the gusts roared over the Col. It was very cold too, and I ducked my head into my sleeping bag to stay warm. I had visions of myself standing in the rain during the race struggling to stay dry under my tiny umbrella with a garbage bag improvising as a rain coat (I had remembered the bag in my luggage at some point and decided that if worst came to worst I would layer up with clothes, tear holes in the garbage bag, and tough it out). Not sure how much I actually slept, but suffice it to say that when I woke up for good at 6 am I would have gladly traded this night for one crammed in coach class on an international flight between two fat men! But the anticipation of the Tour made me quickly forget this.
The rain had stopped in the morning, but it was still very cold, probably in the upper 30’s or low 40’s. Sticking with my plan from the night, I layered up with 5 T-shirts and 2 long sleeve shirts. I would have loved to have had a more thermally appropriate hat than a baseball hat, but there wasn’t much of a breeze, so I actually felt fairly comfortable. I loaded my bag with food and water (stuffed the garbage bag in just in case) and literally fell out of the car to begin exploring. The mountains were shrouded in a low cloud, with only hints of the vaunted steepness of the Pyrenees.
Reaching the road and beginning to drop down into the valley I crossed paths with the fans painting their favorites names on the road. For almost the entire climb up the Col there would a bike riders name on the road, each rider seemed to have his own fan section where his letters were spread across the pavement for several hundred yards. There were already amateur cyclists ascending and descending the stage route. It is common for enthusiasts to follow the Tour and ride the climbs while the road is closed to cars before the race. These were bikers of all stripes, from the wannabe pros decked out in full regalia, to the slackers riding a mountain bike with sneakers, and every shape and size in between. As I was learning, watching a Tour stage is more about the prelude than the actual race. There was a LONG time to wait before the riders would arrive at about 5 pm.
Since I didn’t have a bike, I kept hiking down the mountain. Within a kilometer of the peak I found the place that was to be where I watched the race. The road twisted below into a series of 8% grade hairpins, then stretched out in a long straightaway, before snaking around the side of a hill and disappearing. I could see the road at 6 different locations, maximizing the amount of time I could see the riders. Usually you don’t see them until they are right onto top of you, so this was a great place to be. The road was narrow, leaving little room for spectators, so I decided to make sure I was back at this spot by noon to make sure I had a place. Walking down the peak for a few more kilometers I had a good taste of what the riders would experience. The amateurs continued to fly down the road, or struggle up it, in increasing numbers. There was almost a continual procession of riders going in one direction or the other. The crazies were there in full force, most sporting their home country’s flag (yes, I did not represent very well, I forgot to bring a US flag).
Back at my spectating location, a few meters more than 1 kilometer from the peak, I settled in to wait. The side of the road was already filling up and the amateurs were flying fast and furious or slow and haggard on their bikes. The French are not the friendliest of people, they make little effort to speak English even if they know how, so I was glad when a Spaniard from Catalonia parked near me, and a short time later a German from Berlin leaned his bike against the fence post guarding the cliff. These were to be my Tour “buddies”, the Spaniard kidded me about being a Tour virgin. Both had seen the Tour before and were quite glad to practice their English as we waited for the riders. Compared to them, and most of the other fans, I was better dressed for the weather. It was still cold and would remain so throughout the day. Since many of the watchers had biked up all or a portion of the Col, they were dressed in shorts and thin shirts, including my Spanish and German acquaintances. All were obviously cold. {One story I initially forgot to include: The German had spent time in Montreal recently. Rather than waving the banner of his home country, he had purchased a Canadian flag and enthusiastically waved it as assuredly the only German with a Canadian flag on that day}
The first indication that race is approaching is the “Caravan”. This is a long chain of floats advertising whichever company pays for the privilege, with models perched inside whipping free stuff at the fans as fast as they can. This is actually quite exciting. You holler and grab at whatever you can, the hot chocolate and real bike jersey were big favorites, while trying to avoid being bruised by a flying package. The floats drive fast up the narrow road, amazing that none of us was hit as we squeezed in to grab the freebies. At least it kept us warm as we surged back and forth toward the next float. This lasts for a LONG time, I didn’t time it, but possibly an hour of floats passed by. Capitalism rules!
Once the Caravan had passed I could feel the anticipation build, the Peleton would not be far away! (The Peleton is the term used for the main body of bike riders). The first indication the race has approached is the noise of helicopters. There are three following the riders, one close to the ground following the leader, a second a bit further back and higher, and a third higher still circling for wide angle TV shots. I could not interpret the French announcers on the handheld radios around me, but the German said that a German, Sebastian Lang, had broken ahead of the rest by over 2 minutes. This is a big lead, but since he still had more than 7 km of 8% grade to climb, not insurmountable. Soon Lang broke onto the long straightaway below us, disappearing as he entered the hairpins. But almost immediately another rider came into view, the Italian Ricco was charging hard to catch Lang. We could see the gap closing as Lang looped up the slope with Ricco closing fast. As Lang approached, the cops on motorcycles blasted through to clear a path. If you’ve ever seen a Tour, you know that the roads are narrow and the fans crowd close enough to touch the bikers. I was in position to be one of these! A series of Tour cars cruised by preceding the TV camera motorcycle, with Lang in tow. He was moving fast. Compared to the amateurs of the morning it was amazing to see his legs gobble the slope. It is mass confusion along the road at this point, people hollering and running across the road where there is a break, surging forward to get close to the rider. Similar to other individual sports, you root for each cyclist that passes. I had barely finished taking a picture of Lang when Ricco was on top of us and past. A better climber than Lang, he had closed to within a few bike lengths by the time he passed, and I would learn later Ricco would blow by Lang putting over 30 seconds between them before reaching the peak. This is what the mountains are all about!
In regular intervals the rest of the competitors raced by, there was a group of 20 or so bikers not too far behind that I think would have contained most of the contenders for the GC. The time began to stretch out between the racers, and there was still one large group to come. Eventually this group came into view and began to struggle up the climb. These were the sprinters. Traveling together for moral support and going just fast enough to beat the time cutoff to remain in the Tour. Built for short bursts of speed, not these long, grueling climbs, the look on their faces was pure pain by the time they reached us. They were riding 5 wide so the motorcycle cops drove right at the fans on the edge of the road to push us back into the grass. For all intents this was the end of the stage for us, and people began to hike or bike back to their cars. The drunken Basque kids were still hitting on the French girls as said goodbye to my Tour pals and trudged uphill.
It was a long day, I didn’t get off the mountain until after 6:30, but I thoroughly enjoyed the experience. I hope to do it again, only this time with a bike, so that I can be one of those struggling amateurs gasping up the steep of a Category 1. But if I’m going to go the effort, better make that a Hors Categorie!!!
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2004878&l=8e38b&id=1173293194
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2004880&l=d30aa&id=1173293194
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2004882&l=83810&id=1173293194
Once I learned that I would be in France during the month of July I began to make plans to see one of the world’s great sporting events: The Tour de France. For the uninitiated the Tour is a bicycle race that lasts 3 weeks, traveling throughout France, and is known as the premier test of physical endurance in any sport. Each day, or stage, is a bike race unto itself with different specialists vying for their chance to win. The flat stages showcase the powerfully built sprinters, the mountain stages in the Pyrenees and French Alps are lead by the lean and light climbers, while only the best riders have hopes of capturing the overall Tour win in the General Classification (GC). What sets the Tour apart from other races is the long and grueling climbs through the mountains. These climbs are categorized by their length and steepness: a 5 is the lowest category, a relatively short and shallow mountain, a 1 is the second to highest, extremely steep and long, and above a 1 is the dreaded Hors Categorie (HC), which means “beyond category”, so steep and long it is beyond mere mortals to attempt.
Fortunately this past Sunday was the first mountain stage of this year’s Tour. The mountains are where the action occurs, the top contenders for the GC begin to attack and put large chunks of time between themselves and lesser riders. Also, the mountains are better for spectating simply because the riders are moving slower and are more spread out as they climb. Yesterday’s stage traveled from Toulouse to Bagneres-de-Bigorre, including two category 1 climbs, the second of which, up the Col d’Aspin appeared to be a prime place to watch the race. This was the first stage in the Pyrenees between France and Spain.
Once again my travel plans were somewhat unrefined. I was disappointed to learn that none of my coworkers had an interest in seeing the Tour; I would be on my own to figure this out. I was able to find some info on the web, including this humorous write-up (http://gearchangeup4.blogspot.com/2006/07/brit-what-happened-at-tour-de-france.html) by a Brit who followed the Tour the year Floyd Landis “won”. I knew that I would be camping somewhere along the race route, so decided the best plan was to get to Bagneres-de-Bigorre and then use the GPS to travel to Arreu, the town at the base of the climb up the Col d’Aspin. My assumption, which proved to be correct, that in the mountains there would be few roads between towns, so that I was sure to be on the road of the Tour stage. I had food to get me through the weekend, a sleeping bag (a tent didn’t fit in my luggage), and my suitcase full of clothes. Besides a map of the stage, including the times when riders were expected to be at checkpoints, that was the limit of my planning.
The drive to Bagneres-de-Bigorre took over 6 hours and I arrived in a steady rain on Saturday about 5 pm. Climbing out of the town up the side of the mountain I was forced to shift to first gear on the hairpin turns. These were the curves the riders would descend the next day. All that I knew is that I wanted to camp somewhere on the other side of the mountain, along the road the riders would be ascending. Nearing the top I could not believe the way campers were parked at the side of the road with their wheels not more than a couple feet from steep drops. I was beginning to think that I would spend the night in such a precarious position. Fortunately when I reached the peak, the spine of the mountain opened up into a clearing where hundreds of cars and campers were parked along the slope. Interestingly in socialist France, capitalism was alive and well at the peak of the Col d’Aspin, for only 5 Euro I was allowed to drive my car along the hill and park in the grass. The rain was still heavy, so those with tents were hurrying to setup. Not having the luxury of a tent, I knew that I would be spending the night in my Renault Laguna. A fairly roomy car, I was glad that I had not asked for a small car at the rental. Not so good was my choice of parking locations. The car was clinging to a rather steep slope, so steep that when I reclined the passenger seat and spread my sleeping bag out, gravity persuaded my body to nestle in the crack between the seat and the door. After a few machinations with the sleeping bag I was able to add sufficient padding to prevent hard plastic from leaving imprints in my body.
The rain was severe enough that I scratched plans to roam the area. I had meant to bring a rain coat along from the US, but in the hurry to leave I made a poor trade for a tiny umbrella that barely covered my head. It would be uncomfortable, without the added discomfort of being wet. The revelry from the other spectators was dampened as well, I could hear drunken singing at a nearby campsite, but most were bunkered down in their tents. That night it continued to rain hard and the wind rocked my car as the gusts roared over the Col. It was very cold too, and I ducked my head into my sleeping bag to stay warm. I had visions of myself standing in the rain during the race struggling to stay dry under my tiny umbrella with a garbage bag improvising as a rain coat (I had remembered the bag in my luggage at some point and decided that if worst came to worst I would layer up with clothes, tear holes in the garbage bag, and tough it out). Not sure how much I actually slept, but suffice it to say that when I woke up for good at 6 am I would have gladly traded this night for one crammed in coach class on an international flight between two fat men! But the anticipation of the Tour made me quickly forget this.
The rain had stopped in the morning, but it was still very cold, probably in the upper 30’s or low 40’s. Sticking with my plan from the night, I layered up with 5 T-shirts and 2 long sleeve shirts. I would have loved to have had a more thermally appropriate hat than a baseball hat, but there wasn’t much of a breeze, so I actually felt fairly comfortable. I loaded my bag with food and water (stuffed the garbage bag in just in case) and literally fell out of the car to begin exploring. The mountains were shrouded in a low cloud, with only hints of the vaunted steepness of the Pyrenees.
Reaching the road and beginning to drop down into the valley I crossed paths with the fans painting their favorites names on the road. For almost the entire climb up the Col there would a bike riders name on the road, each rider seemed to have his own fan section where his letters were spread across the pavement for several hundred yards. There were already amateur cyclists ascending and descending the stage route. It is common for enthusiasts to follow the Tour and ride the climbs while the road is closed to cars before the race. These were bikers of all stripes, from the wannabe pros decked out in full regalia, to the slackers riding a mountain bike with sneakers, and every shape and size in between. As I was learning, watching a Tour stage is more about the prelude than the actual race. There was a LONG time to wait before the riders would arrive at about 5 pm.
Since I didn’t have a bike, I kept hiking down the mountain. Within a kilometer of the peak I found the place that was to be where I watched the race. The road twisted below into a series of 8% grade hairpins, then stretched out in a long straightaway, before snaking around the side of a hill and disappearing. I could see the road at 6 different locations, maximizing the amount of time I could see the riders. Usually you don’t see them until they are right onto top of you, so this was a great place to be. The road was narrow, leaving little room for spectators, so I decided to make sure I was back at this spot by noon to make sure I had a place. Walking down the peak for a few more kilometers I had a good taste of what the riders would experience. The amateurs continued to fly down the road, or struggle up it, in increasing numbers. There was almost a continual procession of riders going in one direction or the other. The crazies were there in full force, most sporting their home country’s flag (yes, I did not represent very well, I forgot to bring a US flag).
Back at my spectating location, a few meters more than 1 kilometer from the peak, I settled in to wait. The side of the road was already filling up and the amateurs were flying fast and furious or slow and haggard on their bikes. The French are not the friendliest of people, they make little effort to speak English even if they know how, so I was glad when a Spaniard from Catalonia parked near me, and a short time later a German from Berlin leaned his bike against the fence post guarding the cliff. These were to be my Tour “buddies”, the Spaniard kidded me about being a Tour virgin. Both had seen the Tour before and were quite glad to practice their English as we waited for the riders. Compared to them, and most of the other fans, I was better dressed for the weather. It was still cold and would remain so throughout the day. Since many of the watchers had biked up all or a portion of the Col, they were dressed in shorts and thin shirts, including my Spanish and German acquaintances. All were obviously cold. {One story I initially forgot to include: The German had spent time in Montreal recently. Rather than waving the banner of his home country, he had purchased a Canadian flag and enthusiastically waved it as assuredly the only German with a Canadian flag on that day}
The first indication that race is approaching is the “Caravan”. This is a long chain of floats advertising whichever company pays for the privilege, with models perched inside whipping free stuff at the fans as fast as they can. This is actually quite exciting. You holler and grab at whatever you can, the hot chocolate and real bike jersey were big favorites, while trying to avoid being bruised by a flying package. The floats drive fast up the narrow road, amazing that none of us was hit as we squeezed in to grab the freebies. At least it kept us warm as we surged back and forth toward the next float. This lasts for a LONG time, I didn’t time it, but possibly an hour of floats passed by. Capitalism rules!
Once the Caravan had passed I could feel the anticipation build, the Peleton would not be far away! (The Peleton is the term used for the main body of bike riders). The first indication the race has approached is the noise of helicopters. There are three following the riders, one close to the ground following the leader, a second a bit further back and higher, and a third higher still circling for wide angle TV shots. I could not interpret the French announcers on the handheld radios around me, but the German said that a German, Sebastian Lang, had broken ahead of the rest by over 2 minutes. This is a big lead, but since he still had more than 7 km of 8% grade to climb, not insurmountable. Soon Lang broke onto the long straightaway below us, disappearing as he entered the hairpins. But almost immediately another rider came into view, the Italian Ricco was charging hard to catch Lang. We could see the gap closing as Lang looped up the slope with Ricco closing fast. As Lang approached, the cops on motorcycles blasted through to clear a path. If you’ve ever seen a Tour, you know that the roads are narrow and the fans crowd close enough to touch the bikers. I was in position to be one of these! A series of Tour cars cruised by preceding the TV camera motorcycle, with Lang in tow. He was moving fast. Compared to the amateurs of the morning it was amazing to see his legs gobble the slope. It is mass confusion along the road at this point, people hollering and running across the road where there is a break, surging forward to get close to the rider. Similar to other individual sports, you root for each cyclist that passes. I had barely finished taking a picture of Lang when Ricco was on top of us and past. A better climber than Lang, he had closed to within a few bike lengths by the time he passed, and I would learn later Ricco would blow by Lang putting over 30 seconds between them before reaching the peak. This is what the mountains are all about!
In regular intervals the rest of the competitors raced by, there was a group of 20 or so bikers not too far behind that I think would have contained most of the contenders for the GC. The time began to stretch out between the racers, and there was still one large group to come. Eventually this group came into view and began to struggle up the climb. These were the sprinters. Traveling together for moral support and going just fast enough to beat the time cutoff to remain in the Tour. Built for short bursts of speed, not these long, grueling climbs, the look on their faces was pure pain by the time they reached us. They were riding 5 wide so the motorcycle cops drove right at the fans on the edge of the road to push us back into the grass. For all intents this was the end of the stage for us, and people began to hike or bike back to their cars. The drunken Basque kids were still hitting on the French girls as said goodbye to my Tour pals and trudged uphill.
It was a long day, I didn’t get off the mountain until after 6:30, but I thoroughly enjoyed the experience. I hope to do it again, only this time with a bike, so that I can be one of those struggling amateurs gasping up the steep of a Category 1. But if I’m going to go the effort, better make that a Hors Categorie!!!
Monday, July 7, 2008
Petrol
The topic du jour, today I spent 1.53 Euro per liter of diesel fuel. Doesn’t sound so bad, does it? Well, let’s see… Actually this is 5.79 Euro per gallon. Starting to sound a bit worse? Now apply the current exchange rate, that comes to $9.07 per gallon of diesel. Gas is actually a few Euro cents more expensive. So be thankful you live in the US. Gas prices are a concern to the locals, we talked about it at work. I was told that 80% of the price is taxes, haven’t been able to confirm this yet. Seems ridiculous, like something straight out of an Ayn Rand novel.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Normandy Part Deux
This morning I awoke in the nearly autonomous hotel, feeling surprisingly well considering I had slept on a sofa bed. The bed is actually acceptable, not a pillow top, but firm enough that you avoid that hammock feeling. I was expecting to eat breakfast at the hotel, but the lobby was locked down, there were no employees in sight. I managed to interpret one of the signs, there is no customer service on Sundays. Looking through the window into the breakfast room I could see the breakfast table was covered with bowls and plates, and the packaged pastries, yogurt, and cereal were also out. Only the perishables had been put away. I’m impressed with the efficiency! I couldn’t figure out where to leave my key, so I placed it near the service window (yes, there wasn’t much service during my stay). I can only hope that someone doesn’t grab it and wreak havoc in my room before the staff finds it on Monday.
Once again I didn’t have a specific plan for today, other than I wanted to leave around noon to be back in Orleans in time to run on the river walk. In the back of my mind was to head to Bayeux and check out the Medieval festival. Stopping at McDonald’s, I logged in and did one last search on Normandy museums. I happened upon a Rick Steves site (we used his tour book exclusively while in Italy, I’m a huge fan). He was gushing over a WW2 museum in Caen, so I decided to check it out.
It was well worth it. The Memorial de Caen is easily one of the best museums I have been in (for you museum haters, I think even you would like this one). The museum covered the entire war, spending more time on D-day assault and the lead up to the war. Very intriguing was the details on the French resistance and Vichy France. The contrast between the hardy few who continued to sabotage trains and provide intelligence to the Allies, and the leaders of Vichy France who justified there subsequence to the Nazis by holding Communism up as the greater evil. As in our time, there are those on both sides even in the face of great evil. As today we debate the threat of militant Muslims, so there was an internal struggle in France over how to react to the Nazis. There were significant numbers who rallied to DeGaulle’s side after his speech from England urging resistance. A large section was devoted to personalizing the war through displays and readings of the letters from the soldiers at war, many of the actual letters were displayed. An hour long film gave an excellent overview of the D-day invasion, this was worth the price of admission alone. The first 30 minutes showed actual footage shot during D-day, with only a classical score and the actual sounds of boots tramping, engines roaring, and guns clanking. The screen was split in half, showing the Allies preparing for battle and attacking on one, and the Germans defenses on the other. The footage was astounding, and being the sap that I am, I cried again. This was similar to Saving Private Ryan, but without actors. A few highlights: the Rangers scaling the cliffs of Pointe du Hoc as the rocks exploded from the German bombardment; the US troops at Omaha submerging behind the x-shaped timbers under withering fire; 4 soldiers running up the beach, one cut down not to move again, a second falls and struggles to arise, the other two continue to run; and an amazing shot from a plane that flew low over the beach as hundreds of soldiers ran up the surf.
And that concluded my stay in Normandy. It would be interesting to return sometime to visit the other beaches and museums, but if that doesn’t happen I am satisfied that I saw the most interesting ones. I do plan to return to visit Mont St Michel, a huge church located on an island not far from the D-day beaches.
Once again I didn’t have a specific plan for today, other than I wanted to leave around noon to be back in Orleans in time to run on the river walk. In the back of my mind was to head to Bayeux and check out the Medieval festival. Stopping at McDonald’s, I logged in and did one last search on Normandy museums. I happened upon a Rick Steves site (we used his tour book exclusively while in Italy, I’m a huge fan). He was gushing over a WW2 museum in Caen, so I decided to check it out.
It was well worth it. The Memorial de Caen is easily one of the best museums I have been in (for you museum haters, I think even you would like this one). The museum covered the entire war, spending more time on D-day assault and the lead up to the war. Very intriguing was the details on the French resistance and Vichy France. The contrast between the hardy few who continued to sabotage trains and provide intelligence to the Allies, and the leaders of Vichy France who justified there subsequence to the Nazis by holding Communism up as the greater evil. As in our time, there are those on both sides even in the face of great evil. As today we debate the threat of militant Muslims, so there was an internal struggle in France over how to react to the Nazis. There were significant numbers who rallied to DeGaulle’s side after his speech from England urging resistance. A large section was devoted to personalizing the war through displays and readings of the letters from the soldiers at war, many of the actual letters were displayed. An hour long film gave an excellent overview of the D-day invasion, this was worth the price of admission alone. The first 30 minutes showed actual footage shot during D-day, with only a classical score and the actual sounds of boots tramping, engines roaring, and guns clanking. The screen was split in half, showing the Allies preparing for battle and attacking on one, and the Germans defenses on the other. The footage was astounding, and being the sap that I am, I cried again. This was similar to Saving Private Ryan, but without actors. A few highlights: the Rangers scaling the cliffs of Pointe du Hoc as the rocks exploded from the German bombardment; the US troops at Omaha submerging behind the x-shaped timbers under withering fire; 4 soldiers running up the beach, one cut down not to move again, a second falls and struggles to arise, the other two continue to run; and an amazing shot from a plane that flew low over the beach as hundreds of soldiers ran up the surf.
And that concluded my stay in Normandy. It would be interesting to return sometime to visit the other beaches and museums, but if that doesn’t happen I am satisfied that I saw the most interesting ones. I do plan to return to visit Mont St Michel, a huge church located on an island not far from the D-day beaches.
Saturday, July 5, 2008
Normandy
Pictures:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2004717&l=af7b1&id=1173293194
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2004718&l=bdb9a&id=1173293194
This weekend my goal was to see the battlefields and museums in Normandy. Writing this afterwards, I definitely plan to return with Shereen. The Normandy American Cemetery, Batterie de Longues, Pointe du Hoc are inspiring. And yes I cried at the cemetery.
I had reserved a hotel in Caen, the largest city in the area, and left straight from work on Friday. From Sully it took about 4 hours of half country and half highway driving. I had reserved a hotel on Expedia, when I arrived I learned why it was such a low price. I wasn’t sure I was at the right place after TomTom toned “you have reached your destination”. The lobby was dark and the door was locked. After wandering around the parking lot and up the street I was beginning to think I would spend the night in the car. Walking back to the door, a French couple was arriving as well. They were able to interpret the sign by the door, call the number for the code to the door, and enter. Kindly they let me in. There was no one in the lobby, but my key was in an envelope stored with several others in a safe box. There was a sheet in French with info on the hotel included and a code for the door; I was on my own for that night. I’m not sure what I would have done if someone else hadn’t shown up. It turns I had reserved a sort of minimalist hotel. There is very few staff here, although a small breakfast was served in the morning, no one cleaned my room today. The place is very modern, each room has a small kitchen with fridge and stove, but the bed is a sofa bed. I like the idea: a clean room for a good price without the unnecessary trappings.
In the morning I punched the town of Bayeux into the GPS. I didn’t have a specific plan, but I had read that Bayeux was a good town to start from if you wanted to see the WW2 sites. The roundabout entering town was dominated by a statue of General Eisenhower. I was getting close. Signs for the “Centre Tourismo” looked promising. There was a medieval festival just setting up when I arrived, individuals were setting up tables to sell knick-knacks and food. You can imagine what these were: medieval knives & swords, interesting candies, meats, cheeses, medieval clothing & jewelry, and even a square pen with 4 pigs snoozing, a goat fenced against a tree, and a kitten in a cage. The setting was near an enormous middle age church with flying buttresses, and streets were closed off to allow room for the vendors to setup. I would have loved to stay.
I was forced to park the car and follow the Tourismo signs on foot. At the tourist center, the girl at the desk spoke English, fortunately. She provided a detailed map of the area and pointed out the location of the Musee du Debarquement in Arromanches. This happened to be the one I thought would be a good place to start, after seeing it I could have easily skipped this one. Arromanches is at one end of the “Gold Beach” (the five landing sites: Utah, Omaha, Gold, Juno, Sword beach). The museum was OK, displays were in French and English, as they were for the rest of the day, and it was interesting to learn how the Allies setup a floating pier in the ocean to unload the troops, equipment, and supplies that carried out the inland invasion. The piers were towed into place and constructed so that they rose and fell with the tide, allowing ships to unload 24 hours.
From here I knew that I wanted to go to Omaha beach, but wasn’t sure quite how to get there. I entered a town near the beach into the GPS and then followed signs once I was close. The first stop was the Normandy American Cemetery. This is a must stop for any American, quite an emotional place. The museum was excellent, both the films and displays were packed with feeling. It was interesting watching the interview of a French historian as he described his respect for the US soldiers who crossed the Atlantic to help people they didn’t know. Spread across the cemetery are more than 9,000 white crosses. It is a short walk down to the beach from the heights. I splashed barefoot in the surf. In the lobby I was given better information, and a flier that listed 29 museums in the area related to Operation Overlord. You could easily spend a week here going to each of these. There was also a museum dedicated to Omaha beach nearby. A small place, the most interesting part were the black and white photos of D-day and after. Amazing the pictures that were taken while the bullets were flying.
Next I visited Batterie de Longues, the only place that still houses the German guns that shelled the ships in the Channel. This was impressive. The 4 guns were contained in huge concrete bunkers, set well back from the edge of the cliff. At the edge of the cliff was the bunker for the soldiers who provided the coordinates for targets. I crawled inside and peered through the one foot high gap in the concrete to the Atlantic. Climbing to the second level, there was a similar view between huge slabs of concrete, with at least 4 feet of concrete over my head.
The last stop for the day was the Pointe du Hoc, a rocky outcropping strategically placed between Utah and Omaha beaches. This was where the Rangers scaled the cliffs to take out the German guns on the plateau. Walking on the plain above the shear cliffs, the concrete bunkers that housed the Germans and there guns are still present, with various levels of damage. There are huge craters in the ground, that I believe were caused by bombs dropped by the Allies. Another must see.
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2004717&l=af7b1&id=1173293194
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2004718&l=bdb9a&id=1173293194
This weekend my goal was to see the battlefields and museums in Normandy. Writing this afterwards, I definitely plan to return with Shereen. The Normandy American Cemetery, Batterie de Longues, Pointe du Hoc are inspiring. And yes I cried at the cemetery.
I had reserved a hotel in Caen, the largest city in the area, and left straight from work on Friday. From Sully it took about 4 hours of half country and half highway driving. I had reserved a hotel on Expedia, when I arrived I learned why it was such a low price. I wasn’t sure I was at the right place after TomTom toned “you have reached your destination”. The lobby was dark and the door was locked. After wandering around the parking lot and up the street I was beginning to think I would spend the night in the car. Walking back to the door, a French couple was arriving as well. They were able to interpret the sign by the door, call the number for the code to the door, and enter. Kindly they let me in. There was no one in the lobby, but my key was in an envelope stored with several others in a safe box. There was a sheet in French with info on the hotel included and a code for the door; I was on my own for that night. I’m not sure what I would have done if someone else hadn’t shown up. It turns I had reserved a sort of minimalist hotel. There is very few staff here, although a small breakfast was served in the morning, no one cleaned my room today. The place is very modern, each room has a small kitchen with fridge and stove, but the bed is a sofa bed. I like the idea: a clean room for a good price without the unnecessary trappings.
In the morning I punched the town of Bayeux into the GPS. I didn’t have a specific plan, but I had read that Bayeux was a good town to start from if you wanted to see the WW2 sites. The roundabout entering town was dominated by a statue of General Eisenhower. I was getting close. Signs for the “Centre Tourismo” looked promising. There was a medieval festival just setting up when I arrived, individuals were setting up tables to sell knick-knacks and food. You can imagine what these were: medieval knives & swords, interesting candies, meats, cheeses, medieval clothing & jewelry, and even a square pen with 4 pigs snoozing, a goat fenced against a tree, and a kitten in a cage. The setting was near an enormous middle age church with flying buttresses, and streets were closed off to allow room for the vendors to setup. I would have loved to stay.
I was forced to park the car and follow the Tourismo signs on foot. At the tourist center, the girl at the desk spoke English, fortunately. She provided a detailed map of the area and pointed out the location of the Musee du Debarquement in Arromanches. This happened to be the one I thought would be a good place to start, after seeing it I could have easily skipped this one. Arromanches is at one end of the “Gold Beach” (the five landing sites: Utah, Omaha, Gold, Juno, Sword beach). The museum was OK, displays were in French and English, as they were for the rest of the day, and it was interesting to learn how the Allies setup a floating pier in the ocean to unload the troops, equipment, and supplies that carried out the inland invasion. The piers were towed into place and constructed so that they rose and fell with the tide, allowing ships to unload 24 hours.
From here I knew that I wanted to go to Omaha beach, but wasn’t sure quite how to get there. I entered a town near the beach into the GPS and then followed signs once I was close. The first stop was the Normandy American Cemetery. This is a must stop for any American, quite an emotional place. The museum was excellent, both the films and displays were packed with feeling. It was interesting watching the interview of a French historian as he described his respect for the US soldiers who crossed the Atlantic to help people they didn’t know. Spread across the cemetery are more than 9,000 white crosses. It is a short walk down to the beach from the heights. I splashed barefoot in the surf. In the lobby I was given better information, and a flier that listed 29 museums in the area related to Operation Overlord. You could easily spend a week here going to each of these. There was also a museum dedicated to Omaha beach nearby. A small place, the most interesting part were the black and white photos of D-day and after. Amazing the pictures that were taken while the bullets were flying.
Next I visited Batterie de Longues, the only place that still houses the German guns that shelled the ships in the Channel. This was impressive. The 4 guns were contained in huge concrete bunkers, set well back from the edge of the cliff. At the edge of the cliff was the bunker for the soldiers who provided the coordinates for targets. I crawled inside and peered through the one foot high gap in the concrete to the Atlantic. Climbing to the second level, there was a similar view between huge slabs of concrete, with at least 4 feet of concrete over my head.
The last stop for the day was the Pointe du Hoc, a rocky outcropping strategically placed between Utah and Omaha beaches. This was where the Rangers scaled the cliffs to take out the German guns on the plateau. Walking on the plain above the shear cliffs, the concrete bunkers that housed the Germans and there guns are still present, with various levels of damage. There are huge craters in the ground, that I believe were caused by bombs dropped by the Allies. Another must see.
Note on European Driving
With a commute of about 30 minutes each day and after trekking all over Normandy today, I've gotten a good taste of the French country roads. The scenery is great, reminds me of the rolling Pennsylvania hills with fields of corn and grain sprawling on their sides. The government is very restrictive on building permits, so there are long stretches of narrow, twisting roads between houses compacted into small towns.
There are a few interesting wrinkles about driving in France. The hardest one to get used to is that the road to the right has the right-of-way by default. That is, unless there is a stop or yield sign for a street coming from your right, you must yield to that driver, even if your street is straight and their street comes in at a right angle. I’ve been watching for this, but it is hard to catch on to. While driving through the tiny streets of Bayeux today, I stopped as the street I was on T’d into another. A car coming from my left stopped and a motorcycle that had been following me went around me on the left and made a right turn in front of me. As he was doing this, it hit me that I had the right-of-way and hit the accelerator to make the right turn. This seems counterintuitive, but I think the rule is to slow traffic flow without adding more traffic lights. Since the driver on the straight road yields and the driver negotiating the right turn slows for the turn, the effect is overall lower speeds for both drivers.
One thing I enjoy are the numerous roundabouts, a genius traffic control device that allows just enough decision making to the drivers, requires zero maintenance, and minimizes the chances of that deadliest of crashes the frontal to side impact. And you get to act like your cornering in a Grand Prix as you negotiate the circle. I love it! Underutilized in the US, although the high traffic flow in America could make roundabouts chaotic.
Speed limits seem to be set higher here, topping out at 130 kph (about 80 mph) on the highway, but overall seem to be higher even in the lower speed zone than what would be set in the US. I think the implementation of the periodic radar ticketing zones may have something to do with this. Be aware of what the local drivers are doing around you. My buddy TomTom beeps shrilly when a radar is approaching, but I’ve tried to stay with the flow of traffic as there are times when I am upon when quickly. The locals seem well aware of where they are located and slow accordingly.
Overall the roads demand more of car and driver than in the US. Higher speeds, tighter corners, narrower lanes, scenic landscape all contribute to a more engaged driver. Add to that the prevalence of manuals, and driving in France is much more refreshing than in the US. Driving for hours does not induce zzz’s since you are constantly reacting to something. Insider tip: the design standards for brakes in Europe are higher than the US. Since they drive more aggressively, Europeans prefer more aggressive brakes, and are willing to accept higher levels of noise (that screech when you come to a stop). This leads to several design differences: the brake pads are “stickier”, they grab the brake rotor quicker making the brakes more responsive; the brake booster (provides additional force when you press on the brake pedal so that you don’t need to be a behemoth to stop the car) kicks in a higher force when you first step on the pedal improving responsiveness (in the US the booster applies the same force at any point in the pedal travel); and the brakes are sized larger due to the typically higher speeds.
I like driving here, but honestly if I didn't have a GPS I would have trouble going anywhere. To get to any highway it seems that there is always a maze of narrow roads snaking through roundabouts before the entrance ramp. Without the GPS it would be hopeless. But overall the TomTom has performed well. I pushed it in Normandy today, there were a few small towns and museums that weren’t in its memory. But I could always find a nearby town to enter in the GPS and then use the street signs to travel the last few miles. I would not recommend traveling here without one. It found me a McDonald’s with WiFi today also (I’m already tired of dining for hours in French restaurants, I just want to eat and leave already!). By the way, I’m a fan of international McDonald’s, they have better menus than in the US (more options for in place of fries, like fruits, salads, apples, etc), and the employees actually hustle.
There are a few interesting wrinkles about driving in France. The hardest one to get used to is that the road to the right has the right-of-way by default. That is, unless there is a stop or yield sign for a street coming from your right, you must yield to that driver, even if your street is straight and their street comes in at a right angle. I’ve been watching for this, but it is hard to catch on to. While driving through the tiny streets of Bayeux today, I stopped as the street I was on T’d into another. A car coming from my left stopped and a motorcycle that had been following me went around me on the left and made a right turn in front of me. As he was doing this, it hit me that I had the right-of-way and hit the accelerator to make the right turn. This seems counterintuitive, but I think the rule is to slow traffic flow without adding more traffic lights. Since the driver on the straight road yields and the driver negotiating the right turn slows for the turn, the effect is overall lower speeds for both drivers.
One thing I enjoy are the numerous roundabouts, a genius traffic control device that allows just enough decision making to the drivers, requires zero maintenance, and minimizes the chances of that deadliest of crashes the frontal to side impact. And you get to act like your cornering in a Grand Prix as you negotiate the circle. I love it! Underutilized in the US, although the high traffic flow in America could make roundabouts chaotic.
Speed limits seem to be set higher here, topping out at 130 kph (about 80 mph) on the highway, but overall seem to be higher even in the lower speed zone than what would be set in the US. I think the implementation of the periodic radar ticketing zones may have something to do with this. Be aware of what the local drivers are doing around you. My buddy TomTom beeps shrilly when a radar is approaching, but I’ve tried to stay with the flow of traffic as there are times when I am upon when quickly. The locals seem well aware of where they are located and slow accordingly.
Overall the roads demand more of car and driver than in the US. Higher speeds, tighter corners, narrower lanes, scenic landscape all contribute to a more engaged driver. Add to that the prevalence of manuals, and driving in France is much more refreshing than in the US. Driving for hours does not induce zzz’s since you are constantly reacting to something. Insider tip: the design standards for brakes in Europe are higher than the US. Since they drive more aggressively, Europeans prefer more aggressive brakes, and are willing to accept higher levels of noise (that screech when you come to a stop). This leads to several design differences: the brake pads are “stickier”, they grab the brake rotor quicker making the brakes more responsive; the brake booster (provides additional force when you press on the brake pedal so that you don’t need to be a behemoth to stop the car) kicks in a higher force when you first step on the pedal improving responsiveness (in the US the booster applies the same force at any point in the pedal travel); and the brakes are sized larger due to the typically higher speeds.
I like driving here, but honestly if I didn't have a GPS I would have trouble going anywhere. To get to any highway it seems that there is always a maze of narrow roads snaking through roundabouts before the entrance ramp. Without the GPS it would be hopeless. But overall the TomTom has performed well. I pushed it in Normandy today, there were a few small towns and museums that weren’t in its memory. But I could always find a nearby town to enter in the GPS and then use the street signs to travel the last few miles. I would not recommend traveling here without one. It found me a McDonald’s with WiFi today also (I’m already tired of dining for hours in French restaurants, I just want to eat and leave already!). By the way, I’m a fan of international McDonald’s, they have better menus than in the US (more options for in place of fries, like fruits, salads, apples, etc), and the employees actually hustle.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
First Week...
Pictures:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2004324&l=58595&id=1173293194
My first week in France is now behind me, overall a good week. The last several days I have had the pleasure of going to dinner with another young American who had spent a few months at the same office in Sully (I'm living in Orleans, working in Sully-sur-Loire). It was quite interesting to see this brash and bold American interact with the polite French waiters. He is a friendly guy with a good heart. Most of us try to adapt to a culture, letting the locals take the lead, but he had no such qualms and barged ahead as if he was bellying up to the bar. I almost laughed out loud as he asked questions in a typically blunt manner. After seeing the way the French converse in a social situation, the difference was dramatic. But the locals didn't seem to mind, they are somewhat embarrassed that they can't speak English better (as I am embarrassed that I can't speak French). And at the restaurants where he frequented the wait staff remembered what his tastes were and served ice cream without the typical whipped cream for him. It seems a harmless brashness is acceptable in a foreigner.
Unfortunately his flight for the States left this morning, so this evening I dined alone. The menus typically have the option of choosing a "menu": salad, entree, and dessert for a given price, then allowing 4 or 5 choices for each. Tonight I had a typical French salad: lettuce with a few tomato slices and a slice of toast cut into 4 triangles with a disc of goat cheese on each triangle of toast. I chose pizza with "jambon" (ham) for the entree. The ham is thin sliced as in a sandwich, spread over the thin crust with cheese, and an sunny-side-up egg centered the pizza. Dessert was tiramisu, excellent! The wine selection covered an entire page of the menu, but not being a wine connoisseur, I chose one of the 2 beers on the menu: the "1664" over Heineken. Not a surprise, it was a light beer.
This afternoon I had my first French lesson with a nice lady named Isabella. I am happy to learn, it is frustrating to know only "bonjour" and "merci". I tried my best, but I'm not sure how easily I will learn. After 90 minutes talking almost exclusively in French my head was spinning. She placed pictures of 4 people on the table, with names beneath them, drawings representing marital status, and flags, then asked me questions in French while I struggled to answer based on her prompting. There are sounds that I struggle to pronounce, particularly the oo and u sounds are unique in French, and there were a few words that required speaking as if your nose was clogged, something I usually avoid doing.
This weekend I am planning to visit Normandy and see the WW2 battlefields. I'm assuming this isn't on Shereen's list of top places to visit, so I think I am safe going on my own.
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2004324&l=58595&id=1173293194
My first week in France is now behind me, overall a good week. The last several days I have had the pleasure of going to dinner with another young American who had spent a few months at the same office in Sully (I'm living in Orleans, working in Sully-sur-Loire). It was quite interesting to see this brash and bold American interact with the polite French waiters. He is a friendly guy with a good heart. Most of us try to adapt to a culture, letting the locals take the lead, but he had no such qualms and barged ahead as if he was bellying up to the bar. I almost laughed out loud as he asked questions in a typically blunt manner. After seeing the way the French converse in a social situation, the difference was dramatic. But the locals didn't seem to mind, they are somewhat embarrassed that they can't speak English better (as I am embarrassed that I can't speak French). And at the restaurants where he frequented the wait staff remembered what his tastes were and served ice cream without the typical whipped cream for him. It seems a harmless brashness is acceptable in a foreigner.
Unfortunately his flight for the States left this morning, so this evening I dined alone. The menus typically have the option of choosing a "menu": salad, entree, and dessert for a given price, then allowing 4 or 5 choices for each. Tonight I had a typical French salad: lettuce with a few tomato slices and a slice of toast cut into 4 triangles with a disc of goat cheese on each triangle of toast. I chose pizza with "jambon" (ham) for the entree. The ham is thin sliced as in a sandwich, spread over the thin crust with cheese, and an sunny-side-up egg centered the pizza. Dessert was tiramisu, excellent! The wine selection covered an entire page of the menu, but not being a wine connoisseur, I chose one of the 2 beers on the menu: the "1664" over Heineken. Not a surprise, it was a light beer.
This afternoon I had my first French lesson with a nice lady named Isabella. I am happy to learn, it is frustrating to know only "bonjour" and "merci". I tried my best, but I'm not sure how easily I will learn. After 90 minutes talking almost exclusively in French my head was spinning. She placed pictures of 4 people on the table, with names beneath them, drawings representing marital status, and flags, then asked me questions in French while I struggled to answer based on her prompting. There are sounds that I struggle to pronounce, particularly the oo and u sounds are unique in French, and there were a few words that required speaking as if your nose was clogged, something I usually avoid doing.
This weekend I am planning to visit Normandy and see the WW2 battlefields. I'm assuming this isn't on Shereen's list of top places to visit, so I think I am safe going on my own.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
France Immersion
This blog will contain posts on the year Shereen and I spend in France. Enjoy!
Last Friday I arrived in Paris after a surprisingly short flight of less than 8 hours. Picking up the rental Renault Laguna (6 speed manual, solid car) I negotiated traffic on the way to Orleans. Driving in Paris is an experience by itself, on the highway motorcycles use the dashed line between the outside and middle lanes as their own lane. After being surprised by bikes zipping by as cars crawled I noticed that the cars were cheating to the edges of the lane to provide more space for the bikes. Fortunately I was able to quickly relearn how to drive a manual, the bikes were enough to watch for on their own.
The drive to Orleans was long, but beautiful. The French countryside has variety, with numerous trees spread among the fields and houses. Road signs were difficult for me to follow, but the GPS was more than adequate to keep on the correct route. A blaring beep from the TomTom would warn when I was approaching one of the radar boxes that automatically gives you a ticket if you are 5 kph over the speed limit (if traveling under 100 kph, over 100 kph the ticket is triggered at 5% over the limit). These are quite common in urban areas, a sign of the sway the French government holds over the populace.
Friday evening I was escorted to review 2 potential apartments (one of which we chose to rent later). As I was to discover during the weekend, apartments here are typically not furnished. Which means that the only thing in the apartment is a toilet, shower/tub, and a sink (no countertops). Everything else must be bought, including kitchen cabinets. It took a few visits to get used to seeing only a lonely sink in the kitchen.
At dinner I had my first introduction to French wine etiquette. When a bottle is ordered the waiter will bring it to the table and pour a small sample for the leader of the group. The leader will taste the wine looking for a bitter taste caused by the cork or an unatural taste. This is not to see if he likes the wine, if it tastes as it should and he does not like it he should still accept it. This is only to determine if the wine is bad, does not taste as it should. The dinner lasted 3 hours, standard as I was to learn.
Saturday morning we visited 2 more apartments and in the evening I had dinner with my boss and his family. Hopefully Shereen will be able to spend time with his wife and 3 yr old boy and 1.5 yr old girl. Sunday I was on my own and roamed around Orleans. The city is clean and small, I walked from one corner of the town center to the other in about 40 minutes. A river runs along the south side with a nice river walk for biking and hiking. It seemed like the whole town was down by the river, particularly at night. The apartment we chose is within 2 minutes walk of the river and at the end of the Rue de Bourgogne, a walking street that has restaurants and shops. I like the city, it has busy and quiet sections, modern and older areas. At dinner on Sunday I learned about the Eurocard after my credit card did not work. Most restaurants use a Eurocard that is a credit card with an electronic chip that requires a pin number, rather than a magnetic strip. We didn't see this in Italy, so I'm not sure if this is just a French thing or a recent European invention. Lesson learned to ask before entering a restaurant.
At work the next week I began to pick up on social customs. For instance when you enter the office it is customary to go around, say "Bonjour" and shake hands with others in the office. I am eager for my first French lesson Thursday, it is difficult to interact with everyone since most are more comfortable speaking French.
So far I have found people to be very friendly, and waiters are willing to struggle along with us when trying to order in restaurants. Probably will never get used to not having air conditioning. It is not very common in France and I currently am sweating through my shirt in 80 degree heat at my desk. Glad that the dress code is informal, this would not work in a suit. After a few days the TomTom is still my best friend, the streets are twisty and narrow. Nearly impossible to follow without knowing where you are going. The food is good, have had breakfast each morning at the hotel, lunch at the cafeteria, dinners at Algerian, Spanish, and a restaurant called "Le Funny Boy". I thought this would run by someone who speaks English but I was wrong. Fortunately the pannini translates the same. Le Funny Boy is one of the few places where you can complete your meal in under 30 minutes. Anywhere else is hours.
As you may know Joan of Arc, "Maid of Orleans" gained her fame at Orleans by giving courage to the French to attack and defeat the English who were laying siege to the city. At the time this was the one remaining French occupied city north of the river Loire, a strategic entry point for the rest of France. A large statue of Joan riding a horse with sword drawn dominates the Place du Martroi, one of the many open squares in Orleans.
Last Friday I arrived in Paris after a surprisingly short flight of less than 8 hours. Picking up the rental Renault Laguna (6 speed manual, solid car) I negotiated traffic on the way to Orleans. Driving in Paris is an experience by itself, on the highway motorcycles use the dashed line between the outside and middle lanes as their own lane. After being surprised by bikes zipping by as cars crawled I noticed that the cars were cheating to the edges of the lane to provide more space for the bikes. Fortunately I was able to quickly relearn how to drive a manual, the bikes were enough to watch for on their own.
The drive to Orleans was long, but beautiful. The French countryside has variety, with numerous trees spread among the fields and houses. Road signs were difficult for me to follow, but the GPS was more than adequate to keep on the correct route. A blaring beep from the TomTom would warn when I was approaching one of the radar boxes that automatically gives you a ticket if you are 5 kph over the speed limit (if traveling under 100 kph, over 100 kph the ticket is triggered at 5% over the limit). These are quite common in urban areas, a sign of the sway the French government holds over the populace.
Friday evening I was escorted to review 2 potential apartments (one of which we chose to rent later). As I was to discover during the weekend, apartments here are typically not furnished. Which means that the only thing in the apartment is a toilet, shower/tub, and a sink (no countertops). Everything else must be bought, including kitchen cabinets. It took a few visits to get used to seeing only a lonely sink in the kitchen.
At dinner I had my first introduction to French wine etiquette. When a bottle is ordered the waiter will bring it to the table and pour a small sample for the leader of the group. The leader will taste the wine looking for a bitter taste caused by the cork or an unatural taste. This is not to see if he likes the wine, if it tastes as it should and he does not like it he should still accept it. This is only to determine if the wine is bad, does not taste as it should. The dinner lasted 3 hours, standard as I was to learn.
Saturday morning we visited 2 more apartments and in the evening I had dinner with my boss and his family. Hopefully Shereen will be able to spend time with his wife and 3 yr old boy and 1.5 yr old girl. Sunday I was on my own and roamed around Orleans. The city is clean and small, I walked from one corner of the town center to the other in about 40 minutes. A river runs along the south side with a nice river walk for biking and hiking. It seemed like the whole town was down by the river, particularly at night. The apartment we chose is within 2 minutes walk of the river and at the end of the Rue de Bourgogne, a walking street that has restaurants and shops. I like the city, it has busy and quiet sections, modern and older areas. At dinner on Sunday I learned about the Eurocard after my credit card did not work. Most restaurants use a Eurocard that is a credit card with an electronic chip that requires a pin number, rather than a magnetic strip. We didn't see this in Italy, so I'm not sure if this is just a French thing or a recent European invention. Lesson learned to ask before entering a restaurant.
At work the next week I began to pick up on social customs. For instance when you enter the office it is customary to go around, say "Bonjour" and shake hands with others in the office. I am eager for my first French lesson Thursday, it is difficult to interact with everyone since most are more comfortable speaking French.
So far I have found people to be very friendly, and waiters are willing to struggle along with us when trying to order in restaurants. Probably will never get used to not having air conditioning. It is not very common in France and I currently am sweating through my shirt in 80 degree heat at my desk. Glad that the dress code is informal, this would not work in a suit. After a few days the TomTom is still my best friend, the streets are twisty and narrow. Nearly impossible to follow without knowing where you are going. The food is good, have had breakfast each morning at the hotel, lunch at the cafeteria, dinners at Algerian, Spanish, and a restaurant called "Le Funny Boy". I thought this would run by someone who speaks English but I was wrong. Fortunately the pannini translates the same. Le Funny Boy is one of the few places where you can complete your meal in under 30 minutes. Anywhere else is hours.
As you may know Joan of Arc, "Maid of Orleans" gained her fame at Orleans by giving courage to the French to attack and defeat the English who were laying siege to the city. At the time this was the one remaining French occupied city north of the river Loire, a strategic entry point for the rest of France. A large statue of Joan riding a horse with sword drawn dominates the Place du Martroi, one of the many open squares in Orleans.
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