Orleans Musings

Tour de France 2009

2009-09-05T16:07:00.001+02:00

Ah, the Tour! With drama and intrigue, lacking the shadow of doping that has haunted the past few years. As soon as the route for the 2009 Tour de France was posted I scoured the calendar to determine a promising date to visit a stage. The mountains are where the excitement is: a cycler cannot win the Tour without conquering the mountains and the slower pace while climbing allows spectators to better see the peloton as it is stretched by the ascent.

This year the first high mountain stages in the Pyrenees were over the weekend before Bastille Day, which is celebrated on a Tuesday. This would give us a few extra days to make the long drive back from the Spanish border. We targeted the finish in Andorre Arcalis for stage 7, the Col d’Agnes in stage 8, and the Col du Tourmalet for stage 9.

Drama began to build months before the race would begin, when Lance Armstrong announced he was returning to competitive cycling. And he would be racing with Astana, the New York Yankees of cycling, a team already stacked with top talent including the 2007 Tour winner Alberto Contador, American Levi Leipheimer (3rd in 2007 Tour), and Andreas Kloden (2nd in 2004 & 2006 Tour). Astana performed well in the races leading up to the Tour; Armstrong began to show flashes of his prior form in the Giro d’Italia, despite having broken his collarbone only a few weeks before. Tension between the Astana team members added to the interest, as the debate centered on who would be the leader and contend for the overall title in the General Classification.

The stages we were planning to visit were over a weekend from Friday to Sunday. We had planned to drive halfway on Wednesday night, camp near Limoges, then drive to Andorre on Thursday morning. This would allow plenty of time to find and setup a campsite before the mountain filled with spectators. But the week before we had visitors from the US, Shereen’s brother and two friends, and we were not able to pack before Wednesday. So we made the 9 hour drive on Thursday. Interestingly, the traveling trio was flying to Barcelona and would be there when stage 6 ended on Thursday evening and stage 7 left on Friday morning.

We zipped along the smooth French highways, making good time until we arrived at the base of the Pyrenees. Then the steep switchbacks slowed our progress, so that the last few kilometers took hours. In the mountains there is only one road between each town, making it easy to track the Tour route. There were banners hung from houses and already painted cyclist’s names were drying on the road. We twisted higher, nearing the peak, stopping to ask a police officer standing with a group where to camp. He directed us to follow another officer into a car. Driving higher he pointed us to a gate by a bridge leading to a short gravel road wrapping around a large meadow on the slope. Other cars were already there and several tents were in various stages of being setup. We turned to the left in the first level grass path, squeezed the car past two others, avoiding the boulders, sidled over against the slope, leaving room for the tent in front of the car. This was a nice spot to camp. We were several kilometers from the finish, but we could see the large metal ring at the peak of Arcalis near the finish line. Camping beside us was an older French couple. The man was very friendly and spoke enough English that we could communicate. On the other side of the French was an Australian with a Japanese woman.

It was peaceful as we sat next to the car munching the food we had stashed in the cooler, overlooking the small stream below. There was plenty of empty space for campers between the tents already dotting the hillside. Cars trickled in throughout the evening, but we were to discover the next day that the main camping site was further up the mountain. The temperature dropped quickly, encouraging us to hide in the tent, deep in our sleeping bags.

The next morning I woke up early, anticipating the activity I had been most looking forward to since the 2008 Tour: climbing the mountain on a bike in imitation (a poor one) of what the pros would do later in the day. Our mountain bikes had made the trip hanging from the back of the Golf. I would be in sneakers and sweatshirt (it was still quite cold in the morning), but would fit right in with the motley crew soon to be pedaling towards the peak. All types tackle the challenge before a Tour stage: from the past professionals and up and comers, to the weekend adventurers like me using whatever bike is available to ascend the mountain. My excitement got me out of the tent and on the road before most. I coasted down the hill, bumping across the grate of pipes guarding the entrance to our camping area, then across the stone bridge, beginning the initially gradual ascent. There were only a few bikers and hikers on the road this early; the campers perched on the roadside between blacktop and cliff, lounging and eating breakfast, were entertained by the few of us climbing. Shouts of “Allez, Allez!” were common from the French, although in Andorre the Spaniards were probably more numerous. The knobby tires of a mountain bike are not optimal for road climbing, but this was offset by the lower gearing of a mountain bike versus a road bike. Ascending Arcalis I was able to find a low gear that I could sustain and crank slowly. Once my body warmed up, and I reached the series of switchbacks farther along, I would shift to a higher gear, stand in the pedals and pretend I was Contador putting the hurt on the peloton. But being in only a semblance of fitness, this did not last long, and I was soon back in the saddle, fumbling for a lower gear as my heart beat a quick staccato inside my skull. My pride was only saved by being able to ride the several kilometers to the finish without having to stop, even if at an extremely slow pace. Arcalis is classified as a “hors categorie” (HC) climb, meaning “beyond classification”, a climb among the most difficult due to its steepness and/or length. I had begun at roughly the mid-point of the climb and pedaled up grades averaging 6 to 7%. Rounding the last corner to the finish, I passed by the large, steel ring sculpture, then the Tour trailers and a few team vehicles. Then looping around and beginning the long descent. The ascent had been difficult, but dropping down 7% grades was thrilling, enhanced by the thought that my brakes may not be up to the task.

The sun was warming things nicely by the time I arrived at the campsite. We ate breakfast, chatted with our neighbors, including two guys from California who were on sabbatical from IBM, grabbed our American flags, and then began the hike towards the top. We took a direct route on a grassy road, which met with the stream at a mini falls, before we had to deviate up the steep hillside through scattered fir trees. Probably more difficult than just following the road, but definitely more interesting. People were now out and about, in various activities to kill time before the cyclists would arrive in the late afternoon. We passed groups painting the names of their favorites in white, yellow, and orange across the road. Paint rollers were put to good use spreading white paint in broad letters. At one switchback, a couple of enthusiastic Livestrong volunteers were darkening the yellow letters of LIVESTRONG spread across the road. Someone was filming the activity. The Livestrong organization was well represented in each of the stages we attended. Flags of all varieties, from countries and provinces, were draped, hung, and waved from the rows of campers. Amongst the cultural mishmash we spotted more American flags than one might expect.

The switchbacks nearer the peak would allow us to see more of the road from above, so we continued hiking until reaching the Skoda advertising section, then climbed over the temporary, yellow railing to stake out a spot. We had a good view of several switchbacks and could see the long-haired Livestrong volunteer still occupied with his yellow letters far below. It was now time to wait. It would be an hour or so until the caravan would arrive. Then a few more hours until the cyclists reached us. We amused ourselves watching the bikers struggling up the mountain. Some were wearing costume, one had a turkey on his head, another was clanging along with a large cow bell under his seat. The loudest cheers were for a one-legged man cranking up the hill at a good pace (much faster than I had been on two legs), a group of teenage cyclists dressed in blue who appeared to be the next generation of Tour hopefuls, and a woman who was running up Arcalis. There are always a few runners in these mountains; I have seen them running up and down, though I’m not sure how their knees survive the pounding descent. The grass beside us began to be filled by others; a large group of young bikers threw their bikes over the railing and stretched out to wait.

Cars, bikes, and hikers continued to move up and down the mountain. Soon the first arm of the caravan approached. The caravan is a several mile long string of cars and floats that travels the length of each stage, preceding the cyclists. Tour sponsors will create elaborate floats with various themes, surround these with cars or vans painted with company colors and logos, and fill all of the vehicles with models who throw freebies to the throngs. This is almost more exciting than the race, screaming and waving your arms to catch the attention of a model who either lobs green, foam fingers over her shoulder without looking or takes deadly aim and whips packaged candy directly at your head. There then proceeds a chaotic scramble amongst your neighbors to grab the key chain or hat that bounced off your hands to the ground. If you are quick, soon red, blue, and checked hats have been stacked one atop another on your head, a replica bike jersey is stretched over your shirt, your bag is full of magnets and key chains, and you are munching on sample packages of sausage. It’s one of the few times an adult can act like a kid at Christmas gloating over his loot. And it makes the wait for the race much more interesting.

After a few hours the last car in the caravan passes and things become much quieter. Only Tour cars have been allowed on the road, but fewer of these now pass and the majority of the bikers have climbed the hill and found a place to watch along the road. There was little room in our area, and Shereen protected her personal space with sharp words to a few Spaniards who were crowding. One responded with a joking “do you have a ticket”, but in a friendly way and they moved over and sat down to give us room. The first indication the racers are approaching is the helicopters. There are typically two choppers circling at a high elevation and a third hovering low to get a closer camera angle. At times during the Tour this chopper has gotten too low and the breeze from the rotor has blown cyclists into one another. Once the higher chopper is in sight, the stream of Tour and team cars begin to thicken. From our vantage point we could see the leader emerge from a tunnel, then enter the switchbacks, passing in and out of view as he approached. We could not identify the leaders, but it was easy to see the Astana colors on a cyclist ahead of a small pack. Was this Armstrong? He was not wearing a black helmet, so we knew it was probably Contador. The cheers from the Spaniards around us confirmed this. The yellow railing was intended to keep us out of the road, but there was not enough security to enforce this, so everyone was over the barrier, standing in the road. As a biker approached, police motorcycles would zoom by attempting to push us back. But as soon as they passed the crowd would press in leaving only a few feet in the middle of the road clear. Then would come the slower moving motorcycles carrying the camera crew, closely followed by the cyclists. Contador had broken ahead of the other contenders, who were clustered in a small group charging towards the finish. Looking down we could easily distinguish the black helmeted Armstrong (great idea on his part) among the group. As they passed we could have reached out and grabbed them, one of the few sports that allow fans this close to participants during the competition. The peloton was well spread over the mountain, Arcalis being the first HC climb of this Tour. We cheered each as he passed for several minutes before joining the others walking down the mountain. The majority of the spectators began walking down the road before all the cyclists had passed. The road became crowded with walkers and bikers descending against the cyclists still trying to finish the stage. We passed one pro who had been dropped several minutes behind struggling up the hill who nearly collided with a walker who was looking the other direction. The pro swung his arm and walloped the guy in the chest grabbing a fistful of shirt and shoving him away. He was venting frustration at the fan, but also at having been dropped. A bit further down we were passed by a large pack of cyclists; the sprinters who climb the mountains together for moral support ride just fast enough to finish under the time limit so they can continue the Tour. The sprinter group occupied the entire road, forcing spectators into the grass. We continued walking, past a group of drunk, costumed guys, one wearing a police uniform sans pants and underwear. All of sudden Shereen said, “Was that Lance?” Sure enough we saw the Astana colors and a black helmet on a cyclist descending at a fast pace. He was dodging in and around the crowds. Soon we were able to pick out other pros descending among the amateur bikers. Apparently the quickest way for them to get back to the hotels in the town below was to hop back on their bikes after finishing. There is no town at the peak in Arcalis, and the only building is a small ski lodge. But only in the Tour would the pros risk injury riding through an inebriated crowd at breakneck speed to reach the nights lodging.

We had been planning to drive that night to see the stage on the following day. But it was late in the evening by the time we were at the campsite, and the road would be closed for at least another hour, so we decided to setup the tent we had torn down in the morning. This night was colder than the previous; we had only time enough to eat dinner before hiding in the tent to escape the chill. We woke early the next morning so that we could get down the mountain ahead of that day’s stage before the roads would be closed. It was a long drive down into Spain, twisting through too many hairpins too count, then looping around and climbing back into France. We went through rural areas and were greeted by a herd of cows loose on the mountain scattered across the road. Our destination was the Col du Tourmalet. To reach the Tourmalet we went over the Col d’Aspin, the peak where I had watched the 2008 Tour. We passed the place where I spent a memorable night on the hillside, sleeping in the car wedged against the passenger door while rain pelted the windows. Several kilometers farther we were at the foot of the Tourmalet and began the long ascent. The Tourmalet is another HC climb, one of the longest and steepest in the Tour. Although both Arcalis and Tourmalet are classified HC, the Tourmalet is a more difficult climb, reaching grades approaching an average of 9%. We arrived in the afternoon, but it quickly was apparent that finding a camping site would be more difficult than Arcalis. There was not much open, flat space beside the road; most campers had simply pulled to the side of the road and were teetering on blocks beside the cliff. The few campsites were already filled with those who looked like they had arrived the day before. There was no place to camp on this side of the mountain; the side the cyclists would ascend the next day. We drove to the peak and then down the other side. It was a similar situation near the peak on the opposite side, but far below we could see flatter space with cars parked. After a few kilometers we swung to the left on a gravel driveway, passed a small, stone building and parked near a few other campers.

This was pasture of some kind, there were dried, manure pies scattered in the grass. The peaks bowled around us and then marched in parallel down the valley which opened up below us with scarcely a tree to break the view. Near our car were several large concrete slabs, the purpose of which we were to discover the next morning. Shereen was not too happy as we watched our step to avoid any fresh “pies”. We found a somewhat flat place to spread the tent. The sun was bright, and it was quite warm as we dragged our gear from the car. The sound of a clanging cow bell was ringing incessantly; we soon located the source far away, halfway up a steep mountain where a large flock of sheep was walking. The sheep intermittently created small rock slides as they minced along a narrow ledge. There progress was slow since a lead sheep would often lose heart and stand motionless for several minutes until working up the courage to proceed. Unlike the Andorre campsite (which had port-a-potties), there was no nearby place to use a toilet. There were no trees or hills to hide behind. Walking far out into the sheep pasture we found a dry gully that cut deep enough that we were hidden from view when inside. We were to make several treks here over the next two days; others were to leave evidence that they had done likewise. This did not add to Shereen’s enjoyment of the experience. The Tourmalet stayed warmer longer than Arcalis; we were comfortable as we stood and watched the sun disappear behind a distant peak.

In the morning, I woke to ride my bike up the vaunted Tourmalet. As I was getting the bike at the car, the clanging of the sheep bell was getting louder along with the bleating of sheep. Soon the shepherd appeared and began to spread salt (it was white substance that looked like salt) on the concrete slabs. Periodically he would whistle loudly. Soon a few sheep came over a hill hump, hesitated for a moment, then thundered down to lick the salt. The sheep dog ran round the herd keeping them in a tight pack. Spectators soon gathered to watch. The sheep milled around licking and the shepherd dispersed more salt. Then putting down his bag he grabbed a modern shepherd’s crook and moving quickly through the furry mass soon had his target by the leg. I stayed long enough to snap a few photos of the sheep milling near our tent before riding to the road. I was to hear later that Shereen woke up to see Dolly looking into the tent. One more reason that she does not have fond memories of the Tourmalet.

Initially the ride to the peak was similar to Arcalis, but nearer the top the road steepened significantly. I passed a sign stating that the grade averaged 10%. There was an obvious difference at this point and it was all I could do to stay in the pedals while in first gear. At the top there was a large banner stretched across the road near a sculpture of a biker with a face contorted in agony with the strain of climbing the grade. A small bar was across the road, snuggled against the shoulders of the mountain. Crossing over a river of campers twisted down the mountain. This would be the gauntlet that the cyclists would traverse during the stage. I rode down a short way, before turning and imitating an Armstrong charge to the peak (well, in my mind anyway). I returned to the campsite to hear the sheep story from Shereen.

Later in the morning we again chose the more interesting route up the mountain and hiked across the pasture, then followed a zigzag grass path up the cliff, before deciding to go straight up the hill, climbing by grasping handfuls of bushes. We popped out on the road near the 10% grad sign, then continued the short distance to the peak. By the time we arrived the police had blocked the peak and were not allowing any bikers to cross over. There was a huge mass of bikers jammed, trying to turn around. We decided not to navigate through this mess and staked out a place in front of the bar within view of the banner and sculpture. The wait was similar to Andorre, but security was tighter here and no one was allowed on the road. We remained leaning over the barrier. Near the end of the caravan some officials cars pulled up and Bernard Hinault (a Frenchman and 5-time winner of the Tour), Christian Prudhomme (the Tour director), and a few others placed flowers at the base of a bust to some dead man with significance to the Tour. It was short ceremony, mostly they stood with necks craned back to look at the bust while photographers snapped pictures.

The cyclists soon began arriving at the peak. Typically they were zipping up their jerseys to prepare for the cold wind of the descent, after having opened their jerseys to cool down while climbing. Many grabbed bags filled with newspaper, slung the bag around their neck, then stuffed the paper down their jersey to act as an extra layer of insulation. It is not hard to imagine it would be very chilly to descend at high speed after being drenched in sweat from the ascent. Shereen and I were caught on film for a few seconds by a camera shooting the leaders. I am in the yellow shirt and blue hat taking a photo, Shereen is behind me in the yellow hat waving the US flag. Check out the 2:03 mark in this video: http://www.steephill.tv/players/vimeo/large.php?title=tdf-st9-highlights&id=5564609

We stepped inside the bar to get a snack of fries and watched the cyclists zipping through the towns below on TV for a few minutes. Then merged with the crowd for the walk back to the car. We were both tired and ready to get back to civilization. As in 2008, the Tour had delivered a great spectator experience. What other sporting event is free (there is no ticket required), allows you to imitate the pros the day of the event on the competitive surface, immerses you in a cultural bonanza, puts you close enough to see the competitors grit their teeth, and provides eye candy for nearly an entire day (or 21 days if you attend each stage)?

Two Week Roadtrip Wrap

2009-08-30T11:50:00.001+02:00

Our trip was completed with one more night in Brugges, Belgium. I have written about this town in prior posts, so I will keep my comments short. Overall each of our stops on this 2 week tour was an enjoyable feast for the eyes and mind. More time could have been allocated to each, but we were able to get a solid flavor of the towns without feeling that we were missing too much. It’s difficult to say if there was any one place that was the highlight, each was interesting in its own respect, and I am glad that we made time to visit the places we did. From medieval to modern, we were able to gain perspective on the geographic and architectural features that influenced the people who drove events of recent history: rolling fields and forests for the Meuse-Argonne where thousands died, the remote mountains that inspired the castles of King Ludwig, bustling Munich where Hitler found his lungs in the cacophony of the beer halls, the Austrian hills where Mozart was inspired and the von Trapps sang, medieval defenses along key trade routes in Bavaria, a granite quarry where murderers coerced the undesirables to extract stone for Nazi building projects, the symbolic center of the struggle between Communism and Capitalism in the German capital, the quiet calm of canals and bikes, and the impressive stone wealth of a previously powerful Belgian city.

Haarlem & Amsterdam

2009-08-30T11:34:00.000+02:00

We left Berlin early in the morning to start the long drive to Haarlem in the Netherlands. Traveling at high speed on the German autobahn makes for a more interesting drive, but it was still a long distance. We were hustling to arrive at the Corrie ten Boom house for the last tour of the day. The house where the ten Boom family hid Jews is located in Haarlem, looking very similar to the war times. At the entrance we met friend of my parents from Holland. We were ushered inside by a friendly lady, along with a handful of other visitors, and sat in the same living room where the family had socialized before the tour started. The father had run a clock and watch shop on the first floor (there is a ten Boom clock shop still active on the first floor, but it is not associated with the family and the name is kept only for marketing reasons). Corrie was one of the first women in Holland to become certified in clock repair. The hiding place was more than just the small room we were to see later in an upper room. The family organized relocations of Jewish families to the country to escape the Nazis. Corrie was the coordinator, arranging transportation and lodging for the families on the run. There were several Jews who lived with the family for an extended period of time, and the “hiding place” was designed to protect them. The family used a small sign in the window to indicate if it was safe for Jews to enter or if the police were searching the house (as they did on many occasions) the sign was removed from the window. Our guide gave us a passionate description of the life of Corrie and then took us upstairs to see the “hiding place”. The hiding place was behind a false wall in a small bedroom. Designed by an architect, the false wall was made of brick and the floor boards were cut so that it appeared they ended at the wall. These features foiled the police who usually discovered such places by knocking on hollow wooden walls or noticing floor boards extending beneath walls that they shouldn’t. The size of a small closet, the hiding place is about 30 inches deep, just high enough for a person to stand upright, and extending to allow about 6 people side-by-side. The entrance was a small panel at the bottom of a closet that was lifted out of the way to expose an opening just large enough for a person. The group practiced entering the hiding place regularly, increasing their efficiency at squeezing through the hole and returning the shoes to their proper place to disguise the door until they could be inside in less than one minute. The brick wall has been opened up, so we were able to step inside and get our pictures taken while standing in the hiding place. After we climbed more stairs to the roof, where a small balcony was the only place where the Jews could safely see the sun. The balcony was hidden from the street and the railings were extended with boards to block the view from neighboring house windows.

We were escorted through the Holland countryside by Jenny and her husband, driving past canals guided by small dikes to feed the fields. We stopped at a harbor, shivering in the wind while large boats passed. Then went for dinner at a cutesy neighborhood, isolated on an island. The houses were picturesquely snuggled together and wooden boats pulled their noses tight against the piers.

Our hotel was in downtown Haarlem, just around the corner from the central Market Square and cathedral. The town is an idyllic collection of canals and cobblestones, enlivened by the bicycling populace. Everyone rides a bike; very popular are bikes with a large box attached where kids happily bounce as their parents pedal. We enjoyed meandering through the streets, our eyes soaking in the views of boat-lined canals and well-kept houses.

The next morning we took the train to Amsterdam for the day. Amsterdam is Haarlem on steroids: bigger, busier, and bustling. Our first stop was the Anne Frank house. This is one of the most popular sites and we joined the line to enter. Inside we traipsed through empty rooms, well described through plaques on the wall. Anne’s father has refused to allow the rooms to be furnished as they were when the family lived there. Instead he prefers to emphasize the house as a memorial to all who had to live through this experience. The most moving part of the visit was video clip of Anne’s father near the end of the tour. He was speaking about his relationship with his daughter, with who he was very close. I was struck by his comments that even though he and his daughter were as close as any father and daughter can be, that he had no idea of what she really thought until reading her diary. His comment was that he doesn’t think that any parent ever truly knows their child when they are young. And without her diary he would have had a very different view of who his daughter was.

Amsterdam is covered with museums, both world calls art and history and those focused on various niche subjects. We avoided being trapped in any of these and wandered the streets, crossing wide canals with house boats in all directions, dodging bikers from all directions. We stepped inside the courtyard of the Begijnhof; this was “old” Amsterdam, an open area surrounded by homes with a church in the center. Later we joined a canal boat cruise on a long ride that looped far enough to reach the sea. We caught the train back to Haarlem to allow time to explore there in the evening, including finding a storybook type windmill for pictures.

Berlin

2009-08-30T10:27:00.000+02:00

After our sobering stop at Flossenburg, we drove north to Berlin. Berlin is a sprawling city, much different from the petite towns we had just visited. On the highway entering the city we noticed large bleacher seats along the road, aligned as if the spectators would watch traffic. They obviously had not been used for years. I assume a sports stadium had once occupied where the highway now passed, but money was saved by leaving the bleachers untouched. Our hotel was a modern place within walking distance of the Kurfurstendamm a street modeled after the Champs Elysees in Paris. Before dinner we meandered along the Kurfurstendamm; there were many people walking and the sidewalk cafes were full, but we did not feel crowded. Berlin is sized for a much larger population; the 3.5 million residents are engulfed by the wide streets, which feel empty. Almost immediately our eyes were caught by a broken church steeple towering over the neighboring buildings. Intrigued we walked for a closer look. At first we were not sure if the steeple had been designed to appear broken, but once we stood in its shadow it was clear that the church had taken direct hits during the bombing of Berlin. Only the portion of the cathedral supporting the damaged spire remained. The spire perched uncertainly on a foundation of blasted stone that was supported by a massive steel belt wrapping tightly and large steel i-beams jutting at various angles. It was a bit disconcerting to walk to the foot of this fiasco; I had the impression that the entire stone and steel edifice was about to topple. Later we learned that this was the Kaiser William Memorial Church that was left standing as a memorial to the damage caused by the bombing. An interesting first taste of Berlin, foreshadowing the focus of our remaining time in the city.

The next morning we had a delicious breakfast of croissants and pastries at a walk-up counter, then walked to the meeting place for a Berlin walking tour. Since Berlin is an overwhelming city, we decided it would be best to maximize our day by seeing the main sights through a tour. Our guide was an enthusiastic, young New Zealander, who was a 20th century historian (he was a great guide, the best of the excellent guides we had on our trip). I’ll copy the list of the sites we visited from the tour company website to document what we saw and then highlight the most interesting:

Brandenburg Gate
The Berlin Wall
Hitler's Bunker (stand above)
Site of Goebbels' bunker
The "Deathstrip"
Checkpoint Charlie
Nazi Air Ministry
Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe (Holocaust Memorial)
Reichstag Dome (new home of the Bundestag)
Pariser Platz (and site of new American Embassy)
Museum Island and Pleasure Garden (Lustgarten)
Pergamon Museum
Bebelplatz, scene of the Nazi Bookburning
Potsdamer Platz
Site of SS and Gestapo HQs (Topography of Terror)
"Ghost Station"
Palace Square (Schlossplatz)
Unter den Linden
New Synagogue
Red Town Hall
Royal Armoury (Zeughaus)
Russian Embassy
War Memorial (Neue Wache)
TV Tower
Berlin Cathedral
Catholic Cathedral (St. Hedwigs)
Friedrichstrasse (1920s cabaret mile!)
Humboldt University
State Opera
Gendarmenmarkt
Royal Hunting Grounds (Tiergarten)

We passed by numerous cathedrals and museums with classically impressive architecture. Berlin is spending money it doesn’t have to rebuild the city as it was before the WWII bombings leveled the majority of the city. Many of the buildings stand again as copies of the originals. There are still several projects underway, including the resurrection of a massive palace that was originally replaced by a modern structure. Staggering under the debt load of this architectural spree, the city has adopted the slogan “Poor, but sexy”.

The Unter den Linden is a broad, tree-lined street that begins at the symbolic heart of Berlin, the Brandenburg Gate, stretches past the modern international embassies, the renowned Humboldt University (which claims 29 Nobel Prize winners and where Hegel, Einstein, Max Planck, Karl Marx, and Frederich Engels studied), to the Museum Island where several world class museums are huddled in classic buildings. Across from the Humboldt University we stopped at the Bebelplatz to see a memorial to a Nazi bookburning that took place here. The memorial was underground; we looked through a cloudy plexiglass window in the cobblestones into a dimly lit room, painted white with empty book shelves as the walls.

We heard many stories about the Berlin Wall. There are still sections of the wall standing, in one place the wall has been protected by a wire fence to prevent Berliners from destroying it. Where it has been torn down there are bricks in the pavement marking where the wall once was. There were a few versions of the wall. The first was a short strip of wire fence and barbed wire that the East Germans built to test the response of the US. There was no response, other than to celebrate that Communism was in such dire straits that they needed to build walls to keep their people from leaving. Within a day or so the building of a more substantial wall made of concrete and stone began. Almost immediately there was a mass exodus of people to West Berlin. The first casualty of the Berlin wall was a women jumping from an upper floor of a building located along the wall. The wall was built through densely populated areas and initially buildings were part of the wall. But people began jumping through windows on the first floor to escape. So the first floor windows were bricked up. People moved to the 2nd story and started jumping. So the 2nd story was bricked up. People moved to the 3rd story and continued jumping. It was from here that an older woman died from injuries sustained in a fall from the 3rd story. Eventually the upper story windows were sealed as well.

One of the metro stops we passed was called the “Ghost Station” during the Cold War. When the wall divided the city the metro lines were also divided into East and West trains, but there were a few trains in the West that passed by stations in the East. The trains did not stop at these since no one was allowed to exit by the heavily armed guards standing watch, but the trains had to slow down for safety reasons while passing. The West Berliners could look through the windows at these Ghost Stations occupied only by guards.

Hitler’s bunker still exists in Berlin, despite numerous attempts to blow it up with explosives. To prevent Neo-Nazis from using the site as a place of honor the bunker has been closed off and visitors can only stand above it and read a small sign indicating the significance of the location. There was not even a sign until the soccer World Cup was in Germany a few years ago and the tourism office bowed to requests from the numerous visitors to identify the place. The bunker was fed by extensive tunnels leading to the ugly, blocky, gray Nazi administrative buildings.

One comment as an interlude to the heavy history, the crosswalk signs in Berlin are of tourist interest in their own right. They use little Dutchman to indicate walk and don’t walk: a briskly stepping green man in a Dutch hat with hand raised to indicate “walk” and a one-legged red man in a Dutch hat with hands extended straight out to indicate “don’t walk”. These are quite amusing and popular; there is various paraphernalia available, including actual replicas of the crosswalk sign.

We also passed by a tour company that gives tours in the infamous Trabant, the East German creation that resembles a car. I believe the Trabant is actually worth less than the sum of its parts and is a strong competitor for the worst transportation vehicle ever imagined. I will quote from a Time website which says it better than I can (http://www.time.com/time/specials/2007/article/0,28804,1658545_1658533_1658030,00.html):
“This is the car that gave Communism a bad name. Powered by a two-stroke pollution generator that maxed out at an ear-splitting 18 hp, the Trabant was a hollow lie of a car constructed of recycled worthlessness (actually, the body was made of a fiberglass-like Duroplast, reinforced with recycled fibers like cotton and wood). A virtual antique when it was designed in the 1950s, the Trabant was East Germany's answer to the VW Beetle — a "people's car," as if the people didn't have enough to worry about. Trabants smoked like an Iraqi oil fire, when they ran at all, and often lacked even the most basic of amenities, like brake lights or turn signals. But history has been kind to the Trabi. Thousands of East Germans drove their Trabants over the border when the Wall fell, which made it a kind of automotive liberator. Once across the border, the none-too-sentimental Ostdeutschlanders immediately abandoned their cars. Ich bin Junk!”

Our tour passed through the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, an intriguing, thought-provoking monument of square pillars of varying heights aligned in long rows in a large square area. The pillars were shorter at the outside and as you walked toward the center they gradually became taller until you could see only the sky above, the path in front, and periodically the side paths to your right and left. The feeling was one of disorientation and uncertainty, which was relieved as you progress towards the opposite side and reached the blocks shorter than you. I enjoy the interactive monuments and this was abstraction at its best; a creative use of art to simulate the confusion and helplessness of the Jews during this period.

After the tour ended, we walked to a memorial to the Berlin wall where you can still see the wall as it looked during the Cold War. The wall was actually two walls, one on the East, one on the West, with a “dead-zone in between wide enough to allow time for the guards to shoot runners or dogs to chase down border crossers. We peered through a slit in the wall into the dead-zone and climbed a tower to look down into this area.

From there, we returned to Checkpoint Charlie, which we had briefly visited on our walking tour. The museum at Checkpoint Charlie was a moving tribute to how far man will go to achieve freedom. There is still a large, white sign, with black, block letters stating that “YOU ARE ENTERING THE AMERICAN SECTOR” in English, German, and French. Checkpoint Charlie was the 3rd checkpoint between East & West (Checkpoint C after Alpha, Bravo, Charlie). The museum opened while the hostilities of the Cold War were at their height as a showcase for the elaborate schemes that were used to escape East Berlin. Located in full view of the wall, anyone could enter and see descriptions of tunnel digging, balloon flying, and hidden compartments in vehicles. Some of the most intriguing included a guy who invented a board with propellers attached that he held onto while it dragged him through the North Sea to Denmark. Upon arriving in Denmark he patented the invention, which is now used by the Marines in amphibious exercises. Another guy built an airplane on his kitchen table. He took a car engine, attached a body and foldable wings on the table. Then carried it outside to where he had enough room to take off and flew just far enough to cross the border.

Our day finished with a visit to the Reichstag building, a classically styled building with a modern dome above the rooms where the German parliament meets. Entrance is free, and after a short wait we were whisked by elevator to explore the dome accompanied by a modern audio guide that automatically described what we were seeing by sensing our location as we climbed the dome. As in Munich, government transparency is a theme of the dome. Visitors can look down through the opening into the room where the legislators debate. The glass dome is an exceptional example of attractive styling combined with functional features. The center of the dome is open to the air, and acts as a natural ventilator for the building. Mirrors arrayed on a central funnel direct sunlight down into the building. The pathways of the dome are creatively aligned to direct rain away from the rooms below. We had a great view of the city, including the massive Tiergarten (a large park) and the Frank Gehry designed DZ Bank building. Viewed from above, the glass and steel roof of the Gehry building looks like the tail of a whale rising above the sea. Earlier we had stepped inside the building to see the massive titanium sculpture “whale” that shields a conference room beneath. Gehry also designed the Astaire and Rogers Dancing House in Prague.

Our condensed visit to Berlin ended the next morning. We had seen the highlights, but Berlin is definitely deserving of an extended stay.

Flossenburg

2009-08-17T21:03:00.000+02:00

Our journey took us east, to the German/Czech Republic border where we stopped at the concentration camp in Flossenburg. We were interested in stopping since this was the camp where Dietrich Bonhoeffer was executed, and were pleasantly surprised to find an absorbing museum housed in one of the remaining buildings. We walked through an intimidating gate house into a large gravel courtyard between long, white buildings. The museum was located in the one to the right, a thorough collection of describing in detail all aspects of the concentration camp, augmented with audio and video from survivors. The initial camps were working camps (the death camps came later and were located further east, mostly in Poland), built to produce something for the Reich. Flossenburg was a stone quarry. The intent was to extract stones for use in Hitler’s grand building plans. There is a certain skill required for quarrying stone of a quality good enough for building, but the Nazis did not focus on training the unskilled labor, so the stone from Flossenburg was only adequate for roads. The progression of inmates to Flossenburg demonstrated Hitler’s opinion of who was undesirable: the first wave was the criminals (murderers, thieves), a second wave brought in the political enemies of the Reich, and the final wave was the social outcasts (Gypsies, Jews, Homosexuals). Looking through blurry Nazi lenses, criminals were esteemed higher than political foes who were better than social outcasts. Often a criminal was given charge of a group of political enemies and outcasts; you can imagine how pleasant it would be to work with a murderer as your boss. In the basement we walked through the large, concrete block rooms where the unfortunate were deloused at first entry. Outside a path led down the hill to the crematorium, which still contained the furnace that was used. The majority of those who died were buried in the neighboring city; sad that the locals participated in carting the bodies out of the compound to the city cemetery. The furnace was put into use near the end of the war.

Rothenburg

2009-08-17T21:02:00.000+02:00

Our hotel in Rothenburg was another family run affair. Located within the city walls (Rothenburg is a medieval city completely surrounded by a stone wall), this hotel had more of a ramshackle feel than the clean, country charm of the one in Salzburg. The furnishings in every room were made by the owner, including the beds. The rough finish and dark carpets exuded the 19th century. We dropped our bags and went for a stroll through town. Each of the towns we visited has architectural eye candy in all directions, but Rothenburg epitomizes a cute European city. The tourist money has been put to good use; the houses are in excellent condition, painted freshly in bright colors that appear to have been coordinated so that each street is a blaze of multiple hues. We walked to the main square, and craned our necks to look up at the clock. On the hour the doors on either side of the clock face open and reveal two figures, one of which woodenly tilts a mug towards his face. This charming display represents a legend of the mayor of the town preventing an army from invading by downing a mug of beer in one gulp. Cute story, but almost certainly a myth, and the clock charade is a recent addition to please tourists.

The next morning, breakfast was a heart-warming affair. There were others in the breakfast room munching happily, but we didn’t see a table with food, so after some standing uncertainty we assumed that someone must have served them and found a table in the corner against the windows. Sure enough, after a few minutes a gentleman with a bushy mustache greeted us and took orders for tea and coffee. Several minutes later he returned with a basket overflowing with a variety of breads and jellies, accompanied with pots of hot drinks. Simple and satisfying. We tore the bread while watched by a mustachioed head carved in wood on a post in the corner (looked disturbingly like our kindly host).

Our first activity was to walk the wall around the city. The wall has been rebuilt with tourist money through a brilliant marketing campaign. Individuals or businesses were able to sponsor the refurbishment of sections of the wall; stones carved with the names of the donors mark the number of feet that were paid for. The city is very popular with Japanese tourists; it was humorous to see that several feet of wall were sponsored by an international airport in Japan (making sure that the tourist destinations are in good condition to keep their planes filled). It was quite fun to stroll the wooden walkway, 10 feet from the ground, underneath a wooden roof, peaking through the vertical archer slits. At the southern gate there were extensive defense towers. A large circular tower had ramps to allow cannons to be pulled up by horses and arranged in a wide hall wrapping the tower for maximum effect. Near the main eastern gate we climbed a tall tower, up several stories of wooden stairs that zig-zagged through mostly empty space broken only by wooden floors stretched inside the square, stone tower. Above we were treated to fine views of the red-roofed homes, shouldering snuggly along the curving streets.

Leaving the wall on the north-west, we walked through town to the St Jacob’s church, stopping along the way for pictures of immaculate flower displays and interesting doors and windows. We did find one house that appeared to have been abandoned for some time, with dirty windows and junk piled high inside. St Jacob’s contains an intricate wood carving called the Altar of the Holy Blood. It shows the last supper, with Jesus giving Judas a piece of bread (Judas is prominent at the center of the arrangement, but his carving is removable and he is taken out of the display during particular times of the year). Outside the church we stopped for lunch on the outdoor patio of a nearby restaurant.

In the afternoon, dad and I visited a Crime and Punishment museum. This was a fabulous collection of historic and bizarre medieval artifacts. I found most interesting the descriptions of medieval punishments for minor crimes. There were funny masks that those who were rude or loud-mouthed would wear, pictorial demonstration of how a man and women would be allowed to fight to resolve a conflict (with the man in a hole up to his waist), the double neck violin that quarrelsome women would be put in face-to-face, and a description of “unroofing the house” which was done when a wife beat her husband, the husband was therefore not worthy of having a roof on his house. There was also an iron maiden, although in the opinion of the curators, the original iron maidens did not have spikes; they were simply a confined space. The spikes were said to be a dramatic addition long after the iron maiden was out of use. We also took a long walk through the valley below the city, passing by Toppler castle (more like a small house, elevated from the ground).
In the evening we joined a huge crowd following the Night Watchman tour, led by an appropriately dressed watchman carrying a wicked pickaxe. We thoroughly enjoyed hearing the history of the city from this colorful chap. The city of Rothenburg was only taken by force one time. The walls and elevated location were an effective barrier against hostiles. The only time that an attack was successful was when one of the Rothenburg soldiers entered the powder tower that was located in the wall with a lighted torch. Surrender was quick given the wide gap created in the defenses. Similar to Bruges, Belgium, Rothenburg was a wealthy city situated on critical trade routes in the middle ages. But eventually the position lost its value and the city was abandoned for hundreds of years before tourism brought it back to life.

Salzburg

2009-08-17T21:01:00.000+02:00

Leaving Munich in the afternoon, we continued our drive to Salzburg. Our hotel was a family run affair outside of town. A friendly Austrian woman greeted us as we parked next to a barn and large house. Our room came with a balcony overlooking a grassy field that stretched far out to touch the toes of the Austrian Alps. We had time to catch the bus into the town center and look around. The old town is relatively small, squeezed between the river and the cliff, atop which a castle overlooks. Houses are built right into the cliff. The bus slowed to a crawl to fit through the old, stone gates that were designed for narrow carriages, and we exited along the river. Walking into town we passed the usual array of interesting shops and stopped at one with an extensive display of decorated eggs. Thousands of eggs painted in various themes crowded the counters. Further along we were in Mozartplatz, then ducked between arches into an opening with horses & carriages waiting for tourists. Around the corner was a group watching two men play chess with 5 foot tall pieces. We arrived in time to see the final few moves, in the shadow of a large, gold, Mozart chocolate ball (a piece of modern art). After a lap in one of the carriages showed us the fountains where horses drank and bathed, Mozart’s birthplace. The driver was a jovial fellow, who greeted us by asking “do you like football, I mean American football?” Apparently he is the one Austrian who follows American football and rambled about Tom Brady, the Patriots, the Eagles. Or at least he has studied football enough to have a conversation with tourists.

Breakfast the next morning was a delicious assortment of breads, meats, cheeses, boiled eggs, and fruit in small, but cute, dining room beneath a ceiling hung with a collection of tea pots. Our hosts served us personally, the woman returning on her bicycle with fresh bread from nearby. The first activity of the day was a Sound of Music tour. We were the first on “Bob’s” van, driven by a friendly English guide. Another group of 4 tourists climbed on at their hotel and we were on our way. Many of the scenes from the movie were shot in Salzburg. From what we were told by the guide, the basics of the movie are based on facts. Artistic license was taken with the songs (written by Rogers & Hammerstein) since the original songs were in German, and the mountain that they hiked over to escape would have led into Germany (they actually left on a train). The locals don’t understand the fascination with the movie and have failed to take full advantage of the tourist opportunities. The tour took us out into the countryside, up the narrow twisting mountain roads. We were able to dance next to the gazebo (since an old lady hurt herself dancing inside the gazebo tourists are not allowed inside), look across the lake to the house where scenes were shot on the patio, climb the stairs near the fountain where the kids sang, and enter the church where the wedding was held. One stop was a dry luge, where dad and I were pulled to the top of the hill on wheeled luges, then released to descend a twisting aluminum chute. Another was for a snack of cake and coffee at a café with a spectacular view over a lake surrounded by mountains. And on the way back to town the movie lovers in the group belted along to “Do, a deer…” and others from the soundtrack.

Rain arrived as we were enjoying the gardens near the Mirabel palace. We ducked inside Mozart’s residence to escape the wetness. The house is now a nice museum, displaying instruments Mozart used in surprisingly good condition. That evening we had dinner reservations at a nice hotel, followed by tickets to a Mozart violin concert in a marble room at the Mirabel Palace. Few things better than absorbing the melody of strings inside a small, high-ceiling, marble room while rain falls soundlessly outside. There were 5 musicians: 2 violins, 2 violas, and 1 cello. It was interesting to observe as the musicians played off one another. There was a lead violin that the rest followed, glancing over during key moments to get cues for the following segment. The violin and viola players switched chairs at intermission, allowing their colleague to lead the next set. Afterwards we ran, splashing through the garden to the bus stop. The cozy breakfast under the hanging teapots the next morning was our last Salzburg experience, and we reluctantly boarded the car for our next destination.

That evening we were planning to stay in the German town of Rothenburg od der Tauber. Before that we detoured a few minutes to meet Nathan Dietz and his family, who were vacationing near the Austria/German border. We found them in a small town near a mountain stream and then followed to a tourist village with an extensive collection of buildings in styles from over one hundred years ago. Most of the buildings had been relocated from other German cities (similar to the Greenfield village in Detroit). We traipsed through barns and houses for several hours, observing demonstrations of weaving on a massive loom, shaping wood shingles with an ax, before saying goodbye.

Munich

2009-08-09T17:57:00.000+02:00

We left Schwangau destined for Salzburg, with a stop in Munich on the way. Our stay in Munich was short, just long enough to take a 3rd Reich walking tour. I had poor information on the tour starting time, we arrived at the meeting place under the glockenspiel after the tour had left. Fortunately there was someone from the tour company still there; he was nice enough to call the guide to find his location and direct us where to find the group. After a few laps and consternation we found the group; joining just in time to enter one of the beer halls where Hitler made his political start. German politics was conducted in large, noisy beer halls. To compete in this environment, you needed a forceful voice and a compelling message to distract those seated at the long tables from their beer and conversation. Quite a chaotic scene. Munich was where Hitler made his first attempts to seize political power. His first coup landed him in prison. He and his supporters crashed through several police barricades before being stopped. Hitler spent several months in prison during which he wrote Mein Kampf. During the hostilities several men on both sides were killed. When Hitler was in power he had a monument to his followers who were killed placed in the plaza where the fighting ended. People walking by were required to salute the statue. To avoid this, many took a small side street around the memorial, which came to be known as “dodger’s alley”. Now the monument has been removed and there is a plaque on the ground commemorating the policeman who died stopping Hitler’s coup. History is written by the winners.

Since WWII, government transparency has been a theme in Germany. The government administration building in Munich was destroyed during the bombings and was rebuilt in a modern style with glass walls and glass ceilings. Emphasizing that politics should be debated in the open. In front of this building there is a WWI memorial that shows a German soldier reposing with his rifle. He is only asleep and has a serene expression, with hands clasped around the gun. The Germans fully expected to rebound from WWI and fight another day. Around the corner we stopped in view of a classically ugly Nazi building, all squares and plain gray stone. This had housed a Nazi art museum, filled with paintings and sculpture of Aryans prancing naked on horseback through gardens and forests. Hideously ugly “art”. During the several years the museum was open less than a couple hundred people visited. But when the museum was opening, the Renaissance art that was being replaced was displayed in the park nearby for a few days. Millions of people came in these few days to see the classically beautiful and creative artwork, thinking it was the last time they would ever see it. This was one of the few ways that people could safely show there true feelings without risking the wrath of the secret police. Nearby is a small memorial to the White Rose society, a group of students from the University of Munich who published 6 pamphlets opposing the Nazi regime. The members were executed by decapitation in 1943. Public opposition was rare for this exact reason: the Nazi machine was efficient and ruthless in killing those opposed. We also visited the building where Hitler would greet world leaders. Inside the entry a long, straight staircase dominates the foyer. Hitler would stand at the top of the stairs looking down on his guest. A nearby house is where Hitler spent time schmoozing with the local business leaders to gain monetary support. Without the financial support of business Hitler would have had difficulty reaching the critical mass required to lead Germany. A short walk brought us to an open plaza surrounded by Greek style buildings where Hitler would march his troops. At that time the area was covered in concrete, the better to accentuate the sound of tramping Nazi boots.

Of course, Munich has much more to offer than this. We would have liked to stay longer than our 2 hour tour.

Neuschwanstein Castle

2009-08-09T17:56:00.000+02:00

We drove far enough to enter Germany and stay the night in Stuttgart. Thursday we drove south toward the Austrian border, stopping to see the castles of “Screwy Louie”, the doctor certified insane king. Our reservation was for two castles: Hohenschwangau, where Ludwig II spent his childhood, and Neuschwanstein, built by Ludwig to honor the opera composer Richard Wagner. Ludwig lived in the unfinished Neuschwanstein for about 100 days. His doctor declared him clinically insane and within a few days both Ludwig and the doctor turned up dead in a German lake. Nothing has been proven, but the suspicion is that Ludwig killed the doctor and committed suicide. The castle is very impressive, despite significant portions of Ludwig’s plans never being finished, and inspired the Sleeping Beauty Castle at Disneyworld. Both castles are in immaculate condition, with plenty of “wow, look at that” views. We hiked the trail behind Neuschwanstein to the Marienbrucke (Mary’s bridge), a skinny, steel, arch hundreds of feet above a water fall with a great view of the castle. The trail continued into the mountains, unfortunately time did not allow further exploration. That night we stayed in Schwangau, a nearby town within view of the castle. It was quite nice to sit in the balcony of our room with the mountains framing the “Disneyland castle”. The town was interesting to my parents since the cows and horses were kept in barns inside the town. The houses are close together, as is typical in Europe, and every so often a barn is shoehorned.

Meuse-Argonne American WWI Cemetery

2009-08-09T16:43:00.001+02:00

We were now ready to begin the “road trip”. Wednesday morning we departed, not to return to Orleans until 10 days later. Our first stop after a few hours of driving was the Meuse-Argonne American Cemetery for WWI. We brought with us the location of the cross marking the gravesite of a relative, John C. Nissly. Once we were close enough the road signs led us to the cemetery. Along the way we stopped for lunch in a small town, picnicking in the grass around a stone church. Just outside the town we noticed what looked like a Pennsylvania war memorial. Curious, we circled back to investigate. In the town of Varennes, the state of Pennsylvania had built a memorial in 1927 to the troops who served in the “Great War”. Interesting. This was to be a recurring theme on the trip. Many towns in France and Germany contain reminders of the wars, either through memorials or shattered buildings that have not been rebuilt. Before continuing to the cemetery, we stopped for water and snacks at a grocery store, including a sweet egg white concoction. The white and pink sugar balls would last us for several days.

We were not disappointed by the cemetery. The Meuse-Argonne is the largest American cemetery in Europe. The groundskeepers were hard at work when we arrived; not surprising since the landscape was immaculate. After gawking at the vast sea of white crosses bordered by well-groomed trees, we navigated to the Nissly cross. It was emotional for my dad. He had heard the stories about John from his mother who was impressed by the young man in his uniform. John C. Nissly, Cook, 313 Ammo Train, 88 Division. We took our time and meandered up the hill to the bunker-looking chapel. Then down the curving driveway, up the hill opposite to the visitor’s center, before returning to the car.

Mont St Michel & D-day Beaches

2009-08-09T16:42:00.001+02:00

The next 2 days were our first extended foray afield, destination Mont St Michel in Brittany and the D-day beaches in Normandy. Mont St Michel is an enormous monastery built on a rocky island in the middle of the ocean. The road built to reach the island has blocked the natural water flows, so the area is filling up with sand, but at one time it was a remote and nearly unreachable locale. The English tour was excellent, although our guide was constantly perturbed by the warblings of tourist kids and interjected several times to shush the rabble. The building had been used as prison in the last century, but most of the damage done by inmates has been repaired. We were able to walk down to the sand at the base of the island and hike completely around the rocky outcropping.

The next day we left early from our hotel in Caen to visit the American Cemetery near Omaha beach, Pont du Hoc, Arromanches, and the WWII museum in Caen. The American Cemetery has a small room downstairs that houses a great museum. Once again I cried during the films describing the personal details of a few of the soldiers. There was some sort of WWII group meeting on Omaha beach near where we walked into the ocean. Jeeps and trucks from that era were zipping across the sand and in the water. At Pont du Hoc the craters pockmark the ground where the Allies dropped their largest bombs to knock out the German guns. Looks like a moonscape, with grass. It is remarkable to see the steep cliffs where the rangers climbed to destroy the remaining guns on D-day. Arromanches is where an artificial harbor was built to unload the troops and supplies that would allow the Allies to continue the push inland. The intention had been to use the harbor a Cherborg, but it was too damaged. So an ingenious floating harbor was built that allowed the Allies to unload equipment continuously in high or low tides. We saw a well done film shown on a 360 degree screen that interspersed actual footage from the battles with scenes of how the towns and streets look today. To finish the day, my dad and I visited the WWII museum in Caen, while Shereen and mom went to Bayeux to see lace being made.

Two Week Roadtrip Begins: Versailles & Paris

2009-08-09T16:40:00.000+02:00

One of the highlights of this past year in France was the opportunity to share two weeks with my parents as we took an extended road trip through France, Germany, Austria, Holland, and Belgium. We enjoyed planning to see things they would enjoy, as well as visiting areas that Shereen and I had not been to. Here’s a recap of the itinerary, highlights to follow: Orleans, Versailles, Paris (Louvre, St. Chapelle, Notre Dame, Arc de Triomphe, Eiffel Tower), Mont St. Michel, Normandy D-day beaches, Meuse-Argonne WWI cemetery, Neuschwanstein castle, Munich, Salzburg, Rothenberg, Flossenberg concentration camp, Berlin, Haarlem, Amsterdam, Bruges.

The first challenge would be the flight over the Atlantic. My mother does not like flying and neither of my parents had flown to another continent before. They arrived on a Friday morning; I worked while Shereen picked them up at the airport. It had not been a fabulous flight, mom got sick on the way back to Orleans. Our strategy was to take things easy until they recovered from jet lag, but they did have enough energy to walk into Orleans with Shereen and get lunch from a sandwich counter. I arrived that evening to eat the remaining Pizza Hut slices.

Saturday we tentatively planned to visit Versailles, if the travelers were up to it. By late morning everyone seemed to be fine, so we drove to Versailles for the afternoon. Our arrival was poorly timed to avoid waiting in line, and we had the pleasure of experiencing French efficiency at the ticket counter. Inside the door the line split in two, the vast majority going to the left, and a short line going to the right. Unfortunately we chose the right. With only 10 people between us and the ticket counter, we waited for over 30 minutes. It was extremely frustrating to see several people who had been behind us, but chose the line to the left, entering the palace well before us. We never figured out why the line was so slow; it may have been that the wrong employee was behind the counter. The tour consists of the palace and the extensive gardens. We found the gardens to be the most enjoyable. Inside the palace the rooms are elaborately decorated, the highlight being the Hall of Mirrors, where the Treaty of Versailles was signed after WWI. After meandering through the rooms listening to the audio guide we found some food at a café before entering the gardens. The gardens are HUGE, a bicycle is almost a necessity. The weather was nice and we acted like royalty on an afternoon stroll, with the fountains spurting in time to music. Statues guard the walkways, which divert in geometric patterns: here rectangles, there circles, behind triangles, and lead to hidden theaters with more fountains and more statues. About the midpoint we were near the fountain where a god of the sea in his chariot is being pulled out of the water by dramatically charging horses. Beyond this was a large reflecting pool with rental boats guided by tourists splashing their paddles, surrounded by a grassy expanse covered with tourists picnicking and enjoying the sun. After running into a dead end we were able to find Marie Antoinette’s house at the back of the garden (at this point we were exhausted from the walking), cute but not spectacular. Before returning we joined the crowd by the reflecting pool to rest.

Since the jet lag recovery was going better than expected, we upped the ante on Sunday and went for the Paris one day tour. Shereen had no interest in fighting the crowds to see already seen sites, so she stayed in Orleans. The Louvre was the first stop in the morning. This was my 3rd time to the museum, so I had a good idea of where to go. The Louvre is far too extensive to see everything in one day; the best plan is to go straight to the most interesting things and then see how much energy you have left. To avoid the hordes, we got in line before the museum opened and then made a beeline for the Mona Lisa to get there before having to elbow others out of the way. In my opinion the Mona Lisa is one of the least impressive objects at the Louvre. Yes, it is a nice painting, but you can get a far better look at her on the internet. In the museum she is isolated on a partition wall, a pane of glass shielding her, with a roped semicircle allowing us to approach no closer than 20 feet. And the painting is small. Within the same room, a much more interesting painting is the Wedding Feast at Cana, which covers almost the entire wall opposing the Mona Lisa. In the halls nearby are the massive paintings by Delacroix, David, and others. One of my favorites is a two-sided painting standing in the middle of the aisle, showing David wrestling with Goliath from the front and back. From here we walked to the Venus de Milo, passing the equally impressive Winged Victory of Samonthrace, and after through the rows of mummy cases in the Egypt section, stopping at the tall, black stone Code of Hammurabi, then more statues including one of my favorites Milo Crotana (Milo, attempting to show his strength, has his hand stuck in a tree trunk while a lion attacks him; the lions claws are leaving impressions in his legs as they tear the flesh), and finally the extravagant chandeliers and over decorated furniture of Napoleon’s apartments. We had seen less than half of the museum in over 3 hours, but had seen quite enough to be satisfied.

From the Louvre, it is a pleasant walk along the Seine to the Île de la Cité, a small island in the middle of the river where Notre Dame and St Chapelle cathedrals are located. While waiting for the English tour of St Chapelle we walked to Notre Dame, stopping to see the birds and flowers at the outdoor market. The canary’s make quite a racket. Notre Dame is a typical European cathedral, imposing and gray. Having seen something similar in almost every town we visited, I found it of little interest. But I was very interested in returning to St Chapelle, one of my favorites, for my second visit. We entered the church through the peasant’s entrance into the common people’s chapel. This is the first floor of the church, a long narrow room with low ceilings. The commoners were not to associate with royalty; they worshipped in this muted environment while the king prayed in the spectacular chapel on the second floor. Narrow spiral staircases lead up and out into a brightly colored room. Here the walls stretch to the high ceiling, the gothic architecture allowing maximum room for the spectacular colored glass. The glass seems to cover the entire wall and the room is a feast for the eyes as the sun blazes outside. The difference with the usual gray stone of other cathedrals is dramatic. And the glass panels contain stories from the Bible. Starting with Genesis, where we can see Cain clubbing Abel and Noah with a golden cow in his ark, you can work your way around the room moving through the Bible. Not all of the books are included, some of the Apocrypha is shown and medieval history and legend also intervenes, but fascinating nonetheless. In my opinion, more interesting than most cathedrals, despite its relatively small size.

Then into the metro to visit the Arc de Triomphe, which we circled before walking down the Champs Elysses a short distance. It was getting late, time to see the Eiffel Tower. Popping out of the metro near the tower we found a place to eat. The wait staff found it quite humorous as our embarrassed waiter talked with us in passable English. The tower almost never disappoints visitors and we were no different. We ascended and stayed on the observation deck to watch the sunset. Then arrived back on the ground to see the light displays dance on the steel structure.

A bath in Bath

2009-06-29T22:21:00.000+02:00

The train carried us west to Bath on Saturday. Since Bath is a small town, popular with tourists, our only option was to book a room in a hostel. The local YMCA runs an excellent hostel. We checked into a small, clean room with bunk beds. Actually quite nice.

Before taking the free walking tour of the city, we watched a group setup a bell ringing device and then coax hesitant tourists to attempt to yank on ropes, in some sort of musical rhythm, that ran around large wheels before jerking the bells. It was a ridiculous cacophony, but interesting to watch. More musically pure was a lone musician playing a “hang”, a round drum like object that is tapped with the fingers and sounds like a stringed instrument. You can hear a short sample here: http://www.oddmusic.com/gallery/om16250.html.

On the tour we learned about the playboy gambler who was “king” of Bath several hundred years ago. The town was almost his private club; he would organize huge parties and visitors would need to check in with him. There was also an interesting version of tax evasion on display. At one point the government taxed homes based on the number of windows. This was particularly cruel during the time before electricity when windows were essential for making the interior anything more than a depressing dungeon. The tax rule stated that if windows were further than a certain dimension apart they would count as 2 windows. Creative builders were able to skinny up the supporting stone between windows so that 2 windows would actually count as one. We also learned the gracefulness of middle aged toilets. The chamber pot was usually kept in the room behind a screen. You would converse with your guests and when the urge came simply step behind the screen to “take your ease”. The pot was then disposed of by dumping it through holes in the wall into a ditch by the road. The resulting “night soil” was collected and removed by someone unable to get a better job. Somewhat more civilized were the hanging toilets from the side of homes. This was simply a small, wooden room attached to the second story with a hole in the floor to allow “night soil” to fall to the ground.

Next was a bath in Bath. The Roman Baths have been renovated as of a few years ago, and are now open to the public. The water is piped to more modern pools than the original Roman ones. We paddled and splashed in a rooftop pool in the sun with hundreds of other tourists.

You can’t swim where the Romans did, but you can walk through the old Roman baths, guided by excellent descriptions and displays. The baths are extensive with various rooms for steaming, cooling, and dipping. Exiting we were able to taste a swig of the warm water. It’s actually not bad, except for the warm temperature.

Bath has quite a nightlife, but much of it is college students club hopping. We joined a comedy walking tour called Bizarre Bath, that was decidedly different. The comedian was exceptional and kept us laughing the entire night as we strolled around Bath. One highlight was when a stuffed “Houdini” rabbit escaped from chains and a mailbag after being thrown in the river. Another was when a trailer who had not paid for the tour was put into stocks and carrots were thrown at her (including one by Shereen) before her head was cut off (ok, it was an illusion, she walked away afterwards). I was suckered into one of his numbers gags; stating he could read people’s minds he asked me to think of a number between 1 and 100, then asked if I had “one”. When I answered yes without thinking, he revealed the one.

London or Blessed Speakers of English

2009-06-29T21:44:00.001+02:00

A few weeks later we boarded the train to England for a 4 day weekend for one of the French holidays. The Eurostar left early on Thursday arriving in London in time for us to drop our bags at the hotel and have brunch at a restaurant before noon. It was nice to have zero communication issues with the waitress. And the food was stick-to-your-ribs style eggs, sausage, ham, beans, and fries. A nice flavorful change from float-away croissants.

The subway dropped us near Big Ben, where we snapped a few pictures before walking around the corner to enter the British Parliament. The House of Commons and House of Lords are open for public viewing. There was a long line for the Commons, so we chose the Lords. We walked through a cavernous hall with a wooden ceiling designed like an inverted boat hull (very much like the hospice in Beune, France), up a couple flights of stone steps, into an elaborately decorated atrium with multiple hallways departing, through one of the hallways, then up several flights of narrow, carpeted stairs, before popping out in the viewers gallery 30 feet above the heads of the Lords in their chamber. The Lords and Commons chambers are setup similar with rows of benches facing each other. The debate is very combative, you need to be aggressive, well spoken, and loud to compete in these chambers. I was surprised to see that the benches were almost full on both sides; apparently the Lords enjoy debating even if they have limited power. The chairwoman sat, reclining on a large cushion in the center, looking interested, but we didn’t hear her say a word the half hour we were present. Three clerks in funny wigs were the most active people in the room scribbling notes, tapping on computers, shuffling papers. To their left the advocate for the topic of discussion spoke at a small lectern. When he had spoke for a few minutes, and began to sit down everyone else who was interested in commenting would jump to their feet. The one who got his questions out first was recognized and continue to speak. Then the advocate would respond and sit, followed by the Lords jumping again until another was recognized. A bit confusing and chaotic for a first timer to follow. The Commons is similar, but the topics of debate are more relevant. We heard debate on whether England should produce a statement to condemn actions in Israel and something else similarly meaningless. The Lords cleared out when one of the members arose and began a lengthy exposition on carbon emissions limits for 2050. In comparison we saw on the video cameras later that the Commons was debating legislation to affect housing permits in England. I have yet to do my homework on exactly what power the Lords have, but if our experience is indicative they are relegated to symbolic actions with little effect.

From Parliament we walked a few blocks to the bunker that Churchill used as his headquarters during WWII. Gutsy and amazing that the decision makers stayed here throughout the bombing under a few feet of concrete. The bunker shows the rooms very similar to the way they were at the end of the war. The rooms are tiny. In one cramped room multiple typists worked nearly round the clock. The maps used for charting progress on the seas show rows of pin holes along the major shipping routes. A map of Europe has a small Hitler drawn on it by a bored officer. Connected to the bunker is a nice Churchill museum. There were interviews with his personal secretaries describing his workday. Basically Churchill did not waste a minute that he was awake. He would typically get out of bed after 8 am, but begin working almost immediately. After reading over 10 newspapers and eating breakfast, one of his secretaries would join him in the bedroom, while Churchill was still in his pajamas, and begin taking dictation. Churchill would speak constantly for hours on end while his secretaries scrambled to keep up. The rest of the day he was constantly working, except for nap in the afternoon. His cigars and drinking are infamous. But according to his secretaries he rarely lit the cigars, only liked the taste in his mouth, and he the majority of his drinking was “brown water”: a glass of water with a dash of whiskey that he would drink throughout the day.

The Tower of London was our next stop. More of a castle than a tower, this was the place where many political prisoners were kept and beheaded. We were fortunate to catch the last Beefeater tour of the day, given by an energetic representative. If you miss one of these tours, the Tower is far less interesting. There was a nice display on Henry the VIIIth, with full suits of armor for man and horse. Apparently Henry was one of the great athletes of his day and enjoyed everything from jousting to a form of court tennis where the ball could be played off the walls. From the Tower walls we had a nice view of the Tower Bridge.

That evening we had tickets to the Shakespeare Globe Theater to see Romeo and Juliet. The Globe is an open air theater and is designed as theaters were in Shakespeare’s day with a thatched roof above the gallery seats that rise 4 stories around a large open area where the “groundlings” stand to watch. We had groundling tickets and found a place to lean against a wooden pillar. After a long day of walking, we would have preferred to sit. The play was excellent, with the groundlings participating as the actors walked through the crowd during certain scenes, including carrying a “dead” Juliet.

The changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace was on the agenda for the next morning. This turned out to be the biggest non-event, most overhyped site I have ever participated in. It was a nice day and we had time to stroll St. James park before. The band that usually accompanies the guard was occupied at another event, and the horse guard ceremony was also cancelled for an unknown reason. This left us watching a group of 20 guards marching down the street and into the gated palace courtyard. The area was packed with tourists cramming against the fence, so we stood on a railing to watch for a few minutes as the guards changed. Totally overrated. Probably every tourist in London was there, thousands of people were lining the sidewalks. But honestly, without the band and horseguard this was a nonevent.

The afternoon was to prove much better. We visited Old Bailey, the London courthouse, after having lunch at a Friday’s near Picadilly Circus, served by an American waitress who had moved to England for a change. The public is able to watch the lawyers and judges in funny wigs at Old Bailey. We checked our bags at a café across the street for a few Euros, and after a little confusion on what floor to visit, were ushered into a viewing gallery overlooking an ongoing session. By chance we had walked into a murder trial, with the murder suspect in the witness box. Our luck was changing from the morning. The courtroom was compact with rows of tables piled high with papers occupying most of the center. The lawyers sat behind the tables with no room for anyone to walk between. The lead lawyer stood at his table a few feet from the witness, who sat with his back to us, facing the jury on the opposite side of the room, with the judge to his right. It took a while to catch up to the line of questioning, but I was struck by the conversational tone of the lawyer. He was building a narrative and would solicit responses from the witness periodically. But the give and take seemed almost informal, with the witness responses coming interspersed with the lawyers questions more frequently than I expected. I have no experience in a courtroom, but the indirectness was surprising. To the best of our understanding the witness had attacked another guy who was dating an ex-girlfriend of his, and accidentally killed him. The witnesses said several of his friends were with him, but his story set it up so that only he was the attacker. The lawyer kept probing to include others in the assault. There were huge binders with pictures and exhibits in front of the lawyer, witness, judge, and each jury member. When the prosecutor referred to a document, they would wait until a clerk assisted the witness with finding the correct page. A computer image was projected on screens near the judge and near the jury facing the gallery, so we could easily follow along. It was fascinating to watch, all the more so since friends and relatives of the victim and accused were in the gallery with us.

The evening activity was one of the Jack the Ripper walks through London. The guide was outstanding and painted a good picture of the scrabbly nature of the poor sections of London where the events occurred and the known details surrounding each murder. He detailed in intricate gruesomeness how each of the middle aged prostitutes was found. It is almost certain that the Ripper was seen by others, since more than once a near witness said they saw the victim talking to a man shortly before she was killed. One person had even walked past the two and exchanged a few words. Our guide was not a true “Ripperologist”, and said that the true Jack is likely not one of the known likely suspects. But he did describe the ones thought most likely, including a drifter who committed suicide by filling his jacket with rocks and jumping in the river shortly after the murders stopped, a lunatic crewman from a ship that was docked in London at the time of the murders, and an eccentric who jumped a ship for America and disappeared before the police could catch him. It was fascinating and a must-do for London visitors.

Joan of Arc Postscript

2009-06-29T21:43:00.000+02:00

Well, the last few weeks I feel that I am either working or on vacation. There hasn’t been much in between. Here’s a rundown of our activities.

Back in May, we visited the Joan of Arc festival (about the only reason to visit Orleans as a tourist, the other Joan related things here, house, museum, are tired and only for hardcore history buffs). The festival had activities all week long, but we picked the things that were most interesting to us. On a Thursday night there was a film with music that was projected on to the side of the cathedral. We weren’t entirely clear on what was happening where, so we ended up with a lousy angle from the side of the cathedral. The crowd was huge, filling the main streets. We were in a good spot to see the local politicians march out from the government office building to give their speeches. The spectacle was quite impressive, despite our poor choice of viewing locations; using a medieval cathedral as a projection screen is creative. We couldn’t understand much of the speeches, but it was something along the lines of “in these difficult times the spirit of Jeanne d’Arc is still important….etc.”

The next Friday was a holiday so we went downtown for the parade. This time we were able to get a spot against the fence guarding the main road toward the cathedral. Again there was a huge crowd, creating a nice atmosphere with the flags flying from the buildings. Before the parade started there were more long speeches. I got a laugh out of an older French lady when I made a snoring noise. It’s the same everywhere, windbag politicians talk too much. The parade was led by Joan on a horse leading a group in medieval costume, various marching bands, and general fanfare. Eventually the parade included more modern groups as it seemed that every government group had a contingent: police, hospital, army, navy, air force, various other military groups, but the biggest cheers were for the fireman.

Chamonix

2009-05-10T16:05:00.001+02:00

Holidays in France are not evenly distributed throughout the year, and the month of May is lumpy with holidays. The 1st is Labor Day (Fête du Travail), the 8th is Victory in Europe Day (Fête de la Victoire 1945), and the 21st is Ascension Day (Ascension Catholique). These follow closely the Easter Monday (Lundi de Pâques) and the extra day we were given off for Good Friday in April. I will have worked 4 day weeks for over a month by the end of May. The additional time allows us to expand our travel range. For the 3-day Labor Day weekend we visited Chamonix, at the foot of Mont Blanc in the French Alps.

We arrived late in the evening, receiving help on how to get to the hotel from some street walkers who saw us looking at our map in the car, and happened to pass the hotel receptionist who was leaving for the night. She was nice enough to direct us inside where we grabbed our key from the counter and found our room. This being the slow season, we had landed a room with a view of Mont Blanc. Chamonix is one of the towns in the valley below Mont Blanc, surrounded by towering white peaks on all sides. Houses stretch along the valley in the only instance of suburban sprawl I have seen in France: houses scramble up the slopes with large grass lawns.

If we were more than rudimentary skiers, we would have strapped on a pair, but we decided the Alps were too intimidating for us to learn the basics. Our activities would be confined to gawking at the scenery in our more familiar sneakers. We were fortunate to have perfect weather on Friday, with nary a cloud obscuring the brilliant blue sky. Walking across town we bought passes for the spectacular cable lift, Aiguille de Midi, which lifted us smoothly out of the green valley, hundreds of feet over the tall firs, then above glaring white snow, and finally steeply to the final destination over 12,600 feet above sea level, seemingly within reach of the peak of Mont Blanc. The views were jaw dropping. We could see for miles across seemingly endless white peaks. Exiting the car we brushed by the skiers prepping to for their long descent. Below us the skiers were hiking along a ridge of snow towards a more open snow bank where they would begin the several hour descent that would spit them out on Mer de Glace, the larges glacier in France. We spotted a few paragliders taking off from here also, there red sail nothing more than a spec against the looming peaks. We ascended the elevator to the top of the rocky outcrop and were within spitting distance of Mont Blanc. The air was thin and we moved a bit more slowly than normal to adjust. If we were visiting in the summer, the snow would have receded enough to allow hiking from a point about halfway down the mountain, but in May the snow is too deep to allow safe hiking. After eating a mile high lunch we took the cable car back, soaking in the dramatic views up and down the valley.

Once back in Chamonix, a short walk brought us to the cogwheel train to Mer de Glace. The train huffed us up the steep slopes through the forest, spitting us out high above the glacier. Then there were many steps down the side of the cliff to reach the glacier. The glacier has been studied for almost 200 years and has been rapidly melting recently. I’m sure Gore would be happy to use the glacier in his warming presentation, but it was interesting to read the comments on the displays describing the warming and cooling as long-term cycles; the current melting of the glacier began in the 1830’s. Skiers finishing their run passed us on the steps lugging skis and sweating profusely. At the base of the steps we entered the ice cave in the side of the glacier. Since the glacier is moving at a fairly rapid pace, almost an inch every 2 hours, the cave is remade on a daily basis. Inside there were rooms carved and an opportunistic photographer snapping photos with a St. Bernard dog for a few Euros.

Later in the afternoon we hiked to the grassy landing area for the paragliders. We saw multiple gliders soaring next to the peaks, gradually getting larger, and then quickly swooping in for a gentle landing. We closed the day with a nice dinner at a charming restaurant of cheese fondue for myself and tasty and fries for Shereen.

The weather was not quite so nice the next day; small clouds were already beginning to snuggle the peaks as we walked through town. We were planning to take another cable lift that extended up the opposite mountain from the day before, but it was closed for the season. Instead we walked steeply up to reach a trail down the valley. The trail was moderately challenging as it undulated along the mountain face through dense forest, occasionally popping out in a clearing with gorgeous views of the peaks opposite. We spent a couple of hours walking before descending a zigzag path to the valley floor, through a golf course, then to another cable lift that was running. We hopped aboard and enjoyed another soaring ride with the skiers. There wasn’t as much for non-skiers to do at the top, since the snow was blocking the hiking trails, so we did not spend too much time before returning. It was then a long walk back to Chamonix through the neighboring towns. Arriving late in the afternoon, we collapsed in the hotel for a few hours before dinner. We visited a more upscale restaurant, with friendly staff, plenty of mountain décor and stuffed animals on the walls, and excellent food. I enjoyed a cheesy veal dish with a unique, tasty side of cheese and small, square macaroni and Shereen got her salmon fix with vegetables (I think the salmon she makes herself was actually better than the one she was served!).

Shereen Afoot

2009-05-09T16:23:00.001+02:00

It’s me again!!

We finally had our first visitor, Jennifer. She wasn’t able to come to our apartment in Orleans due to her short visit of 4 days. Early Monday January 26, Shawn dropped me off at a nearby train station that took me all the way to CDG airport where I met up with Jennifer. From the airport we took the metro to our hotel room. It took us a while to find the hotel. To my dismay, we found the hotel in the dirty part of Paris with plenty of sex shops and gentlemen clubs. We found the hotel but weren’t able to check-in right away. So, we left our bags in the lobby and head into town.

A couple of weeks before Jennifer’s arrival she sent me an email requesting to visit the following sites in Paris: Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, the Arc de Triomphe, Notre Dame, and walk along the Seine River. Walk along the Seine River?!?!?! Shawn and I saw the Seine River last September while celebrating our first wedding anniversary in Paris, and didn’t think the Seine River was THAT big of a deal. However, according to Jennifer, the Seine River is on the top of things to do in Paris based on some website. I have one word to say to that, Gross!! The river is dirty; the water has this greenish brownish color to it, and it is definitely not one of the places I would like to see. However, the river was on the way to Notre Dame, so it’s not like we had to go out of our way to see a disgusting river. We got to the river and Jennifer admitted that it looked much nicer in a picture she has seen online than in reality. Oh, there was bird poop on the bridge which got on my hand and every time I tried to wipe it off on the bridge I seemed to get more poop on my hand. Gross!!
We made it to Notre Dame and Jennifer really wanted to go up to view the city, but I didn’t want to for 2 reasons. First, I wanted my first time to go up Notre Dame to be with Shawn. Second, nothing will beat the Eiffel tower view which we were planning to see that same day. So, I waited for Jennifer to climb up Notre Dame at a nearby coffee shop.

After Notre Dame we decided to go back to the hotel to check-in. The hotel room was not very spacious which is typical here in Europe, but it was clean.

A few hours later we left the hotel room and went out. We took the metro to Champs-Elysees, my all time favorite road in Paris. Why? Google it! I have been to the Champs-Elysees before, but going there at night was a different experience. The trees, roads, and shops were lightened up so nicely. Whether it is daytime or nighttime, I will always love Champs-Elysees. At the end of the Champs-Elysees is located the Arc de Triomphe which also looks different at night. Then we walked to the Eiffel Tower and climbed all the way up. We tried to take pictures of the city, but the pictures didn’t come out so good because it was too dark. I should try to convince Shawnee to get me a better camera.

By this point Jennifer and I were starving. We found a busy restaurant (which is always a good sign of good food) by the Eiffel tower. We sat down and looked at the menu and shortly after we walked out. Why? A hamburger sandwich is listed for 18 Euros which at that same day (according to exchange rates) was equivalent to $25.00. Jennifer and I looked at each other and decided to walk out. The waiters weren’t so happy about that, but oh well. They’ll never see us again.

We decided to eat somewhere closer to our hotel and got to see the dirty side of Paris at night. We found a nice restaurant and ordered a taste of home; a Club Sandwich.
The next morning we had to get up super early to catch a train to London and we barely made it on time. I thought that taking trains in Europe to go anywhere in Europe wouldn’t take time, hop on a train and I am on my way, but it’s not like that. Apparently, train stations across Europe conduct security checks just like the airports. Direction signs in France aren’t very helpful. We were able to identify the left and right arrows, but up and down arrows were another story. Actually, there were no down arrows; and up arrows either meant straight or up, but when you have one arrow pointing up and have 2 options, straight or up, which one do you take? We were so confused. We made it to just in time and at that point I was so hungry and didn’t want to leave the train to get food in case it left without me. The train was very comfortable and fast, it took a little over 3 hours to our final destination, London. Also, one of the train cars had a café in it with tables and chairs, just like the movies, and I was able to satisfy my hunger through the café on the train.

We made it London and things seem to be a bit smoother than in Paris; people spoke English, signs were easy to read and understand, and did I mention people spoke English? In London, right away, I noticed how nice people are. The English go out of their ways to help; they are so nice and polite. In the metro, on our way to our hotel, my bag kept hitting people passing by and they’d turn to me and apologize which made no sense to me. Why are they apologizing for something they didn’t do? My bag hit them. Of course I explained that MY bag hit them, they don’t owe me an apology, I owe them to apologize. Those English are really funny!

Our hotel in London was in a much better location than the one we stayed in Paris. And it was spacious and clean. AHHH I love London. First thing I did as soon as made it to our room is turn the TV on; I really wanted to hear English TV. We relaxed for a few and then headed out to eat. Then it was time to explore the city. We went to the typical London tourist places such as, the Tower Bridge, the London Tower, the London Bridge and ended our day with the London Eye. The next morning we went to the Westminster Cathedral, Westminster Abbey, The Buckingham Palace, and Big Ben (House of Parliament). We got to the Buckingham Palace early to watch the change of guards, but it was cancelled due to rainy weather conditions. Everything in London, including the food, was great. At the Manchester Cathedral I found holy water coming out of a faucet (of course I filled up my water bottle to taste). Also at the House of Parliament there were 5-7 different groups lobbying in front of congress: legalize weed, stop airport expansion, stop genocide in Sri Lanka, and stop the war on Iraq. Each group took turn to voice their concern through a microphone, like I said before the English are so polite. Near our hotel in London we found this awesome Italian restaurant, yum yum!!

After some lovely times in London, it was time to go back to Paris. The day before we left for Paris, Shawn warned me that there might be a strike in Paris. I decided not to worry about it and go to sleep, but before I fell asleep I had to get some English TV fix before leaving the country.

The next morning we woke up early to catch the train back to Paris. I had a little difficulty purchasing my last metro ticket to the train station. I had no cash on me and the sales person would not accept my credit card because it wasn’t signed. I tried to sign it but didn’t have a ballpoint pen to sign with. After 10 minutes of arguing back and forth with the salesman, I finally purchased my last ticket. Jennifer and I looked at the metro map one more time to confirm our destination. We found the metro, but as soon as I hopped on the door closed and Jennifer and I got separated. The metro kept on stopping every 2 minutes for 5 minutes; I didn’t think it’d make it to the train on time. I started to get worried about not catching my train so I kept looking at the map counting how many stations until I make it to my destination and that’s when I realized that I was on the train. I was hoping that Jennifer would figure out a way to get to the train station and catch the train. I would have called her to warn her but I didn’t have a phone on me.

Finally, I made it to the train station and was glad to find Jennifer waiting. Three hours later we made it to Paris and realized that Shawn was right about the strike in Paris. It took us forever to find a metro that would take us to our hotel, not all the metro lines were working due to the strike. Two hours later we made it to the hotel and at this point I was dead tired and all I wanted to do was sleep. Jennifer and I went into town and grabbed lunch. The city was shut down, all stores were closed, but it was full of people. After lunch Jennifer went to the Louvre while I slept for a couple of hours. Apparently I wasn’t the only one tired because Jennifer slept for a couple of hours too after she got back from the Louvre.

After a couple hours of rest we headed into town. We made it to the metro station, got on the metro, then 2 stations later it just stopped. A voice came on the intercom said something in French which I didn’t understand, but all of the sudden we saw people get off of the metro. We looked at the map, figured out which metro to take and 2 stations after it came to a complete stop. I think we were underground for a few hours. Finally we made it somewhere close enough to our final destination, but on the way out of the metro station I smelled something funny and I looked behind and was startled by the army of cops behind me ready to attack. As soon as we got out of the train station I was shocked to see more cops, people shouting, and smoke. At this point Jennifer was getting scared and wanted to go back to the hotel room, but I wanted to stay and check this thing out. We were starving but everything was closed except for this small Arabic restaurant. We ate and it took us a little over an hour to finally make it back to our hotel room.

We didn’t know how long the strike was going to last, so we asked the hotel to get a cab for Jennifer first thing in the morning so that she wouldn’t miss her flight. We wanted to be safe than sorry. Surprisingly, the cab showed up on time and Jennifer was on her way to the airport and I left to come back to home.

Joan of Arc Festival

2009-04-25T09:41:00.002+02:00

The annual Joan of Arc festival begins next Wednesday in Orleans. Apparently this is big deal, with parades, equestrian events, concerts, and general hoopla. There is a slide show on the website: http://www.fetesjeannedarc.com/

City of Black Statues

2009-04-19T15:35:00.006+02:00

Easter weekend was a four day holiday for us. In

France

, businesses are closed on Easter Monday (Lundi de Pâques). Our initial plan was to drive a few hours west to the Brittany region. But the week before management decided to close the office in Sully on Friday as well, giving us a four day weekend that called for more extravagant plans. After the weather forecast ruled out the French Alps, we decided to make the long drive to the Czech Republic and visit Prague. This would require over 10 hours of driving one way.

At work I mentioned that we were planning to visit Prague to one of the Sales interns, Liang (or Jason as he has been dubbed). Within a few hours he sent me an email asking if he and his girlfriend, Kathy (I’m guessing this was not her real Chinese name either), could ride with us. This was fine with us and we made plans to leave on Thursday evening. After nearly 5 hours we arrived in the Alsace region of France near the border with Germany. Our hotel was another bargain affair and the staff had retired before our arrival leaving only an electronic screen to dispense room keys. We had a few minutes of uncertainty as the machine did not recognize our reservation code. Ultimately when Jason inserted his credit card he was rewarded with a key. But we had left our seemingly useless Discover card back at the apartment and were forced to make a new room reservation. But we were just happy to have bed to sleep in. The next morning I seemed to be successful in explaining the issue in French to the receptionist, who took our address, copies of the receipts and promised a check would be mailed. We will see if a check arrives before we are on our way back to the US.

Friday morning was a long drive across Germany. The Autobahn is probably the best highway for long trips. Not because of the long stretches with no speed limit (there are frequent places with speed limits that you need to keep your eyes open for, and I think I may have gotten a ticket from one of the movable automatic cameras), but due to the smoothness of the relatively narrow, curving road, with dramatic differences in speed between the pokey Opel’s in the right lane and the zipping BMW’s in the left. There is no camping out in the passing lane here, it’s pass and get back to the right as quickly as possible.

We were ready for a break when we reached the Czech border, so we pulled off into the parking area. Which was ill-defined, but numerous cars were aligning themselves along a concrete barrier so we followed suit. Exiting our car, yellow-vested Czech’s asked if we needed a highway sticker. Obviously we did not have a Czech highway sticker so we sprung for the 11 Euros and received a sticker for the front windshield. During our trip no one else asked for this, and I am not entirely convinced that it was not a scam. If we had not stopped, we could have driven right through without getting a sticker and I don’t believe anyone would have cared. We trekked several hundred feet to the toilets, only to find that coins were required to enter, retraced our steps to the car for the coins, back to the toilets where a girl in a similar situation asked for an extra coin to enter (but we had gotten only just enough for ourselves), and finally finished our business.

A few hours later we were approaching Prague (as in Germany, we were fortunate to travel on free highways in Czech, quite different from the expense of toll roads in France where we spent about 70 Euros on tolls). Jason and Kathy were in a different hotel than us, so we made plans to meet them for dinner on Sunday evening, and then left them for their own adventures the next few days. Our hotel was a significant disappointment. A 20 story building standing on the outskirts of the city, it was in poor repair. The first room we were given was obviously dirty; we asked for another that was only marginally better. Apparently this hotel commonly puts up sports team and there is little reason to maintain the rooms if the teams will destroy them. After withdrawing 3000 Czech krowns from the ATM (this was just under $150, which would turn out to be exactly enough cash to get us through the weekend) we decided the quickest way to satisfy our hunger was at the hotel restaurant. Shereen munched on chicken fingers and fries while I bit into the thinnest hamburger possible. Stacking 5 of these patties together would be equivalent to a McDonald’s burger, but unfortunately there was only one patty. At least the lettuce was fresh and the price was right.

We still had a few hours that evening so we decided to take the tram into town. Until the last day, we didn’t quite figure out the tram/metro. Although once you did it was a breeze to navigate the city. Prague is a huge, sprawling city, somewhat comparable to Barcelona in feel and energy level. We rode the tram for about 20 minutes, exiting as the line curved near an imposing stone building. Our destination was Wenceslas Square (really a long, broad street, and yes, the same Wenceslas as in the Christmas song, apparently he actually was a well-loved king back in the day). It wasn’t obvious to us how to get from the tram stop, across the street, around the building, to the square. The others on the tram were walking the opposite direction. So we ran across a street, jumped a concrete barrier and dodged an iron railing blocking the sidewalk. Within a few steps we realized this was not one of our smartest moves. Armed guards and concrete barriers were all around the building we were near. Two started walking towards us shouting in Czech. We continued to walk, responding in English. The younger one was the tough guy, but his older companion recognized our confusion and was kind enough to allow us to pass into the square with the admonitions of the younger in our ears. This took less than a minute, but we more careful the rest of the trip.

We were now at the end of Wenceslas Square, near the statue of Wenceslas on his horse, surrounded by imposing Communist era buildings. Atop the one were the ubiquitous black statues, colored by pollution that seemed to stalk us everywhere we went. In this square was where thousands of people gathered in 1989 as rumors of the collapse of the Soviet Union swirled and candle clenched in hands signified hope. It was remarkable to stand in a place where just 20 years ago the USSR held a firm boot to the throat of the Czechs, but now the sprigs of capitalism were present everywhere we looked. It was amusing to contrast the blackened, Communist statues of the working-man (machinists turning bolts, farmers carrying grain) against the modern advertising banners. I could not resist taking a picture of a huge Lacoste banner with prancing models adorning a building under which 4 stooped, working-man statues hunched miserably. It felt good to support the infant liberalism by meandering through the shops. Usually we refrain from too many purchases, but the favorable exchange rate (or maybe we were just trying to spite the silent statues) required splurging a bit and we had high plans to complete our gift lists for those back home. We were able to traverse the length of the Square to the other side, squeeze through the narrow street crowded with Easter tourists and enter the Old Town Square. In the darkness we watched the clock on the town hall strike the hour. This complex Astronomical Clock attracts a huge crowd at the top of each hour. At this time Death (represented by a skeleton) pulls a chain with a small bell, then 2 doors open above behind which the 12 apostles parade briefly viewing the gawkers below, and finally the huge bell dongs the hour.

It was now late and we began the walk back. Wanting to avoid the brutish guards we turned a different way to navigate back to the tram stop (we were to learn later that there was a metro stop in Wenceslas Square). But our stroll brought us to another tram stop and we hopped the same number tram thinking it would take us back the same way we had come earlier. Well, apparently the trams at different stops, even with the same number, take different routes. After a 30 minute ride the tram reached the end of the tracks, everyone exited, including the driver. At this point we didn’t know where we were. Not knowing when or if another tram would take us back, we began walking. This would turn into a long walk as it took us over 90 minutes to get back to hour hotel. Following the tracks we were able to get to a gas station. Here we bought water, and showing the map to the lady at the register, were able to figure out where we were. After that it was a long trudge. We were already tired from walking and too much time in the car. But thankfully we arrived back at the hotel without incident, other than sore feet.

Breakfast the next morning was as disappointing as the burger the day before. The Czechs seemed to be happily munching as we perused the trays of pale, sliced meat, deep pans of hotdoggish sausages and soft-boiled eggs, containers of cereal flakes and oatmeal. I was able to cobble together an acceptable breakfast, but Shereen’s more discriminating palette could only handle an egg dipped in salt and pepper. Our plan for the day was more shopping in the morning, Prague castle in the afternoon, then back to the hotel to get cleaned up for a Mozart opera, Don Giovanni, at one of the nicer theaters. We meandered back through Wenceslas square, to the Old Town Square. The square was filled with red huts selling all kinds of food, huge sausages, skewers of chicken and veggies, and unique, sugary donuts in a cylindrical shape. People were everywhere; we enjoyed ambling amidst the throngs. Wandering through the square we wrapped around the statue of John Hus, where a blacksmith and his son were shaping swords and bells, penned sheep and goats were gawked at, and puppets and trinkets were sold. Lunch was cheap, but filling: a juicy sausage with spicy mustard for me and a long chicken skewer for Shereen.

Turning toward the river, we followed the crowds. With narrow, meandering streets, squeezed amongst overhanging buildings, Prague is difficult to navigate. We popped out near the river, but several hundred yards from the Charles Bridge we were trying to reach. This bridge is guarded by another gauntlet of black statues spaced along the length of the bridge. All are black except for a bronze one of St John of Nepomuk. At the base of his statue are scenes of when he was thrown into the river for refusing to tell the king what the queen had confessed to him. The bronze scenes are polished a bright gold from the hands that touch them believing that their wish will come true.

By this time it was afternoon, we were both getting tired from walking all morning on top of the extra walking the day before. But we pushed on to see Prague castle, not knowing the extent and steepness of the walk to reach it. We arrived at the castle exhausted and not interested anymore in spending time there. After seeing the French chateau and cathedrals, the Prague castle is not very impressive. It is really a huge complex, with a cathedral as its centerpiece (nice enough but inferior if you have been to Chartes or Paris). It may be interesting for the well rested, but we did no more that a spin around the grounds, took a picture of Shereen kissing one of the guards, and then headed downhill. We stopped to purchase a few wooden puppets at the Charles Bridge before going back to the hotel.

By the evening we had figured the tram system out, and were able to exit within a block of the theater. The theater was impressive; we thoroughly enjoyed sitting in the center and looking up at the rows of boxes extending to the ceiling above us. Prague has a great mix of music and theater events. The churches offer concerts almost nightly, the black-light theater is inexpensive, and there are numerous concerts and operas. The opera was well done; we were able to follow the Italian singing by reading the English translation projected on screen high above the stage. The story was a version of Don Juan with his hundreds of girlfriends. It ends with Giovanni being dragged down to hell for his misdeeds; the moral being to such ends arrive all evildoers. It may have been that my consciousness of the communist history tuned me in to this, but midway through the play there was a song that included a line something like “Viva la freedom” that was sung with far more gusto and energy. These actors would have experienced the communist oppression and I like to think they were shouting their pleasure at being able to express themselves without regard.

The next day our express goal was to minimize walking. We spent some time shopping in the morning, and then took a paddleboat ride on the river. The sun was great as we floated within sight of the Dancing House, evoking Astaire and Rogers, with curving glass and wire mesh. Leaving the boat we had time to munch on KFC before entering another classic theater for an afternoon opera. We enjoyed this one as well, named in Czech the Secret. We were surprised to see the main actors from the night before on the stage again. Hard workers, these actors. After the play we slurped real fruit smoothies, browsed the wares of the market, and found a bench to relax and watch the passersby. For dinner we met Jason and Kathy by the Old Town Clock for our first meal inside a traditional Czech restaurant. The food was excellent, cheap, and in good quantity. I munched happily on a porky pig leg bathed in sumptuous sauce. Our companions shared heavy dumplings from their combo platter. It was fitting end to our trip as we wedged our way to the door through the crowd of guys quaffing beers and watching a soccer game.

The only other excitement on our trip came after we crossed Germany and approached the border with France. The Germans were doing random checks of the cars going through and we were picked. Unfortunately we had left our passports at home, and Kathy had only a copy of hers. After several minutes of sitting, then a bit of a tongue lashing from the German (at Kathy “these Americans are a problem, but you are more of a problem” and "you're from China, the Republic of China?"), threats to fine us each 30 Euro, comments on “what would the American government do to you now”, referring to torture, he let us go. I had not considered that traveling with Chinese citizens could be a problem and we could have been harassed for longer, but fortunately we looked innocent enough.

Two Cathedrals and a Hospice

2009-03-15T21:18:00.002+01:00

I’m not sure if this is the eye of the hurricane, but the pace of work has slowed a bit the past few weeks. Now that I have caught my breath again…

Over the Valentine’s weekend Shereen and I visited Beaune, a small town a few hours from Orleans. We arrived late on Saturday and then due to my uncooperative stomach left early on Sunday, but were still able to take in the most notable site, the Hotel-Dieu. This is a hospice that opened in the mid 1400’s and is now a museum to the art of medicine at the time. Several features we found interesting. The roof is covered with colorful glazed tiles of brilliant yellow, red, and green in geometric patterns. There is an expansive pauper’s ward with unique wooden carvings of the heads of townspeople protruding high on the wall. The faces are expressive with gaping mouths or accentuated features to emphasize the weakness of the person represented. To further draw attention to their failings, an animal head is carved beside the person; such as a pig next to a fat person or a large dog next to someone with a big mouth. Another room contains the instruments of primitive medicine, including syringes that could double as caulk guns today.

That evening we dined at a Chinese restaurant. Arriving a bit after 7 we were the only customers in the restaurant for well over an hour. When we were finally finishing our meal after 9, there were three other couples who had joined us. We definitely have not adopted the late dining habits of the French. Unfortunately we were not able to visit any of the numerous wine tasting locales in the town; my stomach had been hinting of bad things to come and was in full roar by that evening, so we left early the next morning.

In early March we had the pleasure of our first guests from the US to visit us in Orleans, my cousin and one of her friends. We picked them up at the airport in Paris on Saturday and then drove to nearby Reims for champagne tasting and to see the cathedral. The cathedral was dirtier than most; all of the cathedrals collect an unattractive black coating. The elaborate edifice is covered with hundreds of carvings representing Biblical or apocryphal scenes, interspersed with grotesque gargoyles doubling as rain spouts. An impressive church despite the dirt. The day was on the chilly side, but the church was several degrees cooler than outside. The masses of stone act as thermal batteries storing up the winter cold and releasing it gradually.

After leaving the church we walked the Mumm champagne cave. We had reservations for a tour, which turned out to be very professional. Along with the non-French-speaking Europeans, we were treated to an excellent English tour that began with a video in a small theater expounding the greatness of Mumm and its champagne, learning that the house label Cordon Rouge is the champagne the winning driver of Formula 1 races drinks at the end of the race. Then we traipsed into the cave, a series of long passageways with millions of bottles stacked in tight formation. We learned that the vineyards in the area are graded according to the quality of champagne that can be made from them due to the soil. Only a select few have the top grade, a few more the grade below, and the rest the lowest grade. The process of making champagne is very elaborate. One of the more intriguing aspects was the removal of sediment as the champagne ages. The bottles are placed in racks with the cork facing down; although at this stage the cork is actually a metal cap. First the bottles are more nearly horizontal; then they are gradually inverted over many days and months. As the elevation of the bottle is steepened they are also twisted a few degrees. Apparently someone figured out that this prolonged and tortured process produced better champagne. When the bottles reach near vertical, and sufficient time has passed for the sediment to settle to the mouth, the mouth of the bottle, the bottles are kept inverted and transported to a station where only the mouth is rapidly chilled, freezing the sediment. The metal cap is then removed and the gas pressure propels the now solid sediment out of the champagne, which is then corked for consumption. There was still an old metal “elevator” meant to carry inverted bottles one-by-one to the floor above disappearing through a hole in the roof.

On Sunday we drove to nearby Chartes to see its famous cathedral. We arrived in time to sit through most of the mass, attended by over 500 people. It was a little strange to sit in the massive cathedral during an actual mass, when usually we are gawking at the stained glass and soaring arches. The organ echoing in the vast hall was impressive. We sat in wooden chairs constrained to perfect rows by wooden connectors. The day was cold and the church was colder, similar to Reims, everyone sat with their coats on. After the service, and a coffee avec lait at a nearby restaurant, Shereen and I spent the next couple of hours listening to an excellent audio guide describe the sculpture and stained glass of the cathedral. The façade and interior tell almost the entire Biblical story from creation to Revelation, with additional tales from pseudo gospels and Catholic tradition included. Inside the entrance the floor tiles are arranged in a circular labyrinth; the penitent would walk (on feet or knees) along the circuitous path to the center. Each stained glass window was donated by the local tradesman; at the bottom of each window are a few panes showing scenes from the tradesman who donated it.

Behind the altar is an elaborate choir screen, with sculpture showing scenes from the life of Jesus. I had been ignorant of the tradition in Catholicism about the birth of Mary. The first sculptures on the screen showed an angel appearing to the mother and father of Mary to announce that she would be the one to give birth to the Messiah. Then follows Mary’s presentation at the temple and her education. Similar to the JFK conspiracy theorists who project an intricate theory to match the moral weight of JFK’s death, so the Catholics have projected a detailed story of Mary to match the moral significance of her life. The statues then proceed to tell the story of Jesus, in sometimes to graphic detail. There is a very explicit, if not realistic, depiction of Jesus as a baby being circumcised. These Catholics think of everything. And not only think of it, but create a detailed sculpture of these details.

We then climbed the circular stairs of one of the two towers. Near the peak we landed in the open air on a narrow walkway around the tower with a bulky stone guardrail. The height was impressive, too much for me as I nervously minced around. We had a great view of the town and the distinctive green roof of the cathedral. But I was glad when we were on our way back to the ground.

I was very impressed with the Chartes cathedral and would rank it one of my favorites.

Slogging

2009-02-01T12:11:00.001+01:00

The month of January has been grueling for both Shereen and myself. The number of hours I’m working has increased; it is typical for me to leave the house before 7 am and return at 10 pm. Whereas last year I was working many unnecessary hours due to poor time management, this year the workload has expanded to match the time at the office. This has put additional strain on Shereen since she can no longer teach and we only have a short time to spend together each day. Fortunately she was able to travel to Paris and London with a friend visiting from Michigan last week, which reduced the loneliness for several days. (She was in Paris during the union demonstrations, expect a firsthand account soon).

Last week I was approached about extending our stay another 6 months or longer. But I said no to this offer. One way or another we will move back to the US in July or August. It is not fair to Shereen to remain in France.

Don't Buy the Hype

2009-02-01T12:03:00.000+01:00

You may have noticed from these posts that our time in France has not been all sunshine and roses. In fact, we struggle to understand why anyone would choose to live in France after living in the US. While in France, one lives in dread of anything going wrong. The process of correcting something that requires hiring an individual or going through a company is obscenely complicated. And the time that it takes for the issue to be resolved is exorbitant. But our experiences pale in comparison to the Minnesota couple who have run the gamut of frustrations.

The Minnesotans are renting a nice size house in Olivet, a suburb of Orleans. A few weeks ago the furnace stopped working, which was doubly unfortunate since the same unit heated their water. The temperature is still dipping below freezing at night and staying in the 40’s during the day, so a working furnace is critical. Unfortunately it has been two weeks since the furnace broke and it is still not functioning. They have had to push and scream to even get a repairman to look at the furnace. Then it was several days until the part would be delivered. Then the part was sent to the wrong city. The owners of the house finally stopped by offering a partial solution: fire wood for the fireplace. I suppose this is how the French are used to dealing with things, just put up with them and wait; even if this means regressing to the 1800’s and boiling water over an open fire for bathing. For the first few days while this was going on they were showering at our apartment, but to put pressure on someone to get it fixed they moved into a hotel room booked to the company.

One more example of why not to look to Europe for how to run a society.

Second Act

2009-01-14T13:00:00.000+01:00

Garbage strike. There is a garbage strike. Which means piles of garbage. Everywhere. Outside homes, and apartments, and stacked high on street corners in town. Fortunately it has been below freezing, which minimizes smells. But jumbled black bags do not make nice scenery. I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised. It seems like strikes are normal. It is common for the trains to be on strike, more than once a month. When the government automatically withdraws money from paychecks to support union organizations (called work councils), regardless if the individual would like to support this group or not, the result is powerful unions. And it appears the garbage collectors union is no different.

The transition following the Christmas break has been difficult. We spent a very enjoyable 2 weeks in the US, seeing friends and family, conversing in English, eating spicy food, and buying cheap clothes (compared to few friends, no family, only brief snatches in English, munching bland food, and only window shopping for expensive clothes). In addition Shereen has not been able to tutor English as she was before the break. Her visa is labeled “Visitor”, which means she cannot work. We are told we can appeal again in March, but that leaves weeks of downtime. Both of us are concerned about getting through the next few months. Shereen is still going to the gym and has started cooking once a week with one of our American friends, but our tennis club seems to be on hiatus due to the cold weather. This leaves long hours with minimal activities.

In addition, my job has become much more uncertain. ArvinMeritor announced that they are no longer planning to sell the Light Vehicle Systems (LVS) division, but will break LVS into pieces: Wheels to remain with ArvinMeritor, Chassis to be exited, and to pursue a sale of Body Systems. I am currently working with the Body Systems division. I am still on a US contract with plans to return to the US later this year, but with LVS being split up, there may not be a corporate position for me in Detroit. The other option may be to extend our stay in France, but I don’t think this is fair to Shereen. At this point I am prepping my resume and preparing for anything. I would like to get back to the US later this year, but to do so I may need to find another job.

On a more positive note, we had an active social weekend our first one back in France. On Friday night we went to a restaurant with our Minnesota friends and their young boy. It was the guy’s 40th birthday, so his wife brought out napkins with “Happy 40th” on them at the table. The place specialized in fondue, with a twist. The traditional French fondue uses raclette cheese. The guys ordered the raclette while the girls ate huge salads. We were brought a plate of sliced deli style meats, primarily varieties of ham, and a bowl of baked potatoes. The cheese was brought as a large half round and placed in a metal contraption at the side of the table. The round of the cheese nestled into a curved, flat metal holder and a linear heating element (think of a stove coil straightened into a narrow U with long sides) was slid near the flat side of the cheese. As the cheese heated we used a wooden spoon to slide the melting cheese into a plate beneath. From here it was simple dip and chomp on meat, potato, and cheese. Very tasty, but fooled us into thinking we were eating less than we actually were, which led to some discomfort after the meal.

On Saturday afternoon we visited the home of my French boss, Denis, to eat la galette des rois or just la galette (the cake of the kings, known as king’s cake in the US). La galette is a round, flat cake with a flaky, pastry style crust between which is, typically, a filling of either lemon or pear and chocolate. Hidden inside the filling is a small toy, usually ceramic. Whoever finds the toy in their piece is obligated to wear the paper crown provided with the cake and may crown a queen (or king) as well. The formal tradition is that the king is required to buy la galette for the next year. Shereen was queened after I spied the corner of the toy in my piece and gave her that part to sample.

The evening was spent at the home of my American VP, Matt, for dinner. Our Minnesota friends were also there. We were served fresh oysters, cracked open minutes before eating, with a spectacular cocktail sauce followed by rice and seafood casserole. Later in the evening I served as referee between the two 3 year old boys as they negotiated via violence who would have the trains. No results were achieved when one took full swings at the others head, so the reverse headlock was attempted, before returning to whacking with train in hand. The dads seemed amused; we thought it was a bit ridiculous. Eventually I gave up and bunkered in amid the screaming as the parents feebly attempted to restore order. An interesting if not necessarily enjoyable finish to the day.

Alsace

2009-01-14T11:38:00.003+01:00

In December, before the Christmas holiday, Shereen and I took our last weekend trip of the year to Strasbourg. During the weeks leading up to Christmas, many of the larger towns in the area have Christmas markets, including Orleans. But the market in Strasbourg is said to be the crème de la crème of Christmas markets. This piqued our curiosity, only to be satisfied by seeing it for ourselves.

Strasbourg is located in the Alsace region of France very near the border with Germany. Ownership of this area has changed hands from France to Germany many times, so much so that the culture is a unique blend of French and German. The drive from Orleans was “only” 5 hours, so we left on Saturday morning with plans to spend the afternoon and evening in Strasbourg.

After parking in a garage on the perimeter of the city, we walked across the river that encircled the town and followed the stream of people toward the unseen market. Typical of European towns, the streets are narrow, preventing one from seeing your destination until on top of it. We began to pass huts collected in gaggles, aligned to funnel passerby up against the display fronts. Available were various Christmas ornaments and lights, lace doilies, wooden toys, plastic Santa’s climbing ladders and spinning, amongst which were interspersed food huts offering thick waffles with chocolate, strawberry or sugar toppings, crepes with similar coatings, pizza on baguettes sliced in half long ways, roasted chestnuts from locomotive style roasters, and the popular “vin chaud”, hot wine flavored with large chunks of fruit floating in plastic cups. One gaggle contained huts from different areas of Europe, with jewelry from Romania and scarves from Slovakia among others.

We bit into waffles as we wandered, looking for something interesting to buy. The streets were packed with people and among the huts it was difficult to move through the traffic. The main market was located at the foot of the cathedral, another imposing architectural marvel. Next a bag of chestnuts and vin chaud helped us to keep the cold at bay. Other than making a few purchases in a chocolate store, we were struggling to find something we were interested in buying, the offerings either seemed to be cheaply made or expensive (particularly with the detrimental exchange rate). The cold began to get to us after a couple of hours. After spending too much time cramming through long, narrow passages between huts with an impatient, elderly, German woman using her large purse to push you from behind, we decided to make our exit.

Our hotel was another budget job over an hour drive from Strasbourg. Clean and comfortable, but small.

The next day I decided, against Shereen’s objections, to drive back east to visit Colmar. My interest was to see the Unterlinden Museum which houses the Isenheim Altarpiece. Since Shereen was not at all interested in seeing the city or the artwork, we stayed only long enough for me to enter the museum, walk past the other displays, and listen to the audio guide at the altarpiece. This artwork is as famous in Germany as the Mona Lisa is in the US. It was created for the Isenheim monastery, which served as a hospital that specialized in treating skin diseases. In particular ergotism, caused by eating fungus infected grain, was quite common in this area at the time the painting was completed. Since the altarpiece was intended to comfort those suffering in the hospital, the image of Christ is painted with skin displaying the marks of ergotism: Christ suffered as you do. Other significant features are the cross bowing under the weight of Christ which pulls his shoulders out of there sockets, the varying and realistic expressions of grief on the observers at the cross, the uniquely dramatic “exploding” resurrection, concert of angels including Satan among the choir, and the vividly gruesome temptation of St. Anthony. For more see: http://www.wga.hu/frames-e.html?/html/g/grunewal/2isenhei/index.html

I did have a chance to walk through Colmar for a few minutes. The city is smaller and “cuter” than Strasbourg, having more interesting houses and streets. Colmar should be your first choice if touring Alsace.

French Thanksgiving

2008-12-03T13:30:00.000+01:00

No, there wasn’t a Thanksgiving holiday in France; we both worked Thursday and Friday. But we did celebrate Thanksgiving on the following Sunday. We visited the home of another American couple, Gerry and Amy with young son Benjamin, who invited us and 2 other couples (both American women with French husbands, each with 2 kids) for dinner. It had snowed the night before, enough to make the ground white before melting by the afternoon. But Gerry and his son had used every scrap of snow in their yard to build a snowman over 5 feet tall.

We had a full Thanksgiving spread with turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, gravy, creamed corn, mashed sweet potatoes, cranberries, bread, and for dessert pumpkin and sweet potato pie. The turkey was cooked by one of the Frenchman (he went to college in Texas for several years). He had reserved a turkey at a local shop, but when he went to get it in the morning the owner didn’t have the turkey. He then spent the morning driving around to each of the stores in the area until he found one that had turkey pieces: 4 legs, 3 wings, and 2 breasts. We were impressed that he went to so much effort. The mutant Maddenesque turkey tasted great.

We brought bread and wine as our contribution. Standing in front of the huge wine area at the store (seriously, wine typically takes up both sides of a full grocery aisle) we suffered selection crisis and picked something mid-priced with a nice label. To our relief, one of the Frenchman gushed over a bottle we picked.

We had a great time at dinner, both of us miss American food. Our social network is growing, activities are increasing, and contentment is settling in. All good signs that we may survive the rest of our stay.

Minutiae

2008-12-03T13:28:00.001+01:00

Life is beginning to settle down for us. We’ve gotten over most of the frustrations and learned to accept the annoyances that refuse to submit.

We are still waiting for our official visa papers to come back from the “Prefecture”. This has been a long process. I arrived last July on a “business trip”, which is permitted for up to 3 months. We submitted paperwork with passport photos here in France, then visited the French embassy in Chicago where we submitted more forms and photos and received a temporary 3 month visa, then signed more forms and provided more photos when back in France; then they lost Shereen’s paperwork so we took more photos and resigned the form, and then the form was signed in blue ink rather than the required black. Now everything seems to be inline, but we are approaching 3 months without our visas yet. We were told we will receive the visas before we leave for Christmas, increasing the odds we will be able to get back into France without too much trouble.

Grocery shopping has become a weekly activity for us. The bland French food has cultivated our food obsession; high on our list of things to do while in the US over Christmas is to visit Thai and Mexican restaurants. Even the food at Thai restaurants here has no kick. For groceries, we typically visit the large stores nearby, Intermarche or Auchan. By the way, the stores here have figured out how to prevent shoppers from leaving carts scattered in the parking lot. The carts are chained together in their corral and to release them you insert a one Euro coin into the cart. The coin is captured in the cart while you shop and is not released until you connect it back to the chain in the cart corral. The chain pushes the coin out and you are on your way. A somewhat ingenious way to keep the carts in their corral.

We have joined a tennis club. The girls play on Thursdays and the guys play on Fridays. We arranged to visit for the first time on a Friday (with the help of Monique) and were welcomed by a few women (they seem eager to have Shereen join since there are only a few girls). They spoke mostly French, so we smiled and nodded, able to understand bits and pieces. Once they realized we weren’t following very well we transitioned to half-French, half-English to communicate. The gym had only one court, so it was more of a practice for a few hours. About 8 guys would rotate on and off, going through basic hitting and progressing to serving. Most of them were good players and could really smoke the ball. This was the first time I’ve played with someone who could hit hard; I didn’t embarrass myself, but in a straight up game I would have trouble getting many points off these players. We will also be able to reserve court time so that Shereen and I can play one-on-one. This will be a great way to improve our tennis skills, and also integrate better into the culture since we will be forced to speak more French.

Shereen has been teaching English at a local language instruction business for several weeks. We’re not sure if she will be able to continue. There has been confusion over if her visa will allow her to work; the company lawyer is pursuing this further since he thinks she should be able to. Regardless this has given Shereen something to do; she enjoys preparing lessons and working with the students. All in English, which is great, since she was frustrated with French. Even if she isn’t allowed to work, we are hoping she has made enough contacts to continue tutoring on her own.

In addition to tennis, I have joined the Thursday night gym. Last week we played basketball and indoor soccer. Shereen participates in classes at the gym about 3 times a week and I have started doing her Billy Blanks exercise DVD’s at the apartment (yes, I feel ridiculous, but they work!). So we are finally getting a decent amount of exercise.

While walking through downtown Orleans, we passed a store that had shirts with the Franklin & Marshall College logo. This was intriguing since this is a Division III college in Lancaster that my dad had graduated from. The store was closed, but through the window I could read a brochure in English that described F&M as a bastion of free thinking, where Martin Luther King Jr spoke and great minds came to learn. Then there was something about French students visiting, I couldn’t read when or why, but apparently there is a French connection with F&M that is strong enough to sprout a store in Orleans to commemorate this institution. The world always surprises.

On occasion I have been car pooling to work. This usually means that I return home late, around 10 or 11 pm. On one of these late night drives in my bosses Toyota Prius (they are rare and difficult to get here) a large, white, slow-moving bird flapped low across the road in front of us. We were moving far too fast and the bird far too slow to avoid a collision. Apparently this was an owl on the hunt for mice. There are boar and deer that make convenient car targets as well, but fortunately we have not been on mark yet.

This week the Christmas market opens in Orleans and continues through the end of December. Several plazas throughout town will be filled with vendors. I’m told they serve spiced, hot wine. More details to come after we experience this.

Barcelona

2008-11-13T13:22:00.000+01:00

For our last travel hurrah of the year we visited Barcelona over the past 4 days. Tuesday was a holiday in France and I was given Monday off as well. This gave us time to make the 9 hour drive to Barcelona.

We have grudgingly adjusted our travel pattern since the campsites are closed. We broke up our drive toward Spain by stopping after 5 hours in Toulouse Friday night, and then drove the remainder Saturday. I had purchased tickets to a musical event Saturday night. My intention was to buy tickets to the Palau Theater, a classic building that is a site in and of itself. But not being careful enough while clicking on the website I ended up buying tickets to a show at the Petit Palau, a modern theater in the basement of the Palau. Oh well, I decided against buying another set of tickets.

Having dinner before we took the metro to the theater, we very much enjoyed the speedy Spanish service. After putting up with French waiters ignoring us for minutes on end, we were amused by the plates disappearing from our table as soon as we cleared them. The metro is exceptional and we were able to quickly get within a block of the theater. The show was on a small stage, 7 musicians (pianist, 2 guitarists, drummer, 3 violinists) arranged facing the audience with a small dance floor in front. Called an Operay Flamenco, the show combined opera singing with flamenco dancing. Two flamenco dancers and two opera singers alternated on stage, alone and in various combinations. Despite the language barrier it was quite enjoyable and I had to try my flamenco steps later on the walk home to Shereen’s great amusement.

On Saturday we took a walking tour of the neighborhood where Picasso grew up and spent a part of his career. We stopped at Els Quatro Gats (The Four Cats), a bar where he spent time, a mural that is his only outdoor exhibit in the city and the streets where he lived and had a workshop. The tour ended at a museum with a nice collection of his early work. Yes, Picasso was an exceptional painter of more traditional scenes in his early career. I don’t “get” all of his later work, and still prefer Dali to Picasso, but there is no doubt that his early work created a foundation of credibility from which he could create cubism.

In the afternoon we visited Sagrada Familia, a massive church initially designed by Gaudi that has been under construction for over 100 years and is not expected to be complete for at least another 50. I knew nothing of Gaudi before our visit, but after gained a tremendous respect for his work. We have seen more European churches than I can count, but even in its unfinished state the Sagrada Familia is the most impressive (including St Peter’s in Rome), both for the architectural design and the artistic details. Gaudi not only drew the sketches for his buildings, he also worked out the engineering details, using ingenious techniques including the “inverted model”. The inverted model of a building design was created by drawing the floor plan on a board, elevating and inverting the board, and hanging rope from the board with bags of shot to imitate the weight of the building. The rope would form catenary arches with tension stresses. These tension stresses were identical to the compressive stress in a building. Gaudi would take pictures of the model and invert them so that the building was now right side up. The catenary arch is self-supporting and does not require buttresses. The model enabled Gaudi to work out complicated geometries without using complex mathematics.

There are two main facades on the church, one called the Nativity, the other the Passion. The Nativity was completed while Gaudi was still alive and is an intricate splash of stone showing Biblical scenes and nature. I preferred the simpler Passion displaying scenes surrounding the crucifixion. The story of the Passion weaves in a reverse S-shape as blocky, stylized statues that appear unfinished show successive scenes. Near the scene of Judas kissing Jesus is a magic square, a grid of numbers, 4 high and 4 wide. The grid contains 4 number combinations that add to 33, the age when Christ was crucified. The scene showing the soldier piercing Jesus with a spear is a knight on a horse with his spear stabbing the side of the church.

Inside tourists are confined to walking around the main hall of the church; the center is piled high with multiple stacks of stone among which are scattered the work benches and tools. Unfortunately the craftsmen were not working while we were there. The interior is meant to mimic a forest. The columns rise a few stories and then branch into several smaller columns that angle upward like tree branches, disappearing near large windows at the ceiling. The effect is similar to light filtering through leaves. The columns are designed with different types of stone depending on the loads they support: the gray central columns are the strongest stone available, next are less robust red columns, and the smallest are a pale yellow stone. As in a forest with many types of trees, the columns are of different stone.

We were able to take the lift up inside one of the towers. The tallest towers have not been built yet, but the ones representing the apostles stand already. Exiting the lift we were funneled between narrow stone passageways, emerging on a narrow stone walkway high above the ground between two towers. Not a good place for those with a fear of heights. We chose to descend via the stairs, which spiraled down first around a large central opening, then in a tight spiral with no inner guard rail. There were numerous openings in the stone as we dropped from which to view the colorful fruit topping neighboring towers, the tiny people far below, and the construction scaffolding ensconcing the church.

The next day we visited another Gaudi building, Casa Mila. Having distaste for straight lines, his work is curvy, from the façade to the architectural structure. The displays gave a good explanation of how Gaudi used nature to dictate his designs. The numerous chimneys on the roof march as helmeted soldiers over the undulating surface around two large atriums.

For lunch we munched on tapas, typical of the area, small portions of meat or vegetables on bread. We sampled the cod and mussels. In stark contrast from the gentile French, the Spanish waitress barked at us to quickly choose something to drink. Amusingly two British women at a neighboring table were as frightened by the waitress as we were. We laughed while waiting for the food, but I actually prefer the up-tempo style of service; waiting for the more polite is a bit boring.

The restaurant was on La Rambla, a classic street that is the heartbeat of Barcelona. Two narrow one way streets are separated by a large pedestrian walkway crowded with starving actors in outlandish costumes performing for a few cents, a cacophony of caged birds, rabbits, and turtles for sale as pets, flowers of all types for sale, and starving artists displaying works and painting passersby. Midway down we turned off the street into a large market. Immediately we were drawn in by a colorful fruit stand with smoothies of all varieties and shades, and were soon sucking down mango and banana. A chocolate display was also too good to pass; purchased were samples of chocolate covered nuts and white chocolate “hedgehogs” with black chocolate spines. We emerged back in the mass of humanity that is La Rambla and continued walking to the harbor. Here we lay on the sloping boardwalk in the sun as the sea gulls chased bread crumbs and the boats rocked on the sea.

After a walk through the large modern mall on the harbor, we jumped on the metro to visit Park Guell, another Gaudi invention, a failed attempt at an upscale gated community that is now a public park. This park showcases a Gaudi favorite: using broken ceramics to create colorful patterns on walls, benches, and creatures. We entered the park from the side entrance and walked up to a great overlook of the city. Atop a pile of stone adorned with three simple crosses we could see Sagrada Familia backed by the sea and the sprawling city. From here we meandered down to the famous terrace surrounded by a curving bench covered in broken ceramic. The bench was full of people (we had to look hard to find a place) simply relaxing. No more than a large open sandy space surrounded by this unique bench, overlooked by a forested hillside. We stayed for nearly an hour watching a boy hide bread crumbs from the sea gulls under a pile of stones, a young couple fawn over their child (the woman with a video camera, the guy with a camera to cover every detail), a woman drawing the tile pattern on a small notebook, and the various positions of sleep. Leaving the terrace we stepped down to the columns supporting the terrace. Then down a few flights of stairs, past a large iguana covered in colorful ceramic, to the main entrance of the park.

We ended our day back on La Rambla, dining in cheap quantity on falafel, lamb, and bread. While eating we enjoyed watching a talented man bouncing and balancing a soccer ball for the crowd. Another way to make a buck. I wonder if he is an accountant by day. We enjoyed wandering down the street one more time, soaking in the activity.

I enjoyed big, boisterous Barcelona immensely; believe it or not Shereen thought it was too busy. Guess she is a small town girl after all.

Bruges

2008-11-12T16:44:00.001+01:00

After traipsing France from top to bottom, Shereen and I ventured across the border to Belgium for a 3 day weekend (over a week ago as I write this). Specifically our destination was the town of Bruges, an idyllic, well preserved, medieval town, sometimes referred to as the “Venice of Belgium” due to its canals, but this being the ONLY similarity with the Italian city (and not a very good one at that, so forget the Venice analogy, Bruges is NOTHING like Venice). I’m also writing this after having watched the movie “In Bruges”, a non-classic with Colin Farrell as a hit-man stuck in Bruges. Since the plot and dialogue is terrible, the only redeemable feature of the movie is that it covers all of the key tourist sites in the city. If I didn’t know better I would think that the Bruges tourism organization funded the movie in exchange for using the film as a vehicle to advertise the city.

It was interesting driving through the checkpoint at the country border. Vacant toll booths served as a chokepoint at this vestige from before the European Union was formed. I’m not sure if they’ve kept the checkpoint due to lack of funds to tear it down or as a contingency in case the Union collapses and the need for border control returns. Our hotel was north of Bruges, in a town called Blankenberge, along the coast, with the beach running up to the door. This would have been a fantastic place in the summer, but with rain most of the weekend, the beach was no more than a nice visual.

We arrived on Friday afternoon and were able to drive into Bruges for the evening. This is the one city in Europe that has cheap parking: 2.50 Euro for the entire day at the train station, which is a short walk from the town center. The city is a medieval combination of cobblestone streets and stone buildings. Interesting despite the rain falling on our umbrellas. Our one mission was to locate the chocolate shops. Bruges is famous for pralines and chocolate chefs who concoct unique flavor combinations. We bought samples in two shops by pointing out the pieces of interest behind the glass counter. In addition to the various varieties with mint, nuts, and fruits, there were unique combinations with vodka and other exotic ingredients. Since we were a bit cold, a bit wet, and very hungry, when we saw a Pizza Hut in the square we were sucked in. Nothing like thick American pan pizza on a dreary evening.

The next day we walked in the rain through most of Bruges. First to the Gruuthuse museum (nice building, boring museum), next stopping at a small café for waffles with cream, strawberries, and cherries washed down with hot chocolate, then to a tour of the De Halve Maan brewery (tour in English, great rooftop view of the city, glass of beer included). We passed through the church in the afternoon which contains a Michelangelo statue of Mary then proceeded to climb the bell tower (the one described in Longfellow’s poem “The Belfry of Bruges”). Squeezing by those descending, we ascended the spiraling staircase, passing a glass pane in a door behind which a musician was playing the bells. At the top we were able to get a clear view of the mechanics that made the bells sing: a complicated web of cables and rods connected to the keys being played a few floors below. The area was cramped and we were within a foot of a large bell; fortunately the bell was not part of the music or we likely would have been deafened. It was still raining when we got back to the ground so we decided against taking a boat ride on the canal. The other major sites in Bruges are art museums, but having seen enough for our taste at the Louvre we stopped at the chocolate museum. And then ended our day with a dinner of mussels and fries under the awning of an outdoor café on the square beneath the bell tower. We definitely enjoyed the cuisine in Bruges better than in France: real Belgian waffles, real American pizza, Belgian beer, fresh mussels, thick-cut fries, and unique chocolate. We would go back just for the food! Despite the rain and cold we thoroughly enjoyed Bruges.

Hi from Shereen

2008-10-26T12:06:00.001+01:00

Hi Guys!!

It's me, Shereen!! Remember me? I know it has been a while, so I decided to come on here to say hi and give you my views on what is going on.

It has been two months since I have been in France. Let’s see, first impression of France wasn’t the greatest. The weather wasn’t helping at all. The first couple of days were very cloudy and cold. On our way home from the airport Shawn and I stopped at a restaurant. As soon as we walked in I realized that the French aren’t as sanitary as Americans. The cups has soap residue and utensils are in a basket for everyone to touch and grab. Also, the food here is, what can I say, DISGUSTING ugh… How can people eat like this? You always hear about French cuisine this, French cuisine that; well let me tell you about French cuisine it is GROSS. The French managed to create some sort of gravy for everything; fish, chicken, beans, you name it they have gravy for it.

So, how have I been spending my time here in France? Shawn’s company was suppose to provide us with a furnished apartment, but for some reason they couldn’t. Luckily for me I get to shop for furniture and spend the company’s money. Ha ha. You would think it is fun to spend when it is not your money, well not really. They gave us an okay budget in Euro that won’t take you far here in Europe. Everything is very expensive. Julie, Shawn’s boss’s wife, suggested I buy used furniture since the budget is tight. I love those used furniture shops. I have been having so much fun shopping for furniture and measuring pieces and parts. Since I am buying used furniture I decided to go for the mismatch look. So nothing in my apartment will match. I will post up pictures as soon as I furnish the place. Also, I was able to order kitchen cabinets all by myself. I know you must be thinking why on earth is she buying kitchen cabinets for an apartment? Let me explain, apartments in France come with nothing besides a toilet, bathtub, and 2 sinks; one in the bathroom and one in the kitchen. No fridge, stove, oven, or dishwasher… NADA.

I finished shopping for furniture and nothing arrived for a month. Julie gave us a TV. French TV is so American. I get to watch shows like Law and Order, Medium, Without a Trace, etc. and movies like the Rock, Finding Nemo. There is a little problem though, EVERYTHING IS IN FRENCH.. AHHHHH. It is amazing how the French are all about American culture, and how dare they take American movies and talk over it in French? WHATEVER!!!

Living in France can be a little frustrating. Everything here is very slow; so slow that nothing gets done. I waited for internet service at my apartment for a month and 2 weeks. It is so hard to live in a country where I don’t speak the language and not being able to contact with family and friends is a killer. Shawn ordered the internet service 2 weeks before I moved here. People here keep telling us that all internet providers in France are bad at customer service.

You always hear people say the French don’t like Americans, or they are rude. So far I found them to be very nice and friendly. They try really hard to communicate in with us in English. However, I think the older French generations are a bit rude. Take our neighbor for an example; he is this old guy who has nothing better to do then to tell me what I need to do. I keep telling him I DON’T UNDERSTAND, he doesn’t seem to care, he doesn’t even try to speak slowly for me to try to understand. I just have to think “what would Jesus do?”: SPEAK FRENCH.

I am starting to like it here. I am learning patience. I am making friends here and there. I am taking French lessons 2-3 times a week. I try to go to the gym 2-3 times a week. It is hard for me to go to the gym here as often as I used to back in the US because I miss Lifetime, the people, the trainers.

Thanks for reading.. Hopefully I’ll post something again here in another 2 months. Just kidding.. I'll try to post sooner than later.

MISS YOU!!

Exercise

2008-10-24T18:53:00.002+02:00

The one thing that has gone right for Shereen while in France is finding a decent gym to work out in. She has been going to classes 2 to 3 times a week. Apparently word has gotten out that there is an American at the gym, since she seems to be quite popular, even with those who babble in French to her. Unfortunately I haven't been able to get into a regular exercise routine, and the past 2 weeks have discovered just how out of shape I have become. One of the sales interns at work mentioned that he was playing basketball at a gym in Sully and invited me to join him. Last Tuesday I went after work for the 2 hour training session. I was quite impressed. Most of the time we ran drills, led by a coach who really knew basketball (yes, I could tell even though he was speaking French). The high schools don't have organized sports like in the US, so the towns have their own teams that high schoolers and others join. The training session was prep for the Sully team that will compete against surrounding towns through the winter. Well, to say the least, my legs have lost some spring. I was able to gut it out and stay with the others for the evening, but was basically incapacited for the next week.

I worked late the next Tuesday and wasn't able to play. But on Thursday I joined the American we met a few weeks ago, who is here for a one year assignment, at a voluntary gym night. They have a trainer who leads the group in a variety of sports, including handball and basketball. This week we played team handball, a sport I was interested in learning. You may have seen this sport in the Olympics, France won the gold medal this year. I had a great time. It was easy to pick up and the flow of the sport has similarities to basketball and hockey. Once Shereen and I get our medical certificates, which allow us to participate in these formal activities, I plan to pay the fee to become a regular part of the group.

Bre'r Rabbit

2008-10-24T18:45:00.002+02:00

There is a great market within a short walk of our apartment, along the river in Orleans. Each Saturday morning the local farmers bring their goods, mostly fruits and veggies, with a few stands for meat. This past Saturday our perusal of displays was cut short when Shereen noticed a random furry friend in an odd place. As I've said before, there is an emphasis on freshness, and meat is displayed in a manner to indicate "this was killed not more than 10 minutes ago". Well, on the corner of a table with harmless beans, beets, and berries, near where the farmer was haggling with a customer, was a fuzzy bunny, dead for no apparent reason. There was no other meat on his table. Maybe his statement was "this produce is so fresh I fought off this rabbit to bring it to you this morning". Regardless, Shereen was disgusted enough that we left immediately, without buying anything. Later we visited Auchan, where at least the live crabs on ice aren't cute, but at least somewhat humorous, and there are no dead, fuzzy bunnies in random places.

Dordogne

2008-10-14T17:14:00.002+02:00

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2172111&l=95cba&id=15616369

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2172113&l=52d8a&id=15616369

Our weekend excursion was to the Dordogne region in southwest France. Inland, east of Bordeaux, this area is most famous for prehistoric cave paintings and foie gras.

Now that we are well into October, the majority of campsites are closed. But since I didn’t bother to investigate this prior to departing on Friday, we barged ahead with tent in tow. Sleeping arrangements turned out to be a park near to a soccer field where yelling players and passersby kept us up most of the night on Friday, and a closed campsite where the guy at the desk agreed to let us stay for one night on Saturday (we were the only ones on the site and I still don’t know why the door to the reception was open). Needless to say we were glad to find places each night to setup the tent and avoid sleeping in the car again.

The lack of camping availability for the next several months could put a crimp in our traveling. Going from 12 Euro a night camping to 100 Euro a night hoteling is a significant budget crusher. We’ll definitely look for a more cost efficient option. Although in the few months here we have covered a good part of France: Paris, French Riviera, Provence, Dordogne, Normandy, and Loire castles. Suppose it’s not too unreasonable to slow down the travel pace a bit…

On Saturday morning we visited the village market in Sarlat. The markets rotate among the towns with each having its own on a different day. The one in Sarlat is quite impressive, even for a non-shopper like myself. The streets are closed for the market, which occupied the entire downtown, and was packed with shoppers and vendors selling various cheeses, butchered animals (the emphasis is on fresh, it is common to see the eyeballs left on a skinned rabbit or a few feathers and beak on a chicken; side note: in the grocery store in Orleans we were amused by a pile of crabs on ice on a flat table that groggily moved claws and blew air bubbles from their mouths, the ice chilled them sufficiently so they weren’t able to navigate from the table), spices, wood carvings (a unique item was a frog with spikes on its back and a wooden pole in its mouth, when the rod was rubbed across the spikes it sounded like a frog croaking), and of course, foie gras.

Foie gras is goose or duck liver that is extra fatty due to the fowl being force fed. There are many farms in the Dordogne area where geese are raised to produce foie gras. Tourists have the option to visit one of these and observe the feeding, but we decided watching a farmer hold the head of goose back and force open its beak with a funnel while corn streamed down its throat was not our idea of a good time.

In the afternoon we drove to a canoe rental and began a scenic ride past forested hills interspersed with white cliffs, occasional towns cut into the rock walls and castles perched on hilltops. The weather was perfect, I almost got a sunburn. We were in the canoe about 3 hours, stopping to pull the canoe out of the river at a cute, one street town in a cliff and then ending at a similar town overlooked by a castle on the cliff with the houses clustered and clinging to the rocks around it. We had over an hour to wait until the van would pick us up to return to the car. Shereen was more interested in sitting after a less than relaxing night, so I explored on my own, climbing to the scenic overlook on a very steep path through town past the castle. I found a place to buy an ice cream cone at the top (we only found ice cream bars and vanilla cones at the river level), purchased a raspberry one, and hustled down the hill reaching Shereen before the melting rouge reached my hand.

Then it was on to the closed campsite for the night. Ended up being a great place to stay; we setup a few feet from the river with only the sound of birds and water.

The next day we visited a cave painting site at Lascaux, location of the most famous cave paintings in the world. Actually we stopped at “Lascaux II”, the actual cave (Lascaux I) was closed in the 60’s after the paintings were damaged due to tourist’s breath that reacted with the limestone and an exact replica was created out of concrete with the cave paintings recreated using the same pigments and techniques accurate to within a few millimeters. Our guide was a humorous Frenchman who made us wish our one hour in the concrete duplicate lasted longer. Interesting that they have found evidence of scaffolding that was used to elevate the painters near to the ceiling. The lower portion of the cave was clay, which is not a suitable canvas, so the artists built scaffolding to reach the limestone. They still don’t know why the paintings were created; the caves weren’t used as homes since they are cold and damp, there’s inadequate ventilation for fires, and nice animals like bears spent time in them. There was an obvious pattern in the layout of several of the paintings and the contours of the walls were used to define the horns, bellies, backs, and walking paths of the bulls and horses.

After this we stopped at a medieval town that was carved into the rock face of a cliff. At a time when enemies could come unexpectedly, this town was protected by a narrow rock path with a drawbridge spanning a gap, overlooked by holes carved in the rock for sentries. In the distance were lookout caves that were used to relay signals when strangers approached. The town would have been quite secure since the only way to reach it was by the path, or by scaling or descending the rock. The slice cut from the rock for the living area was huge, with different sections for a church (with a curved roof to improve acoustics and a notch for a bell in the cliff), butcher (with large basins in the rock floor for blood and guts), blacksmith, and living areas. A stone walkway led to a ledge where trebuchet style weapons would launch projectiles at ships on the nearby river.

That was the last stop of our Dordogne experience. There are several caves with cave paintings in the area; another that looked interesting we arrived too late since they only allow 12 visitors at a time to prevent damage. And we missed the drama of seeing a goose getting its gullet stuffed…

Comment votre Français?

2008-10-14T16:01:00.000+02:00

Getting better, thank you. While still not able to carry a conversation, Shereen and I are making significant progress in understanding French. While still not completely clear on all the grammar, the biggest issue is lack of vocabulary. Very quickly we get outside of our scope. Most French speak too quickly for me to follow, but I can pick up a few words. Just being able to differentiate sounds into words has been a big step. At my last lesson I found myself comprehending most of what Isabelle was saying, and could respond haltingly for the most part, but I’m still searching for words and confusing the grammar. Regardless, I now can see myself conversing in French by next year, if only at a basic level.

Provence

2008-10-07T09:56:00.000+02:00

Pictures:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2170455&l=48833&id=15616369
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2170457&l=3c127&id=15616369

Continuing our weekend excursions, this past weekend we traveled south, spending about 6 hours in the car to reach the Provence region of France.

As usual, I had difficulty getting out of work early, so we didn’t leave Sully until near 6 pm on Friday. The plan was to drive several hours and then look for a place to camp. Unfortunately we didn’t start looking for a camp site soon enough. Using our camping map we located addresses for sites and used the GPS to navigate to them, but a misspelled address and a few wrong turns brought us to the site after the gates closed at 10 pm. We drove around for an hour and a half looking for a site that wasn’t gated, but not finding any we pulled into the parking lot of a school and bunkered down for a night in the car. It was chilly outside, got into the low 40’s overnight, but we cocooned in our sleeping bags with the front seats reclined and slept relatively well. I was expecting a policeman to knock on our window at some point during the night, but fortunately we were left alone.

The next morning we started driving early to avoid any legal violations. Our first stop was the town of Avignon, famous as the home of the Catholic Church when a French pope decided to relocate. We found a camp site directly across the Rhone within walking distance from the town. We biked across the bridge and then walked around the town. Avignon still has the protective walls surrounding it, giving it a decidedly medieval look. The major attractions were the Palais de Papes (Palace of the Popes), an elevated park with scenic views of the river and city, and stone arch bridge that had been the only bridge across the Rhone until it was partially destroyed by a flood in the Middle Ages and then there was no bridge for hundreds of years. We meandered around town for a few hours, having lunch at a nice, walk-up café.

We then drove a few minutes to the remains of a castle at Le Baux. This was located in the hills, perched above sheer cliffs. At one time the residents of Le Baux controlled the area from this strategic perch. The remains of the fortress were very impressive. Most of it had been destroyed after a battle, but we could climb to the top of a tower, see the honeycombed wall of the huge dovecote where pigeons were raised for food and communication, a large cistern, and the outlines of the huge halls and rooms that housed the residents. There were also full size replicas of a trebuchet and several smaller catapult type weapons.

The infamous “Mistral wind” was blowing strong throughout the day. We literally had to lean into the wind while on Le Baux for balance. The tourist shops surrounding the castle all seemed to contain items with images of cicadas. It was too cold and windy for cicadas while we were there, but I would assume during the summer the sound of their rubbing wings prevails.

Leaving here we traveled to Pont du Guard, a huge Roman aqueduct crossing a nearby river. The Roman arches are the largest anywhere resulting in the second highest Roman structure still standing (the top of the aqueduct is only a few feet shorter than the Coliseum in Rome).

That was enough for one day, so we bought dinner at Auchan (local Walmart style store), and bunkered down for a cold night. Not having properly staked the tent before we left, the mistral wind had blown it several feet, but one of our neighbors had dragged it back and used our bike rack to hold it in place.

The next day we drove to Arles, another Roman town with its own arena and theater. The Roman arena is where bull fights are held during the summer. Interesting that this structure has been in use for nearly 2,000 years. The church in Arles had an intriguing façade, with sculpture of the Christ and the apostles, along with the saved and the damned walking in hellfire. Christ was surrounded by Luke (represented as an ox), Mark (winged lion), Matthew (winged man), and John (eagle).

The weather was chilly, so we didn’t stay too long before driving to a scenic loop in the mountains. Lunch was at one of the small towns in the hills, surrounded by vast fields of grapevines. There were numerous bikers on the road as we circled higher and the views of the valley and mountains were fabulous. After that we were on the road back home.

How to Miss an International Flight or Metro Confusion

2008-10-07T09:44:00.000+02:00

A couple of weeks ago Shereen and I were scheduled to fly to Chicago to complete the Visa paperwork for our stay in France. Our travel to and from the airport was less than ideal, to say the least. The good news is that we had a great time in Chicago and there was no problem with the Visa application. But that diverts from the story.

From Orleans it is about an hour and a half to the airport, without traffic. With traffic this can easily double. Someone told me that a good way to get to the airport was to drive to a metro station outside of Paris and then take the metro to the airport. The idea being to avoid any traffic jams in Paris.

Our flight was leaving at 10:20 am on Saturday. We were on the road before 6. After this a series of small time losses at each link in our journey added too much time. We lost a few minutes driving around to find parking at the metro station. Then several minutes dragging our bags up stairs, across the metro line, down the walkway, up stairs again, back across the line (we didn’t need to cross in the first place), finally finding a ticket machine. Then onto the train for a longer ride than we expected: about 90 minutes to the airport.

And before we reached the final stop we were burned by the quirks of train travel in Europe. When you enter a train no one checks your ticket, you could sit down without any ticket and no one would stop you. But there are random checks where the ticket-checkers walk through the train. You might get lucky and they don’t check, or if they do, and you don’t have a ticket, they charge many times what the normal ticket was. Well, I didn’t read the ticket machine properly, so we had tickets that took us only to the center of Paris, not to the airport on the north side. One stop before we were to get off the uniformed officer came through and informed us we would need to pay extra. What was normally a 7 Euro ticket would now cost 25 Euros. At least he had a portable credit card machine so we could pay right there.

Then off the train into the airport. It was now about 9 am. I had ordered our tickets through Northwest, but hadn’t looked closely at the flight, which was actually going to be a KLM flight. Thinking Northwest, we walked up to an agent guarding the entry to check-in. She said that the Northwest line didn’t open until 9:15. So we waited. If I had been thinking, I should have know something wasn’t right, since on international flights you need to check-in one hour before the flight. Well, after walking up to the security questioners, they sent us to the KLM desk, which was a short walk down the aisle. By the time we got through the questioners again, it was after 9:30 and the agent informed us the flight was closed.

After a few minutes of consternation they offered to put us on a flight later that day for free if we could prove we were in the airport before 9:20. Fortunately we had talked to the agent who told us to wait until 9:15, so she remembered us and was nice enough to state our case. So we were put on a Northwest flight leaving 4 hours later, which had much better movie service than the KLM flights.

When we returned from Chicago we had to retrace our steps through the metro. Unfortunately our flight arrived during rush hour. Believe me; you do NOT want to be dragging large, heavy bags through the Paris metro with thousands of workers rushing to get home. It was shear chaos. We blocked narrow walkways, struggled to climb stairs as people pushed past, and were confused about which connection we needed. After several minutes of frustration we determined we would need to ride one train, and then take another to where we parked the car. We didn’t understand well enough and the first train ended up stopping in the center of Paris. The whole train emptied and a mass of people packed in. They looked at us strangely and a few said something in French. We knew they were asking where we were going, I said the station, and somehow they communicated we needed to get off this train. People were packed shoulder to shoulder, but a few stepped off the train and stood at the door to ensure it wouldn’t leave, the rest passed our bags over their heads and Shereen and I squeezed through the rest. We now had to drag our bags through more crowds, up more steps, and squeeze onto another train. At one point were packed in tightly with sweating neighbors leaning on one another as the train rocked. After what seemed like hours later we arrived at the car, vowing never to take the metro to the airport, or use the metro during rush hour.

Paris

2008-10-07T08:56:00.000+02:00

Pictures:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2170297&l=9589f&id=15616369
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2170298&l=4ad84&id=15616369

To celebrate our one year anniversary we decided to spend a weekend in Paris (obvious choice).

We arrived late on Friday, checked into the hotel, and walked 20 minutes to see the Eiffel tower. The tower is lit up at night and is quite impressive. There were hundreds of others straggling and meandering beneath its spreading feet.

Saturday morning we got up early to get in line to ascend the Eiffel tower. We bumped into a student from a Canadian university, who seemed a bit too eager for conversation. He found us in line, in the elevator, on the first level, at the top, and in the elevator on the way down. By this time he was giving me his email address and saying he would be looking for a job in a few months. I think he was lonely traveling by himself…

From the top of the tower we noticed a large crowd gathered in a plaza about a mile away. Someone mentioned that the pope was in Paris and had attracted the crowd. We descended to take the metro to the shopping district. Shereen was keen on finding the Louis Vutton store. Exiting the metro we walked through the streets, stopping in some ridiculously pricey jewelry stores. It must have been obvious we couldn’t afford any of this stuff, the salespeople barely said hello before going back to their own chitchat.

Not finding what she was looking for, we walked to the Champs-Elysees, and found a huge Louis Vutton store. I’ve never seen anything like. The place was packed, with customers and salespeople. I have a feeling this one store makes a significant portion of the companies sales. Combining the foot traffic with the price tags would make for some hefty revenue…

Walking a bit further we approached the Arc de Triomphe, which is well protected by a whirling, multiple lane traffic circle fed by 12 streets converging on this one point. Not seeing the underground tunnel until later, we ran like confused puppies through the traffic chaos to reach the Arc. We didn’t stay long, hopping on the metro to visit the city center.

We walked along the river before stopping to the Saint Chappelle church. This is a superb church with a lower level for the peasants and an upper level for the aristocracy so they never have to see one another. We were fortunate to time our visit when an English tour started so we were able to learn the details of the church. The upper level has walls made of stained glass that stretch several stories vertically. The glass displays stories from the Bible and the Middle Ages, starting with Genesis and Exodus and working around until the last panel shows the story of how the relics (crown of thorns, etc.) were found. Quite an impressive sight, especially with the sunlight glowing through. The glass is divided into smaller panels, each panel showing a story, so there are hundreds of individual stories including Cain clubbing Abel, the burning bush, Noah’s ark, and many less well known stories. The glass had been removed and replaced several times to protect during conflicts and there were a few errors in the order it was replaced. An example was one medieval battle scene showed the soldiers fighting on horses, then the king sending them out, then the soldiers riding to battle.

After this we were exhausted so hopped on the Metro back to the hotel. In the mood for Thai, we were turned away at the first place we stopped since we didn’t have a reservation and the few tables were packed with diners shoulder to shoulder. We found an Asian place down the street that wasn’t as busy.

The next day we visited the Louvre. I had been here several weeks ago by myself, on the first Sunday of the month when it is free and packed. Now that I understood the layout better, Shereen and I were able to walk directly to the most interesting items and eliminate traipsing all over this immense museum. The Mona Lisa is a bit of a disappointment, alone on a large wall, behind glass, with a rope perimeter keeping you over 20 feet away, 4 guards nearby, and hordes of people crowding around. The Venus de Milo is impressive, but my favorite statue is the Winged Victory of Samothrace. The large format French paintings are inspiring as well, including Delacroix’s “Liberty leading the people”. Shereen’s favorite was the Napoleon apartments, directed lavishly with rich couches and elaborate chandeliers. The Louvre is monstrous and we spent about 5 hours meandering without seeing everything.

Connection

2008-10-07T08:36:00.000+02:00

Well, now that we are a few weeks beyond our Orange debacle I suppose we can laugh. But to update you on what happened to finally get service setup, we’ll go back to where we were waiting for the second technician to show up.

This time Monique had given her number to them so they could call if there were any issues. Our time slot was in the middle of the day, so I stayed home from work to sit in the car by the gate. Well this time we weren’t seeing anyone so we called Monique. She called Orange and the response was that the technician couldn’t find the apartment so he had called our apartment phone, WHICH HE WAS COMING TO FIX!!! For whatever reason he couldn’t turn around and come back, so we were stuck again. This was reaching crisis mode as Shereen was now very frustrated. Monique decided to put the pressure on Orange. ArvinMeritor does business with Orange, so she solicited the assistance of our IT rep to find a management contact at Orange. I’m not sure everything she said, but apparently she said I was a VIP and the ArvinMeritor would reconsider doing business with Orange unless the situation was resolved. Well, within 2 days we had a technician at our apartment. After 45 minutes of poking around in the wiring we were in business. We couldn’t communicate with the tech very well, but there was some problem with their system. Anyway after over a month of delay and grief we were now connected to the world!

Orange!

2008-10-07T08:28:00.001+02:00

The past few weeks have been somewhat of a struggle since the primary communication portal we were counting on, internet and local phone service, still does not work. This leaves Shereen feeling isolated during the day, with only unsatisfactory trips to McDonalds for internet. Fortunately we now have a cell phone from work that we can use for local calls. At least we are now able to keep in touch. We had canceled both of our US cell phones, and once Shereen’s expired over a week ago, it was nearly impossible to get in contact during the day.

We signed up with Orange to provide internet/telephone service over 5 weeks ago. Normally it takes about 15 days to setup. We are discovering that customer service at the previous national France Telecom, but recently privatized Orange is abysmal. Which, unfortunately, seems to be typical of most French services. Multiple calls to Orange have produced responses that the line is established and should work. We have received the appropriate hardware in the mail (so named “Livebox” that despite its moniker plays dead). But our daily attempts to connect produce no more than the mocking “flashing 4 times per second” of the ADSL light indicating the line is not active.

Two weeks ago, with the assistance of the charming Monique, we called Orange to schedule a service call, with the earliest appointment being a week later, last Wednesday. We gritted our teeth and impatiently waited for the promised time of 8 AM to arrive. I stood at the gate to our apartment complex just to make sure there would be no issues with the intercom system (our name has not been added to the digital directory next to the apartment number yet). Well, no one came. Shereen used a pay phone to call a secretary at work, who called Orange. The answer came back that our appointment had not been confirmed. This was a shock, our hopes of connection were dashed. I had been with Monique when we scheduled the appointment and there was no mention of a confirmation. She was surprised as well after learning of this later.

After weighing the options (canceling Orange for a competitor, setting up a cable line) we decided that our best chance of establishing a connection would be to setup another service call with Orange. The earliest appointment is, once again, a week later on this Tuesday. So we wait and stew. My suspicion is that Orange has connected a neighboring apartment; that being the reason they believe the connection is active but we can’t get a signal. We shall see. I asked if threatening to cancel would produce a more timely response, but the locals indicated this would not change the situation.

Nice

2008-10-07T08:25:00.000+02:00

Pictures:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2168981&l=e8d94&id=15616369

As advertised, a couple of weeks ago we traveled to the French Riviera, the area along the Mediterranean coast of French, just west of the border with Italy. We were armed with a map, from the Orleans tourist information center, showing camping sites in France. Our plan was to drive as far as we could on Friday, then use the map and GPS to find a campsite. From Orleans to Nice is nearly a 9 hour drive, so we were planning to leave in good time on Friday, but didn’t get started until after 5:30 pm.

Although the roads in France are nice, the toll roads are a bit pricey. One way our total tolls approached 50 Euros. So for the round trip we paid about $150 in tolls. Good thing we were camping and not staying in a posh hotel.

By about 10:30 we had driven as far as we could stand and began looking for a campsite. Using the addresses listed on the map, the GPS got us close, and then we followed signs to the camps. We found a small one that we drove into, not seeing anyone to pay, and found an open grassy area to setup the tent. There were several car campers nearby as we setup the tent in the dark. In the morning we were able to see the neighbors. The campers were relics, with mostly older couples camping in style: tables with tablecloths and flower centerpieces, clothes drying on the line, and stoves cooking breakfast. We looked very rookie as we gobbled our bread and fruit as we hurried to pack and get on the road. As we loaded up, a woman walked up. She was the “owner” of the site and asked for payment, in acceptable English, and pointed out the showers and shop we had passed on the way in. For one night: 11.40 Euro.

There was still a long drive to reach Nice. Once we were close we began looking for another campsite and found a more professional version than our previous night’s stay. I’m still not exactly sure which town we were in, it was one of the small ones on the coast south of Nice, about a 40 minute bike ride from Nice as we were to find later. This was a gated site, with well marked sites for tents and campers, showers, and ping pong tables. For one night: 25 Euro. After setting up the tent and leaving the car, we headed for the beach. Similar to Italy, the beach is small stones, which my bare feet protest loudly when subjected to. We can confirm that the beaches were full of Europeans with a more liberal opinion of what minimal beach attire is. It was strange to see liberated mothers cavorting with their children on the beach. Not to say that this was the standard, I would guess that only 1/3 diverted from what Americans consider “normal” attire.

In the evening we drove to Nice, a few minutes away. Parking in a garage, we walked to downtown. There were hundreds of people on the street. During the course of the evening we passed a group of young break dancers surrounded by a crowd (there was an overweight college tourist goofing by pretending to break dance in the circle to the amusement of all, while the pros responded with real moves, including a headstand spin), an amateur magician practicing rope knot tricks for a small audience, a spray paint artist creating nature scenes as we watched, a tall, thin, tackily dressed Michael Jackson impersonator who was dancing to his songs blaring on a small boom box, and a talented pianist in the center of a square banging out classical to a large audience in a manner that even a non-musician like myself could appreciate (the stand-up piano had wheels on the back that would have been used to move it).

Following our usual drill, we consulted Rick Steves for a nearby restaurant, but unfortunately since this was still the holiday season, the first 3 we tried were closed (the owners had shut down for several weeks while they vacationed). We ended up at another one his suggestions, an extremely popular outdoor place where we ordered food from a window and ate at picnic tables on the square: pizza and the ever present “frites” at a reasonable price. Not so romantic, but surrounded by local flavor at the crowded tables. For dessert we looked for a gelato stand. Entering a large square it was easy to see why Steves recommended the gelato place we were looking for. The locals swarmed around it, while on the opposite side of the square, a smaller competitor had almost no customers. Walking by with our fruity cones I noticed that his prices were about 50 cents cheaper; insufficient, apparently, to coax the locals into buying an inferior product.

The next day we decided to ride our bikes back to Nice to explore in daylight (and eat lunch at a Thai restaurant Shereen had spotted the day before). After some uncertainty we were able to navigate the bike path along the beach to the boardwalk in Nice. At the north end of town we climbed the cliff to what was once a castle overlooking the bay. The castle is gone, but there is a large park, with great view of Nice to the south and Monaco to the north. Yes, there were multiple HUGE yachts in the port of Monaco. We stopped for Thai for lunch and I can report that the Pad Thai was very inferior to the Michigan version (no kick, bland flavor). With the long drive ahead of us, we left early in the afternoon.

Hiatus

2008-09-24T21:26:00.000+02:00

You may have noticed a gap since I last posted. The last few weeks have been difficult as we struggled with an internet provider, Orange, to get service setup at our apartment. We had been counting on the internet to allow Shereen to keep in contact with the US. Belive me, a lonely and isolated Shereen is no fun at all! I'll just say it was a very difficult month for the both of us. Fortunately, as of last Thursday, and after many snafus (the gory details to be written soon) we now have internet!

Also, in response to valid criticism that this blog is blander than dry toast, we'll post pics to spice it up. I'll try to add pics from past posts, so you may want to look back once I get my act together.

Living

2008-08-26T17:14:00.000+02:00

Pictures:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2168980&l=43456&id=15616369
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2168979&l=e7cbb&id=15616369

A bit over one week ago, Shereen and I left the US, final destination Orleans, France. The last several days we have lived in our apartment in Orleans, adjusted to jet lag, and made liberal use of the GPS to navigate the stores in the area. Last Tuesday we picked up the company lease car we will use for the next year: a brand new VW Golf. A much nicer car than the Cavaliers we ditched in the US! Fortunately it’s an automatic, so Shereen is free to roam, which she has taken full advantage of. On several days she has dropped me at work and taken the car to explore during the day. Last week this included a trip to the nearest Ikea (not very near, there are several Ikea stores around Paris). Unfortunately the Ikea’s here are not as nice as the ones in the US and we decided to purchase furniture for the apartment elsewhere.

As I mentioned before, the apartment is unfurnished, which means it is virtually bare. So the first priority is getting some semblance of furniture. Working within the budget we were given, Shereen has done a great job of almost filling the apartment with purchases at But and a local used furniture store. It will take a few weeks for the kitchen cabinets to be delivered, but we should have a dining table and chairs, china cabinet, 2 sofas, bookshelf, entertainment cabinet, dresser, and wardrobe by the end of the week. The container with our stuff from the US arrived this Monday; we are in the middle of unpacking everything. We have been given several items by my American boss, Matt (he is actually 2 steps up, I have a French direct manager), including rugs, lamps, and a small table.

The one major aggravation is that we have not been successful in setting up internet access yet. We received the “Livebox” (modem) last week, but we’re not sure if we are doing something wrong or if the phone line has not been activated yet. Unfortunately my office contacts who could call the company have been in Germany the past few days. We hope to clear this up soon.

We have had some success finding food to Shereen’s liking at the local stores. She dislikes French food, so we have minimized visits to French restaurants and had dinners at Asian, Algerian, and Arabic restaurants. There is a nice store that sells exclusively frozen food near our apartment. The milk at the store comes in small bottles that are stored at room temperature. Only after opening does the milk need to be stored in a refrigerator. We guessed wrong with our first milk purchased and bought whole milk in a red bottle. With advice, we now know to pick the milk in the blue bottle if we want something closer to skim.

On Saturday we stopped at Matt and Julie’s house (they have been living in Orleans since last December). We were planning to just pick up a few items, including a toaster and coffee maker, but ended up staying the entire morning. They have two small children, a 3 year old boy and a 20 month old girl. We had an interesting time building a track for their toy train while the Olympics played on the Slingbox. I’ve been getting all my Olympics news from the internet, so it was nice to see some events live. In the afternoon they escorted us to some nearby stores.
At the third store, the boy was getting tired and obstinate. At one point Shereen and I were left alone with him as he began a fit. We stood helplessly for a few minutes as he stretched face down on the tiles screaming in the middle of a store about the size of Walmart, a Walmart crowded with shoppers. An older Frenchman pushing a cart stopped and spoke French to the kid. Hearing something strange he put his head up to see and then back down to continue screaming. The man smiled at us and moved on. Next a mother and her young son came by and tried to help. She bent down and actually grabbed the kid to help him up. This produced no change in the situation. Then the French kid grabbed him by the arms to help him up. I thought this might guilt him into behaving, but only briefly did the screams stop. After this nice French lady gave up, I grabbed him off the floor and we began walking to another area, hoping that Matt and Julie would come to our rescue soon. The kid is screaming loud enough to reach all corners of the store, I’m looking sheepish, and all the French are turning to look with disgust. Not the favorite moment of my day! Fortunately Matt came around the corner soon and he quieted down once back in his dad’s arms.

On Sunday we drove southwest toward Tours and visited 3 chateaus (castles). The Loire region of France has many castles; one could easily spend a year visiting nothing but castles. We visited 3 of the more famous: Chenonceau, Cheverny, and Chambord. These are very different castles, but impressive in their own way. Chenonceau is built over a river and was home to queens and mistresses during its heyday. The castle was given as a gift to Diane de Poitiers, one of Henry II’s mistresses. After Henry II died, his jealous widow Catherine de Medici forced Diane out into another chateau, moved in herself, and became famous for the huge parties that she would hold here. This is a very impressive place, both in architecture and the story behind the chateau. Cheverny is more of a large mansion than a castle. It is still owned by the family that built it hundreds of years ago, and was lived in until 20 years ago. The rooms are fully decorated and have the almost lived in feel. After Chenonceau, we were not too impressed and passed quickly through. Chambord is a monstrous place, fitting exactly my mental image of a castle. It was built as hunting palace and is surrounded by huge grounds for hunting deer and boar. The large rooms are located in a cross pattern around a massive spiral, stone staircase that goes up 4 stories. There are over 300 fireplaces in Chambord, but it has a distinctively cold feel: large rooms made of stone, with high ceilings. Big enough to house an army.

I had another French lesson today that went very well. I’m far from being able to speak French, but at least seem to be retaining what little I’ve been taught so far. On Thursday Shereen and I have a 3 hour “orientation” where we will learn about French culture and have a chance to speak English. We hope to find out more about the opportunity for Shereen to work at the language center after this orientation. I brought it up again today and Isabelle seemed enthusiastic about having Shereen assist.

This weekend I think we will visit the French Riviera. Shereen is a fan of sun and the beach, of which the Riviera has plenty. It is about a 6 hour drive, which we plan to do on Friday, and then camp overnight through Sunday. We picked up information on campsites at the tourist information center in Orleans and I have found a few nice websites for camping also. Apparently campsites in Europe are very nice, usually with hot showers and camp stores. We shall see…

Going to work...

2008-08-02T13:41:00.000+02:00

What does a “financial analyst” do? I’ll try to answer that and give you a feel for the flavor and character of the office here in Sully.

The value driver in any manufacturing business is operations (manufacturing): a company functions to produce a particular product. More fundamentally the idea that led to this operation is the true value driver, typically coming out of engineering/research work. Once you have these, the remainder of a company’s internal functions are designed to support and expedite manufacturing. Finance falls into this category (even in the banking industry where the “product” is finance, you could look at the bank as a support industry for businesses that manufacture products). Finance is related to accounting. Accounting is a categorization function. To understand how a business is performing, the various costs and revenues must be put into “buckets” to allow a human to understand it. Accounting is the framework that determines what dollar value goes into which bucket.

Finance uses the tools of accounting (balance sheet, income statement, etc.) but leaves the generation of these tools to the accountant. Finance is first focused on understanding how a business is running (revenue, profits) and second on where to acquire the money required to fund new projects. Using the tools generated by accounting, the financial analyst attempts to understand where a business is functioning well and where it needs improvement. In any large company there are too many moving pieces to allow for easy understanding. The layers of management between the shop floor and the office, combined with geographic distance make it very difficult to “see” where the problems are. Much of business is about “seeing” what is going on when you are not physically present. It is human nature to make ourselves look good, so it is not as simple as just asking the appropriate operations manager. Although firsthand input is always valuable, data that is more objective is necessary. Hard numbers eliminate the weight of personality and exposes who is truly performing. Step one for the financial analyst is to review the accounting statements and process the data in a way that exposes the true story. This means preparing spreadsheets and PowerPoint presentations that tell the correct story in a way that brings focus to the areas that need attention.

Each year the finance team leads a company wide planning process to project sales and profits for the next year. This forecast is then used to evaluate how well a business performs. Each month, on a less extensive scale, the forecast is updated to account for changing conditions, both internal and external. The monthly numbers provide a high level snapshot of performance. It is the job of the analyst to understand the numbers and identify specific actions needed to improve. Once the business performance is understood, the decisions on how to allocate capital can be made. This includes strategic decisions on how much to spend on projects and where the money will come from (cash, loans, sale of stock, etc.).

Now that I’ve talked in generality, what do I do specifically? In Detroit I supported the Light Vehicle Systems (LVS) business. My primary project was to improve the collection of money from customers. As in any industry, not everyone pays on time. This was a learning experience for me, since I had minimal background in this area. In addition, I supported the capital spending decision process. This included reviewing projects submitted for approval and joining the management review meetings. This was an exceptional chance to see how spending decisions are made, as I was sitting in the same room as the President and VP of Finance. The monthly consolidation of the business results came through our department and I assisted with running standard reports. The remainder of my time was spent on ad hoc projects, for example, one was to analyze the individual business units to determine the return on invested capital.

In Sully, I will still be involved in the capital spending process, but at one step sooner in the progression. The last few weeks my time was fully devoted to the annual planning for next year’s forecast. Going forward I will be given a process improvement project similar to the one in Detroit to improve collections, but that is yet to be defined. Beyond that, I have set a personal goal to improve communication with the corporate office back in Detroit. There are many areas for improvement in ArvinMeritor and communication between the geographic regions is a significant one.

Sitting in Sully are five members of the finance team: the VP of Finance for our Body Systems group (an American who worked at Chrysler in finance for many years), my direct manager (a Frenchman with a prodigious memory for history and culture), and two other analysts (also Frenchman, about my age) who report to my manager. Finance is renowned for requiring long hours on the job and my manager and the VP have no qualms with grinding out 16 hour days for weeks, as we did to complete the forecast (forget what you’ve heard about 35 hours workweeks, that’s only for hourly workers, the salaried French can work long hours, but are required to have at least one day off every 10 days). The interpersonal dynamic is very intriguing within the office. A well respected Englishman had been the VP of Finance, but left within the last year. His name comes up periodically, always in a reverential manner as the locals mention something he would say or the way he did things. The new VP has this going against him. He is extremely intelligent, but I can see he is working uphill to build camaraderie with the group.

My manager is a particularly fascinating individual. He speaks excellent English, but at a much slower pace than we are used to. The first night I was in France we went to dinner together and I enjoyed watching him interact with the waiter on the wine and food selections. I haven’t had a long conversation with him about history, but I’m told he knows it all when it comes to France. He is more open to outside ideas than most Frenchman; we guess this comes from his having worked for several years in the US. Early in his career he worked as a manufacturing engineer before transferring to finance. A discussion we had recently exposed this background. To tackle the issue he started using similar triangles. No need to worry about what that means, suffice it to say that similar triangles are a tool more relevant to engineering, and is not a method I would expect in the toolbox of someone with a strictly finance background. As with most of the French I’ve worked with the level of urgency I am used to working with is not there. He allows things to develop at a much slower pace. The other two analysts are very courteous. I have had difficulty discerning what their career aspirations are. They have both been working here for several years and I can see they are somewhat bored with their jobs. We have developed a good relationship; I discovered that they really did not like my American counterpart who left a few weeks ago. I have been complemented that I speak without much of an American accent (basically I speak slowly and avoid using slang); whereas my coworker made no effort to adjust his speaking patterns for the locals. This was not appreciated.

There are several other non-native employees, including the General Manager. The GM is an extreme extrovert; you can see his energy level shoot through the roof anytime someone approaches him. I believe he is originally from Turkey, but he speaks English with expressions that come across well in any culture. I was impressed on my last flight to the US both he and another VP were sitting in coach, and as always he was smiling about it.

Overall an absorbing place to work!

Domestique

2008-08-02T12:27:00.000+02:00

The last few days we are making progress on becoming domesticated in Orleans. Thursday I received the keys to our apartment, after spending an hour with an inspector going over every inch of the rooms. Two of the women in the HR department at ArvinMeritor, Monique and Tekfa (Monique is older and has lived in Sully for some time, she has a picture on her desk of the bridge in Sully after it was destroyed by ice in the river in the 80’s, Tekfa is an intern of Algerian descent who was born in Verizon) were kind enough to accompany me and act as interpreters. At the gate we met an older lady who handed me a large set of keys: 3 copies of the key for our door and the car park, 3 for the mailbox, 3 for the “poubelle” (trash cans) and “velo” park (bicycles), 3 electronic keys for the door to the building, and an electronic opener for the front gate and car park gate. In a minute the inspector joined us, so we made a party of five. The apartment building is very 21st century: the lights in the stairwells are triggered by motion detectors or turn off after a few minutes if a switch is used, the gates are automated, the door to the building greets you in French after recognizing the electronic key, and there is a video screen in the room showing callers at the building door. The only complaint I’ve discovered so far is the place we have been allocated in the car park. Typically European the car park is in the basement and there is no more room than necessary for maneuvering a car. Our place is at the very back of the car park, through a narrow opening with 3 concrete corners grasping at your bumpers. It is easy to pull into the spot, but backing out is not fun. I was able to back through the narrow gap and into an empty spot to turn around. So far I haven’t been there when the car park is full; I’m not sure what we will do in that case. It would be difficult to turn the car around, so we may need to back all of the way to the door. Doable, but challenging.

As I mentioned before, the apartment is virtually empty. The kitchen is a bare room, excepting a small sink against the wall. Everything will need to be purchased, including some sort of cabinets and counters. There is also a toilet (ensconced in its own private room as is the European custom), shower/tub, bathroom sink, towel drier, and heaters in each room. That is it. I was given a budget of 5,100 Euro to purchase what we need, certainly not an extravagant amount. On Friday I was escorted to a local home goods store (called But, pronounced “boot”, there marketing people will need to work on the name if they decide to compete with Home Depot in the US) by Tekfa. I had permission from Shereen to purchase appliances and a mattress. Fortunately the salesman at But had gone to school with Tekfa, so he was able to deduct a large discount when we finished. We progressed from refrigerators to stoves to “micro-ondes” (literally microwave) to clothes washers and driers to mattresses. At each the salesman would give his spiel, pointing out the model he would recommend, and Tekfa would translate while also mixing in her suggestions. I tried my best to scan the prices and identify the high and low end. Having done zero research on European brand quality, my decision was highly dependent on their input and price. We selected items that seemed to be mid-grade, as far as I could tell. Tekfa seemed enthusiastic about the choices, so I think we did OK. The refrigerator is actually quite large, comparable to one in the US. The stove is a bit smaller and has a uniquely European hinged metallic cover that hides the burners when not in use. The microwave and clothes washer are very similar to American ones. Since the apartment does not have an exhaust vent, the clothes drier has a bottle that captures moisture and must be emptied periodically. The mattresses seem to be comfortable; I didn’t see any pillow tops, they are not as thick as in the US, or as large. I only picked one, since if Shereen doesn’t like it she can pick another and our guests will have the privilege of trying this one out. The grand total for this came to 2,004 Euro (that would be roughly $3,200), including a discount of 328 Euro. Better than I was expecting. I’m feeling a bit more comfortable about being able to furnish the apartment with the remaining amount. Still quite a bit to purchase, but the most expensive pieces are behind us.

The appliances should be delivered next week; we will set a date today. Once the mattress arrives, I plan to move in to the apartment. An evening trip to Auchan (equivalent to Wal-Mart, another local store similar is Carrefour, both are reasons why Wal-Mart has failed to penetrate the French market) landed me a shower curtain and rod. The colors are terrible, white curtain with sea green shells and bright blue rings, but the other choices were worse. It will do until Shereen decides she can’t stand it.

So the apartment is well on its way. The leased car we will use has arrived, but I am waiting for the secretary to return from vacation to complete the transfer. I expect when Shereen arrives in a few weeks it will not take long at all to button things up.

Why France ?!?

2008-07-31T09:04:00.000+02:00

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.

Le Tour! or The Long Buildup to a Few Minutes of Spectating

2008-07-14T22:51:00.000+02:00

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!!!

Petrol

2008-07-07T16:55:00.000+02:00

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.

Normandy Part Deux

2008-07-06T21:32:00.000+02:00

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.

Normandy

2008-07-05T22:07:00.000+02:00

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.

Note on European Driving

2008-07-05T19:04:00.000+02:00

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.

First Week...

2008-07-03T22:03:00.000+02:00

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.

France Immersion

2008-07-02T13:38:00.000+02:00

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.