Last Sunday I went to a concert with Negin from Wash U. It was for The Drums at the Black Cat. The opening band was two guys called True Womanhood, and the lead singer was wearing a Fila sweatshirt and glasses. It wasn't until he took those two articles off that he looked like a front man. They were good but nearly impossible to understand. I then got a ginger beer with actual pieces of ginger in it! (Have I already told you that in Britain, pulp is sometimes called juicy bits? Well, I guess these were beer-y bits.)
We were expecting the performance to be kind of hipster and apathetic, but it was basically the opposite! The front man for The Drums was swaying and almost like a Paul Anka for the "over it" set. Maybe he's be better likened to Vince Fontaine in Grease. You can see his retro TV host swag here. He opened the concert by saying, "Thank you for coming out tonight. We know Sunday nights can be very relaxing, so we'd like to make sure that doesn't happen here." It was a good concert, and they performed nearly all of their songs. But NOT their first single, which was a huge letdown. (Sidenote: their lack of interest in that music video explains why we thought they would be bored at their own concert.) But if you had a huge amount of success (I'm talking on the Indie scale here) with a certain song, would you get tired of performing it? Senior year of college, I went to a concert with some friends, and the lead singer of the band (fun.) had previously been in a different band called The Format. People started asking him to sing their "big hit." He responded by saying, "I'm in a band called fun. now." But then he sang it anyway. So, the lesson is, GIVE THE PEOPLE WHAT THEY WANT.
Also, The Drums say: We only write about two feelings: one is the first day of summer when you and all of your friends are standing on the edge of a cliff watching the sun set and being overcome with all of your hopes and dreams at once. The other is when you're walking alone in the rain and realize you will be alone forever.
Last week, I went on a few walks. During one, had three lovely discoveries. One was a front garden art exhibit:
Whimsical whimsy.
Found art?
Takes a lot of balls to do something like this
Walkawalkawalka, I passed Ralph Lauren on the high street, where they were putting up Christmas decorations. Why do people have no respect for Thanksgiving as a legitimate holiday to be recognized and celebrated?
When I got into residential territory, I came upon this GIANT caterpillar.
The leaves are to give a size idea.
And also to make it look like a butterfly..
SO GIANT.
On Friday, I went to The Fashion Centre (they think they're British... Like me.) at Pentagon City. It was probably the most terrifying mall I've ever been to. Just too large. Like Del Amo in Torrance size. At Del Amo, they have multiples of the same stores. Is this true at Fashion Centre? Don't know because I was too scared to run around and check it out. Anyway, they're on the Christmas bandwagon as well.
TOO SOON.
Look at the size of that tree. But, more importantly, look at the size of that mall! And only with one toilet that was practically outside... But I digress.
I also went for a run and saw a thing to memorialize Harry Potter.
Too much.
I also went to a Meetup event on Friday because I need to know more people in this strange and wondrous people. It was fairly successful. We'll see who I still know in a few weeks, EH?
Also, in terms of employment, I started with a temp agency and have a phone interview tomorrow. But who cares about that?
On Monday, I went to a jazz event with Nana and one of her "millionaire friends" (in quotations because that's how Nana described her and not because she's not a millionaire, because she definitely is) Judith Terra. Naturally I showed up late because I forgot to bring the address with me so I was driving around the general area for about 15 minutes before Nana graciously called me and told me where to get to. We were going to this event because Nana and Judith's friend, Lee Brian, is in charge of this UDC thing. Nana and Judith made it very clear to me that they had no interest in going but that they were doing it for Lee Brian. Judith basically reminds me of an aging 50s film star would be like today, with her giant rectangular emerald (? maybe not but they were green and large and definitely expensive) earrings and her diamond (again, most likely diamond) choker, smoothed back jet black hair, high cheekbones, and the way she talks as though she's been trained. Almost Judy Garland-like. Elizabeth Taylor maybe? Anyway, we showed up and Lee Brian strolled on up to the car and Judith said, "Where do you want me to park, boo?"
Lee Brian charmed them for a bit with both women laughing uproariously before he parked the car. We all went inside, and I pick up a cookie because why not? and so many people came up to Nana to say, "There's my favorite mother" and things of that ilk. I never really realized before that night just how beloved she is here. I mean, I love her, obviousry, but I didn't know that everyone else does too! Nana networked for me a bit and then we went into our reserved seats while Judith was at work on something in the lobby. We were just sitting down when Nana leaned over to me to say, "Lee Brian is always telling me he's in love with me, but that man is gay as a plate." Gay as a plate? Never heard of it. But maybe I misheard. Then some more people came to sit down and they were elated to see Nana, so Nana had me switch seats with her so that they could sit together.
When the program started, Judith gave the opening address since she's the Chair for the DC Arts Commission. She then came to sit down and the music got going. It was a bit strange to be at this University Jazz concert considering I couldn't conceive of any of the people onstage as being younger than I am. As the program continued, Nana and Judith grew restless. Nana said even though she used to go to jazz shows with Papa back in the day, she never liked it. That was until a song came on to which Nana knew the words--that's when she started singing along a bit. During the next song, though, I guess they'd had enough because Judith said it was time to go, so the three of us in the third row got up. And I don't know if you know this about 85 year old women, but their getting out of chairs times aren't that fast, so it felt as though we were leaving the row for ages and then crawling up the aisle to the exit. I don't mean that as a "speed up, granny!" thing. I mean it in a "we could have at least waited until the end of the song to leave" thing. Especially since that number ended up being their last one. Nana insisted that the only reason the performers ended the concert then was because we had gotten up and they were getting carried away as jazz performers are wont to do.
After shmoozing, we made it back to the car. Lee Brian hopped in and whispered to me that they wouldn't even notice he was there. And he was nearly right. We drove around the corner and then chatted with him for about 15 minutes in the street. They were all gossiping about some woman who has taken to wearing terrible hats to functions and how it's all caused by her stylist. Apparently, though, she's a beautiful woman, she just doesn't know how to dress herself. I guess she wore some dress last year that had this massive flower that she had to keep folding down so that she could speak.
On the ride back, it was funny to hear Judith and Nana kind of competing over their jazz in speakeasy stories. I think Nana won out because she's just a bit more forceful and will speak louder, but Judith's tales from Greenwich Village would probably have won over the sheer glamour of it all. But this is all speculative since we never heard the stories.
On Tuesday, I met up with some Wash U chums to see a friend perform his poetry at a place called Poets and Busboys, a restaurant/bookstore created in homage to Langston Hughes who used to live in DC and was discovered while serving some newspaper hotshot. When Hughes heard that the man was from a newspaper, he slipped some of his own poetry into the newspaper for the guy. The rest is what you call history.
So the last time I decided to drive somewhere, it took me twice as long as Google said it would. So when Google said that it would take me 20 minutes to get to Busboys and Poets, I thought I was super clever to leave at 6:15. I'd show the internet, and I'd get there perfectly on time. Well, except this time Googles was right, and I arrived around 6:30, but wasn't to meet with my friends for dinner until 7. So I just sat in the car until it was near the hour. Pathetic, I know, but I didn't realize there was a bookstore inside! Otherwise, I'd have loitered inside. So when the time came, I perused the bookstore until Kim and Shana showed up. Did you know that there is a children's book about Bob Marley? And there was also a book of conversations with Alice Walker. It was sad to look in the index and see no mention of her daughter, Rebecca, aka my favorite author. Not surprising considering she told Rebecca that being mother was "a role she had grown tired of," but still!
We were seated in the room where the poetry was to be happening, which usually would mean that we'd have to leave our seats to line up outside before the show happened, but our waiter was dabomb and let us stay in our seats. When the doors did open up to the poetry seekers, it was like a Wash U invasion. So many people that I didn't even know were in the city were there. A mini reunion that was unexpected but glorious quand-même.
The whole thing reminded me of this thing I used to go to at Fairfax High School called Da Poetry Lounge, but more organized and in a nicer space. Anyway, my friend (Aaron Samuels <-videos!) was the featured artist, so we had to wait until the middle to see him. The performers there were first timers, weekly appearances, and everything. Good overall, but Aaron was definitely the best. And that is possibly my opinion because I have been watching WUSlam perform since my sophomore year, so maybe I've been conditioned.
Yesterday I got off my toosh and went to The Phillips Collection to see a Degas exhibit. I accidentally got off at Adams Morgan on the metro at first and then, 1/4 of the way up the escalator, realized that I was supposed to get off at Dupont Circle. Lucky for me, this was one of those obscenely long escalators like at Angel Station in London (which I've never actually been too, but whenever there are public works in tube stations in London, you get to learn facts like that Angel station has the longest escalator in London). So I got a nice workout going up to come down.
Eventually, I arrived. The woman/girl at the desk said I could get a discount if I was a student. When I showed her my King's ID (expired since December 2008) she gave me the side eye, but said "okay" anyway. The Phillips Collection is kind of like the Barnes Museum in Philadelphia except not as great only because at the Barnes, they have furniture and stuff that echoes themes in the paintings. The Phillips Collection is just in a house. That is the only real similarity. But The Phillips Collection does have an app that you can download on your phone, which is kind of awesome because you don't have to pay for an audio guide or anything. So I downloaded it and was then disappointed to discover that there were only 5 stops on the special exhibit tour. And the stops didn't really offer any analysis of the paintings. Could have done better on that end, but I still thought it was an innovative use of technology. It was a lovely exhibit, even though it was about 5 rooms. It really drew the connection between Degas's methodology and that of a dancer's in terms of repetition and study.
After, I wandered about the rest of the museum. Lucky for me there was a Rothko room. So, apparently Rothko wanted his paintings to be shown in a normal sized room so that you'd really be taken away by what was happening in the images. Duncan Phillips loved the guy's work, so he was the first person to dedicate a public space to Rothko's works--one on each of the four walls. (Not surprisingly, Rothko claimed The Phillips Collection was his favorite museum.) So I sat in the room for a while trying to figure it out, and I think I might have made some headway. Also, this room was kind of intense considering walkthroughs are prohibited. Legitimately. There's a sign.
My favorite part, though, was in the original home in the music room where Vincent Tack took over. He made a bunch of panels for the room, and the setting is gorgeous as well. I couldn't tell what the photography policy was, so I didn't take any. (And, when I got back to Madeleine's and saw my camera sitting by the door, I was glad I hadn't decided to take any.) But here's a photo from this website that kind of walks you through the space.
After the music room, I really enjoyed The Migration Series and response photography. The Migration Series is a series of paintings by Jacob Lawrence about the migration of Blacks north in the 1930s with short text bits acting as narration. He painted all 60 panels at once, using the same paint mixture at each point so that the colors would be the same. Does that make sense? Like, say he was going to use indigo in 27 of the paintings; he'd paint the indigo parts at the same moment in time so that it would be the exact same color in all 27. The response photographs are from recent times and taken all over the world by Allen DeSouza called The World Series. The photos could be read as a single journey, since it starts at an airport and ends at a train station. It was definitely a series that has to be read all at once to get the full meaning. Come visit me and see!
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,
