L'Hiver becomes L'Enfer: That Time Europe Turned Against Me (Part 5)

         On Christmas day, one of Jen’s fellow Strasbourg assistants came to celebrate the holiday with her, Katelin, and me. We basically spent all day drinking wine and eating. It was an orphans’ Christmas. So don’t judge. I also made sugar cookies. That evening, we watched The Santa Clause on YouTube because that’s what you do on Christmas, right? We also made efforts to play in the massive amounts of snow, but the snow wasn’t packed enough to even make a snowball. Triste.

Daggers or flavorless popsicles?

     The next morning, Laura left. Katelin, Jen, and I decided to get out of the house and to go a marché-de-Noël-ing. So we set out. Naturally, it was super cold, but the walk to the market was pretty.

Seems like a perfect sleigh path.

       Jen wasn’t entirely sure of the way to get to the market for which we were searching, but the walk was nice. Particularly since Strasbourg is a legitimate city with a skyline.

Perspective can do funny things.

Christmastiiiime is heeeere.

         We eventually made it to the market by the Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Strasbourg that Maryse’s roommate had recommended to me. (Maryse’s roommate, Cécile, is from Strasbourg.) The market was actually a bit of a letdown, especially relative to the other market that Jen had taken me to. But the cathedral is lovely.

World's tallest building from 1647-1874

 I got a bretzel (basically a big pretzel. But not soft like Auntie Anne’s.), Jen got red vin chaud, and Katelin got some vin chaud that was white wine. We watched the kiddles ice skating like pros for a bit before deciding to head towards the bigger market so that Katelin could have a look.
We stopped for river crossing photos first, though.

The sun'll come out tomorrow!  (But it didn't.)

Not much to say about the marché, except to mention the awesome old woman wearing a blue fur coat.

Abominable Strasbourgian.

Also, I got some hot orange juice with honey that was super delicious. And the presentation was impeccable.

Presentation is 90% of food.

           That night, this French guy who keeps inviting Jen to do stuff but with whom she wants nothing to do invited us chez son ami for a soirée. Since I’m all for meeting French people, we went. Naturally, only after we had some Christmas beer, some whiskey, and listened to some sweet jams.
        We took the tram over to the stop and waited for Raphael to come fetch us. When we got to the top of the stairs, we were told to take our shoes off, and that’s when I confirmed my fears that my boots actually let water in through the seams. So, just think about how cold I’ve been with all this traipsing through the snow since the beginning of the vacation. Yep. Ice water’s all up in my bottes (boots). Shmanyshway, when we got upstairs, we were instructed to help ourselves to some rum and coke. Never one to be a party pooper, we helped ourselves.
         Present were Raphael, his friend Pierre who is living in Brazil, Pierre’s parents who were smoking with the youth, Yoanny from Haiti (?) who has a pa in Atlanta, Michael (?), Michael’s girlfriend (?), the girlfriend’s kid (WHAT? I was all, “What is this child doing welcoming me to this party with blatant drinking and smoking?” when I walked in.), and Raphael’s friend Aurélie. Never have I ever been at a party with so many people who professed to hate French people. I mean, they were French themselves! But they all said how they didn’t like how cold the French are and stuff like that. Strange. But they were a fairly international bunch.
          We basically sat around soaking up each other’s awesomeness and listening to music. (Well, except Aurélie, who fell asleep in the room where Michael was playing the guitar). Katelin, Jen, and I stayed until the wee hours and then shared a cab back to Jen’s with Yoanny because she, coincidentally, lives down the street from Jen.
         The next morning, I saw Katelin off while Jen slept in. We didn’t do anything again until the 29th because I was tired of having freezing toes and so I made us stay inside a lot. Actually, on the 28th, Jen and I met up with Laura for some drinks after Jen and I went out to dinner. It was romantic and charming.
         On the 29th, Jen and I made our way to Colmar, which is a town outside of Strasbourg that basically everyone in Belley had mentioned to me. So we took a train around 11 and planned to stay for just a few hours.
         When we got in, we followed the signs to the marché de Noël, but we didn’t follow all of the signs.

Weird... I thought I was in Europe already.

As you can see, we had GLORIOUS weather.

No.  We didn't.

We went into the cathedral at Colmar, which is lovely and old. But certainly not any better than Belley’s. Represent.

About as cathedral-y as it gets.  (Foundations from AD 1000)

Look, ma!  Chairs held together by wood! 

Other side of the square.  Quaint.

We went further into the city center to find the Christmas market, which was the most wildly overpriced I’ve experienced. But it was charming. Also, Colmar has a canal!

Venice of the France?

Everyone loves the architecture in Colmar.

            We had worked up an appetite from all that aimless walking through icy, sludgy paths, so we went to an indoor market and got some grub. Jen got some quiche, and I helped myself to a cheese sandwich that was described as tartiflette. Lies. Before we left, Jen got some vin chaud for the road, which she spilled on herself basically as soon as we went outside. I got some hot apple cider, which was horrible. So, that was nice.
           We asked directions back to the gare after we realized we had clearly walked in the wrong direction. We knew we were cutting it close to making it back on time, but Jen said the train would probably be late. As much as I wanted to have faith in the French transportation system, I knew she was right. So we were very pleased when we arrived and saw that our train was 30 minutes en retard, which made us very much on time. We were not, however, pleased, when the train ended up being 2 hours late. So we got in line to pick up our train tickets to get to Paris the next morning. That’s when I showed Jen the train station times for Virieu le Grand, over which she laughed for probs 5 minutes. Legit.
         When we got back to Strasbourg, we went to the Strasbourg Christmas market again because, well, why not?

Daytime in the Capitale de Noël!

AKA I was hoping to see the woman in the blue coat again.  Alas.  I only saw Jennifer covering her coat in powdered sugar.

Hot mess.  As usje.

        Then we stopped at the mall so that I could pick up some wool socks because I figured they’d be a bit warmer than my crazy stylish but less than wool socks from Target. Got myself three pairs. We then went farther into the mall to the grocery store and picked up ingredients for grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. And also a bottle of wine.
            We went back to Jen’s and lazed for a bit before having dinner. I made the soup and it was super bon. She made the sandwiches, and they were eh. Jokes. They were good too. Anywho, we decided to go back to Raphael’s for yet another soirée. We had some whiskey, got on the tram, and made the trek.
When we arrived, we helped ourselves to some vodka cokes and sat around for good times. When the vodka was gone, they pulled out some wine. After the wine was finished, Pierre went to his room to get some cachaça he had brought with him from Brazil. That alcohol has one of the strongest tastes evaaar. I don’t think I like it. So, let’s review where I am at this point: wine, whiskey, vodka, wine, cachaça. Okay. Great. This time, in attendance were Raphael, Pierre, Arno (some French bartender who currently lives in LA), Aurélie, and one of Aurélie’s friends. Blah blah blah. Drink drink drink. We go to some bar. Mistakenly, we got into the car that Raphael was driving. I don’t want to talk about the danger. So we’ll pretend there was none even though we were all piled into the same little car and he had definitely not been abstaining from booze.
        When we got to the club, Raphael had us each give him 10€ so that he could get us a bottle of drank and some mixer. HUGE mistake, because whatever he got was narsty. But it was too late to turn back. So we danced and joked and chatted and did whatever is done at these places until the bar was shut down.
        And then comes the reason that I’m going to get abducted.
        So some dudes had been talking to Jen for a while. When we left the bar, Raphael was idiot because he couldn’t find his passport because it was in his jacket pocket ,and he had misplaced his jacket inside. So we were standing outside waiting for him to pull himself together. (I actually thought we were waiting for him to get his car keys so he could take us home, but I later found out that that was not part of the plan at all.) So then Jen and I were like, oh WAIT. We have a 6am train to Paris and it’s basically 3am, so we gots tuh go. So we started walking to all of the cabs there to ask if they could take us back but each one told us we needed to call the company to reserve one. I don’t know why cabs work this way, but it’s not working for me. So we kept trying the numbers the cabs gave us only none of them worked. So then the guys that Jen were talking to were like, oh hey, we’ll give you a ride. And I was like, “Welp. That just sounds like a great idea. Let’s do it.” So we did. Guy should so obviously not have been driving. Almost as soon as we got in, he nearly ran into a parked car. But one of the other guys in the car sitting next to me was from Chambéry, so with some Bugey (region that Belley is in) love in my heart, I let go and let flow.
        (If you care, Raphael’s passport was found in his jacket in the bar. It was the last jacket left inside, so I really don’t think he looked that hard for it.)
         We got back to Jen’s and I went to bed for 45 minutes before getting up to get on the 3 hour train ride to Paris. We were running a bit late because we missed the tram, so we were again hoping for a train being late. Success! But this time, it was only late by like 5 minutes, but it was just enough.
When we got on the train, we couldn’t find our seats, so Jen and I walked up and down the aisles before finding a girl who was in the same boat. She was French or but was studying in Poland or something. Anyway, she addressed us in English. We talked about being in the same boat, and she said we could go see the conductor. Which is obvio what we were already doing. “I speak French,” she told me.
         “Me too,” I said. According to Jen, it came out bitchily, but I can’t help my tone on 45 minutes of sleep. Anyway, after he showed us our seats, the train set off. Before we all disembarked from the train in Paris, she smiled at me, so I guess she didn’t hate me too much for my snark.
          After we got into Paris, Jen and I went to Maryse’s. We both took naps while Maryse ran some errands. When I woke up, Maryse and I had some chocolate and then went back out to get her some nail polish remover, soap, and some other junk. We made a pit stop at Ladurée so that I could get some macarons for pastry club on Wednesday since I had volunteered to bring them goods. We also stopped at the market to get quiche supplies before heading back.
         Michael came over for dinner, and it was a lovely evening. The four of us went out for drinks at a SUPER hipster bar. Naturally, I loved it. It actually reminded me of the KWUR studio since there was writing all over the white walls. Ah, la nostalgie.
        The next day, New Year’s Eve, Jen and I went to the Jean Michel Basquiat exhibit at the modern art museum. Hey, remember that time I was in Paris and couldn’t figure out what the massive building covered in graffiti was? It was the modern art museum. Makes sense, don’t it?
          It was a really fantastic exhibit that had been recommended to me by Marc about one moon before. I actually wanted to go to the Larry Clark photo exhibit (which had been censored), but when I asked Jen (which I don’t know why I did because she doesn’t really care about museums), she said we should Basquiat it up. And then for the 12 room exhibit, she finished in 30 minutes even though we only have 1 hour to see the thing. I was being pushed out by security while she patiently waited for me. As we went back to Maryse’s, we stopped to pick up supplies. (At first I typoed that as “sipplies.” Freudian.)
          Maryse headed out for dinner with her lady. Cécile and her cousin left for a party in the ‘burbs. Jen and I had a bottle each. Just before starting, though, my mom called to see how things were going. I told her I was really getting tired of Europe and that I was super glad that the vacation was almost over because I was really looking forward to getting back to Belley. (Yes. That was said.) Anyway, back to drinking. After we left, Jen and I stopped at a pizzeria on the way to the metro, where we shared a bottle of wine. Then I insisted that we leave because it was after 11 and we were supposed to be meeting Michael and another Paris assistant at the Eiffel Tower.
          As Jen and I made a transfer at Franklin D. Roosevelt to get the next metro to Place de la Concorde, I went to check that we were getting on the right train. I really didn’t need to, though, since we had done the trajet earlier in the day, but can never be too careful. But apparently you can because, as I was weaving through the throng, my wallet was stolen. What did I lose?
          Birthday gift wallet
          Driver’s license
          Belley library card (only a big deal because I’m sure it costs money to replace. Not that I ever will.)
            160€ (including the emergency money from my Aunt Mimi)
             Credit Cards
        Because just when Europe gets you down, it spits in your face.
        Then we missed midnight while I was crying in the metro and we were waiting for the next train. I yelled to the crowd that they could keep whatever money was in there, I just wanted the wallet back. No one cared. Surpreez.
         When we met up with Michael, he informed us that even if we had been at the Eiffel Tower at midnight, we wouldn’t have seen anything because the Eiffel Tower just twinkled like it does at every hour. Classic.
          Since we were speaking English, some Sofitel hospitality students from all over the world came up to us and started talking. One of them must have been from California because there’s no other reason we would’ve decided to wander with them for so long. Sorry I can’t remember, but I was in the middle of hysterical emails and phone calls with my mom trying to cancel all of my cards. Anyway, we decided we’d all go with them back to someone’s apartment and mooch some booze except then my mom called and I had to wait at the metro opening to keep service so we lost them. So then we all just went to some gay bar.
         We went to a MacDo to use the toilets before trying to get on the metro because only some stops were open for entry. And then we couldn’t find an open station so we walked back to Maryse’s. Way to start, 2011.
          The next morning, my mom called to say she had wired me some scrilla but that I’d have to get it from Western Union. Oh, thank goodness I’m in Paris, I thought to myself. There should actually be something open. So after I said goodbye to Jen, I got on the computer to have a look. Welp, it was 11:30, so anything that was only open til 12 was out. Because I was in Paris, but it was still a holiday. I eventually found one that would be open when I needed it, got my life together, and peaced out for Western Union followed by the train.
           I somehow managed to find the Western Union and went inside to ask about the money wire. “Oh. We have the sign up, but the system’s not working yet.” Well, that’s super helpful, guys! Thanks! He said there was another Western Union up the road, so I walked for a while until I realized that there was nothing there and then called Maryse to see where the nearest one was, but my train was going to be leaving soon and wouldn’t that be just what I needed: to miss my train back to Belley. So I just decided to get on the metro. Oh wait, though, I don’t have any money to buy a ticket. So I waited for an attendant to show up and to cry to him/her, hoping for pity. Except since it’s France, no one showed up. I eventually just pushed through the exit to set off the alarm to get on the metro. Worked brilliantly.
Train ride back WITHOUT PROBLEMS. What!?
           Nicole picked me up from the train station in Culoz and said that she could drop me off or would I like to come over for dinner. I said I could easily just go back to the school. She had ulterior motives, though, and so she took me back to her house where she asked me some questions about the English papers she was grading. Just after we arrived, her oldest son Xavier came by to borrow the car. Then he left.
             While she prepared the meal (sausage and potatoes), I met her husband Jean-Michel. They’re a darling couple. Every time Nicole would ask him to do something, he would respond with “Oui, chef.” Which is mostly just enchanting because in French, “chef” means boss or chef. So it was a total double entendre.
              Around dinner time, Nicole’s middle son Hadrian rolled up with his girlfriend, Lucie. We had a nice meal with a galette des rois for dessert. The galette is a cake that’s eaten in celebration of Three Kings Day. There’s a fèvre (a little token) inside that determines the winner, who then gets to wear a crown. It’s basically a King’s cake without the winner having to bring a cake the next year. I won the crown. Naturally.
              After dinner, Nicole said Hadrian and Lucy would take me home. Except, of course, my bag was in the car that Xavier had just taken. So some phone calls were made, and we arranged to go fetch it on the way back to Belley. Legitimately, the least of my problems at this point. Lucie is lovely and quite talkative, so we had a nice little convo on the way back to the lycée. We also saw a wild pig native to the region run across the road. Twas the first she had seen since living here, so we’ll always have that.  Hadrian sat quietly in the back.
              Then I got home and exhaled.
OH my gosh, I’m so close to being caught up,
Jess

L'Hiver becomes L'Enfer: That Time Europe Turned Against Me (Part 4)

I got to the train station no problem. Was it thanks in part to the voices on the Strasbourg trams who announce each stop? Unlike other cities, there is a man, a woman, and a child. Each stop is also accompanied by its own special music. It’s a bit strange, actually. No uniformity. Which is surprising given its proximity to and cultural infiltration by Germany.
          Naturally, the train was about 10 minutes late. No big deal, though. Especially considering my former travel woes. Ten minutes is like a walk in the park. When the train pulled to a stop at the voie (platform), everyone jammed on board. Except everyone was super confused because your ticket had a car and seat number. What was missing from this train? Car and seat numbers. So everyone kind of flailed around before choosing a seat that would have approximately been his/hers.
          On the sign next to the train, it didn’t say the train station I needed was a stop. So when I got on, I was a bit nervous. The thing about French trains is that they generally don’t list the stops at all. If they do, they only list the major ones, so you may be able to get to your general area, but perhaps not your actual desired destination. Luckily, someone had put up some paper signs on the doors that said, indeed, Strasbourg—Luxembourg--Bruxelles were stops. Little did I know that they meant Luxembourg the country and not my train station, Bruxelles Luxembourg. The reason I didn’t get off in Luxembourg (as good a story as that would have NOT made) was because my ticket said what time my journey was to end. So I just kind of waited ‘til that time.
           When the conductor came around, though, I made sure to ask if we would be stopping at Bruxelles Luxembourg. He assured me that we would be. Then I realized I didn’t know which stop it was, so when the next guy came around, I asked. He said it was the second. Which didn’t make sense since we were already at the 3rd stop by the time he came around. Oh well. I knew it couldn’t be any worse than my bus ride to Barça so I just leaned back and took some photos of the passing landscape.

God's country?

When I got to the correct station, I wasn’t really sure. At first, I was like, “Yes. This is me.” But then the signage changed as the train furthered into the station. So I was all, “Erm. Maybs not?” Asked the conductor and he assured me that my first inner dialogue was correct!

So I got off and realized that it was rapsotively freezing in there.  So I went to the salle d’atteinte (waiting room) hoping for some warmth.  Pipe dream.  It was marginally warmer, if only because the doors sometimes closed.  But it was definitely obvious to me that this was not a good train station in which to spend oodles of time.  Thank goodness Fiorella, her mom Sylvia (whom I fondly call Consuela), and Sylvia’s BF Manny showed up just then.

            We trudged through the snow back to their hotel where we had a bit of a rest before heading back to the outside.  We made our way to a Christmas market near the center of town.  But since they’ve all been to Brussels loads, they took me on a little scenic tour first.  We first went to “The Grand Place,” which, during the summer, is filled with flowers.  Photos of it are impressive and drool-worthy.  But, since it was the dead of winter, none of that.  But there were Christmas trees, so that’s the same, right?  It also had the City Town Hall.

            We walked through and looked about a bit until Manny led the way to Brussels’s main claim to fame: Manneken-Pis.  It’s a statue of a boy peeing.  Naturally, its origins are unknown.  One story is that the statue was built to commemorate a battle where the then infant Duke Godfrey III of Leuven urinated on the troops of the Berthouts, prompting them to lose the battle.  No matter where he came from, he’s super popular, and they dress him up in all kinds of outfits. 

Kids do the darnedest things.

            We eventually came to the Christmas market where Manny got oysters that were, quite frankly, not good.  But he loved them.  Fi got a snausage, and Sylvia didn’t eat anything, actually.  I couldn’t settle on a meal.  Boohoo.

            Luckily, we came upon the Moroccan tent.  Each year, the UN chooses a country to have a special place at the market and this year was Morocco.  Some country with reindeer did it last time they were there.  Anyway, we went inside, and I think it was supposed to be like, “Look!  You’re in Morocco!”  But in a way that’s prolly super touristy.  But it was nice.  AND WARM.  Which is the most important thing.  They had this massive and massively delicious looking display of food, so I dropped some scrilla to get a pita (HOW I’VE MISSED IT!) filled with chicken. Sylvia got some mint tea.

            When we came out of the tent, I stopped to take a video of what Fi kept insisting was the hipsterest carousel of all time.  She may be right.

Don’t worry, guy!  I wasn’t filming or anything. 
 We went to yet another Christmas market, with some of the smallest carousel seats (as in a little girl looked trapped in one) and walked around.  We stopped into a dish store because apparently Sylvia loves those.  Fi and I jammed to the music.  Why?  Because they were playing Willow Smith’s “Whip My Hair.”  Fi walked me through the music video since I’d never seen it before.  We wandered around for a bit longer, but it was starting to get dark, so we wended our way back to the hotel for a washing up before dinner.  Don’t worry, though.  On the way back, we saw another peeing statue. 

Dogs do the darnedest things.

Apparently there’s another one of a girl, called the Jeannenken-Pis, but, alas, we did not complete the trifecta. 

Also, as we walked, we saw some façade at The Great Place.  It had nothing on the Fête des Lumières, but it did have Santa doing a somersault, so that was impressive.  

No Santa here!

After getting to the hotel, we quickly turned back around to get to Manny’s aunt’s house.  We went inside and went up the three flights to her apartment.  Even though Tia (Maria, but whom everyone calls Tia) owns the whole building of full-floor apartments, hers in on the 3^rd floor.  Her ex-husband has Parkinson’s and she continues to take care of him and has him live on the first floor.  Some girl from Mali lives on the second floor.  I think she’s part of the family in some way?  Anyway, when we walked in, I was introduced to two of Tia’s sons.  Both of their names start with Ds, but I can’t remember what they are.  (UPDATE:  Fi’s informed me that their names are Desmond and Dennis.)  Their wives names, however, are Mitzi and Snow.  The Ds now live in Canada.  Snow is from China.  And Mitzi is from Australia.  Tia is from Portugal.  The whole Manny/Tia family is Chinese, but they collectively moved to Mozambique at some point.  It was an international delight.

While we waited for dinner to be ready, Tia told us we could watch TV.  They have channels in English!  We came in during the last 30 seconds of Saved by the Bell, which was the biggest cocktease of all time.  We searched for more English for a bit but then just settled into talking to each other.  Such a letdown.

We had some Portuguese food.  Much of which was fried.  Then we had some tomato and cabbage soup?  I’m honestly grabbing at straws here.  At some point, I was brought into the conversation, and I kind of explained what Belley is like.  Tia told us a story of how she used to know this man who was strange.  And she said to him, “Why are you so odd?”  And he told her he used to live in Antarctica or the North Pole.  Underground, he would listen to hours of radio listening for codes or something.  So then they told me,

“Jessica, it could be worse.  You could be doing that.”  And they’re right.  But how sad is it that it goes from Belley to living underground?  Sad but true.

We left quite late in the evening, but just in time to make the last metro back to the hotel.

More street lights.
Red means stop!

The next morning, Manny woke us up and told us to get out and do it.  So Fi and I did.  (Manny and Sylvia went in search of a Laundromat.)  Fi and I went back to the Christmas markets from the day before so I could try a Belgian waffle.  1 activity I had meant to conquer: CHECK.  We kept on moving, though, so we could go to this hipster-looking café for hot cocoa for me and coffee for Fi.  It was totally hipster and totally satisfying.  They had hot choc-o-lait on sticks, which is kind of all the rage here.  (With good reason.  It’s delicious.)  Voilà.

Fi and I basically wandered around vintage stores and shopping.  That’s kind of our thing.  In the afternoon, when my feet were just about ice cubes, we decided to stop.  I got some vin chaud.  I had just taken a sip of it and said, “This is not good,” when some Belgian hooligans came by with their brand of tom foolery.  As soon as I put my cup down, BOOM!  A snowball fell straight into the cup and covered me in hot, spiced, red wine.  Was this a relief since I had just said that I didn’t like it?  No.  Was it pretty standard for my luck?  Yes.  There was nothing to do but ask the girl behind the stand for some napkins.  In any other world, when things like this happen and it’s obvious that everyone around sees it (including the salesclerk), another one is offered.  In Europe, though, sucks to be you!  Fi got a crêpe before we moved on.  I was looking for some wool socks or a new hat to replace the one on my head.  But no dice.  I stopped to get some old-fashioned candies that I didn’t really enjoy.  They were super gummy and not what I expected, but I kept them because why not? 

Stumbled upon some permanent art installations.

Was that Japanese game show inspired by this?

It's missing two "ho"s!

Then we wandered around looking for some Belgian chocolate for me to bring back to Jen.  We went into this place called Chocopolis.  It was WAY too expensive.  I mean, I got her some basic dark chocolate drops, but they were legitimately the least expensive thing there besides macarons.  I think the lowest priced box of chocolates was like 35€.  They were also playing Cee-Lo’s “Fuck You” in there.  Unedited!  Again, not speaking English lets you get away with playing whatever you want. 

We ended up going to Leonidas to get a box of chocolates.  Part of me cringed, because I could’ve gotten that on Larchmont at home, but oh well.  From the source!

As we walked, I saw a man painting the window.  Adorbs.

Live art.

We then went back to the hotel because I was going to freeze.  Then we went back and watched some Casper in French.  Fi also offered me her copy of The Color Purple, which was very exciting for me since I had finished Frankenstein on the train to her.  We also watched this BBC news story about this woman who had acquired an accent after having a stroke.  It was really strange and quite easily bogus.  And maybe a little bit racist?

Then we went back to Tia’s for some dinner.  Before we ate, though, Fi and I started playing her Chinese solitaire game.  It quickly became an obsession.  We still haven’t mastered it, but perhaps you can?

More good food and good times.  Snow is an amazing storyteller.  She told us all about how she threw out her back.  I will never forget it.  Sorry.  No video!

Again, we left just in time for the last train. 

The next morning, we left for the train station around 7:20 to get there for my 7:53 train.  Manny and Fi walked me there, and we got there with just a few minutes to spare.  I went down the stairs to the platform.  At 7:53, the train had’t shown up.  Tick tock tick tock.  7:55.  Supprimé.  CANCELLED.  Awesome.  I ran upstairs to see if Fi and Manny were still there.  No dice.  I called and texted Fi hoping that I could just go back with them until the next train, but she wasn’t answering.  Which makes sense since international charges are a mess.

So I got in line with all the others to see when the next train would be.  At 1pm.  Since it was snowing outside, I hunkered in for a nice long wait.  Please know that I knew nothing about this wait would be nice.  Anyway, I went to get some tea and sit in the only open thing (aka only area with heat) in the train station.  I tried to make it last, but after a while, it was obvious I wasn’t going to be buying anymore and I felt bad.  So I went to sit in the waiting room.  I put on a second pair of socks, pulled on my gloves even tighter, and tied my hat under my chin.  I couldn’t take it, though.  So I went back to the “restaurant.” 

I was about to go back inside when I realized that I might need to make a different ticket reservation.  So I got into the line again.  As soon as I got to the front of the line, guy closed the window and said the next woman would be there shortly.  So I waited.  And waited.  And waited.  LIAR!  I went to the other line and he told me just to be at the platform early. 

I went and got a sandwich before taking a seat.  When a table freed up, I left my stool for it.  Because I hate seats without backs.  Does anyone like them?  As I sat there, I wrote a short short of the non-fiction variety on the back of a newspaper after I did the Sudoky in it.  Leave me alone for its overdramatism.

“December 24 Brussels”

The old man wanders back and forth across the large white tiled floor.  Its squares marked by the dirt from roller board suitcases.  His faded parka bespeaks of its former burnt orange glory.  What would have been a glory in the white outside the train station.  That white unblemished but for footsteps and the pinpricks of water droplets from window radiators.

On his head, a forest green knit hat that goes into his white bears and oval glasses.  Back and forth he walks, sliding the flaky buttery crumbs of croissants and pain de noël left by passengers long since on their trains.  He tells a joke to the poorly scheduled girl behind the counter with the red and white sleeping cap who offers tea with a smile and warm wishes.  She laughs with a clap.  He drifts back, his shoulders hunch and his jacket puckers open.  Back to his corner.  A table he had shared with an old woman before she left him there.  “Bon appétit, monsieur,” he calls over and over from the corner.

Eventually it’s near enough to departure time that I figure I can go stand outside and just stare at the departures board.  So I starts to standing and listening to music.  Mistake.  Mariah Carey’s “Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)” almost sets me to crying in the station.  Why didn’t I go back home I ask myself.  NO answers.  Anyway, 15 minutes before the train’s to arrive, it says that it’s delayed 40 minutes.  Awesome. 

Eventually, it’s time to go downstairs.  So I go to the voie.  There are a lot of people on it but I’m not too mussed.  When the train pulls up, though, and I see people making mad dashes, though, that’s when I get nervous. 

Sometimes on trains (as I’ve mentioned/experienced here before), one car goes one place and the other car goes another.  So I was trying to find the second class car going where I was going.  So I passed up the first few even though everyone was just clamoring to get on.  I finally found one that looked right and I started trying to get on.  But then the conductor said there wasn’t anymore space! 

The woman next to me started getting hysterical.  She went to the train’s windows and started yelling at all the people inside to move for the rest of us.  Move!  Move!!  I guess they didn’t.  Then the woman started pointing to this girl next to her (presumably her daughter) saying that there were children who needed to get on the train.  This train was legit lifeboats on the Titanic.  (Thanks, Parker Brogdon, for that metaphor.)  She pushed in front of me and said, “People need to get on this train.”

 I responded, “Moi aussi.”  (Me too.)  When the conductor moved, though, she just pushed her way on by herself.  That little girl was just a pawn!  The conductor closed the door and walked away.  Wait, though.  I was still outside.  Ack!  So I stopped thinking I wasn’t gonna make it on and I just opened the door and got on.  Thank god I was using Jen’s little backpack instead of my big bag because I fit like a bug in a rug. 

A different conductor came back later and closed the door.  Success!  It was crazy full in there.  Never have I ever been on so ridiculously a standing room only train.  At the next stop, I got to move further inside so that I wasn’t standing against the door.  Now I could see the sad state of affairs.  People were even sitting in the bathroom—on the toilet, on the floor, leaning on the walls.  The loud woman was still causing a scene because she needed to wee, but where were these people gonna go?  No dice, fool. 

At the next stop I got moved in a bit further so that I was standing in the aisle.  Thank goodness I had my gross gummies with me because I was starving.  Each stop we made took about 15 minutes because we were trying to pack as many people in as possible.  Because of all this and because of some random stops that we made in the middle of nowhere for 30+ minutes at a time, the 5 hours train ride ended up actually taking 10 hours.  So I had plenty of time to take photos.  Here is what those 10 hours were like:

Actual train.

This was later because there was enough space to sit down.  See everyone standing in the background?

I started creeping a mixed family (mother and 2 sons) that was sitting near me.  I listened to Christmas music.  I really wanted to be all cinematic and start a sing-a-long, but they’re European.  And I already felt conspicuous enough when Jen and Katelin (who, oh yeah!, were together because Katelin was arriving in Strasbourg for the holiday on that day.  Christmas Eve.) kept calling to see where I was like I would know.  And I was all speaking in English.  Also, Katelin and Jen had never met before Jen went to get her from the tram stop. 

When we had a few stops left, the mom of the mixed family asked if I wanted to sit down while her boys got off at the stop for a bit.  I accepted.  Guess I wasn’t creeping too creepily after all.  When they came back, I moved and asked some guys if a seat was full.  They said, “It’s free.”  IN ENGLISH!  I was legit shocked and excited and hurried to get my bag and make it mine.  They were Russian, though.  Triste.  As soon as I sat down, they pulled out their legit bag of beers and started throwin’ em back. 

Random side notes: There was a dog (a black lab) on the train this WHOLE time.  S/He was very well behaved and just laid under the seat the whole time.   There was a baby on board (no sign) who was good until the end.

Eventually I got off the train.  And I went to go wait for a taxi because the trams had stopped running at 6pm because of some strike.  Anyway, I went out front to get a taxi but when I asked the only taxi there if he was accepting passengers, he said nah.  Typical.  So I waited out front for a while to see if any would show up.  I kept waiting while the chunks of snow kept falling and nearly decapitating innocent passers-by.  Jen asked if I was in a cab yet.  Nope.  So she called to make a reservation for me.  They said I’d have to wait an hour.  I needed to be in the same taxi area as everyone else.  I thought I was.  But then I went back inside and saw that there was an itty bitty little sign at the last minute that said instead of going straight, I needed to go right. 

So I did.  I waited about 45 minutes.  There was this ragtag family of nearly homeless and fully crazy Frenchies who stole a cab.  Then the group of 5 in front of me started getting in the cab.  They started putting their bags in the trunk until the guy was like, I can only take 4 bags.  They said, what if we put it inside the car?  He said nah.  Then he looked at me and said, “You.  Let’s go.”  As bad as I felt, I had to do it.  So I did.  I think I got to Jen’s just after midnight.  And we had mac’n’cheese, eggplant parmesan, and a shot a whiskey.

The end is so close I can taste it-ly,

Jessica

L'Hiver becomes L'Enfer: That Time Europe Turned Against Me (Part 3)

After arriving in Basel, Jen and I waited for Jen’s bag and then waited to get on the bus shuttle to the train station.  We got on the train to Strasbourg and had no problem.  Magically, this train station had a waiting room that was OPEN and inside.  (Virieu has one that’s sometime’s open and inside.  The other side has a bus stop like shack.)  When we got off the train, we took the tram to Jen’s area, got off to get some groceries, and made the trek chez elle. 

            We didn’t do much that night except eat some dinner and then go to bed.  She made a lovely pasta with crème fraiche (Jen’s obsession) and veggies. 

            The next day we had quite a late start.  Though mine was slightly before Jen’s, so I went downstairs and watched some telly.  Her cable is amazing and sometimes lets you choose to watch in English or French.  Vair exciting.

            When she got up, we bumbled around for a long time (watching Dexter, I think) before we decided to make the most of the day and head off to explore Strasbourg: Capitale de Noël!  This exploration really just included going to Jen’s favorite Christmas market.

Christmastiiiiiime is heeeeeere!

            We took the tram back to city center.  As soon as we got off, Jen needed to go to the ATM.  I managed to get a photo, though, of the streets. 

You..... light up my liiiiife, street.

            As is terribly common in Europe, the streets had lights up as well. 

            There was also a fancy carriage.  Though I’m not sure where it took you.

Maybe it took you back in time?

            Then we actually went into the Christmas market.

I want the world.  I want the whole world...

I got the zebra one.  MIXED.

            We didn’t get much.  But I insisted we pick up some candied almonds since they’re seasonally delicious.  I also got the fat kid treat of a meringue mountain.  These are all over France, and I first saw them when I was in Paris just before Christmas 2 years ago.  It’s basically meringue covered in chocolate.  Usually, they come in sets of 9-12, but since I was a first-timer, I just wanted one.  So I asked for one.  The boy behind the counter looked massively confused, so I said wanted one.  He picked it up with his bare hands and gave it to me.  Definitely sanitary.  It was the fattest thing I’ve ever eaten.

            We then peaced out and went to the big grocery store, which is in a mall!  Did I mention that Strasbourg is a legitimate city?  Much unlike Belley.  It was strange, actually, to be in a French city that wasn’t Paris but that was so full of shopping.  Anyway, we got a ton of food since we were expecting all of the shops to be closed on Christmas Eve and Christmas.  (It was only the 20^th, but I was leaving for Brussels the next day.)   So we loaded up and then had to carry the 4 bags across this big icy/snowy plain to get back to the tram.  Naturally, the bags kept getting caught on my boot buckles and so started to tear a bit.  Once we got on the tram, Jen and I traded so that they wouldn’t break and we wouldn’t look more foolish than we already did.  I later found plastic bag scraps tucked into my buckles.

            When we got back, we had some chips and homemade salsa with Jen’s German roommate.  I think for dinner, we had pasta again.

Feast!  (Also, note evil Frankenstein....)

            The next day, I was up at about 5 to get to my 7am train to head off to Brussels solo!  To meet dear friend Fiorella from NDA!  Details to follow.

Finally getting caught up-edly,

Jess

Alp-ino

We interrupt your regularly scheduled Christmas holiday update to bring you this last weekend update.

Currently (aka the Tuesday after this weekend happened, which was February 15), these are the parts of my body that ache:
My right leg, mid shin (also bruised)
My left leg, mid shin (convinced there's a bruise just below the surface)
My armpits
My triceps
A spot on my right buttcheek where I have a bruise
The inside of my right knee where I have a bruise
My adductors

Why, though, friends?  It is because I decided to go skiing for the first time in 12 years.  (That's a guess.  It is maybe more than that.)  It is also because I decided to do downhill skiing for the first time in my life.  Many moons ago, Anne and Lew decided to take Alex and me on a trip to Mammoth (because California is the greatest state and has everything you want in terms of climates).  Here's what I can remember about the trip: driving in the middle of nowhere, being in snow that was so deep people had shoveled pathways that were taller than I, cross-country skiing lessons with pine trees covered in snow.  I remember taking the lessons.  I don't remember learning anything.
               Something about this made me think that it would be a good idea to email Flo last week and ask if I could come along for a weekend at their chalet.  Of course, she obliged.  So on Friday afternoon, I got on the bus to the train and waited outside for an hour (because the waiting room is under construction.  Also because I usually have to wait outside.) and got on the train to Geneva.  Magically, I was on the train with Nicole's son, Hadrian, but I didn't know it until it was too late.  Tant pis.
               I got into Geneva no problem and waited for Flo to arrive after work.  I talked to my sister the whole time.  Well, not actually.  First, I went to the Relay to buy some chocolate to give to my students for Valentine's Day.  What a rip.  I paid 13 CHF (basically $13) for a bag of Lindt.  I know it's delicious and all, but get rizzy.
              Anywho, Flo and I went back to her place and had a lovely meal with Gregoire, Antoine, and their friend, Axel who lives just around the riverbend from them.  (Please note that they do not actually live on a river.  They live in the 'burbs, but be reasonable.)  So after our dinner of ribs, salad, some kind of vegetable galette that was delicious, and some potatoes.  All from downstairs, obvio.  After dinner, we said goodbye to Snoopy (who's en chaleur) and hit the road.
              Two hours later we arrived in St. Luc and sat down for some lovely cake that Papi Xam (pronounced ck-sahm) had brought with him from Lausanne.  It was delicious.  Then, Flo and I set up my bed, and we all hit the sack.

Hi!  I'm St. Luc, and I look like a storybook.

             The next morning, Antoine and I walked to the village boulangerie for some bread and eggs.  They only had 2 eggs left, so Antoine sent me back with the bread and 2 eggs while he continued onto the "big" supermarket for more eggs.  When he got back and when everyone was awake, we had some breakfast of soft-boiled eggs (of course), bread, and jams.  I also had some verveinne tea as my throat was threatening to be a problem.  After breakfast, Antoine told me he had turned off his alarm at 7:30 because he was too tired.  So he wouldn't have time to do his homework before skiing.  That is so not how the Lew Williams house operates, but I kept that to myself.  Antoine, Greg, and Axel scooted off to the slopes while Papi Xam worked hard to get rid of the ice on the patio next to the chalet.  I played this game that involved navigating a metal ball around holes in wood for a bit.  Then Papi Xam came back inside and the three of us had cappuccinos before Papi Xam headed back out to the ice.  Flo and I then had a discussion about Swiss bank laws and the European Union.
            When Papi Xam came back inside, I tried on some ski boots (first Flo's, then his) and got myself geared up: Greg's green pants, two thermals, and a massive coat.  Also Greg's socks.  So we made the walk.  It was horrifying.  Those boots are not comfortable.  I think maybe my legs were not intended to be in ski boots since they cut into my calves/shins at such odd places that it was painful and I legitimately have a bruise on my right shin where they met.  Anyway, they make you feel like you're walking on the moon.  But with gravity.  Flo, Papi Xam, and I made the short walk up the hill to the locker room where we each took out some skis and then got onto the funiculaire to get to the ski area.  Carrying the skis was a mess.  But not as much of a mess as me trying to go up and down the stairs in my heavy moon boots and carrying the skis was.  Whatevs, though, the view was pretty.

Takin' me higher and higher!  (higher!)

            While everyone got off and went to the right, we went to the left.  Flo said it was because there were less people.  And I believe her.  I was a hazard.  So, Papi Xam (in regular walking shoes and with 2 ski poles/batons) walked next to us while Flo and I (with much difficulty on my end) made our way up the gentle slope to go up the lift to a fairly easy piste.  For a while it looked like I was on a Nordictrack instead of actually moving.  Eventually, though, I managed.  Flo went up on the lift with no problem.  Thinking highly of myself, I decided to follow her lead.  I put the little seat between my legs and zoomed up.  WAY too fast.  I fell sideways back down to the bottom.  The Italian accented man told me to try again, so I did.  I got a bit further and then slid face down back to the bottom.  By this time, Flo had skiied back down on the actual course and met me at the loading point.  The man said we should go to the "baby piste" and come back later.  Owned.
         Now Anotoine showed up and the four of us made our way down.  Only, I couldn't get my life together so Flo had to ski down to the baby slope with me between her legs.  Yep.  It was that kind of weekend where it's just all mess all the time.  So anyway, we made it to the baby slope and it was mostly empty for now, which was fantastic for me.
         After Antoine went up on the lift, Flo helped me catch a seat, and I made it up to nearly the top on the lift.  But Antoine told me to disembark a bit trop tôt (too early), and so I slid down the hill a bit.  But don't worry.  I didn't crash!  Some random English speaking woman basically coached me to the flat bit of land.  So then Antoine and I went over the basics, aka how I should try to keep my skis in the shape of a pizza.  Alright.  We'll try that.  So we did.  The way this slope was laid out was that on the right, you had mountain side.  On the left you had death side, where if you went over the edge, goodbye working legs!  So when we were turning, I go really good at turning right.  So good that I crashed into the mountain.  And fell.  Flo watched and enjoyed me all day.
        Antoine I think basically didn't know what to do with me and peaced out to go to the snow park, where there are ramps and fancy tricks and no embarrassing non-snow bunny Americans.  So Flo continued with her efforts.  We went up and down again and again and again.  Here's how it went:

Up!  Sans balloons.

Success at the top of the mountain!  Me: "I'm the Queen of the world!"

World's response: "No.  You're not."

After nature finished kicking my ass for the first few hours, it was time for lunch.  Luckily, Papi Xam had staked out a killer table on the deck of the station's restaurant.  We went for a sit.  I was SO glad to be taking off those skis.  I really can't even express.  Eventually, Axel, Greg, et Antoine came to sit with us.  They gots some foods and started eating.  Flo and I then went to get some grub as well.  The prices at this place are completely ridiculous.  The food was alright but nothing to write home about, to be sure.  Furthermore, it was self-serve!  But when you pay 9CHF for some fries, you expect at least potato wedges.  But nah.  Not here.  This is Switzerland where everything is ooc (out of control) expensive.  So anyway, I got green beans wrapped in bacon (Bert) and mashed potatoes.  Papi Xam had a small bottle of wine.
            After the meal, the boys went on to ski some more but Flo fell asleep.  Then so did Papi Xam (and he also started to snore/ronfler a bit), so I was like, why not?  And I put a glove over my face, put my boots up on the chair, and "rested my eyes."  After the sieste (actually the French way to say "nap"), Flo and I headed back out while Papi Xam headed home.  Don't worry, though.  The afternoon was basically more of the morning.  So, my body loves me.
          When we got home, Papi Xam was in the midst of chopping vegetables for his homemade soup.  Flo went in for a nap.  I played more of the metal-ball game.  Then the dudes came home from skiing.
          Before dinner, Papi Xam and Antoine started cutting this bread that is typically Swiss.  They make it twice a year, and it lasts for ages.  It's got potatoes in it.

He was smiling in the first one.  But what's really important to acknowledge is the saw he's using to cut the bread.

This was a legitimate thing that happened.

We had the soup, followed by chicken, followed by more of the cake.  STUFFED.  Then Antoine pulled out this card game called 1000 bornes that made 0 sense and took forever.  Until everyone started cheating.  Then it went really quickly.  Then twas time for bed.  Except no it wasn't for Axel and Greg who snuck out to go to this bar with some other skiiers while Flo was on the phone with Olivier.  (Because Greg is a master and put her on the phone with him shortly after she said he couldn't leave the house at 10pm to go to a bar.  What a winner.)
         Sunday started with breakfast: bread, jams, soft-boiled eggs, and a rectangle of chocolate.  Noms.  Then, Greg and Axel headed to the slopes while I helped Antoine with his English homework.  I'm good for something!  (NB: This something is not skiing.)  That took about 5 minutes since there were 14 questions.  Flo then helped Antoine with his German homework.  In Switzerland, kiddies have to take German and English if they live in the French-speaking part of the country.  In all of the areas, they have to take English, because that's imperialism.  In France, also, they have to take 2 languages.  Yet another reason the US will be taken over.  And that China will take over New Zealand.  (Glenn Beck reference. Thank you Rachel Maddow podcast aka my main source of news.)  After Antoine skipped out to go skiing, Flo took a shower, had a nap, and started to do some housework.  She sent me to the market to get snausages for the barbeque we were going to have at the snow park for luncheon.
           On the walk, I stopped to get some postcards and to take some photos.

Materhorn is visible!  On the left!

When I got back, Flo was mid-vacuuming.  I tripped on the vacuum.  Oh, life.  Anyway, the three of us (Flo, Papi Xam, and I) headed to the snow park.  I had decided to not go skiing because my body said no to ski bottes/boots.  We made a massive hike up the hill to the snow park.  Sometimes our legs completely sunk.  It was great to be wearing snow boots.  Blah blah blah we made it up there.  Papi Xam had taken another path (a bit safer) and when he made it, sat down for a bit.  Flo caught up with a friend from St. Luc, and I just enjoyed the view.

The hills are alive!  (Isn't it lucky that the Von Trapps wanted to escape during the summer?)

So while Antoine went down to get some wine for Papi Xam and Flo (I abstained because apparently one of my fears--in addition to houseflies and falling down stairs/cracking my teeth--is falling down a mountain), Flo and I threw the dogs on the barbie and kicked back.  I could have gone in closer for a view like Flo's friend's daughter did, but I didn't feel like tumbling down a hill Wesley style.

Horribly frightening for apparently only me.

So we had some grub while we enjoyed the entertainment of watching people do tricks.  The guy in charge of the snow park for the day was also playing some sweet beats like Robyn.  But also played some horribly depressing rap songs about people getting cheated on and cutting yourself.  I think that the impact of English lyrics are often lost on French listeners.  [There is an episode with a similar moral of the story to come in the rest of my Christmas post, which will (fingers crossed) be up some time tomorrow.]
            Here are some tricks seen on them slopes.  The first is Antoine.  And the second is Greg.  Music courtesy of Swiss boy.


The sound at the end of Greg's is of Flo and me being embarrassed about the landing.  Ah well.  I really shouldn't be embarrassed since my whole day was embarrassing, but I digress.
             We went back to the chalet, and Flo went for a nap.  I played AND WON! the metal ball game. And I put it down never to play it again.  Eventually, everyone was home.  We had leftover soup, cleaned up a bit, said adieu to Papi Xam, and then hit the road back to Bogis-Bossey (where Flo lives).  We got in around 10pm.
             Antoine, Olivier, and Greg presented Flo with her birthday gift: a certificate announcing the imminent arrival a treadmill.  Oh yeah.  The next day (Valentine's Day) was Flo's birthday.  Then Flo and I Skyped with the Williams Home on the West Coast for Large Things.  To bed by midnight to get up at 5 to be on my 6:28 train to Culoz where I had a 40 minute layover for my one stop to Virieu where I hopped on the bus and got home for a nap before classes.  Great weekend.
          A week and a half later, only the shin and knee bruises/bleus remains.
Healingly,
Yessica