Then there was this other time that I wanted to bake banana chocolate chip muffins for my class but when I asked Michèle if I could borrow the kitchen on Wednesday night she said it wasn’t available because she goes home on Wednesdays. I had already thought this was the case, but I just wanted to be sure that I was being foiled. So I went down to the Carrefour to see how much a small oven would cost. It was like 180€ so I just went over to the Macdo to use the internet for a bit. Then the next Monday I went back hoping that something magical had happened, and something had! Basically the magic was that I hadn’t seen an even smaller oven that cost 69€! Well, as you know, I have a special love for this number (the joke that just does not quit), and I took it as a sign from Julia Child or something that I should get it. So get it I did. And I carried it back up the hill in my weakling arms. That’s about a mile walk, y’all. I’m no slouch.
And I’ve baked something every week since I’ve bought it. So it’s been great. And today, after I offered some strawberry muffins to the salle des profs, I heard Chantal from the office say that the assistants who come next time will have some serious competition. And it doesn’t matter if they speak English—it’s all about their baking abilities. Suckers. On a related note, it really bothers me that in French, there’s no word (as far as I’ve been told) that means baking as opposed to cooking. As I’ve heard it, everyone just says cuisiner. In the past, I’ve tried to make up the verb boulanger to take from boulangerie. No dice, though.
I’ve actually tried to make up other words. One that I keep trying to use is obvieusement to mean “obviously,” obviously. But Sabine always chuckles and reminds me that it’s évidement. Which is weird to me because “evidently” means something different from “obviously.” Maybe I think about language too much.
On the second weekend in February, I was stranded at the drive-in. (“Drive-in” means “internat.”) So the day before, I had asked Sylvie if she wanted me to come to her class. Because erryone’s like obsessed with me, she said yes. But then Thursday night I was looking into doing a day trip to Annecy or Évian-les-Bains and realized that it would be basically impossible to take public transportation and have a reasonable amount of time in either of those destinations if I went to Sylvie’s class at 8am. So I had to bail on it. Triste!
On Friday morning, I got up and got on the bus to Virieu to get the train to Évian-les-Bains. I was excited for it as Livia had told me that the water was fo frizzle therre. And if you know anything about me, you’ll know that that’s my drink of choice. Not to be confused with my drank of choice: rum. I slept the whole way to Évian and then got off to make the rounds.
First thing I saw:
Bienvenue dans notre usine. (Welcome to our factory.)
As soon as I got off, I was hungry (maybe that’s why the doctor said I was obese. That’s another joke—definitely NOT a joke—that just does not quit). So I stopped for a pain aux raisins.
Delicious! Raisins are good for you. Nutritious!
Since I had no clue where I was going, I was overjoyed when I stumbled upon signs pointing towards the tourist information office. So I went. There was a woman walking her toy dogs with poop stains. Sorry about the image. But this blog is not just for your entertainment; it’s also for me to, years from now, remember (fondly?) some of the images from Fronce. So I went in and got a map, which awesomely had a walking tour on it. So I set out on it.
Lucky for me, the first stop was the Church of Notre-Dame de l’Assomption, built from the 13th-15th centuries. There was a market happening in front just like a Disney movie or something. Here’s the front.
Shake it to the front
The rump/clock tower.
Back back back it up.
Inside with the stations of the cross.
Stationary stations.
Then I tried to go to the Rue de l’Eglise, but I couldn’t find it based on the map or the description, which was about some windows. But I found this old archway, which must be historic in some way. Maybe it’s where little Maid Marion first met Jester John.
I'll bet it looks just the same as it did in the olden daze.
I went past the Place du Marché/Place Charles de Gaulle, which didn’t seem to be anything super special now, but was major in the Middle Ages.
Place du marché (Marketplace)
And there was a nice placard from CdG himself! (If he sent them a fancy metal plaque.)
Love letter from de Gaulle to "tous les Français."
Then I tried to go to the Château des comtes de Savoie, but I couldn’t find it. I’m not kidding. There’s like 5 streets on that Evian historical walking tour map and I managed to boff the whole shebang up.
So I spent some more time studying the map and trying to figure out where exactly I was supposed to be walking to get to stop 5: Hopital médiéval. Points if you sorted out that meaning without my help. (Medieval Hospital if you didn’t…) Thinking I got it right-ish, when I found this inviting street I decided to walk down it.
Reason #349804598409583094 I'm going to be abducted.
Walk-a walk-a walk-a. Surprise! I was right. No. I wasn’t. I think that questionable street is like Évian’s dirty little secret. And I actually never managed to find that hospital. Failure numero dos. So I went back up (after I got fearful that someone would catch me and say, “Hey, kid! What are you doing down here?” and then I’d have to run away in an exciting chase scene.) and kept going until I found yet another questionable small road down some stairs, but this one was the right one. (The right one to get to stop 6: Buvette Cachat) How’d I know?
Gotta love accurate street names à la Disneyland Way. (Guess where that is.)
Not dodgy. Not at all.
I made it to the Buvette Cachat, which is at the bottom of a hill.
Natural. (Wood and glass.)
This “hidden drinking area” was built on the source of Saint Catherine’s fountain starting in 1826 and was finished in 1903. It’s built entirely of wood and glass, and is really quite lovely. It’s meant to be viewed as a “temple of water.” Of course, though, it was closed, so I just “got to” look at it from outside. Harrrr she be from her starboard side.
These trees are all over France.
Naturally, after the tour has you go to the bottom of the hill, it then has you go back up to the very top. That’s the real reason French women don’t get fat. So up I went to Griffon de la source Cachat.
Tourist ruining my photo. Or making it real?
“A long time ago, the baron of Rochette had a rich and beautiful daughter, Beatrix. Asked for in marriage by the lords of Allinges and of Coudrée, she preferred Arnold, her father’s riding instructor, a poor, young, courageous man. The baron, who suffered from a mysterious illness, announced that he would give his daughter to whoever could cure him. Arnold went to consult the hermit in the big chestnut of Neuvecelle. He counseled Arnold to have the baron drink the water from the fountain of Saint Catherine every day. The baron was healed very quickly and gave his daughter’s hand to the young riding instructor. We celebrate the anniversary of Beatrix and Arnold at the château de Ripaille.” BOOM. Translation from tourist information. Love me love me love me.
The statue in front. Is it Beatrix!? (Probably not.)
When Livia told me that the water was free, she meant that I should have brought a massive jug to fetch the water ‘til the day that I am grown. Because as I was standing there, two people came up to fill up their own bottles.
Chug a lug. (At first, I thought he was stealing. No joke.)
Skip-a-dee-doo-dah. (He was not skipping. He is French.)
Green people bike to fetch their water.
Then I watched some Eastern European tourists take swigs. (Judgment based on language overheard.) So when I was left alone, I scuttle over to help myself to take off my glove and bring some o’ dat to my mouf. It was good water. COLD, though. I wish I had brought along a sippy cup, because then I was just wiping my wet hand against my coat and trying to get my hand dry enough to go back inside my child’s glove because my hands are too small for adult gloves made out of not cotton. PITY ME. Eventually I managed and continued with my handy dandy map.
Stop 8 on the self-guided historical tour is Le funiculaire, which started running in 1907. Don’t worry, though. It only runs from mid-May to mid-September, so I got to look at the empty tracks. And you do too!
Movin' on up!
I continued up the street along the tracks looking for the turnoff to go through Number 9: Parc de l’ex-hôtel Splendide. Welp, missed it! Even though I checked the map a few dozen times before starting up to the top. And even though I looked at the sign for my turnoff a few times only to assure myself that that wasn’t the right one. But I didn’t pull out the map again. So it’s my fault.
Anywho, the park was opened in July 10, 1898. At the time, the Splendide was the biggest palace on the French side of Lac Léman (often called Lake Geneva. WRONG.) I spent a significant portion of the day wandering around this park. Voilà! Mes photos.
Spooky scary skeletons. Or enchanting.
Hotel. Reminds me of Clue.
Let's graffiti everything!
Little town. It's a quiet village!
I don't know what happened, but someone had the stuffing knocked out of 'em!
Doesn't it remind of the Materhorn?
I wandered around looking at the hotel that they said didn’t exist anymore. But it was definitely there. So I was pretty confused. It sounded like some Frenchies (or foolish tourists?) were up there goofing around. Loud music. Crazies. So I just wandered around the park enjoying the graffiti on this century old park. Because nothing is safe from being marked, y’all. Fact. It’s all about getting there first. Even if that maybe means that you only got there first after the newest coat of paint.
And then on I walked because there were a few more stops on the walking tour. But I first stopped and clandestinely took some more free water from a fountain. Anyone who’s traveled with me knows that I hate to seem like a tourist. But I also hate to be yelled at for doing something I’m not meant to do. So I made sure to wait until no one else was around to take a handful of water. I also waited until I saw two kids do it. If they can, I can. We’re equally adorable and, thus, equally able to get away with things. Right?
Some fountain all about the Count of Savoie
As I made my way down, I passed this plaque.
I think that just about every French city/place larger than a village has a monument or something dedicated to those killed during WWII. And sometimes the monument does double duty and also represents WWI.
World War I
Down the hill I continued to Le Château de Fontbonne. Fontbonne! Anyone who has gone to Wash U knows the significance of this name. Fontbonne is located just across Wydown Blvd from Wash U, and for some reason it’s a huge joke to Wash U-ers. Probably because every time you go by the campus, there aren’t any students there. It’s such a mysterious school to us that I’ve seen people go to parties dressed up as Fontbonne students. So I was very excited to see Fontbonne in a place near a font. And also in France!
The original Fontbonne!
Why was Fontbonne on the Historic walk, though? Good question. Sadly, though, there's not really a good answer. Apparently it's because it still looks like a Renaissance hotel from the outside. Then for a brief walk along the French banks of Lac Léman/Lake Geneva.
Looks different here than in Geneva, eeehhhh?
It looks so clean!
And then for a viewing of these Viking-like pieces of art? I’ve mentioned the random pieces of art in France’s public spaces before, but this was just strange.
The original AVATAR?
Naturally, though, the wooden dragon has a wooden child on a swing.
These wooden structures that were on the other side of the road. I have no idea what was going on. I’ve just looked and they were put there for La Légende des Flottins, which is an alternative to normal Christmas markets. How? At this one, nothing is for sale, and everything is imagined. Speak French? There’s more information here.
Then I turned around and saw this. Beautiful! Look at how the light comes through the Buvette Cachat.
Then it was on to Le Palais Lumière.
According to the tourist website, which I checked for 3 minutes the night before deciding to go said it was open year round. So, of course, it was closed when I got there. So I looked at the time and thought it was because it was just after 12. So they might be on the 2-hour lunch break. Off I went to find some grub.
Whenever I’d talk to my students about food, their favorite would come up. It was generally potatoes or tartiflette, which is cheese and potatoes. Tartiflette is a specialty of Savoie, which is where I was living. And, luckily, Évian is also in Savoie. (Or, I think, it’s in Haute Savoie, which is the same thing only higher..) Anyway, I was pleased to see that the random restaurant at which I had chosen to it had it! It was so good. And perfect winter food. Runny reblouchon cheese, sautéed onions, crisp bits of bacon, and perfectly cooked potatoes that would have melted in my mouth if I had a higher heat tolerance in there!
After my delightful meal, with which I had some water that I thought would be free because I was in Evian (it wasn’t), I decided to wander back to Le Palais.
Hooray! When I arrived back at the Palais, the doors were open! So in I went. I was immediately stopped and asked where I was going. I said I was there to see the building. Guy said that the exhibit didn’t start until the next day. But couldn’t I just see the building? Nope. Good thing the tourist information said that the Palais was open every day of the year, right? So that was a bust, and out I walked. With my head held high? Unlikely.
Model home. Just like The O.C!
Onto the next stop on the tour, which was La villa Lumière. It’s been the Hôtel de Ville in Evian since 1927, but before that, it was the summer residence of the Lumière Bros. Only the inventors of film! (At least on the French end of things.) So, I was elated to have been a Film & Media studies major and to have that name mean something to me! Because, you know, sometimes things you study at uni never have real life application. You can enjoy some of their delightful cinematic feats thanks to the magic of YouTube, which is maybe like the Lumière brothers of our time?
It was crazy difficult to figure out how to get inside that place! I went in several different doors, went up to some locked ones, and asked a handful of people. Eventually I found what I thought was the right one, and I asked, in French, where the entrance was. He responded in French, and then, I guess, recognized my accent from before and ended in English. No respect. Whatever, though. I eventually managed to find the place.
So if this is their summer home, it's frightening to know exactly what their "rest-of-the-year" home must have looked like. Basically, I'm just a pauper.
It looks like Aunt Alicia's!
Close up for that handmade craftsmanship.
Rawr! Go up the stairs....if you dare!
And that was just the downstairs. When I was in the fancy room, I thought that we weren't allowed to take photos. And by "we," I mean just me since I was the only person in there. So I thought it was better to just not ask and get away with photo murder than to ask and be told "no." I guess the French way of life has rubbed off on me after all...
I did, however, have to ask if I could go up the stairs since the information desk was right at the stairs. She said that it was okay, so I trotted up and stopped to take a photo of what the rest of the house was (or might have been, since you could only go up to the landing without an appointment).
As you can see, there's just so much work that has gone into this house. The paintings on the wall, the inlaid sculptures cut off at the bottom, the wall engravings, the light fixture... It's just so much. I yearn for the days before dem factoriez. (In french the word for "factory" is usine.)
Sadly, though, once I got upstairs, I could see that they hadn't preserved much of the old house for the offices. France does this thing where they just gut a building so that they can have it be gorgeous from the outside and kind of hideous on the inside. The library in Belley is a perfect example. The beautiful 17th century home is really just an eyesore once you're through the doors--everything is plastic and metal and not even nice quality. Such a waste.
Outside, though, they had the beautiful motto of France above the door. So that was quaint. And I overheard a tourguide saying something about the two statues on the side, but that was eons ago. I think they're replicas of a statue by Puget. (AKA that's all I could come up with when I just Googled..)
Liberté. Egalité. Fraternité.
Then I peaced out and continued my walkabout. I went to the Casino and tried to get in to take some photos.
Don't worry, though. Since I didn't have my passport with me (and since my wallet was pilfered in Paris), I wasn't allowed in. So, that was cool. I even tried to show my SNCF 12-25 card, but no dice. Jerk.
So I went back up the hill towards the park to just kill time until I went back to Belley on the last train out of dodge. I stumbled upon this frightening painting in the window of a Middle Eastern restuarant:
They look like they're scared of falling off that magic carpet and into "A Whole New World."
Would you want to eat here? Me neither. So I continued my last tour of the city.
I basically just went up to sit on a park bench for a while. Enjoying the view.
Graffiti of course.
Notice the E in the gate. Swag.
Then, way too far in advance, I decided to peace out and make my way to the train station. How excited was I, though, to see this!:
Ahhhh!!!
It's a golden retreiver! They're ubiquitous in the US, but nearly nonexistent in France. They're such an American dog in terms of size and nonstop loving. I was so happy to see one on this typically grey French day.
As I passed by a place I had visited earlier in the day (the rear of the Buvette Cachat), I noticed a statue inside. The different time of day made the building look quite different. So I stopped for a photo:
Can you see the statue?
As I walked up to the train station, I stopped by the same boulangerie from the morning to get a baguette for my weekend since the Belley market bread never looked as appetizing as it should have, in my opinion. On the road to the train station, someone left his car running to go inside a house for a quick drop off, and I couldn't help thinking to myself how nice it must be to live somewhere where behavior like this is just no big deal. Then I couldn't help thinking how easy it would have been to just hop in and take the car since I had been thinking how much easier my life would have been with one. Except I can't drive shift. Alas. So back I went to Belley in a train, and not a car.
The next day, I went to the market to get some lettuce, blue cheese, cucumbers, and tomatoes for a delightful salad. I also got some delicious Corsican clementines because it was 1 kilo for a euro! I also enjoyed Into the Wild from the library, since I realized I couldn't be checking out books from there anymore--I'd just have to deal with DVDs and use the school library for my reading needs.
Refreshed because I finally got this post up and because that's what water makes you,
