So it's been a while, but I've some stories to tell, which will hopefully improve the quality of content, if not style.
La Préhistoire
You know that ever since you first heard there were millenia-old cave paintings in some caves in southern France you've been itching to go to Lascaux or a similar site. Well, a couple of days ago Christian decided to take us to la Grotte de Rouffignac in the afternoon.
Me being me, I slept most of the ride there, but I woke up shortly before the hungry mouth of the cave came into view. We passed a couple of groups of elementary-school-aged kids on a field trip; a damn-sight better than Blue Springs or the old Sanford High School back home, I must say.
Unfortunately I don't have any photos to post, because (for preservation's sake) they wouldn't allow us to take photos in the cave. Fortunately, I do have a guide book for the Cave if you'd like to take a look sometime. (And, of course, I'm sure Google Image Search would work, too.)
Unlike most of the caves I've been in before (all two or three of them?), they use an electric train here to make sure we stay on track and don't touch anything. Despite my initial suspicions that this would diminish the experience (which turned out not to be entirely true, though it did feel a little more Disney than I would've liked), the train definitely serves its purpose and probably helps out a lot for the older visitors and for liability considerations--I mean, the path we took was a kilometer or two (can't remember the details, and not going to look them up).
Another cave created by water flow millions of years ago, this one lacks the classic stalactites and stalagmites (remember which is which, class?), but I missed the reason why. Most of the rock is fairly soft, calcite or sandstone or something like that, with bits of semi-rusted looking rock sticking out in odd clumps and nodules forming the other strata. The largest part of the cave was maybe 20 meters on each side with a mini waterfall dripping from the ceiling due to the recent rains--the water now is the highest it's been in at least 15 years or so, if I recall correctly.
Deeper in the caves we find some mammoths etched into the walls, then painted rhinoceroses, then more etchings, paintings on odd rock formations taking advantage of natural features to simulate depth and reality. After viewing on particular leg of the tunnel (for the benefit of J-Mac, Dave G, and others, that was originally typed [unintentionally] as "tunner"), we doubled back and descended to the most spectacular portion where the cieling was covered with more than sixty animal outlines, most of which could never bee seen at a single time when first painted (the cave was once much shallower than it is now). Surrounding us at this moment were the old hibernation nests of bears from millenia past, up at about eye-level because they excavated a portion of the room for the rail tracks and for the ability to see all the paintings.
I always feel something primeval in a cave--probably one of those deep-ingrained collective memories of humanity--the shelter, the mystery, the awe. Who wants to come with me next time, and we'll try to go spelunking?
Le Travail Continue
Apparently the upstairs bathroom hasn't been smelling too hot lately; I personally didn't notice a thing, but I don't have to use it all that often, and Pascale and Christian have a master bath up there too, so maybe that's what they were talking about. The result is that we've been digging up some old plumbing to fix the ventilation; translation: I took some rock-splitting tools to the rock forming the foundation for one of the buildings here, rock which's probably been there for millions of years. In fact, I know it's been here millions of years, though probably undersea at some point, because of the seashell fossils I found therein. Pity, but we wouldn't want a stinky house, would we?
After putting in a good few hours yesterday, Christian decided to take us to see some castles. The plural there is particularly important: Dordogne must've figured quite highly in the Hundred Years' War and several others because there are French and English castles scattered throughout the region. Specifically, the valley we visited had at least four or five castles dating from (I'm assuming) various periods.
The castles were closed to visitors when we went past, but they were still a sight to see. Almost more notable, however, was the friend's house that we visited. One of Christian's friends asked the mayor of the city for permission to build on the side of one of the rocky outcroppings on the valley wall. Thinking him crazy, the mayor gave him permission, resulting in a beautiful home I could never afford but will always want with a view thus far unrivaled by any other during my visit to the region.
On the way back we stopped in Sarlat, which was the most beautiful city in France during the Medieval period (according to Pascale) and is everything you'd expect from a French town as old as that: gorgeous historic buildings and streets leading every which way influenced by history, and influencing history, too. Throw in a little tourism and you've got the right idea. Gorgeous place, despite the tourism, which is fortunately pretty understated (at least in the areas we visited).
Heading out of town, one of my recurring thoughts struck me: how in the world does society sustain itself? Consider the number of customers it takes to support a business and think about how many of those you pass each day. It's really just incredible to me each time I think about it, especially when one considers cities that've been around for hundreds of years sustaining themselves like that.
Débroussaillage
Today's been fairly tame so far. I took a couple hour break mid-post before this section and had a little nap. This morning Pascale whacked some weeds while Kelly and I collected the fallen grass to dump with the rest of the weed compost. After that I got to have a go with the weed-eater, which ran more smoothly than the one back home, not for any really technical reason, but just because there was a convenient harness to help stabilize it and hold it up (it's old and it's heavy). As I was clearing the brush at the edge of the property, I found remnants of some old stone walls beneath all the mess; cool what history we can discover on a daily basis here.
***
Apparently Le Falgueyret, this small clump of houses a few minutes' drive from town used to be pretty populated. Obviously it was never a major city, but you can tell if you look at the buildings around here--and the foundations where there used to be buildings--that there was definitely a small community. I wish I could find some images of the place, but no luck so far.
***
I've written up some brief descriptions of some of the people here, like Christian who's standing right in front of me just now straightening up some papers, so I'll post some of those sometime soon, maybe tomorrow.
If anyone wants more up-to-the-minute reporting than this, I'll add a link to my Twitter feed on the navigation bar to your left. I should also be adding some entries that are either in French or do not directly apply to my travels so much as to philosophy and pondering life's deep questions, so feel free to skip those if they don't make sense (y'know, either because of the language, or the nonsense I'll be spouting). Also, feel free to comment and whatnot, give me feedback so I know which bits you enjoy reading and which bits not so much; the journal's still mine, but I'll see if I can be accomodating.
***
Also, I've heard that a bunch of people from Fiserv have been reading, so hello to all of you. Hello, and love, to my family and Ashley, of course. And bonjour, Madame (at least, Sam said you'd been reading). Let's see...am I forgetting anyone? Oh yeah, my friends and random passers-by: hello to you, too ^^ (I noticed some traffic coming from Daniel's journal and from Facebook, so I know you're out there ^.~)
Until next time, Peace.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Monday, May 26, 2008
Four Day Gap -- Time Management Works!
Even on vacation I can't manage my (minimal) schedule; clearly I'm still trying to do too much.
Today we helped coat the garden in leaves so as to block out weeds and allow only the garden plants light. I don't know how well this'll work out, though, because of the presence of weeds throughout the leaves themselves--will they actually die out or will this just protect them and make them near impossible to destroy later?
We also painted those chairs again. The first time there were some grains of sand and so forth stuck to them by the end, so we (oddly enough) sanded them down a bit to repaint them. They'll get some finishing touches later this week, after which we await Christian's completion of a couple of nice outdoor tables (and some warmer evening weather) so we can eat outside ^^
Not too much else on the agenda today; I didn't end up going for a bike ride, but at least the tires are now inflated, so we can use them when we want. I'd tried to repair the pump, and succeeded with my twine-and-tape repairs, but the thing still wasn't sturdy enough to inflate the tires all that quickly. They were inflated by Kenny, the love (fiancé?) of Élodie (sp?) [who is in turn the daughter of Christian], when the two visited this weekend.
Also this weekend, we had twelve Canadians staying here. They're accents are nasally, and even my hosts had trouble understanding their French. That's pretty much all I've got to say about the Canadians.
Wasn't able to make it to church yesterday, so it rained. Alright, maybe the relationship between the two facts isn't causal, but it did in fact rain all day yesterday. All day. No lie. Chez Jacques, one of Christian's friends (whom he's known for 40 years or so?), the road was washed out and his tools (he's also doing some serious renovations) were drenched and caught in the torrential flood. Further evidence for the law that torrents will be the end of it all. (Don't get it? Ask someone under 25. Still don't get it? Google's easy, you lazy bum.)
I'm not sure I've anything else much to write about just now. Maybe the next post will even have those character descriptions.
TTFN!
Oh, PS, there're fresh photos uploaded to Google Web Albums as of this morning or yesterday or some otherwise recent time.
Today we helped coat the garden in leaves so as to block out weeds and allow only the garden plants light. I don't know how well this'll work out, though, because of the presence of weeds throughout the leaves themselves--will they actually die out or will this just protect them and make them near impossible to destroy later?
We also painted those chairs again. The first time there were some grains of sand and so forth stuck to them by the end, so we (oddly enough) sanded them down a bit to repaint them. They'll get some finishing touches later this week, after which we await Christian's completion of a couple of nice outdoor tables (and some warmer evening weather) so we can eat outside ^^
Not too much else on the agenda today; I didn't end up going for a bike ride, but at least the tires are now inflated, so we can use them when we want. I'd tried to repair the pump, and succeeded with my twine-and-tape repairs, but the thing still wasn't sturdy enough to inflate the tires all that quickly. They were inflated by Kenny, the love (fiancé?) of Élodie (sp?) [who is in turn the daughter of Christian], when the two visited this weekend.
Also this weekend, we had twelve Canadians staying here. They're accents are nasally, and even my hosts had trouble understanding their French. That's pretty much all I've got to say about the Canadians.
Wasn't able to make it to church yesterday, so it rained. Alright, maybe the relationship between the two facts isn't causal, but it did in fact rain all day yesterday. All day. No lie. Chez Jacques, one of Christian's friends (whom he's known for 40 years or so?), the road was washed out and his tools (he's also doing some serious renovations) were drenched and caught in the torrential flood. Further evidence for the law that torrents will be the end of it all. (Don't get it? Ask someone under 25. Still don't get it? Google's easy, you lazy bum.)
I'm not sure I've anything else much to write about just now. Maybe the next post will even have those character descriptions.
TTFN!
Oh, PS, there're fresh photos uploaded to Google Web Albums as of this morning or yesterday or some otherwise recent time.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Short, Sweet, Simple
Congratulations! Today's the shortest update you've had yet!
Today, as we seem to do most days, we did some weeding, though today we worked both in the garden and on the paths to the guest rooms. We also put up some solid wood fence posts with chicken wire between them to keep the--you guessed it--chickens out of the garden. Also, I helped Christian a bit with the small water fall he made for the pond. We did a couple of other small things, but nothing really noteworthy work-wise. After we were more or less done for the day we went to Sainte Alvère to stop by the cafe briefly, but we didn't run into anyone we know today.
Yesterday we did a ton of weeding around the pool and helped Christian haul some massive stones to the flower beds near the pond so we could add to them. We also loaded up the tractor with a ton of nice soil from the compost heap--Christian has the whole town of Sainte Alvère dump their yard waste in the lot across the street (which is down a slope, so it doesn't look like a mess) and takes his soil from there. In the evening we watched a classic French film, and I tried to work--really, I did!--but to no avail.
Tomorrow, if there's nothing too exciting to write about, I'll try to do some character development (or other exposition) for you, to let you know what it's like here more generally than my daily activities.
A Demain.
Today, as we seem to do most days, we did some weeding, though today we worked both in the garden and on the paths to the guest rooms. We also put up some solid wood fence posts with chicken wire between them to keep the--you guessed it--chickens out of the garden. Also, I helped Christian a bit with the small water fall he made for the pond. We did a couple of other small things, but nothing really noteworthy work-wise. After we were more or less done for the day we went to Sainte Alvère to stop by the cafe briefly, but we didn't run into anyone we know today.
Yesterday we did a ton of weeding around the pool and helped Christian haul some massive stones to the flower beds near the pond so we could add to them. We also loaded up the tractor with a ton of nice soil from the compost heap--Christian has the whole town of Sainte Alvère dump their yard waste in the lot across the street (which is down a slope, so it doesn't look like a mess) and takes his soil from there. In the evening we watched a classic French film, and I tried to work--really, I did!--but to no avail.
Tomorrow, if there's nothing too exciting to write about, I'll try to do some character development (or other exposition) for you, to let you know what it's like here more generally than my daily activities.
A Demain.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Two Asses and Two Americans
Before I get started today, a brief reminder that I have photos posted on Google (new ones should be posted within a few hours) and that you can find the link to this album in the navigation bar to the left. Alright, in the past I left of with...
Le Train en Retard
Arriving in Bordeaux, good fortune having allowed me to be awake upon arrival, I had roughly...negative four minutes before my next train left. I ran across to the appropriate platform, but was unsure if I had the right train or not. All the same, my few seconds of hesitation had already made it impossible to catch the train. The trains stay at each stop for no more than 10 or 15 minutes, and that's pushing it, so I've no idea how people avoid missing stops so successfully.
Fortunately my brain functions were sufficiently French to find out when the next train heading this way left and to get myself on that train. In the interim I managed to find an ATM and buy a phone card, both tasks I'd failed to accomplish in Paris because of my rush. Walking through the town, one notes the great abundance of cheap hotels and showgirl dives in in proximity to the train station--someone's making money on stalled voyagers.
Le Buisson - J'Attends
So we pull up to this tiny train station that's really more of a building next to the tracks, and I hop out because, hey, even if it doesn't look like much, it's got the right name. Jumping down onto the gravel, I make my way across to the building, empty except for a small pottery shop with someone working.
There's no one around. Two or three other people dismounted at Le Buisson, but their rides were already there or arrived within minutes. I wandered back and forth in front of the station, trying not to seem too strange to the people socializing in the cafe across the street at the end of the day. The phone card, with which I had no luck in Bordeaux, continues its refusal to cooperate, and I resort to my cell phone, however horrific that rate may be in Europe.
Pascale answers. She thought I was showing up tomorrow. Apparently my brain wasn't working all that well when I left my message from Bordeaux. (She later told me that, when she got that message, she thought my French wasn't all that great and that these would be an interesting six weeks.) "Someone" will come pick me up now.
La Belge
A tiny car--the kind you'd be hard pressed to find in the states, but which is at least as common as a cockroach in Europe--rocks up with an older guy and a girl my age inside. Christian, I discover his name to be, helps me load my bags in the car, and introduces me to Caley, the Belgian. We head through the dark, winding, wooded country roads at a speed that might not break your neck, but will certainly appear ready to do so on such roads as these.
We arrive. Getting out of the car in front of the lower level, Christian helps me move my stuff into one of the guest rooms here and we head upstairs to greet the others.
I'm tired. I'm understanding more than I realise, but I want to sleep. I don't want to talk. I give them a lot of blank stares in the kitchen. Pascale and one of their friends were waiting for us. I can't even handle (in a French-socially acceptable way) an introduction to this other woman.
Pascale saves me, "Tu es fatigué?" I think he's tired. He wants to sleep, n'est-ce pas? Fetching some sheets and leading me back downstairs, she has me move my stuff into the other, perhaps smaller, bedroom, lets me know what's going on, and leaves me to go to sleep.
Some parting words (in French, of course), "You can sleep as you want tomorrow, and work can wait two or three days if necessary, because of the jet lag and all that."
My first night in France, settled in at Le Falgueyret, I slept sixteen hours.
...
Trois Journées Cette Semaine
I'll never keep up with this journal if I can't keep it up to date. Fortunately it should be totally caught up by the end of the week, so long as I update it daily. For your sakes, I hope the entries get a little shorter, but this journal is also for me (I'd hate to have to start another--way too much effort): entries will be as long as they need to be to help me remember all this in the future. So there.
Sunday I went to Mass. Church is sad here. Kelly and I were the youngest people in there, but that fact doesn't really tell the whole story. France used to be almost entirely Catholic, but now (I get the impression that) it's mostly atheist, maybe agnostic. I don't really care so much what people believe, so long as they believe in something, but I know, based on my experiences with the Church in the States, that there is so much good that can come from a strong, vibrant Catholic (or otherwise religious) community.
The next youngest person in the mass must've been at least 50--everyone was gray-haired and probably had multiple grandchildren. Mass in many of the communities involves a roving priest, who says the Mass in a different town each week. Le Bugue, which is more populous than many of the small towns in the area, seems to have weekly masses, but in such a sad state: the 130 year-old stone church (picture your classical gorgeous European stone church, age it a bit, and you're probably there; I'll try to get a picture sometime) could've held a few hundred people but held no more than 50 (at the most) this Sunday.
Apparently, some priests in the past became personally wealthy by the Church, putting many of the French off the Church. What's really disappointing, though, is the lack of energy. I understand it may be difficult to keep up the effort after years in such a depressing scenario, but the priest that said our mass (Peace be with him) lacked all of the energy that would've helped attract a younger crowd. Moreover, after mass there was little mingling of the community, and the priest wasn't even present for what little did occur. All in all, pretty disheartening.
...
Y'know, I can't remember what else we did on Sunday, but I'll share a bit about Monday and today to bridge the gap. (I know you just want me to keep going!)
...
Today was fairly tame: we painted some metal chairs green (yesterday we painted them with some anti-rust product), cleared the yard a bit, and weeded some of the pathways most used by guests. Not too bad as far as a day's work goes. We managed to stop by the market at Le Bugue also, and I picked up some delicious-snack-whose-name-I've-forgotten for two Euros during our wanderings.
The highlight, if we can call it that, was when Christian left for Sainte Alvère (a small town the opposite direction of Le Bugue). Before he left he asked me to get the donkeys out of the field (apparently they can eat themselves to death), because they'd been out there too long. All by my onesies I managed to get them out of the field, without harnesses or anything, but just by calling out to them. In French, of course, because they're French donkeys.
...
The other bit to explain the title of today's post: turns out the Belgian Caley is in fact an American, Kelly. Christian thought I'd talk to her in English if I knew she was from the states. We watched "Doctor Who" together last night and spoke some English then, but that's the only time so far. It was hard not to say stuff in French that came to mind, too.
...
Now that's it for the day. Maybe some photos before I sleep. Tomorrow I'll be doing laundry, but I don't know what else.
Hope everything's going well the other side of the pond.
A +
Le Train en Retard
Arriving in Bordeaux, good fortune having allowed me to be awake upon arrival, I had roughly...negative four minutes before my next train left. I ran across to the appropriate platform, but was unsure if I had the right train or not. All the same, my few seconds of hesitation had already made it impossible to catch the train. The trains stay at each stop for no more than 10 or 15 minutes, and that's pushing it, so I've no idea how people avoid missing stops so successfully.
Fortunately my brain functions were sufficiently French to find out when the next train heading this way left and to get myself on that train. In the interim I managed to find an ATM and buy a phone card, both tasks I'd failed to accomplish in Paris because of my rush. Walking through the town, one notes the great abundance of cheap hotels and showgirl dives in in proximity to the train station--someone's making money on stalled voyagers.
Le Buisson - J'Attends
So we pull up to this tiny train station that's really more of a building next to the tracks, and I hop out because, hey, even if it doesn't look like much, it's got the right name. Jumping down onto the gravel, I make my way across to the building, empty except for a small pottery shop with someone working.
There's no one around. Two or three other people dismounted at Le Buisson, but their rides were already there or arrived within minutes. I wandered back and forth in front of the station, trying not to seem too strange to the people socializing in the cafe across the street at the end of the day. The phone card, with which I had no luck in Bordeaux, continues its refusal to cooperate, and I resort to my cell phone, however horrific that rate may be in Europe.
Pascale answers. She thought I was showing up tomorrow. Apparently my brain wasn't working all that well when I left my message from Bordeaux. (She later told me that, when she got that message, she thought my French wasn't all that great and that these would be an interesting six weeks.) "Someone" will come pick me up now.
La Belge
A tiny car--the kind you'd be hard pressed to find in the states, but which is at least as common as a cockroach in Europe--rocks up with an older guy and a girl my age inside. Christian, I discover his name to be, helps me load my bags in the car, and introduces me to Caley, the Belgian. We head through the dark, winding, wooded country roads at a speed that might not break your neck, but will certainly appear ready to do so on such roads as these.
We arrive. Getting out of the car in front of the lower level, Christian helps me move my stuff into one of the guest rooms here and we head upstairs to greet the others.
I'm tired. I'm understanding more than I realise, but I want to sleep. I don't want to talk. I give them a lot of blank stares in the kitchen. Pascale and one of their friends were waiting for us. I can't even handle (in a French-socially acceptable way) an introduction to this other woman.
Pascale saves me, "Tu es fatigué?" I think he's tired. He wants to sleep, n'est-ce pas? Fetching some sheets and leading me back downstairs, she has me move my stuff into the other, perhaps smaller, bedroom, lets me know what's going on, and leaves me to go to sleep.
Some parting words (in French, of course), "You can sleep as you want tomorrow, and work can wait two or three days if necessary, because of the jet lag and all that."
My first night in France, settled in at Le Falgueyret, I slept sixteen hours.
...
Trois Journées Cette Semaine
I'll never keep up with this journal if I can't keep it up to date. Fortunately it should be totally caught up by the end of the week, so long as I update it daily. For your sakes, I hope the entries get a little shorter, but this journal is also for me (I'd hate to have to start another--way too much effort): entries will be as long as they need to be to help me remember all this in the future. So there.
Sunday I went to Mass. Church is sad here. Kelly and I were the youngest people in there, but that fact doesn't really tell the whole story. France used to be almost entirely Catholic, but now (I get the impression that) it's mostly atheist, maybe agnostic. I don't really care so much what people believe, so long as they believe in something, but I know, based on my experiences with the Church in the States, that there is so much good that can come from a strong, vibrant Catholic (or otherwise religious) community.
The next youngest person in the mass must've been at least 50--everyone was gray-haired and probably had multiple grandchildren. Mass in many of the communities involves a roving priest, who says the Mass in a different town each week. Le Bugue, which is more populous than many of the small towns in the area, seems to have weekly masses, but in such a sad state: the 130 year-old stone church (picture your classical gorgeous European stone church, age it a bit, and you're probably there; I'll try to get a picture sometime) could've held a few hundred people but held no more than 50 (at the most) this Sunday.
Apparently, some priests in the past became personally wealthy by the Church, putting many of the French off the Church. What's really disappointing, though, is the lack of energy. I understand it may be difficult to keep up the effort after years in such a depressing scenario, but the priest that said our mass (Peace be with him) lacked all of the energy that would've helped attract a younger crowd. Moreover, after mass there was little mingling of the community, and the priest wasn't even present for what little did occur. All in all, pretty disheartening.
...
Y'know, I can't remember what else we did on Sunday, but I'll share a bit about Monday and today to bridge the gap. (I know you just want me to keep going!)
...
Today was fairly tame: we painted some metal chairs green (yesterday we painted them with some anti-rust product), cleared the yard a bit, and weeded some of the pathways most used by guests. Not too bad as far as a day's work goes. We managed to stop by the market at Le Bugue also, and I picked up some delicious-snack-whose-name-I've-forgotten for two Euros during our wanderings.
The highlight, if we can call it that, was when Christian left for Sainte Alvère (a small town the opposite direction of Le Bugue). Before he left he asked me to get the donkeys out of the field (apparently they can eat themselves to death), because they'd been out there too long. All by my onesies I managed to get them out of the field, without harnesses or anything, but just by calling out to them. In French, of course, because they're French donkeys.
...
The other bit to explain the title of today's post: turns out the Belgian Caley is in fact an American, Kelly. Christian thought I'd talk to her in English if I knew she was from the states. We watched "Doctor Who" together last night and spoke some English then, but that's the only time so far. It was hard not to say stuff in French that came to mind, too.
...
Now that's it for the day. Maybe some photos before I sleep. Tomorrow I'll be doing laundry, but I don't know what else.
Hope everything's going well the other side of the pond.
A +
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Je me trouve encore en France
A brief summary to begin.
Last summer a couple of my friends, namely Josh McLaurin and Daniel Jordan, discovered a wonderful little organisation known as WWOOF: World-Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms. Following a study abroad trip to New Zealand, they passed some time in New Zealand and Australia with a couple of WWOOF hosts and came back with some wonderful stories and photos to share. These two gentlemen provided me the inspiration to travel this summer with WWOOF.
But enough of the name-dropping, what does WWOOF do? WWOOF seeks to connect organic farmers with volunteers, providing with membership access to the list of hosts to visit. With a variety of national organisations and a central site for the remainder of the hosts, one can travel the world with WWOOF. For 3 to 6 hours of help each day, WWOOFers receive room and boarding, which makes for some very affordable language immersion.
So here's the plan for me this summer: stay in France from 13 May through 25 June, spend a few days catching up with myself in Florida, and move on to Japan the 1st of July to spend a full six weeks there.
Le Voyage Commence
At about 4 00 in the morning, 12 May, I wake up to the unpleasantness of an alarm. The presence of Ashley, though, successfully countered the early morning attack, enough so that I was able to get up and get processed to arrive at the airport by 5 40 or so.
Everything went smoothly at the airport, as things usually do, we had our goodbyes--my family (less Mum, as she'd already left for South Africa), Ashley, and I--and I was off like a bolt. Such a hurry, of course, so that I could wait eight hours at Dulles in DC for my flight to Paris. The wait wasn't all that interesting, and neither was the subsequent flight.
Alors, J'Arrive à Paris
For a city as well known as Paris, the airport is inevitably pretty decent, but Charles De Gaulle was fantastic. No problems with customs or passport control: I don't know if French made the difference, but I simply said, "Bonjour," and they stamped my passport and sent me on my way. I picked up my bags, already tired at the start of my day (having arrived at seven in the morning), and sought the train station to figure out how the heck to get to Le Buisson from Paris.
I wasted a good deal of time contemplating the ticket machines and waiting in line to speak to real people at the train station, but eventually bought my ticket from Paris - Montparnasse to Le Buisson. Of course, I then had to get to Montparnasse, but the ticket machine for the Métro didn't like my Wachovia card (even though it accepts Visa), so I had to return to the line to buy my ticket from a sales rep (for whom my card worked perfectly).
[As an aside, I determined after the fact that my bank did the exchange at 1.55 USD per Euro--my but the dollar's gotten weak. Remember when it was that to the British pound? International fees weren't too bad, either.]
A nice British woman on the train with her kid(s?) gave me advice as to where to get off on the Métro to find Montparnasse (because there's no direct connexion from the aeroport). Changing stations at Châtlet--and having explained to me like a simpleton that my bag had to pass before me to get through the gates, because my brain was not yet functioning well in French and I was ever so tired--I found Montparnasse and waited again but managed not to have too many problems finding my train. On the train I kept falling asleep, and I was afraid I'd miss my stop, but I made it to Bordeaux for my connexion without any other problems.
...
Le Présent
On the less lit first floor, I sit at my computer, itching to get up and go to bed, writing for you. Still, I think you've probably had enough of my droning on and on for now, so I'll get to sleep and recount more for you tomorrow.
Bonne nuit!
Last summer a couple of my friends, namely Josh McLaurin and Daniel Jordan, discovered a wonderful little organisation known as WWOOF: World-Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms. Following a study abroad trip to New Zealand, they passed some time in New Zealand and Australia with a couple of WWOOF hosts and came back with some wonderful stories and photos to share. These two gentlemen provided me the inspiration to travel this summer with WWOOF.
But enough of the name-dropping, what does WWOOF do? WWOOF seeks to connect organic farmers with volunteers, providing with membership access to the list of hosts to visit. With a variety of national organisations and a central site for the remainder of the hosts, one can travel the world with WWOOF. For 3 to 6 hours of help each day, WWOOFers receive room and boarding, which makes for some very affordable language immersion.
So here's the plan for me this summer: stay in France from 13 May through 25 June, spend a few days catching up with myself in Florida, and move on to Japan the 1st of July to spend a full six weeks there.
Le Voyage Commence
At about 4 00 in the morning, 12 May, I wake up to the unpleasantness of an alarm. The presence of Ashley, though, successfully countered the early morning attack, enough so that I was able to get up and get processed to arrive at the airport by 5 40 or so.
Everything went smoothly at the airport, as things usually do, we had our goodbyes--my family (less Mum, as she'd already left for South Africa), Ashley, and I--and I was off like a bolt. Such a hurry, of course, so that I could wait eight hours at Dulles in DC for my flight to Paris. The wait wasn't all that interesting, and neither was the subsequent flight.
Alors, J'Arrive à Paris
For a city as well known as Paris, the airport is inevitably pretty decent, but Charles De Gaulle was fantastic. No problems with customs or passport control: I don't know if French made the difference, but I simply said, "Bonjour," and they stamped my passport and sent me on my way. I picked up my bags, already tired at the start of my day (having arrived at seven in the morning), and sought the train station to figure out how the heck to get to Le Buisson from Paris.
I wasted a good deal of time contemplating the ticket machines and waiting in line to speak to real people at the train station, but eventually bought my ticket from Paris - Montparnasse to Le Buisson. Of course, I then had to get to Montparnasse, but the ticket machine for the Métro didn't like my Wachovia card (even though it accepts Visa), so I had to return to the line to buy my ticket from a sales rep (for whom my card worked perfectly).
[As an aside, I determined after the fact that my bank did the exchange at 1.55 USD per Euro--my but the dollar's gotten weak. Remember when it was that to the British pound? International fees weren't too bad, either.]
A nice British woman on the train with her kid(s?) gave me advice as to where to get off on the Métro to find Montparnasse (because there's no direct connexion from the aeroport). Changing stations at Châtlet--and having explained to me like a simpleton that my bag had to pass before me to get through the gates, because my brain was not yet functioning well in French and I was ever so tired--I found Montparnasse and waited again but managed not to have too many problems finding my train. On the train I kept falling asleep, and I was afraid I'd miss my stop, but I made it to Bordeaux for my connexion without any other problems.
...
Le Présent
On the less lit first floor, I sit at my computer, itching to get up and go to bed, writing for you. Still, I think you've probably had enough of my droning on and on for now, so I'll get to sleep and recount more for you tomorrow.
Bonne nuit!
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