Goodbye Doesn't Mean Forever

It's never easy to say goodbye and last week was no exception. My easiest goodbyes were said at the schools where I worked. Having hopped around between three different establishments I never really got to know most of the teachers very well and I'm still en train de saying goodbye to those that made a difference for me. The same thing goes for the students. I only had some of them four or five times total and don't know them well enough to miss them. There are others who I got to know better and vont me manquer when I get home. Unfortunately, some of my best students were in Portugal last week on a field trip and I never got a chance to say goodbye.
On another level I've been saying goodbye to the town itself. Having lived here for nearly eight months it feels like home and it's sad to think that I may never see it again (although I have a standing invitation for a place to stay chez a couple of profs). I've taken my last stroll down main street, drank my last cup of hot chocolate in a cafe and attended my last mass at the cathedral that pre-dates the discovery of my country by two centuries. Tonight I will meet one of the professors for one last drink at the 3 P'tits Cochons before spending one last night in my apartment.
The most difficult, however, has been saying goodbye to my friends. It's funny the way fate works. We were remarking just the other week on how, had we met under different circumstances, we may never have formed such a cohesive group (think Breakfast Club). We are all so different and come from very diverse backgrounds. Despite that, we became like family. We were all we had over here and, as such, looked after each other. Our group has slowly dwindled over the last few months due to job opportunities and school terms until it was just four of us - Ciara, Fiona, Rafael and myself. We were the core group; together almost from the beginning. Ciara left last Friday after spending the night at my place. Fiona followed the next day. It was a long, difficult goodbye - neither one wanting to let go of the other. When we finally said all there was to say and could no longer put off the inevitable, there wasn't a dry eye to be found (nor any Kleenexes as they had been accidentally forgotten). Now it is only Rafa and myself. Last night was our final movie night and we opted for Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade - an appropriate title. After the movie we took a walk around the town. It's so peaceful at night and the cathedral was all lit up. We'll meet for a drink tonight and our final goodbye. We've already talked of a reunion sometime in the future when we've got enough money, but talk is easy to do. Fiona's brother will be working in D.C. for the next three years and she's planning on coming to visit; and D.C.'s not so far from Michigan. So perhaps goodbye is not the best word to use but rather we should take a hint from our French friends and say Au Revoir: until we meet again.

It's Alive!

I saw Bourges come alive last week as thousands of people poured in for the *Printemps de Bourges. The week-long music festival is one of the town's main highlights and draws performers and spectators alike from all over the world. Among the guest list this year were Marianne Faithfull and Nancy Sinatra as well as some well-known French and Spanish artists. Music styles range from reggae to ska punk to classic rock.
For those of us who cannot afford to attend the main concerts (granted, the most expensive was only 33 euros or 40 dollars for three performances, but still!) there are free options as well. People set up shop in the streets with their guitars and drums hoping to earn a buck or two. There are pre-planned open air concerts in the plazas during the day and when the sun sets the bars are packed with people hoping to check out the live bands playing there.
Up until last week Bourges has been a lovely but rather quiet place to live. It was neat to see it so full of life for a change and we took every opportunity to profit from it. The festival is always scheduled to fall during vacation time and on the days it wasn't raining we were strolling the streets checking out the performers and all of the sales stands. It felt kind of like a carnival only without the midway games.
Night time found us following the crowd down to the pubs where we were treated to everything from classic rock to techno to an African tribal/punk mix. Although we did some bar hopping the first few nights we always found ourselves back at our usual haunt - the 3 P'tits Cochons. The tables were gone to make more room for the crowds and even then they spilled out onto the street where there were stands set up selling fries and sandwiches. I had my first kebab at 3 in the morning one night and stayed up to watch the sun rise and get fresh pains au chocolat with Fiona another. We all had a good time but it was nice when the people left and the town returned to its peaceful self. Ca va me manquer beaucoup!

Road Trip!

Last Tuesday I set out with two of the other assistants (the Spaniard backed out at the last minute) to set a new world record - 11 chateaux in two days. Ok, so maybe it's not a record, but an ambitious feat nonetheless. The idea came about a month ago as we sat around discussing what to do during our Spring vacation. The realization hit us that despite being within two hours of some of the greatest chateaux in France - we hadn't seen a one. That had to be rectified.
So, we rented a car and set off to see the world - or at least the Loire Valley. Ciara doesn't have any driving experience and I don't know how to drive a manual (spoiled American) so that left it up to Fiona to get us where we needed to go. After a couple of near misses with other cars and not-so-near misses with the curb she finally got the hang of driving on the right side of the road. I was co-pilot and as such only got us turned around once (though to my credit it's the map's fault as it showed a dead end where there wasn't one). A few false starts and a couple gallons of coffee and we were ready to go.
Our first day on the road took us through five and a half chateaux (the last one was closed by the time we got there). We crossed the drawbridge at Langeais, toured the torture chamber at Loches and saw the castle that inspired Perrault to pen La Belle au Bois Dormant (Sleeping Beauty). In Tours we dined at the Buffalo Grill - an attempt at an American steakhouse - and took our repose in a Mister Bed hotel.
After a semi-restless night (there was a major dip in the bed and Fiona and I kept rolling into each other as we slept) we set off for day two. Wednesday was even more impressive than Tuesday. We started by picking up the chateau from the day before. Then we strolled the gardens of the "plus beau jardin dans le jardin qui est la France" (the most beautiful garden in the garden that is France), checked out the largest and most extravagant chateau at Chambord, and snapped photos of troglodytes (cave dwellings that are still inhabited) in Amboise. The most exciting part of the day was Chenonceau. Perhaps the most well-known of the chateau, Chenonceau has stolen the hearts of many with its great ballroom that spans the Cher River. It is the image of French chateaux.
We returned home Wednesday night exhausted but content. We did what everyone else said couldn't be done - 11 chateaux in two days. Ok, so we cheated a little. We didn't enter each of the castles (cost prohibited this even with the students discounts). Some of them we contented ourselves with snapping photos through the gates. Even still, we spent 36 hours on the road, covered 600 kilometers and have pictures from 11 chateaux. I think a little vini, vidi, vici is merited.

On Ne Peut Plus Monter

"You can't get any higher." So spoke the priest last Sunday as he gave Miriam and me a behind-the-scenes tour of the Cathédrale Saint-Etienne here in Bourges. We had just finished a perilous climb up a staircase that permitted only one person at a time for safety reasons. Although it was made of stone, the staircase was built with the cathedral during the 13th century and has thus suffered 800 years of erosion. To fall from the stairway would mean certain death as the stairs were hidden in with the buttresses on the exterior of the cathedral. Picture if you will a right triangle. The cathedral itself forms the vertical leg and a walkway with only one handrail (and nothing on the other side to keep you from falling) forms the horizontal leg. The staircase connects the two with nothing but space between. If possible, the German assistant was even more afraid of heights (and the stairs) than I was. I told her not to worry - God wouldn't let her fall - it would disturb the 11:00 mass. Legs shaking and hearts racing we tackled our fears one step at a time.
It was worth it. We re-entered the cathedral in the wooden rafters that supported the roof (how many tourists get to see that??). After crossing the rafters on a pathway made of slightly-rotting timber we emerged on the rooftop of the cathedral with a breathtaking view of the city. We stood there for a few minutes, the whole world at our feet, revelling in our accomplishment.
Luckily we took a different route back down - one that led us in and out, up and down and all around the cathedral. We saw the stained glass windows from the outside, peeked at the congregation through hidden doors and windows, and even stopped in to say "salut" to Gros Guillaume (Big William), the largest of the cathedral's bells.
We finished our tour at the organ, arriving just in time for the the last few numbers. We stood there, the cathedral stretched out below us, watching the people file out the doors like little ants. It was a truly unique and awesome experience - one that will not be soon forgotten.

Frenchism Part 2

France not only struggles to maintain its identity from within its borders, but suffers under external pressures as well. I've already talked about the onslaught of American culture - on the radio, on TV, in what they eat and what they wear. Even Europe itself no longer provides a safe haven, becoming instead one of the agents provocateurs. The implementation of a universal monetary unit throughout the European Union is just one of the many signs. Francs, deutschemarks and lira have all been replaced by the euro - with England being one of the last remaining holdouts (although it's expected that even the pound will be faded out within the next five years). To their credit, each country has a unique design for the coins - much like our own State quarters. All the buildings shown on the bills, however, are nonexistent...an attempt to represent Europe without really showing it. There is also a freedom of movement act that allows citizens of the EU to travel with ease from country to country.
These measures are understandable to an extent; they make life a little more convenient without really inhibiting individual national identities (although if they start talking about having a universal language as well...) The level of concern over disappearing individualism has been raised lately, however, with the proposal by the European Union to implement a European Constitution. Across the continent countries are voting on whether or not to adopt this document. So far the results have been a unanimous yes, but are the people really sure what they're voting on? A discussion with my pub students revealed a few uncertainties. It seems that some people are blindly putting their faith in their leaders without really understanding. Only one of my students said that she intended to read the document before the vote in May. The others were not sure what it contained but agreed that they were going to vote in favor of the Constitution. National polls have the country fairly evenly split between the "yesses" and the "nos."
What does the Constitution do that's causing so much friction? For starters, it institutes a European set of laws that replaces those of the individual countries involved. Laws that have been on the books for centuries, that have served the unique needs of the individual countries will now be superceded by "European Law." Perhaps more scary is the fact that, with the Constitution in place, the European Union will be able to sign treaties as a representative of all of the countries involved. Instead of 20 (or so) signatures from 20 (or so) countries acknowledging that they agree, there will be just one. One signature speaking for the many. So if France happens to disagree with the policy, tough luck. The European Union says "ok" so France has no choice but to go along with it. How then can one retain a unique cultural identity within a conglomeration that strips away the symbols and freedoms that go along with being part of that culture?

The Ugliest Easter Eggs Ever

A discussion of Easter traditions revealed that my European counterparts had never dyed Easter eggs. A tragedy that needed to be remedied. A hastily placed phone call home resulted in the shipping of a package of Easter goodies. But would it arrive in time? It's hard to predict shipping times, especially around the holidays. I anxiously paced my apartment the Saturday before Easter waiting for the buzz from the postman saying that he had a package too large for my mailbox. Nothing. It finally got to the point where if it hadn't already come, it wasn't going to so with a sad heart I started for the grocery store. I stopped to check my mailbox for coupons before leaving and it's a good thing I did. The mailman had managed to cram the envelope into the box. Hurray!
I picked up what I needed at the grocery store and headed for the eggs, the last thing on my list. Uh oh! I looked through a box of every variety of egg - there were no white ones. All of the eggs - big and small, bio-friendly and 'normal' - were brown. I asked one of the women stocking the shelves if she knew where I could locate some white eggs. She looked at me as though I had just sprouted antennae. I tried explaining the situation - that I was looking for white eggs to dye and all the ones on the shelf were brown. The poor woman must have thought I was crazy. She wasn't familiar with white eggs and had no idea where in Bourges I might find some. I ended up buying the lightest-colored eggs I could find. They would have to do.
Sunday arrived and after a huge (delicious!) meal we set down to dye the eggs. I now understand why they don't do that over here! The eggs took on a rather unusual tint when starting with the brown base. The blue was particularly unappealing. Stickers and plastic shrinky dink wrappers helped a little bit. If nothing else, it was an experience none will soon forget - especially Rafael, who attempted to shrinky-dink his fingers. They may not have been the prettiest Easter eggs ever created, but a good time was had by all and that's the most important thing.

The Technology Graveyard

I lost a good friend last week; one that has been with me for the last five years. We met the summer before I started college and were never far from each other's side in the years since. Together we wrote thousands of pages of essays covering a broad range of topics and languages. He never chastised me for working at the last minute but rather stayed up late and helped me until I was finished. He was more than just a school chum - he was my partner (and opponent) for cards, a movie buddy, my own personal DJ and the one I could tell my secrets to, knowing that with just a click of a button they would not be shared.
When it came time to pack for my adventures abroad I had to make a decision - take my friend or not. After much deliberation I decided to bring my computer with me. It served me well for the first six months before giving up the ghost last week, taking to the grave all of the secrets I had shared as well as the projects I was working on (hence the recent dearth of entries) and all the things I deemed worthy of holding on to. While attempting a connection to the Internet, the computer froze up. I shut it down and tried to restart but it was dead as a doornail. Subsequent attempts at resuscitation were unsuccessful. A phone call to Apple computers revealed that my friend is on a "vintage list" and is therefore irreparable both here and back in the States.
All hope is not lost, however. A phone call from my dad revealed a group of computer whizzes that are confident that if they can't repair it, they can at least recover the data from the hard drive for me. It's now a question of finances - is it worth the cost to repair or would I be better off just getting a new computer? Should I pay to send it home or wait until I return and just take it with me? With only six weeks remaining I'm not sure it's worth the cost of shipping home and so I am now the proud owner of an oversized coaster.