Pain in the Ash

'Europe's largest air traffic shutdown since WWII'

So my spring break trip to Ireland has been lengthened by mount Eijli&%df£idljk exploding, senting hundreds of thousands metric tons of ash into the atmosphere- grounding planes across Europe. This means, despite the CLEAR BLUE SKIES here in Dublin, no one can fly in or out. For how long? On Friday we were told 36 hours. Today all flights are down again. Headlines are saying 'Projected to Worsen'. We just got off the phone with Irish Ferries. Anticipating our flights being cancelled, we've booked a ferry from Rosslare, Ireland to Cherbourg, France the soonest available being wednesday night! Our ferry leaves at 9:30pm and gets in at 5pm. Welcome to the 19th century...

Its great being stuck in Ireland- really I'm not complaining- its just wildly expensive being stuck for what will be nearly a week longer than anticipated. If anything this is a great adventure and EVERY day so far we've had sunny skies.

I wish I could share some pictures- I've taken over 300 and Ireland is a truely beautiful place. Here's hoping I get home soon...

So Much to Say

Ok, listen guys.

I've been doing a LOT of things I want to share with you all, and in order to write it concisely while maintaining a degree of amusement is going to take some time. So I deeply apologize for the hold up.

You can look forward to:
Normandy and La Rochelle
More Bike Excursions
The Destruction of my Bike
The Glorious Release of Paul and Paulette
The Flickering Flame of French Family Traditions

What tantalizing titles! Really I know, enough alliteration already.

Here's a teaser photo:

Naive is a French Word

I really do applaud the French. They are an active group- they walk nearly everywhere, they watch how much they eat, and in my six weeks of being here I've seen maybe 2 people that could be classified as obese.
I see many of them on bikes.

Now then, obviously this is a population that thinks through the ramifications of their actions so I am astounded at their idea of "securing" their bikes. Observe:


I laughed out loud when I first saw this. These short poles designed to keep cars off the grass have no top and it would take all of 4 seconds to pick a bike, lift it up four feet from its tether, and cruise away on your brand set of wheels. Many are secured so that they could be easily ridden:



Perhaps they are just a trusting group. Honestly, Angers has a very low crime rate, and if I had never lived in Ypsilanti perhaps I would never have found this peculiar. However, this is my favorite- which I get to see nearly every week parked outside the University Cafeteria:

Brilliant.

One Good Crepe

I've had many inquiries into what exactly I'm eating over here in this land without peanut butter or pancakes.

Here's a little look:
Morning: I normally don't eat b/c I'm ALWAYS running late for class (big surprise) - but if time allows, I take the remainder of last night's baguette and dunk it in my jam 'chip and dip' style.

Lunch: Le Resto-U (le restaurant universitaire) basically a french DC-1 (otherwise known as "The Commons" for all you Eastern young'uns). Its a cafeteria affiliated with the university. For 2.90 euro I get a lil salad or soup, a hot plate, and dessert (which is often whipped cream with sprinkles on top). Bread and water are free. How nice.
Otherwise there's this cute lil boulangerie that sells a pretty good lunch "formule" a baguette sandwich and drink or dessert for 3.60 euro.

Dinner: Many things. A soup-pot portion of cereal (I FOUND SPECIAL K RED BERRIES), baguette purchased on the way home from class w/ butter and ham, couscous w/ soup, frozen dinner mix, nutella by the spoonful...

I have endeavored, on one occasion, to make crepes. When in France, right?

Well, here's what happened:

First things first- crepes are just eggs, milk, and flour. I've watched a real french person make them right in front of my eyes and really this looks like a no-brainer: FIRST MISCONCEPTION.

Mixing the batter is a science. You want to break the egg and mix it up first- so that you don't have tentacles of egg-slime permeating your batter (le pate). Next you add a little bit of milk, and then slowly flour- stir- milk- stir- flour- stir- milk etc until all the flour you want is added and the consistancy is thinner than elmers glue. Ideally without chunks. HOW DO YOU AVOID CHUNKS? I don't know. My batter was chunky. See?

SO- that failed. I added some more milk to try to dissolve them, but in the end, I scooped the chunks out of the batter w/ my fingers (I don't have a wisk - don't judge) and tried again:



Result: Disgusting scrambled eggs. The batter was too thin- or too fluffy after all my stirring- or something. In any case the result was a wet, hot mess that tasted like diluted eggs. Adding nutella didn't help. ADD MORE FLOUR!


Omigosh. Look at the color! Look at the shape! Its a perfectly cooked, golden brown PANCAKE.
I found this particularly spiteful. For a number of years I have tried and FAILED to make pancakes- many of those reading have suffered through (out of the goodness of their own hearts) my undercooked, burnt, dense-as-hell-because-katie-can't-make-batter-from-a-box, pancakes. Now I'm in France trying to make CREPES and the muses of cuisine decide to deliver me the perfect pancake. I slathered Nutella on this and moved on.


The key is to let the crepe cook. Trying to flip it too early (with that pathetic wooden substitute for a slotted turner you see in the pic) invites disaster. Once you can poke around the edges and not get batter- and you can shake the non-stick pan and the crepe moves around- its time to flip- with an elegant flick of the wrist (which often ended with omelette-crepes) and let that side firm up a bit. I think I made one good crepe out of a dozen attempts. I blame the last failure on my host-mother. She came upstairs to grab my sheets (contractually she washes them every two weeks) and we got talking about the words for pillowcase and douvet cover and by the time I returned to my skillet I had one big tortilla chip. I slathered Nutella on it and moved on.

En Plein Air

This saturday morning I found another reason to love France. Every Saturday morning, in TWO places in Angers, there are farmers' markets. Now, when I say farmers' market- I'm not talking about the little collection of stalls in a parking lot that will happen twice a week in Ypsi during the warmer months. No, here in Angers you can buy mattresses, shoes, toys, underwear, lingerie, watches, home goods, cds, unitards, fresh cut flowers, potted plants EN PLUS there's food- fresh baked bread, fresh sea food, skinned rabbits, pickled goods, any vegetable you could want, imported fruit from Spain and Monaco, home made jams, the list goes on... There's really no reason to go to any stores. Just wait for Saturday.

The market was FREEZING cold. It had snowed overnight and traces of snow were still lingering on the sidewalks. Snow doesn't stick here, it melts- but then the air is damp and soon the cold soaks in through your coat and shoes and you're chilled to the bone. We looked around for a good hour until none of us could feel our fingers or toes...

Later that night we had a crèpe making party to celebrate the fact that Nolan's host family is gone for the week. We watched the Olympics, ate crèpes, played cards and savoured the feeling we used to take for granted: hanging out at night with your friends.

All the friends I've made through this exchange program are living in host family situations like I am. Its great for learning the french culture and speaking the language- however, its a little like living with your grandparents. In order to be respectful guests, its expected that we don't make too much noise, invite too many people over for too long etc. As a ramification we all spend a lot of nights alone in our rooms, not making too much noise and trying not to feel too bored or lonely. Going out is always an option- but the cost adds up and none of us here can afford to spend 5 euro each night on top of other expenses. In short, we're all a little socially deprived and a night in the kindred company of college students was well appreciated.

The Market and Crepe Party

Angers at Night

To look at any of these close up, just click on them!

On Being a Foreigner

I cannot say I anticipated this particular learning experience, though I should have expected it. Think back to when you have interacted in some depth with a person that barely speaks english. Perhaps you struggle through the conversation and in the end just give up and stop trying? Or maybe you smile and nod- not understanding and not trying to clarify? If anything the interaction will be very shallow.

Well today, and for the next 4 months, I am that foreigner. Yes I have studied french for 8 years and in a classroom I understand everything- this does not at all mean I understand everything I overhear on the sidewalk, or the colloquialisms used by shop keepers.

The thing is- I'm intelligent. I'm in college. I'm a mostly A student. To be looked at, after a few words, as if I'm an imbecile who can't conjugate her tenses and therefore MUST be not worthy of common courtesy is insulting and hurtful. It is the lack of patience or willingness to try to understand that saddens me.

"I AM smart!" I want to yell. "And that Beyoncé you're playing over your shop's radio comes from MY country and YOU don't even know what she's saying!"

Just because a person lacks knowledge of a language does not make them stupid. You could be speaking to a nobel prize winner for all you know.

All people deserve the same respect and patience. Lesson learned.

A look at Angers...

La Nourriture Française

The moment I arrived at 14 Rue Panaget, it was lunch time. Madame d'Aprigny brings me to the kitchen where rests a bowl of beets (les bettraves) on the table. 'Beets for lunch?' I wonder. When in Rome, I guess. We sit down. I am poured a TINY glass of water- a glass the size of a short cocktail filled half way. Mme. d'Aprigny passes the bowl around and I take a modest portion, with bread I figure this can manage to satiate my ravaging appetite until I can get up to my room to devour the snickers bar and bag of chips I have in my carry on.

Everyone at the table seems to have finished with their beets- I put my fork down and wipe my mouth with a napkin as Mme. d'Aprigny takes the bowl to the kitchen- only to return with a large bowl of chicken and mushrooms! Happily I devour this- understanding now the beets were an 'amuse goute' and I am finally full. She returns to the kitchen once again and brings to the table green beans and rice, and this course followed by an apple tart! Needless to say I was stuffed and the phrase "the french eat very large lunches" illuminated in my memory...

All of these things were made that day. Dinner was just the same. It is truely an honor to eat with this family.

Photos Chez Moi

And the French half...

So the plane ride didn't feel nearly as long as I expected it to be. It felt like a hiatus into another dimension- looking out the window, all I could see for the most part was a prodigious blackness that went on as far as I could see up and down, interputed by a bright wingtip beacon.

Upon landing I found myself in what I would describe as one of those gerbil mazes made of chambers connected by plastic tubing. Only, Charles de Gaulle Airport is made of poured concrete and glass, and mostly poured concrete. It was snowing and FREEZING cold, the grey concrete was unforgiving and it is IMPOSSIBLE to make european stangers smile. In short, my spirits were pretty down. I made it to the TGV station after finding my bags (I pushed them on a little cart for those who wondered how I got a massive amount of baggage across a mile of airport) and looked for some information about my train.

This is the most awkward part of my journey. My one suitcase is HUGE and not easy to lift while the other is bulky. Getting on a train (after an hour of waiting) a lot of people are in a rush to board, they all have luggages and there is very little room to store them all. In a squeeze of people I tried and failed to get my green luggage up and onto the storage shelf (a kind englishman helped me) and stored the other in a room intended for bikes. I found my seat and buried my eyes in the zines Abe gave me.

A wonderful thing happened on the way. Paris was essentially Michigan's weather. Cold, wet, bitter, everything is hibernating for winter. An hour into the journey- I noticed less and less snow on the ground. Then I noticed moss and things growing- and some trees with leaves. Then a patch of the greenest grass I've ever seen! It was like a train ride through the seasons- starting in the depths of winter and ending a few weeks into spring.

My final station approached. I get up to join the flock of people walking toward the door and I stand near the exit like everyone else. Except i'm in a doorway with an automatic door. The door closed square on my shoulders and trapped me- try as I might I could not budge. As I was humiliatingly squirming to free myself a man reached up and pressed the release button. And that's not all. Now I'm standing really close to everyone who has piled up near the exit door- in the middle of a crowd- the train takes a turn and everyone grabs the nearest piece of wall to steady themselves but alas there was no wall for me and I began to slow-motion fall onto the people behind me. When people realized I would fall full force onto them if they didn't help me- I felt many hands at my back and I stood up to find a piece of wall to lean on and feel foolish. People were nice though- I think a woman tried to tell me that happened to her one time in montreal.

The second the door finally opened - I see the face of my host mother smiling up at me. "Katie?" she asked (all french people say my name like K-ah-tie), I said, "Oui, Bonjour!" and she helped me and my luggages down and through the station to her car. The sun shone brilliantly, there were beautiful leaves on trees and downtown was adorable and bustling. It looks just like in the movie Amelie. I will wait for another sunny day to take pictures of Angers for you all, because it's not the same under clouds.

More later, including the fantastic three course meals I've enjoyed...

En Avion

It is 12:25am Michigan time, 11:25pm Chicago time, and 6:25am in France.

Today's theme: answers.
My day began with numerable unknowns- I have two baggages, they might be overweight, do I have to check them both? How do I check in? Do I need a printed confirmation-thing that I failed to find in my searches to prepare myself? What the hell am I going to do in Chicago for 8 hours?

The answer to that last question, by the way, is a whole lot of walking and sitting and final phone calls, falling asleep on the tile floor on top of my bag and computer while it charges, and NOT ANY ICE CREAM. There is NO ICE CREAM in the entirety of the mini-metropolis that is O'hare International Airport.

We should be landing within an hour and a half and I'll be onto more of my unknowns- including how I will get myself and two luggages to the TGV station and the long awaited meeting of my host family.

I've entertained myself trying to muster smiles out of strangers. There is a slight strategy to this. Stare too long at someone and they think you're a creeper. Some walk with determined, cemented frowns. Never the less I try- I walk with my eyes up- and when someone matches my gaze I flash a good-natured 'hi, we're both alive, now, and it's kinda cool' smile. When they smile back its a little victory against the forces of gloominess and reduces by just a little bit the cold distance between strangers felt in places like this. Its great. We're all in this together. I think a lot of people get that.

Currently I'm stretched out over the seats next to me. Its dark and people are sleeping. This plane can hold something like 130 people in coach and there's only 45 of us. Needless to say people have turned rows into couches and across from me, in the four seats that make up the space between the two aisles, a man has thrown his blankets (we all got blankets, all 130 seats- we're all using 2 or 3) over the seats to make a little tent for himself. It reminds me of long conversion-van rides when I was little, making forts in the back, coloring in coloring books underneath.

I don't think this guy brought crayons.