Lyon, Luberon, Avignon, Andorra and more!

Alors, here’s the latest installment of my European adventures. The weekend after Clara visited was busy, as per usual. The afternoon of March 21, I went to an IAU wine tasting that was focused on Bordeaux wines. The next day, I got up early, took the train to Lyon and met up with my friend Mélanie. During April of my junior year of high school, a group of students from St. Étienne, France, a town near Lyon, came to Chicago and stayed for a week in Lee’s Summit (it actually ended up being more like two weeks because they were stranded after the Icelandic volcano Eyjafjallajökull erupted, effectively grounding all trans-atlantic flights for about a week). Anyway, Mélanie stayed with my family during her time in Lee’s Summit, and then that June a group of us from Lee’s Summit went to France, did touristy things in Paris and the Loire Valley and then stayed with our French friends in St. Étienne for a week. 

Mélanie and I in Lawrence

A group of the French kids and their American hosts before they left- the first time, I believe.

So, with me being about an hour and a half from Lyon by TGV, we decided to meet up there so we could see one another again. The first thing we did was take the funicular up to see the Basilica Notre Dame de Fourvière, a large, colorful church that sits on a hill that overlooks Lyon. After that, we wandered around a bit trying to find one of the many traboules in the Vieux Lyon area. A traboule is essentially a covered passageway or hallway that go in between streets, through buildings, etc. I believe, if I correctly understood my host mom, they were created initially because of the silk industry in Lyon. The traboules were used to transport the silk across the city. I also believe they were used by the Resistance during WWII. Anyway, after walking all over and asking several people for directions, we finally found one small traboule that led to a courtyard. The building off of the courtyard looked like it was now an art studio or gallery. 

Mélanie and I by Notre Dame de Fourvière with the Saône river in the background. 

We ate lunch at a good bouchon Lyonnais and then went to some other parts of the city. We were both wanting to go to the Musée Lumière, about the Lumière brothers who were the creators of modern cinema, however we didn’t think we would have enough time before the museum closed and before we had to head back to the train station to catch our trains. So instead we decided to go to the Parc Tête D’or, which my host mom had told me was a nice park. After we got off the tram, we still had to walk quite a ways to get to the park entrance. Before we got there, it started pouring. We both had umbrellas, but we were still drenched within seconds. I was having flashbacks to Venice night one and could feel my boots filling with water. Mélanie and I both looked at each other, and we decided it was better to turn back, catch the tram back to the train station, get a warm drink and wait indoors for our trains. So, that’s what we did.
My poor boots were soaked for at least a solid two days after I got back, and as a result smell pretty funky now. They sure have served me well this semester, but I can’t wait to be able to throw them away. After I got back from Italy and England, I had to glue the sole of one of the heels and a bit of one of the toes back on. Needless to say, they’re pretty beat. I would buy new ones here, but on the few occasions that I’ve mustered up the courage to ask shop owners if they have any size 42 shoes (a US size 11) they all have the same reaction: they gasp and look down at my feet like I’m some sort of physical anomaly or that they’re certain I’m saying the wrong number and then solemnly shake their heads no. Right. But anyway, since my parents are coming to visit SOON during my spring break, my mom is bringing me new, non-smelly, completely intact boots and I couldn’t be more excited — both to see them and to pitch my old shoes. 

Anyway, sorry for the boot tangent. At Gare Part Dieu we got Starbucks — the first and only time I’ve had it in France — and tried to dry off and warm up. We left saying à plus tard (see you later) because who knows when I’ll be back in France or she’ll be back in the States. It was so nice to see her after four years and talk to her about my experiences in France, and how things here compare to things in the US. Overall, despite the sudden torrential downpour, I had a lovely day seeing Lyon and catching up with an old friend. 

The following day there was an IAU-wide trip  to the Luberon Valley. The Luberon is just north of Aix and is an absolutely beautiful area of Provence. We started the day by going to the Abbey of Silvacane, one of three Cistercian Abbeys in Provence that was built during the 12th century. 

Abbey of Silvacane

Next, we went to the town of Lourmarin. There is a large chateau that is up on a hill and we ate our picnic lunch in a field below it. It was such a cute, small village. Exactly what I picture when I think of Provencal France. It was the first day of France’s mayoral elections, so we stopped by the city hall to see France’s voting process. They have two rounds of elections and the second round was the following Sunday. This year’s was interesting because by and large across France towns voted for Front National mayors, which is on the extreme right side of France’s political spectrum. I listened to the news on the radio with my host mom and she was telling me they were saying that towns that had had liberal mayors for over 50 years had voted in a Front National mayor this time. From what I’ve gathered, I believe this wide spread shift to the right is due to the French’s dissatisfaction with the President, François Hollande. I think for the French, electing these reactionary mayors is a way of demonstrating to Hollande their discontent. Although, please note I know basically nothing about French politics. This is only speculation from what I’ve heard my host mom say. Regardless of the reason, it’s definitely an interesting change.  

The château in Lourmarin 

After we ate lunch and explored the village, we went to the cemetery in Lourmarin and saw Albert Camus’ grave. We drove through more charming, scenic villages before arriving in Roussillon. Evidently, Roussillon was home/ hideout to writer Samuel Beckett during the German occupation during WWII. The town used to (maybe still does?) mine ochre. We got to explore on old ochre quary/park. It was really pretty with the large, redish-orange sandy-rock formations. 

Albert Camus' grave

Hanging in an ochre quarry. 

The following weekend, I had more day trips in store. Friday the 28th, my France during the Occupation class took a trip to Les Milles and Marseille. Les Milles is just outside of Aix and was a French-run internment camp during WWII. During the phony war, before the German occupation and the division of France into the occupied and unoccupied zones, it held enemies of the state. That is, mainly those of German nationality because they were citizens of a belligerent country. After the German occupation in 1940, the camp was used by Vichy to hold “undesirables” — namely, Jewish people. Most were transported from Les Milles to Drancy, a camp near Paris, before being deported to Auschwitz. Needless to say, this was a pretty heavy place to visit. 

Les Milles

Some of the sleeping quarters in Les Milles

Souvenir (Remember) written on the wall by a person interred at Les Milles

Chacun peut réagir, chacun peut résister, chacun à sa manière.
Each can react, each can resiste, each in his own way.

Boxcar to remember the deportation

After that, we went to Marseille and saw various sites associated with the occupation and the resistance, including the different offices of Varrian Fry. Fry was an American who went to Marseille to help evacuate Jewish and anti-Nazi refugees from France. 

Cute giraffe statue in Marseille that has nothing to do with the occupation or resistance

The following day, I had another class trip with my Provencal History class and Mediterranean Civilization class to Avignon. First, we visited the Palais des Papes (Papal Palace), which was where the various Popes lived, beginning with Clement V, from 1309-1409. After touring that, we quickly went to an archaeological museum and then had lunch. After that, we went to the Musée du Petit Palais, an art museum that features Provencial and Italian pre-renaissance and renaissance paintings. To end our visit to Avignon, we walked on the Pont d’Avignon, which partially spans the Rhone River. Yes, partially. Part of it was destroyed at some point in time, and they didn’t see any point in rebuilding it. 

Palais des Papes

Palais des Papes

Guerrier de Vachères statue

This angel looks like she got caught stuffing her face.

Virgin Mary giving everyone the stink eye. 

Pont d'Avignon

That Sunday, two of my friends and I went with my host mom to Cassis, a nearby town that is right on the Mediterranean. It was a little cooler than expected and quite windy, but it was still very pretty to walk around. I can’t wait to go back when it’s warmer! 

Giant waves breaking against the lighthouse

Me and my host mom

Genna, me and Abby

The first weekend in April, I left France and visited my friend Clara in Andorra. Thursday afternoon, I took the train to Toulouse, where I then caught the bus to Andorra. On the way there, there were only six of us on the bus, including the driver. It’s about a three and a half hour bus ride through the Pyrenees, however it was dark for the majority of the ride. It was raining most of the way there, and at one point it started snowing like crazy! I was mildly concerned riding on the dark, twisty, switchback-y, snow-packed road, especially after we passed a car that was pulled over with its emergency flashers on, but our bus driver was a pro, and got us to the bus station in Andorra la Vella right on schedule. 

My first full day in Andorra, Clara and I hung out. She took me to a grocery store where I could see the rows and rows of cheap chocolate. And obviously I had to buy a giant Toblerone. That evening we took a walk on a trail that began behind Clara’s apartment and then we went out and had tapas, including patatas bravas, which I was stoked about. 

Cute bridge we crossed on our walk

Clara and I on our walk

Tapas! Yum!

Saturday morning, we got up early and took a bus up to Naturlandia, an outdoor park area. They have lots of different activities, but we just did the tobotronc, which is a really long (I think like 5 km?) alpine slide. It was really fun, and then after that, we hung out in the lodge area until it was time to catch the bus back down the mountain. 

Clara and I on the tobotronc

Going up the tobotronc

Next, we went and rented harnesses and helmets and embarked to do a via ferrata route, which is Italian for iron road. It’s like rock climbing, but there is a steel cable you clip into, and at certain points there are iron staples in the rocks to climb. After finally finding where the via ferrata began — the man at the store where we rented our equipment told us it was an easy route — we were off. It didn’t seem too bad at first. Part of it was just walking on mostly flat ground on the edge of a cliff/hill. Then, we got to a part where we were standing right next to a rushing creek. There was a sign marking that the path continued upward. There was a cable to clip into and staples, but they were up pretty high. After we both tried and failed to figure out how to get up and clip in,  we looked around to see if there was another way to go. We knew it couldn’t go directly into the cascading creek/ waterfall, but then, we saw on the other side of the creek where another cable began. We tried to go that way, but after getting completely drenched by the waterfall-creek, we decided we were too wet and our shoes were too slippery to continue, so we turned back around and descended to flat, solid ground. Despite underestimating the difficulty of the via ferrata, it was a lot of fun. As we were leaving, we finally found a sign with a map of the route, that also had warnings not to do it if you had not had previous mountain experience… whoops. 

View from where we started the Via Ferrata

Clara and I with our gear on. (Note: I'm embarrassed by how crooked my helmet is…)

So far, so good!

Casually climbing a mountain.

This is where we got stuck. Note the creek that cascades down on the left.

Sunday morning before I had to leave, Clara, her roommate Annie and I went for a hike up to a small church, which also has a via ferrata route that leads to it. After huffing and puffing our way to the top (I would like to blame the elevation for that…) we sat out on a rock that overlooked Andorra.

I'm discovering Europe has a thing for churches perched up on mountains. 

Me and Clara at the top.

Beautiful view

Me, Annie and Clara

That afternoon, I caught the bus back to Toulouse which ended up running behind schedule. I was sweating it the entire way there because my train was scheduled to leave at 6:51, 21 minutes after the bus was scheduled to arrive. The bus pulled into the station at 6:51 and I was on the verge of tears. I hurried into the train station, looked up at the departures board and saw that my train was running 30 minutes BEHIND schedule. I breathed the biggest sigh of relief because I was about 98% positive that I was on the last train to Aix that evening. So, not only was I not stranded in Toulouse, but I also had enough time to get a slice of pizza and an escargot aux raisins (aka pain aux raisins, aka bread, not actual snails) for dinner. I finally made it back to Aix late Sunday night. 

Escargot aux rasins, named so because of its shape, not because it contains snails. Which it doesn't.

This coming weekend is the first weekend I’ve had here where I don’t have any real, concrete plans. I’ll probably just hang around Aix and enjoy the lovely spring weather that is finally settling in. On verra. The following week is my spring break and my parents are coming to France to visit, which I am so excited for! Anyway, that is all for now… 

Bisous!

Adventures in Venice, England and Aix

Oh la la, where to begin. First of all, sorry it’s been so long since my last post. I’ve been so busy — always another place to explore! So, I’ll try to make this like my last blog post and give a recap of all the fun and exciting things I’ve been up to. 

I started my winter break by taking an overnight bus to Venice. It was 8 + hours on a charter bus that had next to no leg room, and that was with the seats upright. Needless to say, my legs occupied the aisle for the majority of the trip. Our hotel was outside of Venice, so we had to take the vaporetto, or water taxi, into Venice itself. On the first day the second we stepped off the vaporetto it started raining. Of course I forgot to pack my umbrella, so my first purchase in Italy was a lovely plaid umbrella that’s in almost all of my photos. As luck would have it, I also forgot my newly purchase umbrella in the hotel when we left Venice two days later. It rained for the majority of that first day, and that night before we left to go back to our hotel it starting storming — lightning, thunder and a bit of hail even. By the time we returned to our hotel we were all cold and soaking wet and wondering why we chose to go to Venice in the first place. 

Exhibit A: Plaid Umbrella

Exhibit B: Focused in on my umbrella in the corner with a fuzzy St. Mark's Basilica in the background

The next day it rained a bit in the morning but it wasn’t nearly as bad as the day before. We also got to a less touristy part of the city which was cool to explore. Also, the cheap, delicious pizza and gelato was an instant plus in my book. Also, since it was Carnival, we all bought masks to wear, which was a lot of fun. 

All of us with our masks!

It might be rainy, but I'm a happy girl with my brioche-gelato sandwich. 

Our final day in Venice was absolutely beautiful. It was sunny, I had more gelato, and I took a gondola ride, which was really cool. I mean, I couldn’t go all the way to Venice and then say I never rode in a gondola, right? Did you know that, according to our gondolier (and Wikipedia) the city of Venice is made up of 118 islands? I definitely believe that, because we would be walking down a street and then all of a sudden we would realize it dead-ended at a canal, so we’d have to turn around and find a bridge to cross. Apart from the never-ending rain from the first day, I had a great time in Venice. It also made me realize how much French I know (and how little Italian…) because I kept trying to use French when communicating. 

Me on the gondola ride!

Monday evening, March 3rd we got back on the bus. They played the movie Hancock— let me tell ya, Will Smith sounds weird as a French guy — and then, just as we were all wanting to go to sleep, or at least try, the lady in charge of the the tour group decided to play what I’ve decided is the strangest French movie ever called Brice. We returned to Aix early Tuesday morning, I made my way home from the bus station, and proceeded to nap for about five hours. Then I had to repack my bag for England. 

Getting from Aix to England — Canterbury to be specific — was a mess. I missed the shuttle I was planning on taking to the airport by just a few minutes, but luckily they come every half hour. Once at the airport, it took forever for everyone to board, so my flight left late — typical of Ryanair, I’ve since learned. Then, the plane started to descend for landing and all of a sudden it felt like we were going back up in elevation. Needless to say, that freaked me out. A few minutes later, the pilot came over the PA system and mumbled something about there being an issue with the runway and they had to inspect it, so we had been circling and waiting for the all clear from air traffic control. Once we were given the ok to land, it was the hardest landing I’d ever experienced. I’m pretty sure I heard everyone on board gasp as we slammed into the runway. Kudos, Ryanair. 

The flight delays put me behind schedule and I had to run to the train station to buy my tickets— after waiting in the ridiculously slow non-European Union passport line. Thankfully, the immigration officer who checked my passport and landing card was nice and gave me perfect directions to the train station. Having looked at my watch a billion times while I was waiting in line, I knew I had 10-15 minutes to make my train, which was the last train to Canterbury that evening, or else I would have to wait until the next day. He told me it was about a five minute walk to the train station, so I did that awkward half run/ half walk thing. 

I made it to the ticket booth and asked the man if I could buy tickets there. In an ever-so-British fashion he replied, “Well, the ticket booth would be a good place to start…” as he looked over his shoulder to the wall behind him that said TICKETS in large, red letters. Right. So I bought my ticket, which consisted of three transfers. Train to underground to train to bus, with an ETA in Canterbury at 1:50 am. The man behind the ticket booth asked if that was alright. Yes, perfect, I said. 

After clumsily paying for my ticket (it was my first time paying in person using my fancy new credit card with the chip in it, not the magnetic strip that you slide… I couldn’t figure out how to put it in the card reader machine. The man kept telling me to flatten my card out and I kept looking at it and thinking What does he mean? It’s not bent at all? When in reality he meant I needed to put my card parallel to the machine. Life is hard sometimes) I ran down to my platform where my train was already waiting. Just a couple minutes later, the doors shut and the train was off. 

I miraculously made all of my connections and felt like the winner of the Amazing Race (minus the wonderful cash prize…) when I made it to Canterbury. Along my way, in each of the various train stations I was in, I asked anybody I could find for directions. One man behind an information desk sassily informed me that I was looking for St. Pancras, not Pancreas which is something completely different (if you’re keeping count, that’s two sarcastic British responses within about 45 minutes). But after his snippy comment he helped me out and gave me good directions. Honestly, throughout my entire time in England I was surprised by and thankful for how helpful and polite everyone was. 

So I made it to Canterbury right around 2 am and my friend Katniss who I worked with at Camp Oakledge came and picked me up. She was kind enough to let me stay at her house, feed me and entertain me while I was in England, which I am so incredibly grateful for. 

A picture of Katniss from camp representing her British pride when Prince George was born

Wednesday and Thursday I hung around Canterbury and saw the sights there, like the Canterbury Cathedral, and walked around the pretty downtown area. Friday I went into London and met my friend Kate who is also at IAU this semester at the British Museum. After looking around there for a while, we got on a train to Leavesden to go to the Harry Potter studio tour. 

Canterbury Cathedral

Inside of the Canterbury Cathedral

Inside of the Canterbury Cathedral

Canterbury Castle

St. Augustine's Abbey

The Rosetta Stone

Some of the sculptures from the Parthenon, AKA the Elgin Marbles

The tour was really cool— a Harry Potter nerd like me’s dream come true. We got to walk around the Great Hall, look at different sets, costumes, props, hear and read secrets behind the movie magic, drink butterbeer, and we even met an extra from the films. 

Hanging in the Great Hall

About to go see Dumbledore! 

Casual selfie in the Mirror of Erised

Having a mug of butterbeer with Kate!

Catching the Knight Bus

About to buy ourselves some quality quidditch gear at Diagon Alley

Visiting the Hogwarts Castle, no big deal

Saturday Katniss and I went back to London where we met another friend from camp, Kiesh. We saw the changing of the guards at Buckingham Palace (or at least as much as we could see with the giant crowds…) and then walked all over the city seeing Big Ben, Parliament, the Tower Bridge, Camden Market, Covent Garden, Leicester Square, and on and on. Thanks to Keish I have some prime photos from all of these prime photo opportunities. That evening when Katniss and I got back to Canterbury, we went out with her housemates to a pub before I had to leave the next day. 

The changing of the guards

The man behind Katniss and I is just about to yell at us to keep moving

Keish and I in front of Westminster Abbey

Look kids, Big Ben, Parliament!

Obligatory phonebooth pic

I absolutely loved visiting England and being able to see some familiar faces, and as I already said Katniss was a wonderful hostess. I definitely plan on going back to England. Not this semester, but soon, hopefully. Aside from the chaotic time I had getting from the airport to Canterbury, there was no downside to my time there— other than the dollar to pound conversion rate… eek.

So I returned to Aix Sunday, March 9th. It was a strange feeling, because it was like I was returning home in a way. Returning to my temporary home (don’t worry Mom and Dad). 

The following weekend I was able to see another familiar face as Clara, a friend from Truman who’s an English teaching assistant in Andorra this year, came to visit me in Aix. Clara went to IAU summer of 2011, so it was a sort of homecoming for her as well. 

Happy to be reunited

Clara was thrilled to get to eat doner kebab again!

It was absolutely beautiful weather that weekend and we spent a lot of time outdoors. On Friday we went to an area that Paul Cézanne used to paint Mount St Victoire from. The spot was beautiful and it was a sunny, clear day so we were able to easily see Cézanne’s muse in the distance. 

Taken from the spot where Cézanne would paint Mt. St. Victoire

After a late morning from hitting the Aix nightlife the night before, we went to the different markets on Saturday morning. I’m lucky because Aix has so many open air markets. There’s a food market and a flower market that run everyday (except maybe Sundays? I’m not positive on that…) and then we met a friend of Clara’s who also went to IAU in 2011 and got some gelato on Cours Mirabeau, the main street in Aix. Later, we went to Cézanne’s atelier, or studio where he painted his still lifes. (lives? What’s the plural of still life?) 

Clara and Becca enjoying some delicious gelato

On Sunday, to round out our Cézanne-themed weekend, we went to Mount Sainte Victorie with plans to make it to the summit. As I said in my last blog post, I had already climbed most of the mountain a few weeks before, but didn’t make it to the top because we were worried we would miss our bus back to Aix. So, this time, Clara and I were determined to make it all the way to the Croix de Provence at the top. 

On our way to the summit

After a long, sweaty couple of hours, we were finally victorious in conquering St. Victoire (see what I did there?) After we made it to the bottom and consulting the map posted, we discovered we hiked approximately 14 kilometers which is about 8.7 miles. Wowzers. If I remember correctly, it took us about three hours to go up and two hours to descend, with lots of breaks and time to eat our lunch outside of the church near the summit. 

Outside the church near the top

Almost there!

Feeling like we're on top of the world at the top of Mount St. Victoire

This guy was tight-rope walking just near the summit!

Clara and I were both in need of more water with our lunch and we assumed (incorrectly) there would be a sink or water fountain around the church. There was not — France in general isn’t a fan of water fountains or public restrooms — but there was a large cistern that two separate people showed us and said we could use. One man told us it collected rain water so it was fine to drink. We stood there debating if we should drink it or not since there was a sign that said “eau non potable” (non-potable water) but our thirst outweighed our better judgement and we refilled our water bottles. Thankfully, everything with the water turned out to be fine and we began our descent happily hydrated. 

The round, low stone structure is the cistern that we got our questionable, but safe water from

On the way down we realized we would miss the 4:30 bus we were trying to make and, since it was Sunday, we would have to wait around until the 6:30 bus. We got to the stop — which is really just a sign on the side of the road — around 5 or 5:30 and began to wait. Another couple who had been hiking St. Victoire showed up and waited with us. Clara and I had plans to go to her old host family’s house for dinner that evening. The 6:30 bus would make us late- not to mention we were pretty gross from climbing the mountain. Clara called her former host and apologized that we would be both late and smelly. A few minutes later, as we were waiting, a lady pulled her small French car over and asked if we were heading to Aix. The four of us were absolutely thrilled that she was kind enough to stop to pick us up. So again, against my better judgement, Clara and I and the older couple from Montreal all piled in the French woman’s car. 

We profusely thanked our kind stranger as she dropped us off. Because of her we had enough time to change out of our sweaty hiking gear before heading over to Clara’s former hosts. It was so kind of them to also extend the invitation to me for dinner and it was really cool to be able to eat dinner with another French family. We ate raclettes, which is a delicious cheese you put in a fancy raclette machine that melts it, then you put the melty, stringy cheese over baked potatoes and eat it with charcuterie. Delicious. 

The following weekend I went to Lyon and the Luberon valley, followed by going back to Marseille and to Avignon this past weekend, but as this post is already super long (sorry!), I’ll save those two weekends for my next post!

Bisous!