The Umbrellas of Cherbourg and a Note on Shoes

Last Saturday, Jennifer and I did some serious tourism. The original plan was to go to Bayeux and Cherbourg via Caen, but on the first train—to Caen—we realized not every train ran every day. So we ended up doing three cities in one day. The itinerary:

Train from Rouen to Caen
Once in Caen: An old church and the Abbaye-aux-hommes
Train from Caen to Cherbourg
Once in Cherbourg: A basilica, the quay, a lovely garden and a natural history museum that would have made Darwin feel quite at home. Umbrella shopping.
Train from Cherbourg to Bayeux
Once in Bayeux: The Tapestry, the cathedral, a WWII museum that was closed when we got there
Train from Bayeux to Caen
Once on the train: talking to a pair of American college students in France for a rocket science seminar.
Train from Caen to Rouen

I was excited to actually get to Cherbourg. I have a thing for the movie “Les Parapluies de Cherbourg”—the Umbrellas of Cherbourg. It was made in the sixties, I think. It’s a musical without a single spoken word, bright colors and a tearjerker plot. It reminded me of West Side Story, except that it’s in French and nobody dies except someone’s old aunt. The title of the movie comes from the store the main character’s mother owns, and ever since I saw the movie for the first time, I wanted to buy an umbrella in Cherbourg. This was my motivation for going.

I was planning on just stumbling on a shop called something like “Les Parapluies de Cherbourg,” which didn’t actually happen. After Jennifer and I had been wandering around for maybe forty minutes, the closest we had gotten was a “Cherbourg!” postcard with an umbrella boarder—which made me begin to ask myself: where are the umbrellas of Cherbourg?

But we found them. We didn’t actually buy umbrellas, though, because these ones were priced in the 40 euro neighborhood. I was satisfied just to have found them.


Last week, I bought another pair of shoes. I say “another” because this is the second pair of shoes I have during my stay in Europe, which puzzles me, since I’ve never considered myself a shoe person. The new ones are a pair of knock-off Puma- or Adidas-style tennis shoes. I was so enthusiastic about them that I wore them on the big adventure Saturday—and my feet hurt before the Rouen to Caen train was underway. After a pharmacy experience, I was on my way again.

Photos, III

The third set of photos from La Fête de la musique.

Photos, continued

Fête de la musique

I was told to take pictures of La Fête de la musique last week. These are my favorites.

The event started with the elementary school children parading from the school to the marie. Later, there were bands on the quay and in or outside of some of the restaurants around the place de la marie. Jennifer and I stayed in Duclair until about one thirty that night.

Fete (sic) de la musique

June 21 is a huge music festival all over France--Rouen (where I sleep) and tiny Duclair (where I spend my days) alike. The MJC helped arrange Duclair's Fete (there should be an accent on that word, but I am having computer issues), so Jennifer and I spent the evening there. I saw Duclair at night for the first time. It was a pleasant evening, the reflection of the ferry lights in the Seine was beautiful, the whole town came to listen to the music that echoed through the streets.

Photos to come.

Also on June 21, sitting down to have my lunch, it turned out I managed to choose a picnic table that had just been stained. I did laundry today, but wood stain doesn't really come out of khakis, it turns out.

I really love those pants.

Does anyone else find this amazing?

Last Saturday, Jennifer and I went and visited Weston in Caen--about an hour and a half by train. Caen was lovely. If you ever find yourself in the area, take a look. I walked around William the Conqueror’s castle. To be fare, I think it was one of several, but still—WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR. Call me a dork, but I couldn’t help but thinking about soldiers patrolling the heavy walls or firing through the arrow slits.

We also saw the Abbaye des Dames, one of a pair of abbeys built by William and his wife Mathilde. The chapel was eleventh century architecture—different from the constantly gothic cathedrals. Mathilde is buried there, or entombed, rather, in black marble. Her epitaph is the primary source of information about her. The abbey was one of the things I’ve most enjoyed seeing this far in France. I really loved the architecture. We went on a guided tour, which included the crypt. The crypt was cool, but not quite as creepy as I had been expecting.

I Am On An Internship

So, my host family's wifi connection hasn't been in action for the past week--the reason for the lack of recent entries. However, live from the desk of the Maison de Junesse et de Culture, here is a brief portrait of my internship here at the MJC of Duclair:

-Hanging out with a Ukranian high school acting group
-Getting shown around Duclair
-Working on a PowerPoint presentation ("diaporama," a word I can't ever remember) of the photos from last summer's arts festival
-Walking along the Seine during lunch breaks
-Taking pictures of Duclair
-Cutting flyers
-Folding flyers
-Stuffing envelopes with flyers
-Redoing the PowerPoint presentation of the photos from last summer's arts festival
-Trying to get the new projector to work with this laptop
-Wishing I knew more about computers
-Listening to a whole lot of French
-Saying "what?" a lot
-Hanging out with the kids in after school program
-Being weirded out by the double cheek kiss with the people I work with
-Gluing together a diorama for the after school program kids' project of what Duclair will be like in 50 years
-Explaining that I really don't know anything about computers

Paris: Take Two

I went to Paris yesterday.

This round, Paris was a lot more agreeable. So maybe I can see why people like it so much. I went with a hiking club from the MJC who usually meet the first Sunday of each month. They do a walk in Paris every year, and Jacques, the vice president of the MJC’s board of directors, invited me and Jennifer (the other intern from my university in Rouen who arrived last week) to come along.

When we were waiting on an overpass at 7:30 am for someone (I had no idea who) to drive by and pick us up, I wasn’t so sure about the whole thing. I didn’t really want to go back to Paris, though I did want to be sleeping. It’s about an hour and a half to Paris, and once we got there and got going, I was glad I went.

I didn’t have to plan anything, which was really nice. And I didn’t have to worry about getting lost. It was to someone else to navigate. Since being here, I finally understand why people travel with big tourist groups. Planning a trip is a lot of work.

Anyway, Jacques was the guide, although everyone in the group was anxious to answer questions and offer information. They told me about De Gaulle broadcasting from England; they told me we were walking through the chic part of Paris, so not all Parisians live like this; they told me about the two houses of their congress (and I told them about the United States’ Electoral College, which, thanks to the 2000 pres. elections, a lot of people here have heard of). They told me that there are no telephone poles in Paris—it’s all underground (and, that up into the seventies, there was a tube system underground, too, for delivering the mail that worked with vacuums—bank drive-in style). We looked at jewelry in the windows of the Place Vendôme. We saw the Eiffel Tower and walked along the Seine and went into the Garnier opera house. We went under the Arc de Triomphe. I have wondered for a long time how pedestrians get under the Arc. A mystery solved.

The memorial for those who died in the war with Algeria. Jacques fought in the war (but he didn’t die, so the memorial isn’t for him). He also worked in several countries, including Algeria, for France Telecom. That’s how he knew about the telephone lines under the streets.

Cantaloupe and Other Feats

I have never liked fruit. This was never a big deal to me, just something to work around. It’s the texture that really bothers me, so I have just really never eaten fruit, with the exception of apples and raisins. So I would always just pick the pineapple off birthday-party pizzas and skip the salads at wedding receptions. Not liking fruit is a handicap that is easily dealt with, really.

It has only been recently, though, that I have realized that this is a bit odd. “You don’t like fruit?” is the way other people usually take it. This started to make me feel like my not liking fruit was a distinguishing feature, a sort of party trick and an odd quirk that was useful for get to know you games: “I have never eaten an orange” is a little more memorable than “I like reading.” As unique as it makes me, though, it’s maybe something that needs to change.

The other day, I had cantaloupe. It wasn’t anything like me deciding I needed to eat cantaloupe, but just because I had no idea what the waitress was telling me and it turns out “the first one” she had said was actually an appetizer of ham and cantaloupe. When it came, I took a deep breath…and tucked in.

And Monday I had strawberries for the first time in my life. I was over at the Warenghein’s for Family Home Evening, and the dessert was a strawberry tart. I really like desserts. I didn’t want to say I didn’t want any. And I had handled the cantaloupe. So, I took a deep breath….

The strawberries tasted like strawberry flavored Twizzlers—well, funny thing. They were pretty tasty. I am still not too fond of the texture, but fruit is a pretty amazing thing. I won’t go as far as to say that I like it. I will say, though, that the Granny Smith apple I had today, that was tart and crisp with juice that filled my mouth, was amazing.

Parents and Children

So, parents are good for all sorts of things. Making sure you have something to eat, getting you to elementary school and ballet class, yes, but also advice. Talking to them Sunday helped me start looking things a little differently. Like, from my dad, when I don’t have anything to do at the internship, it’s okay. And, from my mom, hanging out with kids isn’t too bad, either.

I have spent a lot of time volunteering with kids, tutoring reading and leading songs with Girl Scout troops. I spent last summer working at a day care. So with this internship this summer, I was ready for something different—not especially looking to do things with the kids who come to the MJC for after school care and day camps and homework help. My mom keeps telling me how I have told her talking to kids is a perfect way to learn a language (so it would be okay if I ended up with them). And today and yesterday, when I went along to walk them from the school to the MJC, it was the best part of my day.

It has been sunny the last few days, which is so different from the cold and overcast and rain. This afternoon, when it started to cool down and there was a breeze blowing, we walked back from the elementary school. On the way, Amandine told me not to worry, I would learn French soon. She asked me to teach her English. I told her I could tell her a few words—what did she want to know? She wanted to know how to say “Amandine” in English.

“Amandine,” I said, with my American accent.

By the time we got there, we had “translated” the names of everyone in the group, along with a steady stream of nouns—“lunettes?”

“La porte?”

“Les doigts?”

Makes Sense

Today and tomorrow is the Fete Jeanne d'Arc in Rouen. Joan of Arc was executed here, and now, five hundred years later, she's pretty big. The festival is part medieval festival--with medieval food (though not actually made in medieval times) and crafts demonstrations. There's a little religion, with a mass honoring Joan of Arc in Notre Dame tomorrow, and flowers will be thrown into the Seine where her ashes were thrown. And then there's just normal festival stuff: bands, people selling stuff, that sort of thing.

A medieval festival makes a lot more sense here, somehow. I had a moment, walking around the festival, where I looked up and there was this giant cathedral, this huge building that was around when a lot more people dressed like this. So look, but don't look too close.



A how-do-I-eat-this moment



I did some clothes shopping today (although is it really shopping if I didn't buy anything?) at C&A. It was another confirmation, though, that my search for the perfect pair of pants is, in fact, an endless one. I had fun trying things on, at least.

I feel like I should be well camouflaged. Somewhere. A newspaper office, perhaps.