Six To Eight Black Men
By David Sedaris
A heartwarming tale of Christmas in a foreign land where, if you've
been naughty, Saint Nick and his friends give you an ass-whuppin'.
I've never been much for guidebooks, so when trying to get my
bearings in a strange American city, I normally start by asking the
cabdriver or hotel clerk some silly question regarding the latest
census figures. I say silly because I don't really care how many
people live in Olympia, Washington, or Columbus, Ohio. They're
nice enough places, but the numbers mean nothing to me. My second
question might have to do with average annual rainfall, which,
again, doesn't tell me anything about the people who have chosen
to call this place home.
What really interests me are the local gun laws. Can I carry a
concealed weapon, and if so, under what circumstances? What's the
waiting period for a tommy gun? Could I buy a Glock 17 if I were
recently divorced or fired from my job? I've learned from
experience that it's best to lead into this subject as delicately
as possible, especially if you and the local citizen are alone and
enclosed in a relatively small space. Bide your time, though, and
you can walk away with some excellent stories. I've heard, for
example, that the blind can legally hunt in both Texas and
Michigan. They must be accompanied by a sighted companion, but
still, it seems a bit risky. You wouldn't want a blind person
driving a car or piloting a plane, so why hand him a rifle? What
sense does that make? I ask about guns not because I want one of
my own but because the answers vary so widely from state to state.
In a country that's become so homogenous, I'm reassured by these
last touches of regionalism.
Guns aren't really an issue in Europe, so when I'm traveling
abroad, my first question usually relates to barnyard animals.
"What do your roosters say?" is a good icebreaker, as every country
has its own unique interpretation. In Germany, where dogs bark "vow
vow" and both the frog and the duck say "quack," the rooster greets
the dawn with a hearty "kik-a-ricki." Greek roosters crow "kiri-a-
kee," and in France they scream "coco-rico," which sounds like one
of those horrible premixed cocktails with a pirate on the label.
When told that an American rooster says "cock-a-doodle-doo," my
hosts look at me with disbelief and pity.
"When do you open your Christmas presents?" is another good
conversation starter as it explains a lot about national character.
People who traditionally open gifts on Christmas Eve seem a bit
more pious and family oriented than those who wait until Christmas
morning. They go to mass, open presents, eat a late meal, return
to church the following morning, and devote the rest of the day to
eating another big meal. Gifts are generally reserved for
children, and the parents tend not to go overboard. It's nothing
I'd want for myself, but I suppose it's fine for those who prefer
food and family to things of real value.
In France and Germany, gifts are exchanged on Christmas Eve, while
in Holland the children receive presents on December 5, in
celebration of Saint Nicholas Day. It sounded sort of quaint until
I spoke to a man named Oscar, who filled me in on a few of the
details as we walked from my hotel to the Amsterdam train station.
Unlike the jolly, obese American Santa, Saint Nicholas is painfully
thin and dresses not unlike the pope, topping his robes with a tall
hat resembling an embroidered tea cozy. The outfit, I was told, is
a carryover from his former career, when he served as a bishop in
Turkey.
One doesn't want to be too much of a cultural chauvinist, but this
seemed completely wrong to me. For starters, Santa didn't use to
do anything. He's not retired, and, more important, he has
nothing to do with Turkey. The climate's all wrong, and people
wouldn't appreciate him. When asked how he got from Turkey to the
North Pole, Oscar told me with complete conviction that Saint
Nicholas currently resides in Spain, which again is simply not
true. While he could probably live wherever he wanted, Santa chose
the North Pole specifically because it is harsh and isolated. No
one can spy on him, and he doesn't have to worry about people
coming to the door. Anyone can come to the door in Spain, and in
that outfit, he'd most certainly be recognized. On top of that,
aside from a few pleasantries, Santa doesn't speak Spanish. He
knows enough to get by, but he's not fluent, and he certainly
doesn't eat tapas.
While our Santa flies on a sled, Saint Nicholas arrives by boat
and then transfers to a white horse. The event is televised, and
great crowds gather at the waterfront to greet him. I'm not sure
if there's a set date, but he generally docks in late November and
spends a few weeks hanging out and asking people what they want.
"Is it just him alone?" I asked. "Or does he come with backup?"
Oscar's English was close to perfect, but he seemed thrown by a
term normally reserved for police reinforcement.
"Helpers," I said. "Does he have any elves?"
Maybe I'm just overly sensitive, but I couldn't help but feel
personally insulted when Oscar denounced the very idea as grotesque
and unrealistic. "Elves," he said. "They're just so silly."
The words silly and unrealistic were redefined when I learned that
Saint Nicholas travels with what was consistently described as "six
to eight black men." I asked several Dutch people to narrow it
down, but none of them could give me an exact number. It was always
"six to eight," which seems strange, seeing as they've had hundreds
of years to get a decent count.
The six to eight black men were characterized as personal slaves
until the mid-fifties, when the political climate changed and it
was decided that instead of being slaves they were just good
friends. I think history has proven that something usually comes
between slavery and friendship, a period of time marked not by
cookies and quiet times beside the fire but by bloodshed and
mutual hostility. They have such violence in Holland, but rather
than duking it out among themselves, Santa and his former slaves
decided to take it out on the public. In the early years, if a
child was naughty, Saint Nicholas and the six to eight black men
would beat him with what Oscar described as "the small branch of
a tree."
"A switch?"
"Yes," he said. "That's it. They'd kick him and beat him with a
switch. Then, if the youngster was really bad, they'd put him in
a sack and take him back to Spain."
"Saint Nicholas would kick you?"
"Well, not anymore," Oscar said. "Now he just pretends to kick
you."
"And the six to eight black men?"
"Them, too."
He considered this to be progressive, but in a way I think it's
almost more perverse than the original punishment. "I'm going to
hurt you, but not really." How many times have we fallen for that
line? The fake slap invariably makes contact, adding the elements
of shock and betrayal to what had previously been plain, old-
fashioned fear. What kind of Santa spends his time pretending to
kick people before stuffing them into a canvas sack? Then, of
course, you've got the six to eight former slaves who could
potentially go off at any moment. This, I think, is the greatest
difference between us and the Dutch. While a certain segment of
our population might be perfectly happy with the arrangement, if
you told the average white American that six to eight nameless
black men would be sneaking into his house in the middle of the
night, he would barricade the doors and arm himself with whatever
he could get his hands on.
"Six to eight, did you say?"
In the years before central heating, Dutch children would leave
their shoes by the fireplace, the promise being that unless they
planned to beat you, kick you, or stuff you into a sack, Saint
Nicholas and the six to eight black men would fill your clogs
with presents. Aside from the threats of violence and kidnapping,
it's not much different from hanging your stockings from the
mantel. Now that so few people have a working fireplace, Dutch
children are instructed to leave their shoes beside the radiator,
furnace, or space heater. Saint Nicholas and the six to eight black
men arrive on horses, which jump from the yard onto the roof. At
this point, I guess, they either jump back down and use the door,
or they stay put and vaporize through the pipes and electrical
wires. Oscar wasn't too clear about the particulars, but, really,
who can blame him? We have the same problem with our Santa. He's
supposed to use the chimney, but if you don't have one, he still
manages to come through. It's best not to think about it too hard.
While eight flying reindeer are a hard pill to swallow, our
Christmas story remains relatively simple. Santa lives with his
wife in a remote polar village and spends one night a year
traveling around the world. If you're bad, he leaves you coal. If
you're good and live in America, he'll give you just about anything
you want. We tell our children to be good and send them off to bed,
where they lie awake, anticipating their great bounty. A Dutch
parent has a decidedly hairier story to relate, telling his
children, "Listen, you might want to pack a few of your things
together before you go to bed. The former bishop from Turkey will
be coming along with six to eight black men. They might put some
candy in your shoes, they might stuff you in a sack and take you
to Spain, or they might just pretend to kick you. We don't know
for sure, but we want you to be prepared."
This is the reward for living in Holland. As a child you get to
hear this story, and as an adult you get to turn around and repeat
it. As an added bonus, the government has thrown in legalized drugs
and prostitution-so what's not to love about being Dutch?
Oscar finished his story just as we arrived at the station. He was
a polite and interesting guy-very good company-but when he offered
to wait until my train arrived, I begged off, saying I had some
calls to make. Sitting alone in the vast terminal, surrounded by
other polite, seemingly interesting Dutch people, I couldn't help
but feel second-rate. Yes, it was a small country, but it had six
to eight black men and a really good bedtime story. Being a fairly
competitive person, I felt jealous, then bitter, and was edging
toward hostile when I remembered the blind hunter tramping off
into the Michigan forest. He might bag a deer, or he might happily
shoot his sighted companion in the stomach. He may find his way
back to the car, or he may wander around for a week or two before
stumbling through your front door. We don't know for sure, but in
pinning that license to his chest, he inspires the sort of
narrative that ultimately makes me proud to be an American.
Monday, December 17, 2007
The Best Thing I've Ever Read
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Preservatifs and Preservatives are not the same…
Many words in english are extremely similar to their french counterparts. So much so that when I’m at a loss for the french word I’m searching for I just say the english word with a french accent. Coupled with a confused look it’s turned out to be a pretty successful system, most of the time.
However, tonight my system caused a little confusion. I was talking to mes Maries about where I can get olives for Mike stuffed with garlic. If they didn’t have to last until April when he comes back it wouldn’t be a problem. There are olive stands all over the markets in Aix and even though I hate olives Aix is a part of the Olive Belt so they are excellent here! However, the olives available at the markets do not have preservatives in them and would not last. I was trying to explain my problem to them and so I said “J’ai besoin de les olives avec de l’ail mais il faut que il a les preservatifs.” Translation: I need olives with garlic but they have to have (don’t know the french word for preservatives…throw on the french accent and confused look…) PRESERVATIFS?
By their reaction I could tell that my system had failed me. Though I had no idea how badly…Eventually Marie explained to me that “preservatifs sont pour proteger de SIDA” aka protection from AIDS. Great. I told mes Maries that I needed olives with garlic for my brother but they had to have condoms or they wouldn’t be good when he got back to the states. The word I was searching for was conservatifs. I doubt I’ll be making that mistake again. My system failed me. Perhaps it’s time for a new system.
Also I would like to add that this story now trumps me saying the equivalent of fuck at the dinner table when I was trying to talk about the Russian Prime Minister Putin. Poo-teen = Prime Minister Putin. Poo-tan = Fuck. And my other french faux pas was telling the group of frenchies I went hiking with that I was horny instead of just plain hot. I’m doing really well here…
However, tonight my system caused a little confusion. I was talking to mes Maries about where I can get olives for Mike stuffed with garlic. If they didn’t have to last until April when he comes back it wouldn’t be a problem. There are olive stands all over the markets in Aix and even though I hate olives Aix is a part of the Olive Belt so they are excellent here! However, the olives available at the markets do not have preservatives in them and would not last. I was trying to explain my problem to them and so I said “J’ai besoin de les olives avec de l’ail mais il faut que il a les preservatifs.” Translation: I need olives with garlic but they have to have (don’t know the french word for preservatives…throw on the french accent and confused look…) PRESERVATIFS?
By their reaction I could tell that my system had failed me. Though I had no idea how badly…Eventually Marie explained to me that “preservatifs sont pour proteger de SIDA” aka protection from AIDS. Great. I told mes Maries that I needed olives with garlic for my brother but they had to have condoms or they wouldn’t be good when he got back to the states. The word I was searching for was conservatifs. I doubt I’ll be making that mistake again. My system failed me. Perhaps it’s time for a new system.
Also I would like to add that this story now trumps me saying the equivalent of fuck at the dinner table when I was trying to talk about the Russian Prime Minister Putin. Poo-teen = Prime Minister Putin. Poo-tan = Fuck. And my other french faux pas was telling the group of frenchies I went hiking with that I was horny instead of just plain hot. I’m doing really well here…
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
I love Paris Oh my Oh my
Another week has come and gone! Time is slipping away like summer. I spent last week in Paris and it was more incredible that I could ever have imagined. The city is absolutely beautiful and there is so much to see. I did all I could but I will have to go back because there is so much that I missed.
The transportation system in France began a strike on Tuesday night and while it has become less intense it is still going on. Worried that we might not be able to get to Paris on Wednesday, our professors arranged another mode of transportation. We ended up flying there which worked out well because we ended up with more time in the city than we had initially planned.
Wednesday we had a free afternoon and so a few of us decided to go to le Centre Pompidou, which is a modern art museum. There was a large Giacommeti exhibit with some early portraits and tons of sketches and sculptures. So talented. We also checked out the modern works on the floors below his exhibit, which always confuse me but were fun to look at. I’ve decided, for my own sanity, not to take modern art too seriously.
Thursday morning our group met up after breakfast and walked to Le Louvre. It was a beautiful clear day out, though it was pretty cold. The walk took about an hour and we actually walked along the Seine! It was so unreal for me to walk along that famous river and see Notre Dame just a couple blocks away. We arrived at le Louvre to discover that it would be opening an hour late because there weren’t enough personnel at work due to the strike. Eventually we went in, via the famous pyramid and began looking at art. We spent every day at the museums from about 9-5 looking at only a small handful of paintings. We sat in front of each painting for about an hour and drinking it in and discussing the work. It was such an incredible experience. I have never seen art in such a way. We were separated into two groups throughout the week excluding when we talked about the first and last paintings.
After we finished Thursday evening Libby, Mandy and I took a stroll down the Champs-Elysees and saw the Arc de Triomphe. We walked around Place de Concorde and Les Tuileries then headed home. We ate at a tiny falafel place and ordered a bottle of the 2007 Boujelais. The release of this wine is a huge event in France and everyone goes out the night it is released and drinks a glass. It was released Thursday so we felt it was our duty as cultural conessieurs to have a glass.
Friday we walked through the city to the Musee d’Orsay. It was another amazing day of discussions and that afternoon they finally had enough staff to open up the Impressioniste floor, which is our class’ focus. After the museum we walk to Notre Dame and around Hotel de Ville. Then Libby and I bought some wine, cheese, baguettes, fruit and chips for dinner and lunch the next day. We were supposed to have free dinner at the hostel but it was nearly unedible so after the first night we didn’t go back. Our homemade dinner was cheap, french and delicious! After dinner Libby, Mike, Becca and I went out in search of a bar. Our hostel had a 1 am curfew so we went to the first bar we saw and after about 5 minutes of sitting inside we realized it was a gay bar. We saw a series of Britney Spears videos followed by J. Lo and watched the bartenders in tight shirts dance behind the bar. It was pretty entertaining.
Saturday we returned to the Musee d’Orsay for the morning and then went to the Orangerie in the afternoon. The Orangerie is a museum designed by Monet to house 8 of his waterlillies series. Downstairs they have works by other artists like Renoir. The Monet’s were so impressive. The building is two ovals that connect through two hallways so the paintings are on giant curved canvases which really connect you to the painting.
Saturday night the strike was beginning to ease up a little and about 1 out of 3 trains were running on the metro so Libby headed out to Sacre Coeur. Libby’s friend from high school is a student in Paris and she has the most incredible flat I have ever seen. She literally lives across the street from Sacre Coeur. It’s on the 5 floor so the living room doors and windows give a perfect view of the old church. Outside her kitchen window you can see the Eiffel Tower sparkling. Julia and her flatmate invited Libby and one lucky friend (me) to their dinner party that night. There were 10 people there in total. Libby and I represented Texas and NY, there were a couple people there from Italy, a girl from Finland/Russia, and the remaining 5 were from different parts of England and Scotland. We had drinks and appetizers like olives, artichoke hearts and mushrooms. Then we sat down and had warm goat cheese wrapped in thinly sliced ham over salade fraiche. Our main course was a Moraccan dish with couscous, chicken, chick peas? and a delicious sauce. For dessert we had macaroons, hagaandaz ice cream, fruit salad and warm apple tart. Great food, great wine, an incredible view and good conversation topped off with a cab ride home and a mad dash to the hostel to beat curfew. This night goes in my top ten for the semester.
Sunday we headed to our last museum but unfortunately I cannot remember the name of this one. We spent some time walking around on our own then we all met back up as one group, like we did for the first painting we looked at, in front of a Monet painting. We spent probably an hour and a half sitting together talking about the painting. I can’t describe the feeling I had that afternoon but it was so powerful. This trip was such an amazing experience for me and I couldn’t be happier about it all.
Over the course of the week we examined works by Gorgioni, Titian, Van Gogh, Renoir, Daubigny, Daumier, Monet, Cezanne and Toulouse-Lautrec. They gave us time to walk around the museums before each session and look at other works too. It’s such an overwhelming feeling to be surrounded by such amazing talent. I saw a beautiful portrait by Van Gogh that he completed in 45 minutes! I’ve never felt such awe and incompetance at the same time. I will never look at art the same way again. I am so thankful for the past 5 days.
This week I am back in the swing again in Aix. Thanksgiving is coming Thursday and I can’t help being sad that I can’t spend it with my family. I realized when I was in Paris talking to my friends about the holidays that I will not be cuddled up on a couch wrapped in a blanket watching It’s a Wonderful Life with you all on Thursday night and it brought me to tears. I love you family and I wish more than anything that I could be with you on Thursday. Happy Thanksgiving and remember…
Every time a bell rings an angel gets it’s wings.
Gros Bisous
The transportation system in France began a strike on Tuesday night and while it has become less intense it is still going on. Worried that we might not be able to get to Paris on Wednesday, our professors arranged another mode of transportation. We ended up flying there which worked out well because we ended up with more time in the city than we had initially planned.
Wednesday we had a free afternoon and so a few of us decided to go to le Centre Pompidou, which is a modern art museum. There was a large Giacommeti exhibit with some early portraits and tons of sketches and sculptures. So talented. We also checked out the modern works on the floors below his exhibit, which always confuse me but were fun to look at. I’ve decided, for my own sanity, not to take modern art too seriously.
Thursday morning our group met up after breakfast and walked to Le Louvre. It was a beautiful clear day out, though it was pretty cold. The walk took about an hour and we actually walked along the Seine! It was so unreal for me to walk along that famous river and see Notre Dame just a couple blocks away. We arrived at le Louvre to discover that it would be opening an hour late because there weren’t enough personnel at work due to the strike. Eventually we went in, via the famous pyramid and began looking at art. We spent every day at the museums from about 9-5 looking at only a small handful of paintings. We sat in front of each painting for about an hour and drinking it in and discussing the work. It was such an incredible experience. I have never seen art in such a way. We were separated into two groups throughout the week excluding when we talked about the first and last paintings.
After we finished Thursday evening Libby, Mandy and I took a stroll down the Champs-Elysees and saw the Arc de Triomphe. We walked around Place de Concorde and Les Tuileries then headed home. We ate at a tiny falafel place and ordered a bottle of the 2007 Boujelais. The release of this wine is a huge event in France and everyone goes out the night it is released and drinks a glass. It was released Thursday so we felt it was our duty as cultural conessieurs to have a glass.
Friday we walked through the city to the Musee d’Orsay. It was another amazing day of discussions and that afternoon they finally had enough staff to open up the Impressioniste floor, which is our class’ focus. After the museum we walk to Notre Dame and around Hotel de Ville. Then Libby and I bought some wine, cheese, baguettes, fruit and chips for dinner and lunch the next day. We were supposed to have free dinner at the hostel but it was nearly unedible so after the first night we didn’t go back. Our homemade dinner was cheap, french and delicious! After dinner Libby, Mike, Becca and I went out in search of a bar. Our hostel had a 1 am curfew so we went to the first bar we saw and after about 5 minutes of sitting inside we realized it was a gay bar. We saw a series of Britney Spears videos followed by J. Lo and watched the bartenders in tight shirts dance behind the bar. It was pretty entertaining.
Saturday we returned to the Musee d’Orsay for the morning and then went to the Orangerie in the afternoon. The Orangerie is a museum designed by Monet to house 8 of his waterlillies series. Downstairs they have works by other artists like Renoir. The Monet’s were so impressive. The building is two ovals that connect through two hallways so the paintings are on giant curved canvases which really connect you to the painting.
Saturday night the strike was beginning to ease up a little and about 1 out of 3 trains were running on the metro so Libby headed out to Sacre Coeur. Libby’s friend from high school is a student in Paris and she has the most incredible flat I have ever seen. She literally lives across the street from Sacre Coeur. It’s on the 5 floor so the living room doors and windows give a perfect view of the old church. Outside her kitchen window you can see the Eiffel Tower sparkling. Julia and her flatmate invited Libby and one lucky friend (me) to their dinner party that night. There were 10 people there in total. Libby and I represented Texas and NY, there were a couple people there from Italy, a girl from Finland/Russia, and the remaining 5 were from different parts of England and Scotland. We had drinks and appetizers like olives, artichoke hearts and mushrooms. Then we sat down and had warm goat cheese wrapped in thinly sliced ham over salade fraiche. Our main course was a Moraccan dish with couscous, chicken, chick peas? and a delicious sauce. For dessert we had macaroons, hagaandaz ice cream, fruit salad and warm apple tart. Great food, great wine, an incredible view and good conversation topped off with a cab ride home and a mad dash to the hostel to beat curfew. This night goes in my top ten for the semester.
Sunday we headed to our last museum but unfortunately I cannot remember the name of this one. We spent some time walking around on our own then we all met back up as one group, like we did for the first painting we looked at, in front of a Monet painting. We spent probably an hour and a half sitting together talking about the painting. I can’t describe the feeling I had that afternoon but it was so powerful. This trip was such an amazing experience for me and I couldn’t be happier about it all.
Over the course of the week we examined works by Gorgioni, Titian, Van Gogh, Renoir, Daubigny, Daumier, Monet, Cezanne and Toulouse-Lautrec. They gave us time to walk around the museums before each session and look at other works too. It’s such an overwhelming feeling to be surrounded by such amazing talent. I saw a beautiful portrait by Van Gogh that he completed in 45 minutes! I’ve never felt such awe and incompetance at the same time. I will never look at art the same way again. I am so thankful for the past 5 days.
This week I am back in the swing again in Aix. Thanksgiving is coming Thursday and I can’t help being sad that I can’t spend it with my family. I realized when I was in Paris talking to my friends about the holidays that I will not be cuddled up on a couch wrapped in a blanket watching It’s a Wonderful Life with you all on Thursday night and it brought me to tears. I love you family and I wish more than anything that I could be with you on Thursday. Happy Thanksgiving and remember…
Every time a bell rings an angel gets it’s wings.
Gros Bisous
Recovering from Break
Last week came and went very quickly. Time is starting to be that way here. Only five weeks until I come back. I remember thinking 3 ½ months was a long time. The first half of the week I spent catching up on all the sleep I missed out on over the break and the rest of the week I spent enjoying Aix. Thursday night I went to a cocktail party with a mix of American students from IAU and French students from some of the universities in Aix. I ended up talking with a student who studied in Austin for a year about local bars and living in west campus. What a small world, huh?
Friday I went wine tasting again with another group of IAU students. We tried some really great Rose, a red that I didn’t care for and a really good dessert wine. This time around our host was not so drunk so it was slightly less entertaining but fun all the same. Later that night, after a nap and dinner Annabelle and went out on the town. We ended up running into some other students from IAU and going to a party for an art exhibit with free drinks and appetizers. It was a lovely free evening.
Saturday I woke up and headed out to La Rotonde to meet Annabelle and Jenna to go olive picking. We took a bus into the country and were dropped off with no clue where we needed to go. We walked around a bit and finally a car drove by and it happened to be the woman whose farm we were looking for. She took us up to her house and gave us our baskets and sent us out into the fields. We picked olives all afternoon, breaking only for lunch, which the woman made us. While some might see this as slave labor we looked at it as a true cultural, provencal experience. We headed back into Aix at 5 and I got ready for our dinner party.
Marie T’s nefew and his fiancee came over for dinner and it was quite an event. They arrived just before 7 pm and I have no idea what time they left. From 7 to 8 we had drinks and appetizers in le salon. I drank pastis, which is a provencal specialty. It’s a liquor that you water down that ends up tasting like black licorice. A little after 8 we headed to the table for wine and our amuse bouche. It was crab and shrimp over some sort of sauce, very refreshing. Second course was roasted chicken and rice with apples and raisins. DELICIOUS! Next Marie T. brought out crème brulee hot from the oven. After that we each had a marangue and finally to top it off we had chocolate covered raisins and peanuts and some other chocolates. It was delicious and we sat eating and talking for hours. At midnight I was completely shattered. I said goodnight, put on my headphones and went to sleep. I have no idea what time their guests ended up leaving but when I woke up at 10:45 Saturday morning neither Maries were up yet and the table looked like it did when I went to sleep. What a great night.
I spent Sunday reading at an outdoor café, walking around Aix with friends and going to a movie that night. We went to see the Assination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford. We saw it in a tiny French theater, in English with French subtitles. Their translations were crap but I guess there isn’t really any way to convey “Howdy partner” in french…
Friday I went wine tasting again with another group of IAU students. We tried some really great Rose, a red that I didn’t care for and a really good dessert wine. This time around our host was not so drunk so it was slightly less entertaining but fun all the same. Later that night, after a nap and dinner Annabelle and went out on the town. We ended up running into some other students from IAU and going to a party for an art exhibit with free drinks and appetizers. It was a lovely free evening.
Saturday I woke up and headed out to La Rotonde to meet Annabelle and Jenna to go olive picking. We took a bus into the country and were dropped off with no clue where we needed to go. We walked around a bit and finally a car drove by and it happened to be the woman whose farm we were looking for. She took us up to her house and gave us our baskets and sent us out into the fields. We picked olives all afternoon, breaking only for lunch, which the woman made us. While some might see this as slave labor we looked at it as a true cultural, provencal experience. We headed back into Aix at 5 and I got ready for our dinner party.
Marie T’s nefew and his fiancee came over for dinner and it was quite an event. They arrived just before 7 pm and I have no idea what time they left. From 7 to 8 we had drinks and appetizers in le salon. I drank pastis, which is a provencal specialty. It’s a liquor that you water down that ends up tasting like black licorice. A little after 8 we headed to the table for wine and our amuse bouche. It was crab and shrimp over some sort of sauce, very refreshing. Second course was roasted chicken and rice with apples and raisins. DELICIOUS! Next Marie T. brought out crème brulee hot from the oven. After that we each had a marangue and finally to top it off we had chocolate covered raisins and peanuts and some other chocolates. It was delicious and we sat eating and talking for hours. At midnight I was completely shattered. I said goodnight, put on my headphones and went to sleep. I have no idea what time their guests ended up leaving but when I woke up at 10:45 Saturday morning neither Maries were up yet and the table looked like it did when I went to sleep. What a great night.
I spent Sunday reading at an outdoor café, walking around Aix with friends and going to a movie that night. We went to see the Assination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford. We saw it in a tiny French theater, in English with French subtitles. Their translations were crap but I guess there isn’t really any way to convey “Howdy partner” in french…
Monday, November 12, 2007
The Last Leg
I woke up a few hours later and crawled to McDonald’s for a quick dinner. I’m not proud of this but I was groggy, hungry and it’s the first time I’ve eaten since before I left so don’t hold it against me. I headed back to the hostel and spent at least an hour if not two catching up in my journal. I’d been sitting in the common area the whole time and eventually a guy came up and asked me if I wanted to come over and sit with him and his friends. Turns out they were all studying in Lyon, France and were on their fall break as well. There were 4 Australians (one guy and 3 girls) and a girl from Seattle. We sat talking for a while and invited me to come out with them for the night.
We met up with some of their friends who are studying in Madrid for the semester at a bar and moved around a bit until about 3 in the morning when we headed back to the hostel. They invited me to hang out with them for the rest of the weekend and they were all really cool so I agreed.
Saturday we spent shopping. I was on a mission to buy boots and I succeeded! Finally! Spanish boots of spanish leather. ☺ We made lunch at the hostel and continued shopping. That night we ate on the terrace at a restaurant north of Las Rambla. I actually thought it was pretty bad but they all seemed to like it. My ravioli dish was cold, the sauce was bad and there was very little of it. However I did eat some spicy potatos that were really good but I think it’s pretty hard to mess those up. Then again they messed up ravioli so who knows? Anyway after dinner we met up with their Madrid friends again and hung out in the hotel room before moving the party to a bar. The bar we went to had a forrest theme and was pretty cool. It was a little weird because there was no music…at all. But we had some good conversations going on so it was good. When the bar closed around 3 we walked around for a while before we decided to head home and crash out. I nearly cut off my own legs on the way home because my wonderful new boots were killing me but eventually…slowly…I made it home.
Sunday morning we woke up and headed out to see some more of Barcelona. The first museum we tried to go to was closed and after that our group ended up splitting in two because we wanted to see different things. They wanted to go to the Picasso museum and I was really not about to put myself through that again. (I really didn’t enjoy it if you can’t tell.)
So Steve, Gillian and I went to a parc, whose name I forget, and took a gondola up to Castle Montjuic. The view of the city was incredible from the gondola and from the castle. We could see in all directions and the ocean looked beautiful. After the castle we spent about 2 hours looking for the Cultural Center to see a photo exhibit Andrew had recommended to me. It was a rough two hours but it was well worth it. It was a collection of the best pictures in photojournalism in the last year. It was incredible. I got a packet that described the background story for each picture because all the plaques were in Catalyn sp? And Spanish. These pictures were so amazing, I can’t even describe it. Good recommendation Andrew.
We headed back to the hostel to meet up with Priyaka, Lizzie and Sammie and I got my stuff together because I had to go to the bus station at 9:30. We grabbed dinner at the same place Andrew, Emma and I went to, funny enough, and it was just as good the second time around. I was in a serious rush so I just got 2 plates of tapas for myself, some water and ran out the door before half the table’s food had arrived. I had a blast with the Aussies and Gillian. They were a good laugh and really friendly.
I made it to the bus station in plenty of time and hopped on the bus at 11 pm. Elsie and Elle, from my program, were on the same bus so we caught up on the rest of our week and then I took some tylenol pm and passed out until we arrived in Aix at 6 am Monday morning.
I crashed on Emma’s floor with Elle until my 9 am Art History class because Emma lives very close to the bus station and I live about 15-20 minutes away, Elle lives about 50 minutes away. Yikes. I am proud to say I made it to my class on time and then headed home where Marie T. fixed us a wonderful lunch on the balcony overlooking the East and South of Aix in all it’s fall glory.
What an amazing 10 days it has been!
We met up with some of their friends who are studying in Madrid for the semester at a bar and moved around a bit until about 3 in the morning when we headed back to the hostel. They invited me to hang out with them for the rest of the weekend and they were all really cool so I agreed.
Saturday we spent shopping. I was on a mission to buy boots and I succeeded! Finally! Spanish boots of spanish leather. ☺ We made lunch at the hostel and continued shopping. That night we ate on the terrace at a restaurant north of Las Rambla. I actually thought it was pretty bad but they all seemed to like it. My ravioli dish was cold, the sauce was bad and there was very little of it. However I did eat some spicy potatos that were really good but I think it’s pretty hard to mess those up. Then again they messed up ravioli so who knows? Anyway after dinner we met up with their Madrid friends again and hung out in the hotel room before moving the party to a bar. The bar we went to had a forrest theme and was pretty cool. It was a little weird because there was no music…at all. But we had some good conversations going on so it was good. When the bar closed around 3 we walked around for a while before we decided to head home and crash out. I nearly cut off my own legs on the way home because my wonderful new boots were killing me but eventually…slowly…I made it home.
Sunday morning we woke up and headed out to see some more of Barcelona. The first museum we tried to go to was closed and after that our group ended up splitting in two because we wanted to see different things. They wanted to go to the Picasso museum and I was really not about to put myself through that again. (I really didn’t enjoy it if you can’t tell.)
So Steve, Gillian and I went to a parc, whose name I forget, and took a gondola up to Castle Montjuic. The view of the city was incredible from the gondola and from the castle. We could see in all directions and the ocean looked beautiful. After the castle we spent about 2 hours looking for the Cultural Center to see a photo exhibit Andrew had recommended to me. It was a rough two hours but it was well worth it. It was a collection of the best pictures in photojournalism in the last year. It was incredible. I got a packet that described the background story for each picture because all the plaques were in Catalyn sp? And Spanish. These pictures were so amazing, I can’t even describe it. Good recommendation Andrew.
We headed back to the hostel to meet up with Priyaka, Lizzie and Sammie and I got my stuff together because I had to go to the bus station at 9:30. We grabbed dinner at the same place Andrew, Emma and I went to, funny enough, and it was just as good the second time around. I was in a serious rush so I just got 2 plates of tapas for myself, some water and ran out the door before half the table’s food had arrived. I had a blast with the Aussies and Gillian. They were a good laugh and really friendly.
I made it to the bus station in plenty of time and hopped on the bus at 11 pm. Elsie and Elle, from my program, were on the same bus so we caught up on the rest of our week and then I took some tylenol pm and passed out until we arrived in Aix at 6 am Monday morning.
I crashed on Emma’s floor with Elle until my 9 am Art History class because Emma lives very close to the bus station and I live about 15-20 minutes away, Elle lives about 50 minutes away. Yikes. I am proud to say I made it to my class on time and then headed home where Marie T. fixed us a wonderful lunch on the balcony overlooking the East and South of Aix in all it’s fall glory.
What an amazing 10 days it has been!
Adventures with Andrew and Emma
Thursday morning we ate a crappy breakfast at the hostel and headed out to check out some Gaudi. First we went to his park, I think it was called Parc Guell but I am probably spelling it wrong. It was massive. We to the metro from the hostel and then had to walk up a GIANT hill. There were actually 4 or 5 escalators that take you up because it’s that steep and I think a lot of tourists complained. I was thankful because intensive hiking and red wine hangovers do not mix well. We got up to the top and could see the whole city. It was really overwhelming. We walked around the park, through nature trails, a playground, a game court, a wide open area with some really interesting architecture and some really cool houses that he designed. There were musicians spread out everywhere. One guy sat playing a type of drum I had never seen before. It had the most beautiful sound, so peaceful.
After that we went to Sagrada Familia (also probably spelled wrong…my apologies). It’s the gigantic church Gaudi designed. They began building it in 1886 and it is scheduled to be finished in 19 years. I was thinking about how strange it would be to come back for my 40th birthday and see it completed and look back on my time here this semester. It’s a scary thought but if I have the money I think I’ll do it. Anyway, the church is so intricate you could study it for years. It’s the most beautiful building I have ever seen. We went inside and we happened to go at a really good time of day. The light was exploding through the stained glass and making the most amazing colors on the scaffolding inside the church. Downstairs there is a museum with Gaudi’s sketches, photographs of progress through the years, models,, etc. It was really cool. We spent our entire day checking out Gaudi and it was all incredible. We headed back to the hostel around 5 pm and I checked out and we dropped my stuff off at my final hostel for fall break, Centre-Rambla Barcelona. It was better than the White Tulip in Amsterdam but that doesn’t really say a lot. The food was complete crap, the computers were constantly broken and the staff wasn’t very nice. Plus it wasn’t really a youth hostel, there were a lot of people staying there that were much much older.
After I locked my stuff up in my room we walked around Las Rambla, the main street. This road has it all: little souvenier stands, pet stands, artists, musicians, beer vendors, prostitutes, drug dealers and street performers. We stuck to the artists, musicians and street performers. I actually hate this road and will be happy if I never see it again. Every five feet a tourist is stopping to look at something or take a picture. You move to keep walking and run into someone pushing beer in your face or trying to steal your purse or sell you sex or drugs…ahhh so stressful! I loved Barcelona but I wish someone would blow that street off the face of the earth! Anywho…
We stopped to watch a Michael Jackson impersonator because he had quite a crowd going. We waited for about 30 minutes while he ordered people to pay him immediately or he wouldn’t dance. He was such a jerk. At one point he walked around with his hat and shoved it in people’s faces, one in particular…mine. I told him no (mind you he hadn’t even done anything yet). I guess he preferred it when people avoided his gaze and felt ashamed that they didn’t pay him to my response because he stormed off “Incroyable!” What a jerk. Finally, after he had walked around to everyone and shoved his hat in their faces he started his dance, which was terrible. When his mother shoved his hat in my face we decided we’d wasted enough time there and left.
Next we watched an Australian guy who was more of a comedian than anything but also did some acrobatics on a pole he had set up that was about 25-30 ft tall. He was really really funny and Andrew, Emma and I were standing front row. When he backed up to take a running start at the pole he backed into the giant camera Andrew had slung around his neck. He played it up like someone pinched his butt and turned around flirtatiously pointing back and forth between Andrew and a girl next to him. Emma and I immediately threw Andrew to the wolves, like any true friend would. The Aussie turned to Andrew and said, “In Barcelona it’s customary for a man to kiss another man on the cheek when you meet.” He stuck out his cheeck for Andrew to kiss. After a little hestitation and some encouragement from Emma and I, Andrew leaned in to peck him on the cheek. All of a sudden Aussie turned and planted one right on Andrew’s mouth. God I wish I had a camera because his face was priceless. None of us were expecting it. The whole rest of the show Aussie kept turning around to blow kisses at Andrew and wink at him. It was great.
After that we walked around, had a beer at an Irish pub, and explored the Gothic Quarter. We sat down in the Place de Rei and talked and listened to a man play an amped up spanish guitar until abour 11 when we decided to grab dinner. It’s actually completely normal to eat dinner at 11 at night, some even consider that early. Even most of the stores are open until around 11 at night. So we sat down at a nice restaurant off Las Rambla and ordered a few different plates of Tapas. We ordered a bottle of wine and had eggplant with tomatoe and goat cheese, smoked salmon stuffed with seafood, potato stuffed with cheese and kind prawns and an egg and potato omlette. It was sooooo delicious! It was the first time I have had eggs in probably years and it was really really good. The meal was absolutely incredible. To end the evening we took a long walk down the pier to look at the yatchs and then Emma and Andrew walked me back to my hostel.
The next morning I met back up with Andrew and Emma and we headed out to see the Picasso museum. The exhibit was 85% early work and 5% porn and 10% cubism. I really didn’t care for it at all. I hope to see more Picasso in Paris when we go next week and maybe I will change my mind but right now I don’t really care for his work at all. By the time we were done it was 4 o’clock and time for Andrew and Emma to head to the train station to go to Brussels. We parted ways and I headed back to my hostel for a much needed nap. I’d been getting an average of about 5-6 hours of sleep since I arrived, except when I stayed at Anna’s, so I was pretty exhausted come Friday evening.
After that we went to Sagrada Familia (also probably spelled wrong…my apologies). It’s the gigantic church Gaudi designed. They began building it in 1886 and it is scheduled to be finished in 19 years. I was thinking about how strange it would be to come back for my 40th birthday and see it completed and look back on my time here this semester. It’s a scary thought but if I have the money I think I’ll do it. Anyway, the church is so intricate you could study it for years. It’s the most beautiful building I have ever seen. We went inside and we happened to go at a really good time of day. The light was exploding through the stained glass and making the most amazing colors on the scaffolding inside the church. Downstairs there is a museum with Gaudi’s sketches, photographs of progress through the years, models,, etc. It was really cool. We spent our entire day checking out Gaudi and it was all incredible. We headed back to the hostel around 5 pm and I checked out and we dropped my stuff off at my final hostel for fall break, Centre-Rambla Barcelona. It was better than the White Tulip in Amsterdam but that doesn’t really say a lot. The food was complete crap, the computers were constantly broken and the staff wasn’t very nice. Plus it wasn’t really a youth hostel, there were a lot of people staying there that were much much older.
After I locked my stuff up in my room we walked around Las Rambla, the main street. This road has it all: little souvenier stands, pet stands, artists, musicians, beer vendors, prostitutes, drug dealers and street performers. We stuck to the artists, musicians and street performers. I actually hate this road and will be happy if I never see it again. Every five feet a tourist is stopping to look at something or take a picture. You move to keep walking and run into someone pushing beer in your face or trying to steal your purse or sell you sex or drugs…ahhh so stressful! I loved Barcelona but I wish someone would blow that street off the face of the earth! Anywho…
We stopped to watch a Michael Jackson impersonator because he had quite a crowd going. We waited for about 30 minutes while he ordered people to pay him immediately or he wouldn’t dance. He was such a jerk. At one point he walked around with his hat and shoved it in people’s faces, one in particular…mine. I told him no (mind you he hadn’t even done anything yet). I guess he preferred it when people avoided his gaze and felt ashamed that they didn’t pay him to my response because he stormed off “Incroyable!” What a jerk. Finally, after he had walked around to everyone and shoved his hat in their faces he started his dance, which was terrible. When his mother shoved his hat in my face we decided we’d wasted enough time there and left.
Next we watched an Australian guy who was more of a comedian than anything but also did some acrobatics on a pole he had set up that was about 25-30 ft tall. He was really really funny and Andrew, Emma and I were standing front row. When he backed up to take a running start at the pole he backed into the giant camera Andrew had slung around his neck. He played it up like someone pinched his butt and turned around flirtatiously pointing back and forth between Andrew and a girl next to him. Emma and I immediately threw Andrew to the wolves, like any true friend would. The Aussie turned to Andrew and said, “In Barcelona it’s customary for a man to kiss another man on the cheek when you meet.” He stuck out his cheeck for Andrew to kiss. After a little hestitation and some encouragement from Emma and I, Andrew leaned in to peck him on the cheek. All of a sudden Aussie turned and planted one right on Andrew’s mouth. God I wish I had a camera because his face was priceless. None of us were expecting it. The whole rest of the show Aussie kept turning around to blow kisses at Andrew and wink at him. It was great.
After that we walked around, had a beer at an Irish pub, and explored the Gothic Quarter. We sat down in the Place de Rei and talked and listened to a man play an amped up spanish guitar until abour 11 when we decided to grab dinner. It’s actually completely normal to eat dinner at 11 at night, some even consider that early. Even most of the stores are open until around 11 at night. So we sat down at a nice restaurant off Las Rambla and ordered a few different plates of Tapas. We ordered a bottle of wine and had eggplant with tomatoe and goat cheese, smoked salmon stuffed with seafood, potato stuffed with cheese and kind prawns and an egg and potato omlette. It was sooooo delicious! It was the first time I have had eggs in probably years and it was really really good. The meal was absolutely incredible. To end the evening we took a long walk down the pier to look at the yatchs and then Emma and Andrew walked me back to my hostel.
The next morning I met back up with Andrew and Emma and we headed out to see the Picasso museum. The exhibit was 85% early work and 5% porn and 10% cubism. I really didn’t care for it at all. I hope to see more Picasso in Paris when we go next week and maybe I will change my mind but right now I don’t really care for his work at all. By the time we were done it was 4 o’clock and time for Andrew and Emma to head to the train station to go to Brussels. We parted ways and I headed back to my hostel for a much needed nap. I’d been getting an average of about 5-6 hours of sleep since I arrived, except when I stayed at Anna’s, so I was pretty exhausted come Friday evening.
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