New photos of fun with friends

Check out the photo link in the right-hand column of my blog for photos of my trip to Switzerland with Soka, adventures in dessert-making with Soka and Christine, and some lovely views of Besançon and the Haut Doubs region.  

And now, the moment I've been waiting for!

My sister will arrive in Paris this Sunday !  We are going to spend two weeks traveling around France and seeing the sights.  I couldn't be more excited to see her and act as her tour guide.  We are going to visit Chatres Cathedral, the palace of Versailles, Monet's gardens at Giverney, the region of Normandy (including Caen, Bayeux, and the D-Day beaches), the Loire valley châteaux (castles), my city of Besançon, and of course Paris!  We are sure to have some adventures and a lot of fun.  I hope it will be the first of many trips together.  After our tour, we will return home together on June 4th!  See you all soon.

Always,

Amanda

Life speeds up as school wind down

Since Ireland, which finished with kissing the Blarney stone (to no apparent improvement in speaking ability), and a visit to the Rock of Cashel in Cork, many days filled with simple French joys have passed back here in Besançon!  

One morning I woke up to the music of a saxophone soloist serenading "me" in the park outside my window.  Another day I showed Soka and Christine how to make smores in the microwave (a gigantic hit!).  One evening I went out to eat with some friends at a fantastic Indian food restaurant, enjoying curry lamb, tandoori chicken, and house-made nuts and spices flavored ice cream.  I spent one of our many recent jours féries (holidays) eating fabulous curry chicken tacos made by Soka, followed by a dessert-fest in which Soka, Christine and I made American chocolate chip cookies and a Swedish chocolate-orange cake.  

Our creative writing class gave a public reading at the local bookstore, to an audience of over 100 Bisontins (citizens of Besançon).  I read (or more accurately, performed) my piece, "Journal des champignons" (Mushroom Diary), from the balcony of the bookstore, with much enthusiastic laughter and applause at the end.  We gave an encore reading at the end-of-the-year party at school, again with a warm reception.  Many people performed at the party, including a 40-something year old man who sang and played the acoustic guitar, and who surprised everyone when he did the full splits- twice- while singing and strumming his finale!!

One of the highlights of my time here was going home with Soka to visit her family in Switzerland for the weekend.  Her family is Serbian but her parents and aunts and uncles all moved to Switzerland over 25 years ago, and Soka was born in Switzerland.  Still, they all speak Serbian and Swiss German, and then Soka speaks French and understands English (better than she lets on!).  So it was quite the language potpourri when we all got together!  Her extended family is incredibly large, warm, and welcoming- I had a wonderful time with them even when we couldn't directly communicate.  Of the future trips I am planning, one will certainly be to go and visit her again.  

I also had the chance to watch Soka play handball in Besançon, which was fascinating!  She plays at the professional level for a french team.  Handball is like soccer, only they use their hands and never their feet.  It was a close game- Soka's team lost by just two points, 39-37.  It was short, too- two halves of 30 minutes each.  The crowd was great- cheering and chanting along with a tiny pep band which consisted of a drummer and a trumpet player.  One of their favorite songs was "When the saints go marching in".  

Today I officially finished my last class at school, with little fanfare.  It is hard to believe that my time in Besançon is coming to a close.  I have enjoyed discovering this city in my adventures of daily life.   Some days were more difficult than others, but overall the challenges were enriching.  This experience has truly been a blessing  and I will continue to reflect on it for years to come.  

(Many many many) Photos of Ireland

Hello all!  I apologize for the infrequent posts lately- my days here in France are fuller and fuller at the same time as they are fewer and fewer.  Just a quick update- all of my Ireland photos are now up online, posted at the site listed to the right.  Have a look at your leisure, and I'll look forward to seeing you all very soon!

And I thought, this is nice...

Day two in Dingle dawned early, and I wanted to take a tour of the peninsula.  But I was, to be honest, very tired of the regular "sight-seeing, photo-snapping" bus tours, and was looking for something a little different.  I found it in Rick Steve's recommendation of "Dingle Peninsula Archeological tours" reputed to be led by a knowledgeable local and to include more in depth visits to the ancient sites in the region.  

When I called at 9am to inquire about the 10:30am tour, the man informed me that I was the first to express interest that morning and that at least six people were required to make the tour a go.  He told me to call back in an hour at 10am to see if enough people had expressed interest.  In the meantime I packed up my stuff at the Dingle Harbor Lodge and prepared to head on over to my original hostel pick to spend the night there as I had planned.  

Well when I called again at 10am, I got the answering machine of the Bed and Breakfast where the tours depart from.  Hmm.  I tried again a few minutes later and still got the machine.  I figured not enough people had signed up, but decided to swing by on my way over to the hostel. When it took a little longer than expected to head in that direction, I called again to see if I could get through.  A woman answered and frantically asked where I was, didn't I know the tour was leaving in 5 minutes!  Aiiee!  She gave me directions and I rushed on over, confused.  

The woman, grandma aged and apparent owner of the b & b, welcomed me very warmly and introduced me to the tour guide and the two or three guests finishing their breakfast at the table.  Things seemed calm enough.  She offered me a cup of coffee and some breakfast bread, and I thought, this is nice!  I followed her into the kitchen and when we came back out, everyone was gone.  

"Oh he's left!  He's out the door! Shit! Shit! He'll kill me if you're late." she cried out, surprising me considerably.

"What? Who? Where?" I cried most of the 5 W questions, confused.  

"The guide!  He's left!  Shit he'll kill me if you're late.  Quick he's in the van waiting for you.  Quick, take the coffee with you! Go!" she cried.

"Okay okay! Just let me get my camera and wallet out of my backpack!"  I cried, rushed.

"Ah wait that's a good cup, you might break it, that's a good coffee cup.  Let me get you a different one!" she yelped at the same time, snatching my coffee and running back into the kitchen, reappearing a few moments later with a "less nice", but still ceramic, mug.  

"Ah shit shit his van is gone! Hurry, hurry, run out to the round about and flag him down. You'll catch him out at the round about.  Go now!  Shit!" she cried, her voice raising to panic level.

And so I ran.  Out into the deserted street. Out in bewildered haste, camera and wallet stuffed in my pockets, sticky bread and a sloshing less nice ceramic coffee mug in hand.  Thank God she added milk, I thought to myself as I ran like a fool down the middle of the empty road toward what I hoped was the round about (an circular intersection in which no one has to stop, where in the US we would have a two or four way stop).  I hurtled up to the round about and scanned the road for any sign of the van.  At that moment, miraculously, he came around the bend and slowed down just enough for me to throw open the door and fumble inside.  

Nothing out of the ordinary apparently, as he didn't make a single comment about any of it.  I was too dazed to string together a sentence, anyway, and so I focused on my sticky bread and what coffee remained in the cup.  From there we picked up the 5 other tour participants at normal speed (all of whom had used Rick Steves as well) and went about our day.  

The tour was interesting but it couldn't compare in excitement to the pre-tour affair.  We visited some monastic ruins and a fully preserved stone hut church, which were impressively old and stony.  We stopped to look at the ocean, where the intense wind was forming rainbow-like apparitions in the sea spray.  We stared, concerned, at the lone surfer in the choppy, and surely freezing, waves.  We saw a number of sheep and lambs, including the cutest black sheep I have ever seen!  He was blacker than coal, really an unbelievable sight.  And it wasn't long before we were back in Dingle, a full morning under our belts.

I returned to the b & b to pick up my bags, which I had left strewn in the hallway.  The woman was there to greet me and take back the (unharmed) cup, with the comment "I'm a good mum to ya, aren't I? I looked after ya."  "Sure" I mumbled, thanking her and quickly getting the heck out of there.  

After such a busy morning, I looked forward to finally checking in to my hostel and settling down.  But, like some kind of cruel sequel, the door was locked and no one answered when I arrived at the agreed time.  Moments later the Lorelai-like proprietor rounded the corner with to-go coffees in hand, waving apologetically.  This time around she let me in, and finally gave me the code to the door so that I could come and go as I pleased.  

And go as I pleased is exactly what I did, although I didn't go very far.  I spent the afternoon in an Irish-language bookshop across the street from the hostel, treating myself to delicious vegetable soup and brown bread in the cafe at the back.  The menu was in Irish, I ordered in English, and the woman working in the cafe was French- how about that!  I had purchased Douglas Adams' "The Salmon of Doubt" in Killarney, and reveled in the luxury of reading one of my favorite authors in a cafe at the back of this dusty and loveable bookshop in the wee town of Dingle.  

Things heated up that night when myself and a girl I met in the hostel decided to go out and tour the pubs.  When I say things heated up, I mean things heated up!  As we turned the corner towards our first destination, we found a crowd huddled across the street and bright orange embers coming out of the pub's chimney.  Apparently the chimney had caught fire, and the anxious wait was on for the volunteer fire crew to arrive.  Soon the truck pulled up, and as the fire wasn't making us any warmer, we decided to head on down to a different pub.  

Our pub of choice was a hardware store by day and a pub by night, the hardware counter on one side for seating, and the bar with more seating on the other.  All the talk was of the fire, with many of the old men claiming to have had something to do with it one way or another, and "volunteering" to go and put it out.  Hahaha.  

We ended our night at another pub where there was a big crowd and some good traditional music, along with some ice cold cider.  

All in all one of the most eventful days of my trip and certainly one of the most unusual.

Dangling around Dingle

Well now that I'm settled back in France, I would like to take a little time to finish recounting my stay in Ireland.  I left off with only a few days to go, but there is much to be told!

From Killarney I took the bus on over to the tiny town of Dingle, which is on the coast of none other than the Dingle Peninsula.  I arrived at my hostel to find the door locked, and when I knocked and rang the bell, no one answered.  Hmmm.  The worst of it was, I could hear lots of people inside!!  What was the magic word, I wondered?  Fresh out of "open sesames" I stood on the front doorstep and called the hostel on my cellphone.   

"You're where??" The woman who answered asked me, puzzled.  

"Outside your front door, if you would please let me in.  I have a reservation."  I curtly replied.

"You have a reservation??" The woman echoed, incredulous.  "But we're booked full.  There must be some mistake.  Hold on, I'll be there in 15 minutes."

Well this was all too strange, I thought.  15 minutes- where was she?  Was I not holding my confirmed reservation in my hands?  Why the heck didn't anyone answer the door??

I waited, growing more wind-blown and grumpier by the minute.  Eventually she peeled up and popped out of a mid-sized SUV,  looking pretty scattered, with a vague air of Lorelai Gilmore. It turns out that she had mis-remembered the dates of the large group (sponsored by none other than Rick Steves, wouldn't you know it) that was taking up all the beds, and that they wouldn't be gone until tomorrow.  Kindly, she arranged and paid for my stay at a hotel on the edge of town.  

But the oddity doesn't end there!  When I checked into the Dingle Harbor Lodge, as it was impressively named, I found that there was no key to my room- no lock!  But no worries, the housekeeper who checked me in informed me that I was the only one in the 8 bed hostel-style room of the hotel.  What's more, it felt like I was the only one staying in the whole of the Dingle Harbor Lodge!  There was absolutely no one around.  

While I was settling in the housekeeper came by and handed me a key, but not for my room, of course.  No, it was the key to the front door of the hotel!!!  Please, take a moment to let that sink in.  There was no lock on my room door, but I was given the key to the front door of a massive hotel.  "The owners are going out later, and so here's the key in case you get back while they are still out."  she explained as if this was the most normal thing in the world.  Wow.

Well from there I didn't have much planned so I walked into to town to give myself a little tour.  It was pretty quiet- no surprise there, and endearingly small.  Early on in my tour I happened to come across the Dingle Cineplex, which was a one-screen affair where the show played only once per day and changed nearly as often.  With no other plans, I made a date with myself and the movie "There Will Be Blood" for the evening.  

The theatre (not open yet) was next to a movie rental store, so I ducked in there to browse until they opened the doors.  They had lots of titles, mostly of the vaguely familiar but dated and not particularly good variety.  And you wouldn't believe the price- it cost around 4 or 5 euros just to rent a movie!  At that price you might as well see it in theatres.  

It was easy to tell when they opened up the Cineplex next door- the owner had to come through the rental store to do it!  I later found out that, beyond the common tie of movies, they also shared restroom facilities- makes sense.  I went into the theatre and time stood still- it was so classic!  The seats were worn with use (although there doesn't appear to be as much of that anymore) and there was even a golden curtain covering the screen until the feature began, when it was ceremonially drawn back.  A scratched grab bag of new and old advertisements for concessions and coke added to the authenticity.  And then the feature film!

And what a film!  Two hours and forty minutes of pure enraptured entertainment.  It twisted my thoughts and emotions until I was simply hypnotized.  Was it supposed to be funny?  I often laughed, perhaps to protect myself from its disturbing ability to make me feel uncomfortable without being able to say just why.  "There Will Be Blood" will be sticking with me for some time to come.  

After a film like that, I just wasn't in the mood to go pubbing, so I headed on back to the lodge to see if I would be needing to use that key.  Alas, the door was open, although in my excitement I momentarily confused "push" and "pull" and got my hopes up over nothing.  I returned the key the next morning without fanfare.  

A day full of surprises in Dingle, but things got even more interesting on day two...

I visited Muckross House and all I got was this lousy sunburn

The following day I set out decidedly on foot, to walk to the Muckross House and Gardens. This lovely estate was about an hour's walk outside of town, just on the edge of the National Park. Although the easy walk was annoying bordered by a busy road and an endless string of B & Bs, I found them to be almost comforting in their peopled-ness.

I took an interesting and antique-filled tour of the House, where Queen Victoria once visited for two nights. Preparing for her stay (the family had 6 years advanced notice) contributed to their unfortunate bankruptcy not long after. Hope it was a great couple of nights, anyway!

From there I leisurely walked around the grounds, taking in the carefully tended gardens and grand views of the lake. With more time on my hands and the weather sunny and warm, I decided to walk up to the Torc Waterfall- a cool and refreshing sight.

My day much more calmly and pleasantly spent, I walked back into town and was joined by a french girl my own age. I didn't realize she was french until about halfway into our walk, at which point we enjoyably switched to her native language instead. She was, she told me, spending five months in Ireland roofing as a volunteer. At least, that is what I thought she said. Turns out she works for Woofing, an acronym of some sort that involves organic farming. Still, it sounded like hard work either way.

That night at the hostel (Cathy had left that morning) I met a young German man who looked to be about 26 but swore he was only 19. In any case, his story was unique. He is bicycling from Cork to Donegal (basically from the southern tip to the northern one) over three months, while teaching himself the Irish national sport of Hurling. He had been apprenticing as an insurance salesman, but he hated it so much he up and came to Ireland in hopes of joining a Hurling team some day soon. I didn't really know what to think, but it was quite the story.

The next morning, I was surprised to find my face bright pink and my chest bright red. Was I sick? But no! I had somehow gotten a pretty good sunburn from my long walk the day before. Even the hostel receptionist looked at me with surprise. "Your friends won't believe you've been in Ireland!" she quiped. Hahaha. Ouch.